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bestia centauri
somnambulant corpse   2002
  see also
somnambulant corpse website

album rating: 2

submitted by jc smith on 13-Aug-2002

Three tracks, thirty-one minutes of ecstatic Lovecraftian madness! The music of Bestia Centauri is completely immersed in a noisy pool of seething obscurity and amorphous ambiguity. These sounds writhe and froth, relishing Lovecraft's Cthulhuian Mythology (okay, so the quote on the DVD-sized box is from Clark Ashton Smith's revelations culled from the mysterious Book Of Eibon, but they were inspired by Lovecraft's fictional canon) on a level rarely achieved (or even attempted) by other messengers of the sonically bizarre.

Tidal waves of clattering miasmic turbulence flow through The Catacombs Of Ptolemais. A glimmer of familiar instrumentation peers over the edge, but most of what transpires is manipulated into a shuffling mass without form, roiling, lashing and spitting bile like some mutant atrocity in search of self or just ravenously hungry. The title track opens with the groan of the unknown, of the deepest slobbering black holes of disease, and shimmering sounds like the twinkle of stars before death. Gurgling, spasmodic throaty nuances follow, sounding like the unspeakable language that Lovecraft created, only garbled into incomprehensibility (as if they were comprehensible in the first place!). There's even the occasional giggle, albeit the giggle is also of inhuman origin. Ten minutes into the track, the legions of Ubbo-Sathla - the one itself - gather to mumble incoherently, surely plotting some devious strategies. Fear is heightened by the skittish, icy caress of the tones, while the end posits the tearing apart of one's soul. The Night Land II presents a harrowing night that is draped in tension and nerve-bracing fear and alive! Jumbled anomalies scatter about, mis-firing electronics reacting like tentacles rejecting electrocution, rubbing up against my speakers, seeking refuge from the noisy confines. The sounds scrape and claw, they chew‹anything more than the thirty-one minutes here and one would think it possible that Bestia Centauri would succeed in opening a doorway to the imaginary that concretizes the unfathomable! The tones littered throughout these tracks brim with unearthly allegiance, gobbling stars and the blackest void itself, birthing obscenities of no beastly compare via mutilating the electro-acoustic and the electronically perverse. The whole presentation is an invitation to the sonic equivalent of Cthulhu's cosmic masturbatorium. The aural definition of weird!

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