Fuoco Fatuo - Backwater
by atanamar Monday, April 17, 2017 0 comments
Abyssal death-doom that's not content to fill the funereal mold. Most certainly satisfies the urge to dirge, possessing the solemn sonic aesthetic of a Mournful Congregation or early Ahab. Drops crushing doom ordnance in concert with its leaden rhythmic procession, but just as often churns in fathomless death-depths. These obsidian sermons differentiate Fuoco Fatuo's art, evoking filthier correlations to Incantation or Portal. Unlike the dichotomous slow/fast flips of Disembowelment, the harrowing haste of these riffs is contained within each song's dense shell. The drums never move faster than a shambling corpse, but the intricacy injected into every cadence will capture a listener's full attention. Ecstatic self-nullification.
Spectral Descent - Descending The Astral Plane
by atanamar Wednesday, April 12, 2017 0 comments
Raw, delectable death with killer instincts. An exceptional, encyclopedic emulsion of American death metal morphemes. Hammered on hemorrhages evoke quintessential Cannibal Corpse. Chugging convulsions convey the way of Obituary, Master, and Malevolent Creation. Celestial jaunts bespeak Death itself, reaching so far as Atheist oddity. Throw in a bit of death-doom excellence and you've got all the riffs your cadaverous soul could desire. Primitive but punchy production makes the result feel like a product of that bygone era. Coherent, convincing, murderous joy.
Sarcasm - Within the Sphere of Ethereal Minds
by atanamar Saturday, April 08, 2017 0 comments
From a decades old footnote in Daniel Ekeroth’s Swedish Death Metal, Sarcasm ascend to sudden glory. Pitch-perfect, sinister, death-black melodies injected with a massive dose of Dissection. Nasty Necrophobic nuance and the dynamic compositional instincts of God Dethroned. Untouchable riffs thrash, gallop, and swarm under a storm of black-hearted leads. Vocals blessed with Jon Nödtveidt’s malignant, effective vocal invective. Ominous classical guitar segues because of course. Lean as fuck, without a minute of flab or fill. My favorite album of the year thus far; the meat is in the hooks.