Session XXI: [Halo, Axis of Pedition, Inade]

  

Aussie doomsters Halo are one of those bands who aren't content with just regurgitating conventional templates. On Guattari (from the West Flows Grey Ash and Pestilence) they combine the oppressive rhythmic nihilism of Filth-era Swans with the industrial soundscapes of Godflesh and of course sludge. Even though undemanding in a technical sense the compositions here emanate an ominous greyness which whether you like or not will cloud up your perky disposition. Self-funded initially, Relapse in an exceptionally discerning move snapped it up and re-released it. An unrefined gem for those who like to wander along the edges of extreme doom.

I have to say it is a bit of a mystery that despite their monumental contributions to the world of rock, experimental music and even industrial, England never really fancied itself as a pioneer in the black metal scene. Of course somebody could easily point us to some sporadic flashes like goth-showmen Cradle of Filth or Anaal Nathrakh but there is such a big heterogeneity in the sound of these bands that it'd be tough to cluster them into one cohesive movement. Be that as it may there are bands that crop up from time to time which raise interests with their unique and at the same time weird way they approach the genre. One of these bands is Yorkshire-born Axis of Perdition and their debut album The Ichneumon Method (and Less Welcome Techniques) (Rage of Achilles, 2003). Guitars here have been distorted to such an extent that they sound almost unrecognizable in comparison to the conventional tremolo and it's definitely something that forces you to sit up and take notice as soon as you hit the play button. The other-worldly guitar motifs influenced by the cyber-black coldness of Thorns combine flawlessly with the drum machine which in this case finds a fitting allotment along with the various effects which lace the songs at appropriate moments. The whole setup results in the creation of nightmarish soundscapes bringing to mind scenes from sci-fi inspired horror films (Event Horizon anyone?). Definitely up your alley if you wake up with Mayhem's De Mysteriis Dom Sathanas and go to sleep with Blud Aus Nord's The Work which Transforms God.

Gazing into the middle-distance and waiting for an apocalypse that never comes, that's how these motherfuckers so mercilessly make you feel. Inade's Burning Flesh (Loki Foundation, 1993 (tape) / 2007 (CD)) is a great example of how you should mix your power electronics mindfuck-works with penetrating shards of amorphous ambience. Be afraid, be very afraid.

Session XX: [Murmuüre, Mournful Congregation / Worship, Morgion]

  "The expression of genius is always spontaneous. 

How simple it is to acquire genius: you know the means, yet who will the take the plunge?"

-A.O. Spare

There is a lot of hype surrounding this self-titled tape (Cold Void Emanations, 2010) as is the case with anything that defies the confines of some pre-conceived aesthetical schema. Nevertheless there is a kernel of validity amidst the clamor. Murmuüre have a very clear artistic vision that's for sure. This offering ain't the inane end result of a weed-infused foray into the wilderness, there's pretty interesting stuff going on here and it demands from the listener a certain degree of open-mindedness. There are parts here which are supremely emotive in their mercurial spontaneity and function quite suitably as 'gateways' into some unfathomed part of the unconscious. You have to allow your mind to drift with no direction if you're to appreciate this piece of expressionist art fully. And though I have yet to experiment with this I'm sure given the appropriate surroundings there are further layers of experience to be unravelled. Now having said all that I'm still not quite sure where to place this; merely slapping the 'ambient black metal' label is making the band's sound a crude disservice. If forcibly pressed to give a description I would probably haphazardly mumble something like "an inspired effort to transmute some genuine, extraordinary state of mind unto an audial sequence" and then just stare silently with an expression of both awe and puzzlement.

Funeral doom has that interesting peculiarity in that it's a sub-genre which is as simple to execute as it is difficult to master and so unsurprisingly there are many followers and few leaders. Amidst the latter there were two bands with the crawling intensity of a tectonic plate whose mere name was enough to make puppies weep and flowers wither. I'm talking of course about down-under's Mournful Congregation and Worship from Deutschland. Of the two I am admittedly more partial to the former but I'll be damned if both don't offer two pieces of skull-crushing dirge which make this humble 7" seem as the most un-befitting medium in carrying these audial mammoths. If you like your doom straight from the mother of all hell-holes then this release, and pretty much anything on Painiac's Suicidal Doom series for that matter, is simply indispensable.

I became acquainted with Morgion primarily through their first couple of albums which solely comprised of soul-wrenching death/doom hellbent on throwing my Sunday afternoons into a world of misery. It's only recently (shame on me!) that I came across their first 1991 demo, Rabid Decay, and had my ass summarily handed to me. An unremitting, cavernous slab of premium quality US-style death metal and the most convincing affirmation of why I got into the genre in the first place.

Session XVIII: [Missing Foundation, NDE, Locrian]

"Property is theft!" proclaimed Proudhon circa 1840, one of the early utopian anarcho-socialists. Another, more emotive and head-turning, way to say this would be through Missing Foundation's sophomore LP: (1933) Your House is Mine (Purge/Sound League, 1988; re-release Dais Records, 2013). Throughout their incandescent history the pragmatics of the whole notorious affair of graffiti vandalism and rioting was quite straight-forward: to re-direct the violent indignation of the masses against the inherent, systemic violence of the imposed status quo. Atavistic and hyper-aggressive industro-post-punk which packs about 100 mega-tonnes of pure rage all set to detonate within the saccharine and cosy dreams of modern Armani suit urbanites. Music with teeth.

Aesthetical hyperbole versus ecclesiastic bombast; militaristic industro-rhythms versus torrent upon torrent of hydrochloric electronics; the terrifying verisimilitude of ritualistic sanctimony versus the incoherent laryngeal outputs of the damned; your sense of hearing (and innocence) now well and truly fucked. Ladies and gents I bring you NDE's Krieg Blut Ehre Asche (Cold Spring, 2009). Let the party begin.

Derelict landscapes littered with rusted machinery, now gigantic monuments of a forgotten fervor, an enveloping fog that transforms everything into a dream-like purgatory and high above it all only gray skies, cold and distant in silent judgement. Such is the apocalyptic imagery created, most evocatively, by Locrian's Drenched Lands (At War with False Noise / Small Doses, 2009); grainy melancholy-tinted black metal indulgences and haunting ambient / electronics thrown together into a grayscaled mosaic of a nightmare straight out from a Cormac McCarthy novel.

Session XVII: [KK. Null / Chris Watson / Z'ev, Zyklon-B, Die Sonne Satan]

I'm sitting here at 1am listening to this when I should be on the tail-end of my first REM cycle. The culprit for my inexcusably awake state is this very album. It's a three-way collaboration which mixes the percussive tribalism of Z'ev with natural field recordings (courtesy of Chris Watson) and synthetic cascades of frequencies, synths and slithering electronica afforded by sound-sculptor extraordinaire, KK Null. Everything becomes so finely enmeshed within each other it becomes harder and harder, as we reach the wee hours of the morning, to separate nature and machine until they all coalesce into one beating, dynamic rhythm. Put simply, Number One (Touch Music, 2005), is one more reason to throw away your television and just Listen.

Comprised of a veritable "who's who" ensemble, Zyklon-B's Blood Must Be Shed (Malicious Records, 1995) encapsulates all the vitriol and provocative aesthetics of the early 90's Norwegian scene. You'll find everything here - Satyricon's percussive terrorism (courtesy of monsieur Frost), swaths of Ihsahn-driven keyboards and razor-sharp riffage. But as I flick through the now-tired and naive polemic proclamations of yesteryear I can't help but give a snicker now when reflecting upon how old this feels (and consequently how aged yours truly feels in response). Nevertheless there is still a buzzing quality of delightful misanthropia in these 10-odd minutes of musical extremism that retains an impact which is fresh and potent as ever. Taken like a head-spinning shot of vodka and gunpowder leaving you with an afterburn that never fades. 

The only reason Die Sonne Satan's Fac-Totum is featured here is because it ticks all the right boxes when it comes to terms like 'underground' and 'cult'. For starters it was released on Marco Corbelli's own Slaughter Productions - yes that's the very same suicidal fiend behind the audial monstrosity known as Atrax Morgue. Second it was put out in a day and age (circa 1993) when there were still virgin vistas of convention and orthodoxy to be violated and subverted - there was no room for masturbatory rehashing and aimless shock-value. And finally the actual product: the music itself. What can I say? Umm.. How about ritualistic, dark ambient straight out from a Roman Polanski film? Ah sod it find your own metaphor, you got the point anyway. And to top it all off it's sufficiently ensconced in obscurity to make a helpless kvlt-kiddie like myself go all giddy with joy.


.eof

Session XV: [Eyehategod, Naked City, Terrorfakt]

 

Just exactly what all you cynical sods need right now to counter-balance the sunny coming of spring and the saccharine, almost sickening, smell of the blooming flora - i.e. an antidote, as it were, composed of misanthropic doom/sludge rot laced with zesty spurts of scabrous hardcore punk. A monstrous concoction indeed which sounds like early Black Sabbath left under the boiling New Orleans sun for far too long. Should Eyehategod's Dopesick (Century Media, 1996) fail to bring forth the wanted results and a cheery predisposition persists then rejoice most fertively for you have just gloriously expelled yourself from the Miserable Bastard Club - the rest of us are already reaching for the razorblade.

 

"Far away, like the slight whistling of a breeze in the rigging before the storm, a shiver, a shiver without flesh, without skin, an abstract shiver, a shiver in the workshop of the brain, in a zone where you can't shiver with shivers. How, then, will it shiver?" 
-Henri Michaux

Naked City were experts in the fine art of creating musical dadaistic hodgepodges comprising of western, grind, thrash and jazz, erratically switching styles within a few measures of a song. Surprisingly swansong Absinthe (Avant, 1993; CD) has absolutely nothing to do with their previous oeuvre. It's like the ultimate farce: a band that got people almost used to their frenetic unpredictability leaves the stage with an album remarkably tame in comparison. This particular tameness however is far more disturbing in its subtlety than anything produced in their erstwhile offerings. Mastermind John Zorn is here guided by his infatuation with the decadent movement of fin de siècle France and relies on atonal sequences laid against layers of noise and unsettling ambiance to conjure opium-induced images of candlelit rooms, filled to the ceiling with hashish smoke and otherworldly demons clamoring in the dark... All the while somewhere in the background, the Comte de Lautréamont lets out a snicker welcoming you into his nightmare. Easily my favourite unearthed gem for this year so far.

 

NY-based Terrofakt take a reductionistic approach in their composition removing all extraneous harmony or any sense of tonal progression leaving only rhythm: the beat here is EVERYTHING. Teethgrinder (Metropolis, 2006; CD) thrives on militant precision and relentless rhythmic delivery like a well-oiled war machine. Stylistically it aggressively asserts its place within powernoise territory alongside acts like Xotox and Iszoloscope. In the words of monsieur Stephen O'Malley: "Maximum volume yields maximum results."

.eof

Session XIII: [Diagnose: Lebensgefahr, Sick Seed, Vegas Martyrs]

We get it son, you're bat-shit crazy. We knew that much from your ball-shrinking vocal performance on Silencer's Death Pierce Me and those messed-up photoshoots in the accompanying booklet where you were wrapped and bandaged - pig legs and all.  And just to make sure that every neuron in that brain of yours has gone completely haywire you present us with the poisonous extract of your 'let me express myself' therapy sessions at Dept. 57 of Växjö Psychiatric ward; to wit, a 68-minute injection of ambient electronica/noise - both atmospheric and dissonant in turns - while you painfully and anxiously anticipate that final psychotic schism with reality. Ok, maybe I'm getting a bit too cheesy here but the point is Diagnose: Lebensgefahr ‎Transformalin (Autopsy Kitchen, 2007) is decent stuff - definitely on a level higher than most black metal side projects that sprout up like mushrooms these days. Just maybe, maybe, there's actually something very wrong going on here.

Caligula031, Bizarre Uproar and now Sick Seed's The Great Corrupter (F&V, 2012; CD). It's official:  Filth & Violence releases are fast becoming my favourite Finnish export. Visceral, ear-grating electronics for those warm, Chrismassy nights by the crackling fireplace. It even comes in an appropriately low-budget/monochrome packaging for that extra touch of unabashed seediness. Indulge in the filth. You know you want to.

Essentially what Vegas Martyrs did on Choking Doberman (Kitty Play, 2005; 51 pink/red covers (shown)) was to take some basic semi-improvised guitar riffs (emotively catchy and consonant to the point where they would otherwise fit rather nicely as the verses for some obscure BM / punk crossover piece)  mercilessly granulate them through a blender of harsh electronic scuzz and 'overdriven-to-fuck' noise extremities, and then scoop up whatever bile survived the process. What we get on our end is a raw and bitter 7" seemingly the output of some sweaty all-night amphetamine binge using recording equipment even Fenriz would piss on. Structurally skeletal and percussively autistic; black metal never sounded so abused and revived at the same time.

.eof

Session XII: [Throbbing Gristle, Teeth of Lions Rule the Divine, Galerie Schallschutz]

 

 "Beauty is our enemy" 

-Genesis P-Orridge
 

The year is 2501; archaeological excavations near Site 14 situated in present day London reveal an interesting yet unassuming item dated from the last quarter of the 20th century. The contents of this antiquated medium become a source of endless perplexity for its finders. Cultural historians of the era dismiss it as an aberrance done in bad taste whilst others hail it as the point where Western culture finally and inevitably dissolved leaving in its place a cold and dry aesthetical wasteland - from Beethoven to Throbbing Gristle, from music to anti-music. But there is also that small portion of discernible souls who might just sense artistic honesty where others see only puerile experimentation. From their perspective the provoking licentiousness of Throbbing Gristle's Second Annual Report (Industrial Records, 1977 / re-release CD, 2011) was in its essence intended as an unwelcome mirror - repellent and unforgiving in its reflection - and that it was on such unlikely and transgressive ground where inspiration took root and bore fruit. And the question hanging on their lips would be: was anybody listening?

Being the sonic equivalent of a human stampede Teeth of Lions Rule the Divine's Rampton (Rise Above / Southern Lord, 2002) almost feels like you're hit by a sudden shot of tetrodotoxin - it paralyses you and leaves you there transfixed with no choice but to shut up and take it. By the end all you've got is that eerie smile and the epileptic visions of a madman. One can only fathom what a mindfuck-fest this would be if these guys opened for The Melvins and Sunn 0))) in some forgotten venue at the gates of Purgatory.

 

Imagine yourself traversing a vast, Arctic landscape somewhere in northern Alaska. Every feature, every landmark signifying civilization and warm familiarity drowned in a glacial sea of immaculate white. The sheer immensity of that shivering quietude is enough to reduce anyone, given enough time, to a helpless victim of delusional paranoia and gripping fear. Somewhere in that state of mind you will find Galerie Schallschutz's HAARP (Tesco Organisation, 2002). Deep and droning ambient inspired by clandestine research projects housed in massive ill-boding architectural edifices, goverment skullduggery and obscured truths. "For all who still want to think and who still can think".

Session XI: [Neurosis&Jarboe, Celluloïd Mata, Atrax Morgue]

Anything put out by Neurot Recordings is almost mandatory listening let alone if the release in question is a collaboration between the head honchos themselves and Jarboe of Swans fame (2003 / CD). Jarboe's haunting presence (which ranges from angelic to apoplectic) feels right at home deeply enmeshed within the sheer audial energy channelled through Neurosis' artful soundcraft. The calling card of Neurosis despite their many re-inventions from album to album has always been a tumultuous emotiveness tempered with a smoldering intensity; they can effortlessly shed their leanings towards a post-hardcore/slugde avalanche of sound and go for a cleaner, more atmospheric vibe and still retain their own identity. This is faithfully reflected by Jarboe's flexibility as a singer by gracefully gliding on whatever tapestry of sound the band weaves for her - be it distorted layers of electronics and guitars, brooding synth-based themes or intense, dynamic moments of release. An engaging musical partnership well worth the price of admission.

There's very little recognizably human on this record what with its minimalistically engineered beat sequences seemingly orchestrated by some automaton who wishes to convey through its silicon-based circuitry what it appreciates to be music. But alas, Celluloïd Mata's Sable (Ant-Zen, 2000) was indeed inspired by an ensemble of mere flesh and bone homo sapiens - you'd gather that much just by its strangely hypnotic sense of tonality which paints a convincing portrait of monochromatic bleakness and sullen introvertion. A top-notch piece of cerebral and experimental electronic music taking elements from Autechre's submersive soundscaping and cohesively morphing them into something perhaps a lot less inviting but definitely a lot darker - what else would you expect from Ant-Zen?

According to Freud there lurks within the human mind a raging cauldron of sexual desires and primal, irrational urges which are kept in place by our inherently ingrained sense of the social 'norm' and the imposed order of modern civilisation. Now imagine a peephole into that seething abyss normally kept below the radar of consciousness; what would you see on the other side? In the case of Artax Morgue's Esthetik of a Corpse (Slaughter Productions, 1995 / tape) this translates into an unflinchingly nightmarish vision, albeit synthesised audially, through creepily mesmerising ambient textures composed out of sheets of white noise and disorientating frequencies; an unadulterated mode of expression just as messed-up and inhospitable as its source. Exquisitely subtle in its aesthetics it is not deliberately warring with the listener, it will throw its hook in you and slowly drag you in. And this right here is what sets the difference between the merely shocking (and in some sense entertaining) and the palpably diseased. Take 60mg of psylocybin while listening to this and you're irrevocably hotwired into a world of shit.

Session VIII: [Skullflower, SPK, Necromantia]

It was a toss up between this and the fantastically titled Fucked on a Pile of Corpses. As you can see I chose the former. And this was because as much as I was amused by Monsieur Bower's supreme take on black metal, lo-fi and noise I found IIIrd Gatekeeper (hEADdIRT, 1992 / CD), well a tad more enjoyable. There, I said it. And to clarify things, by enjoyable you by no means are to deduce that this is easy listening. The rhythm section here remains basic and un-intrusive - it can be dynamic where it has to be, such as in Saturnalia where you get the tension-building drum rolls, but this only happens sporadically. The driving impetus is provided through Bower's restless guitarwork which serves as a platform for oneiric explorations across different scales and melodies. It's a seemingly spare setup compared to your typical rock ensemble but it works wonders; sheer sonic dissonance meshes seamlessly with repeated guitar phrases (some of which tonally flirt quite conspicuously with Sabbath's early dirges) to produce a hypnotic confluence of sound from which it is almost impossible to escape. An album with some serious repeat playing time potential indeed.

"Is it progress if a cannibal uses a knife and fork?" 

- Stanisław Lem

If the pessimists are right and Western Civilisation really is destined towards decay and oblivion then SPK's Leichenschrei (Thermidor, 1982 / vinyl; The Grey Area, 1992 / CD re-issue) is but one of its most piercing death throes. Epitomizing the cold, almost inhuman, texture of industrial soundscapes, its an album that  channels a vision of a future than nobody wants to live through. At times it even feels claustrophobic and distressing like you're caught in some sort of existential Kafka-esque nightmare. They even, notoriously I might add, provide instructions on how to make napalm embedded in one of the tracks as if to accelerate the inevitable decline. As far as industrial is concerned this is what pretty much did it for me; this is where I finally got it.
  

The offspring of a febrile underground pregnant with creativity and hunger to make something out of the ordinary, Necromantia's demo tape (Self-released, 1993) remains a most convincing testament to that enormously productive, and influential, period of black metal. Atmosphere was the name of the game and this band had it in spades. The warm bass-lines, commingling with the early usage of keyboards, make the absence of a traditional guitar unnoticeable and setup a hair-raising nocturnal feel for the compositions which was the band's calling card back in those days. Totally indispensable stuff if you're into the early Hellenic black metal scene. 

Session VII: [Gnaw Their Tongues, Swans, Grunt / Prurient]

Gnaw Their Tongues's sole mastermind Mories does everything in his power to remove every inch of familiarity from his musical influences (black, doom, industrial) only leaving that much rhythmical consistency to prevent the album from collapsing into power electronics territory. Despite its extremity this is actually a measured album, knowing where to be subtle with disquieting ambient and slow tempos and where to be harsh and ugly with piercing guitars and perverse screaming. I can't help but notice a dramatic/soundtrack-ish undertone running through the album which makes you feel like you're stuck, uninvited and befuddled, in de Sade's 120 Days of Sodom. Make no mistake, the number of consecutive times you can listen to All The Dread Magnificence Of Perversity (Crucial Blast, 2009) straight pretty much serves as a psychiatric index of severe sociopathy.

 "Let us be true, even if we are ugly." 

-Gustave Courbet

San Fransisco black metallers Weakling (whose Dead as Dreams album was featured a few Sessions ago) took their moniker off a song from this very album's predecessor, Filth. That fact alone should already tell you a thing or two. It is truly difficult to find an album as uncompromisingly hostile,  as disarmingly authentic in its exuded negativity as Cop (K.422, 1984 / 1992; LP / CD re-issue). Its crushing discordance stems right from the subconscious, where the nasty dark stuff abide; the stuff you don't want to talk about, like your homicidal hatred towards your boss, your job, your materialistic charade of a life. As a bonus on this re-issued CD version we get their 1984 12", Young God which single-handedly spawned Godflesh and all the lovely fucked-up shit that followed with them. Trying to imagine the current state of affairs of the extreme, more experimental end of metal had the 80s-period Swans never been is a truly frightening thought indeed.

How could I resist? Seriously. Finnish purveyor of fine filth, monsieur Aspa's Grunt and New York based noise terrorist Prurient coming together for a singular eardrum-scraping, nerve-spasm-inducing exercise in febrile sonic decadence (Freak Animal, 2006; tape / 100 copies). I liked it before I even heard it.

Session VI: [Incantation, G.G.F.H., Sunn O)))]

This particular 7" (Deliverance of Horrific Prophecies; Relapse, 1992) succinctly encapsulates what I've come to enjoy and respect about Incantation. These guys appreciate good songwriting and atmosphere - they don't need rapid time-signature shifts or lightning speed arpeggios to maintain a listener's interest. As soon as that trademark 'murky' guitar tone titillates your eardrums that's it, you're hooked. And even though it's been a good 20 years since its release it remains as intimidating and ominous as ever. Heck even the, by now, hackneyed Moyen cover artwork doesn't look cheesy. Unmistakably death metal through and through.

Serial killer inspired industrial courtesy of G.G.F.H. (Global Genocide Forget Heaven) with their 1992 EP Reality (Dreamtime, 1992; CD / 12"). Not unlike other ensembles of their ilk they remain strictly rooted in gritty realism. Accordingly they are riddled with audio samples of court proceedings, interviews and police reports which only accentuates the genuinely disconcerting vibe coming off from the release. Add their strange gnawing subtlety in terms of rhythm and sound layering to the mix and you've got a little gem on your hands. 

Sunn O))) isn't exactly music yet within a live setting the band attains a uniquely reverent and sonically imposing presence. This particular tape was recorded during their 10th anniversary show in Los Angeles back in 2008 (Grimmrobes Live 101008; Southern Lord, 2009) and it pretty much embodies the pure Sunn O))) aesthetic to a tee. The tonal interplay of reverberating chords washes over your conscious experience to the point of saturation, you feel almost suffocated just before the inner mindscape spreads open vast and inviting much like a calm ocean of sheer resonance. I imagine the audience, standing there transfixed lost in a moment stretched until time itself becomes a mere abstraction. As I said Sunn 0))) isn't music, it's an experience; one would even dare say a spiritual experience.

Session V: [Deathspell Omega, MZ.412, Grief]

 

She was seated, she held one leg stuck up in the air, to open her crack

Yet wider she used her fingers to draw the folds of skin apart
And so her “old rag and ruin” loured at me, hairy and pink,
Just as full of life as some loathsome squid
“Why”, I stammered in a subdued tone, “Why are you doing that?”
“You can see for yourself”, she said, “I’m God” 

Gallic black metal with a religious twist you say? I'll have a bit of that thank you very much. Aesthetically, the common thread pulsating through all of DsO's releases from 2004 onwards, is the age-old adage passed on from their cultural progenitors and fellow country men, Rimbaud, Battaille and de Sade: that is to take your life to the extremes at any cost for therein lies true spiritual transcendence. Enter Diabolus Absconditus/Mass Grave Aesthetics (Norma Evangelium Diaboli, 2011; 12") - two musical monoliths whose length is only matched by their severity. No superficial satan-worshipping theatrics here. How many times have you seen Hegel being quoted on a black metal release or any release for that matter? Musically, these two tracks are predominantly characterised by discordant melodicism and serpentine flowing thematics. Progressive black metal? Let's not get stuck on label-slapping here; whatever it is, it works. Of special note is a lingering anxiousness subtly lacing their music which is only natural given their existential woes they're trying to express. Both tracks were put out previously as part of a couple of split releases (Crushing the Holy Trinity (Father) (Northern Heritage, 2005); From the Entrails to the Dirt (End of All Life, 2005)). Still worth snapping this LP if only for the mesmerising artwork courtesy of Manuel Tinnemans.

MZ.412's Burning the Temple of God (Cold Meat Industry, 1996) was the latest notch on the Scandinavian scene's pissing contest when it came to who would come up with the most 'evil' and disconcerting recording in the history of Man: "Cold and acrimonious riff-based, low-fi musicianship you say? Fuck that, we'll sacrifice conventional musical structure for the sake of an occult / eerie atmosphere; we'll replace minimalistic chord progressions with ominous drones and imposing industrial beats and finally envelope it all within a thin yet conspicuous layer of undulating frequencies. And we shalt dub thee True Swedish Black Industrial!" Don't get me wrong, this is genuinely unsettling stuff; what I'd play if I ever wanted to clear up a house party at 4am right before I load up Whitehouse's Great White Death. Indulge with impunity.

On the other side of punk's paroxysmic indignation towards the status quo lingers Grief's resigned melancholy with this aptly titled 12" EP (Dismal; Grievance, 1992). A prime cut of sludge/doom if I ever heard one. "Ah, what's the effin' point? We're fucked, humanity is a disease, the experiment didn't work": that's pretty much the take-home message you get. After having listened to this little piece of misery you'll come out looking like your favourite pet just died. Hey cheer up son, some rampant celestial object is bound to hit us sooner or later; that should do us in once and for all.

Session IV: [Americanoise (compilation), Merzbow, Wormphlegm]

Americanoise is one fine piece of audial squalor; a sordid cross-slice of an Americana you wouldn't want to know. Harsh noise atmospherics featuring unknown artists as well as PE heavy-weights such as Death Squad, Macronympha et al. Originally out on tape back in 1995 by Mother Savage Noise and re-released on plastic (Audio Dissection, 2011; 500 copies) for our perverse delectation. If you ever get to listen 'White Trash Serenade' becoming a radio hit you know the Apocalypse is nigh.

No self-respecting publication dedicated to the underground is complete without at least an honorary mention of the mighty Merzbow. On this humble little 7" monsieur Akita (Electroploitation; Lunhare, 1994) concocts a luscivious barrage of experimental noise intermingled quite intensely with a profuse backdrop of animal-like sensuality. Complete with an explicit photo on the back cover featuring two delightful members of the female sex passionately locked in some form of sexual interplay. How much more Merzbow can you get?

Yeah, its Wormphlegm. If you know them, any words after this point are pretty much extraneous. If you don't well you're in for a treat. Imagine the ugly, twisted brother of funeral doom living up in the attic for too long. This ain't your standard hours-long sessions of self-wallowing window-gazing. Stretching the inherent slow tempos of doom to breaking point with agonised vocals against a wall of dissonant guitar riffage, In an Excruciating Way Infested with Vermin and Violated by Executioners Who Practise Incendiarism and Desanctifying the Pious (Phlegmcum, 2001; tape / 100 copies handnumbered) became the golden standard for the impending wave of 'torture' doom aficionados. An invigorating experience definitely which more than makes up for its lyrical shallowness. But alas, after a few listens, even this nasty little show of musical excess falls into the jaws of jaded habituation and you find yourself desperately looking for your next fix of Finnish filth. Mmm, Black Arts anyone?


.eof

Session III: [Antidrasi, Dry Lungs (compilation), Dapnom]

It's no surprise given Greece's tumultuous history that you'd get such a fertile scene which gave birth to a number of quality punk bands throughout the 80's and into the 90's. My personal favourite of the lot is Antidrasi (Reaction) with a vibe harkening back to the 80's hardcore/crust sound. Their sophomore 1991 release Enantia (Against) featured herein bore a notorious inscription on the cover in Greek which roughly translates to: "if only Christ should return now to see the fear inscribed upon the faces of His priests". And this is what characterises this band like any other punk ensemble worth its salt: unapologetic intransigence. Released by Greece's own safe-haven for alternative music, Wipe Out Records, which amongst others even released a Rotting Christ 7" back in the early 90's.

17 bands disparate in style and form yet unified against a common enemy: the cliché and the blasé. Dry Lungs (Placebo, 1985) is a raging cauldron of sulphuric tape manipulations and noise experimentations regressing into dadaistic nihilism. A decent chronicler of the early-mid 80's industrial scene whose only purpose was to push the boundaries of sound. Incidentally here's an interesting piece of trivia: the guy behind the release - Paul Lemos - besides being in the influential New York-based industro-experimental ensemble Controlled Bleeding (featured herein) was also one half of the duo behind legendary industrial metallers, Skin Chamber.

"The eternal silence of these infinite spaces terrifies me"
-Pascal

Known for drenching some of their tape releases in blood, Dapnom enjoy a sort of semi-cult status. Unio Mystica (Ars Funebris, 2007) is cosmic dark ambient with conspicuous religious overtones. Disquieting, "anxious"  and, most importantly, conducive to inner mental imagery, it makes for an engaging lights-out, headphones-on experience.

.eof

Session II: [Crucifix, Sutcliffe Jügend, Satori]

'Fuck you' can be one of the greatest statements in the English language. It's where you set the limits, where whatever individuality you take pride in can be defended against impending waves of conformity, where convention can be snickered at, paradigms demolished - both socially and musically. So it's only natural that I love bands like these guys were they shove gritty, raw realism straight in your face like there's no tomorrow. I guess this is what made Crucifix so special: direct, unadulterated immediacy - all the rest is escapism, plain and simple. Fair enough. Dehumanisation (Corpus Christii, 1983 (LP) / Southern Records, 1994 (CD)) is not only the seminal showcase of all the aforementioned but on top of that it grips you by the balls with sheer emotion - Sothira's (himself a victim of the atrocities so indignantly condemned on this release) anger-drenched vocal delivery being the case in point. Intro song "Annihilation" was also adapted by A Perfect Circle on Emotive but here in its original incarnation is that much more compelling. Revered within the hardcore punk scene for a reason.

I'll come right off the bat and just say it: for people not acquainted with this particular genre, Sutcliff Jügend's When Pornography Is No Longer Enough (Death Factory, 1998) is an audial experience only marginally preferable to an appointment with a heavily inebriated dentist or ramming a metal wire up your eye socket. And this is not just charming hyperbole thrown around to make a point. I'm actually quite serious. Forget any semblance of melody, rhythmical structure, harmonic consonance - everything is sucked into a swirling cacophonous vortex of incredibly harsh feedback, screetching frequencies (ever scratched your nails on a chalk board? oh yeah) only occasionally protruded by Kevin Tomkins' (of Whitehouse 'fame') psychotic screaming. After a few minutes the human brain itself declares sensory overload on its systems, synapses are frantically firing in complete aberrance in an effort to make sense of this vicious attack on the senses. I have to admit though: I found all of this quite amusing, if not down right intriguing. Whatever you want to call it: an audial experiment for altered states, a post-modernist exercise in anti-music, an artistic statement, two guys just taking the piss - whatever it is, it's here. And it's not going away.

Plunged head-first into the nether-regions of the Unconscious; whispers mockingly caressing my ears; an elegy of primal terror in tribal rhythms; cavernous realities of unmentionable entities; a wicked dance of unclaimed nightmares. Oh but for the blissful nullity of sweet repose! No light, no escape: claustrophobic, unsettling ambient making for the most fitting soundtrack to my insomnia.



.eof

Session I: [Haare, Weakling, Varathron]

Haare have been described as "funeral psychedelic drone" which is quite a mouthful and admittedly what drew me to them in the first place. On the surface of Funeral of Souls (Freak Animal, 2010) there's seemingly very little going on: dirgy, scabrous noisescapes which drone on repetitively over two tracks which are strangely quite un-invasive and almost dare I say inviting – it feels that you can just lose yourself in its bizarre world.  Though it’s quite a mind-fuck I have to say, another couple of hours of this and you’d find me in the corner rocking back and forth in the foetal position. Check it out if you’re into this sort of stuff… it might just make your day.

Now, I don’t know what you think of American culture but when it comes to black metal they’ve managed to produce some of the most delightful oddities in the genre. Case in point, Weakling’s Dead as Dream (tUMULt, 2000), which is such a dizzying, psychotropic concoction that I would even dare describe as lysergic black metal. At points their soaring riffage is quite reminiscent of their Norwegian counterparts but their atmosphere is more succumbing, more suffocating, more in your face. Just listen to the title track damnit and tell me that black metal isn’t one of the most aesthetically versatile genres the musical world has ever known! But of course they’re not everybody’s cup of tea: for some they’re too artsy, for others too self-indulged – “ugh, where’s the corpse-paint, the blast-beats, the devil-worship” I hear the tr00 crowd grumbling as I grin knowingly, almost patronizingly, hit ‘Replay’ and kick back to enjoy another spin. Great stuff.

What it is about Varathron that I find so darn enamouring I just cant say. Maybe, it’s the warm, typically Hellenic production or the fuzzy feel of the guitars, or perhaps just the sheer atmosphere oozing out from your speakers - whatever it is it’s uniquely Varathron-esque. It’s obvious that, apart from the typical black/death metal underground fare of the era, these guys were on a wholesome diet of early Mercyful Fate, Cirith Ungol et al in terms of vibe and atmospherics so don’t expect your conventional treble-ridden, blast-beat-laden Norwegian assault. The Lovecraftian aura emanating from Walpurgisnacht is unmistakable - your spine knows that much just by the way it tingles all the way until the album hits the finish mark. There’s a couple of re-releases which you can find pretty cheap on eBay but the real thing was released by Unisound back in the good ol’ days of 1995.

.eof