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FESTERGORE
Constellation Of Endless Blight

Personal / Iron Fortress (2024)
Rating: 7/10

Once you’ve slipped the sunglasses on to dull down the glow of the orange juice cover you’ll be set for this debut full-length offering from Festergore, another guttural death metal act straight from the sleazy alleyways of Staten Island, New York.

Best described as “seriously heavy shit”, Constellation Of Endless Blight begins life as a primitive slab of organic doom, otherwise known as ‘Ironborn’ which sluggishly reveals itself as a boneless mass of congealed terror, creeping and heaving into foul existence as gnarly riffs coat the nearby environs in a mask of gelatinous gore. Eventually, limbs kick out from the soup and Festergore begins to operate with a series of steady yet yucky monolithic chugs in the vein of Cannibal Corpse.

Much of what’s on offer here has a strong 90s vibe but thrills are lacking, although that doesn’t deter me from spinning it a lot. Festergore carve out monstrous chunks of wholesome death metal by using tried and tested methods, but these still result in grooves that stay with you.

To an extent there’s still something charming about bog standard death metal and that’s not an insult here because Festergore are just so damn consistent. Within their steady framework there are occasional drifts towards punky aggression, but much of what you get is Cannibal Corpse-styled flab, particularly on ‘SMA’. It’s just a shame the guys don’t throw in the sort of cavernous doom that wafted from that opening track. However, ‘What Once Was Proud’ is a joyous cocksure slab that nods towards more of a present day death swing; I’m thinking Mortuous, early Tomb Mold etc.

For me, the real attraction here is the slower bulbous passages with gargantuan blocks of unapologetic grinding. ‘Surrender To Madness’, ‘Cryogenic Decay’ and ‘The View From Halfway Down’ may lack charisma or identity, but Festergore care not. Instead, the combo don white hi-top trainer boots, black baggy jogging bottoms and long sleeved band sweatshirts just like it’s 1993, demanding you set foot in their lair so that they may pummel your brain.

Admittedly, bands like this used to crowd the demo pages of Metal Forces in the late 80s and early 90s, but the fact this bruising style of death metal remains is proof that longevity doesn’t necessarily have to equal dazzling creatures. This is death metal.

Neil Arnold

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