review by: Larissa Glasser

Sapthuran has at least one full-length CD rout, but this release heralds his big campaign beyond the San Andreas Fault line. Any new addition to the USBM scene should be considered on its own merits: balance between originality and homage, songwriting, and contribution to the underground. Leave it to the Californians to plunge our hungry ears into the black bath of purity and power. For these ears, USBM picks up where Bay Area thrash left off: primal energy, sick guitars, unrelenting energy seasoned with implacable hatred and superiority.

Sapthuran begins the split with the epic-sized "As a Tale Told by the Leaves and Whispered by the Wind." The Judas Iscariot influence is apparent. Although the song is a bit linear, the Burzum-ic facet of hypnosis by repetition triumphs in the end. The acoustic guitar overdub is an especially nice, forest-y touch.

The second song, "And Autumn Sheds its Final Tear" is almost all acoustic, like black metal folk! It is brief respite from bludgeon before the third song, "The Wanderer: Blood in the Forest" is even closer to his compatriot Leviathan. Minor melodic lines intertwine with straight-on snare drum rape. One haunting effect, in particular: at the end of each progression of the main riff, Sapthuran hits some sort of bell. At first it sounded like a Tom G. Warrior death grunt he'd overdubbed later, but a closer listen discounted that assumption. It is definitely a percussive object, but the decay sounds too long to be a cowbell, and too short to be a church bell. If anyone (artist included) can decode the mystery for me, that would be nice. It's creeping me out.

Now, if it were possible for Leviathan to evolve even further, it is evinced on this release. Wrest apparently recorded with a regular acoustic drum kit this time, and the inside photo has allowed me to surmise that he uses an Ibanez Iceman guitar – the same choice as Tom G. Warrior during Celtic Frost’s headier days.

Musically, these polestars of spasmodic riffing and unrelenting blastmort evoke Frank Zappa's work, somehow. Although Zappa shares only cursory musical similarities with Wrest, at least on a prog-rock level, they were (and are) prolific as fuck. Leviathan is a continuously surprising entity that tears black metal a new asshole every time he commits music to tape.

"Odious Convulsions (They Are Not Worthy of His Name)" starts off with yet another wholly alien and hostile netherworld populated by cabalistic crickets and dread damnation. The instruments pounce together, jumping from zero to the Apocalypse in a single instant. Harmony dies, rots, and stinks the fuck out of your speakers.

Wrest's vokills sound a bit more mid-range on this initial track, a creepy gurgling sound like the harvested human heads from the 1980 horror film "Motel Hell." The second half of the song descends into warm bass and odd overdubs before fading into the night. There is no typical song structure when it comes to Leviathan.

"The Fourth Blind Wound" is another excellent ritual. More straightforward blasting prevails, in addition to Wrest’s more signature orcish vokills. The infectious riff of "Another Sip of Fear" is further testament to Leviathan’s dexterity and acumen. "Crushing the Prolapsed Oviducts of Virtue" pulls the curtain on an almost Germs-y side of things, and then finally "Mesmerism" spirals into a Dead Can Dance sort of purgatorial bliss, ringing out its brief downpour with majestic confidence.

Again, then as now, essential listening. (Sapthuran: 7/10, Leviathan: 10/10)