Coffin Rot’s newest release, Dreams of the Disturbed, is nothing short of a bowel-crushing, visceral death metal masterpiece that grabs hold of you from the first note and doesn’t let go of your testicles, uterus or both. With each album, the band has managed to evolve while staying true to their gritty, facefucking sound, and this latest effort is their most focused yet. This album is a full-throttle dive into the slamming death metal subgenre, marked by relentless riffage, gut-pounding breakdowns, and vocals so guttural they practically rumble through your bones.
The opening track, “Slaughtered Like Swine,” sets the tone for the entire album in just under five minutes. The song kicks off with a crushing, downtuned riff that immediately throws you into the abyss, followed by the rhythmic pummeling of the drums that hit you like a hammer to the skull which is probably how people go about killing pigs. The guttural growls are deeper and more sinister than anything Coffin Rot has done before. You can feel the sludge, GG Alin’s shit, the pus from an open wound caused by intravenous drug abuse and the recalcitrant rot oozing through the nasal cavities. It’s the perfect track to open the album, because it encapsulates everything that makes Coffin Rot a force to be reckoned with in the death metal scene: brutal riffage, punishing drums, and vocals that sound like they’re straight from the ghost of your mother’s evil twin sister.
One thing that stands out right from the get-go is the production. Death metal albums often have a tendency to be muddy, where the instruments blur together, losing definition. Not here. The mix is thick and heavy, but every instrument is clearly defined. You can hear the pulpy sound of the guitars, the thunder of the drums, and the rumble of the bass with absolute clarity. It’s a huge step forward in Coffin Rot’s sound, giving their music an even more intense edge.
“Perverted Exhumation,” is an absolute diseased-monster of a song. It’s shorter and faster than the opener, delivering a relentless, galloping beat that doesn’t let up for a single millisecond of your pathetic life.There is even a breakdown of sorts with a syncopated pause certain to help your body tense into rigor mortis before releasing into ejaculatory spasticity. The riffs alternate between driving, rhythmic chords before letting the lead guitar loose to soar, pick dive, whammy bar and general biological chokeslam of a lead.
The album continues its assault with “Unmarked, Shallow Grave,” which is, ironically, where things feel the most alive. The track opens with a ripper of a riff, almost melodic riff before diving haltingly headfirst into more of the band’s signature brutality. The slower section presents a sense of impending doom, contrasted by the fast, frantic drumming that explodes throughout the song.
While it may not be the most inventive track on the album, “Predator Becomes Prey” is a straight-up death metal banger that doesn’t waste a second. It’s aggressive, in-your-face, and everything a fan of death metal could want. Alternatively it’s most things a person that dislikes death metal wouldn’t want. So when strapping your parents, relatives, and softer friends into chairs be sure to blast this track in their face using some sort of oversized JBL Partybox (or whatever knock off brand they sell in your budget ass hick town). Don’t let the title fool you: there was no point in wich you, pathetic reader, were considered the predator. That was just a cruel joke akin to Trading Places where you only thought you were the successful miscreant. Rather, two older men in suits who control the world are about to teach you that lesson in a way that is utterly fucked and all for the bet of a single bone.
Solos. Fucking A-right solos! Boy can these music shop dropouts rip. When you walk into Guitar Center (which you really shouldn’t) and see some long-haired piece of shit trying to sell you a used RAT distortion pedal for $450 because “oh man the circuitry” you end up caving in because you think that asshole can play like this. He can’t. Only these guys can play like this. The few guitarists that thrive in the seedy underbelly of cities such as Pittsburgh, Cleveland, the less gentrified areas of Portland and, of course, Camden. New Jersey where guitars are fueled by stench and the town is warmed by garbage burned by those whom the world forgot.
The final track, “The Howling Man,” is a fitting end to this slamma-jamma, three-round TKO of a death metal journey. At over five-minutes long, it’s the longest track on the album (probably), and Coffin Rot uses every second to bring things to an atmosphere-laden and skull-crushing conclusion. The song opens with a sampled voice. So scary that your pants were shattered before you even knew you had pants on. Swinging riffs rock back and forth pulling you into an abyss darker than your American History SAT II that you failed.
The final breakdown of the song is perhaps the most pancreatically-devastating moment on the album. It’s a slow, slamming riff that repeats like a mantra, each repetition driving the song deeper into the ground. By the time the final note rings out, you will know that this is what you have wrought upon the world – the reason your family will suffer forever in a manure-filled silo topped with straw and lit afire by lightning from the heavens. KNEEL BEFORE YOUR DEATH LORDS, heathens. KNEEL, says Coffin Rot. And open your throats to accept the fecal semen of putrescence.
In conclusion, Coffin Rot’s latest album is a punishing, slamming death metal masterpiece. Every track offers something unique while maintaining the band’s signature brutal sound. The production is muddy yet crips and heavy, allowing every instrument to shine through the chaos. The songwriting has evolved, offering more dynamic shifts and atmosphere while never compromising on the sheer brutality Coffin Rot is known for. This is an album that will leave a mark on the death metal scene for years to come. If you’re a fan of heavy, relentless, and utterly brutal music, this album is an essential listen and proves you aren’t a total jitrag of a human that doesn’t deserve the holes in your socks.
