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Warning: if you think black metal should be symphonic, technical, overproduced or full of pointless noodling, stop reading this review and move on to the Dimmu Borgir page. If that statement does not apply to you in the slightest, you're ready to be indoctrinated into the gloomy, misanthropic world of Craft.
Obviously the band felt the need to make a strong impact since their Total Soul Rape debut was such a vile, sickening slab of pure black horror. "Terror Propaganda, in contrast, is a more toned down, melodic beast, while retaining the ravenous intensity of it's predecessor. "Ablaze" opens up with a flurry of searing Bathory-worship with the traditional cantering quick-paced percussion and rasping vocals. The riff here is as original as a two-dollar Rolex, but it works a treat. Craft aren't fucking around with attempts at reinventing the wheel, they're here to cause you pain.
Speaking of which, "The Silence Thereafter" is up next, but instead of hitting you over the head at maximum speed, they crush you with a bludgeoning crawler of a song. The gloom simply oozes from the guitars here, complimented by tormented vocal howling. "Reaktor 4" and "Hidden Under The Skin" speed things up again, delivering even more orthodox black metal violence, with blatant Hellhammer and early Sodom influences glinting through the murky sound-surface.
"False Orders Begone" and "NDP (Nearly Dead Parasites)" are where this CD peaks, slamming the full force of Craft's creative abilities into the inferno. And by creative, I mean the ability to arrange songs which feel like they move all over the place while staying completely grounded in a rock-solid base of well-worn ideas, thus creating the musical equivalent of perpetual motion slowed down to a crawl. "616" and the title track round out this short 38 minutes of madness, and while they're somewhat overshadowed by the songs they follow, there's no slouching here. The entire disc is a complete entity, with nary a trace of filler to be found anywhere. It's also as catchy as a fishhook down the front of one's trousers. And, that said, i'll leave you with a nice sample of poetry from "NDP" - "Do you feel the foul stench in the air? Like corpses left to rot in the sun.Nearly dead parasites trying desperately to survive...
...it smells like humans."