Dodsferd - _Fucking Your Creation_
(Moribund Records, 2006)
by: Jeremy Ulrey (9 out of 10)
Remember when you could get a pretty damn good idea of an album's contents by the cover art alone? Back before the advent of Photoshop made it cheaper to throw together your own pretentious, semi-artistic photography instead of paying a graphic artist a king's ransom that had damned well better pay off in album sales? Yeah, well, Dodsferd sure as hell didn't cough up that king's ransom, but it's immediately obvious from the pre-desktop publishing, cut-and-paste, DIY fanzine artwork of _Fucking Your Creation_ that you're not dealing with a trend-chaser here.

It's rare that a band reaches back to the glory days of their chosen genre, back before saturation and commercialization set in, and produces an album worthy of that era's classics. It's rarer still when a one man band manages to put out a record with all the instrumentation and production sounding virtually perfect. The fact that Dodsferd has managed to do both with _Fucking Your Creation_ is all the more exemplary. Darkthrone is a pretty close benchmark, not only in terms of influence, but also in indicating the stellar level of quality (_Transylvanian Hunger_ is pretty much the raison d'ĂȘtre for the cover art here).

Dodsferd takes advantage of black metal's spurning of the "verse-chorus-verse" format to allow extended epics to evolve out of his misanthropic muse. Theoretically at least, two of these four songs (track one is a mere [obligatory] intro) could have been broken down into two or more shorter songs apiece, but not without sacrificing the chilling, nihilistic momentum and bloodcurdling build-up that fuels the hatred perspiring out of the album's very pores. Not that Dodsferd necessarily needs all that time to stretch out. "Wrath" is arguably the most malicious, darkly foreboding song on the entire record, and it clocks in at a 'mere' eight minutes. In fact, the latter is largely an avantgarde traipse through the most unhinged regions of Dodsferd's psyche.

Dirge-like and nearly incoherent, with washes of fuzzed feedback often coming close to drowning out the guitar chords which produced them, Dodsferd rises above the maelstrom with his impassioned epithets and snarling invective. One to be watched, if only to make sure he doesn't catch you with your back turned.


(article published 8/3/2007)

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