I’m a big fan of just kind of saying what you mean, out there in what we so laughably call ‘the real world’. Bands like Indian appeal pretty strongly to that part of my psyche, as handily evidenced by them wanging a track called Rape front and centre of their latest release (note: I had a wee chat about this with our esteemed editor and all-around ruddy bloody nice bloke Paul shortly before I submitted this review. Interesting, it was. No, it was a private chat. No, YOU shut up and get on with it.)
Erm, anyway. Yeah. Indian and their new record. Sorry. It’s really, really horrible. Like, properly awful. In the best possible way, of course. Their last one, Guiltless? That was fucking terrifying too, but in a mildly more acceptable manner than this.
From All Purity essentially takes a look at all the things that usually make for a popular record and chucks all of them right in the bin. It then takes a dirty great dump in the bin, covers the plops in newspaper, sets fire to the paper and rolls the bin straight into the part of your mind that deals with melody and hooks. FUCK YOU MELODY! UP YOURS, EASY-TO-GRASP STRUCTURES! POKE IT UP YOUR HOOP, SINGALONG CHORUSES! RAAAGH! YEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRGH!
A bit like that, anyway. I’m not sure why everything has to be categorised as ‘blackened x’ these days, but that’s where other people are going with this, so I might as well roll with it in a desperate, futile attempt to sound contemporary and knowledgeable. I dunno, we used to just call this stuff ‘doom’ and get back to playing on our Amigas and Megadrives. Tch.
Anyway, the ‘describing’ bit: It lumbers along, staggering from hideous riff to clattering fill to grief-laden shriek like a stabbed mammoth, all loaded up on sadness, opiates of suspect origin and a furious, clamouring depression. Did I mention it’s really, really horrible? Like, properly awful?
Yep, I love it. For fans of Burning Witch, if such a creature really exists and I didn’t invent it.