The number “66″ will show and the communion takes place with torturing rhythms that grab you by the throat. Melodies by the stringed parts of the band are scratching your entrails and the voice that comes out of the resonators is felt all over your body. It persuades you on what it speaks about and it has so very damned stigmatized its whole universe, your one and all humanity’s universe, too. As the record flows you are totally shocked and you want just to curl on your bed in embryoid position and wonder about everything. You can’t push the “repeat” button in one song or two. You just let this album drag you into its abyss. In fact you’re in need of listening to this every fucking time. You also get weighed as the introductional lies of “Harmless” pierces your ears and ends up inside your heart. As the tempo increases, you truly feel like someone kills you in some ecstatic way. The voice! This voice keeps scratching your brain, keeps paining you, keeps bothering you. And the tunes appear like they’re tunes of a far east oasis. It’s almost like the earth is leaning and you’re running toward the opposite side to find something to grab from. It’s futile though for when “I Don’t Give a Damn” is sounded you feel you’ve been dragged into the shifting sand at the end of the road. And you travel to places far where the hot sand scratches your eyes, trying to find a destination without a compass. It’s all “In Your Head” after all. This voice is yelling out at you from the beginning of the peregrination. But you can’t stop sensing the flames of hell (“Inferno”) burning your shoulders, reminding you that you are carnal, you bleed, you’re not of amaranthine nature. The ashes of your burnt existence are filling your lungs. It is then that you find out that the lungs of the whole world lack in honesty (“Nobody’s Sincere”). And you accept the whole fucking situation and you “Swallow” the earthly venoms, carrying on, for the number “66″ will show and the communion takes place with torturing rhythms that grab you by the throat. Melodies by the stringed parts of the band are scratching your entrails and the voice that comes out of the resonators is felt all over your body. It persuades you on what it speaks about…
Basiliko Entero
No comments:
Post a Comment