An Albatross
Blessphemy (Of the Peace-Beast Feastgiver and the Bear-Warp Kumite)

Charles Baudelaire once mentioned something about the clumsiness and lightness of Albatrosses captured by sailors. If those crews attempted to capture this Albatross here, they would end up sprawled on the decks of their ships, struck down by the speed of these maddened locomotives.

"Blessphemy..." is this: a completely wild variable that plunges headlong into the grooves of a record, devastating the listener's perceptual abilities, dulling any possibility of reaction. Although in this 2006 work the chaos that pervaded previous records has been somehow harnessed, it's impossible to say the waters have calmed. It is (for me, so let's not make one's usual State affair out of why and how I have "affixed" a certain label to a band and gone against the sacred rules of musichere) the path to an evolved grindcore, a path trodden alongside The Locust and company briscola, a sort of grind 2.0 that amplifies beyond limits the idea of insensitive noise within its own schemes.

An example of this is "Lysergically Yours, My Psychedelic Bride", which captures in less than 2 minutes the band's lysergic yet by no means narcotized essence, where micro upbeat parts and mediums transform into grindcore barrages of sharp guitars, accompanied by insane, piercing monotonic screams, with bursts of horns and an organ that highlights the hatred pervading the piece. And alongside the twisted expressions full of blastbeats, we find pieces like "Trust The Sun, The Symphonic Sunrise", which mixes a hardcore fury with thick and heavy riffs, with inserts of '70s psychedelia. And, to relax your weary limbs, you can find acoustic guitars in "Behold The Light", a psychotic march that accompanies the listener to the gallows.

A rollercoaster synth, almost an alarm, introduces the danceable rhythms of "Sacred Geometry", indie under the influence of electric amphetamines, the voice always beyond human limits, running over 3 minutes (and trust me, that's a strange thing), which dives into a sea of feedback and various debilitating noise, like a myriad of steel insects crawling into your ears to return to the previous verse that increases in speed until it implodes into 8-bit sound segments that transform into the almost minimal electronics of "Death Rides A Brown Horse" that flows into a midtempo hardcore with jolts, guitars adhering to a powerful double bass drum. 

In short, sailors, if you feel as brave as you say, with your ears dedicated to the badmusicoftoday, try to capture these electrogenic beasts in your delicate synapses as connoisseurs.