Indian – From All Purity | Review

I can't say I wasn't expecting a challenge when approaching From All Purity, the newest from Chicago doom miscreants Indian. But I wasn't expecting a challenge this great. The title is apt as the album has had purity stripped from it. It's unclean, dark and tainted with the stain of unsanctimonious hostility. It would be easy to bandy about using half-clichéd buzzwords to describe the nearly 40 minutes of filth on hand but one is left with no choice. Because they're true.

From All Purity consists of six misanthropic administrations of contempt, so bleak and caustic as to be practically indigestible. Indian's excruciating doom raises spires of hatred and discontent at every turn. Their slow, torturous and droning riffs suffuse the listener with a feeling of unending dread. One feels trapped beneath a seething, writhing mass of negativity. The unyielding repetition feels explicitly Sisyphean, and equally as frustrating. The merciless beating laid upon the ears with mechanical persistence is enough to drive lesser men/women to the brink of annihilation.

Indian give no quarter vocally either. Astringent screams reign supreme. A sad desperation bleeds from the voice of a soul-sucking wraith. The terror inherent in these vocal ministrations is inescapable but one may sometimes wonder whether the voice is that of the prisoner, or of the captor. Most likely both are one and the same. Without a lyric sheet one cannot be entirely sure, but one can sense a delitescent intelligence behind the virulent rasp. There is no relief from those vexatious screams rife with pain and misology.

Woven betwixt the oppressive doom and distressing vocals lies a terrific low rumble, permeating the album with a burning intensity. It feels like a volcano spewing molten nightmares and coating the world in ash. Agitating and insectile noise also rears its misogynistic head, irritating and pestering like a mosquito in the dark.

From All Purity begs for a stout heart and sound mind lest the ponderous, mind-numbing doom, simmering, acerbic noise and apocalyptic vocals be the vehicle for your ascent beyond the mountains of madness. Indian's incessant doom, harsh noise and vocals radiant with anger indeed present a challenge. May perseverance be your strength, for the bittersweet reward is not without peril.

Matt Hinch

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Matt Hinch lives an unassuming life on the backroads outside Forest Mills, Ontario, Canada. He packs in as much metal as he possible can amid factory work, raising three daughters with his wife and working the land. In addition to Scratch the Surface Matt also writes for Hellbound, Ghost Cult Magazine, About Heavy Metal and his own blog, Kingdom of Noise.
Keep up with him on Twitter @KingdomofNoise.