Black Boned Angel
Verdun

THE REVIEW

Campbell Kneale, New Zealander, as well as mentor of the project in question, some of you might remember involved with the irritable project Birchville Cat Motel; well, in this new hallucinatory and lucidly ferocious abomination of the staff, peaks (or abysses) are reached that are frankly indescribable.

The work, carried out on a single track divided into three upheavals, unfolds as an authentic cataclysm (in slow motion): it starts with fiercely and ghostly ultra-doom tempos (“Prayer Sodden Holes”) passing through abnormal moments, rigidly immaterial (“Tears Strike The Mile High Gong”) until reaching the catastrophically noise-apocalyptic epilogue (“Creeping Barrage”).

Zombie-guitars saturated and wheezing in perpetual feedback and granite-like scattered broadsides fuel an increasing and palpable anguish of absolute void, materializing as perhaps could not be better expressed the profound sense of alienation inherent in the war madness from which it draws inspiration.

I don't think any vulgar or enthusiastic pro-belligerent intent is detectable within these fifty minutes: if anything, one of the most brilliant and chilling representations [in music] I have happened to contemplate of the basest human scheming.

A classic record to put on for the next DeBirthday party, in short.