This split originally came out as an extremely limited cassette on the label What We Do Is Secret in a run of just 50 copies; Gnarled Forest have resurrected it onto vinyl for the rest of us shlubs who missed out on the tape, pressing up 300 copies of this record on black vinyl and packaging it in a 10" sleeve with minimal silkscreened black and white artwork and a thick cardstock insert that's covered with rad-looking skulls. Can never get enough skulls, you know? This is a great teamup between one of my favorite avant-industrial-blacksludge duos, Blue Sabbath Black Cheer, and their buddies in Dried Up Corpse, who dredge up their own brand of blackened noise-soaked dirge...
Blue Sabbath starts this off with an untitled side-long track, and it's one of the most laid back recordings that I've heard from the band. As laid back as Blue Sabbath gets of course, and it's still an evil, feedback-laden, demonic freenoise abomination like the rest of their catalog, only here the band dials back on the grating noise and the pummeling fucked-up rhythmic elements, instead taking their blackened drones and moaning vocal horror and murky ambience and smearing it all into a more muted and ambient take on their sound, spreading it out into an expansive cavernous droneworld filled with far-off foghorn like blasts, snatches of eerie buried melody, the monstrous vocals stretched and smeared into indistinct rumblings, deep subterranean thrum vibrating up out of the depths, everything swaddled in a haze of electronic filth and droning feedback. These sounds are melted together into a hallucinatory demonic drift that never gets all of that aggressive until the very end when the deep, gutteral death metal like vocals start to creep out the cracks, and it's one of the band's most desolate, isolationist recordings yet.
On the other hand, Dried Up Corpse goes for total deathdrone approach, unleashing a nasty slab of blown out locust-swarm and churning corrosive drone. The track begins with a series of deep, rumbling pulsations that then erupt into an almost wall-noise attack of low-end white noise, fucked-up digital scrape, roaring forward like a black tide of toxic slime obliterating everything in it's path, until it dissipates into a subdued passage of chirping nocturnal insect-like noises and subterannean rumblings. Kinda like Bastard Noise being wiped out by The Rita, or something like that. Bottom line, it's a pretty cool dose of noxious deathdrone.
Only 300 copies, packaged in a thick silkscreened jacket with two-sided insert.