Defiled
Towards Inevitable Ruin
(Season of Mist)
Listening to Tokyo’s death metal behemoths Defiled is like listening to Maurizio Pollini play Chopin in the key of hell: you can hear every little molecule, every little painterly movement, and every little piece of soulful yearn. It’s expressive. Defiled rule at being singular, which is saying a lot in an over stuffed copycat genre like death metal. The deeper you travel with these guys, the more territorial the aesthetic. Their new construction Towards Inevitable Ruin isn’t quite the mind-splintering grid that say, 1999’s Erupted Wrath was, but it’s still unique, and runs blocks and angles that swarm, trance, and chop along their own infinite orb.
With lofty and hearty bursts, each relatively (in death metal terms) quick workout is like a whipping basket of rigid rakes: spiny, horror-tinged, and hardcore. Punk rock is a good thing to keep in mind when visiting Defiled: they do things their own way. There’s a particular grind to this new album that is wavy and noisy, often favoring junky cut ups and exclusive jaunts, over anything resembling tasteful. It’s grimy and good that way, technical with a sort of underground matrix vibe.
Defiled have been around since the early ‘90s, doing their own thing and counting the infinite death metal stars that sparkle in the stratosphere. I’ve heard some grumbling that this new lineup (only Yusuke Sumita remains from the original band) doesn’t quite run the board, but I don’t hear it. This is a weird, cubistic, and tunneling behemoth of a record; and if this is the first time you’re ever listening to Defiled you’re going to hear something remarkably original. Nobody sounds like these guys: they make art out of riffs, snares, and death.
Purchase Towards Inevitable Ruin here.
