So many directions and departures in such a relatively short career… The debut album from Californians Black Sheep Wall was considered unworthy of inclusion in the annals of the notoriously strict Encyclopedia Metallum, yet their follow up No Matter Where It Ends (Season of Mist) exploded through that draconian outlook with its oppressive Sludge. Last EP It Begins Again (Independent release), their first without former key players Trae Malone and Garrett Randall, saw post-hardcore emotion blend with that weighty brutality, and that’s how third full-length I’m Going to Kill Myself (Season of Mist) resumes the turbulent career.
The ridiculously fluffy, colourful cover does a great job of hiding the torment within and the ponderous, stark Post background is coated in former bassist Brandon Gillichbauer‘s anguished screams, mirroring Touché Amoré‘s more desolate moments, though without the snappy delivery, and with pounding monoliths hitting the brake pedal. Torture and angst is immediately in your face, despite the often delicate meanderings and heartfelt teardrops of lead guitar strains, so that when the brief pummel of the ferocious rhythms within opener ‘The Wailing and the Gnashing and the Teeth’ kicks in, you’ve been preparing yourself for it for a while.
That wounded fury, straining at the leash, is positively feral on the primal roar of the ensuing ‘Tetsuo: The Dead Man’, the pulverising, contorted riffs beating the staccato rhythms with barely controlled frenzy, whilst Gillichbauer’s voice is all abject pain and sparing, vertiginous leads pierce the mind. It’s a pulsating ball of embittered anguish which is as compelling as it is unnerving. The complex, contorting mass and intensity of ‘White Pig’ is near unbearable: the brutal onslaught of its power passages, varying in tempo yet never in their crushing ferocity, are only augmented by the subtle ambience and eerie intonations which create a maelstrom of feverish tension.
It’s this innate ability to set terrifying scenes which is the band’s forté. The last two minutes of ‘…Pig’s’ unsettling reverb and spoken word delivery induce the arse twitches just in time for the 34-minute closer ‘Metallica’; a metronomic, pulverising saw riff underpinning Gillichbauer’s apparent and barely-managed breakdown, with brief lulls and occasional silences puncturing the expanding swell like Astute missiles. The lash of the oft-chaotic rhythm increases steadily, as does the intensity; yet marvellously, incredibly, a bone-crunching pace remains constant. The largely unflinching template of the track wears the nerves a touch but it’s a minor quibble, and when the harrowingly screamed line “I’m going to kill myself” reappears like a recoil through the last six minutes it chills the marrow. What the fuck it has to do with the Bay Area behemoth fuck knows, but it’s a synapse-shattering experience and the latest proof that this band are now masters at turning violent emotional turmoil into an irresistible listening experience.
8.5/10
PAUL QUINN