[Reviewed by: Iaha Crax]
When you’re deep into extreme music you always want something more, like a burning wish that can never be fulfilled, though you do not know, cannot think of what you want. You knew maybe Abruptum teared your mind away upon hearing it, you went mad on Stalaggh, terrified with DSO and Elend, but still you get only a kind of visceral agony, you fail to get out of these, that flame which would’ve made you a butterfly out of the scum you are. Why not accept your cutworm embodiment, groping in the tubular caves of your own mind, having nothing in front but other holes.
Hope is over, you hear the end coming, but instead of promise for flying, you hear nothing but this primitive troglodyte linear sound that comes in front of you; for behind there lies your past (alive), constant demands, a continuous refusal to grow.
Chier and Kindstod have concocted a shape of man’s aura, anti-melancholic, anti-ecstatic, blunt phrasing to the denial of absolution. Put the lamps out and let this downpouring of immense smog begin.
The furniture around transforms into wood and then bitumen, mud and swamp. The rusty harsh noise walls are ripped off constantly by slabs of black blood dripping sounds. You are questioning and wondering nothing now, just hanging numbed on your cosy sofa, why not rather stay naked on the dusty floor and put a chair on your head. I remember the image in Ionesco’s play, “The Chairs”, proliferating, invading and disestablishing the need for order and these sounds instead of getting amorphous are distinct and menacing. Unattractive as hell. This one track lasting approximately 35 minutes is made to smash out conformity, occupies the room and implodes the tiny head opened innocently to receive it.
Grab this hideous CD from Void Singularity Recordings and search more for Chier and Kindstod. They remind most of us that we are the same irrelevant brick in the wall.