You'll need more than a tourniquet to stop the unrelenting flow of this cock-on Grindcore, bounding along with sick groove and suffering from none of the slop found sloshing in the sluices of some of their mortuary fixated fellows, this hits the mark like a skull tap.
Seeing as the tracklist reads like a mad mortician's manual, HAEMORRHAGE thankfully play it straight with humour managed to the morbid level common amongst the attendants to such exploratory practices. Spanning a 10 year period, it is gratifying to note the consistency from start to finish, you can skip from any one track to any other and you would be pushed to find any difference in quality.
It all kicks off in bone shattering fashion as the band seek to loosen the contents of your bowel, baggy trousers are an essential here to save embarrassment. All cylinders are firing and that Punk edge that is a pre-requirement for the best Grind is present in all its tab-slapping glory, fleet as these tracks may be, speed is never the prime mover, the crunch comes first. Of course, most of the faecal fodder here is delivered at pace and every now and then a squirt of nitrous is added to the mix, “Postnecrotical Slaughter” being a case of hyper slash'n'dash. These tracks progress with the menace of a pack of pit-bulls, whatever the tempo, fangs are showing and if you can't see them it's because they're now buried in your leg.
All the ferocity of the guitar would fall as flat as a multi-storey carpark divers face if it wasn't for the pummel and pound of the drums and the tanking bass. The drums run the gamut of speedy styles from the 1,2,1,2, gallop of yore to full on blasting, nothing takes precedence and that all important catchiness prevails like the smell of decomposition at the back of your sinuses after a whiffy post mortem. Similarly, the bass is made of girders and carries much of the groove as it runs over your feet, squishing your toes to pulp. Together the percussive force presents an anvil hard face to the music, where some of the Gore obsessed can't help but snigger at their in-jokes or over the top subject matter, HAEMORRHAGE convince as a serious proposition without coming over as po faced.
This compilation demonstrates that you can have fun, even when you shouldn't. The majority of these songs have a greater degree of infectiousness than some of the ailments described in their titles. Just to make sure that you realise that you can enjoy yourself, the relatively jaunty “Zu Atrapatu Arte” skips from the shed like a lamb off to the slaughterhouse. Of course, there still needs to be an air of unpleasantness about this CD, particularly given the topic covered, enter the vocals stage left then. A full on sneering growl tinged with a sense of derangement provides a perfect accompaniment to the reek of the music, frequently accosted by the swamp monster and his rabid cousin, the vocals serve the pathology well.
Not much to complain about then. At over 72 minutes long, the album flows freely until the end, there are no clotting agents at all. HAEMORRHAGE fling the foetid festering flesh about with abandon and it doesn't matter how much bandaging you apply, the blood runs red.
(Online September 3, 2007)