Every single cab driver I had in Mumbai, after asking my 'good name', would point out the car window at a towering, off-kilter skyscraper that burst out from the city's slums like an inorganic, steel-infused tumor.  Called the Antilia, it is one of the largest private residences in the world, 27-stories of absolute decadence. One floor has snowflakes that literally spit out from the walls, for the love of the thirty-plus Hindi gods. And, yet, it seems to be such a logical part of the incredibly bizarre tapestry that makes up Mumbai.  The amount of money consumed by the rich in this part of the world is almost unfathomable.  And so is the overreach of poverty, a sprawling, dysenteric infusion of economic inequity.  It's impossible to zip through the insane conglomeration of tuk-tuks, 150 cc motorcycles, cows, Japanese cars, donkey carts and pedestrians and not have your mind blown into billions of neurological bits.  There's just so much happening at one time, it seems almost apocalyptic, if not downright apoplectic.  It's a fascinating glimpse into the stark reality of human existence in the twenty-first century, and an equally apt background for Sahil Makhija's DEMONSTEALER project and their fourth full-length release "The Propaganda Machine."

Like the absolute mind-fuck that's the streets of Mumbai, "The Propaganda Machine" is an overwhelming onslaught of sonic colors.  It's the musical dhobi ghat of extreme metal: a vast, sprawling, exotic display of colors, the curves and creases of colorful sheets and pillowcases blowing in the smog-filled air against the stark ninety-degree angles of new and old architecture. Makhija recruited an all-star team of musicians to help him achieve his vision, often sending the tracks from India to distant European lands to lay down the recordings. Four different drummers, with a laundry-list of qualifications- ALKALOID, TRIPTYKON, BLOTTED SCIENCE, ABORTED, KATAKLYSM, KISS FROM THE MOAT, OBSIDIOUS, PANZERBALLET- fill the space like the Indian diaspora.  This wide swath of talent gives the album a feel of constant on-the-edge space- the album is never boring. Asking VEILE keyboardist Anabelle Iratni to add symphonic elements to these progressive, intricate death metal odes was a stroke of genius.  The keyboards never seem to overwhelm, only adding to the frenetic, intoxicating feel of the album. With seven other contributors to guitar and bass, it's hard to tell where DEMONSTEALER begins and ends as a "one-man band," the only constant being his alternating clean and OPETH-like growls.  (Which work pretty damn well, by the way.)

Third song "The Propaganda Machine" starts off with a "Blackwater Park"-esque groove before Makhija comes in with doubled vocals, featuring a mid-range growl and some KVLT screams underneath.  "Human beings, a failing species: wake up exist. Rinse and repeat," sings Makhija in clean vocals, as if to emphasize the central point by which his fourth full-length since 2008 propounds.  Fifteen years between a first and most recent album in metal terms is a lifetime, and extreme artists are still screaming at the skies about the same shit.  Rinse and repeat, indeed.  It evokes the human hustle of everyday life that seems to work against the gut-oiled gears of a political machine built on the bones and muscles of the everyday man, be that on the streets of Mumbai or the suburbs of Washington D.C.  The album is firmly entrenched in today, only embodied by a history that never seems to change.  KATAKLYSM drummer James Payne and bassist extraordinaire Martino Garattoni join Sahil and Anabelle on the flat-out death crusher "The Great Dictator," a relentless barrage of double-bass drum demolition, stop-starts and bizarre turns on the musical rupee.  The song, like the album itself, is a tour de force in terms of extreme talent.  There's not a weak note on the disc, every one rippling with the blue blood of the aching fingers and sore calves that come with practicing your sweeps and paradiddles for hours at a time.

It's hard not to sit with "The Propaganda Machine" for its 42 minute running time and not feel like you've just been blasted through the traffic-stuffed streets of old Bombay.  It's a million different colors exploding into the sky on a Diwali evening; the Ganges choked with the refuse of billions worshiping gods that may or may not exist; the last drops of the shower as a billionaire Mumbaikar wraps himself in a thousand dollar towel on the penthouse floor of his personal skyscraper. But really, the only number that truly counts is the number of years we have left before our unbridled lust for power, money, and control ends up finding the propaganda machine chewing all of us out and grinding us into another plate of malevolent masala.  DEMONSTEALER has crafted a real gem out of the shit that's piled up around us, both metaphorically and literally; and with it, he's given us a reason to rage against the propaganda machine.