Suffocation
Breeding The Spawn

Brutal Death Metal. Nothing more, nothing less.

The immense Suffocation return to daze and grind our eardrums with yet another masterpiece, which is, in my opinion, the most successful and best episode of their entire discography. This time, it's the successor to the breathtaking debut album "Human Waste" from 1991 (really?), and they do it in a way one couldn't possibly imagine—full of anger, technical skill, and creative liveliness, but above all with an inhuman bassist, simply inhuman, who goes by the name Chris Richards (and don't tell me Alex Webster is better, the magnificent Chris puts Webster to shame, and even more celebrated bassists whom I won't name to avoid unwanted wild bottlings on poor me).

The Brutal by definition, I was saying: undoubtedly, because right from the opener "Beginning Of Sorrow" it is clear that something truly significant was happening in the Suffocation camp. The technique was becoming more and more refined, with Mike Smith (the black drummer) in jackhammer mode taking the lead, engaging in tightly packed rhythms that suddenly burst into unexpected blast beats, never too much or too fast. Followed by the monstrous aforementioned Chris, who, besides doing an astonishing and exemplary job in rhythmic accompaniment, also indulges in breathtaking bass interludes (played with, yes, you got it right, FOUR fingers) while the sensational Doug Cerrito and Terrance Hobbs do an exemplary job in songwriting, intervening with solos that should be listened to rather than described, all topped by the raspy and simply monstrous growl of that shady figure, Frank Mullen.

The impression you get from the album is that of a large stone boulder, rolling downhill, unstoppable, yet a boulder every deathster would want to be crushed by.
From the already mentioned technical virtuosity to pure speed, through slower parts where Mullen gives his best with his cavernous growl (try to keep that kind of voice for more than five seconds…), everything is perfect, a joy for anyone who plays an instrument and an orgasm for every deathster, the classic album where you wouldn't change a single note.
Irregular and odd are the rhythms, changing just when we think we have understood them and so quickly that they daze us, meanwhile demonstrating the immense qualities of the five, capable of mastering both a tatatatatata, a tupatupatupa, and more thoughtful and sultry parts.
The lyrics stand out, politically and socially engaged, especially those written by Mike Smith, while certainly more "profane" those written by the singer and the guitarists.

Besides being an album notably difficult to digest, like every Suffocation album, it is, in any case, an album that should have a prominent place in the discography of every self-respecting metalhead, and that has increasingly captivated me in its brutal wicked grip, unwilling to let go.
Every single track sounds out of the stereo like a nuclear bomb in our ass, dealing out an industrial quantity of kicks in the teeth and slaps in the face, exciting our very agitated eardrums!
“Epitaph Of The Credulous,” in my opinion, the best track on the CD as it is the most representative, although the others are equally beautiful, perfectly marks the riff and the bass interludes conceived masterfully by one of the most technical bassists on the Globe.

Nothing else to say, buy it, and after the first five days of repulsion, something will snap in your head that will remind you that Suffocation are the undisputed Masters of Brutal and that this CD is something phenomenal… BUY OR DIE!