The philosopher, Friedrich Nietzsche once said that to live is to suffer, to survive is to find some meaning in the suffering. There exist those who may be engaged to the silence of suffering, where the tongue is cleaved to the roof of the mouth, for no meaning or parable is found through the rhythm of suffering. But then there are those souls, for onto strife, affliction , art is bred from the weeping stigmata, and from its flow, suffering is transmuted to that of honest art.

“This Mortal Coil” by LYNCHPIN can be looked upon as an attestation wherein the sounds of suffering can be harnessed into that of pure , unbridled chaos. Like he who separates the wheat from the chaff, so too does LYNCHPIN delve into the chasm of suffering, drinking upon that which is pure and untainted and from this attrament, a monolith is erected from the shades of malevolence.

Tracks such as “Hallowed Halls” and “Into The Temple” render onto Lynchpin a different skin from which the beast is usually cloaked, for the nature of brutality undergoes a metamorphosis. In other words, the very dissonance that heralds this aphotic plague also carries a sense of beauty to its emittance. The juxtaposition between these energies are summoned through the strings, for the melodies at times accentuate this nefarious atmosphere.

However, the zenith of the album can be discovered through the transmission of its aura, for the cacophony of aggression is but a byproduct of the pulsating nature of this palpable atmosphere. “Asphyxiation” and “Chloroform & Morphine” are testament to the shifting spirit of the atmosphere, which is summoned through the vocals, this time adopting a cavernous and feral approach to it's evocation, and in my opinion, it acts as the dominating force that ties all the elements together in a cohesive experience.

LYNCHPIN sheds the skin of their former selves, and anoints their bodies with the essence that births the serpentine hymns, and with the tongue of malice, creates a virulent strain of aggression in the sound of art.