Posthumous Blasphemer - Fracture The Worship review
|Album:||Fracture The Worship|
|Release date:||October 2008|
01. Revival Of Сontempt
02. Sermons Of Enthralment
03. Remains Devouring Consciousness
04. Flagellation For Rescue
05. Doomed Flesh Tortures
06. Inconsistent Doctrine Of Expiation
07. Disfigured Faces Of Pontifexes
08. Poisonous Сompassion
So there's some speculation as to whether or not Jesus was crucified in the nude. Most people who were committed to ultra-brutal death by ultra-brutal crucifixion were stripped before getting ultra-brutally nailed to their respective ultra-brutal crosses. But that sordid piece of garbage and The Passion of the Christ says nay! And Posthumous Blasphemer, a tech-death band from the oft-forgotten country of Belarus, does too. Jesus, whose bathing suit region appears on the cover of their '08 album, Fracture the Worship, is wearing his bronze-age bathing suit. Does that make Posthumous Blasphemer less brutal? Fuck off with questions like that. Of course it doesn't. They are fuckin brutal, mayne. Let's make that clear.
Posthumous Blasphemer are really, very, in-your-face, "ha-ha-we're-better-than-you", skilled. Their stuff is precise, but it isn't too clean—which is, unequivocally, a compliment. Their riffs are ruthless, relentless, and magnetic. They'll tickle your neck muscles, setting your head into convulsive banging fits and your fists a-pumping. That's all. They won't make you question your conceptions of musical order as other, more progressive tech-death bands set out to do. They make moshing music, not thinking music. There's more Suffocation and Immolation than there is, well, math.
Shaking the "heard-it-all-before" feeling while listening to Fracture will prove challenging, however. Assuming that this feeling isn't the result of your latest experiments with your respective, local magic plants, you'll likely get annoyed on a couple occasions. So what? You'll get smacked around a bit, yes, but the sweet, sweet ear sex makes it all worth while. They know how to work their hands. …Let that sink in for a bit.
Yeah, so to say that music has the capability to make love to one's ears isn't a very original metaphor. But like all clichés it can be approached in unusual ways. With this in mind, it's important that a few distinctions are made: Does this album indeed sex up one's ears? Or does it sex up one's motor functions? It fucks with one's motor functions above all--the ones that control the neck in particular. If that's your thing, and you like a good mix of brutality and technicality, put whatever you're doing down and track this album down.
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