Released: 2005, Razorback Records
Reviewer: Gabriel C. Zolman
“I know who you are, and you are nothing. You think you are fucking something, but you are fucking nothing… You are empty. You are a zero. You are a black hole…and I’m going to fuck you so bad, you’re going to be cumming out of your ears!”
(taken from the intro to “Liquid Lunch.”)
With a name like Lord Gore, you don’t expect much depth. But herein lay the clinker: this band knows how to play, and they know how to have fun at your expense. And the irony is, it’s worth it, track for track. Though some may argue that this new release is patchier than their sick-as-hell debut (2000’s The Autophagous Orgy), the progression in performance fills the void.
The album begins amply enough, though the opening track is hardly a shining moment for the band. The follow-up, “Brainfucker,” is entirely more menacing—though nowhere near as accomplished as track #4, “Liquid Lunch,” an LP highlight which achieves the near-impossible: it actually manages to be a perfect blend of Symphonies Of Sickness-era Carcass and Harmony Corruption-era Napalm Death. This is the Grail: This is the epitome of Grind-Gore, as it is perceived and pursued by those who seek, yet have failed to find ‘til now.
The samples are ever-present (see above), but unlike like the run-of-the-mill Mortician-geek splatterhounds that dominate the underground, these samples are actually cool, and appropriate. In fact, dare I say, the samples often help to make the song, and merit the price of this CD more times than not.
The vocals are varied, and a veritable fount of gurgling spewage. There are no effects on the vocals, no beer-fed belching, and no cupped homo hands. These grunts and growls are pure. This is either good or bad, depending on your point of view. This is Death Metal for bug-eating Green Berets, and people that deposit suspiciously lumpy garbage bags in apartment complex dumpsters on the other side of town.
Track number seven, “N.C.T.B.,” is classic speed-riff Death Metal, through and through—and accentuates repeatedly Lord Gore’s ace in the bloody swollen hole: they can actually solo. And not only can they solo, they can smugly mock the other bands that try. “Human Bot-Fly” sounds as if it could have been on any Earache release from 90-93—and this is a high compliment, if you know shit about shit.
#9 (“Chitin”) and #10 (“Kicked To Death”) both follow an old-school groove to rather technical conclusions—fans of the early-90’s Roadrunner regime will remember this formula fondly. “Kicked To Death” in particular has an excellent melodic breakdown, which virtually swims within its own guitar soloing around the two-minute mark—these guys might be violent perverts, but they all know how to play. (The addition of Frightmare’s Maniac Neil certainly doesn’t hurt things).
Sadly, bands like Lord Gore only know a trick or two—but they repeat these tricks with vigor, bile, and venom, and it works throughout the disc.
This is nothing new; but at least it’s done with style. Brutal Death fans will enjoy it; members of “The Hive” own it by now.