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