Cephalotripsy
Uterovaginal Insertion of Extirpated Anomalies

A disc with a title like this could only be a masterpiece; let's be clear, I rate this CD four-fifths and I don't care if it's objectively worth less. I must urge these damned idiots to churn out another identical disc for my poor ears because the virtue of this work is also its main flaw; an ignorance beyond all limits.

Since I don't think I can start a review swearing like a sailor, I'll just say: "Goodness gracious!". After Guttural Engorgement, here come Cephalotripsy. How disgusting. A quote is needed "One fucking shit, one fucking cool thing!". So let's be clear, Cephalotripsy is crap, they are shit, pure excrements, but this disc is one of the most rotten, filthy, stinky, and disgusting works I have ever seen. More or less like putting a handful of worms in your mouth. And since I have a perverse musical taste, I can't help but be mortally fascinated by anyone who can do something so authentically decomposed.

I couldn't care less who these guys are, but maybe you do, so I'll tell you a few things. Cephalotripsy is yet another Californian Slam band, coming from San Diego and they are four members. From what I've read, some of them also play in Condemned (another Slam band reviewed by my colleague Gueddo) and they record for Amputated Veins Records (also the label of Guttural Engorgement, also reviewed by the aforementioned). But what distinguishes Cephalotripsy from all the crappy bands stuffed into the definition of Brutal Death? That they are worse than Torsofuck, worse than Enmity, the worst of the worst; the ones to play to the classmate while you're about to finish the bottle of Vecchia Romagna (no, actually those were Dying Fetus, but if I had Cephalotripsy, I would have played them), the ones to put on when you don't feel like doing anything, the ones to play when you drink a warm and flat beer, the ones to play when you dine alone at the McDonald's on Via Pietro Cossa, the ones to play when you vomit from eating too much, the ones to play when you find a dead mouse in bed and it makes you laugh. In short, the soundtrack to the most squalid and crappy moments in a human being's life.

And, believe me, it's a real rarity! Take Enmity, a band comparable to these guys in terms of extremism; they make a lot of noise, the voice is filtered and looped, but the effect is not the same. Fundamental for Cephalotripsy is the choice to make songs mostly in Mid Tempo; slow, heavy, slimy. There is no melody, there are a series of sounds that ferment and spoil more every second: a handful of whistles, an awful, extremely heavy, filthy distortion. A dive into a barrel of lard. The only comparable band for rot is Guttural Engorgement, which opts for shorter songs and paradoxically less Slam.

The first song I listened to was "Embryionic Gatronomy" (already genius in itself), then "Excavation Of Encystation?"; from there on, I shouted masterpiece. In short, avant-gardists; someone has called "artist" Mapplethorpe and I call "genius" Cephalotripsy. Let's not beat around the bush talking about technique; these guys don't do anything special; I don't think a Metallica cover band would play worse. Oh, the drummer sometimes even goes into Blast Beat and uses the China, but he gives his best in those tiring, sweaty, and greasy slowdowns, just like the guitarists. The singer is a genuine swine; his singing doesn't even fall within the definition of Growl, it sounds more like the voice of Cock And Ball Torture lowered by an octave and without the Pitch Shifter (the squeals in "Consumatine Omophagia" are unmissable). A sort of thirty-seven-minute gaseous colic. The rare accelerations almost immediately fade into another septic pit with an artistic value of zero. But as I said at the time for Goreopsy, Brutal Death is also (and, too often, especially) this; it is music that beyond technique wants to be compact at any cost, even at the cost of making a very slow, boring, heavy, indigestible album.

This "Uterovaginal Insertion Of Extirpated Anomalies" is the pride of all outcasts; a disc that will make you proud to be drinkers, lazy, smokers, and unhealthy. An anthem to the sludge.