So I got a package from Michael Zolotov, who terrorizes people’s speakers and sometimes eyes as Kadaver for several years now. Inside the normal looking package I found the albums he had sent me wrapped inside a newspaper, which wasn’t a great surprise either. Then, upon closer examination, I realized that the pages of the newspaper were taken from the section of the paper that was listing all those who passed away recently. “Clever”, I thought to myself. “Kadaver”, the obituary section of the paper, I see what you did there sir!
But Zolotov is a thorough kind of guy and he doesn’t settle for the obvious. I notice he took the time to cut and paste (analogue style, mind you), pictures of various sex toys on one of the obituaries, and inside this sleazy necrophilia packaging was a letter as well, written on pink paper that served, before Zolotov’s taking over, as an ad for vaginal medical treatment. If you think this is inappropriate in any way then obviously you don’t know or don’t like Kadaver. Let me just warn you then, it’s going to get a lot worse.
“A tragedy without a border line”, beautifully covered with a shiny bloody red picture of flowers over a black background, is collaboration between Zolotov and Contagious Orgasm, who is responsible for much more albums than the number I have actually listened to, and that is a shame on my part. The three tracks they had created are over seventeen minutes each, and loaded with hostile walls of violent noise, occasionally erupting from within the mud – soaked bosom of unsettling, haunted swamp of dark sounds. “Poison” begins with slow and wet movements in dark and ugly sounds. There are vague sounds of weeping, which transform into drilling shrieks, and the painful voice of a distant girl, telling a tale about her abuse.
The second track, “Dispsable”, is moving deeper into the maelstrom with more intense hammering. At this point you can hear and dissect the sounds into those influenced by Contagious Orgasm and those by Kadaver. The hybrid, being sick as it may, suddenly sounds logical and even inevitable, making the album dynamic and extreme to the general population, but alluring and tempting at the same time.
There is going to be a point, about halfway through the album, where all knobs are turned to eleven, thus pushing the torture to extreme for a long while before getting back below dangerous levels. The whole album is slowly crawling between these two realms, the almost subliminal, eerie kingdom of obscure sound specters, and the piercing realm of hostile walls of noise, making it sickening even more. Some people like to take the time and willingly torture their minds with hateful sound waves. I believe it has to do something with the acknowledgement of where life has taken us, and the appreciation of the still silence that quickly takes control over the head when the album is over. Be it as it may, and with the increasing demand in hostile environments like this one, perhaps it’s time to realize that there is a chance that these artist are not here to hate you, but to please you, even in twisted methods, similar to pasting sex toys over obituaries.