Dead Elephant
Lowest Shared Descent

Probably while writing this review I am unconsciously annoyed.

I've realized that I'll never be able to explain how these Dead Elephant, power-trio formed in the Cuneo area in 2004, emerged almost out of nowhere (just a four-year slog in the States and an almost unobtainable first EP can be found scouring through their CV) and have produced this masterpiece in such a sudden manner.

I've realized that I'll never be able to describe a prism so perfect in its heterogeneity, a magma flow in perpetual change. "Lowest Shared Descent" (’08, Robotradio Records) is the perfect synthesis of the most disparate influences that each member has internalized and then thrown into this unpredictable crucible, rearranging them like the best of mosaicists. Whether they are raw blows in the vein of the harshest post-hardcore ("Introducing my eyes, in flames”, “Another fucking way to say I miss you”), dreamy Kraut-flavored trips (the central progression of "Black Coffee Breakfast", one of the most beautiful pieces of the last - yes, let's exaggerate - ten years), claustrophobic dark-ambient sounds (“Abyss Heart”) or devastating heavy-psych progressions (“Clopyxol”), you will not find a-single-note out of place within them. A work of extreme citationism (in the concluding “The Worst & The Best” they even dare to put master Bukowski’s text to music) which in this constant referencing perhaps has its own limit and weak point.

I've realized that I'll never be able to envy them enough because, despite being at their debut, they've managed to enlist people of the caliber of Luca Mai and Eugene Robinson who participate as guests respectively in “Post-Crucifixion” (devastating noise-rock made even less listenable by the bleeding sax of the fellow countrymen Zu's mind) and “The Same Breath” (fierce blues-core to which the leader of Oxbow lends his unmistakable vocal timbre).

I've realized that I'll never be able to be angry enough about the fact that this concoction with ingredients crafted by the best chefs (Ash Ra Tempel, Cluster, Unsane, Jesus Lizard, Neurosis, Lustmord, and more) is not appreciated in Italy, but rather allowed to be exported easily. A dish of such craftsmanship on whose box a tricolored sticker should be proudly affixed, yet left exclusively to the fat and greasy hands of some American critic with a liver corroded by too much CocaCola.

Ladies and gentlemen, these Dead Elephant have performed a miracle. Do not let them (and let us not let them) slip away.