Rudolf Eb.er ‎- Om Kult : Ritual Practice Of Conscious Dying, Vol I

Om Kult

Another unsettling listen from the master of extreme – Rudolf Eb.er, Om Kult Volume I is a cerebral feast that cancers the comfortable with needlepoint clarity.

The carrion flies that dart between your hemispheres, those dirt dragging paws. It’s a focused feast that predators a pulse, shadow-plays a closely mic(ed) drama created out from the forest floor in Osaka, a mauling graininess furnished by numb electronics that mausoleum the mind, collude to blossom into some witchy eruptions of wow-ness.

A powerful (paranormal) pull that plays with your imagination in a grotesquely vivid way, your mind left to find unnerving conclusions in ferric hiss or coptering the vaselined violence of feeding time at some feral zoo. An evolution from his (rather impressive) BrainNectar double from a few years back, this single disc delves deeper into the occultist mind-state he carved for himself back then. Om Kult Volume I sadly doesn’t figure any Junko Hiroshige throat action this time round, but instead grazes you with plenty of anguished orgasms and eerie gruntologys as compensation.

I remember watching Eb.er at The Cube in Bristol some years back, performing with Joke Lanz of Sudden Infant fame as Runzelstirn & Gurgelstøck (now sadly disbanded). It was an intense experience in which he electrocuted himself to a cinematic backdrop of plexi-glassed vomit while Joke wandered ’round the theatre, spiking you with fed-back shrieks and blood-curdling screams. Man, I still can’t get that lurid buzzing of flies out of my head (even now) and the texturals here linger like cognitive molasses, superstitiously snake to some ancient harbour to frolic/fester.

There’s an animalised rawness that sits awkwardly in your civilised mind with a gristly rip or a braying rub. Shapes that carnal your cortex, parasitely banquet with shamanic rattles and the waxy rub of carcass-fed maggots. Chiromancers of powdery bone intermingled with field recordings of (what sounds like ) the actual possessed.

This sounds like the real deal, a strange brew that vampyres your vascular, ferments in your skull to become even more potent, ill-lucidity that doesn’t disappoint.

-Michael Rodham-Heaps-