For the fortieth release of its cruel, fetid existence, Dry Cough Records has chosen to issue forth another slab of tortured hate, this time from intentional duo Meth Fetish. The band, another project from the farm of Pissboiler and Droneologist whizzkid Karl Jonas Wijk, throw myriad nasty ingredients into debut EP Meth Fetish (Dry Cough Records) and as a result, have surfaced with something of a brute. The crushing riff and protesting squeal combo kicking off opener ‘Blinded To The Suffering’ is absolutely brutal, yet possesses the slowest, most muscular groove which twists the guts in joyous fashion. Long-time cohort Damien Sharrock‘s horrific vocal scour is the perfect accompaniment to this pummelling racket, slow medieval torture with the diseased larynx of a religious zealot dripping pure enmity into the victim’s face.

The growling belly of the ensuing ‘Wasted’ introduces more of the same, but it’s the mix of power and hulking terror that really alerts the listener’s ears: a monstrous, fizzing bassline, all the more noticeable when it returns to kick in the drums after Sharrock’s squalling mid-section. ‘200 Ton Self Destruction’ is a more brooding, sinister beast, as deliciously weighty and oppressive as its title suggests: the belated groove of the world’s largest troll, mid-club swing; the harrowing squeal and irresistible drum roll preceding the returning riff truly setting the scene for a self-induced headlong dive into Hell.

The blend of Sludge and Blackened Doom is never more perfect than with the occasionally-aching ‘Incurable’: a desolate, subtle drumbeat gradually growing with each sparing note, each singular chord, both dropped high from the heavens. The near-mournful tolling of the guitar is given added pathos by lead howls before a fearsome, warped vocal crawls into the ears like a biblical plague. The quickened coda bludgeons the very soul before giving way to closer ‘Repeated’, which appears to twist the elements of the previous track into a bastardised version of itself: a bitter, rejected ghoul sitting and scheming in the corner of a filthy room.

Too often these projects, especially when spanning miles and oceans, evaporate into nothingness: just a vehicle for something that someone wanted to express at the time. This trend must stop with Meth Fetish, as little more horrible and mighty has been produced this year, and certainly

with this level of effectiveness. Meth Fetish is scary, and bloody huge.

8 / 10

PAUL QUINN

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