Inspired by the three-song EPs of god slaying legends like Slayer, Entombed and Autopsy, Massachusetts hardcore band Fuming Mouth have stepped into the footprints of these giants with their own three-song release and follow up to their debut LP The Great Descent, a crypt racking monstrosity they are calling Beyond the Tomb. It’s everything you love about the band delivered in breathless succession.
One of the more amazing feats Fuming Mouth accomplished on their debut was to capture the energy and gruesome, oblivion seeking angst of Earache era late 80s death metal and updating it with punishing metalcore grooves to make those well warn burial shrouds feel freshly warmed with the smell and taste of blood.
Beyond the Tomb succeeds in being a continuation of the band’s exploration of the inconceivable horror of being and a manifestation of macabre incarnate, with Fuming Mouth becoming disconcertingly more and more surefooted in their journey into the grievous depths of the unknown.
Like being pulled from a dream by a ghastly vision and roused from your bed only to discover a new passageway has opened in your living room, one that descends into a consuming, lightless pit, the opening and title track “Beyond the Tomb” beings with the magnetic whisper of a cloud of cob-webbing choaked distortion, that is suddenly cut with the blade of Slayer-esque buzzsaw riffage, the puncture wound of sound made by these opening chords is large enough for them to grab you and pull you into their world, throwing you down a spiral staircase of bone-cracking grooves where you land with a sudden impact on plateaus of arpeggiated solos and clean singing of the ghastly variety that Portrayal of Guilt is adroit in summoning.
“Master of Extremity” is a relentless saprophagous seal steering grind, the force of which is like a wind that cares the souls of the dead aloft and back into the desiccated flesh of their former bodies to rend them upright in a clandestine mission to reap vengeance on the living. “Road To Odessa” is a slower track by comparison, allowing the marrow separating thud of each guitar stroke to echo into the open air, brushing against your hair and turning it ashen white with the touch of its miasmic bluster.
Fear no devil but guard yourself against Fuming Mouth.