Admittedly, I had to google to learn what Via Combusta is. This reviewer is not an apostle of the occult powers of astrology, therefore search yourselves in case you’re a member of the same category of disreputable bipeds. Anyhow, the two sides of this vinyl offer exactly what we expected, namely violently cathartic music filling whatever space the brain might have left vacant after the utter tedium of ordinary everyday activities. It is also surprisingly effective in transforming annoying people chatting about assorted bullshit into gasping fishes lacking a definite direction in the improbable aquarium of presumptuousness.

This is the exhilarating encounter of a raging bass – whose overdriven dyslexia gets looped and mangled ad infinitum – and a set of drums sounding like chained explosions of humongous abscesses. Within the scorching noise, an undeclared ritualistic vibe is definitely present. The body is entirely aware of the salubriousness of what is being devoured, in spite of the hypothetically discomforting complexion of the sonic mass. At times, Pupillo’s puissant droning seem to camouflage the choral wailing of disconsolate prisoners; right then and there, Corsano’s ferocious drumming comes to devastate the remnants of their baddest dreams. The interaction between the two knows no dead spot: the quiet moments are extremely rare, the tendency to erupt an invariable constant. Oppression turned into blessing; neurosis pointing the way to the ultimate ascension. Can you say “glistening murk”?

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