Originally written by Jordan Campbell
“Don’t judge a band by their looks!” scream the HM PC crew, “…metal isn’t about image”. Nor is it about being flippantly judgmental, so I suppose there is some merit to this sentiment. Surely, there must be a horde of quality bands that look like total jackasses, otherwise this phrase wouldn’t be bandied about as often as it is– though, for the life of me, I can’t think of any. While the four Turkish lads of Decaying Purity certainly don’t look like jackasses, one would be a pitied fool for not pigeonholing the band’s sound in an instant.
The scene is so cliched, it’s almost sickening…the four super-serious metalmen glowering at the camera behind facial hair and flowing Jesus-locks. The bookending dudes have their arms tersely crossed beneath the logos of their Devourment and Deeds of Flesh hoodies; the guys in the middle keep their tightly-clenched fists to their sides, to better display the tacky imagery that their Disgorge and Malignancy XL Beefy Tees are plastered with. Yes, Decaying Purity belong to this clan of nearly-identical dudes, those devotees of the most brutal of blast-heavy brutal death. Trouble is, when traipsing around the realm of brutality, there’s a fine line that divides the bad shit from the good shit; the middle ground is merely a toestep’s width. Most bands that derive their insipiration directly from their immediate peers tend fall into “bad shit” territory, and Decaying Purity are no exception. This music is so predictable, so pedestrian, and so devoid of the danger that makes death metal fuckin’ vital that it essentially defeats its own purpose. Guitars saw away with little regard for riffery and fisticuffs, rolling recklessly, randomly. Drums hack and smack with zero sense of lock-groove or pocket presence, blasting and blasting into the depths of boredom. Vocals barf forth as comical secretions, uttering nary a quality hook, claw, or original thought during the likes of “Create the Torso With A Hatchet”, “Hemorrhoids Throat”, or “Increasing Deformations”. The combination is boring, tired, and lame.
Mediocre racket like “They Were Raped In Quarantine” is probably fun for the band to perform, as they seem to hold these well-tread sounds high esteem. Actually listening to it is another matter altogether. With a glut of similarly-minded, similarly-dressed, and similarly-brutal bands sprouting and bursting from the seams, songs are the key to relevance, and Decaying Purity have none worth listening to. Though, to be fair, the sample that opens “Mass Decaptiation” is the funniest damn thing I’ve heard in the past six hours.
