Superchrist - Defenders of the Filth
November 5 2009 at 09:39:28 PM
Back in black. And red and pink and PUKE. The pallet forming what is definitely the cover art of the year by Chicago artist Putrid (Matt Carr), inking a vile masterpiece of a dung heap - volcanic Troma-style explosion of filth and perversions which births a ghetto-hell of mutilation, aborted fetus, cracked television, anal assassins and coons fornicating on the soupy, soiled mattress of hobo scum. The throne of mighty Superchrist, armed with hammer, axe and mace, bringing you the songs of the street.
The unholy sixth by Illinois’ dirtbags extraordinaire flies faster down that road to ruin, pounding out anti-social power metal for all to hear and grimace as each note and every lined penned chronicles the city's slow decay. Yall’s can have your forward-thinking, academic, 8-string "game changing" Metal. Superchrist is school on Sunday, baby: No class.
Downer philosophy voiced at full velocity through frontman Chris Black’s gravelly, smoker’s rasp, an oddly perfect and often soothing match for the icy melodies and Steve Harris cum Kilmister ripped bass lines wrapped around nowhere tales of inner conflicts and chasin’ tail. Fuck a scale, if the chronicle of “collapsed concrete and rusted chrome” inside Christ’s shuffling, ghetto lullaby “Infernal City” ain’t genuine
blues I don’t know what is. But there is always humor as well as truth contained in these and other barbaric maxims (“Fight with fire, fuck with force,” “you wanna live get ready to die”). At times as comforting as a piss-soaked blanket, other times as welcoming as a friend, Superchrist holds the cracked bathroom mirror up to wasted lives. Your choice to cry or laugh and throw down for another round of trouble.
[Todd DePalma]
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