Sunday, 18 August 2019

Satøri - Dispøssessiøn

Album: Dispøssessiøn
Artist: Satøri
Label: COD noizes
Catalogue no: SHUM18

     1.      Dead Cities
     2.      Succour
     3.      A Clean Death
     4.      Trogo
     5.      Flesh Ritual
     6.      Hatekeeper
     7.      Devils Cease
     8.      Esorcismo
     9.      Wytched
    10.  Slaughter of the Innocents
    11.  The Immolation Chamber
    12.  Out your Hands in the Fire

Satori have been around a long time, since 1984 in fact, and in the intervening time there have been a few line-up changes: Dave Kirby and Robert Maycock; Dave Kirby and Justin Mitchell; Justin Mitchell and Neil Chaney (Pessary); and now it’s come full circle with Dave Kirby assuming the mantle once again. Having seen the Mitchell/Chaney incarnation live a couple of times, it comes as a pleasant surprise to hear that this new iteration has evolved into a harsher, doomier, and more feral beast than previously, one that has some serious bite (let me add though that the previous Satori was one of my favourite dark ambient outfits – this is neither better nor worse, it’s just become a different beast).

‘Dead Cities’ is Kirby’s spray-painted manifesto splattered across ruined walls and the rundown, rusted hulks of industrial estates. Axle-grinder aesthetics and slow mechanical sheet-steel percussion provide the scaffolding for a heavily distorted voice, proselytising and preaching. Spite and spit are flung hither and thither, bile and vomit curdles in fetid pools, and slow-motion decay clogs the once thriving arteries of what was laughingly called society.

And on ‘Succour’ the juggernaut rises, bellowing out its anger, frustration, and animosity, trampling and crushing blindly and uncaringly. It’s the legacy of the industrial machine run riot, fuelled by destruction and annihilation as well as the blood of innocents. But, inevitably, what we ‘create’ will ultimately turn on us, and this blaring and hissing composition delineates the consequences of unfettered hubris. ‘A Clean Death’ hovers in gradually, a rusty, diseased, and ruthless blade of static, whirring above our heads to decapitate and decimate. It crackles with menace and contamination, the clean death a hollow promise.
‘Trogo’ initially offers us a brief respite before plunging once more into the miasmatic slabs of industrial noise and maelstrom, pitching us into a sandstorm of cutting, slicing, and skin-abrading graininess. ‘Flesh Ritual’ brings us a similar flavour and aesthetic, but this time it’s tainted with blood and guts, a harrowing flensing of flesh and bone. ‘Hatekeeper’ is a rocket-fuelled blast of flame and coruscating fire, scorching everything it touches without fear or favour, reducing all to ashes and memories.

It would be far too easy of me to extol the virtues and ferocity of all the tracks on this album, but I’d end up writing an overlong review. However, my description of the first half of this release should be sufficient to enunciate its tenor and flavour. This is an industrial-strength exposition of mechanical degradation, collapse, ruin, decay, human arrogance and hubris, and the blood spilt in society’s headlong pursuit of supremacy and conquest. It leaves no stone unturned, no corner or crevice uninvestigated, no ruined edifice unchecked. From it we get a sense of the ruinous, blackened landscapes, the deliberate extermination of everything we depend on, the unnatural mutations consequent on the poisoning of vital systems. These 12 pieces scour and slash, rip and rend, and the pace is unrelenting. You won’t be unaffected by its blistering intensity, or by its unremitting and unapologetic characterisation of the mess we’re in, or the mess we’re still creating.

This new evolution of Satori is, perhaps, a product of the times we live in, of the absurdities we’re confronted with daily, and of the contradictions inherent in the ‘civilisation’ and its systems that we’ve created. I’ll be honest, while I was listening to this I was connecting to its incendiary angst and unexpurgated frustrations on so many levels, as if it was performing a kind of exorcism. For me, this is the species of music that does more to reflect the exasperation I feel, on the physical, emotional, and ‘spiritual’ levels, about the collective ignorance of the human race, and its blasé attitudes towards its own survival and continuation. Upon reflection, isn’t this the kind of music we all want from the particular facet of culture that we all embrace here?

Available as a digital download as well as a four-panel matte laminated digipak housed in matte laminated cardboard slipcase decorated with glossy stencilled UV-varnish printing. To order, just click on the link below:

Psymon Marshall 2019. 

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