Doom maulers Nightfucker dig up psychological and societal pressures on self-titled debut

The mind is a bizarre thing that is practically impossible to figure out. People go to school for years and years to try to understand that psyche, analyze it, and hope to one day be able to solve people’s problems. And it’s sure to be a field where the jobs never will dry up, because people always are going to struggle, and someone has to be there to try to put the pieces together.

I say all of this in anticipation of the debut self-titled record from Nightfucker, a death-doom trio that’s been together as a unit for nearly a decade but are just now getting to us with this first full-length. No attempt to shame there, as these things take time, especially the brutality that’s slathered over these monstrous four tracks that gurgle, bleed, and spill pus all over this already sticky record. Oh, that mental illness bit I was on about at the start? The record’s themes actually aren’t vile and gross and instead visit the terrain of abuse, suicide, delusions, self-harm, and the deterioration of the human state, so there’s some pretty heavy stuff going on here besides just the music. The band—bassist/vocalist Adam, guitarist Dominic Finbow (late of UK doom maulers Moss), and drummer Nick—put your senses to the test on this record that reminds of the ills of life and society we face every day.

“Temptation’s Curse” has noise dropping like a curtain, with gnarly growls rupturing peace, and a menacing, mean tempo hulking toward you. The playing is slow and violent, moving glacially across the land, scraping up earth and bones underneath it, as the sounds stretch and eventually begin to boil. The track rumbles and defaces, with horrifying growls strangling, and the music smearing soot as the misery comes to an end. “Worthless Spirit” has thick basslines, a bleeding orifice in its center, and animalistic growls doing damage. The riffs slice wedges while the song begins to thrash wildly, as guttural doom oozes to the surface, burnt to a crisp by the guitar work that emerges. Growls agitate, the noise hovers like a ghoul, and then things just suddenly end.

“Addiction Sentence” opens in the midst of a noise pit as the doom floor drops and manages to sink even deeper into the earth’s crust. The playing creates a slimy film amid the feeling of utter defeat and hopelessness, while nasty wails and morbid growls set the pathway, as a wall of noise seems to grow nearly too high to overcome. Screams punish the psyche while the band mauls until the lights are turned out. “Death Beset” closes the album, bringing about a fog that’s too massive to navigate. The playing bashes away, while the vocals cut into the bone. The power emitted is utterly brutal, as cries stain with blood, feedback peels back already raw flesh, and the approach is flooding with menace. The final minute sounds like machinery and social structures crumbling as noise pierces seeping wounds, bringing the record to its horrible resting place.

Perhaps there will come a day when a record such as Nightfucker’s debut will seem like relic from a different time thematically, meaning that our mental health issues finally will be addressed, and the state of our society will stop crumbling. But that’s a pipe dream, and records such as these will continue to be relevant and haunting. This album brings pain musically and philosophically, and if that’s too much for you to handle, chances are, the band itself will understand.

For more on the band, go here:

To buy the album (U.S.), go here:

Or here (Europe):

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