Review Summary: Asthma attack in a purple haze, Your cards are numbered, And so are my days...Acid Bath
’s take on deathrock conjures the image of a dark, dry night in the desert, where a car drives on the road, surrounded on all sides with the unknown. This road trip is soaked in hallucinogenic thoughts, ones of paranoid suspicions of what creeps in the pitch black night. A minute portion of the driver’s focus is on the chipped road, caked in dust and remnants of roadkill, while the rest is fixated on incoherent rants in the mind and the cigarette planted firmly between the index finger and the middle finger. The occasional twist in the road or the infrequent visit of a splattered insect on the windscreen catches the attention of the distracted man. On this dark night, the headlights break through the dark, cascading light on the street and casting startling shadows - ones that shake the man to his very bones. He shivers regularly, as his imagination conjures improbable beasts, horrors, and futures that could destroy him.
Grim, spacious bass lines work in conjunction with the propulsive, industrial drums work to create an unsettling atmosphere with a consistent sense of the unknown. This looming basework is experimented with throughout the record, with varied tempos and hallucinatory guitar drones and synth leads. The previously mentioned ramblings very loosely focus on themes like industrialization, supernatural happenings, religion, and violence, all delivered in a confused and agitated manner. Off-kilter songs like “E.S.T. (Trip To The Moon)” and “In God We Trust (In Cars You Rust")” are slurred and scatterbrained, as if they were extracted from a drug-crazed eccentric, and a particularly upset one at that. This record of swirling soundscapes throws itself forward in a fit of irrational emotion, sloppily sweeping forward into the world it is resentful towards and scared of.
has a certain way of building thoughts of doubt, anxiety, and paranoia and weaving them into the bleak, machine-like darkness. The music on display here portrays a synthetic nightmare, where one has no clue what is truly happening. Distorted grooves and deranged performances give this record a frightening character, littered with hellaciously unnerving song progressions that unweave the feelings of comfort one may have, while still providing a musical creation with enjoyable guitar lines and fuzzy base wails. It’s tense and jumpy, on the edge of a nervous breakdown, similar to the frantic driver of the previously mentioned car. He takes hold of the wheel, grasping it tightly, beads of cold sweat rolling down his face. A craze flows through his veins, side by side with his blood, as he starts to jerk the car to and fro on the patchy road. Something lurks in this darkness, something has to be…