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It has been said by more than a few intrepid listeners that The Body is the most brutal band on the planet. With ravishing grimness and impenetrable walls of noise, the duo of Chip King and Lee Buford create music that goes beyond what is normally considered harsh and violent, advocating a doctrine of misanthropy to those brave enough to take the plunge. Since their recording career began in earnest in 2004, The Body has expanded the definition of what it means to be a metal band, incorporating elements of noise, avant-garde composition, and experimental electronic music into their crushing doom and searing black metal foundation. Christs, Redeemers, the duo’s latest transmission of loathing and revulsion, finds King and Buford pushing even further into the horrifying unknown.
Christs, Redeemers conjures this atmosphere of foreboding and isolation sonically, lyrically, and visually. The album opens with washes of sound and one forlorn voice penetrating the ether before launching into the brutal, ghostly dirge of “To Attempt Openness,” featuring frequent collaborators the Assembly of Light Choir. Unexpected bursts of noise, generated by guitars and electronics, puncture any sense of comfort or complacency and eerie samples float from the ether. King and Buford masterfully use the spectral space between the sounds to create almost unimaginable tension, employing silence as effectively as they do cacophony. This restraint, the knowledge of when to punish with volume and when to punish with the absence thereof, bestows the moments of fury with gravity.
