Cianide - The Dying Truth
Review: With falling oblique slabs of chords like darkness invading an evening room, Cianide make basic grindcore into a science of sustained tension between essentially rhythm riffs that resolve into a complement of the fragmentary modality of linear structure. Its rise and fall, like the twisting deck of a ship in a slow building storm, creates an almost comforting morbidity behind some of the more sudden structural shifts.
As burrowing convergences upon the modality of silence, songs wind to an impassible entropy and decay, dropping swiftly in the explanation of their themes. Part of the grindcore heritage of this work shows in three-chord simple riffs that often use rhythm alone as their resolution, where even the shuddering slowness of structural expression and destruction can benefit from the versatile fusion of idea and chromatic melody.
1. Mindscrape (5:28)
2. Human Cesspool (3:24) 
3. The Suffering (4:08)
4. Scourging at the Pillar (5:07)
5. Crawling Chaos (5:59)
6. The Dying Truth (5:18)
7. Funeral (5:44)
8. Second Life (6:34)
The expression of the work, like sculpture, is crude at first but the unrefined directness it exudes forms the basis of its atmosphere, echoed in the almost warlike percussion of phrases slamming home to basic but vitally relevant tone centers. The encroaching, enduring stagnation of sound and conditioning of the ear to find monumental repetition appropriate provides a tonal backing to vocal and string texturing further shaping the sound, pulling space from within the cavernous collisive power chord easy chair riffs to inject detail and fragmentation into the mixture.
This aesthetic winds its attractiveness through its direct and absolute conclusivity and powers the songs through tensions brought about by concrete expression and not its opposite, but this does not hamper the grinding aspirations of doom breathing from every pore. Encouraging the growth of the genre at the same time leaning toward regressive metal influences (Venom and Hellhammer), Cianide extrude the horror and gore of bands like Carcass and transform it into a vision of enduring pain with the grinding, contextless, loveless riffs of a postmodern age stitching it home on the seam of the brain of the listener.