Cursed
III: Architects of Troubled Sleep

Imagine a stray creature that wants to remain as such. It doesn't seek attachments and certainly doesn't ask for help. Freed from chains, it simply desires to wander wild and without any master. A snarling and solitary freedom. Swift strides allow the beast to quickly move away from common society. If it were to come into contact, it would bite with its most famished teeth. Ready to defend its spaces and values. This being would never allow itself to be lured or harnessed within predetermined standards and boundaries, always escaping them, diving into shadows and feeding on its own principles, tireless and carried forward with extreme pride. Its eyes filter a raw and sterile imagery. They move frantically, scrutinizing and examining deeply those places that corrupt the soul and human intellect. The creature possesses a cynical gaze, extremely careful not to stagnate on clichés or useless embellishments. Instead, it aims straight at the core, without seeking compromise or interference. It has its own code and intends to respect it. It's unlikely that its evolution could undermine its strong origins, which, if anything, boil in the mind like vital reminders. This beast has a name, or rather, it had a name: Cursed. And it’s not exactly "a name" but rather Cursed to lovers of the DIY punk scene evokes a status with monolithic connotations. The band led by Chris Colohan built a strong reputation over seven years of existence based precisely on concepts that I metaphorically described to you a few lines above. The swan song of the Canadians will occur with the third installment of their nihilistic epic: "III: Architects of No Sleep." Rest assured, Cursed had no intention of leaving without leaving a deep mark in the path they traced themselves.

If there were a symphony to the inevitable decay of the civilized world, I could bet that Cursed would be one of the best examples, if not the best. Our heroes are poisoned arrows launched with extreme precision, ready to annihilate anything that incites their fiery repulsion. Idols fall, and we admire the ruins buried under thick, viscous layers of a slime that is no longer just hardcore punk. The root is undeniably there, but contaminations take hold of the compositions Cursed wants to present. The music of the Canadians, very succinctly, is a grand welcome banner to the hottest desolation. It transitions from tremendously sludge rhythmic slowdowns to despair released in the form of a disorienting and paranoid chaos. Colohan is a chasm that swallows without remorse, and the band does nothing but drag into the deepest abyss where fear can smile and find its darkest heart. Within Cursed, there’s a primordial sense of alienation that emerges blindingly, overshadowing any glimmer that might be seen. There’s no promise of something better in "III: Architects of No Sleep"; it feeds only an apocalyptic vision to which the Canadians rebel, so as not to become trapped in it. Exasperation is the only constant that pulses among crust reminiscences and metallic ripples where the sound of Cursed expands and embraces painful melodies.

The hive composed of automata and golden cages so dear to Huxley is dismantled without any glory and victory. In their mission, Cursed vivisect through their lenses the religious sphere rather than the political one, diving headlong into worlds like that of the music business to which our heroes, almost oxymoronically, do not want to belong. The lyrics follow the framework of dystopian tales. Everything is left to rot, a desired putrefaction, with brutal traits, but that has strongly characterized the way these guys present themselves in the DIY galaxy. A band that will dissolve precisely because that DIY scene in Germany will betray them, depriving them of all the money for the tour, the accumulated money, passports, and various documentation. Precisely that DIY community in which Cursed tried to float and in which they placed extreme trust. A stab in the back. As Colohan will have the opportunity to say: "that was the bullet in the temple". The beast bends and disappears forever. No compromise, as I said at the beginning. What remains for us is their cold awareness and a social disenchantment displayed like few other bands have done.