To judge it by name,
It's Me God (lack of comma notwithstanding) is possibly an album written as if it was a message from the almighty themselves; wrathful retribution in the form of a relentless lightning storm of sludge and noise. Or is it the reverse, an attempted dialogue from Earth and a subsequent acknowledgement that in order for us lowly mortals to reach the supposedly omniscient ear of God, the message needs to be f
ucking LOUD. Uselessly ponder its title though we may, ambiguity isn't a big feature in this album from demented Swedish not-sure-what-but-definitely-heavy-core legends Breach; their sound here is braced with conviction so decisive and powerful it could indeed be divine.
Falling somewhere between the angular, uncomfortable immediacy of metalcore of the mid/late 90s and moody noisecore oozing with sludge sensibilities, Breach's modus operandi on
It's Me God is enormous rhythms bolstered by a sinister shroud of dissonant riffs and wide-eyed, vein-popping vocals. Depsite the obvious chops of the musicians, ideas are generally expressed with abrupt finesse and the results are for the most part uncomplicatedly crushing and euphoric. Opener "Valid" sets expectations perfectly; imposing, chunky instrumentation concisely constricts the atmosphere into the eventual climactic introduction of the vocalist's patented deranged screams.
The frequent catchiness of
It's Me God earns the band deserved confidence in sections which aren't quite as maximalist, like the cool swaggering lick that breaks up the stomping grooves in "Painted Face", or the calm-before-the-storm strums in "Deadheads". Infectious jams frequently rise smokily from the more incendiary chords throughout the album, providing brief gasps of respite but never salvation. Breach's ability to keep tracks just as efficient as they are ferocious, successfully concluding most in around 3 minutes, makes the lengthier "Presume the Forgotten" a bit of an outlier here; its protracted beginning/end teases the more accomplished proto-post-metal (oof) epics the band would later successfully implement on
Kollapse, but in this case fits awkwardly against the run of flow. Despite the superfluous padding, the smackdown centrepiece sections are up there with the album highlights.
Even in its runtime just shy of 37 minutes there are too many quality rhythm parts to mention, but a couple to note would be the gouging verse groove in "God Forbid Me" and the raucous throb that fleshes out the ending riffs of closer "Divine". Early Neurosis could certainly come to mind when hearing this album but comparisons aren't especially worthwhile for something this unapologetically straightforward - the grooves are massive, the yells are visceral, and the songwriting is pointedly succinct; thankfully, unlike God, this album does not work in mysterious ways.
