Are you ready to get your face fucked? Or at least torn off by what sounds like cannibals that found some instruments, taught themselves how to play, and created this band called Facefuck. Facefuck hails from Perth, Australia, and if I know one thing about Australia, everything there wants to kill you and the same thing can be said about Facefuck. I’m positive that they want to kill you with their perverse, grotesque brand of grinding brutal death metal. Throes of Lament throws everything they can at you to make sure that you stay dead, and after your (un)timely death, it makes sure that your body is mutilated beyond recognition.
Through the ten songs that are rocketed at your face through this album, you witness true brutality. Facefuck gets some help from other sickening gore fiends in this album. In the song Boundaries of Flesh Daniel John from Fetus Fertilizer lays down a blood soaked solo, Jason Lambert from Putrified J is featured on The Summoning and Roger Beuajard from Mortician helps out on the song Hellbound.
There is no shortage of blood to be spilled here, as Throes of Lament rips you limb from limb, and saws at your neck until you’re nothing left but a headless stump. From the opener Ritual of Desire you can feel a sense of urgency in which the music is played. It’s not an urgency in which they want to get the song over as quick as possible, but it is more of an urgency to decimate your life.
The ferocity and pace in which Facefuck play only solidify the fact that through the course of this album, they are trying to stack up as many bodies as possible. The slightly over twenty minute run time doesn’t give them a lot of time to hack and slash their way through your town, but in the time given I can imagine them culminating a pretty substantial collection of cadavers.
Not one song on Throes of Lament sits still for long or at all for that matter. Save for some intros and outros, Throes of Lament is one C4 blast after the next. The torture begins with the excruciatingly painful riffs that hit you like a nail bomb, and the pain continues with an acrobatic performance from the drums. Your execution comes with the vocals. The vocalist spews forth gore soaked and bile lined gutturals that are bound to rupture some organs.
Throes of Lament operates how a methed out serial killer would. Systematic, yet calculated. The album is fueled by gore, hate, and a visceral need for blood, and with those combined it makes for a sickening ride. Whether you get off at the end of the ride or not is to be determined.