Review Summary: Deprived hymn for a shattered soul in a broken body.
23 minutes of blackened funeral filth is not something you are going to listen with your drinking buddies. It’s not the kind of music you will play with your parents present or while trying to put a spouse in the mood for a lovemaking session. Is a very solitary experience that can be shared in a form of ambiance enhancing device. A friend commented on this music while I played it during a pen and paper roleplaying session. We were traversing an underground cave filled with decaying, tortured souls unable to leave this world. The passage was ridden with twisted abominations whose only enjoyment was eternal anguish of innocents.
He described this piece of music and it’s portrayal of pain and suffering - just too real.
And we are off! For the first 10 minutes we hear a deep beat accompanied by echoing cymbal few seconds. The guitar that’s slowly chugging away is covered with an ever present overtone of soft static, static that’s somehow comforting. It’s the only place your inner ear can escape when the vocals start. They are not the kind of conventional screaming you might expect in an black metal or funeral doom record. They are shrieks. Cries for help or maybe the only preserved form of self expression from a tortured individual bound in an dark and damp torture chamber.
Let’s call the shrieking guy Vomit. So this fellow Vomit seems to be gnawing his own tongue, slurping blood, coughing and simply trying to breathe while being bound by somebody else. Let's call this other individual (who seems to be in charge) Plague. When Plague speaks, he does so in a deep, almost growl like voice. Always angry, never satisfied, menacing and threatening.
If Vomit does not obey, Plagues hate is unleashed. Beat that struck once per two seconds transforms into more. It’s almost as if somebody is knocking, trying to get to you through the speakers, just like they know you are intruding on their session. Vomit keeps slurping and shrieking, but Plague is not satisfied. So he strikes barkingly, passing his judgement and executing punishment. Vomit gargles, spewing blood and spit, losing breathe to scream - naturally responding to nerve endings being scorched. In a truly and utterly disturbing turmoil.
You get the idea.
I was unable to find any lyrics, interviews or meaningful interpretations of this torturous music.
What better names for creators of sonic abyss then self proclaimed Plague and Vomit?
They both program the drums and contribute vocally. Plague chugs the guitar, while Vomit strokes the base. It’s present, but maybe a bit low in the reverberating mix.
If crippling disease and mind ravaging mental sickness had a soundtrack, those two would be it’s maestros. It’s the kind of horror one can hardly contemplate upon. Like trying to talk about maggots crawling in an open wound or the skull fragments of a double barrel suicide victim. Primordial and instinctive. Scenes that make some people regurgitate their meal, while others look away glancing, continually absorbing the imagery. They may be intrigued or sickened by the act. Some may be envious it was not their doing.
Even though both members are american, not a single word can be understood so lyrical themes can only be scraped from the atmosphere of the music itself and of course - the cover. It sickens and frightens to think one of the themes might be infanticide, more so because the logic stands. There is a childlike skeleton in the crib on the cover.
As drums become increasingly spastic, guitar chugging intensifiers and the low voice overlaps with slurping screaming, comes release. As in slow death, everything comes to a halt, like a train riding on momentum alone coming to an uphill stopping simply because of gravity. Few acoustic notes provoke ideas of redemption and salvation. Light is slipping through cracks behind thick dungeon walls. The deformed, deprived creature that resided there notices that hard mossy bricks can be pulled out so he can squeeze out and leave his cell, feeling the warmth of sun on his skin once more. Remembering he was once considered human before succumbing to wounds inflicted during years of torture.
Atmosphere is dead on and mind blowing.
At the end of this record, like during evening news when the reporter talks about hate crimes in a far away country. You can only sigh and say - it is what it is.
The fact is that you still indulge, participate via exposure.
