Malthusian interview

My first band interview, conducted with Ireland's black/death heathens Malthusian, is up now over at Echoes and Dust. An excert follows, but you should read the full unedited version at the original site. Thoughtful responses from a thought-provoking band.

(((o))): The idea of Malthusian catastrophes being a catch-all term for the destruction of vast swathes of the human race via war, famine and disease is fertile material for subject matter within extreme music, and it has obviously inspired your choice of band name. In the two centuries since it's publication, the original ideas put forth by Malthus in An Essay On The Principles Of Population have been misinterpreted, co-opted, and disparaged by many.

Are the ideas put forth in the original text something that you all have a similar viewpoint of as a collective, or does it inspire debate and dissent among the ranks? How does Malthusianism, free of any modern political agenda, inform your lyrical content, if at all?

Malthusian: We are more concerned with artistic expression than presenting any sort of formal political agenda. Malthus's theory of human population being regulated through epidemic, war, natural disasters, crop failure and such struck a chord with us and gave us a starting point in terms of lyrical inspiration. That said, we have not and will not be restricting ourselves to such matters. The name simply captured the feeling that we were developing with the music, it sounded intriguing and a little bit different to the normal Death Metal band names you see everywhere. We are not interested in toeing the line or worrying about other people's notions of what a DM band should conform to.

(((o))): Coming from diverse acts such as On Pain Of Death, Altar Of Plagues, Wreck Of The Hesperus and Mourning Beloveth, what led you all to get together to create an arguably even more sickening noise than all your other bands?

Malthusian: The constant need to express ourselves through dark, unpleasant music was all the motivation we needed.



Malthusian's MMXIII demo tape (limited to 300 copies) is available to order now from Invictus Productions.

Malthusian - MMXIII

Anyone who is even vaguely aware of the writing of Thomas Robert Malthus will immediately recognise the significance of the monicker Ireland's Malthusian have bestowed upon themselves. In simple terms, the primary tenet of Malthusianism is the knowledge that the Earth's population growth far outstrips the increase in resources required to sustain it. As such, the population must be reduced by factors such as war, famine and disease; that suffering and death is necessary to sustain the human race at even a basic level of subsistence.

From this, it can be construed that these factors, known as Malthusian catastrophes, are the base inspiration for all those who espouse misanthropy and the stated desire for the infliction of suffering; pretty much most death/black/doom metal, in other words. The three tracks of skull-scraping racket contained on Malthusian's MMXIII perfectly embody these principles in horrifying aural form.

With a ghastly hiss, the ominous opening of 'Wraith//Plague Spore' seethes its way from the speakers. The keen, atonal edge of the guitar winding serpent-like through the cacophony of percussion, while the vile vocals escape like gas from a bloated corpse. The sepulchral atmosphere of this opening section soon becomes a shuddering death rattle, all blastbeats and churning guitar.

The unintelligible invocations barely audible over the thunderous din of the music, which writhes between black, death and doom metal with horrifying ease, are spewed forth by each member of the band, each throat possessing a different demonic timbre.

With MMXIII, Malthusian are a howl of rage against a sickening species in dire need of a cull.

Read my full review over at Echoes And Dust...

Plague Survivors - compilation tape

Part of the reason I started writing about the music I love was in the hope people would read it, and recommend me more bands I'd be into. Though I've been doing it for a while now, only a few people have sent me stuff, but nothing that's had quite the impact of Massachusetts' Plague Survivors.

Andrew at Dry Cough Records sent me this tape after having read my review of his next release, On Pain Of Death's Year Naught Doom. If he keeps putting out releases of this calibre, Dry Cough will be one of the labels to watch in the coming months.

Opening track 'Grim Note' is all thick fuzz and torturous feedback, with occasional lapses into something like a song. I'm so glad people get what I dig about bands like this; the filthy, sour tones, the contempt in the vocals, the sort of lurching rhythm that's perfect to spill beer to... As the last sounds die out, I'm immediately sold on this band.

'Foul Voice' begins with a lumbering, crashing stomp, and with a scream the tempo is ramped up to a chugging rhythm the meanest hardcore band could only dream of. The speed picks up again before the track collapses back to the start, the whole nasty cycle repeated before it comes crashing to a halt.

A distorted, warbled voice sounds like the sort of sample heard at the start of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, before the building feedback erupts into the agonising crawl of 'Low Places'. You couldn't even describe this is a song so much as it sounds like the death throes of a depressive set to woozy, swaying bursts of distortion, following the tradition of Grief's 'Lifeless'. About halfway through the thickening feedback and agonised vocals coalesce into a rabid, raving beast of a track.

'Funeral Pyre' closes out side A with the eerie atonal tolling of guitar strings being played with a rusty hacksaw. Dirty drones and the scrape of fingernails on a casket lid build and build, the tension unbearable, the suffocating sensation seems neverending... Until the whole thing burns itself out in the dying howls of distortion.

Disgusting. Perfect.

Side B opens with 'Witch Crusher', a mangled, angular nightmare, with vocalist Matthew Willwerth spewing furious bile over the whole mess. Halfway through there's a truly fucking weird midsection, discordant plinking on piano, backwards-masked invocations and creepy crawling bass. The rest of the track that follows decays further and further away to nothing.

'Ditch Digger' slithers from the speakers, vague whispers like snakes, before the hissing gives way to a sound not unlike the equivalent of having your head slammed against the floor. The bludgeoning subsides, replaced by a Dystopian crawl towards the merciful end.

The tape closes out with a pretty faithful cover of Sabbath's 'Electric Funeral', the usual vocal style abandoned in favour of a more traditional singing style that reminds me of the departure of Olly's vocals on the latest Moss record. You already know what this song sounds like, and if you don't then you've no business reading this blog.

Apparently they have more Sabbath covers recorded, and I really can't wait to hear them, as well as the next release of their own material that they put out.

If you like your sludge on the creepy, hateful side (the way it fucking should be), get into Plague Survivors.

You can pick this tape up from Dry Cough Records here:
http://drycoughrecords.bigcartel.com/

And download the various releases that make up this compilation here:
http://plaguesurvivors.bandcamp.com/

On Pain Of Death - Year Naught Doom

I started this blog with a view to only talking about music releases that I could hold in my hand, but when it came to the debut full-length recording from Ireland's On Pain Of Death, which as of this writing hasn't been committed to wax, tape or polycarbonate, I had to make an exception.

This album kills. I mean it literally sounds like it has the potential to warp listener's minds and inspire them to end lives. I'd like to play my part in furthering it's corruptive intent.

The title track begins with what is either the whistling of the wind, or a portent of something far more ominous. The sparse strum of a guitar enters the soundscape, an eerie, arrhythmic assault on the strings more than any sort of actual chord. It's not melody, it's an audio threat.

Nimble cymbal taps give the first hint that this may become anything even approaching a song before it all collides into a rusted, groaning riff. This is sludge distilled down to the bare essentials; guitars that don't so much swagger as stagger, vocals that are more like puking up booze than singing the blues.

Four minutes in it becomes even more tortuous, the tempo slowing to a crawl, dual vocalists howling and retching words I don't dare try to look up. It's a draining listen. And I mean that as the highest of praise.

Feedback segues the first track into 'Tell Your God To Ready For Blood', which is a phrase taken from the much-lauded TV show Deadwood. This track has all the sparseness and menace of a brutal frontier town itself. The opening minutes of this thirteen minute exercise in audio terror are all discordance and the beating of drums. Not drumbeats, but beating. It's all downbeat and oppressive 'til about halfway through, when something approaching a groove kicks in. Well, it's a groove like the serrated rasp of a blade against vertebrae, but it's like fucking Grand Funk Railroad compared to the first half of the song. There's even a guitar solo at one point.

The track creeps, crawls, slithers to a close, and oh fuck I wish it was accompanied by the hiss and crackle of the needle of my record player protesting against what I'm forcing it to play. This would be the point where I'd need to give it five minutes and steel myself before flipping the record and bracing myself for the B-side

'It Came From The Bog' sounds like the suffocating dread you'd feel as the eponymous 'it' drags itself towards you, all water-bloated rot and crazed cataract stare.

Sporadic drums fill your skull, like the echoing of a tomb before they coalesce into something like a rhythm. Not like you'll be tapping your feet to it or anything, but it's slightly less of an agonising cacophony.

These are all complimentary phrases you understand, to me there is nothing better than being scared by music, and these four depraved motherfuckers have recorded something that definitely succeeds at that.

Between eight and nine minutes in the thing from the bog has devoured it's quarry, and the track shifts gear, almost becoming a melancholy funeral march, if the pallbearers were more interested in hacking through the casket and feasting on the remains.

With just a few minutes left before I can come up for air things morph once more into what sounds like the filthiest grindcore being played at about 6.66 revolutions per minute. The slow ache of a violin joins the fray to add an extra layer of for-fucks-sake-quit-creeping-me-out before what sounds like actual torture and anguish closes the track.

My mind is sufficiently warped. Hopefully I won't kill anyone as a result.

The depraved souls responsible for this fucking thing should seriously get a physical release sorted. This thing needs to be scraped into wax, with that horrifying Harry Clarke illustration blown up to 12" x 12" on matt black heavyweight card. Go tell them that:

https://www.facebook.com/onpainofdeath/

But until that happens, you can download this album for free, or donate some pennies towards it, from Handshake Inc, which ought to tide you over until they sort out a vinyl release:

http://handshakeinc.bandcamp.com/album/year-naught-doom-2

Hopefully at some point someone will realise that there should be some sort of package tour with these guys, Dragged Into Sunlight, and Coffinworm. The Depression Procession Tour, corrupting minds in a city near you!

Free razorblades and absinthe with every admission.