This will be an unusual day for us. My fucking day job is going to keep me away from a computer all day and my comrades who write for the site are also otherwise occupied. So the odds are this post will be the only one we have for you today. Therefore, I’m going with something that will open up your abdomen and leave your guts in a steaming pile at your feet. Because that’s just the kind of friends we are.
Ævangelist’s 2012 debut album De Masticatione Mortuorum in Tumulis was stunning. On the scale of stunning things, it was right up there next to the seven-inch steel bolts fired into the foreheads of corn-fattened cattle who’ve reached optimal slaughter weight in a feedlot. No one knows about the emotional life of penned cattle, but as a normal un-penned human, I found that album both galvanizing and frightening.
I have friends who subject themselves to the risk of death on a weekly basis, but if you live a life less filled with the death wish, as I do, then you hunt for that special feeling of impending extinction in your music. Ævangelist grants your wish. And now they have something that’s both new and old, something that will efficiently turn you into rump roast, flank steak, standing rib, and brisket.
This new thing is “Nightmare Flesh Offering”, described by the band as “an early meditation of the boundless iniquities to come.” “This music,” they say, “represents the beginning of what would become our exploration of the æthereal darkness and the hidden wonders within.” It’s being released by I, Voidhanger Records as a 7″ EP on black vinyl, “strictly limited to 250 copies and never to be repressed”.
I can’t positively say what this vinyl EP holds. It may only be the one song, “Nightmare Flesh Offering”, or there may be something else in there, too. If there is more, I shudder to think of it, because that one song is a blackened death metal tunneling machine boring straight for the weak spot in your mind. It’s murky, machine-like, malignant, and murderous. It echoes against the walls of your skull until cracks appear and then sucks out the nutrients into its gaping maw.
There’s an alien atmosphere in the music, dense, strange, and voracious. And the EP is pushed hard toward the stun-gun end of the scale by the staggering artwork of Seeming Watcher, which I’m compelled to spread out again below the song, minus the lettering.
If you’d like a copy of the vinyl, send an e-mail to this address: firstname.lastname@example.org