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Hectic Patterns
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| 1 | Vaseline 04:31
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| | 2 | Asylum 04:52
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| | 3 | Macabre Punishment 04:33
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| | 4 | The Grand Hare Order 05:44
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| | 5 | Hyperborea 05:08
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| | 6 | I'll Quit Smoking Tomorrow 02:31
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| | 7 | Random 06:33
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| | 8 | Shiva 04:33
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| | 9 | Enterprise 04:28
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| | 10 | Thailand 04:24
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| | Total playing time: 47:10 |
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Nicolas Sanson - bass
Grégoire Galichet - drums
François Labrousse - guitars
Ludovic Buche - guitars
James Kano - vocals |
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Recorded & mixed by Hubert Letombe (Midnight Studio)
Mastered by Bruno Gruel (Elektra Studio) |
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| 1. VASELINE
She's asking for it.
She's says no-thing.
Hold her down
and shut her up.
She lost a crown.
She smiles cause it...Hurts.
Good girl,crude world.
Beware...
Greased hips, bruised lips,
loose ribs.
Smoothed victims...
Nights.
Tomb-stone pavement.
She ju |
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 Сначала об обложке – ну какие уж тут гнилые трупы, когда это дэт-метал закрученных форм и авангардных оболочек. Только абстракция! Но то, что здесь красуется детский рисунок и заметно некое влияние социального комментария – это да, существенно выделяет группу среди коллег по цеху: материализовали брутал неожиданно. Hectic Patterns играют действительно необычный технический дэт с определенными поползновениями (не обошлось тут без водолаза, как говорится), однако все нелогичности не лишают альбом пресловутого благородства и степенности, коими не обладает – назовем уже вещи их именами – маткор. Вообще у Hectic Patterns стилистические компоненты не довлеют один над другим, а именно переплетаются, причем любовь к джазу и служит объединяющим техно-дэт и маткор началом. В гитарном методе отзывается Meshuggah, в рубленых тарахтящих фразах, атональных гитарных гаммах и футуристических пассажах в манере Фредерика Тордендаля, также она слышна в полиритмичных экзерсисах барабанщика Грегуара Галише, но еще больше скрипящие угловатые нагромождения гитаристов напоминают бессмертный труд Дейва Кнудсона в Botch, в том числе эти незабываемые пиликающие мелодии. Так или иначе без математики вечеринка бы не состоялась. Иногда солирует бас, все сделано, как подобает, никто не ест свой хлеб зря. Барабанщик прилежно отбивает бластбит, громит малый барабан, насилует бочки. Поэзия – недоразумение в системе координат этого альбома, лирику французы задавили на корню. Вокалист без устали рассказывает истории от лица сексуального маньяка. Гроулу как инструменту, впрочем, на диске отведена функция абсолютно факультативная, поскольку обо всем говорит музыкальный почерк коллектива. Самое его извращенное проявление – абстрактная инструменталка “I'll Quit Smoking Tomorrow” с утопленным в примочках гитарным саундом. Техничный дэт, кстати, частенько уступает место грув-металу, и тут уж явно понятно, что при таком количестве влияний и прогрессивных червоточин Hectic Patterns неминуемо теряют в брутальности. Но не это им и нужно, их успех – в кубометрах хаоса (и группа, и альбом названы не от балды). Если сравнить группу с соотечественниками Pitbulls In The Nursery, последние более душевные и гармоничные.
Эклектизм французов плохо укладывается в обобщения, но одно можно декларировать с уверенностью: «Random» – полный набор актуальных технических приемов и особых вкусовых ощущений как их результата. Альбом адресован опен-майндовым любителям классических брутальных осложнений… и, конечно, тем, кому диссонансные частицы дороже мелодического целого. Очень хороший и профессиональный дебют, если влияния алгебраичных учителей станут менее выпуклыми, а джазовый прогресс при этом не остановится, можно ждать совершенной бомбы. А пока – грозный, но танчик. И 10-й год кряду уже ни весточки. |
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Французы. Опять. После прослушивания этого альбома я могу однозначно сказать, что французы - самые крутые люди в дэт-метале на данный момент, по крайней мере, для меня.
В очередной раз под вывеской technical brutal death metal мы имеем не стандартное крошилово, звуками которого можно валить лес и вводить обитателей данного леса в состояние перманентного шока, а нечто более атмосферное и неоднозначное.
Мое внимание альбом привлек прежде всего обложкой, вернее ее крайней необычностью. Вместо разорванных и поедаемых гнилых трупов, или, на худой конец, демонов каких-нить, на обложке - нечто напоминающее детский рисунок (хотя если бы мой ребенок рисовал танки и окровавленную колючую проволоку - я бы за него испугался).
А теперь, собственно, к музыкальной составляющей. Брутальности парням недостает... но зачем она тут нужна !? Техничные сбивки, частые смены темпа, тэппинговые соло в стиле Фредерика Торндендала, обилие флажолетов и как мне показалось - присутствие полиритмии (как в песне "Hyperborea") - натолкнуло меня на мысль, что тут не хватает тэга math metal - уж часто пробегает мысль о параллелях с Meshuggah (да, я опять вспомнил шведов), как и с некоторыми маткор-командами. Окончательно меня прибил к этой мысли инструментальный трек "I'll Quit Smoking", представляющий собой почти одно сплошное соло на гудящем фоне - сразу вспоминается песня "Elastic" от сами понимаете кого...
Вот такие дела, в общем - прочная тех-брутал основа подбитая мат-метальными и авангардными фишками (например, сильно выпирающим в некоторых моментах басом). Французы снова доказали свою крутость в нестандартном дэте и поклонникам жанра к прослушиванию однозначно рекомендуется. |
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просмотров: 7028 |
( 1 )
She must feed...off your...
sour milk.
Sold out. So cheap.
She's lost. High. Old
Streets like gold.
Forget it all.
Heroin. Heroin
Skies. Nameless.
Amnesic flight.
Undressed...Vaseline...Ride...
Vaseline.
Strip and smile.
Slip-and-slide...
Slit-throat lies.
Corpse: not found.
Take her down, green river.
Nameless. Faceless. Endless.
2. ASYLUM
I hear the sounds of her heels,
as she's walking towards the door.
I feel the bedbars of steel,
as I'm crawling down to the floor.
When she sees
I've shitted my pants,
she ties me and beats me up well.
Come on, please,
let me eat some ants!...
No friends left for
secrets to tell.
Gimme!
Lobotomy!
Rust in peace in
my wheel-chair.
Ectasy! Colostomy!
My flesh is all covered with sores.
Misery! I piss on me.
I wish I could pay for a whore.
Bluebottle flies, my butterflies,
Living off of scabs in my eyes
She's dressed in white,
needles-shine bright,
Sticks her speculum up my ass.
Mouth wide opened,
my inside's burned,
pills-vomit-puss filled-up carcass.
God! I've been asking for a
nurse, a nice girl that
I could trust,
Never askin' for that goddamn
slut I could never fuck!
Need someone to clean my room,
need someone to bleach my wounds.
Nevermind! I want to be blind!
Porridge is what
She feeds me with,
I don't need
no laxatives tonight.
Perfused,I'm confused,
She puts my urine
in the fridge.
Kiss me goodnight!
You don't have the right!
I think I abused.
Don't think I'm amused.
I just think I'm getting used.
Inside my head
I am dead.
Call the nurse!
Scarification hurts.
Basin filled
Blood-shit spilled
Sew up my guts!
Prozac and Valium
and happiness in psychiatry.
I pray for no resurrection
after my euthanasia.
Cross-less Christ,
my pain's in vain.
What the fuck I wanna be?
Dead!!
3. MACABRE PUNISHMENT
I'm starving, addicted to pain.
I'm searching one chick
to be slain.
Ain't against the grain.
Strangulate.
To run out her brain!
Run out her brain!
There you are, cute as a dove
What is your name?
Oh, Carmen,
it's fits to like a glove
My name is Bob, nice to meet you.
D'ya wanna drink at my place?
I live nearby,
just come around,
For sure-I'd love to ejaculate
on your face.
Right on your face!
Here we are.
Please don't worry!
Taxidermy! My hobby.
Look at my mummy!
I'm so turned on,
grabbing her hair,
Sliding my blade on her throat.
I feel so good,
remembering my youth,
As I used... to sodomize
my domestic goat.
Stop shouting! Be my girl!
Stop shouting! Be my girl!
Or you'll face...Macabre...
Punishment!
Struck, laid in my bath-tub,
that's luck offering to
my scalpel.
The thoughtful part of
my artwork.
To incise her skull!
Incise her skull!
Carcass with no pulse,
let's get to work.
Just eviscerate!
Her guts out of her
deadly corpse!
Don't wake up! Be my girl!
Don't wake up! Be my girl!
Or you'll face... Macabre...
Punishment!
Fulfilling, spared putrefaction,
I'm padding, straws in action.
Indecent threesome.
Organism vivisection.
Vivisection.
4. THE GRAND HARE ORDER
Wait a second, Hare!
I hear the calling of beyond
Let me pray before I die!
Salvation passing
thought disgust
Nature now rules on
human dust!
I-know-hunting rabbits
leads to- death
I wish it ain't man's
last breath!
Grand Hare Order
Invasion- chaos turned
mans killing,
Billions of bunnies raging
Dictatorship,
racial domination
The forest thirst of
revenge blood spill
Cruel- elimination...
E...Eradication!...
Meat eaters were all sterilized
Death camps torture
all brutalized
Vegetarian's lives were spared
Man's future impared!
I-know-hunting rabbits
leads to- death
I wish it ain't man's
last breath!
Grand Hare Order!
Human- raised for their skin
Coats, condoms,
Q-tips is their fate...
Rows of cages in laboratories
Guinea pigs bound to cosmetics
5. HYPERBOREA
Come
Shadows, thorns, rain.
Sorrows, frost, pain.
Fatal garden, Hyperborea.
You, Übermensch, enter
Do, Übermensch, try
You, feeble flesh, endure
My reign to deserve your pride
Cold, empty, absurd
Void echoes when you cry
Slow, concrete, torture
Tortured to deserve your pride
Pain
Thought your were"Übermensch"?
Enter: now you'll only ache.
Felt so strong- talked so loud
You're wrong:
soon I'll turn you mad
Blood blister- stupid race
Suffer- now you'll starve
to death
Hyperborea
Where are all the
Gods you used to trust?
All a-round you
there is just dust.
Stones, clouds, emptiness,
dirt, mud, tornados
New-born loneliness
-terror inside grows
Infinite
Deserts
Night
Hurts
You know
You can't hide
There's no
Way out of Hyperborea
Proud
Mad
You call my name
Now
Shout
You turnes insane
Weak
Bleats
Rising fear
Blizzard
Bleak
Hyperborea
Run, get lost,
and taste your self-ignorance
Crawl, drown,
in my stinking swamps
Lie under my raining spits
Where is your wit?
Fell the cold, the heat.
Flesh
Grieve
Alone
See you dying before my throne
Weep, miserable
Lately regret your
lethal vanity
And fight, despair, human
extinction is pleasant to me
Meet
Reality
Under torture you
will learn my strength
Pain
6. I'LL QUIT SMOKING TOMORROW
(Instrumental)
7. RANDOM
Dealing the cards,
Children of war.
Play hide and seek
in the shade.
Point out the weak,
playtime with sharp blades.
Cowboys, Indians,
cut-throat recess.
Go, soldiers!
Run to the west!
Pawns...
In whose game ?
Knuckle bones,
with human teeth...
Children with machetes.
Spin the coins.
Here is your flag.
Pawns.
Games.
Spades ace, clubs queen,
time for tea.
Dice, cast. Black wins.
Fates're scaled.
Games.
Trophies, trial, torture,
triumph, draw lots.
Random target bloodful
bucket clots.
No
Heroes
War.
Rising kids,
holding some sticks,
in the field.
Silent, no feelings, no fears.
Say how, Lord of the files.
They get sticks and guns ?
Break starts,
and they shoot and they run.
Femoral haemorrhage.
'Die slowly for my age.
'Drink my own blood.
We put ourselves up
against the wall.
Hopscotch has become
death by stones.
Battle fields,
Playing fields..
Random.
Fall for a fate you won't know.
Limbo.
Festering ribcage you are..
..playing dead ?
You're only ten.
Looked smaller than your gun.
Only ten.
Little carrion.
Randomized.
Blindman's buff,
with black-stained clothes,
lining up for the post.
Scarlet skies.
The sun has drown.
Kabylian smiled or
scavenging brothers.
The game's over.
Found a coin... Open grave...
Later trial, first the stake.
The game's over.
8. SHIVA
Mother of Destruction
Blood ! Rotten !
Get away ! Now !
Right, the time has come for us
to make you trust
Shiva's destruction.
Still you fight,
search for the light,
search for the way out of
your fucken self-aversion !
No way ! You're dead !
Shiva wants you off
with your head.
Wake up ! And die.
Because she knows all of your lies.
Mother Destruction
No simulation !
Child immolation won't
appease the sun.
By her sword and by her fire
Dies the lord of
Christian slaves.
Goddess of your doom
slays all the liars,
Takes the rest of you
-down to the grave !
Flowers, out of her womb.
Blood-stained pearls
on your tomb.
Mary's pregnant,
spelled by the wizard,
Water's broken,
caten by lizards.
Miscarriage of a savior,
Fed with poison.
Save no children.
When Babylon
's burned and grey
I'll sing your song
Everyday.
Chaos!
Endwar!
Opened guts in a gore.
We'll speak our prayers,
Yesterday.
Cuz we're slayers
Anyway.
Fire!
No salvation!
Nor damnation.
Just the final fall.
Blinded eyes,
Cancered souls.
World demise!
Unless the rain
Comes over me
I feel nothing
She cannot see.
Into the flames.
I feel no pain.
Mother Destruction
She wants you to burn.
Dance of destruction.
Holy Graal,
full of blood clots!
Here she comes,
Jesus she knows not.
Wishing-well,
did your foetus rot ?
Shiva fucks the son.
Come on!
Abortion!
Get along dissection.
Destruction.
9. ENTERPRISE
Monday morning,
Full-speed driving,
to the faceless Compagny.
Organizer, mind-lobotomizer,
Draws the rules of hierarchy.
There am I in my rental car,
And holding on to my rental wheel.
I'm watching myself,
in the rear-view mirror
And wondering,
is this my life for real?
There a crease
on my tie today
There a fucking crease
on my tie today
A fucking crease
on my tie today!!
Stop! Watching me
Big boss! Rivalry
Hired! Fired
Yuppies, crowding in
the elevator.
I hold a Filofax...
Asphyxiated by the
air-satanizer,
Wish it were a battle- axe.
Asked for some pay-rise,
got no promotion.
Sell-myself career,
self-prostitution.
Fancy socks,low wages,
need vacation.
Cartridge-belt, pen-pusher
gets munitions.
Afternoon off?
Kalashnikov?
No, I don't wanna be
on the dole!
Stress- Manager!
Fortress- Computer!
Contact- Breaker!
En-ter-prise
Lexomil enterprise.
Re-dun-dan-cy.
Control-screens mesmerize.
E-mer-gen-cy.
Maintenance head hunters.
Se-cre-ta-ry.
Management corridor.
Get-ride-of-me.
Coffee-break machine gun.
Blast-the-trainee.
Cephalo-rachidian
Spatters!!
You! Can't fire me!
Because I quit!
Dead people can't compete!
Afternoon off?
Kalashnikov?
There am I, in my rental car,
And smearing blood
on my rental wheel.
I smile at myself in
the rear-view mirror.
Good god, I can't tell
how glad I feel.
I take my shotgun
on holiday.
My fucking shotgun
on holiday.
I take my shotgun
on holiday.
10.THAILAND
Happy journey,
mister white man
Have a good trip
across Thailand!
Bring your dollars
and your camera
We love you so,
God Bless America!
"Begars are no choosers",
they have to accept
Offers from customers
they're forced to respect.
You're so tough and manly,
women fall on their knees.
Everyday you have fun,
every night, find a brothel...
You're so fat and ugly,
Whores implore
"please not me!"
Welcome aboard, mister US!
Feels like a lord,
rags to riches.
Pays for a shirt,
or for a little girl...
Get all you want,
in the fucking third-world!
Buy!- Your enjoyement:
stolen!
Lives!- Future, laughters,
from children...
Buy!- come on!
Pick up what you need!
Doesn't matter how much
they bleed!
I love Thailand!
Exotic paradise!
Taste brand-new flavours!
Erotic "kinder-size",
Waste some poor teenagers...
8-year-old prostitute,
in your bed tonight
5-bucks cum in her mouth,
you know you have
all the rights.
We hope you had some
happy days.
We hope that you
also got"Aids".
So glad to give you souvenirs
For your wife,
this lethal disease.