Originally written by Jordan Campbell
This is insane. Pure, calculated, concentrated insanity. Only those prepared to cram their minds into the corners of such madness should enter the world of Blood Revolt. Consider this fair warning, ’cause this trio will offer no such courtesy. If you’re primed wrap your filthy, crooked fingers around the warhead known as Indoctrine — knowning full well that you’ll ultimately bathe in its detonation holocaust — read the fuck on.
Indoctrine is the product of a rather unlikely collaboration. It essentially merges Primordial — via the indomitable vocals of A.A. Nemtheanga — and the now-defunct Axis of Advance, courtesy of the incessant tag-team of J. Read and C. Ross (who also tirelessly-yet-sporadically collaborate in Revenge). If you’re familiar with these acts, Blood Revolt should offer few surprises, and that’s a good thing. (If you aren’t familiar with these bands, you might want to do some homework before diving in, ’cause this thing is flying from left field like a hurricane-force nailstorm.)
Yes, the end result of this merger is as mindfuckingly wild as its concept. Don’t underestimate this fact: Blood Revolt is a wild motherfucking concept — a style clash of the most righteous order. Ross and Read attack with unabashed war metal fervor; churning riffs constantly collide with Read’s instantly recognizable, crackle-pop fills. Again, unsurprising. But thine ears hath been trained to hear a (formerly) extreme vocal delivery accompany these wares: a venomous rasp, a rumbling bellow, a caveman’s grunt. Blood Revolt guts this convention and frolics in the entrails.
Instead of falling back into the comfort of his blackened roots, Nemtheanga rants and raves atop this unholy racket like a man possessed. It’s the a fanatical performance of a rockstar recluse. He screams his diatribes while swimming in thrice-glazed eyes, gripping a non-existent pulpit perched in a decrepit one-room apartment, as spittle and blood rains upon the silently slavering mob embedded in his four walls. It’s Big Boss as Travis Bickle, with tenfold intensity.
Nemtheanga’s rambling, soaring vocals are an odd foil for the hyper-speed deathgrind of “Dead City Stare” and “God’s Executioner, Praise Be,” and the effect is as discomforting as it is powerful. The delivery is horrifyingly human, quite stark in the face of a genre obsessed with inhumanity. This shocking realism rapes the fantastical and leaves the carcass to rot.
Said recipe renders Indoctrine‘s first half a cold shock to the system; the sheer violence quakes the blood and tightens the tendons in a manner that can only be mustered by the purest, most unflinching of metals. (That hate-fueled jaw clench of doom? In full effect here.) The second half, marked by the crushing centerpiece “My Name in Blood Across the Sky,” is where Blood Revolt stakes their claim as something more than an outlet for unbridled hostility. Ross comes through with fat, boiling riffery that gracefully counters Read’s hellish blasting…but only as a prelude. The song grinds to a literal halt at about three-and-a-half minutes, giving way to a pulverizing passage that constitutes the mightiest two minutes of doom metal spawned this year. Read soon steers the dirge back onto the apocalyptic highway, driving the title track, “Year Zero,” and “The Martyr’s Brigade” headlong into heavy metal clusterfuck hell.
The final product is one of the most adventurous, wretchedly refreshing releases in quite some time. Begrudgingly, that fact doesn’t have the strength to marginalize some of Indoctrine‘s faults. At times, the disparate styles of the collaborators can clash a little too jarringly. (For instance, the odd-fucked punk riff stapled into “Bite the Hand, Purge the Flesh” is borderline repugnant.) But the danger that’s been bottled here is a special thing; there’s not a band on the planet that sounds likeBlood Revolt. In a world saturated with peddlers of faux-brutality, this shattered-glass gospel should ring resoundingly.
Again, be warned: Blood Revolt‘s dessicated hostility isn’t for everyone. For those that would prefer another platter of pedestrian placation, sit tight ’til something soothing trickles down the pipe. (It won’t take long, assuredly.) This is for those that have been chomping at the bit and clawing at their flesh in anticipation of taking up their arms and marching into war. For these wild-eyed few, Indoctrine lies in wait.