These guys are feeling some powerful feely-feelings. Thankfully that doesn’t translate into shameless shoegazery and overly enunciated black metal yowls like another emo-black metal band. Instead, this shit sounds like it was performed on the bottom of the ocean where only the fish can taste the tears. The drumming is sloppy and hard-won, the vocals are hypnotic repetitive yowls, the guitars are fitfully melodic and humid. No one would confuse this with a Frail record. Nope, this the real deal (whatever that is anymore). Undoubtedly, this kinda thing is shoveled out like manure on a nearly daily basis, but it’s hard to find it done so well: it’s not beating down your door with originality, but it sure sounds kinda beautiful. Beauty being a strange/unexpected quality to have in the black metal world. On my copy there’s a gentle, seasick tape warble that invades the last few minutes, accentuating what I love so much about tapes, that with each play the thing degrades, becomes closer to being swallowed in murk, in a gentle death. Fuck Deafheaven, by the way.
This was definitely first released as a cd. But I listened to it on a tape format so that’s good enough for me. Anyway, this tape makes me feel what I think human’s often refer to as happiness. So what more can you say? Can we really judge something like that? I didn’t think so.
No oxford comma in that title, that’s a little surprising. Anyhoo, these guys have flown under the radar of most kvltests, despite having what is, in my estimation, one of the best names in metaldom ever. Aggressive Mutilatötr comes at you just like you would assume an aggressive mutilator would come at you like: all flailing arms and hairy armpits and blunt razor blades — frothy mouthed, foul breathed. 15 nearly perfect succinct, scuzzy death jams, sounding like the stinky sex-tourist scratching foul nothings into the wall next door to your room at the hostile while flying high on Bengali white tiger. Let’s imagine a child raised only Celtic Frost, Venom, and early Bathory: he has an aloof knowingness that can only come with self-reflection. This is the stranger you invite into your room, folks. He’s got a way too many stories about sacrificing virgins in the moonlight and pissing in the plant urns at the local mall. He rules. Warpvomit Carnal Sacrifice Baphometic Deathcult Ascendancy
Trying to conceptualize warp vomit has been a pretty good little creative endeavor for me lately. There’s no way for me not to come out a winner after that thought exercise. Warpvomit accentuate the positive of being a bestial black death metal band: every trope is investigated, no stylistic stone is left unturned, all the goats are violated, no god is left unsullied. They capitalize and improve on what is by this point the rote signifiers of the genre Beherit, Blasphemy, and Sarcofago welcomed into this disgusting little world so so long ago. These dudes are pretty young, but they seemed to have absorbed the lessons of the past goatlords to create something that feels like a sharp, vomity, burning little thing in the palm of a sweaty moribund genre. It’s easy to feel as if the whole thing is just an injoke if weren’t the fact that it’s played so goddamn well, with such goddamn awareness of the field. The best genre films have always known exactly what they were doing by playing with the most overused, spoiled, and exhausted materials and making out of them something that feels new. Could Warpvomit be the next great war metal band? Who gives a shit. This tape rules.