by Octopi Mills

Bodemloos comes washing in like a tidal wave of dissonant sounds, slapping and eating the shore between the skull and brain and turning it into a mush. Psychedelic? I suppose this is true if one enjoys a cerebral hammer to the tender, soft parts of the brain, or if one is delighted to be subjected to a poor man's monarch programming. 

In this case the handler likes to drone his victim and ring his mind like he wrings the strings of his guitar, like pulling the wings off a butterfly that was flying into the bronze sunset of oblivion. The bleak, drowning and drone of the guitar rings the listener and reminds one of a bomb going off slowly or of a crock pot that once held vegetable matter but was left on too long by the cook or the handler, turning the contents to mush. Though called black metal, it is more reminding of the noise of a band like Isis than any black metal I have ever heard, and perhaps the handler hears his own noises differently than the target. In time the music catches one's thoughts as gulls are caught in an oil spill, and makes things sticky and frustrating for future flights over bodies of water. Brains become jellied and more easily spread over crackers to be eaten and destroyed utterly before thoughts are lost forever in the time continuum best understood by men of pseudo proficiency. Vocals are merely insect, and themes matter not as one is eaten by the noise of Verwoed. The sounds ring and bang and screech as one is pulled down to nowhere; brainless, useless, hopeless nowhere..