Sometimes life can be very simple. You wake up at 7 in the morning, your children and wife are still asleep, the sun shines through the window and shadows play joyfully on your shiny parquet. Enjoying your first cup of coffee, mixed with rum, you let the juicy Death Metal sound of Tenebro gush from your speakers. Blessed are the early birds.
“Cannbalismo Sanguinario” sets in with a fine groove, effective and sexy, wet and juicy. The track is supported by the chatter of a chainsaw, meanwhile our house cat Flamoes purrs relaxed under the kitchen table. Hmmm, …I don’t have a chainsaw, but I do have a blunt nail file.
I grab the nail file and crawl under the kitchen table.
When I’m almost halfway through Flamoes her left hind leg, my youngest daughter enters the kitchen.
“Good morning daddy, what are you doing?”
“…uh nothing sweetie, cleaning up a bit”
Disappointed I quickly throw Flamoes in our backyard.
“Arte Funeraria” starts off slow and menacing, accompanied by the low death grunts of Il Becchino. The man sounds like he’s gargling with chemical drain cleaner instead of mouthwash. Hold on a minute, I’ve got chemical drain cleaner. It’s on our top shelf in the garage.
As I quickly run to the garage, “Arte Funeraria” erupts into a vicious blast beat that nearly knocks me into the laundry basket filled to the brim with my wife’s dirty underwear. I grab the vial and pour some of the chemical stuff into a bowl of milk. In our backyard I softly call for Flamoes. Here she comes, with an elegant limp. I place the bowl in the grass.
The intro to Tenebro’s final observation, “Il Lamento Dei Malati”, features the screaming of a hysterical Italian lady. I can’t understand what she’s wailing about because my Italian isn’t as fluent as my Mandarin, Yet it seems like she’s in a lot of pain. This masterpiss of gore is my favorite track, slow grooves alternated with supersonic blastbeat whirlwinds, sporadically interrupted by eerie high pitched cinematic sounds, seemingly straight from Argento’s “Suspiria”.
Il Becchino and Il Beccamorto are my two new Italian best friends. The shabby Death Metal is exactly my cup of chemical drain cleaner, in terms of atmosphere it reminds me of “Camp Blood” by the Dutch band Bile.
“Hey honey, did you sleep well?” “Where’s Flamoes, have you seen her?”
“Hello dear, I slept allright, I think she’s outside, haven’t seen her yet”
When my wife looks out of the garden window she seems to scream as hysterically as the Italian lady. (Franki_boj)