Miasmatic Necrosis
Apex Profane

It seems like it's been a while since a goreview graced this place: perhaps an indication that the site is getting a bit soft, drowning in a milky soup, or perhaps a blessing from above. Either way, every now and then I need a bit of unhealthy goregrind: it’s the principle of contrast, reminding me of how delightful and soothing placid music is after my eardrums have been brutalized with a sharp scalpel. So let's go.

First step in evaluating a goregrind album: the cover. The one for Apex Profane makes me crave a tender fillet with green pepper, and that's a good thing. Second step: examine the physical damage sustained. In goregrind music isn't music; it’s an excuse to mercilessly pound on the skulls of the unfortunate, to devour them from within and to remind them of that time when worms twisted in their compost bag. If we really want to get picky, Apex Profane is a rather varied album in a monolithic genre, where the fiercest blast beats in history are occasionally interspersed with up-tempo headbanging sections; Carcass everywhere, a singer groaning like a pig on a chemical binge and sometimes gargling with gastric acid, miasmatic secretions pouring profusely, a little creature (or surgeon, who knows) rummaging around at the start. And don't even ask me to read the lyrics because I want to preserve my sanity.

Now it's better if I don't eat for the next four hours. Fascinating subject, pathological anatomy... BAPTISM IN BILE...

Until next time.