Absvrdist - Illusory
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Most metal is physical music. This holds true in several different senses. It’s physical in a sonic sense—“that band pushes air” counts as praise. It’s physical as in ‘athletic,’ because it’s demanding to perform. (Compare with dance music, where DJs often press ‘play’ onstage and then stand around drinking.) Its effects on the listener are physical, too. Metal demands movement.
But even in metal, physicality exists on a scale. At one end lies bedroom black metal, which sacrifices nearly all muscle in favor of mood. At the other end lies grindcore, which is as forceful as a piston and usually about as replaceable. Because grind is so dedicated to physicality, the average grind band slays me live and bores me to tears on record. It’s a tradeoff that many such bands happily accept.
Absvrdist accept neither the trade nor the scale. This band has two members—more than some, but well short of the four or five dudes needed to execute their songs outside of a studio.
Which is a shame, because Illusory, their debut full-length, could tear down bars and basements worldwide. Vocalist and stringsman Marlon Friday insists in interviews that Absvrdist blends grind and black metal, but I hear no frost here. Illusory is all white-hot punk intensity with a nasty death metal edge, like a stripped-down Misery Index or a beefed-up His Hero Is Gone. Friday’s guitar tone has the blunt trenchancy of a flanged mace, and drummer Lyle Cooper (also of The Faceless) pushes these tunes hard. Every instrument tries to outrace the next. The audience wins.
Absvrdist’s Bandcamp page jokingly labels them “sad-grind.” I don’t get the black metal thing, but I do hear sorrow in places on Illusory; the wailing melody of “Weakness” comes to mind. And listening to Illusory bums me out on some level. It stands up without the aid of a memorable live set, which makes me want to see it performed live even more.
Other studio projects have put together live lineups. Maybe Absvrdist will too. But for now, Illusory is a record of constrained potential—a snapshot of a champion athlete who will never see his day on the field.
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A CD digipack version of Absvrdist‘s Illusory can be purchased by emailing absvrdist at gmail.com
