Encephalophonic - X
With the choice blessings of Freak Animal deposited upon the name, Encephalophonic makes the quantum leap: from compulsive spasticator toiling in the shadow of the hallowed Pain Jerk-Sickness-Merzy tripartite – to out and out hero plumped for all due bunghole lashing upon the international noise stage. X marks the territory normally under Bonini jurisdiction- massed layers of metal-junk heaving and churning, rapid-fire plumbing of the aural cavities, frantic, manic, ever attentive, never settled – but lays claim to areas previously reserved for the cognescenti, with all the studio refinements, artistic tweaks and enhancements demanded from the Kingmakers. Simply put, the man has significantly upped his game. In two ways. First, and immediately apparent, recording quality. Punches really punch, piercings really pierce. A cleaner, brighter Encephalo emerges, burnished with glimmering coats of reverb. While the less forgiving might be tempted to doc points for the strategic retreat from filthier climes previously investigated, the forceful impact of such full-bodied, dynamic, "heaving and churning" is not to be denied. True to form established in 2013's Regressed Progress, a choice selection of docu-clips sets a central narrative focus. This time, however, thanks to the averred upping of the overall production values, the net effect is rather cinematic. I'd title it "Borderline Personalities: When Self-Induced Vomiting Is Not Enough", a heart-rending – if rather tasteful! - portrait in the field of self-torture porn. The sonic-sensual drama that unfolds is surprisingly patient, exploratory, thoughtful, serving to up the game in the second manner apparent. "Patient, exploratory, thoughtful" are the clinchers. Here be perv in near voyeuristic mould, more than content to take his time, to feel things out, to massage and molest, to sit back and watch as he sets his playthings in motion, coaxing from each individual movement just the right dose of brutalized screech, trembling shudder. Connoisseurs of the cut-up species of harsh may perceive in this characterization the wholesale endorsement of a current trend, whereby the project progresses from fixation on unrelenting frenzied all-out assault to more measured deliberations of a decidedly "mature" persuasion. But where progression of this kind might once have taken years to realize, the plethora of recent benchmarks in the area has helped accelerate things. The liner notes tell us the materials were "de-composed, recorded & mixed during 2011-2012" then "edited and mastered in 2014". Sounds about right. "Massed layers of metal-junk heaving and churning, rapid-fire plumbing of the aural cavities, frantic, manic". That good hard EncephaloFILTHic. It's all there. It's just... spread out a fair bit: well-spaced, well-ventilated, with plenty the opportunity to pause, sniff around, get one's bearings, soak up the stench, wallow in carefully-considered (self-)defilements of the first order. Okay, so a little breakdown here. "As Thin As You Can" presents us with an agitated, smothering bass-line, somewhat low-key and dirge-like, before strep-throated gregorians gentrify an increasingly ragged pitch of rarefied scrunch and burble. Five minutes in and yet to shoot the wack, some classy shit there! As "Suicide Solution" slides them choice doco snippets into darkened wobba-wobba-wobba, we again await, patiently, the harsher incursions- which finally do hit, but with somewhat restrained force, at 1:30. By the time this sleekly presented little gem has run its course, however, we know we are in for a pleasurably painful ride, slow-mo metallic hack 'n slash shredding apart the otherwise rather sedate tapestry of bass-heavy loop-bludger. Thus the necessary power electronic synth-fart acceleration into "Accelerated Brain Activities", again a good minute-and-a-half before the "metal-junk heaving and churning" gets the juices pumping. Still the wide-range of continuous angular blasting is carefully staked, as though to emphasize each decisive cut. Among the more spasmodic species of sonic-sensual assault, patience can be a virtue of questionable decorum, but the steady, junked-out, hammering of "Reverbered Pain" viciously shreds apart any lingering doubts. Stand-out track or brief acoustic interlude? Better, first bookend of the main course, the meat, as it were: and so to linger ever so lovingly over wonderfully full-to-the-brim outpouring of fulsome, filthsome, flavorings, several tracks worth of the shit, a densely composed concoction of all the brutal machinations to be suffered under the depraved deviant of Harsh Audio Perversion(tm), razored raw self-mutilations, psychedelic shots of searing thunder, tender throat-fisting, a good bit of ye olde herkily jerkily, rhythmic nipponistic shit-puke fetishism, and then, finally, the high-pitched, painfully burning sensations of "Infected Whore" giving way to "Baby Borderline", a deliberate slowing of pace as the tone darkens considerably in meeting the second spate of even-tempered, junked-out, hammering, the perv setting his echoing shards of acoustic "Razor Blades" to task in quite stunning closure to a rather epic set. Deep breath. As the final cut lacerates the reverberant floor, a frayed, high-pitched, tone oozes into explosive, crunch-heavy, detonations of the inevitable "Nervous Breakdown". Patience has paid off. The "Gun Threat" all the more threatening when the person cocking the hammer is your own sorry self. Grim, blackened buzz-tones underline spare, brutish, full-force discharge, fragments of distressed voice occasionally breaking through the densely compacted outbursts. But don't you worry. Down those pills, sit back, relax, enjoy the hurt. Blissful oblivion awaits.
