DISIPLIN

This one is guaranteed to end up a divisive release when it's all said and done. The potential for DISIPLIN's "Radikale Randgruppe" to piss off at least every other black metal fan is without bound, making it one of its most appealing qualities in a manner of thinking that some might consider warped. But that's kind of the point of making music that sits well outside of the mainstream, isn't it? Black metal in a broad sense and industrial noise assaults of evil in a specific one, waking up with a brutal hangover to the sounds of "Radikale Randgruppe" is not a recommendation that can be made in good conscience.

The Norwegians have proven themselves worthy competitors in the Caustic Olympics and "Radikale Randgruppe" offers additional evidence of it. One man's harshness is another man's treasure... or something. In any event, expect distortion overlord, waves of dense static over nails-on-chalkboard riffs on top of hatefully screeching effect-driven vocals that some will find monotonous and others will gravitate toward due to the holistic nature of a sonic-overload experience that gets under the skin like ink from a tattoo gun. Start with the last track, 15-minutes of looped coarseness called "The Empire". If you make it through without developing inner ear problems and nausea, then you'll be ready for the other nine tracks. The disciples of DISIPLIN are rather adept at the creation of cold atmosphere and chilling unease as well, a quintessential example being "Oath of Blood", the sounds of blowing wind and icy piano alone enough to lower room temperature. And just when things seem almost, uh, danceable (beat-wise anyway) one realizes that it's all a big tease to prepare the body for dissection from that penetrating industrial riff. Nobody said this was going to be easy.

"Radikale Randgruppe" gets the job done when all you want to do is lock up an ex-wife in a room while the disc plays on repeat at full volume with no means of turning it off. Alternately, one might also consider it the album to beat for those most enamored with nuclear lullabies for the disoriented and apocalyptic hymns for the unstable. It ain't catchy, yet it sure feels like you might catch something from it; no doubt something along the lines of a flesh-eating virus.