Looking back at our previous reviews of Alkerdeel we 1st covered them on second album Morinde where they made “a point of noting” that it came out “in the apocalyptical year of 2012.” Well, a quick fast forward to 2021 and a reshuffle of numbers and it’s a case of “hold my coat, you ain’t seen nothing yet…” Alkerdeel have certainly continued in an apocalyptic vein, coming to real attention on 3rd album ‘Lede’ and really showing us a thing or two catching them performing live with Turia and Absinthropy before everything went south in 2019. It was no surprise that these Belgian bastards created an impact and anyone remembering past outfits such as the doomed in more ways than one Thee Plague Of Gentlemen, as well as Serpentcult along with time served in Leng Tch’e, Headmeat and Anal Torture will attest, they are nothing less than devastating. Their brand of black as coal sludge-laden sonic upheaval is absolutely potent and whether presented live or on album will floor a listener and leave them with their jaw dropping towards the ground. The strangely entitled Slonk with its 4 heaving and similarly oddly named tracks is very much in the accustomed vein to the previous 3 full lengths, prepare to be dragged through a hedge backwards shortly after pressing play on this absolute beast of an album.
It’s been 6 years since we were presented with a bright orange cover depicting a demonic entity parping bottom gas in our direction and now, we have what appears to be a March hare frolicking in the fields, that air of strangeness is never particularly far away. We start here with the album’s longest track the 13 and a half minutes long Vier. It’s actually a calm start and near ambient as it begins a slow journey and swells into a multi-horned monster presenting things over an electronic backdrop before building up the layers and heaving into life. To translate some of the lyrics once it gets going it is certainly “Black-Foul-drenched” stuff and the musical “perfume of rats” hangs heavy in the air. You can imagine watching the players strumming this into life live and that will have to do now although you can sway in its grip in the comfort of your living room as Pede’s rawkus vocals gradually take form. Borne on a death grunt (there’s a few of these during the album) everything crunches in, the drums lurching off for a split moment before it flirts back teasing us almost rather than quite giving a full sonic implosion. Bass is thick and presents gloom to the melody and the trembling guitar clamour behind it all gnaws away incessantly. This is quite a heady trip and leaves you in a state of confusion, it’s almost a relief as everything finally comes crashing in and it heaves off fully with motor-grating guitars slicing away and everything full of churning violence and hellish bouncing bombast to conclusion. No more limbering up to things, the destructive nature of Eirde is immediate and the album now has an unstoppable caustic force about it that tumbles all over the shop, wild cries and screams following it to hell itself. Yep, jaws can suitably drop, its like being caught in a tornado, talk about intense.
A brief pause, flip the vinyl if lucky enough to have it that way. A squeal of distortion, a belch and a bouncing punkish groove rides roughshod over the zippy ‘Zop.’ The lyric translation makes little sense, something to do with mother drinking again and by the sounds of it she is definitely three sheets to the wind. I’d happily share a few bottles of Duvel with her as the song encourages to bounce around like a loon via its raw discharged sewer laden riffing. Drinking seems necessary here, shame I’m penning words to this early morning as the ABV here is possibly as alcoholic as countrymen Lugubrum as this song collapses into itself and falls over with a sickening clomp. Still, one has to rouse themselves for the nightmarish final assault that is ‘Trok’ a sound one may well make in with their head down in the toilet bowl by now. This really is a marvellous multi-coloured vomit too, the vocalist is expelling everything from his guts and the musicians simply hammer away, the hangover is going to be immense come the cold light of day… Consider me well and truly Slonked!
(8.5/10 Pete Woods)
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