Genre: Aggressive Electronica, Industrial Punk
Product Details: mp3 Album
Originally released on December 29, 2009 – No Longer Available
Track List:
1.One Minute
2.Fight!
3.Drained
4.Seethe
5.The Dead
6.Trashed
7.Kiss The Tears
8.Pass The Knife
9.Join Us
10.Armed
11.The Deepest Cut
12.Minute One
Press comments for Flesh Eating Foundation – Seethe
If ever there were an album deserving of cult status, Seethe would be it.
ReGenMag.com
They are an Atari Teenage Riot for the new millenium.
Talk magazine.
A well-crafted but low-fi barrage of tortured dance rhythms, jagged guitars and industrial clatter.
Grave Concerns E-zine.
Scruffy, dirty, tribal, violent Industrial/Future/Zombie Punk, with a bit of death disco and the odd spare body part thrown into the blender.
Unscene Magazine.
Bleep and yell industrial machine music, global noise attacks and dark wave twitch and bang and clunk and clang.
Organ Magazine.
“Seethe” really is top-notch industrial chaos.
Insomnia Magazine.
“Seethe” gives the listener a caughty, volatile and atmospheric musical shot of EMB meets gothic punk meet horror electronics.
Judas Kiss Magazine.
A monstrous behemoth that once it’s been set going will utterly refuse to stop, until it does indeed reach those rusted iron gates of oblivion.
Heathen Harvest Magazine.
Flesh Eating Foundation – Seethe / Review by Simon Marshall-Jones
As is my wont, when I receive a batch of media to review, I usually take the time to read the liner notes, even if it’s only based on the principle that somebody has taken the time to write them and it would be churlish of me to ignore them.
On reading the ones contained on this CD, this reviewer’s heart sank somewhat when it mentioned that the album had been recorded in a bedroom – so you can imagine what species of scenarios immediately sprang to mind. I was resigned to a set of badly recorded songs, sounding like a group of spotty nerds had put them together to complain about life, love and how other people failed to understand them. Inward groans were in abundance that day….
But I needn’t have worried though – despite the handicap one would imagine constraining proceedings by recording in a bedroom this is actually a quality item. Mining the rich vein already pioneered by outfits like Skinny Puppy, Frontline Assembly, Numb, and similar, this Stafford, UK, threesome spew out a veritable tirade of bilesome ditties, as well as copious quantities of fake blood on stage apparently, that fairly stomp along at an unstoppable juggernaut clip.
Okay, so in some respect this does betray some of its bedroom-begotten origins in the sense that it lacks polish and finesse, and is pretty rough around the edges, but in an instance like this we needn’t be overly critical; if anything that very sandpaper roughness and texture lends it something, an authenticity perhaps, that is often more than noticeable by its absence on similar but better-produced fare. Plus, if you really want to get right down to it, there is perhaps a greater authority here, invested in it simply because of its roots in the underground scene and the fact that the musicians involved are probably closer to real life than many a ‘star’ in the industrial firmament.
Battering ram rhythms, rapid-fire beats, machine-gun sequences, bloodsoaked melodies, and blood & thunder vocals, vomited out with as much spite and venom as can be mustered and injected into one voice, amalgamate to create a colossus of affecting discontent and dissatisfaction. As intimated above, this thunders along at breakneck speed, with each song rapidly following on from the previous one without any respite, keeping the insane momentum going until the very last, barrelling along and heading for the gates of oblivion. More to the point, it wants you to share in that sublime moment of total annihilation, that instance, both a microsecond and an infinity, and on both the microcosmic and macrocosmic scales, where every particle of every bit of matter in existence is spread simultaneously to every vector in the infinity of the known universe.
Particular favourites, among the many to choose from here, are ‘Seethe’, slow-burning verses detonating into a melodic chorus proclaiming “We are losing the game…”, and ‘Join Us’, the spiky rhythm of hatred and acidic bile. All twelve songs on here, though, share the same shot of utter venom that works its way through the system and infuses everything with the taint of poison. You know, for something that was created in the most unlikely of recording studios, (and a decidedly low-tech one at that), this has more than transcended its limitations and boundaries, resulting in a monstrous behemoth that once it’s been set going will utterly refuse to stop, until it does indeed reach those rusted iron gates of oblivion.
TIBProd. Italy 