Self-proclaimed 'sewer doom' Toronto three-piece IRN have spewed forth one of the most disturbing and disjointed releases you're likely to hear this year. Taking their cue from their filthy forefathers in bands such as Grief, Dystopia and Corrupted, they meld these influences to create a bile-fuelled slab of uneasy listening that is unflinching in its aural assault.
The downright intimidating opener 'Adrift Between Burned Out Villages' is an almost 18 minute exercise in separating the wheat from the chaff; if you can survive this track, you can survive anything. Beginning with the creepy crawl of a lone bass and spinal-chord-plucking guitar, they soon lurch to life, establishing their base as colossal, crushing sludge. However this track is far from the usual 'find a riff, play it very slow for a long time' type of sludge that's all too common in today's overcrowded scene.Not content to stick to any traditional formula or structure, the track becomes a relentless trawl through every dark recess of heavy music, spanning everything from eerie atonal passages, chiming notes of post-rock prettiness, the clatter and clang of experimental noise, scrambled squeal of guitar torture and even the injection of some almost jazz-like percussive elements and rhythms, all the while maintaining a distinct undercurrent of menace. Like I say, formulaic they are not.
The use of samples espousing misanthropic rhetoric interspersed throughout the track is reminiscent of fellow genre-blenders Dragged Into Sunlight, eschewing the usual horror movie clip for something a little more thought-provoking.
If you survive the opening track, the follow up 'Always Die Slowly', while being a far more straight-forward proposition, is no less unsettling, the frantic rhythms and corrosive guitar about as pleasurable to hear as the sound of a rusty hacksaw on bone. Thick, sour bass accompanies a sample of some bizarre babbling, before the torturous flaying of vocalist/bassist Jeff's vocal chords continues. Despite the hateful overall vibe of the song, it has moments of actual grooviness, coming across like vintage EyeHateGod at points.
The retches and scrapes that comprise the beginning of 'Old Orange Hands' further drag IRN into near unlistenable territory, until only those with the most morbid fascination will be able to endure. When someone asks you what you listen to and upon hearing metal respond with "What, like AC/DC or something?", play them this song, then watch their mind crumble like a wet cake. At times the production quality gives the track an almost industrial quality, not in terms of genre but of atmosphere, the metallic echo and mechanical lurch as it comes to a close sounds like they literally recorded this album in a sewer.
You could either consider it a bonus or a curse that the cassette release of the album contains a recording of Eric Satie's 'Gnossienne #3'. The original composition already has a haunting quality, and IRN filter this through their grime-encrusted lens to produce the perfect soundtrack to despair and anxiety.
Their interpretation feels very loose and ramshackle, as if at any moment the track could fall apart, so it's no surprise when the composition decomposes itself, and the album ends in prolonged screeching feedback.
