Disincarnate - Dreams of the Carrion Kind

James Murphy (not the LCD Soundsystem dude) is like the Pharrell Williams of metal (bear with me on this one). You want him behind the boards, and he can give you a hot 16 bars. But let him loose on his own, and shit gets unpredictable (my simile pretty much breaks down at this point). Since today is Murphy’s birthday, I was originally going to post about one of his two solo records.

Stench of Paradise Burning
Monarch of the Sleeping Marches

Then I listened to them. Man, were they tough going. When you go from a turgid power ballad with Chuck Billy and some woman on vocals to a jazz fusion instrumental to an eight-minute Alice in Chains grungefest, the ride ain’t easy. The dude can shred, as Decibel observed in its Top 20 Death Metal Guitarists feature. But songwriting skills? Not so much.

The big exception is Disincarnate, his one-off death metal band back in the ’90s. I bought Dreams of the Carrion Kind (Roadrunner, 1993) when it first came out, mostly because of its Dave McKean artwork. At the time, I didn’t get it. The album seemed gray and faceless, nowhere near as immediate as my beloved Carcass and Entombed.

Disincarnate

But I’m hearing it again with fresh ears, and damned if every song doesn’t kick my ass. I dig Murphy’s work with Death and Obituary, and especially on Testament’s Low. But for sheer sustained Murphified awesomeness, I’ll put my money on Disincarnate.

The riffs are like steel locomotives, and Murphy constructs amazingly monolithic, abstract harmonies. Suffocation only wish they wrote that breakdown in “Monarch of the Sleeping Marches.” Best of all, the record isn’t too fast. The speeds vary, but they leave space for heaviness, letting double bass carry the grooves.

Quite simply, this shit rules. One of the best death metal records of all time? Perhaps. Happy 40th, James – please bring this band back!