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I open my veins to live forever... - 22%

cinedracusio, March 21st, 2008

...while this album opens its mouth to eat fiery dick from the purulent depths of entropy, hahahaaaa!
Of course, no human is qualified to comment his ass upon the suicidal feelings, music, conception etc. of the artist or musician. But a reviewer is more than qualified to bash this album, particularly in virtue of the appreciation for two particular works, namely The Tenth Sublevel Of Suicide and Tentacles Of Whorror. These two are the only albums truly worth grabbing. The Tenth Sublevel had some intriguing epic tapestries inside its bloody caves, and Tentacles Of Whorror was a damn fine and consistent collection of instant attention keepers.

On this album, which was conceived as Levi's final revelation, unless I've heard wrong, we find all these elements that Wrest got to incorporate in his music over the years. Blasting drumming, ambient sections, embarassingly overwhelming shriek+yelp+burp+cough+snort overdubbing experiments, noisy, cacophonous riffs, distant, tense, foggy acoustic guitar fragments, and stupid, very stupid drum'n'bass-like jamming during some songs. All these elements are in full force on this last masterpiece, but one of them distracts the greatest chunk of the listener's ear: the riffs. My goodness cretacious, what the hell has happened with that tone? When the guitar stops doing high-pitched nu-USBM (no allusion towards nu-metal!) atonal stuff, which takes more than 80% of the album the USBM "riff" is replaced by a heart-felt continuous fart. Horrendous. Those motherfuckers from Deathspell Omega didn't know shit about the HEWGE influence that they would have on their corpse-painted American comrades. This is not cleverly used discordance, as in the case of that behemoth named Immolation, it is atonality for its own good.

Second, the riffs themselves bore the living macaroni out of the poor patient listener. There is nothing, but absolutely nothing remarkable, and nothing that wouldn't have been heard on previous albums (and in better shape!), like the two aforementioned masterpieces or the split with Sapthuran. It sounds as if Wrest threw in a lot of cool products and wiped his ass with them in the compositional process. Many riff changes, ambient breaks and all that shit, all of them spent prodigally, without any direction. Everything was planned to be grandiose, with those loads of distortion and all those voices in the bedroom, and it didn't manage to reach its destination.
Second, the drumming hasn't improved a bit. And we're not talking only about a lack of improvement... we're talking about regression here! The drums are low in the mix, and even at that "lowness" of theirs, one can realize that Wrest didn't give his best, and you'll witness some of the tamest, most relaxed black metal signatures in the whole world. Why doesn't Michelle Branch or Avril Lavigne hire Wrest as a drummer? He loves pain anyway, so let him have it while taking syphillis from a pop star's guitar during live shows. That ol' awesome double bass and those ol' awesome gallops are gone with the wind. Tribal drumming isn't one of Wrest's assets either. It's just a Triceratops who tried his hand at sexy beats after those heaps of crappy blastbeats and (way too) doom-ridden rituals. And he doesn't have the style necessary in order to make a great ritualistic song with that Shitless Garment of his, like Sigh did on Gundali, for example. He is a master of animalic grunts, but not a master of drama. And even in the field of overall aggression he fails miserably, for all this album appears as pointless. It's not innovative, it's not old-school worship, it has no finality. The vocals have stayed the same as always, distorted speeches, groans and shrieks floatin' everywhere. Nothing else to say, except the fact that those muttered parts are overdrawn.

This is the legacy of a highly prolificent black metal act. This act has diluted its art over maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaany demos (worthless) as well as full-lengths and splits (worthy). Leviathan was a winning card. In the very last moment, it has shown its limits. The ambient parts can't save this album from what it is: a resurrected piece of music, and a project that got ressurected, ironically, before it would fade out.