Disma should make fans of early Incantation shake in their shoes. That’s because the man who lent his hellish voice to that group’s classic albums such as “Onward to Golgotha” and “Mortal Throne of Nazarene,” as well as to other bands such as Womb, Disciples of Mockery, Goreaphobia and others, is now fronting Disma. Alongside him are guitarists Daryl Kahan (Funebrarum, Taste of Fear, Assück) and Bill Venner (Incantation), bassist Randi Stokes (Methadrone), and drummer Shawn Eldridge (Funebrarum, Abysmal Gates), so we’re looking at a formidable supergroup-style assault unit that hammers an upper deck home run on their first full-length “Towards the Monolith.”
Before this record was released, the band had a demo, split and EP to their name, but this is their crowning jewel by far. The eight cuts on this album are doom-flushed, sometimes sludgy, often thrashy, and always ugly, positioning the record as a no-brainer purchase for those who dine on classic death metal. Pillard is at his infernal best on this record, staying at a low, monstrous rumble, sounding like a demon restlessly digging his way through layers of soil from hell to the Earth’s surface. Simply, he’s one of the best vocalists in the genre, and he’s as deadly as ever before. The rest of the band is tight and fluid, and their presentation on this album is one of a band doing this shit live and not cutting and pasting pieces together. It’s raw and honest, and it’s one of the best representations of classic death metal in some time, probably because the men behind this thing have years of experience creating the genre. They weren’t born yesterday.
“Chaos Apparition” opens this thing with a meaty, down-tuned attitude, with Pillard’s growls lurching alongside the filthy guitar work and quaking blasts. “Chasm of Oceanus” is my personal favorite song on this record, which starts murky but eventually explodes into thrashing and a more explosive tempo; “Vault of Membros” pays some homage to Sabbath and St. Vitus, with its slithering, slow-driving delivery; while the mammoth title cut absolutely drubs your senses with its unforgiving heaviness, noisy crust, and Pillard’s demands to, “Crawl to your grave.” “Towards the Monolith” is menacing, worm-infested, and ready for eternity in a rickety casket. It’s a wholly satisfying trip back to when death metal didn’t smell very good, sure wasn’t pretty, and promised you that, if you aren’t careful, you’ll breath your last breath in the most uncomfortable manner possible.
Before this record was released, the band had a demo, split and EP to their name, but this is their crowning jewel by far. The eight cuts on this album are doom-flushed, sometimes sludgy, often thrashy, and always ugly, positioning the record as a no-brainer purchase for those who dine on classic death metal. Pillard is at his infernal best on this record, staying at a low, monstrous rumble, sounding like a demon restlessly digging his way through layers of soil from hell to the Earth’s surface. Simply, he’s one of the best vocalists in the genre, and he’s as deadly as ever before. The rest of the band is tight and fluid, and their presentation on this album is one of a band doing this shit live and not cutting and pasting pieces together. It’s raw and honest, and it’s one of the best representations of classic death metal in some time, probably because the men behind this thing have years of experience creating the genre. They weren’t born yesterday.
“Chaos Apparition” opens this thing with a meaty, down-tuned attitude, with Pillard’s growls lurching alongside the filthy guitar work and quaking blasts. “Chasm of Oceanus” is my personal favorite song on this record, which starts murky but eventually explodes into thrashing and a more explosive tempo; “Vault of Membros” pays some homage to Sabbath and St. Vitus, with its slithering, slow-driving delivery; while the mammoth title cut absolutely drubs your senses with its unforgiving heaviness, noisy crust, and Pillard’s demands to, “Crawl to your grave.” “Towards the Monolith” is menacing, worm-infested, and ready for eternity in a rickety casket. It’s a wholly satisfying trip back to when death metal didn’t smell very good, sure wasn’t pretty, and promised you that, if you aren’t careful, you’ll breath your last breath in the most uncomfortable manner possible.
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