From the underbelly of Osaka, emerges "Sexus-Mortem, Ouroboros", the second album by this unholy duo, Sex Messiah. This release is no mere repetition, instead , a sulphuric delirium where genres convulse and melt into each other as waxen effigies under infernal flame. Firmly rooted in the charred soil of black metal, its branches twist wildly, bearing the bruised fruits of thrash, death, heavy metal, and cryptic ambient incantations.
The album slithers through dimensions with a serpentine cruelty, often lashing with thrash's manic fervour, then collapsing into cavernous spasms that echo. The textures mutate, sometimes crude and harsh as corroded iron scraping bone, other times cloaked in fog, where whispers of dark ambient drift like miasmas through a decaying chapel. These sonic mutations call to mind the South American black/death covens of yore, yet here their savagery is distilled through a uniquely lens of ritualistic erotic violence and spiritual disfigurement.
In the end, this is a ritual, a fever, a blade slid gently across the throat of sonic orthodoxy, beckoning not with beauty, but with the allure of madness, calling forth those willing to bleed with it.
Mão da Glória
From the underbelly of Osaka, emerges "Sexus-Mortem, Ouroboros", the second album by this unholy duo, Sex Messiah. This release is no mere repetition, instead , a sulphuric delirium where genres convulse and melt into each other as waxen effigies under infernal flame. Firmly rooted in the charred soil of black metal, its branches twist wildly, bearing the bruised fruits of thrash, death, heavy metal, and cryptic ambient incantations.
The album slithers through dimensions with a serpentine cruelty, often lashing with thrash's manic fervour, then collapsing into cavernous spasms that echo. The textures mutate, sometimes crude and harsh as corroded iron scraping bone, other times cloaked in fog, where whispers of dark ambient drift like miasmas through a decaying chapel. These sonic mutations call to mind the South American black/death covens of yore, yet here their savagery is distilled through a uniquely lens of ritualistic erotic violence and spiritual disfigurement.
In the end, this is a ritual, a fever, a blade slid gently across the throat of sonic orthodoxy, beckoning not with beauty, but with the allure of madness, calling forth those willing to bleed with it.
Cassette available through Wolfkult Religion.
2 months ago | [YT] | 4