There’s nothing fun here; nothing but the cold of an autopsy followed by the heat of a crematorium…
MIRRORS FOR PSYCHIC WARFARE, the industrial collaboration between Neurosis’ Scott Kelly and Buried At Sea’s Sanford Parker, will unleash their second chapter of sonic anxiety this fall via Neurot Recordings.
Titled I See What I Became, the follow-up to the duo’s 2016’s critically-lauded, self-titled debut was produced by Seward Fairbury (Corrections House) and Negative Soldier, mastered by Collin Jordan (Eyehategod, Indian, Wovenhand, Voivod etc.) with decibel manipulation by Dave French (Brothers Of The Sonic Cloth, The Anunnaki), and comes swathed in the cover art of Thomas Hooper (Neurosis, Harvestman, Boris, Tombs, Doomriders).
I See What I Became will see release on CD, digital, and vinyl formats on September 28th with preorders available at THIS LOCATION.
View the album trailer, courtesy of Chariot Of Black Moth, below
I See What I Became Track Listing:
1. Animal Coffins
2. Tomb Puncher
3. Body Ash
4. Flat Rats In The Alley
5. Thing Of Knives
6. Crooked Teeth
7. Death Cart
8. Coward Heat
As a precursor to the album’s release, MIRRORS FOR PSYCHIC WARFARE will play two very special shows later this month supporting industrial titans Godflesh in Chicago and New York City respectively with future MIRRORS FOR PSYCHIC WARFARE live abrasions, including a European tour this fall, to be announced in the weeks to come.
It’s been three rough years since MIRRORS FOR PSYCHIC WARFARE sprang into existence with their startling self-titled debut, but don’t think for a second that the time was spent idle, this unit — comprised of Neurosis’ Scott Kelly and producer Sanford Parker — constructed an even more unnerving and destructive record with I See What I Became. I know; hard to believe.
Over the course of these eight bile-rich pieces, a sonic abattoir is erected, exploited, and razed. Turbulence rises and churns giving way to rhythmic machinations, lights flicker, a grand mal/guignol seizure besets a frog-headed snitch, blood collects in a stainless-steel gutter. Claustrophobic sudor that evokes all you held dear from Skinny Puppy, Foetus, Godflesh, bath tub tina, and wondering where the fuck you will sleep, provided you ever do. There’s nothing fun here; nothing but the cold of an autopsy followed by the heat of a crematorium. A sliver of galvanized bone flies from a circular saw into the toothless maw of a streetwalking Kali Yuga. Good or bad, I’m not sure what we did to deserve this. [words by Aesop Dekker]