When I pulled up to the driveway of the house way back up on the top of the hill, none of the lights were on. I got out of my car and before I could press the button on the remote to lock it, I was hit with the chloroform and out in a matter of seconds. The last thing I remember before waking up was the feeling of the February air coming through that cloth as I sucked in the chilled chemicals.

It was a punch to the back of my already aching head that brought consciousness with it, though I might as well have still been out, for all the light there was to see. None, in other words. The room was pitch black and I could feel the zip line tight around my wrists and ankles before I even tried to move them. Ball gag in my mouth. I tried to scoot my chair in one direction or another, forward, wherever that was, and met with another fist, this one from the side, at my jaw. No one spoke. I started to cry.

Then I heard it.

That first telltale abuse of electric guitar struck me at massive full volume so powerfully that, just like every time I’ve experienced it live in smoke-filled rooms, it vibrated in my chest. Nothing else sounds like that. They were playing the new SunnO))) record.

A croak from the mouth of Attila Csihar reached my ears like the lonely, bony fingers of death in a Jos? Saramago novel and strings sounded a horrifying screech like everything wrong in the mind condensed to audio waves. It was terror metal. Monoliths and Dimensions. I could taste the blood as it pooled and spilled out the side of the gag, half choking me.

Over the next I don’t even know how long I was pushed headlong through movements of musical cruelty and deranged brilliance. Every time I tried to speak, to ask if a track had ended and a new one had begun, a fist. Sensory manipulation. I can still hear the layers of Steve Moore‘s brass making a bed for itself along the lining of my inner ear canal.

It was a symphony of affliction coupled with an endtime chorus and when it was over, the quiet it left behind was a memento mori reinforced by the viciousness of the beating I soon received. Something blunt and inhuman struck the side of my head and I was out again, for a while judging by the puddle of blood and vomit I woke up on the ground next to my car.

I’ve heard it and I can tell you these three things:

1. These men are geniuses.
2. They’ve made the next and only step they could make musically.
3. The hype around this record is going to be insane.

If anyone needs me, I’ll be nursing my wounds…

Tags: Completely necessary violence, Drone, Southern Lord, SunnO)))

This entry was posted on Thursday, February 26th, 2009 at 11:26 pm and is filed under Whathaveyou. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.