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You know, there's a difference between heavy... and really fucking heavy. Heavy chops your legs off at the knees and leaves you a helpless cripple, but really fucking heavy doesn't stop there. No, really fucking heavy brings you to your knees via dislimbment, knocks all of your teeth out with a tire iron to keep you from biting, then proceeds to force its cock into your mouth and throatfuck you to asphyxiation. Cenotaph's Puked Genital Purulency falls into the latter category, being the auditory equivalent of oral rape manifested unto a toothless victim. It offers no quarter, no mercy, no pity. Welcome to the world of brutal death metal. We have such sights to show you...
"Mutilated Genitalia in Lack of Resurrection Under Effective Punch" is the first track, serving to basically unzip the album's pants and show us what kind of unholy monster we're going to be defiled by for the next 36 minutes. There's a tasteful (read: tasteless everywhere except in the realm of death metal) intro of people simultaneously laughing, screaming, and retching over atmospheric synths. Then we're beset by a bombardment of blissful brutality, careening and cavorting shamelessly, likely unaware of its own irresistible ugliness. Riffs abound, Cenotaph does not recycle their music, as every passage is constantly changing, mutating into forms as incestuously deformed as what precedes it. It is beautiful to hear, and nothing ever feels stale on this album. I can't praise the songwriting enough, because the music presented here is simply impervious to invocating boredom amongst its patrons.
The musicianship is astounding. Every performer impresses on technical levels, including the bass player, who spreads bass solos around as liberally as a whore spreads venereal blisters. The guitar player is sickeningly talented, showing no signs of trouble handling his ambitious, complexity laden riffs. Said riffs are mostly speedy and bouncy, but occasionally mix it up with chugs and gratuitous pinch harmonics for variety. The drummer plays pissed off, but with composure. I'm sure we're all aware of the difference between being pissed off, and being pissed off with composure. The drumming is unrelenting and furious while remaining intelligent. It's never dull to listen to, and the drummer never tries to get too cute with what he plays. It's perfect.
Vocally, this album is a hate crime in even the most liberal of countries. The growls, gurgles and visceral vomiting herein is so vile and maledictive towards everything good and decent that the singer should almost be ashamed of himself. I'd like to take this opportunity to thank him for effectively degrading humanity with his filth ridden retches. These are some seriously bloodthirsty growls, ubiquitously unintelligible, and no doubt unanimously unpleasant to the ears of punctilious pussies the world over. They're actually pretty unique, as I'm having trouble conjuring an adequate comparison. Well, they're good, so let's just leave it at that.
Puked Genital Purulency isn't a classic or anything, but it's essential for any self respecting brutal death metal maniac. This is the stuff that really good nightmares are made of. You know what I'm talking about, when half of you is relieved to awaken and find that you were only dreaming, while the other half is disappointed that you never got to get to the end to see if you made it through alive or not. If your "aww, I never got to finish my nightmare!" side is greater than your "thank God I was only dreaming" side, this album is for you. I'm going to make you an offer you can't refuse... buy it.