It probably says something about me, but I find some comfort in the sound of filth – there’s magic in the audible grime that coats quality crust. Cross that with the power of extreme metal, in whichever variety you like best, and the symbiosis is synergistic. True, there’s not always the most variety between proponents, especially the closer a band adheres to the crust formula, but give me appropriate fury and a palpable filth, and I’m generally a happy little camper.
Brazil’s Subterror mixes their crust with death metal, falling somewhere in the space between early Bolt Thrower, Deviated Instinct, and homeland heroes Sepultura. It’s not a new combination, but it’s a winning one. A trio, Subterror still puts forth an impressive racket – drummer Samuel plays with a perfect looseness; any tighter, and it would be too strict, but, any looser and it’s just chaos. Luan’s bass is distorted and biting, almost grinding; Harry’s guitars are chainsaws, slicing through with manic intensity.
The band’s first EP after two splits and a demo, Antroportum operates at two speeds: Primarily, damn near exclusively, it’s fast and loud thrashy death metal, but in a few key moments, it’s spiced up with midtempo bulldozer grooves that provide some of its greatest power (particularly in halfway point “Caminhando de um inferno para outro”). After a soundbite introduction from “Waking Life,” Antroportum begins with the short instrumental pounding of “O vazio de máquina.” That straightforward statement of vicious intent is immediately followed up by “Estéstica do fim,” which is a number both gnarly and groovy, filled with biting tremolos and chunky riffs beneath Luan’s bellowing growl. From there, it’s twenty-two minutes of not-quite-sloppy punked out thrashing death metal, mostly bashing and sometimes bludgeoning, but grin-inducing throughout.
Like its black and white, skeleton-with-bullets cover art, Antropomortum fits in the crust world as much as it does in the death/thrash market – in either case, it doesn’t attempt to set itself apart from the rest of the pack so much as it’s content just to steamroller through them. It’s punky; it’s deathy; it’s filthy; and it’s fun as hell – no wheels reinvented; no damns given, by me or by them; and when it’s done, only the dirt remains.
