A masterpiece of misanthropy – 80%
drengskap, April 18th, 2009
Alot of people get excited when there’s a new Xasthur album, but for me, just as with Vinterriket, it happens far too often – this is something like Xasthur’s 12th release in three years, including six split releases with Nachtmystium, Leviathan, Nortt et al. Having said that, Defective Epitaph does bring something new to Malefic of Xasthur’s one-man campaign against humanity.
The most obvious advance is that he’s now using real drums, which are given a sufficiently prominent place in the rough-as-a-splintery-plank mix for it to really make a difference, especially on the boomingly percussive ‘Oration of Ruin’. Keyboards are still an important element of Xasthur’s sound, but they’re rarely allowed to predominate over the surging waves of buzzsaw guitar, although the instrumental ‘Dehumanizing Procession’ overlays slow drums with distorted funereal organ.
The following track, ‘Funerals Drenched in Apathy’, is better, as doomy guitar riffing provides the backdrop to Malefic’s tormented howls, before the track moves into a mock-triumphal orchestral interlude. This is the archetypal sound of the black metal solo project as primal scream therapy, following the template established long ago by Burzum and Ildjarn, and sustained by the likes of Abyssic Hate, Instinct and L’Acéphale.
Defective Epitaph is a pitilessly challenging listen – 75 solid minutes of bleak, miserable, muddy, depressive, futile, introverted self-hatred and misanthropic contempt for humanity. Pure, unmitigated, agenda-less nihilism. The album gets especially difficult towards the end – the last three tracks are all slow, lengthy ambient pieces, with little change in pace, although ‘The Only Blood That Pours Is Yours’ achieves a sort of morose, lethargic grandeur.
Nothing on this album, though, will make you feel better about yourself or Malefic or anybody else, and you know better than I do whether that’s a place you want to go to. The inside of Malefic’s head may be an interesting place to visit, but you wouldn’t want to live there. No, trust me, you just wouldn’t.
rafazardly 