Review Summary: Sledgehammers. Just in time for Christmas.
Has death metal ever been quite so apt during the course of a whole year? 2021 would like to think so. And just like all those death metal acts before it, Phrenelith manages to hammer in every single trope from the old-school of death metal genre while conforming to what modern death metal has to offer. Confused? You had better not be—while
Chimaera emulates every dream team response a world of blast beats and gnarled riffs has to offer, the band’s soundscapes are summed up in an insurmountable display of bludgeoning, hammer-fisted death metal. Does it riff? Would it possibly run over your cat should it step out on the road at the wrong time? Of course
Chimaera ***ing would. But I’m not going to sit here and
implore that Phrenelith’s newest deathly export doesn’t swing like the hammer it is, weathered calluses and a veteran grip.
Chimaera itself lacks dexterity. It's blunt. Of the album’s seven tracks you’d be hard pressed to find bright melodies and wholesome atmospheres. Only murk and mirth are to be uncovered in
Chimaera’s depths. Continuing the analogy above; this hammer is heavy on one end. Namely, the bottom—or the top if you contain the strength to hold it upright. Forged steel at the end of a worn handle, swung by those who know their craft. Despite this there’s no denying the power here, fit for a trundle or journey; hi-vis vest over the top of a flannelette shirt (probably one that hasn’t been washed in weeks) and yet there’s a gentle masculinity to be found deep within “Χίμαιρα” that might eventually get you laid. Just don’t play this on the way to your first date.
