Painkiller
Buried Secrets

THE REVIEW

Thus wrote one of us a few days ago: "A trio of musical staff defilers who should have been locked up in the maximum-security prison San Juan de Lurigancho, Peru. Luckily for them and us, they were never caught."

You are quite right; everything you affirm, esteemed islander, is correct.

Some claim that Buried Secrets is an album; others that it is an EP.

I've never concerned myself with such issues; what matters is that we are faced with another masterpiece by John Zorn and his Painkiller.

The usual (and very solid) Bill Laswell and Mick Harris collaborate in the explosive creation. But that's not all, as Justin Broadrick and G.C. Green join the sonic chaos (I hope some of you at this point yelled the word GODFLESH).

It's fitting that Earache Records is responsible for disseminating the twenty-six minutes and twenty-four seconds that make up the auditory framework of this musical gamble.

Jazz and Grindcore collide with each other; 1992 is the year of release.

Conceived as the logical continuation of the previous Guts of a Virgin; on par with the revolutionary Torture Garden by Naked City.

The dissonant, desperate, and incredibly sharp wails of John's sax; Bill's "full," obsessive, carbonizing bass; Mick's fused, structured drums.

These are the terrible ingredients and the bloody calling card of the work.

They dared to combine the intelligence of a cultured music like Jazz with the dark and blackest brutality of Grindcore.

Boldness to sell; for one of the last revolutions in the music field...BLACKHOLE DUB...

Light years ahead of the times; and still disturbing to listen to today.

Diabolos Rising 666.