Godflesh were, without a doubt, one of the most intimidating metal/industrial hybrids to emerge in the late eighties. Musically the band were somewhere between seminal US act Swans and UK grind masters Napalm Death (for whom Justin Broadrick had played guitar) and their evil, swirling dissonance still resonates with legions of fans today. It thus took the world somewhat by surprise when Broadrick, the tormented mastermind behind ‘streetcleaner’, ‘hymns’ and ‘songs of love and hate’ returned to the fray with Jesu, an act whose sun-dappled ambience, whilst still capable of delivering the occasional sonic-shock, was as far removed from the grinding horror of Godflesh as Gira’s Angels of light project was from vintage Swans.
However, the beast was never far from the surface, and with the release of J K Flesh, it would seem that Justin’s desire to roam the chrome-plated hinterlands of a full-on industrial assault has been re-ignited. If you have even a fleeting interest in state-of-the-art sonic destruction then ‘Posthuman’ will more than satisfy your more visceral needs.
Opening with the hypnotic ‘knuckledragger’, the music is a slow, leaden trudge through synthetic beats and detuned guitars, whilst an unseen orator barks distorted orders through an overloaded microphone. It’s unnerving, violent, utterly uncommercial and utterly brilliant. The swathes of noise sound as if they’ve been processed through sheet metal, the sound bouncing and echoing off the reflective surfaces before arriving distorted, in a haze of smoke and sulphur at our bleeding ears. Repetitive and jarring, the sound is relentless, remorseless as if it knows you can only take so much but marches on regardless anyway, only the faceless imperatives keeping you on your feet and stumbling towards a far-off doom too hideous to contemplate. ‘Idle hands’ is no less terrifying. At this point perhaps only Necro Deathmort come close to this level of sonic terrorism, the swirling echoing guitars finally coalescing into one, massive grinding riff, painful in its intensity and delivery. ‘Punch drunk’ is a sludge laden monstrosity, its closest relative being the sheer overwhelming horror of White Mice, the US noise act whose slabs of utter brutality are only rendered listenable by the occasional glimpse of a recognisable structure buried deep at the music’s heart. A moment of semi-calm finally appears in the form of ‘devoured’, a piece of stuttering electronica that sounds like the net result of Sonic Youth covering Godflesh with the aid of Aphex Twin. Justin’s guitar howls and screeches in the background, like listening to techno in a hurricane, but it does at least provide a moment of welcome respite from the totalitarian horrors that sneer and scream over the rest of the album.
The title track opens with a moment of bass-laden excessiveness that has your speakers groaning under the sheer weight of it, before morphing into some evilly distorted drum and bass, the lethargic pace overwhelmed by the corrosive distortion that smothers the album as a whole. Then it’s up to ‘earthmover’ to live up to its promise, which it duly does by opening on a sub-sonic rumble of immense proportions before plummeting headlong into the obsidian blackness of eternity, only Justin’s scratchy voice keeping you company on the way down. As if that isn’t disconcerting enough, then the whispered half words of ‘dogmatic’, all echoing sibilants and slimy, skittering electronica, is enough to put the fear of God into anyone and everyone, the distortion and echoing vocals making you question whether a human heart beats at the centre of this mechanised mayhem at all. Probably the closest thing here to Jesu is the simmering ‘underfoot’, an ominous and menacing track that has a more organic feel than anything else here with its soft, undulating post-rock guitars providing a lighter ambience than found elsewhere whilst ‘walk away’ closes the album with a paranoia attack, the walls painted black and closing in, the voices outside the door clearly discussing your faults and foibles whilst you cower beneath the sheets wanting only to block out the sound before the screaming starts. It’s an uncomfortable end to an uncomfortable album and a staunch reminder that no one can craft a mood like Justin Broadrick.
Obviously this is a record with a niche appeal. There is nothing even remotely mainstream or commercial inherent in the destructively inhuman (or should that be ‘posthuman’) music contained within the album. However, brave sonic explorers will be rewarded with an album of contrast and multiple layers which takes the brutal electronica of Necro Deathmort and combines it with the remorseless march of Godflesh. Don’t expect an easy ride, or even one that you’ll necessarily enjoy, the overall feeling not unlike the scratchy, ants-under-the-skin feeling of a morning-after come-down, irrepressible, irresistible, and slightly nauseating – but as a unique piece of music as art J K Flesh is an awesome reminder of Justin Broadrick’s singular talents.
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