Ilsa - The Felon's Claw 2xLP

Dirty DC death-doomers Ilsa are fucking vile.

I mean that in the best possible way, of course, as their particular brand of pummelling crust-meets-sludge-meets-death is a combination of just about all my favourite things about metal, all presented in one putrescent package. With much of their previous output sitting somewhere between the down-tempo murk of 'Domination'-era Morbid Angel and Iron Monkey's more breakneck tracks, excitement was high for the arrival of The Felon's Claw. It is just as horrible as I'd hoped.

Vocalist Orion's death-rattle rasp proclaims the sentence, instantly damning you to the darkness in opening banger 'Oubliette'. The everything-in-the-red mix creates a claustrophobic atmosphere that, given the title, is no doubt intentional, with a ripping solo around the halfway point that is straight-up demented. They cram more energy and filth into these opening 3 minutes than most bands manage across a whole album.

The more morbid listener may recognise '25 Cromwell' as a reference to serial murderers Fred and Rose West, it being the address at which they conducted most of their killings. That their dwelling has since been demolished, with every timber burnt to ash and every brick crushed to dust, speaks to the sheer evil of the acts committed in that house.

The track itself is just as depraved and violent as it's subject matter. Drummer Joshy pounds his kit like he's in a bar brawl with it, each bass drum blow like a fist driven into flesh, while the hyper-distorted riffs have all the impune swagger of the uncaught killer.

You can keep your songs about Satan; this is the sound of true evil.

'Smoke Is The Ghost Of Fire' recalls the zombified lurch of many tracks on their previous LP Intoxicantations, the chugging riff thick and black as tar, while Orion's multi-tracked howls are guaranteed to send shivers up the spine. The mysteriously-titled 'Buried In The Bedrock And Concrete Of Our Cities' doesn't cite any specific horror, which is almost more terrifying. The distortion is so thick in the opening bars that you can barely discern if there's a riff underneath it all, but some wonderfully organic blasts and kick-drum work offer a recognisable rhythm to wreck your neck to.

Dirt and discordance announce 'Pandolpho', before a raucous beer-crushing, horn-throwing passage twists it into one of the catchiest tracks on the record. However they don't maintain this momentum, with an extended doom plod around the halfway point. This Frankensteining of the fastest and slowest sections of The Felon's Claw together seems a bit incongruous, but that's not to say that each half of the track isn't fucking awesome. Following track 'Pass//Out' demonstrates a more effective use of dynamics, with the band switching seamlessly between skin-crawling atmospherics and fast-paced bludgeoning.

The prowling bass of 'Enter The Void' begins a decrepit dirge which seemingly slows with every second until it dispenses of rhythm entirely in favour of feedback, before the opening riff returns, even deadlier than before. By contrast 'Armstrong's Mixture' is as explosive as it's titular chemical compound, an unrelenting crusty ripper that'll leave your head either spinning or banging.

The interminable torture of 'Katabasis' feels like a slow descent into madness, the ever-decreasing tempo and smog-thick riffage continuing the dark atmosphere of the opening track. The fact that the track is named for the journey down into the Underworld taken by a number of mythological figures, from Gilgamesh to Orpheus, and even Christ, will feel appropriate by the time it draws to a close, and you are returned, forever changed, to the land of the living.

The suitably jagged 'Song Of The Saw-Blade' is as close as Ilsa come to anthemic, the Swedeath vibe of the music underpinning Orion's repeated roars of the track's title, making for a discernible chorus of sorts. By the time the final repulsive notes ring out, you'll feel in need of a hot shower. Possibly even some psychological counselling.

The Felon's Claw might not be a huge progression of Ilsa's signature sound, but the fact that they have a sound all of their own is a rarity in modern metal, and this album sees them hone their skills to the point of deadly proficiency. A terrifying trip through the darkest depths of death and doom.

If you're Stateside, you can grab a copy on a variety of colourways direct from A389 Records.

Those of a European or British locality would be best to snag it from EvilGreed.

ILSA on Facebook | Bandcamp

This review originally appears over at Echoes & Dust...

Full Of Hell - Rudiments Of Mutilation

That Full Of Hell dabble in noise recordings on the side isn't exactly a secret, but the fact that they open their new album Rudiments Of Mutilation with such a challenging opening track as 'Dichotomy' serves to show just how seamlessly they are able to weave their penchant for abrasive noise into their just as confrontational hardcore.

The piercing feedback that screeches out of the speakers is a sharper, more painful proposition than the sub-sludge of many of the current crop of hardcore bands thieving from the monuments of His Hero Is Gone, and it serves to set Full Of Hell apart from the rest. The raw fury heard in Dylan Walker's wretched vocals is not forced or faked, it's the sound of true intensity.

This album is not something you listen to so much as suffer through, and I suspect that was the intention behind it. Throughout the course of Rudiments of Mutilation the many stylistic, atmospheric and momentum shifts will confront and eradicate your expectations, as well as serve to confirm that there is no band out there creating an erratic racket quite like Full Of Hell.

Stream this album over at the A389 Recordings bandcamp, buy it if ya dig it, and go see them live the first chance you get. Total acid-spitting fury. Numb Your Mind.

Read my full review at The Sleeping Shaman...

Ilsa - Intoxicantations LP

It took me forever to get around to finally buying a copy of this record due to my current impoverishment. I had to do awful, awful things to afford this album. It was worth it.

The album cover, drawn the band's drummer Joshy, is a truly fucking creepy collage of scuttling insects, animal bones and substance abuse. The juvenile scrawl on the back cover, depicting vomiting and bleeding witches presiding over a cauldron of narcotics, reminds me of the childish obscenity drawn by Mike Diana that graces the cover of Iron Monkey's Our Problem. This is the sort of design that's worth getting the gatefold sleeve for, so you can pore over every revolting detail in the artwork.

The music is just as depraved as the sleeve, and also should be heard as intended; hissing malevolently out of record player speakers. A harrowing catalogue of drug abuse, screams and feedback provides the intro to 'Foreign Lander', the bands brutish take on the folk song. It crashes along at a relentless pace, the shredded throat of Orion imbuing the words with a venomous vehemence before a twisting, writhing solo closes out the track.

The record's title track drags itself out of the speakers, the decrepit drudge of the rhythm overlaid by a howled Intoxicantation, a repulsive recipe for "unholy hallucinations". The tempo is as interminable as the endless agony of fingernails splintering along your spinal column. Fucking lovely.

Eventually it ends and they launch into 'Deadbeat's Ballad', a tale of a Faustian pact, what the Germans call moritaten, or murder ballad. The track careens along at a neck-abusing tempo until midway through when the band lapse into another funeral march, accompanying the horrifying infanticidal lyrics.

The last act of the story, those tortured cries of guilt set to foulest, catchiest sludge makes this my favourite track on the album.

'Man Made Monsters' sounds to me like being stretched to bonebreaking point on the rack, that sick discordant twist of the guitar and the ratcheting of the double kick drumming.

This track reminds me of something Tim Bagshaw would write, that underlying menace in the guitar tone definitely sounds like Ramesses/Serpentine Path to my ears.

The second side of the record opens with 'Say You Love Satan', a foot-stomping, fist-throwing anthem to antichristianity. Ilsa have this ability to make even this harshest of music seem catchy, they've got hooks that dig in like the cover of Severed Survival. I really hope I get the chance to catch them live sometime, so if they ever make it to the UK, there's a floor and a lot of whiskey waiting for them.

'The Scream' is another exorcise in torturous tempo and the strangling of strings. The everyday horror of the lyrics makes it a more disturbing proposition than all that 'anal goat blasphemy' shit kids on tumblr think is evil. The apathy of modern society is far more terrifying than any fictional demon.

The pounding of skins that opens 'Fluid Bound' drives a vertebrae-flexing rhythm, though this track doesn't really vary enough to hold my attention.

'Martyrs', inspired by the disturbing-as-fuck French movie of the same name, is a breakneck bludgeoning that leaves you reeling just as much as the film it takes it's name from. If this track alone doesn't convince you to pick up this record, you're a fucking lost cause.

The album closes out with 'Skin and Bone', which on first impression reminds me of Cursed when they dropped the tempo, the waves of distortion emanating from the speakers hitting with a heaviness I can feel in my gut. An almost melodic guitar solo signals the start of the slow disintegration of the track, the whole structure decaying and dismantling itself til there's nothing left but the scratch of static noise and the wail of air-raid sirens. I almost expect there to be a bonus cover of 'War Pigs' after that, but the sirens die out, the needle scrapes it's last groove and lifts.

I highly recommend that you pick up a copy of this revolting slab from A389 Records
http://shop.a389records.com/products/ilsa-intoxicantations-12

And someone book this band to tour the EU/UK with Coffinworm or Brainoil or something.