Originally written by Chris Redar
Guess what kids? It’s story time.
When yours truly heard Saprogenic had a new album in the pipeline, I sprang into action to make sure my name was attached for the review. See, back in 2003, I fancied myself a drummer, and as such was a member of a band called Leper Colony (our now legendary debut album is out of print; sorry, collectors). As terrible as we were, we made every attempt to play and book any and every show we could with any band foolish enough to curse their good name by appearing on the same flyer as us. One such show, which occurred on February sixth of the aforementioned year, featured quite a lineup. There was Plague Bringer, Decrypt, Mutilated, Funeral Fuck Toy, and the entire reason for this pointless trip down alcohol-soaked memory lane: Detroit-based death metal progenitors Saprogenic. And they just ran away with that fucker–tight, concise, direct, and done before the show got stale (which may have had something to do with them being the only somewhat sober band at the time of the performance). As such, I’ve always had a bit of a soft spot for these young lads.
Fast forward to 2013. Saprogenic has returned from a nearly seven year stretch of albumlessness with Expanding Toward Collapsed Lungs, and it’s a fucking beast. Not that its predecessors (2003’s The Wet Sound of Flesh on Concrete and 2006’s Ichneumonid) were slouches in the speed or brutality departments, but Expanding Toward Collapsed Lungs takes the flag and runs for the hills. And it runs fast. Beatsmith Jerrod MacPherson was either on steroids, meth or both when he recorded the nearly non-stop double bass caravan contained therein. This thing doesn’t fire right out of the cannon, however. “Removing a Phantom Limb” gives a false sense of security at the onset by dialing things down a notch in every department. It’s the shortest track on the album, there isn’t a blast until the midway point, and the guitars are completely subdued, serving only to complement the stuttered gallop of the drums. This song would gladly buy you a drink and ask how your family is doing.
Then the rest of the album would follow you out of the bar and beat the shit out of you in front of your friends before spitting on the snoring husk that was once your conscious body. “Eat My Heart” really begins the walloping with some of the fastest blasting you’ve ever heard this side of David McGraw. Jeremy Swanson’s near-constant low growl is made all the more intimidating in that it’s nearly decipherable and sits perfectly next to the guitars in the mix, adding to the already pummeling affair.
And it only gets worse, kids. “Choking Victim” and “Below Death” offer a devastating one-two that is reminiscent of the best Vile material, in that sections will be stuck in your head for days. These two tracks should always be listened to one right after the other in much the same way that you wouldn’t watch The Road Warrior without first watching Mad Max as a frame of reference; the two complement each other. You could say they complete each other, if by “complete each other” you meant “kick the listener’s ass with absolutely compelling riffs and drumwork.”
Something Saprogenic has become quite adept at over the years is focusing on grooves without slipping into breakdown territory. Any slight slow-down in the action only acts as a bridge from bloody noses to black eyes. The title track, for example, lets off of the pedal just long enough to let the riff soak in before delivering what is possibly the most “brutal” passage on the entire album. This is another point that Expanding Toward Collapsed Lungs makes incredibly well: this is a band. Nothing on this album stands head-and-shoulders above anything else; every element is in place to serve the song, and nothing more. As a result, however, the element of surprise is non-existent. Which is absolutely fine for death metal of this caliber; this exists solely to hit that little brutal spot in your body where good feelings used to live, and in that purpose, it’s a singular success.
With that point in mind, the running time may be a tad too long for the album’s own good. While every track on its own is a damn fine ride, listening to them all in sequence (even the above-average cover of “Night’s Blood” by Dissection) can be a bit of a chore. This is best administered like a mafia bribe: half now, half in a couple of days, and half upon delivery. But overall, it’s of the opinion of this shitty drummer-turned-shitty-music-critic that it would be a shame if an album this brutal and yet infectious in more than a couple of spots were to slip through the cracks of the monument that death metal is building to the gods of awesomeness this year.
