I’ve been bending a knee to the Incantation discography of late, pondering the many bands who’ve made worthy, if unsuccessful, attempts to approach the glory of their sound. I discovered Ritual Chamber fresh off a spin of Mortal Throne of Nazarene. After shaking off confusion and amazement at the magnificent music at hand, compulsion quickly set in. The Pits of Tentacled Screams is a feast of quality, consistency, and neck wrecking glory that rivals the elders.
Creeping, tentacular riffs and howling, cavernous auras do not a good album make. It’s the fucking songs, man; composition, dynamics, and riffs give life to death. Ritual Chamber have got it figured out. Or rather, Numinas, the band’s sole member, has got it figured out. I can’t fathom how one man could conceive and execute such a righteous paean to putrescence.
This is not just another roiling rollercoaster of filth; these songs are oozing with numinous character. Whenever the heaving murk threatens to pull you under, a festering and contagious guitar lead will elevate the proceedings towards triumph. A wonderfully hands-off production job lets all of the instruments shine through the darkness.
I’ve been worshipping at the altar of death for many a year; I’m comfortable letting my instincts lead the way on this one. The Pits of Tentacled Screams is worthy; genuflect.
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