https://www.high-endrolex.com/18

Blut, Grief and Incurable Pain: Diagnosis Terminal

Apart from a sample at the beginning of the first of its two tracks that’s soon swallowed whole by a distortion tsunami and some screams peppered throughout both tracks, there is no discernible speech anywhere within the just under 70 minutes of Blut’s second full-length CD, Grief and Incurable Pain. The initials-only British duo (hailing from Dorset and Bournemouth/Poole) of multi-instrumentalist/vocalist S.M. on drums, guitar, noise and vocals and N.B. on bass and noise have released a slew of cassettes and have more forthcoming, but I’m inclined to think of Grief and Incurable Pain (released by Portuguese imprint Bubonic Productions) as a sequel to 2010’s Ritual and Ceremony (review here), if only for the structures of the two titles and the fact that both albums are so unabashedly misanthropic, wrapped around Blut’s well-advertised slogan, “drop out and fucking kill.” That said, Grief and Incurable Pain also steps beyond its predecessor in both atmosphere and actual length, its two component songs, “Death.Mourning.Famine (2)” and “Wolf Shall Dwell with Lamb (Edit),” clocking in at a feedback-soaked 38:17 and 31:37, respectively.

Much of that time is devoted purely to noise and droning, which isn’t so much a radical departure from Blut’s prior long-player as much as a development of it. Consistent in both ambience and visual art, Grief and Incurable Pain also maintains the ultra-challenging sonics of Ritual and Ceremony, while also pushing them further into a crushing psychedelic black hole and offering maddening Sound City-amped tonal thickness, unrelenting drones, searing screams and abrasive feedback. Blut have taken the SunnO))) format and molded it into something more their own, and in that, the drums – intermittent though they are – play a big role. 18 minutes into “Death.Mourning.Famine (2),” mired in washing layers of noise, it’s the periodic crashes from S.M.’s drumming that’s providing any grasp on rhythm whatsoever, and six minutes later, when the drums are gone and it’s just sparse, morose guitar notes running over a Hadrian’s Wall of low-end rumble and tape loops, the affect is completely different – well, as different as two different times of lung-collapsing aural misery can be, anyhow.

It’s an impressive feat in both concept and execution. Blut have turned their focus so far from traditional songwriting and so far from anything accessible as to render themselves almost completely unlistenable. And not by mistake. There is clearly a purpose at work on Grief and Incurable Pain, and some structure in mind on the part of S.M. and N.B., so that though it might just seem like noise that goes on forever toward the end of “Wolf Shall Dwell with Lamb (Edit),” the screams thrown on top of said mess act as a definitive final statement of the album. Far back as they are, throaty as they are, and unqualified by any kind of lyric sheet as they are, it’s virtually impossible to know what S.M. is saying there, but the effect in atmosphere underscores the same inhuman (and inhumane) modus Blut has, by then, been ripping through for over an hour. Grief and Incurable Pain shows a dark mastery of aesthetic – even more than Ritual and Ceremony, since I’d argue Blut’s grasp on their sound is stronger here – but even so, this material is going to be welcome in very few ears, and like some of the band’s dronevil forebears, probably appreciated a lot more in concept than in terms of what one listens to on a given sunny afternoon.

However, I find it hard not to admire something that’s so blatantly flying in the face of sonic decency. The sense of foreboding, the absolute lack of compromise and the absolute unpleasantness of Grief and Incurable Pain make it a triumph of demolition. I can’t imagine what it must have been like to have to sit and listen back to the recording of these tracks to mix and edit them and piece the record together. At some point, you’d probably just have to walk away. But for their persistence, Blut have crafted probably the most scathing record I’ve heard all year, and though it’ll find appreciation from just about no one it reaches, for that alone, it earns a hearty recommendation. You’ll feel dirty just hearing it.

Blut’s Blogspot

Bubonic Productions

Tags: , ,

Leave a Reply