Originally written by Chris Redar
Pathology’s self-titled album is boring as shit.
You have no idea how tempting it is to try and sneak that sentence by the boss and hope he is in the middle of being stranded in the Siberian tundra until after this runs. There’s not a lot to say about an album that goes nowhere and accomplishes nothing. It’s an ignorant brutal death metal record that is neither brutal nor ignorant.
One aspect is actually completely ignorant in the worst way– the vocals. The layers and layers of gurgling remind me of what pre-taste me used to listen to in an attempt to “frighten” the “normies”. Who cares if the music doesn’t sound good or is put together poorly or isn’t coherent? It’s BRUTAL and SCARY and OFFENSIVE and I bet the shirts have TITS and STABBED PEOPLE on them. Not that I’m above any of that kind of stuff, but when it’s as dull as this it’s hard to give a shit.
I couldn’t tell you if the drums are live or triggered. They sound triggered, but all drums sound triggered now. If they’re programmed, then they were slapped together in a mighty hurry. If I had all the time in the world to make my drums sound artificially bitchin’, you better believe I’d look beyond pairing up standard double bass patterns with everything blasts and calling it a day.
Some of the riffs are ok.
I cannot in good conscience say I enjoyed anything more than changing the disc when this was over. The editor tells me I use too many food metaphors in my writeups, so I’ll avoid that and say that this is the plain cream of wheat of ultra-brutal death– starving doesn’t seem like such a bad option when the alternative is trying to choke down flavorless lumps of clay water for dinner.