Godflesh is pain. Regardless of whether Justin Broadrick and G.C. Green are plumbing the industrial depths they invented on their earliest records or hitting harder with danceable grooves and beats, this band is an expression of pain. Broadrick himself admits as such, stating that this pain is usually of the “mental, philosophical and existential” variety, but recent years added physical pain to the mix in the form of a hernia that was largely the result of decades of shouting and roaring and bellowing along to his band’s apocalyptic music.
However, this new album is not brand new. It was recorded during the same sessions as Godflesh’s last proper full length album Purge, with final touches made more recently. But beyond coming from the same sessions, Purge and Decay could not be more different. Whereas Purge is a hip hop-infused industrial dance party, Decay largely eschews that side of the band that moves asses. It’s either wildly experimental (the colossal bookending tracks) or a really corrupted take on the band’s established thumps and beats. Further, Broadrick’s traditional Godflesh roar is used sparingly, sometimes replaced by his airy singing, but other times he employs deeply distorted, inhuman vocals to great, disturbing effect. It all adds up to one overwhelming message: there is no solace, no light, and no comfort.
That is especially true of those bookending tracks, which together make up almost half of the album’s 42-minute runtime. “Master and Slave” opens the record up with nearly nine minutes of corrosive heft, as guitars and programmed drums hammer the listener relentlessly with nary a sign of hook or melody. Synths do add both space and tension, as certain passages veer close to post metal and shoegaze, but the song never becomes catchy or even particularly comfortable, a trait furthered by the barely recognizable vocals. It’s an exhaustive track that makes a bit of a rough first impression – it was an odd choice for a single – but as the album begins to sink in, it reveals itself to be both a fitting opener and engrossing piece of music in its way.
The middle of the album is comprised of four tracks that, while closer to Purge in style, still veer towards Godflesh’s darkest tendencies. Riffs are blunt (and monstrously heavy), the bass and programmed drums are relentless in their pummeling, and vocals, even when clean, do more haunting than soothing. Sure, you can kinda dance along to “Living/Ending” – Green’s bass is almost daring you to do so – but it’s only about as fit for a club floor as “Like Rats.” Not exactly discotheque material. Elsewhere, “Fear of Man” employs synths and monolithic riffs to create a mood that is as damning as it is oddly inviting, a trait that could describe each of the four center songs.
But according to Broadrick himself, it’s the bookends that really constitute the thematic meat of the album. While “Master and Slave” sets the scene and casts a shadow over the album’s middle songs, “Consume Me” closes it with nearly 12 minutes of pure no wave hell. The song’s first half is defined by deep guttural bellows, riffs that aren’t so much riffs as they are mechanical clangs, a drum machine that refuses to give into a consistent beat, and passages of droning noise. Up to that point, the song is horrifying, but the second half might be the scariest piece of music Godflesh has ever put to tape. For one, it’s preposterously heavy, even for Godflesh, and the vocals are among the most distorted and corrupted on the entire record. Broadrick’s repeated scream of “Consume me / become me” is accompanied by music that devolves and distorts and generally decays until all that is left is a horrifying expanse. No real resolution, just the terrified memory of what you just experienced. It’s one of those songs and records that you really don’t feel like following with anything else. Silence works best so you can recover.
Broadrick has already stated that Decay is the penultimate Godflesh record. One more and they’re done. After bingeing on this record for the last week, I find it hard to fathom where he and Green will go from here. Yes, Decay is technically made up of session leftovers, but it feels like a last gasp of desperation and pain, like a final statement from a band that hasn’t needed to make a statement in decades. The middle songs are a distillation of everything that has made Godflesh’s darkest moments great, whereas the lengthy bookends see the band free of constraints and exploring in a way they haven’t in ages.
It’s a glorious combination that results in a pretty great album, one that I dare say is essential listening for Godflesh fans, especially for those that cling to the self-titled EP and Streetcleaner as their favorites. Like those early releases, Decay is frequently miserable in a rather captivating way, and isn’t that why we’re all here?
