Band:	Coffinworm
Album:	When All Became None
Style:	Doom metal, Blackened sludge metal
Release date:	April 2010

01. Blood Born Doom
02. Start Saving For Your Funeral
03. Strip Nude For Your Killer
04. Spitting In Infinity's Asshole
05. High On The Reek Of Your Burning Remains
06. The Sadistic Rites Of Count Tabernacula

This album hates, it hates a lot. Me, you, your neighbour, the band, the world, the aliens, even itself. You may be neutral enough so as to give it a spin, listen to a song to say the least, but beware, it will show no mercy at all, as I said, it hates a lot and from the very first second with the distortion floating around it's just loading, for what? To spit on your fucking face!

If Hell has an entertainment place for all the VIP sinners, then this is it, Coffinworm's When All Became None, a nihilistic self-service mortuary to see your inner world… with your own hands! Two mirrors will serve you best, one to smash and sculpture your own body and one to see, if you can use only one for both tasks, even better, the less Hell pays for everyone, the more the participants! This is pure unrefined dirt from the deepest sewers, imagine a caustic solution with sludge, doom/death and black metal chemical ingredients, sounds nice? Not on your face!

So open your ears and let those ultra heavy slow-paced guitars or groovy as fuck mid-tempo or outbursting moments do the job for you, I know you wouldn't like to harm your pretty face so a little help would be more than welcome, it will lessen the duality of pain to one single fucking aspect of it, pain. The rhythm section works as a torture instrument the procrustean way, it puts you on a bed, wake up, of course not to rest! According to the needs of the album it will stretch you if it has to speed up or it will cut off your legs if it desires to slow down! One thing is for sure, either way you're fucked, no matter how, firstly it will stretch you and then it will make your legs baseball bats! The vocals, if one can refer to them as such, are not angelic chants, imagine a choir of cenobites where the maestro is no other than Pinhead himself, with the interpretation ranging from deep, very deep grunts to sinister, actually so fucked screams you want to clean your ears with a surgeon's knife. Well, a screwdriver would screw you too, so nevermind. Oh, the production is dirty too, dirty enough to sound perfect on this ornament made from the finest diamonds, the coffinworms that will sooner or later visit you; and they don't care about DNA match.

If Saw series made your mom scared, then this will send her to the grave, so if your mother-in-law is being a pain in the ass, now you know what to do. And never forget, the wide open eye on the cover artwork is already watching, it spies upon us all, you may be next in line! Even Nevermore say it!

NoLights: Every single second from its 43 minutes.

PS.
If you think this review insults you, the band does it better. "Spitting In Infinity's Asshole" ain't easy these days, so "Start Saving For Your Funeral" before you "Strip Nude For Your Killer"!