(I have been meaning to review The Great Execution, the new album by Brazilian heavyweights Krisiun, because it’s one of the best death metal albums of the year. I still intend to do that. However, Phro has beat me to the punch. Read it and weep. It’s full of THOOM and BOOM.)
The latest Krisiun album The Great Execution is available for your listening pleasure now. More specifically, it should be blasting in your fucking ears right now, and if it’s not, I have to say, I’m gonna have to seriously reconsider our friendship. It’s nothing personal, but I just don’t know if can trust a hairy man-dog that eats its own poop AND doesn’t even have the good sense to listen to fucking Krisiun.
But, being merciful (though incredibly unimportant and not just a little petty), I’ll assume that, perhaps, if you’re not listening to it, then maybe you a good reason. Like loss of multiple limbs. Or the death of your entire family (Frank Castle style). Or, perhaps, you forgot it was November 1st. Whatever the reason may be, this is my attempt at explaining how spinal-cord-fuckingly awesome this album is. (Seriously. Your spinal cord. It’s gonna get fucked. It’s as if Death were less interested in killing you and more interested in using the hole in your back created by ripping your spinal cord out through your ass as a cock sleeve to store up and save excess Death-semen.)
This album goes to war (as the cover attests) and it doesn’t bother with prisoners, survivors, or even survivors guilt. (I don’t know what that last sentence means.) (more after the jump . . .)
Krisiun, you see, is a very special band. They are demons. No, don’t laugh! I’m not making this shit up. I can prove it, and I don’t even need PowerPoint. First, look at a picture of the band.
Do you feel that cold fear creeping into your soul and devouring it? Yeah, that’s the first bit of evidence. You know how they manage to create such killer riffs and beats, all with an incredibly distinctive sound like that of flaming swords and armor crashing as the Morning Star leads his army against the Throne on the Plains of Heaven? (You better fucking be reading Paradise Lost, too.) Well, that’s the second bit of evidence. The fact that the band manifested in my room with a burst of flames and brimstone was the third piece of evidence.
You see, as I sat down to write this review (it’s really less of a review and more of a love letter), I wondered how to approach it. I would say that, despite my beautiful head of hair, sexy legs, and incredible wit (gag), I’m best known for writing about penises, tentacles and penis-tentacles. But Krisiun don’t play that game. No, Krisiun is the sound of warriors killing each other in the depths of hell just be-fucking-cause. Krisiun is the sound of B-52s raining down firebombs, heavy machine gun fire, and a literal fuckton (that’s the standard fuckton, not the metric fuckton) of swords on great expanses of mythological battles so expansive that Homer would have given up his hearing just to be able to contribute the introductory passage to what would have been the greatest epic ever written.
So, you can imagine the dookie that I dropped in my pants when I saw the Three Horsemen of the Apocalypse (they killed the fourth one for being too slow and fed his body to their pet vultures) standing in my room looking about as happy as Beelzebub (“than whom, Satan except, none higher sat”, thanks for that mindfuck Milton) landing in Hell after the failed coup.
“Hi.” My voice was about as courageous and powerful as a little old lady from Nebraska hooked up to an oxygen tank wandering around a “bad neighborhood” in Los Angeles.
“You are Phro, who shall write of our deeds and our greatness.”
It wasn’t a question.
I nodded, hoping that their demonness would prevent them from being able to smell fear-dookie.
“Good. If you mention cocks or tentacles more than three times each, we will show you the meaning of anguish and horror.”
And then they were gone.
So…yah…I’m kind of at a loss as to what to do with this review.
The album rips, shreds, brutalizes, and just generally does horrible things in wonderful ways. The drums are deep and full of THOOM! And BOOM! But they also manage to maintain an edge. It’s like being battered upside the head with a mace…but the mace has tiny blades that pop out on impact and cut the shit out of you with each swing. No matter how fast (or slow, when the songs call for it), the drums are, they always feel effortless. Kind of like an English longbowman dropping French knights at Crecy. You get the feeling that the drummer wasn’t playing the drums so much as using them to decimate entire ethereal armies.
The guitars are as vicious as the drums. The crunch of a battle axe ripping through armor, bones, and a horse who accidentally got caught in the back-swing never sounded so viciously beautiful. The solos are cluster bombs laying waste to cities and whatever that gooey stuff is between your ears. On occasion, acoustic guitars slink into the songs like assassins into battle camps, dance wildly, and then leave nothing but footsteps and dead generals.
And the vocals………..
If voices could kill, we’d have a genocidal maniac on our hands. And it would all be worth it. Our skin would burn, our eyes would pop like fat cherries, and our blood would boil and turn to acid. You can hear Lucifer cackling with joy as he plots his ascension at the Council of Hell. This isn’t an echo of the voice of evil. This is Evil skullfucking your ears into submission. This is Death giggling at the mortals he’s harvested. This is Horror waltzing into your dreams and making sure you don’t get to sleep tonight.
Buy this album. NOW.
And if you’re hesitating, click here to give it a listen. If you still don’t want to get it, I think there are some fine, handsome gentlemen who’d be glad come to your room and hate-fuck-kill you.
(The album was released Nov 1 by Century Media.)