Hadopelagyal
a_way, Liestal

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Weitere Infos

Sa, 10.05.2025
Tor - 20:00
Ton - 21:00
21:00 - 21:50 – HADOPELAGYAL
22:10 - 23:00 – VIANDE

AK: 24.- / RES: 19.- via
< fylaments{ät}protonmail{°}com >
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† VIANDE (FR/CH - black/death metal)
° https://viande.bandcamp.com/
[Transcending Obscurity Rec.]

VIANDE is french for meat. If this sounds a bit profane to you, then you're right! As the flesh and the earthly existence can be regarded as immanent manifestations and the shadow side of the luminous, consider Viande the embodiment of all that is fleeting, corruptible and bound to be devoured by an all-consuming abyss.

The ghastly tones that emerge from their compositions sound utterly lifeless and oppressive, relying less on brute force and evoke a sense of existential dread instead. Abrasive dissonant riffing is met with mechanical pounding paired with an amazingly hostile production: Guitar effects, subtle sound modulation, unusual details (that could be synths or pedals) create an almost industrial/noise like feel. As invigorating of a listen their recordings are, we're beyond curious to experience how this hellscape will feel like when witnessed in the flesh.


† HADOPELAGYAL (DE - black/death metal)
° http://hadopelagyal.bandcamp.com/
[Amor Fati Prod., Ván Records]

"Appealing in us and widely released from getting placed in vacant definitions, there is resulting pantophagy - bounded by the energies which are at work in us, which are exempted from expression through hollow words and not attempted to be depicted concretely. Our compound exists for what is shaking and flowing in us, naturally grown and born by efforts of disposition in infinity.
Doomed in utter vagous cacaesthesia, a haemathermal burning thirst for things that are to be figured out tacently, which may also wait eternally to get breathed into life and get a name because raining from the heavens, they will presumably never meet us at all. We vomit what is in our limbs and inhale from our depths what we allow to lead us.

Where you sink to ashes in purgatory, ashes that don’t wear out as long as something pulsates in you, where malacophonous umbrages claim the toxic climax, where the masks fuse and you consider yourself lost in pandemonism, until the mythical labtebricole creatures fly."