Despite the recent trends towards virtuosity, and even the pseudo-philosophical pandering of recent death metal lyricists, it must be accepted that death metal is not a genre founded on the principles of intelligence. From the machismo "satanic" and "evil" imagery to the emphasis placed upon brutality, death metal has always been a bit of a boneheaded art form. It was always expected that this could, and eventually would, lead to some less-than-impressive results, but the chances of anyone predicting something as magnanimously stupid as Cephalotripsy's Uterovaginal Insertion of Extirpated Anomalies
was unthinkable. Already belonging to one of death metal's most maligned sub genres, that of the almighty slam, Cephalotripsy ignore practically every fundament of death metal, and through such glorious ignorance, they have created something that transcends all previously known bounds of stupidity.
Cephalotripsy don't need blast beats, riffs, solos, growls or any of that nonsense. All they need is slams. Cephalotripsy's primary, and only aim, is to create slam after crushing slam - I mean, hell, I could probably count the number of incidences these guys aren't actually slamming on one hand. In place of the trademark growl or roar that you would normally expect from a death metal album, you are greeted by Angel Occhoa's inhuman purr. It is literally just that, a ***ing purr, nothing more. Like the sound of a man with pneumonia sucking his phlegm down his throat, Occhoa slurps and purrs, occasionally throwing a pig squeal in there for a bit of variation, but Cephalotripsy don't really need any of that either. Enunciation is entirely neglected in the pursuit of sounding as brutal as possible. In fact, every aspect of logical music composition is ignored in the pursuit of absolute brutality. Uterovaginal Insertion of Extirpated Anomalies
is an exercise in utter monotony and exercising the power of the slam. Whereas most slam bands are willing to kick out of first and second gear every now and then to try and avoid the inevitable monotony that would otherwise ensue (even Devourment
blast and slam in equal measure), Cephalotripsy only care about piling slam upon slam, in a manner not dissimilar to Malignancy
's abuse of the pinch harmonic. To say that this album is anything but slams would be a lie.
The drummer is probably the most patient man in existence, his metronomic plodding admirable in it's restraint. He rarely ever launches himself beyond 120bpm, and when he does, it is only for the shortest of times, for you can't waste any time when precious slams are to be had. His skill is wasted behind the kit, only ever stretching himself to whip out the gravity roll (no, not gravity blast, just a gravity roll for a good couple of bars). In an almost perspicacious manner, he plods along, meandering along with the slams, emphasising each slam perfectly, and with only the utmost precision. Whereas the drummer for a band like Artery Eruption
is unencumbered by his mental incapacities, not even bothering to play in time with his bandmates, Cephalotripsy's drummer is confined to structure, only ever playing along the slams, as if possessed by them.
This musical rigidity is equally paralleled by the rest of the rhythm section - note that their is no lead section, only a rhythm section, for you don't want, or need, leads for slams this incomprehensibly brainless. The rest of the rhythm section are focused solely on the production of bouncy, catchy slams for the wiggers to mosh to. Although confined to only a handful of palm-muted chords, the ingenuity and excogitation of the composition is to be adored, as there is no slam the same as any other on the record. As unbelievable as this may be, it only further proves Cephalotripsy's undying dedication and allegiance to the slam. The mix only further serves to emphasise this, each instrument, especially the guitars, meaty and full-bodied; just like the people who would indulge in this masterwork of mental deficiency.
In creating something composed almost-entirely (if not entirely) of slams and breakdowns, and breakdowns within these breakdowns, as if slamming their way down an endlessly spiralling staircase, Cephalotripsy - or as they are more colloquially known, by the wiggers adore them so, Cephalohephalotrippitytrippitytrippity - have created something as scintillating as it is destructive. Whilst my IQ steadily drops as I listen to this for the third time in a row, I can only try to convey the mysterious nature of these slams. As though living and breathing slams, Cephalotripsy have managed to create an album so monotonous, each song so indistinguishable, that it becomes enthralling. How something so utterly focused on "slammin' dat sickness" could be created, let alone with such cogency and vigour, is truly mystifying. Almost bordering on minimalist high-art abstraction, Uterovaginal Insertion of Extirpated Anomalies
is the penultimate slam album; the
example of everything wrong and everything right with the genre.
As Chuck Schuldiner rolls in his grave, Cephalotripsy, in all their glorious ignorance, slam on, disregarding every piece of criticism thrown their way, for in their narrow-mindedness and sheer stupidity, they have created the pinnacle of slam, right for all the wrong reasons and as detrimental as it is enjoyable. Listen to it once, but at your own peril, for if it absorbs you, the only thing that will await is a persistent vegetative state.