It awakens. Hope dies. Well-rested after an eight-year slumber since Krighsu, Wormed boots up. Programmed for violence, its processor whirs as it hones in on your location. It finds you in minutes; hiding in the alley behind St. Vitus wasn’t your best move. As soon as you spot its piercing red eyes, you realize the jig is up. In that split second, you see Wormed’s sculpted metal features gleaming in the midnight neon, like a steel diagram of the muscular system. You don’t know its Origin. All you know is that you have to run. So you run.
It chases. You cut southeast to throw it off, but Omegon stays on your tail with superhuman speed. Crunchy technical riffs evoke Cryptopsy on Adderall, developing at a breakneck pace and switching rhythms mid-measure. These tech death bloodbaths erupt into the slammiest of slam (“Automaton Virtulague”). Punishing slam flirts with haunting melodies, elopes with uplifting blackgaze, and abandons it at the altar (“Virtual Teratogenesis”). Omegon’s scattered serene melodies disintegrate into noise (“Malignant Nexus”) or get gunned down by riffs (“Omegon”). Indeed, you gloat prematurely, Omegon’s occasional attempts to slow down do it no favors. Speed and precision are Wormed’s game, and the band’s brutal death metal assault hasn’t been copycatted in the two decades since Planisphærium. You hook right and skirt The Kingsland, hoping the sleepy residential darkness can conceal you from Omegon.
It twists and turns, but keeps its footing. Not content to be merely a speed demon, Omegon outwits you. On first glance, Omegon’s chaotic evolution seems scatterbrained. But it’s not scatterbrained; you are.1 Countless listens reveal that Omegon’s frenzied melodies never just emerge from the ether, even when it seems otherwise. Wormed always plants seeds in advance, before developing dormant ideas into lethal climaxes (“Protogod”). Omegon’s fluid dystopian storytelling makes it easy to identify and adore specific sections, no matter their density. As you sprint for your life, you notice details that would ordinarily elude you. The wilting iris in the community garden, the two gray Jeeps with shattered taillights, the manic disso-doom of “Pareidolia Robotica,” the foreshadowing of the Meshuggah ending of “Aetheric Transdimensionalization.” Over-stimulated, your brain notices a crack in the sidewalk, but your feet are too slow to get the message. The world spins, concrete clobbers your chin, and fear gives way to resignation. As Wormed looms over you, you get a closer look and realize your error. Beneath Omegon’s metal armor and scarlet gaze, you see flesh. Your mysterious captor is no automaton. Omegon’s cybernetic ambush betrays as much human craftsmanship as mechanical precision. You grimace at the thought of what Wormed might do next.
It slams. Perfectly capable of pulverizing you with fancy technology, Wormed takes the caveman route first. Beating your torso with an out-of-character crowbar, Omegon’s barrage begins with the fantastic “Automaton Virtulague” and doesn’t let up. Wormed’s Pierced from Within riffs slam into oblivion and scratch an itch that’s usually limited to Suffocation (“Pareidolia Robotica”). While Omegon loves an old-fashioned bludgeoning, its techier pieces hit just as hard. With the demented opening of “Virtual Teratogenesis” and the arpeggiated soloing of “Gravitational Servo Matrix,” Wormed graduates from crowbar to chainsaw without sacrificing a shred of fun. Because Omegon flows so well, its headbangability persists even through its stupefying time signature changes. Wormed’s irresistible blend of Stone Age brutality and Space Age technicality launches them into the ranks of Gorod, Archspire, and Revocation, despite sounding worlds apart from those bands. The album’s power wanes as it proceeds; once it saws off one leg, the second one goes easier. But throughout its 41 minutes, the spectacle of Omegon holds you rapt.
Then, it vanishes. You jerk awake. Drenched in sweat and terror, your mind races over your fading nightmare. While Omegon’s minutia haven’t yet wormed into your memory—that won’t happen until your fifth listen—its hectic ambiance has. Confused and overwhelmed, you try to wipe Wormed from your mind. You distract yourself with Alcest, but it sounds frivolous now. You spin Ulcerate, but even that lacks Omegon’s chaos. Exasperated, you resort to Confessions on a Dance Floor, but its orderly rhythms pale before Wormed. You’ve deteriorated into Jeremy Renner in The Hurt Locker; having experienced violence once, you’ve fallen in love with it, and nothing else compares. You realize now what you must do.
It awakens.
Rating: 4.5/5.0
DR: 9 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Season of Mist Records
Websites: wormed.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/wormed
Releases Worldwide: July 5th, 2024
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