There are moments where one’s mind wishes not to engage in that which is pleasant or fosters morality.Instead we may seek to taste the bile of wine, where the stomach revolts in anguish as it twists in sickness, but within pain, exultation comes forth. For it is like the foul scent of carrion that may be mellifluous to the nostrils of another.
‘:BKW: (Brass Knuckles Witchcraft)’ by Pox becomes the miasma through which sound is formed, emanating through a spirit of Black Metal where decay and depravity transcends into hedonism. Reeking in a similar putridity to such acts like Mordant Rhed, Lord Humongous and parts of Impaled Nazarene, Pox allows it’s putrefaction to evolve into the necrosis of the mind that withers away at that which brings forth light.
The EP furnishes its atmosphere with a perverse and redolent stench, akin to that of Carpathian Forest and Svarttjern, where each note feels like a parchment inked in semen and piss. It is this divulgence into that realm where light exists naught that the EP thrives and festers like a scab that slowly spreads and transforms into a pus filled sore. Therein exists a throbbing and pulsating energy throughout this work that is communicated and transmuted from the guitars in a thin and feverish tone. ‘The Flagellants’ Howling’ is a track whereby the strings erect a crooked yet crude construct,serpentine and malignant in sound, however a physical rage is produced, as though lips can taste the viscosity and bitterness through the air that permeates. Along the same vein, the production renders the musical body in a naked manner, whereby the guitars undulate and swell in a razor-like splendor of sound, raw and hungered in tone.
In tangent to the guitars, the percussions and vocals achieves a synchronous duality with each other as the drumming gifts the EP as a whole with an exposed nature, where each beat that reverberates, echoes a raw-like energy.’To Greifswald!’, showcases this, whereby the drumming employs a nemesistic sensation, as though the rage feels inwards coupled with the vocals that lashes and bites like a rabid dog that froths at the mouth. A certain ferocity, pure and untouched latches itself unto the vocal patterns, ‘Luycifers kagie ende helscaps clove’,for instance, utilizes this approach where the delivery appears more confrontational and physical. The direct nature which binds itself to the EP acts as it’s crux, as this is where Pox unveils it’s unbridled strength through the ability to create art where violence is palpable.
Press the tongue against walls that be painted with the excrement of disgust, let the lips burn as sores ravage it’s flesh from that which breds malice as Ppx dissolves itself into the essence which courses through the soul, bending as teeth gnashes and the body convulses…but it is through this climax that the soul crosses over into river that becomes the cesspool of babel.
