Personally, I’d want to shed light on “From The Bastion To The Pit” for being the record’s defining moment but it’s likely that most will be caught deciphering little earworms and larger levels of nuance from all over the album. Füj’s guitar runs rampart, dive bombs and squeals pepper one course of riffs to the next, a whammy-fest let loose on the unsuspecting crowds that eventually await these live performances. The noodle-riff salad that bludgeons its way out of an imaginary cave reeks (in the best possible way) of the old-school soundscapes so heavily entrenched in the band’s DNA.
On the other side of the coin, “A Mire Of Penitence” leeches a slower tempo dressed up as marching devastation. Instead, an infectious groove meets energy to devastating effect. Even the blow-by-blow nature of the album’s first few riffs jerk away any notion of a lumbering doom drenched giant. The forward motion of the band’s aesthetic hidden under a well-oiled death metal riff machine.
These repeated ideas, even somewhat circular in nature, become a fixed point for the listener, ready to hold onto as ideas develop, change and shift again. This six-minute escapade is so drenched in recurring motifs it’s hard to quite pin down just how this band is progressing out of their old school death metal roots. Forget the fact that this is just how their newest album, At The Foothills Of Deliration opens, forget that this little band comes from Australia (a country more synonymous with blue collared rednecks, the Hemsworth brothers and its backwards politics). Take the frantic introductions of “Equipoise Recast” for example. The bone gives Faceless Burial structure, identity even-but the individuality comes from the flesh. For those transfixed within the realms of the band’s more sophomoric release (that is to say Speciation being the second of this Melbourne based death trio), At The Foothills Of Deliration’s foothold is less firm in the sovereign state of the old school and largely more equipped to meld its progressive modern influences onto a foundation simply built on them. It’s a topic that brings us to the very roots of Faceless Burial’s At The Foothills Of Deliration, and its cacophony of whirlwind riffs, sensual forward-thinking grooves and hugely organic production that juxtapose dearly with the record’s more angular, hirsute moments. Death metal is wholesome indeed, and not all innovation needs to be presented so unmistakable, discernibly immediate to those who scan through seconds of music at a time all in the hopes of achieving that ‘buzz’.
Its elements are so focused on moving the genre into unknown climes that its listeners (particularly in regard to the fanbase) often forget the primal sensuality to which pioneering bands offer. Its direction is carved out by niche wanderings and the purveying old school elements. Review Summary: A firm hold on the genome.ĭeath metal of late has been on a trajectory.
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