Infernal Hate - Necrophorous Humator

Rating: 4.1

Country: Spain

Release Date: 2007

Track list:
01. Pure Hate
02. Vomiting Chaos
03. Mihi Nomine Est Diavolo
04. The Face of Terror
05. Life Condemned
06. The Apocalypse
07. The Armageddon
08. Reborn of the Spawn
09. Prepared for War
10. In a Sea of Madness

Band Website: Infernal Hate

Infernal Hate - Necrophorous Humator

Sevensui - Guitars & Vocals
David “Deathkult” - Bass Guitar
Jose “Mostro” - Drums & Vocals

Can I get away with judgin' a band by its name today? I might try. Here's the latest album by Canary Islands act, Infernal Hate. That's probably some uninspired, ditchwater-dull Death Metal and about as appealin' as a cold, bone-dry Greggs pasty purchased after the last bake-off of the day. Well, dear DC reader, let me tell you, Infernal Hate have all the appeal o' a tepid, slightly soggy Greggs pasty purchased mid-afternoon but, alas, it still tastes like uninspired, ditchwater-dull Death Metal.

So, what's in the pastry case? Substantial blast, chewy riff stodge and satisfactory vokill gravy. As mildly appetizin' as this may sound to some, the musical expression o' their ambitious vision o' brutality is plastered together with such amateurish composition and musicianship, this just resembles unlovingly prepared hunks of over-cooked, indigestible song-protein, baked together in a bland, forgettable album. Don't get me wrong tho', this isn't another blunt-blazin', bitch-fistin', Korn-kopyin', slam-slammin' guttural brootality nu-crew, ‘cos the material doesn't plump for continuous cheezy brieez, beatdowns or gravs, choosin' to instead peddle an anomalous, technical style. Each song moves through a number of incongruous phrases, often ploughin' along with chunky riffin' afore suddenly joltin' into heads-down blast, then havin' a quick run thru an unrelated scale or illogical motif, then workin' backwards for a bit, but stoppin' off along the way to pick up a few spare chugs. Although I must compliment the musicians on their elaborate, amorphous approach, I'm afraid their rushed song-writin', shoddy execution and rubbish production heavily prevented me from enjoyin' their release. Mindless drum clatter, tuneless riffin', featureless vox; each songpart is connected with all the finesse of a sleepy male stegosaurus at a needlework class.

Methinks with a few more rehearsals and a bit o' structural re-shufflement, the elements o' their sound could work a treat. However, on this record, it comes across as stultifyingly workman-like. Or, more specifically, warehouseman-like. Hark! You can hear them as they chuck crates containin' technical electronic components about the place: “Hurry up lads, lets get these shifted, palletized, ten percented, labeled, linked, taped ‘n' putaway as fast as we can, I'm gaggin' for yet another cup o' tea and a snout!” It's a shame really, ‘cos with more careful unloadin' and neater shrink-wrappin', Necrophorous Humator would've had potential to be quite a laudable recordin'. They do try to explore different textures here ‘n' there, but that morose clean-tone guitar part and a minimal soundscape fashioned from staticky noise with gurgly vox over doesn't fare well in savin' this.

To this shit-faced reviewer, it sounds like these lads've been raised on a steady diet o' classick Suffo, Immo and Morbid Angel, along with Internal Bleedin' and Dyin' Fetus, then of course decided to have a go themselves, but without first thoroughly masterin' their instruments or honin' their songcraft. So, somehow, you end up with a combination o' the slapdash stuff by Putrefied on The Putrid Remains, the blurry, gun-metal nothingness o' Brodequin, insipid progressions from a Lividity demo, repetitive Internal Sufferin' bits, cute song-writin' slip-ups like very ol' Cenotaph (Tur) and the slackest moments o' Bound ‘n' Gagged.

The production is dreadful and does little to aid the flailin' tracks; the kit is just a distant biscuit barrel ‘n' a couple o' clicky cushions, the guitar is scratchy on the lows ‘n' reedy on the highs while the vox sound subdued and boxy. The packagin' is similarly cack, with a cover displayin' a devilish lookin' character strikin' a pose on the banister of some stone steps with crap flames in the background. Inside, we're lucky enough to have the lyrics, but unfortunately, their content doesn't offer any redeemin' features either, although they do prompt a stifled giggle! “Pure hate in me…I see the eyes of death/You're a fucking bastard…Are you prepare for war?...My soul is black, it's fire/I live in a world, called Hell…I pass through the abyss of lie/I run over the curtains of madness.” !!!!

If you're a discernin' Death Metal listener, I can't really recommend this to you, but if you're not fussy when it comes to songmanship, performance, production values or aesthetics then buy this and put it on the shelve with others. Oh, and give ‘em a dust while you're at it!

April 3rd, 2008