Tag Archives: death

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PICK OF THE WEEK: Cretin’s sick grind, repulsive storytelling make ‘Stranger’ disgusting fun

CretinHere, on this day, when we run the final review of the calendar year before we get into a few weeks’ worth of 2014 in review, we bring you the most disgusting, perverted, disturbing of records. This one should put a smile on your face, and if it doesn’t you may have no capability to feeling the sheer glee of a band rolling in filth and chaos. Yeah, we saved the sickest for last.

Cretin are a long-standing death-splashed grindcore band. But even though they’ve been together for more than two decades, we only have two full-length records from the band—2002’s splattering “Freakery” and their brand-new opus “Stranger.” It’s not that the band hasn’t had inspiration or plenty of horrific stories to tell, but its members have been plenty busy with other ventures. Plus, the story of guitarist/vocalist Marissa Martinez-Hoadley’s coming out as a transgender woman and continuing to defy anyone who stands in her way not only was a major step for the closeted, macho, often unaccepting world of metal, but for her personally. She has been an inspiration to so many. Maybe some meathead out there wondered if Cretin would retain their savagery and sick sense of humor after all of this—and if you’re one of those people, perhaps consider wallowing in embarrassment—but that was pure silliness. This is Cretin. This is a grindcore force, and on “Stranger,” they’re more than willing to rip a hole in your chest and piss in it.

Cretin coverWe’ve covered Martinez-Hoadley, whose vocals are even deadlier and full of bloody character than they were on “Freakery.” She’s an absolute joy to hear rage on these tracks, and I can only imagine how great they’re going to sound live. Along with her are longtime bandmates Matt Widener, who plays bass and also pens the horrific words you hear barrel out of Martinez-Hoadley’s mouth; destructive drummer Col Jones; and new secret weapon Elizabeth Schall, one of the most impressive and dynamic lead guitarists in all of metal, who fronts the scathing Dreaming Dead. This formation of Cretin is a monster, with each member contributing to the muck, and “Stranger” is a record that will haunt and taunt you long after it’s done.

A nice thing about Cretin’s work is their songs are longer and more realized than most grind acts. There are very few 30-seconds-and-done cuts, and that begins with “It,” complete with dizzying playing, Martinez-Hoadley’s grunt-like growls, and maniacal thrashing that wastes no time getting you into the bruising. “Ghost of Teeth and Hair,” a pretty gross title, opens with dazzling soloing from Schall that lets things burn before the track hits its guttural, deathly glory. The track is muddy and ugly, and when that weird bicycle bell rings at the end, you’ll feel a little uneasy inside. “The Beast and the Drowning Bucket” absolutely mauls, with mucky vocals crawling out and drums being obliterated. It’s hard to keep your head above water on this one (fitting, right?), and the fierce shrieks that erupt toward the end should rip your skin apart. “Knights of the Rail” is another nasty one that starts with a hefty assault but then hits another gear part of the way through, like they’re blasting into hyperspeed. “We Live in a Cave” rampages from the gate, with total heaviness, spat-out growls, and a lightning-fast chorus that blows by so fast, you won’t know what hit you. “Sandwich for the Attic Angel” is one of the most memorable, creepy songs on the record, with Martinez-Hoadley blasting through a volcanic chorus that puts a knife right in the heart of this ghost story. The title cut is speedy, raspy, and violent, with Martinez-Hoadley howling, “Stranger!” over and over, while the rest of the band plows through frightening power. Schall stabs her way in with another stellar solo, adding a sense of classic metal to this mangy crusher.

“Mr. Frey the Janitor Guy” is uncomfortable, bursting with rage, and pretty damn disgusting, and surely the band would have it no other way. The track is grossly fast, with Martinez-Hoadley howling the story about the underappreciated, sadly mocked mop man who gets his comeuppance in the most self-destructive manner possible. Seriously, don’t be eating while reading the words. “Mary Is Coming” is gory and mangling, just crushing everything in front of it, leading into “Honey and Venom,” a track that makes me a little uncomfortable due to my bee sting allergy. The drumming is rapid-fire killing, and the band hits a thrashy groove that might be designed to get you maimed live. Who’s to say? Or complain? “Freakery” follows, which also is the title of their debut record, and it is mashing, smashing chaos. The story is forced out of Martinez-Hoadley’s mouth, and Schall’s guitar work tears through like a sword looking to draw blood as quickly as possible. This thing’s just mean. “They Buried the Lunchbox” has a vicious tempo, with speedy vocals that rage out of Martinez-Hoadley’s jaws, and the bulk of this assault is soaked in rotting meat. “Husband?” is the shortest and one of the most disturbing cuts on the album, a blast of total carnage that gets an extra hint of creepiness with the closing whistling. Yikes! Closer “How to Wreck Your Life in Three Days” actually starts with a calculated pace, making it seem like Cretin might let you down a little easier. You should know better than that. This sucker rips apart, with more guttural growls that destroy, an awesome dose of thrash goodness, one final razor-sharp solo, and everyone chanting, “Fire!” as the record reaches its end. As does the main character’s existence.

Hopefully Cretin’s studio output will become as little more common after this head-ripping second album “Stranger.” This is a deadly, vicious lineup, and this record is the best grind album that came out in 2014 by a long shot. Remember to keep the buckets nearby in case the stories get to be too much and some analgesics for your pain, because you’re going to need both once you spend a trip letting Cretin destroy your body and psyche.

For more on the band, go here: https://www.facebook.com/Cretanic

To buy the album, go here: http://www.relapse.com/store.html

For more on the label, go here: http://www.relapse.com/

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Encoffination’s death worship sounds lurching, punishing on terrifying ‘III – Hear Me O’ Death ‘

Photo by http://www.gregcphotography.com/

Photo by Greg C Photography — http://www.gregcphotography.com/

So let’s go ahead and harp on this point again, and for the second day in a row. There’s a reason that people clamor for music they refer to as “real death metal.” It’s right there in the title: death. What about that is supposed to be slick, uplifting, catchy, and shiny? It’s death. It’s the end of all things. That isn’t supposed to be a particularly happy time, and many of us don’t care for our death metal to make us feel exuberant and pumped up.

That’s why I take a particularly morbid fascination with bands such as Encoffination, a group that sounds like it is the musical embodiment of death, the cessation of life. Their music is slow, drubbing, torturous, and sounds like it is one step away from shutting its eyes artistically for the final time. Nothing about it feels good or will get you jumping up and down like an idiot at a live show. You should be depressed, have darkened feelings that cannot be saved, and see only the worst in the music you are hearing. That’s exactly what you get with Encoffination and their suffocating third album “III – Hear Me O’ Death (Sing Thou Wretched Choirs).” That mouthful of a title alone should clue you into this being a dreary, miserable experience, and if that’s what you’re into, you won’t have a perversely worse time this year. Uh, in a good way. It’s the glorification of death, and that requires an abyss such as this.

Encoffination coverEncoffination is the work of two horrific souls, that being guitarist/bassist/vocalist Ghoat and drummer Elektrokutioner. Both men also play together in Father Befouled and also dot the lineups of countless bands including Beyond Hell, Chasm of Nis, Vomitchapel, and Howling. Ever since their arrival at this point in their journeys in 2008, they’ve been drumming up doom-blasted death metal that crawls painfully and scornfully, taking its time to spread its pestilence to ensure it has covered every inch of their battleground. From their 2010 debut “Ritual Ascension Beyond Flesh,” to their sophomore effort “O Hell, Shine in Thy Whited Sepulchres” a year later, to now, they’ve been making noise that fans of band such as Incantation, Mournful Congregation, Grave Upheaval, and Impetuous Ritual should find disturbing and strangely satisfying.

Opening hymn “Processional – Opvs Thanatalogia” begins the record perfectly, with doom bells chiming, throaty chants beginning to unleash the horror of it all, and the sounds of panic that lead into “Charnel Bowels of a Putrescent Earth.” The song is as disgusting as its title indicates, with the bells carrying over, a pulverizingly slow death march pushing forward, and infernal growls that sound voiced by a demon. There are hints of melodies, as morbid as you can imagine, and the song keeps spinning and scraping zombie-like all the way to its finish. “Cemeteries of Purgation” opens with deliberate drumming and guitars that are heated until they boil over. The vocals lurch from Ghoat’s mouth, with the pace remaining a death crawl, with trails of blood and ooze left behind it. The track keeps hulking and crushing, with the growls eventually turning to pained moans, sounding like those of a mortally wounded soul. “Crowned Icons” keeps the tempo where it’s been the entire record, and eerie noises give way to a drum beats that push a little harder and sweltering, damaged guitar work. There are some interesting moments toward the end, as the fellows play with some different sounds, but for the most part, it’s a beating rendered until submission.

“Rotting Immemorial” has an ugly, retching open, as it pulls you into the fog and toward further defacement. The guitars bleed and trickle all over the ground, leaving a real mess, and doomy hell erupts later and brings everything to a painfully slow ending. “From His Holy Cup, Drink; Come Death” runs 9:29, and it’s the first of a concluding triptych of songs that stretches across the record’s final half hour. Doom-encrusted smothering begins immediately, with the guitars simmering over top, the pace reaching slightly more animated levels, and the growls gurgling in a pool of nearly congealed blood. “Pale Voices” goes 8:44, and the drumming takes the grip from the start, setting the pace for the song and bursting through barriers. The vocals again sound pained and barely gasping at air, while the guitars are more frenzied and dizzying, with the drums setting a militaristic atmosphere. This thing just squeezes and squeezes until you have no more air in your lungs. The 10:28-long closer “Mould of Abandonment” is situated in another deep puddle of doom, with bendy and weird guitar lines strung about, vocals that sludge along like they’re dying, and filth choking out every living thing in sight. There are solemn, dark guitar melodies that arise toward the last half of the cut, with the music quivering, the tempo suffocating, and the final words croaked out before it all comes to a devastating end.

Horrifying, depressing, and clubbing, Encoffination cure what ails those who thirst for true death metal, with the emphasis on the decay and misery. Three albums in, these guys have proved to be one of the ugliest representatives of the genre, a band that remember the spirit and point of this music in the first place. “III – Hear Me O’ Death (Sing Thou Wretched Choirs)” won’t make you feel good on a Saturday night or be the fodder for silly arm swinging in the put, but it certainly delivers morbidity in crushing servings that most other bands can’t equal.

For more on the band, go here: https://www.facebook.com/templeofencoffinment

To buy the album, go here: http://selfmadegod.com/en/shop

For more on the label, go here: http://selfmadegod.com/

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Mortuus’ dank, dizzying black metal revels in death, begs for its arrival on ‘Grape of the Vine’

MortuusIt’s going to get dark, spooky, ugly, and horrific soon in America. Or at least that’s what a majority of the population thinks. I always find the Halloween season a little bit silly, especially when the religious dorks rise up and protest what is a pretty cartoonish, harmless season. But elsewhere, real terror awaits.

If you want to look into the true face of death and evil, look no further than Mortuus, the long-standing Swedish black metal band that will have no problem causing chills to go up and down your spine. Their freshly released second full-length “Grape of the Vine” has arrived after years of their minions waiting for an answer to 2007’s “De Contemplanda Morte; De Reverencie Laboribus ac Adorationis.” That’s one hell of a mouthful of a title. Anyhow, this seven-track, nearly 50-minute excursion is painted all over with the stench of death. It’s a nightmarish soundtrack of your body expiring and what’s left being sent on a suffocating journey through a darkness full of mysteries and perhaps danger. The record is chilling from front to back, and they establish a dank atmosphere that relies more on psychological punishment than it does overwhelming you with power and speed.

Mortuus coverThe band is made up of two musicians, that being vocalist/guitarist Tehom, and bassist/drummer/backing vocalist M. Hinze. Together, they work to create a dark vortex of hell that might take some getting used to. It might not suck you in right away simply because they eschew convention, with sticky melodies and any hooks completely absent. Instead, the vocals often sound like a running diatribe, designed to provoke the forces of evil, while the music rains down like blood, getting in your eyes and causing your lips to stick together. It’s not a comfortable experience, but it is one that’ll feel a lot different than the ones on which most modern black metal bands take you.

Frosty instrumental “Layil” opens the record with ominous playing, drums throbbing hard, and guitars spilling all over the place, instilling a foreboding atmosphere into the proceedings and leading into the furious title track. There, guitars chugs, maniacal growls sting your senses, and the music drives a dizziness that could leave you trying to regain your footing. Most of the track is a slow burn, with drubbing compositions and driving vocals that sound accusatory. “Torches” has a scintillating lead guitar line that knifes into the beginning of the track, and a calculating pace meets up with monstrous howls to blow fire into your face. Some traces of tangible melodies slip into place, giving the track the slightest hint of accessibility, and the final dose of storming glides into dripping piano that closes the door on the cut. “Sulphur” has fires crackling and a poisonous gust in the air, as the band churns slowly, violently. The song opens up a bit, with Hinze howling, “I hear the devil speak while I lay asleep,” setting imagery from which your worst dreams are made.

“Disobedience” is eerie at first and takes it time setting the scene, but as it goes on, it turnsurh into something cold and prickly. The tracks bleeds slowly, while the darkness sets in thick, and a frozen, deathly melody arrives the make things even more charnel. The song is just ugly, with infernal vocals and vicious mashing dragging you to the finish. “Nemesis” is psychologically damaging and even manages to hit a little harder than what preceded it, with Hinze declaring, “You are prophets of your own demise.” There is a hope for death, if not a worship of it, in the air, and the entire song feels like it’s luring you not just to your grave, but to eternal damnation. The final moments are so destructive that they’re oppressive, and this is the most aggressive track on the whole record. Closer “Tzel Maveth” has a cloudy start, only to have riffs burst from it like lightning. The songs lurches like a slow-moving, deadly lava, and the pace returns to the calculated climb most of these cuts take. The song burns heavily, filling everything with a thick smoke, and mercy is only given in its final moment, when the record meets the demise it promises all along.

When people are reveling in ghouls, ghosts, devils, and skulls next month, remember to give them a break. For they do not know of the true chaos and death that is Mortuus’ music, and most would faint at the first few notes of “Grape of the Vine.” As for you, the hardening of the arteries and exposure to real fright will get you ready for the cold months when everything around you is dead and decaying. Nature is getting ready to take that rotting journey, and everything on this nightmare of a record will have gotten you pretty much prepared.

For more on the band, go here: https://www.facebook.com/mortuusswe

To buy the album, go here: http://www.theajnaoffensive.com/collections/all

For more on the label, go here: http://www.theajnaoffensive.com/