Kill The Thrill
Tellurique

Every morning, I wake up like the last of the automatons. The cold sections my skin, fraying it into the void of the world, provoking the hatred of those who always wanted me clean. Yet, I manage to abandon my body in the distant cold waves, forgetting even how black the horizon is and how exciting the taste of annihilation is. My delight is pretending to be sociable, my delight is flashbacks of massacres when I walk. My only regret is not having hung my organs on hooks at sunset.

I have always thought that if I want to forget about being forced to "do good for myself," love does not exist. Except in hurling the pupils into the firmament, devastated by black flames and deities, that unwilling to give up their land, start to devour themselves... . I am an idiot who never wanted to see anyone. I can't get rid of those moments when I threw myself from the window straight to the ground. Yet I opened my eyes. I then wrote to what I believed to be my faithful body. -"Run, come, this time I'm serious"-, -"I can't now, you'll see, everything will be fine, you'll see, you'll heal".

The next day I wandered into the void of a desert. Love does not exist. Man is an animal, he will continue to pay attention to those who don't deserve it, will continue to pretend to love, will continue to be unfaithful, will continue to think he is even an artist, a decent poet, that his criticisms are important. He will believe, deluding himself, that he exists and that he matters... Without lying down on a field, where shocks torment disgustingly large traits. Without losing himself watching the grass of the insensitive ground move under the faded sky and finally feel, the most idiotic of all.

II

Kill The Thrill, "Tellurique". Third work by the French group released by the immense Season of Mist. Tellurique, or rather, what it would be if networks of tormented reverberations and distant laments were translated into music. Musical martiality and richness of arrangements, when the drums become more and more "inhuman" second by second, and when the guitars decide to paint themselves with vibrations typically Godflesh. The voice is a heartbreaking, delicate, emotional roar, I don't know what they're singing about, but it doesn't matter, it's enough for me to be exhausted on the ground by its sound waves. Stunning, is the advancement of emotions, which at certain moments reach unbearable levels (Like Cement). In other moments, apocalyptic solutions and delicate as well as acidic distortions are sought out (A Little Salt for a Better Feeling). All this taking post-punk and industrial moments: first adding the Swans, then awakening Ian Curtis but with Jaz Coleman's voice (here more chant/incantation), to finally attempt the meeting of distant musical poles, IAMX and Coil for example.

This is a masterpiece, but I cannot describe it to you, not this intimacy, I can't. Listen, gentlemen, listen and annihilate yourselves...