Review Summary: I had trouble getting to sleep last night.
I think I'm over writing reviews (and I just started one damn). There's a degree of frustration to be found in the arbitrary nature of it all. Supposedly rational criticism falls apart depending on the genre context. For instance, one of the preeminent challenges to overcome in a negative review is averting the “well, you just don't get it” response. Take this album for example. Simplistic, minimal percussion and composition? That's actually supposed to be like that - avoiding excessive technicality that could detract from the sounds of an evocative, lingering and reverberating guitar. Lo-fi production? Distorted, indecipherable vocals? Little variation in the slow tempo or sound palette? Repetition and minimally dynamic progression? Droning, crackling, fuzzy noise? Same deal, these things are how they should be in order to achieve a certain feel – say, rawness (I can change it to 'necro' if you'd rather, you kvlt fukkbois), depravity, inhumanity, brooding atmospheres or whatever. I mean, sometimes I feel like writing a 1/5 review for Opeth or Vektor or something but it'd pretty much be around 600 words of “I don't really appreciate the things they do best”. On the other hand, this here is not a negative review. In fact, it's barely a review at all.
He leaned over the sturdy wooden table, returning the heavy books to the shelf behind. As he began to straighten up, he felt the firm hand placed between his shoulder blades, keeping him bent. As he gulped, his trousers were loosened and fell around his ankles. The insistent hand touched him again, lower this time, and he widened his stance, stepping out of the pants legs. He felt a delicate, slick finger teasing his shaven arsehole.
“Dt i?i uoeiioyy DeeD u kk i Dtuiiilttuiyoo ii o??kt Dllokyi?” whispered the demoness. Soon, the man felt the slow, heavenly introduction of the hellish phallus, lubricated but inhumanly ribbed. Gasping, as the satanik schlong began its rhythmic yet measured thrusting, the man whispered nonsensical prayers. From the protracted prostate stimulation alone, the man neared climax. He hoped only that the undignified ejaculation from his underwhelming genitalia all over his thesis would not deter the devilish mistress from ravishing him again and again and again.There was a slight tickle on his lower back from the nipples of the gently swaying breasts as the demoness leaned forward to murmur sweet nothings.
There's actually some monotone mumbling on here too. They're samples about some serial killer or something, but they're not the usual Ed Gein documentary that I've probably heard on half-a-dozen different albums already. I'd look it up, but the context isn't terribly important other than how it supports the general theme of a macabre, lovesick mindset. Indeed, this is intentionally music of warped obsession and prolonged dwelling on unpleasant thoughts. Appropriately, the musician, n.u.m.b., works under the brak kultury ('lack of culture') moniker (God, I hope they have a sense of humour). They apparently wrote and recorded everything on the spot.
“No plans. No hope.” I can definitely appreciate the honesty (is that the right word?) of the uninterrupted, uncensored, train of mood-and-thoughts-becoming-music. There's definitely something admirable in the commitment to producing something artistic – especially when it is kind of ugly, weird and gauche - and putting it out into the public realm without flinching. Goodness knows this is something that one has to 'buy into' – it's not inherently aesthetically-pleasing (well, not conventionally at least) or ego-satisfying (I mean, this isn't going to be a thread full of “riffs hard” goons and discussion of complicated time signatures either).
That said though, this is good music, with plenty of good moments. Early on, the percussion, although minimal, pulses in conjunction with the consistent noise to create the feel of an increase in pressure wrapping around the listener's head. The simplicity and repetition is also valuable in allowing a trance-like state, the indecipherable, jagged utterances punctuating the consistently enthralling, soothing yet unsettling, guitar. In this vein, the first part of the record seems to slip by fairly easily. "part III" (reason for the season) and "part IV" are mid-album high-points in their own grim, subdued way, noisily scraping the listener's ears raw. The sound quality seems to fluctuate a little over the course of the record so that while the whole thing works as a cohesive whole, the 'warmth' and emotional connotations of different elements of the music seem to vary. "part V", (the anti-cosmic interlude) is interesting like this, with clean and relatively friendly tones and soulful singing that are partially obscured by hissing static and fleeting flickers of the earlier harshness. It builds and becomes something both epic and gruelling – a soaring, intense guitar-based melody accompanied by ghastly snarls and whispers. The understated Part VI (crazy 'n love) - “i acted on my fantasies” mutters the looping sample – serves as a fitting droning aftermath.
