The Body
Christs, Redeemers
Thrill Jockey
/
2013
Includes Instant Download
2LP (clear)
36.99
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Gatefold sleeve
2LP
35.49
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Gatefold sleeve
CD
15.99
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Tracklist
1I, The Mourner of Perished Days 3:16
2To Attempt Openness 6:59
3Melt Away 3:45
4An Altar or a Grave 5:06
5Failure to Desire to Communicate 2:56
6Night of Blood in a World Without End 2:30
7Prayers Unanswered 4:53
8Denial of the Species 4:27
9Shrouded 3:11
10Bearer of Bad Tidings 6:58

It has been said by more than a few intrepid listeners that The Body is the most brutal band on the planet. With ravishing grimness and impenetrable walls of noise, the duo of Chip King and Lee Buford create music that goes beyond what is normally considered harsh and violent, advocating a doctrine of misanthropy to those brave enough to take the plunge. Since their recording career began in earnest in 2004, The Body has expanded the definition of what it means to be a metal band, incorporating elements of noise, avant-garde composition, and experimental electronic music into their crushing doom and searing black metal foundation. Christs, Redeemers, the duo’s latest transmission of loathing and revulsion, finds King and Buford pushing even further into the horrifying unknown.

Christs, Redeemers conjures this atmosphere of foreboding and isolation sonically, lyrically, and visually. The album opens with washes of sound and one forlorn voice penetrating the ether before launching into the brutal, ghostly dirge of “To Attempt Openness,” featuring frequent collaborators the Assembly of Light Choir. Unexpected bursts of noise, generated by guitars and electronics, puncture any sense of comfort or complacency and eerie samples float from the ether. King and Buford masterfully use the spectral space between the sounds to create almost unimaginable tension, employing silence as effectively as they do cacophony. This restraint, the knowledge of when to punish with volume and when to punish with the absence thereof, bestows the moments of fury with gravity.

King’s screams are the centerpiece of the band’s aesthetic: panic-stricken and distraught, constantly on the verge of breaking. His lyrics are no less unhinged. On the album’s colossal closer “Bearer of Bad Tidings,” he shrieks “Life worthless and devoid of any meaning…all the world a grave.” Buford’s drums act as both a stabilizer and instigator of the madness, at times pushing the proceedings further into oblivion and others providing a lifeline for the listener as the guitars and electronics deliberately push you toward the brink.