Review Summary: shidding and farding
Pucker up simpletons, ew anus haha yuck that’s gross yes exactly you’re halfway to understanding: anuses are nasty but they are also a source of pleasure and I don’t even have to mention any real butt stuff here, simply taking a sh
it feels good and everybody knows it. That’s what this album is about, the ragged intersection of complete mental breakdown where disgusting acts become sources of depraved pleasure. It really is that simple and that’s why Mortal Wound don’t fuss with gimmicks they just play riff-riddled primitive death grooves with bleak Vietnam veteran combat shock type themes which, while extremely disturbing, are so exaggerated they are rendered cartoonish and absurd.
Don’t worry I’ll say the line folks: the riffs are good. Yeah the stupid-low vocals, powerful yet measured drums and jammy/twisty/trippy solos all rule but man the riffs are so so good: in the context of modern death metal Mortal Wound are only surpassed by maybe like Hyperdontia in their ability to create tracks that absorb purely on the strength of riffs alone. Mortal Wound’s riffs are also incredibly thematically vivid, “Tunnel Rat” for example is relentlessly claustrophobic and disorientating, “Spirit of the Bayonet” is sharp and prodding, and one particular riff towards the end of “Engulfed in Liquid Hellfire” is definitely reminiscent of ruined, melted flesh sluicing through the gaps of charred bones.
On this release, Mortal Wound boldly ventured to even further lengths to develop their blunt and gruesome storytelling. The band have always sprinkled flavour into their sound with samples and have taken it to the nth degree on
Anus (...) World. Sound collage type interlude tracks like “The Surf is Gonna be Bitchin’” and “One Who Kills & One Who Loves” explore the journey from combat experience to severe mental illness, visiting all of the copes in between. The narrative created here is scattered, asinine and horrible but very real, protruding from the album’s wrinkles like haemorrhoids. It’s these crass, b-movie style debris of context that are at the crux of the album’s success: a lot to take in at first but upon reexamination add plenty of goofy character and pacing control to the album and ultimately register like the flickering, failing brain functions and stream of consciousness half-associations of some wretched soul being squeezed out of that metaphorical Earth sphincter, enduring a moment of trauma so violent and vile the only way possible - by extracting whatever base pleasure they can.
