F is for friends who do stuff together. U is for u Kronos and me. N is for anywhere and anytime at all down here in the rad-soaked sea. Fuck that! F is for fire that burns down the whole town! U is for uranium…. BOMBS! N is for no survivors, when you listen to Nuklearth! That’s right, boys and girls and gender nonspecific individuals. It’s time for a highly entertaining and informative double single review of the esteemed German technical death reactor Cytotoxin’s fourth megaton detonation. Except, in the pursuit of perfect energy generation, a tragic accident occurred. Moderators failed to engage the swirling mass of neutrons, and the heavy water failed to circulate. Before us knew it, us were engulfed in radiation and fire. Between the heat, pressure and molecular alteration, us merged into one abominable reviewing putridity, henceforth designated KronworDeth. But us still have questions to address about Nuklearth. Namely, does it fission? Or merely fizzle.
You’d be forgiven for maintaining the latter stance only for the length of time required for us to slither us’ deformed phalanges around your C2-C5 vertebrae and squeeze. Cytotoxin are the wrong ones to fuck with in the tech-death game, for the br00tality they consistently pound into their whiplashing technical leads and lilting arpeggios demonstrates their insatiable desire to have their yellowcake and eat it, too. While acts like Inanimate Existence and Exocrine decorate their output the same way time and time again, Cytotoxin relentlessly mutate right and left between the melodic and slammy, the technical and the groovy, always with a tight blast or a ripping solo taking up the mantle the moment your face is most vulnerable to a sound pounding. Speaking of, two very different snares take turns rearranging your body at the subatomic level on Nuklearth. Stuff that in your silo and steam it.
KronworDeth would like you to know what us enjoy at this juncture. I, the one of worDs, am thrilled that Nuklearth entirely abandons the rapid-fire palm-muted riffs from Gammageddon in the move towards bludgeoning weaponry that offers way more groove and verve than should be legal. Though I miss Gammageddon’s pig squeals and other vocal acrobatics, and Kron pines for its inimitable wank factor, us both appreciate the focus redirecting towards Nuklearth’s inconceivable kit work. Hooks exist and swirl around at densities that rival the masses of uranium pellets which fuel your average reactor, all bolstered by the year’s best drumming performance by a Siberian kilometre. Look no further than “Quarantine Fortress,” “Dominus,” “Drown in Havoc,” the title track, and “Atomb” for the proof. It’s impossible to miss.
Kron (who I think pumped too much boron coolant into his third basal lobe, the moron) is slightly less enthusiastic than I about Nuklearth. Not that he doesn’t love it, because he does (withering look), but it does suffer from a few first-degree radiation burns. Fierce though every track proper is, a couple cuts, such as “Uran Breath,” fall below the level of rad us expect from Cytotoxin. These few moments of generic tech-death feel potent in action, and yet slip right out of the ol’ dorsal auditory canal like so much runoff mere seconds later. Songs as bouncy as these deserve a memory half-life of at least one trillion years, so when even one simply dissolves into the ether, us take notice. I also believe the album is exactly one song too long, and with music this taut and straightforward, every second counts. I know Kron desires to obliterate the closing piano etude “Mors Temporis,” but I wish more bands would take after this Fleshgod Apocalyps-ian habit, so I keep it and eradicate spoken-word “Dead Zone Anthem” in exchange. Compromise is important when you’re a fused mass of flesh and pain.
One final point. You down there in rabble-land seem to have some kind of problem with pong snares? Well, there’s plenty of it here and it’s orgasmic at every junction. Besides, Pong is the OG legendary quadruple-A game title of the world, and ping-pong is equally legendary as the best miniature sport ever conceived. Ipso facto, pong snares are the best snares. SCIENCE, BITCH. Take your pong-hating butt and shove a cadmium rod right up there.
Fallout: 4.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: PCM
Label: Unique Leader
Websites: facebook.com/cytotoxinmetal | cytotoxin.de
Releases Worldwide: August 21st, 2020
