Rudimentary Peni: Death Church 1983 Reissue

Death Church is where Rudimentary Peni get weird. Prior to the release of their first LP, the band had released two EPs. Though those releases foreshadowed the dark genius found in Death Church, both of those seven inchers bore traces of the band's anarcho-contemporaries. Shreds of that influence remains on Death Church, but it is here where the band emerges from the cocoon fully formed.

With two full sides to fill, the band, instead of blowing up their hyper-short songs into longer epics, decided take their core sound, and experiment with variants of the form. Most songs take shape in minute long, choppy chord attacks. Nick Blinko rips out thick, massive riffs that despite being hard, still bear an indebtedness to the fundamental catchiness of early rock. Blinko sets the tone with the pounding buzz of his guitar, but bassist Grant Matthews and drummer Jon Greville add the essential
back drop. The pair congeal together to create rapid, column like sounds that roar and rumble, making them feel as punk rockish as they do Wagnerian.

And then, as the scene is set with the Poe-ish sonic texture, Blinko comes into his own, howling out tales of mortality, horrible creatures, and once in a while, even love. It is here that Rudimentary Peni establish their true genius. Thousands and thousands of bands spend dozens of lines, carefully selecting words, and creating metaphors to express a particular concept. Rudimentary Peni needs but two lines to make the most profound statement. On "¼ Dead" Blinko snaps, "3/4 of the world are starving/the rest are dead." That's all the band needs to say because it says it all. Like surgeons, the band cuts away the chaffe which clutters many songs, and in doing so, writes one of the most potent lyrics found in music.

In a way, that opening track operates to highlight both of Rudimentary Peni's aspects. On one side is the salute to gothic topics. "Inside" and "Nothing but a nightmare" comment on the futility of life, and even suggest that life itself is torment. In these moments, despite the parade of horrors, Blinko reveals himself to be a extremely tender soul. On "Dutchmen," he laments the death of 20,000 people in an early 20th century concentration camp whose suffering will be forgotten. "Vampire State Building," skillfully argues for caring for those who suffer from mental illness, through a cold, objective description of a mental asylum, likely from the point of view of indifferent caretakers...JonhGentile

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