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Rating: If the drug market still thrives today, growing and expanding, a great deal of credit also goes to them.
Under the moniker Agoraphobic Nosebleed, since 1994, hide the wildest, most perverse, and politically incorrect imaginations of that charming, cordial, and reassuring young man, known by the name of Scott Hull (already a member of the ultra brutal indie folk group Pig Destroyer). His "musical" proposal, if it can be so synthesized, is identified in a particular subgenre of the more familiar grindcore, called cybergrind: tracks lasting a maximum of thirty to forty seconds, all very similar to each other, where hyper-distorted guitars are further brutalized by marasms of heavy electronic synths and layers of growl and screaming, under a hallucinatory rhythmic carpet, where the drums are replaced entirely by a more functional drum machine, suitable for reaching speeds of 150-200 beats per minute. An execution speed that, let it be emphasized, no percussionist could humanly surpass or even achieve.
Now, clarified that this is not music with which to daily nourish the children of the oratory, let's add another interesting fact. Namely, let’s turn the clock back to 2003, when our merry band (stabilized, among other things, with the providential entries of James Randall, former Isis, and Richard Johnson) emerged under Relapse with that sweet low-fi picture of "Altered States Of America", 100 tiny tracks compressed into just 20 minutes of pure and sincere sonic slaughter. From the cover, with a Nativity reinterpreted in a deliciously vintage style, to the internal artwork, dotted with small images of colorful pills, unsuspecting sachets, strange spoons, to that continuous noise flow traveling between psychedelic trips, brutal accelerations, crushing riffs, and samples extracted from porn films, ending with lyrics influenced by sex (lots of it), drugs (too much!), politics, more or less gruesome crime news, some historical reminiscence and, lastly, the inevitable shots fired against Christianity ("Fuck Your Soccer Jesus" ring any bells?). Now you can understand the reason for my opening assertion.
Four years later, nothing has changed. The members are the same, the madness is still there, there are as many cues as one could want. And they certainly haven't remained silent: even though the actual album has yet to arrive, the four have had the time to release an innumerable series of demos, EPs (including "Clockwork Sodom" this year), and various splits.
Among the substantial and interesting releases, the double "Bestial Machinery" from 2005 certainly stands out, a fine collection of all the material, including b-sides and unreleased tracks, that Hull and associates -interchangeable- have created from their inception to today. A comprehensive overview of thirteen years of an honorable underground career, roughly synthesized (…synthesized?) in a total number of one hundred thirty-six tracks, seventy-six on one CD and sixty on the other, oscillating between four seconds and two minutes-two and a half minutes in length.
So much meat on the fire, then, and certainly not second-rate cuts. Because, if the genre's profanes might brush it off with a "it’s just noise", that won't be the case for the sympathizers or even the true admirers. The band's trademark, psychotic and completely out of control, can be felt in every single track of the collection. The way a certain riff is played is recognizable, Randall’s sedated screaming is immediately captured, and it seems even the drum machine has infused the band’s name in its pounding and catatonic advance. And the string of successive tracks, one behind the other, breathlessly, like a deadly and asthmatic machine gun, well, that's just their trademark. But, overlooking the enormous quantity of similar outbursts and apocalyptic slaughters, generously seasoned with unstoppable BPMs and semi-comprehensibly grunted texts, with the usual blasphemy and sick sarcasm ("The Executioner Vs. The Sodomite", "10,000 Bullets", "Holy Mountain", "Black Market Blastbeats", "I Smell Really Bad", "Tough Guy Bullshit", "Ritalin Attack", "Absolutely No Samples", "Silence", but there are many more), a couple of observations are necessary.
First of all, a note reserved for the general sound of this "Bestial Machinery". It's clear that the Agoraphobic Nosebleed wanted to prefer the pre-2002 period (thus relating to "Poacher Diaries" with Converge, or the early demos) to the post-"Altered States Of America". The rhythmic entanglements, the fervor, but also a certain attitude, all faithfully reflect more a certain hardcore culture, raw and rough, than a direct robotic and kinetic descent like cybergrind. There are certainly more than a few pieces that sound less distorted and, in a sense, more "dated", starting with "Ladies And Gentlemen", which closes the abundant session of the second disc.
Then, the particular attention with which the album was produced. There's not even anything to say. The pieces present are all compact, uniform, vicious, continuous, as in the best tradition of the group, but above all sensible. Not to mention, then, the unusual length that some of them present (well over a minute!), without for that reason trifling with useless proclamations or losing the logical thread, if logic can be spoken of, of the discourse.
Finally, the experimentation. As already said, not all one hundred thirty-six tracks are a florilegium of "booooooom", or "grrrrrrrrrruaaaaaaaarrr", or "ggroarghhghghghgh". You also feel a desire to explore territories which, although familiar to the band, have always served as accompaniment. For example, the sludge-core of "Lithium Daydream", or the fabulous industrial of "Unholy BMX Fight The Nod", or the Melvins-like - so to speak - "Ketamine And Kryptonite".
The two beautiful covers of "Forgotten In Space" by Voïvod (CD no.1) and "Control" by Napalm Death (CD no.2) finally close this work. Indispensable for newcomers, only superfluous, but very pleasant, for the more experienced. Always assuming it doesn't bother you to fork out twenty euros for seventy-nine minutes of music, more or less like "Lateralus" by Tool, spread over one hundred thirty-six tracks.
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