Dressed in black, as ever, this Prurient lathe sits more easily alongside his recent Load release Pleasure Ground than his circuit board slaughter. This track leans a little less on the ripping-out-throats-with-teeth style and more on a knife edge tension tip. This is more like slow insidious mental torture than someone merzbowing your face into a pulp.
There are noticeable, albeit brief, rhythms in the avalanche alongside tower levelling greater bass pulses. Several ominous silences don’t make this any less scalding, the spew creeping like brittle ossification. The weight of this lathe comes in speedily rising increments of needle under fingernails pain. Prurient's rage sounds all the more rotted and dark with the focus of the lyrics here.
It's difficult to make out all the words in Prurient's full verse, the vocal fx and the crushed salvo of rolls obliterating some of it. His spoken word soliloquy comes somewhere between Slint's Brian McMahan and something on the darker side of the now fallen Rollins. Although with Prurient we are safe in the knowledge that he won’t be appearing in any shitty commercial movies anytime soon.
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