Profanatica emerged from the filth and fury of
the early '90s American underground as one of the original black metal entities
from the U.S. Formed by Paul Ledney after the disintegration of
Incantation’s original lineup, the band quickly became infamous for their
debauched visual and lyrical extremity, as well as their raw, unrefined sound
that took early Bathory, Hellhammer, and Blasphemy to
grotesque new lows. After a turbulent history involving hiatuses and scattered
releases, Profanatica reemerged in the 2000s with a newfound momentum,
issuing a steady stream of full-lengths, splits, and EPs. Their work rarely
deviates from their chosen path of spiritual desecration but instead refines
it into something absolutely their own—grotesque, sacrilegious, primitive
black/death metal that refuses all trends and aesthetic modernization.
“Wreathed
In Dead Angels” is not a detour, rebirth, or deviation. It’s simply the next
blasphemous missive from Profanatica, and as expected, it sounds like a
scream from beneath the altar, caked in blood and layered in ash. The band’s
return to Hells Headbangers finds them more resolute than ever: six
tracks in twenty-two minutes, each one an invocation of decay, crucifixion, and
religious defilement.
From the
first seconds of “Hung In Golgatha,” the atmosphere is already stripped down to
the bone—decaying, brutal, and devoid of anything remotely ornamental. The
riffs aren’t sculpted—they’re hacked out of granite. The guitar tone sounds
less like an amp than a speaker tearing itself apart. Drums lurch and clatter
with barely restrained violence, still driven by Ledney’s definite timing
and attack: martial, archaic, and as bitterly unrelenting as ever.
The title
track, “Wreathed In Dead Angels,” is as grotesque and confrontational as the
cover art implies: a crawling, hideous dirge that moves like a bleeding wound
through darkness. “By Thine Agony” closes the EP on a grim and final note, not
with a crescendo or resolution, but with a full stop into a pit of filth.
There is no
pretense here. There is no drama. This is filth made flesh and sound—deeply
blasphemous, absolutely direct, and uncompromising. At a time when black metal
is too often sterilized or steeped in high concept, Profanatica remains
cruelly and authentically low, dragging their faithless sound through ash and
shit without looking up once.
Score: 8.0
No comments:
Post a Comment