Crisis
Like Sheep Led To Slaughter

Being one of the best bands of... what genre do they play again? No clue? Yet it shouldn't be hard... we're full of stupid definitions these days, ready for use by (colon) fnacbookshelfreviewermusiciansjobstenerds... so choose something that lies somewhere in between... I don't know... the most putrid noise, some definite sludge, and a nice crooked-metric hardcore and we're there... anyway, as I was saying... being one of the best bands of (insert genre) ever to appear on the music scene and going sufficiently unnoticed must be a real pain in the ass, and leaving history with only 3 albums, despite all 3 being great records, is quite an unfortunate loss. Awaiting a project that will probably never start, or maybe it will, along with Karyn Crisis's husband, a certain Davide Tiso (Ephel Duath.. anyone remember? they didn't end well, I’ve been told.. but I'll talk about them in another review, or at the bar), we review this splendid last gift.

When I first listened to "Like Sheep Led To Slaughter" I thought I would listen to only that for at least 3 months, and maybe that’s exactly what happened. Karyn is truly the queen of this way of singing lightly, giving as much breath as possible to that tiny chest of hers, turning her throat into a real hell, rusty blades from the mouth, gentlemen! The opening "Waking The Dead" is a maze of odd times and wicked vocal flourishes, diving into the Afghan desert, skillfully woven by Mr. Afzal Nasiruddeen, who with his six strings leaves no room for breath, for fresh air, everything is just buried under the New York smog. It's like listening to a filthy, muddy, painful, bloody version of Meshuggah when it comes to broken rhythms that end up straightening out on your face, such is the case with "A Graveyard For Bitches", where the screams descend into the basement, and the filth becomes madness, desperate and mean. Middle Eastern melodies accompanied by sitars drenched in magical mental illness make their way into the album ("Nomad"), up to steep, piercing melodies, confined for millennia in catacombs in space from which they long to escape ("Exit Catacombs"), a faint, faint little voice that becomes the scream of a crazy, mind-blowing lunatic, prey to mad destructive visions. The sound of this album is so dry that it will feel like you've consumed scorching desert sand!

Miss Crisis has shown us she is the most eclectic and crazy lady of metal, nothing to do with the vocal barrenness of Angela Gossow, and not even with Otep Shamaya's convincing performances, a dull jewel, nasty and bastardized. Let's hope for a grand return. In the meantime, enjoy this rusty razor.