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MORBIFIC
Squirm Beyond The Mortal Realm

Me Saco un Ojo / Memento Mori / Headsplit (2022)
Rating: 9/10

This was always going to be another big release – classy, squelching death metal straight from the festering, gurgling bowels of Finland.

Morbific impressed greatly with their 2021 debut full-length Ominous Seep Of Putridity, and as expected Squirm Beyond The Mortal Realm continues the trends of terror with ten malevolent and morbid cuts built around that murky guitar and bass tone where everything just rumbles and trudges like a layer of oozing filth plopping and popping like a pus-filled volcano.

The veins of this pungent release are bulging to the membranous burps of bassist Jusa Janhonen who gasps through veils of sodden flesh. It’s the way of the genre now that a majority of acts are dabbling in this manky style of mould-ridden melancholy where drums, bass and guitar are clomped together to form miserable and fetid lard that dribbles and leaks into its own orifice causing immense swelling and this soundtrack of disgust.

The likes of ‘Suicide Sanctum’ just exist as despondent, hopeless forms of organic desolation. There’s no joy to be gained from such a release as the listener is forced to drown in squalid cacophony while sipping on discharged juices which taste like a mix of menstrual blood, last week’s bath water and rank compost.

I blame the likes of Autopsy for spawning such brooding bloodbaths of drizzly scum and congealed fat. The maniacal dirges of ‘Meth Mansion Murders’ and ‘Baptized In The Fluids Of Decay’ are typically coated in deposits of sick and silt; both trudging and rambling through plateaus of psychosis and foul, unclean dynamics.

Just like Cerebral Rot, and the myriad of other slime-suffocated bands of the era, Morbific reigns supreme with their unhygienic blend of gloom and gore as large chunks of bloodied phlegm and vomit are discarded at the listener through the barrages of ‘Bind, Torture, Snuff’ and the immense flatulence of ‘Meal From An Open Skull’ whereby the axe work casts of shards of grit and bone to the manky rhythmic plod of the percussion.

It’s all here, and all on show like some graveyard that has succumbed to flooding, revealing its dead which slither and slide down mud banks of sediment. Morbific once again takes perverse in pride in stuffing its macabre meat fest down your throat and gazes at you with leering horror as you swell and burst to the soundtrack of its grim, foreboding tumult.

Neil Arnold

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