(Andy Synn offers his thoughts on the upcoming new album by Body Void)
Continuing with this week’s theme of posting articles about the most abrasive, horrible music of the year… here’s a few words (and then a few more words) about Body Void‘s most abrasive and horrible album yet.
Consider yourselves warned.
Of course, if you’ve been following the band’s career at all over the last several years then such a warning should be entirely unnecessary, as Body Void have always been possessed of a righteous, incandescent rage, which has only grown more intense as of late (hell, their most recent release was entitled Burn the Homes of Those Who Seek to Control Our Bodies, which should tell you something!).
But, even so, there’s no real way to prepare yourself for the veritable torrent of venom and vitriol the band unleash on Atrocity Machine which, over the course of just under forty-four minutes, pushes the trio’s sickeningly (at times almost psychotically) heavy Sludge Doom sound to new extremes.
The five tracks (and one unsettling intro) which makes up the band’s new album find them descending deeper into the same disturbing, drone-infused abyss inhabited by kindred-spirits like Primitive Man and Indian, while simultaneously sharpening their blackened teeth to give them an even more vicious bite – reminiscent of the likes of Phantom Winter and Lord Mantis – beneath which pulses a throbbing, bilious undercurrent of inhuman electronics and filthy, post-industrial effluent.
But it’s not just the sheer, uncompromising ugliness of the music which makes Atrocity Machine such a punishing listen – though, to be sure, the groaning riffs and grinding rhythms of “Human Greenhouse” and the corrupted auditory assault of “Flesh Market” make for a truly harrowing opening pair – it’s also the visceral vocals and equally vituperative lyrics, which together provide an unflinching insight into the fear, the fury, and the frustration of all those unlucky enough to be caught on the wrong side of the cult of capitalism.
Don’t get me wrong, no-one is saying that Body Void have ever been an easy listen, or suggesting that they’ve been pulling their punches before now – although, if they were, then god help us all – but the combination of acrid noise, anxiety-inducing distortion, and acerbic, acid-soaked shrieks (spitting forth lines like “Birthed on the factory line, cruelty after cruelty, hollowed upon high“) which forms the corrosive core of this album suggests that, far from going soft or slowing down, the terrible trio have instead found a whole new gruesome gear.