A three-track EP dealing in self-proclaimed “doom dub”, Of Flies, is the latest effort from Italian solo project Blackwood. The brainchild of Eraldo Bernocchi, Blackwood draws on doom tropes for sure, not least in the sludgy tempos, but a closer parallel would be in Godflesh, whose Songs of Love & Hate In Dub is echoed in the band’s clanking, industrial rhythms and brutally down-tuned bass. It makes for a disturbing, hypnotic listen that lingers long after the three tracks have ground their way into the ether.
Opening with the mesmerising sludge of the title track, the listener is greeted by some of the most cruelly distorted bass yet committed to record, set against the clean, digital lines of a drum synth. With vocals ground out from between gritted teeth, the echoing sibilance of the lyrics and the intestinal rumbling of the bass worm their way beneath the listener’s defences, forcing them to look into the black abyss. It’s a remarkable opening track, beautifully recorded and, as the hellish noise expands to include post-rock guitars, so the piece further embeds itself in the listener’s consciousness. Opening with similarly brutal bass, Seclusion, takes the dry atmosphere of Joy Division, overlaying it with echoing samples and allowing plenty of space for repetition and augmentation of the central riff to break down the listener’s defences. Elements of Ministry and Rob Zombie are shot through the obsidian mix here, the samples adding to the sense of existential dread that the band evoke, before the piece collapses in on itself, Eraldo adding cinematic strings which do nothing to ease the sense of creeping unease. The final track, Infraworld emerges from a harrowing miasma that seems to well up from the fetid ground, the clattering industrial backdrop that Eraldo creates for it achieving new heights of savagery as wordless vocals scrape across its surface. It’s a dark, hellish portrait of the world that Blackwood paints, and the sense of claustrophobia is near overwhelming by the time the track reaches its conclusion.
Like Swans and Godflesh, Blackwood make deft use of repetition to slowly submerge the listener in their own dread. Each piece slowly builds with vocals often lost within a prison of echo and noise and the result is a psychedelia so corrupted with bile that it seeks to blot out the light entirely. Music this extreme is not for the masses, for sure but for those whose misanthropy needs an outlet, Blackwood’s remarkable Of Flies is a deeply disturbing, emotionally cathartic body of work. 8/10
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