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Признаться, grindcore в чистом виде меня никогда особенно не улыбал, но эти психопаты - отдельный случай! Хотя я сильно поспорил бы с определением стилистики Pig Destroyer, и ни за что бы не назвал музыку этих математиков грайндом. Не думаю, что я скажу что-то новое, но для этого стиля здесь слишком много всего нехарактерного. Ни саунд, ни музыкальное содержание, ни, наконец, вокал Хайза не дают однозначно понять, что перед нами grindcore-банда. Скорее, парни в своей музыке используют элементы грайнда, но не более того. Ну а на этом полноформатном дебютнике помимо уже такого привычного, безумно визжащего войса, местами проскакивают и утробные рыки. А вот убойные барабанные партии, о которых в предыдущей рецензии говорил Richter, здесь несколько задвинуты на задний план. Да и вообще, эта работа отличается от всех остальных откровенно слабоватым качеством звука. Из-за этого и вокал, и партии всех инструментов выглядят гулковатыми и какими-то почти безжизненными. Но это и не удивительно - как-никак, первый альбом, да и Clean Plate Records явно не дотягивает до статуса Relapse. Так что, "Explosions..." я рекомендовал бы только тем, кто всенепременно хочет иметь в своей коллекции ВСЮ дискографию Pig Destroyer, а всем остальным - приобретайте компиляцию "38 Counts of Battery", и уже там Вы найдете весь материал этого диска, но уже прошедший ремастеринг. Сам же материал здесь получился очень даже достойным для дебюта, но ему очень далеко до высот "двойника" "Terrifyer/Natasha" и "Phantom Limb". |
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Bitter aftertaste of every exploitation chokes me like a mouthful of spiders. Crawling in or out I don't know, but I kneel to the gods of nausea in moments of reflection upon what I stole from a fifteen year old girl. And not even a thousand seasons of rain could wash my leprosy from her body.
3. Yellow Line Transfer
Playing the silent movie villain scrambling to tie myself to train tracks. Praying for technicolor in the afterlife I swear that eccentric on the street corner was talking about my world ending and now I feel like I am being followed. When I saw the little blonde girl reading the book on horses and I wished
her comatose, I began to feel sick but they tell me that I am better now.
4. Under The Fingernails
You think i am listening but I am really just watching the candlelight between us dim, trying not to stare at your forked tongue or the venom it drips.
5. Elfin
I am content in the wooden half of ventriloquism with fingers up the back of my shirt sifting through the well-camouflaged maggots. Flakes of your urine taste like fairy dust when I allow my tongue to betray me, I consider myself lucky to be destroyed by such elegance.
6. Unwitting Valentine
The sunlight rips through the overcast skies of my concious. Through the crack in the closet door warming the claw marks inside my eyelids the puppet seems to have walked in on his master untangling her strings. But sometimes when I am
watching the silhoutte in her bedroom window I think of leaning over her while she sleeps and licking the heroin off her lips.
7. Oven
I coulda swore I gave my wedding ring to you. Among the chewing gears you taunt me tear. Elements are still alive to shake from ear to ear.
Pez are gonna let it slide gonna burn what cotton decides are apelee. My main oven drive he took from under what's come over me.
8. Three Second Apocalypse
Tonight your decadence demands a sacrifice but attrition never slowed you before. Stepping on faces, tripping over limbs, fighting the machine gun's attention. As both halves of your friend lay in the background you try to convince him
that you can always pry the jaws open at will.
9. Treblinka
Late term abortion. Three decades late be sure to empty all ten commandments into his chest for only holy redneck terrorism can usher in the second coming of the coat-hanger.
10. Fingers In The Throat
Long sleeved in the summer, again in our gray shirts, leaning against cinderblock walls, we even hide from the other prey, but as soon as the lioness comes we step forth and present our throats, hoping this time it will be different. And then we bleed again.
11. My Fellow Vermin
Burn the men of science who would trivialize the collapse of a sun and kill these atheists who can only make their tears with thumbscrews. I cannot destroy my own life efficiently perhaps self-sabotage is high evolution.
12. Endgame
Such the delicate locust without your wings have you ceased to threaten me. A hundred knifings later, there's so much blood so little of anything else for you. I played the endgame as the pawn toppled for the queen's pleasure.
13. One Funeral Too Many
All star crossed and stary eyed innocence pulled away by maturity's tide. Lonliness as the void into which all this warped obsession is cast, shyness as the dam denying the river it's ultimate purpose. Deafened by all the silent laughter under the whispered promises which rusted down to jagged lies anyway. Stab me again my sweet little murderer.
14. Higher Forms Of Pornography
It flows like red lava upon a city of outstretched arms awaiting deliverance. Awaiting rebirth as infestation beneath the skin of a goddess divinity through association crawling toward mirages of sand dunes and assembling puzzles with hammers. The dolls may be fucking but the obscenity is mine alone.
15. Honeymoon
I always thought it fitting the way they chose the next victim with a bouquet of dying flowers and how happy they appeared as they ducked into the smiling hearse. But I quite fancied them losing their lifeblood in a hotel room somewhere with a lot of palm trees because eventually they will see that our weaknesses are all it takes to make the most devine of flowers wither.
16. Alcatraz Metaphors
While we used long fingernails to carve epitaphs into the floor, you were scratching freedom from concrete living in a world of gamblers and murder victims. I walk these corridors knowing of the net beneath your defiance has become legend within these walls and we sit in our cells and hope you live enough life for the rest of us who did not make it out.
17. Flesh Upon Gear
Maudlin idea of government abolition noble in intention absurb in lack of realism mirage of a sinister brain. Trust our denial and desperation. Force it into existence, we are outnumbered because we are the enemy. Too numerous to pinpoint, too powerful to vanquish and too apathetic to reproach a gigantic flesh and bone mechanization with it's gears all trying to turn independently of one another, by design destined to run horribly amok.
18. Pixie
Young unicorns snatched from the impossible skies precious horns, ordinary chainsaws. I am left with horses revolting in the normalcy, shipwrecked by a face all sweet and empty like a hollow candy, or an ice cream smile licked down to a cigarette I promptly extinguished in a dead infection. A desk drawer full of blurry sunflowers. Under your bare feet are only symptomatic of the monster I have become.