Sweet mother of Satan. What an album title! What ungodly combination of drugs was needed to come up with such a concept? AND where on this god forsaken planet did they manage to find an artist to visualize such a monstrosity? Chopping Mall (possibly named after the cheesy 80s slasher movie) is the brainchild of Koth Dolgomoru from Milwaukee, WI, who performs all the vocals and plays all the instruments on his debut album, Mauled By A Magical Bear With Scalding Hot Liquid Cheese Spraying From Its Eyesockets. His bio claims the existence of six other “hard-to-find” albums, and that the band once had up to twelve members, but eventually dwindled to one single member.
The album is packed with 21 songs, each clocking in at roughly two minutes, except for the final, out-of-place, country-tinged track, “Barbecue,” which is more than seven minutes long. The first track, “Mashed Into An Unrecognizable Pulp,” opens with a skit between two teenage girls meeting at the mall, bragging about the ‘heavy music’ they listen to. Their conversation is interrupted by a gurgling guttural growl, locking the listener into a half hour of absolute madness.
Being a one-man band is a definite advantage as the vision for the music is singular and uncompromised. Song titles are equally as ridiculous as the album title, describing a variety of ways of dying, whether it be by food (“Forced To Eat Moldy Granola”), occupational hazards (“Pushed Down An Elevator Shaft”), or by wild animals (“Impaled on Elephant Tusks”). I also enjoyed “Shove Christmas Up Your Ass,” which I’ll likely be adding to my annual grinchy “Fuck Xmas” playlist.
Dolgomoru’s riffs are simple yet brutal, whether played at a rapid face-melting speed or a slow sludgy pace. His vocals remain at a low growl, occasionally doubled on a chorus. The words are hard to make out, but it’s worth the trouble following along with a lyric sheet, because you’ll be giggling like a schoolgirl. I don’t expect anyone who is unfamiliar with deathgrind to sit through the entire album, but as a fan of the subgenre, this album is an absolute hoot. It’s refreshing to see such a wild sense of humour, especially in a genre oversaturated with dudes whose idea of humour is torturing women. Usually when I’m done reviewing an album, I banish it from my sight, never to enter my ears again, but as I’m typing this, I’m pulling out my wallet to buy a physical CD of this album so I can get it framed and show it off to the world.
Written by Chris Aitkens
*edited by Danielle Kenedy