I can imagine it now, when the you-can't-do-that's get a sniff of this, they'll certainly splutter over the splatter that INTESTINAL DISGORGE have puked forth. The raised eyebrow brigade are going to get in a flap over “Vagina.”
A quick perusal of the tracklist tells you all you need to know about this album, 63 filth flavoured tracks in just over half an hour acquaints with strafing Grind delivered with all the finesse of a Mexican Sunrise the morning after a bad night before. Clearly mischief plays its part amongst the hate everything subject matter, though I think anyone remotely PC in viewpoint is likely to be choking rather than cheering along.
The music itself is belaboured by the problems most associated with countless tracks of minimal length, mainly that there is little time for a song to lodge itself in your head before it grinds to a halt and gives way to the next slab of sonic abuse. There are bucks to this trend; “Spermsoaked Tranny Whore” manages to add twist to the already screwed headshot that this track is, though the signature carpetbomb delivery still takes precedence. As you would expect, these tracks pile by thick, fast and foetid, they leave a foul taste in your mouth and no amount of scrubbing with bleach afterwards is going to get rid of the itchy skin. The guitars are heavier than a skipful of dead hookers and alternate between pounding Punk and gouging Grind riffs, tempos vary between a zombie crawl and run from the gun full-pelt, there's plenty of sick groove in between but the velocimeter tends towards the redline.
Along with the nasty, there is the unhinged. The vocals on “Vagina” are rabid to say the least, screams and gurns, sewer grunts and wrecked rants all point to a chemical imbalance in the brain and festering fluids shorting synapses. Sometimes they get too leary and border on self-parody but, given the subject matter and delivery, are hardly fatal to the cause, you can't take these daft lads too seriously. Bridging the gap from the relatively regimented guitar to the whack-a-mole throat fucking are the drums, they match the guitar in their pacing, often it's full on blast but equally its a frisky gallop or marking time during the stagnant stages. The bass often chooses to just provide a pissed off rumbling, clearly evident but mainly giving a bottom end foundation for the carnage to bounce along, that said, it also pokes out like a turtle's head and snaps away with abandon, especially when the fury abates somewhat.
True to any Porn/Gore Grind album there is a littering of samples, thankfully they are brief and mostly relevant, some will also raise a smile. What they also do is ensure that the listener is left under no illusions what INTESTINAL DISGORGE are banging on about, if for instance, like me, you don't usually read tracklists. Given the plethora of bands that retch up this sort of bile, the question is do this lot raise their heads above the parapet? Well, clearly they don't pussy-foot about, their intent is focussed even if there are elements that sound oblivious to it, the racket they make attracts as much as the subject matter repulses, it's played tight, if a little ragged, I've certainly heard flabia attempts elsewhere.
Ultimately “Vagina” is an album made by twats for twats, something to get your sticky mitts on then.
(Online December 8, 2007)