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Nuclear Death
« Bride of Insect »
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| Side A
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| 1 | Necrobestiality 02:15
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| 2 | Corpse of Allegiance 01:46
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| 3 | Feral Viscera 00:57
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| 4 | Stygian Tranquility 03:04
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| 5 | Place of Skulls 02:26
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| 6 | Cremation 03:08
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| | Side B
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| 7 | The Colour of Blood 02:06
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| 8 | The Beloved Whore Celebration 02:02
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| 9 | Fetal Lament: Homesick 04:35
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| 10 | Bride of Insect 02:41
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| 11 | The Misshapen Horror 02:33
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| 12 | Vultures Feeding 01:22
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| | Total playing time 28:55 |
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Lori Bravo - vocals, bass
Joel Whitfield - drums
Phil Hampson - guitars
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Recorded in 26 hours (September 3-4/1989) at Vintage Recorders. Phoenix, AZ |
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| 1. Necrobestiality
Welcome to the minds of the morbid, death's plan revealed to all
a sanctuary secluded in darkness, a haven for demented lust.
Apprentice to the jackal, creature of darkened desires
demons haunting his mind, a sickness which grows from within...
Disgusting nest of fifth, b |
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Первый альбом Nuclear Death – пир подвального духа, экстремальная перверсивная эйфория. И какая плотная бесноватая атмосфера созидается на этих скоростях в этих мельтешащих как помехи на экране (не заглохшее эхо спид-трэша), но грозных авторитетных риффах и фанатичной cтучалке. У Лори Браво самый нестабильный, эмоциональный, страстный и артистичный вокал, который только может звучать под промышленное лязгание гитары и сверхзвуковое долбилово. Голос обычно несколько запаздывает по отношению к грайндовому вихрю, поскольку поэтическая декламация, даже искорёженная, не терпит суеты.
"The soundtrack to watching a grainy, unlabeled VHS snuff film" – как с языка сняли эквивалент этой восхитительной самодеятельной атмосферы. Менее чем получасовой релиз безапелляционно вываливает нам в рожу свою темную деструктивную энергию, дерзость дебютантов неслыханна не только в их энергетике, но и в расширении кругозора грайнд/дэта за счет фрагментов подсознания. И риффы не легкомысленны, в них есть драматизм столкновения с собственными тараканами, а трэки не всегда начинаются с места в карьер... Где-то нужна сутолока баса, где-то барабанное интро. Когда в "Fetal Lament: Homesick" начинаются чистые переборы, думаешь, вот оно, кайф ностальгии... последующая бластовая резня также не разочаровывает, атмосфера не отслаивается... Да и вообще, безо всякого снисхождения к даме во главе шайки, "Bride of Insect" исключительно авторский грайнд, столь же крутой, сколько лоуфайный и дебоширский. Гитарист считал, что вдохновение находит в хоррор-саундтрэках 70-х, Лори – в смеси хардкора, хэви, спида, русской классической музыки. Лирический мир ND – попурри из сексуальных девиаций, какого-то боди-хоррора и прочего ада, мало не покажется.
Одержимость, закономерно отсутствие тормозов, помноженные на внятную самобытность даровали нам эту дюжину грубых, неотесанных страшилок, но в них есть нужные качества того самого магнетического первобытного олдскула, невыхолощенной и нестерильной экстремальности, который заставляет закрыть глаза на пофигистический подход к исполнению и огрехи продакшена. В конце концов записать ЭТО за сутки – это тоже достижение. Но цветной диск 1992 года побогаче, более осмысленный и художественный. |
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suffering through this life, his mind exists no more!
Sheltered from the light of day, he awaits the right
masturbating in the dark and praying to his god.
Vulture of inhuman needs, his hunger can no longer wait
fucking animals long dead, bodies encrusted in the street...
Disgusting nest of fifth, breeding forth this disease
suffering through this life, his mind exists no more!
Desecrate...mutilate...the beastof a lesser god
Copulate...with the dead...animal lying in the street
Sickness swells...within his soul...to consume the flattened beast
Antichrist...fuck you all...the fucked shall inherit the earth!
Decaying flesh of discarded fives
animal skulls without eyes
rancid stench it draws the flies
inhuman creep, a corpse his bride...
Living in a nest of fifth
breeding forth his disease
suffering through his mind
his life exists no more...
2. Feral Vicera
Is it my mind within your life?
as I tear open your throst
Or is it my life within your mind?
as I suck on your open wound...
I lay within your viscera
cold and wet against my flesh
together we dream of darkness
and of death, my only love...
3. Stygian Tranquility
To whom it may concern: I'm born at last!
I'm in my world, my tranquility...
and the smell of my flesh annoys me
and the scabs on my scales tend to itch
and my eyes sometimes liquity
so at times it's hard to see...
I crawl upon a dead dog, lying on the edge of a pool of blood
I watch as flies encircle the carcass, and the dog, we make love...
and the cries from the dark scare me
and the insects in my flesh tend to itch
and the sky is always black
and in the dog my body bleeds...
To whom it may concern: at last I'm dying!
Leaving my world, my place of rest...
and the beasts without flesh sing to the dark
and their music is the love for hate
and I die, and I live, so I may die again
and when I wake I've found tranquility...
4. Corpse Of Allegiance
Evil walks among us in the guise of man
killing to be blessed, the innocent pray and die...
I stick a knife into his head
and twist it through his brain
I pull it out and extract his eyes
father, forgive my sin
To a corpse, I confess, an unholy bestial sin
I killed a priest to be blessed now I must kill again...
My tortured soul will never rest
for I am blessed by death
I have pledged to myself
the innocent to pray and die
A preonant whore, I come upon, walking home alone at night
I beat her senseless and extract the child, father, forgive my sin...
I fuck the whore's battered corpse
and place the fetus in a bag
I smile at my handwork
and pledge my allegiance to death...
5. Place Of Skulls
A small child burning in a crib
I listen to it's tender flesh burn
the screaming has already stopped
I stare at the smoldering corpse...
and now I remove the skull
to keep as my reward
I return to my crypt
and place it in my shrine.
An old man drowning in a ditch
his lungs fill with water
I take pleasure in his death
I stare at his bloated corpse...
I cut off his head
and peel away the flesh
I return to my crypt
and place it in my shrine.
Vacant skulls without life surround the coffin where I lie...
Reminders of the many lives I've taken from this world...
I pray to my master, Night, to keep my soul in evil faith...
As I die another death, I will await new life!
In a darkened crypt
his ancient corpse now rots.
Oblivion has claimed his soul
he lies amidst the skulls...
The lord of another world
the abandoned vampire
his shrine remains forever
a place of skulls sunseen...
6. Cremation
I have just died or so they say
was it mere fate? or have they lied...
To welcome death, the would have me burn,
scatter my remains and take what is mine.
They tie me to a cold slab, wire my jaws shut,
the oven is heated, my body shoved in...
No mercy in thair eyes, for I'm not dead.
They close the door to lock, my life is too fate...
My skin begins to burn and melt
it slides from muscle and bone.
My insides burst from within me
the smell of my body cooked...
I endure the burning pain
tear open my mouth to scream
I feel my brain explode
I'm consumed in death as flames!
7. The Colour Of Blood
Creatures born in darkness
and the dampness of the earth
cast in stone and hidden
by the lords of another world...
The legions who await
yearn to have this world
when the words spoken by their master
awaken their restless slumber...
Stones crack and bleed
their hatred is unleashed
with black wings they soar
to an unknowing world below
tearing flesh from skull
disemboweling man
feeding on the glistening organs
of the children of a "god"...
Creatures born in darkness
nightmares derived from the haunts of man
reaping fields of human flesh
running red with blood...
Humanity on a cross
and nalled to the earth
humanity to be served
as food for a master race...
8. The Beloved Whore Celebration
O lady of dark reality
whom we visit late at night,
down upon her one by one
we bathe in her fetid stench.
We three fiends of veneral disease
pay homage to our gangrene queen-
we suck upon her aged teats
and breathe deep her anal breeze...
O lady of wanton desires
whose flesh is ours to consume,
whose life is impaled upon lust
and whose menstrual blood fills our cups.
We three fiends of immortal fancy
five to see her grace die of age,
'tis not in our hearts to bury her,
but instead we must celebrate...
Our lady, now death's bride
drained of blood and life,
we caress her hardenad flesh,
we suck on her limpid teats-
one by one we enter her vagina,
with our tongues we adore her cilt.
We three fiends of darkened reality-
alas, we celebrate!
9. Fetal Lament: Homesick
A mother's nightmare - to lose her only child
A loss of life, an infant's tragic death
A family torn apart with pain and sorrow
What it the child should return...?
A mother's nightmare - to see her child drown
she cries for her child's life, my death
In her arms she holds my lifeless form
I open my eyes and cry...
A mother's nightmare - to watch her child burn
The burning smell of cooking flesh
I'm charred beyond death itself
Then I sit up and scream...
Dead babies ferment in a field of flowers
Overgrown with weeds and disease
Dead babies rot in a field of flowers
Turning black in their own blood...
Dead babies dead under a sky so black
Bleeding eternally
Dead babies dead in a field so black
But what it they should live...?
10. Bride Of Insect
Go beyond what is wrong
to an abomination
or normal morality
to what the brain cannot percieve.
Go beneath the world
to where there's movement in the dark
taste the water where vermin play
she is breeding...
A father caresses his daughter's vagina
and brings the taste to his lips
Intercourse follows foreplay
soon the girl will give birth...
Go into a room that is dark
to an abomination
that's lying in a shadowed corner
a young child that has just given birth.
And from her vagina: a viscous trail
which leads to movement in the black beneth her bed
and that's where you find her sac
and from her sac her flat-bodied children crawl...
The father caresses his daughters vagins
he finds movement between her lips-
his bastard children of his bride of insect
and the insects taste their father's flesh...
11. The Misshapen Horror
Dare we speak,
lest our voices be heard above the din
of an unnatural birth,
a birth of many generations at once
and we it's keepers watch
this horror from below take form...
Dare we say,
we consecrate this union of manured flesh
upon which boils lester
and on opening, the sores reveal "children",
umbilical cords receiving liquid filth
an act somewhat obscane...
And so,
slowly they scatter
away from their blemished "nests"-
oftspring born inside out
moist organs adorning breast and torso
and from their bowels they nurse...
So what purpose would these serve?
A creature which mates itself
and spawns visceral demons!
Dare we say,
there's to be a change in the food chain-caveat...
12. Vultures Feeding
Look what's become of you;
lost for days beneath the scorching sun,
without water you'll never last,
but we'll wait...
Now we sense you're almost dead,
our noon day meal has come at last,
carrion baked in the sun, we sat...