Read the full review after the jump!
[audio:http://staging.cvltnation.com/wp-content/audio/01 Extractum Ex Infernis.mp3,http://staging.cvltnation.com/wp-content/audio/02 Corpse Upon a Throne of Wyrms.mp3,http://staging.cvltnation.com/wp-content/audio/03 Symbols in Warm Flesh.mp3,http://staging.cvltnation.com/wp-content/audio/04 Circle of Black Blood.mp3,http://staging.cvltnation.com/wp-content/audio/05 Shrine of Viscera.mp3,http://staging.cvltnation.com/wp-content/audio/06 Bastards of the Black Flame.mp3|titles=Extractum Ex Infernis,Corpse Upon a Throne of Wyrms,Symbols in Warm Flesh,Circle of Black Blood,Shrine of Viscera,Bastards of the Black Flame]
Massed In Black Blood begins the oil drip with Extractum Ex Infernis, which rumbles from some distant underground tomb with electronic combat. It ciphers between two or three samples, buried under muddy decay. The sound of something breathing behind you in the woods, and some distant discussion. A strangled gurgle pushes the electronics to the fore as the chant grows ever increasing and violent. Vocals provide instruction, however they are utterly obliterated in a wave of noise. This is a pure Death-Industrial soundscape. As horrifying as anything by Grey Wolves somehow with an even more sinister approach. It’s a vile sign of things to come.
Moving further into the miasma of black pestilence we come to Corpse Upon a Throne of Wyrms. The song begins like walking through some ancient dilapidated hall. To dark to see where what’s around you and encased with impending dread. The guitar lurches monotonically forward with a Sunn O))) quality. Crushing and only magnified by the perfectly distant torment of howls. The vocals are enthralling with textures of tortured screams and ritualistic whispers. It’s once again the Blackened Noise atmosphere that keeps it going. It’s the sound of electronic strangulation. It pulses and builds layer upon layer of indistinguishable white noise as the guitar repeats the same doomed riff. There’s such nuance here on so many different levels. At 11 minutes long it’s an epoch of grim inescapable doom, and although lengthy it’s worth revisiting for further dissection As the last breath exits the song and the drowning wall of noise drains it gives you the feeling of a passing storm.
Symbols In Warm Flesh is byzantine enough to make you go insane. It’s the most garroting track on the whole album. A sheer unrelenting onslaught of white noise and harsh low ends. It’s the musical equivalent to Pierre Guyotat’s Eden Eden Eden. Pure nihilist assault. It’s a complete headlock of distortion. Barely audible screams and conflicting unflinching melodies lie under the surface, but they’re buried so deep you’ll question if they’re really there. This track sheds and transcends the sounds of the previous two, as it fully offers itself up to the Black Noise atmosphere. It’s dense and toxic and completely unpredictable yet with each glacial shift in the dirge of distortion it becomes more and more rewarding to the listener,
if only through severe auditory pain.
The factory floor thrum which opens Circle Of Black Blood completely belies frozen heights to which this song ascends. A serenade of bile, the guitar is evident yet much less prominent than on Corpse Upon a Throne of Wyrms. This track veers into the dark backward abysm, drifting towards the nebulous sound of Ex-Luminare. This song almost feels daringly minimal (well… comparatively anyway) than the other tracks on the album. The stabbing electronics are buried so low you’d almost be unaware of their presence. It chants in one large blackened mass, locked in the repeated swamp grind. As the morass of black sludge seeps away though you’re left with something unfamiliar. Samples of distant growled speech and cackling tape hiss build in the final minutes. The invocation chants are indistinguishable yet speak of grim fucking void.
Shrines Of Viscera is the penultimate and most unlikely track of the bunch. Swerving blindly away from the doom/death-industrial outlets to become the bastard child of speed and rage. It opens with familiarity; ritualistic whispers, depressing tower church bells in the distance, and the impenetrable noise wall before completely disregarding and exploding with exposed and raw Norwegian Black Metal. Everything about the bulk of this song is completely new and fresh to the recording. The instruments are mixed with discernibility and the speed is previously unseen. It’s the most structured and galvanizing song seen thus far. Breaking from the noise led previous tracks, It’s the drums that are in control here, and rev with psychotic energy. An endless hydra of irreality. The spirit of Fenriz is strong with this one. Death growls layered with strained from-below screams sway across the tundra sound-scape before a massacre of cymbals culminates the songs horrific, claustrophobic ending. As the blast beats and cold Nordic air dies out it’s replaced with the creeping prayer at thee altar ov noise. A drain circling manipulation of pedals marks the end. At 5:10 it’s the second shortest song on the album (after the intro/opener) yet wildly different from anything we’ve seen herein.
The swan song, Bastards Of The Black Flame burns everything in it’s wake to start anew. Fire flickers through the speakers and the embers settle on the destruction we’ve been privy to. The ritual of hatred commences, as the shofar’s growl roars to begin a new passage. A new evil froths. A descending cloud of ash blankets the track, making it the least predictable. the sound of a cattle car rumbles across the track, and at around 8 minutes it sounds strictly like someone is being murdered. This is certainly the end. Bastards Of The Black Flame lines up the ghosts of each previous endeavor. It’s the bridge between where we started and where we are. Emotionless steel dredge and cult invocations with swamp doom chugs. It’s all we’ve known so far. Frank, uncompromising audible cruelty. At 10:00 minutes long this song is a final death march across the menacing ruinous landscape we’ve come to recognize. Stuck in the swirling chaos yet propelled forward. It fades with what could either be a lo-fi recording of blackened punk, or power electronics, but that’s the beauty of Deathstench. The interpretation. The endless amount of times you’ll say “what is that sound?” The labyrinth of sound you’re thrown into, it’s enthralling. There’s no warmth anywhere on this album, least of all here. Only terror. A terror I may not have been able to convey properly with words. A terror I’m eager to follow, and follow anywhere.
You can pick up Massed In Black Blood from Malignant Records and pick up a limited cassette version of their additional effort, “N.O.X.” with a specially decorated case from Zeitgeist Recordings .
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