Friday, January 4, 2013
Corpus Mortale - FleshCraft (2013)
Right up front, the guitars have an enormous level of punch to them which translates very cleanly into the more intricate details of the picking. Clinical, balanced chugging that not once through the 41 minutes of content every becomes tired or nonchalant. Murderous low-end trills redolent of old Cannibal Corpse, compact and mechanical grooves not unlike Pestilence (Resurrection Macabre), and strutting palm mute sequences that were once a trademark of the great Morbid Angel in better days. The drumming is as tight as an untapped fuckhole, with machine gunnery double bass and precision snares so meticulous that it rarely feels like a human is being the kit (though there is one, Rasmus Schmidt). Bass guitar is corpulent, though it does sit beneath the muscle of the guitars a bit much in the mix, and rarely exemplifies itself outside of stunts like the intro to "Love Lies Bleeding"; but Martin Rosendahl has always been a bit of a Martin van Drunen in this respect: his vocals are the stronger of his instruments, and here they're a blunt hammer being dropped on the listener's spine in pendulous punctuation, a brute and broad guttural that hits every bit as hard as the guitar tone. Sort of a thuggish approximation of Chris Barnes, Patrick Mameli and Oliver Jauch (formerly of Germans Obscenity).
This being said, once I strip away the potency and polish of FleshCraft's production, and the unflinching sense of musicianship and energy that courses through the 10 tracks here, I must admit I found the album a little less appealing. Though harried and intense, there's just not much subtlety happening anywhere. The riffs really wear their boldness on their sleeves, and there's never any menacing aural subtext. Brutal, but never evil. The muscle of the mix is likely to win over a number of listeners through sheer impact, but a deeper examination of the guitar licks reveals little interesting that I haven't heard off a dozen other albums. It lacks some of the primordial charm of its own ancestors, in particular Spiritism where the vocals were more fun, or A New Species of Deviant which had a slightly more interesting riff-set and dirtier tone. FleshCraft is a studio marvel, broader and busier and more bruising than the Danes' backlog, but sometimes even the hardest hitting mallet might only graze a rib or bone, and not crush it, and despite numerous listens, the songs here just didn't stick around my skull after banging on it. Not a bad album by a long shot, just a smidgeon forgettable.
Verdict: Indifference [6.5/10]