ANGEL ROT - Unlistenable Hymns of Indulgent Damnage

It seems like 100 years ago that White Zombie were a viable musical entity-- I mean, you see Rob Zombie butchering Ramones tunes or living out his Wes Craven fantasies, and it's easy to forget that his former band were once an underground sensation. Unlike the MTV-readymade, Ministry-worshippin' tripe featured on "La Sexorcisto," in their early-to-mid 80's incarnation, they were dispensers of scuzzball sludge on par with insert NYC noise-rock band here. At that point (before Little Robbie's megalomania set in), they also boasted an axeman who went by the handle of Tom Five-- apparently because his sound was "the equal of five guitarists." He was dismissed prior to "Make Them Die Slowly," the opus that led to their major label deal, which was only the beginning of his hard luck: he formed Angel Rot in the early 90's, recorded this album in '93, only to see it flounder in Nowheresville for 6 years whereupon it was finally released by Man's Ruin-- a label on the verge of bankruptcy.

"Hymns" sounds like a natural progression of the WZ sound if corporate dollars hadn't gotten in the way. Five's grizzled grunt is a dead ringer for his former frontman, and the Slayer-on-Thorazine riffage is very much in evidence (It would seem there musta been a bit of power struggle in the Zombie camp, hmm?). As much as I detest the term "stoner rock," which always brings to mind excruciatingly bad Sabbath adulation a la Kyuss or Fu Manchu, it fits Mr. Five & Co. like a tattered pair of snakeskin boots. This is music conceived through countless bong hits, obsessive readings of EC comics and constant viewings of Ed Wood and Russ Meyer flicks.

With song titles like "Necrostrangle" and "Erotic Catacomb," ya know yer in for some total trash, and Angel Rot do not disappoint-- every second of the 45 minutes of this tour de force is filled with doom-laden, misanthropic slabs of distorto-grime. And yes, there are times Five lives up to his legend, in particular on instrumental "Callous Caul of Gloom," where his guitar is as informed by Greg Ginn's unschooled, free-form explosions as by Tony Iommi's proto-doom flailing. "Wallow" sounds like it was recorded underwater wearing cement shoes-- beyond sluggish gunk occasionally interrupted by tortured T5 screams-- yes, that's a compliment. This ain't music to strenuously dissect the well-crafted arrangements or stellar songwriting, it's all about succumbing to the smothering, nihilistic atmosphere. Thus, if vicarious suffering is your bag, you can't do much better'n this.

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