Review Summary: "Occult-ish stuff, witch hunts, death, rebirth, blah blah. Typical stuff. It isn’t very deep." - Dude from Rude
For some reason, I’ve taken a real liking to Rude’s moniker; it’s just refreshingly to the point. These guys have no regard for shoehorned “necro” prefixes, “goat-this”, “Satanique-that” or any butchered Latin song titles – that would just be distracting. The band’s sophomore album, Remnants…
echoes this apparent disdain for bullshi
t more plainly than anything else. Though it’s not exactly simple – as there’s a fair bit going on here – Remnants…
oozes a sort of blunt charisma, in that the band appear serious about what they’re doing but retain that predilection for cartoonish silliness that old school death metal is renowned for.
Launching off the marks with zeal, opener “Torrent of the Past” ticks all the throwback OSDM boxes: Guitar work in the vein of Consuming Impulse
; high-octane drum patterns; deranged, Martin van Drunen-esque vocals; thick, crunchy, analogue-sounding production and palpable atmosphere. There’s something off
about the whole thing, inviting you to delve where you probably shouldn’t – like a white family in a haunted house. As if the songs were barely-sentient, undead monstrosities, their parts occasionally seem to stagger out of tandem with each other, and the songs begin to lurch and fumble in a way that is menacing yet fun to hear in equal measure. Even the closer, “Children of Atom”, has a kitsch little synth line that purposely clashes with instrumentation, yet in the context of Remnants…
sounds as if it wouldn’t belong anywhere else.
No matter where you happen to find yourself throughout the course of Remnants…’
, you’re never too far from a moment worth savouring. The maniacal guitar solo on “Blood Sucker”, though not unexpected, is still hair-raising in all its snarling fervour. On the opposite end of the spectrum are the downcast and somewhat jangly chords that open the title-track, acting as an ominous portend of arguably the most violent assault on the whole album. Crucially, the album’s peaks aren’t to the detriment of the content that separates them; each riff is but an integral stepping stone in an otherwise hectic journey, rendering every token of brilliance sweeter still.