Monday, 2 March 2009

005 - Cannibal Corpse - "Tombs Of The Mutilated" (1992)

People say that there are only two certainties in life: death and taxes. The same may ring true for metal: AC/DC and Cannibal Corpse. Two bands that seemingly never shift, never waver, and never grow up from their adolescent, puerile pursuit of sex and six strings.

Cannibal Corpse have been frolicking in post-mortal ejaculation for some 20 years now, and have managed to upset – or grimly amuse - almost everybody in their wake. Hitting a blood-drenched pinacle in the late 1980s/early 1990s, Cannibal Corpse's imagery, both album sleeves and a lyrically, served to antagonise - their early albums were banned in Australia and Germany and caused calls for censorship at home in America.

Like AC/DC, it’s not very necessary to get every single album Cannibal Corpse have done: just the choice ones, and their third album, “Tomb Of The Mutilated” is one of their best.

Grunting and grinding into the world with the vicious, fast frenzy of “Hammer Smash Face” (one of the most PC of the song titles), its demented, heavy and bludgenioning from the start straight to the finish, 35 minutes later. But the shock of the album hits you way before then: the cover depicting a rotting corpse performing cunnilingus on another rotting corpse is – to say the least – eye catching. It is a perfect complement to the base noise within - a grinding death metal attack: fast; technical; dirty; disturbing and Chris Barnes’ legendry indecipherable bowls-of-hell vocals acting as a rhythmical item rather than anything closing in on melody. Cannibal Corpse listens like a Tom Savini (legendry horror special effects & makeup artist: Dawn Of The Dead; Friday The 13th) movie watches.

Yet,  for all the vile, disturbing imagery of songs like “I Cum Blood”, “Entrails Ripped From A Virgin’s Cunt” or “Necropedophile”, Cannibal Corpse have a musical presence, becoming more than just a offensive joke (it’s not like you can understand the lyrics, anyway). The music is violent and wretched, but somehow appealing, accessible; almost catchy (well, the riffs ...). You’ll come (cum?) for the guts, you’ll stay for the g(l)ory. 

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