Originally written by Jordan Campbell
Oddly, many metalheads have been slow to accept the notion that black metal and punk have more similarities than differences. Maybe it’s the perception that metal musicianship bears a heightened standard when compared to our three-chord cousins. (Unquestionably, this is true, but the tiresome tech-glut has significantly diminished the value of this distinction.) Maybe it’s the perception that punk rebellion–against the affectations of the affluent and drivel like “D’yer Mak’er”–paled in comparison to that of our cherished iconoclasts, which claimed the loftier goals of dismantling the entirety of Judeo-Christianity whilst aesthetically one-upping sweatpant-clad death metallers. Black metal ist krieg, after all.
But, regardless of elitist denials, black metal is our punk rock. This is fact. And the evidence has been there all along; looking back, there isn’t a very large leap between City Baby Attacked By Rats and Satanic Rites. (“Maniac” vs. “Maniac,” anyone?) Despite existing on opposite sides of the tracks, the two entites have wallowed in a mutual filth. As such, most astute necrofiends are also schooled in the ways of d-beats and crustification.
Enter Sepulchre.
In 2011, it’s admittedly less than novel to assemble your house from the scraps of Morbid Tales and Amebix and mortar it all together with a primal death metal swagger. Too many bands have tried. And too few have succeeded, at least in creating something beyond a fleeting adrenaline freakout. Sepulchre is one of those precious few. With their seventeen-minute, seven-song debut, Sepulchre have distilled such nail-fisted vitriol into a truly iconic package, setting the stage for a bright (bleak?) future.
Like most great records, I is not defined by style or genre; it’s defined by execution. Sepulchre runs through myriad riffs and tempos in a mere seventeen minutes, ebbing and flowing with a whip-smart intelligence that belies their base-level ferocity. The snarling tank-treading of “Wolves” lurches effortlessly into the bebop neckstomp of “Genocide One.” “Deathcult” turns from circlepit skank to blastbeat venom on a fuckingdime. All told, Sepulchre‘s songwriting chops should be the envy of any band cut from a similar cloth, and notes should be taken: Brevity is the new black.
The crackling energy of the recording only adds to the vitality. Boasting a robust bass tone and truly organic guitar interplay (overdubs are for assholes), I sounds fuckin’ live. And massive. Skar’s vocals (he and two others are of Megiddo infamy) are as burly as they are venomous…
…ah, fuck it. Simply put, this band fuckin’ rules. I is the catchiest, nastiest, gnarliest thing yet to drop this year. Sepulchre is cutting a holocaustic swath. Join ’em or get the fuck out of the way.
