Pallbearer - Foundations of Burden

Posted on Tuesday, January 20, 2015

Perfection. The vast majority of music critics —yes, I’m talking to you, any living human being with a computer— don’t believe it’s possible. A perfect score is considered by most to be an anomaly at best, while others suspiciously find such an aberration downright sacrilegious. I vividly remember some cunt who recently reviewed the new Agalloch saying, “Great albums are, sadly, very few and far between… that is how it needs to be. If, to you, half your record collection is incredible, your standards are too low. You are too easily pleased; you are satisfied with a broad-ranging musical placebo that keeps you comfortable and unchallenged.” This guy then goes on to say that The Serpent & the Sphere (a dead fuck of an album, by the way) is the greatest thing he’s ever heard, yet still can’t bring himself to give it a perfect rating. On a scale of 1 to 6 (?), he gives it a 5.99. Clearly the writing of an absolute pussy who is mortally terrified of the opinion of his peers. For the record, I find way more than half my collection to be incredible — otherwise I wouldn’t fucking own it! If you don’t think the perfect record can exist, then what the fuck are you collecting records for, let alone reviewing them for fuck’s sake?! People who get all their music for free tend to become jaded hypercritics, and poseurs always reveal themselves through their language. Phrases like “I’m glad no one heard me listening to this,” or “not something I’d play with anyone around,” and “I don’t like this band’s fanbase/touring partners/stage presence/looks/producer/album cover/record label,” etc. expose these fashionistas for what they truly are: fake. They just need a scene to be a part of. It’s all about image for these cumstains. They’re aren’t concerned with music, they’re concerned with people. I say fuck people. People only exist to entertain me, and the quality of that entertainment is all that matters. A musician is nothing more than a temporary vessel for Lucifer’s grace to shine through. And I’ll tell you something else, if you really like every song on an album… THEN THAT’S A PERFECT ALBUM, PROFESSOR DICKFACE. It ain’t fuckin’ science, and the critique of art is not art form itself. Eat dick.
Why have I wasted half my Pallbearer review on a futile attempt to fix stupid? Well, just like when a Cleveland Steamer is finished, I needed to get that shit off my chest, but first and foremost it’s because Pallbearer is the epitome of musical perfection. Yes, shudder in your fucking boots, internet. This band has released a perfect demo, a perfect debut LP, and now this absolutely fucking perfect follow-up. Cringe at my words, whores! Every song this group has ever put on record —right down to the fucking Billie Holiday cover— has been flawless. Indefectible. Impeccable. Faultless. Excellent. Paragon. Transcendent. Superior. Thesaurus, bitch! Do I care about them as people? Hell no. Couldn’t even tell you what they look like. Probably couldn’t tell them apart from their fans at a gig. (Not that I go to gigs anymore; see, “fuck people.”) I wouldn’t care if Brett Campbell died tomorrow, but his voice is fucking beautiful. We’re talking otherworldy majestic pipes, and on Foundations, his traditional Doom approach has been refined and honed for maximum emotional effect. Bassist Joe Rowland and guitarist Devin Holt also lend effective vocal performances this time around, enhancing the dynamics further yet. Talk about “unchallenged” and “comfortable” (aka: “vacation” for those of us with real jobs), the crushing heaviness of these riffs soothes the life-broken soul, filling the void with a euphoria on par with the most potent drug imaginable. This band yields sonic melancholy with a seemingly cosmic power in league with the immortal Katatonia. Even this album’s segue/queef —the 3-minute “Ashes”— is so masterfully composed you will remember it forever! My only complaint here is the same as my only complaint was on Sorrow and Extinction — the disc isn’t full. There’s 25 minutes of extra space here that could’ve been filled with more of Pallbearer’s completely perfect music. MORE!! Anyone who doesn’t like this album should be shot in the stomach and left to bleed to death in the sun while his/her family is forced to watch. Read it and weep.

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