Here’s an absolute must-have album for crust metal fans of all kinds; black-crust, death-crust, doom-crust, sludge-crust, crust-punk, you name it, Bastard Feast probably got it because they put quite an eclectic assortment of acrid spices in their crusty concoction called Osculum Infame. If that sounds even slightly tempting, better keep reading. Besides, the only acceptable reason not to like Bastard Feast is a dislike for even the most scrumptious crust metal. However, even finicky metal-folks could, perchance, acquire a certain taste for this.
Okay, so maybe some out there are thinking: what kind of dirty-mouth band name is Bastard Feast and who the hell are they? Bastard Feast are a blackened, sludgy, industrially punky crust metal band from Portland, Oregon, and that barely scrapes on a full description of them. One of the most admirable things about these guys is the way they take on styles, techniques and other things that are hardly compatible, rather extremely incompatible, and manage to make it all work together, incredibly well too. Most of their music trounces in a radical, rebellious, non-conformist, anarchist and ultimately aggressive course as expressed in songs like “A Tribute to What We Stole” and “The Rats Through Our Veins.” Still, they couldn’t have chosen a better song to be the first track and first impression of the album because from the start of “Bloated City,” we know we’re in for a wild ride. After a smashingly good riot, ease your dark and pissed-off soul into ten minutes of depressive atmospheric black metal with the final song, the oh-so woeful and psychedelic “Synthetic Messiah.”
Considering impressive previous work like their 2011 debut, Fear in a Handful of Dust, as well as the albums recorded under the group’s previous name, Elitist, there must’ve been a handful of people out there anticipating with high expectations of what was coming next. Finally, Bastard Feast’s second course has arrived and they’ve outdone themselves. Through and through, Osculum Infame is music for dark, twisted souls with obscurely open minds and cold hearts. Bone-appétit, hope you’re all hungry for something gnarly.