Gorguts
Colored Sands

This year (to be precise, last year, since we have just slid into 2014) Santa Claus made me very happy by gifting me with Teardo and Blixa, celebrating under the tree the phantasmagoric manifestation of Nik Turner (Hawkwind, for those who don't know) and the formidable return of Gorguts. And it is precisely their latest work “Colored Sands” that I would like to talk to you about today, if only because it was the last album I listened to in 2013 and the first to cross my player in this new year (though I'm not sure if that bodes well...).

Much has been said, and rightly so, about the anticipated comeback of Carcass; a little less about the return to the music market of the seminal Canadian formation: an event that truly deserved more attention, considering their absence from the spotlight lasted a good twelve years (“From Wisdom to Hate” was released back in 2001). The Gorguts (allow me at this point a brief history for those unaware of their existence) were active from 1989 to 2005, and during that time they released four works - all superlative - that assumed a fundamental role in the expansion of the sound of a genre such as death metal, despite the little popularity they gained (which certainly wasn't proportional to the quality they poured into them). After the negligible Negativa interlude (a project that stemmed from the ashes of Gorguts themselves but didn't seem to garner particularly favorable reviews from experts), the father-master Luc Lemay (vocalist, guitarist, eternal leader of the band, and the sole survivor from the 2005 lineup) decided to retrace his steps and refound his beloved creation, surrounding himself with new aides (thus renewing three-quarters of the lineup) and releasing a great album of unreleased tracks to revive the Legend.

That said, speaking personally, I “missed” Gorguts; reading about them online, it seemed they came from the Moon, and so I wondered: “What will Debaser ever say about such immensity?”, and with great joy, I found their complete discography in the database, penned by none other than the only pen in the world capable of enunciating the unutterable, that of the divine Tepes (I don't know if you remember Tepes: a true artist of brutality, one who managed to write entire treatises on works - all more or less oscillating between grind and brutal death - with such competence, lexical mastery, and oratory verve as to pin us to the PC screen discoursing on topics inaccessible to any other mortal).

But despite the detailed descriptions of the magnificent Tepes, I still couldn't quite figure out what the devil these death metal prodigies were up to; the only way to dispel any doubt was finally to insert the CD into the player.

Describing Gorguts' music is indeed simpler today compared to the times of the illustrious Tepes, as in the time they were absent, the seeds they planted have germinated and consequently bloomed, fostering the emergence of bands that in turn have paved the way. We can indeed cite for comparison purposes names like Ulcerate, Portal, and Deathspell Omega, formations that have managed to honor the Canadian masters by adopting a language similar to theirs, aimed at the meticulous construction of those deviated, twisted, and dissonant sound textures that abounded in albums like “The Erosion of Sanity” (1993) and the equally seminal “Obscura” (1998), still considered their unrivaled masterpiece to this day.

Like other anomalous cases floating in the empyrean of extreme metal, the Quebec quartet is counted among those bold entities that throughout the nineties were able to give meaning and content to a label like technical death metal, except that the Canadians, unlike others, while benefiting from a hyper-technical approach, never relinquished their inherent brutality: a brutality which, in fact, has never been an obstacle to the unconditional expression of an irrepressible creative verve (this is the beauty of the challenge) and which continues to anchor their music to the rigorous dictates of the old school (the real OLD SCHOOL); a brutality that finally provides us evidence that their path is nothing but a learned evolution originating directly from a core of inspiration that still sees acts like Death (from the “Human”/“Individual Thought Patterns” era) and Morbid Angel (of course, the more compounded and deviated ones) as tutelary deities.

It also seems that Lemay has listened to a lot of Opeth in recent years: now, obviously the comparison is misleading, as “Colored Sands” does not venture as far in exploring progressive shores (I repeat: the core remains that of the most devastating death metal, and perhaps a pertinent comparison, in terms of technique and ferocity, might be that with the quintessential brutal champions Incantation or, for the exoticism of certain environments, with the more recent Nile); the comparison is thus misleading, it was said, but the most attentive will indeed be unable not to notice here and there some similarities with certain passages of “Still Life” and “Blackwater Park”, obviously taken in their more feral counterpart.

All this, along with a clear and powerful production at the same time, forms the basis of the majestic staging arranged for this “Colored Sands”: a work that for obvious reasons can no longer carry within itself that radically innovative and disturbing charge that previous chapters housed, but which remains nonetheless a product of the highest level, conceived by a superior mind, supported by a superior pen, and crafted by a band possessing an extraordinary technical repertoire. The dexterity with which these four death metal acrobats navigate incredibly complex and articulated sonic material allows them to manage it with such ease that the listening experience becomes surprisingly smooth (and in this, I allow myself to somewhat diverge from the judgment of the unsurpassed Tepes, who repeatedly deemed it necessary to underline the difficulty of our sound).

The performance of the four is a strenuous battle invoking the fury of the elements: Lemay's deep growl is a strong wind that ignites and burns all in its path, pushing and dragging away the torrential riffing of the guitars, continually fractured by a physical, schizophrenic, and earth-shattering proof behind the skins. And think that in this tumult, it is often possible to identify the bass (literally torn with piercing strokes and dark arpeggios carving terrible paths in moments of greater relaxation) or finesse unthinkable in such a context, like the stunning harmonic guitar play launched at lightning speed. In all this, Lemay emerges with certainty as a rare talent within extreme metal: not only a technically accomplished musician but also endowed with taste and balance, with a peculiar style, a strong personality, and a broad vision, as well as a man of culture and visionary lyricist, considering the metaphysical and existentialist lyrics that have always been a distinguishing element for the band.

It is no coincidence that on the cover, at the base of a faceless torso, but compensating with four arms (two bound by the same rope that seems to serve as a rosary to the two upper ones joined as in prayer), lies a dense labyrinth; there was indeed no need to search far, the answers were all in this cover: a crushing, claustrophobic, labyrinthine, dark sound, but at the same time imbued with a strong spiritual value, a dimension made of anger and equally of desolation, a quest aiming for the peaks of the Himalayas (a geographical area often cited in the lyrics), where the ever-present display of technique is never an exercise in itself, but an effort of analysis and synthesis functional to an overall design that sees as the ultimate goal the shaping of morbid visions continually tending towards madness and the transcendental.

Therefore, there's no point in citing one track rather than another: aside from the central track (“The Battle of Chamdo”, an instrumental for strings alone - but beware: even in this context, Lemay will have the opportunity to demonstrate his enormous caliber as a composer - listen to believe) “Colored Sands” is an indomitable, elusive, intangible beast, that in its continuous and eternal mutations, in its chameleonic fury, ultimately crushes us under the weight of a monolith of pure violence and madness. Perhaps sixty-two minutes is too long for such a proposal (after all, the great Chuck understood before everyone that a death metal album should not last more than forty minutes): it is indeed undeniable a physiological drop in tension in the second half of the album, not so much because the closing tracks are less valid (though the initial tracks “Le Toit du Monde” and “An Ocean of Wisdom” are undoubtedly the best), but because the surprising evolutions of the tracks eventually stop being so surprising, so neither the various bursts of genius (unexpected oases of melody that suddenly meet in the most staggering execution fury; absurd guttural voices piling up in terrible mantras that seem to come from other worlds, etc.), nor a nine-minute track like “Absconders” (which merely rehashes in extended form what was previously seen, when instead it could have been the opportunity to build something different and more composite) manage to protect the excellent work of Lemay & co. from criticisms about the prolixity of many passages and excessive dispersion of details that undoubtedly detract from the whole.

But apart from this aspect, the fact remains that the album, in its own way, can be seen as a masterpiece in its genre: on one side, Gorguts confirm indeed the class and worth that match their reputation; on the other, neither the band's fans nor death metal enthusiasts in general, a genre that, thanks also and above all to people like Gorguts, regains its most absolute credibility, showcasing in all its splendor, even today, the fruits of work done with honesty, dedication, and professionalism, will certainly be disappointed.

I conclude with Martin Luther King, Jr (and note that it's not me quoting him but Lemay himself, as a complement to the lyrics of the closing track “Reduced to Silence” ): “In the end we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends”.

Ode to Tepes, ode to Lemay.