Chestcrush executes its misanthropic, anti-everything brand of nihilism by fusing blackened deathgrind with sludgy, doomy industrialism on ΨΥΧΟΒΓΑΛΤΗΣ. And even with the grindier bits dialed back, ΨΥΧΟΒΓΑΛΤΗΣA sounds like a bloodied blend of Anaal Nathrakh, Immolation, and Napalm Death sprinkled with an extra vitriolic dash o’ Nails. Evangelos Vasilakos crushes chests and eardrums with an onslaught of riffs full of brutish chugs, crusty sludge, and deathly density (“Existence is Punishment”). Drummer Robin Stone (Ashen Horde) brings the mutha-fuckin’ skulls to the yard with his rib-rattling, Anaal Nathrakhian double kick work, which often serves as a tempodic counterpoint to Evan’s wall of sound bass and guitar destruction (“We Shall Be Devoured by the Offspring of Our Own Flesh”). Topping off this sundae of fuck-off-fun-day decimation are the Mikael Åkerfeldtish vocals of Jokipii, whose roars and guttural growls bring an altogether beastlier edge to ΨΥΧΟΒΓΑΛΤΗΣ‘s throat work. Chestcrush will not make you feel good about yourself, nor will they have you looking hopefully into the future.
Speaking of hope, if not abandoned wholly before entering Chestcrush‘s world, it will be by the time “Every Single Word That Comes Out of Your Filthy Hole Is an Infectious Lie a Spreading Disease” invades your earholes. It is a punishing, anti-religious anthem full of chunky riffs, dissonant tremolos, Stone’s inhuman drumming, and Jokipii’s tortured growls and screams, prefaced by an ominous warning, ‘Until the last stone, from the last church, falls on the last priest.’ And as the screechy, staticky ending of “Hang Them! Torch Them!” gives way to the tolling bells of the sludgy behemoth and album closer, “As the Damned Writhe in Eternal Woe,” it is clear that Chestcrush hates us all. ΨΥΧΟΒΓΑΛΤΗΣ has no high points, no zenith; it is a cavalcade of sorrow, a series of nadirs plumbing depths subterranean of Dante’s seventh circle.
From the very Hellraiser-esque cover art courtesy of Vladimir Chebakov to the forty-minute runtime, Chestcrush‘s ΨΥΧΟΒΓΑΛΤΗΣ is infinitely more mature than its predecessor, Vthelygmia. I attribute this leap in maturation to two things. First, Chestcrush‘s songwriting has blossomed like a blackened rose, resulting in fully developed compositions that wend, wind, and weave within themselves, an ebb and flow of drama that casts a pall of abject hopelessness over the entire affair. Second, the addition of vocalist Topias Jokipii, whose beefier delivery and propensity to stay in his lower, more guttural register better fit Chestrcush‘s aural aesthetic. I have little in the way of criticism for ΨΥΧΟΒΓΑΛΤΗΣ, but there was something that stood out, which is a brief screech of feedback that rears its head throughout the album, mainly as an exclamation point. It works when employed to create an intersong dynamic (“Every Single Word…”), but it becomes grating when tacked on the end of nearly every track, sometimes twice (“We Shall Be Devoured…”).
Chestcrush has penned a dirge celebrating the death of humanity and is the human embodiment of existential hate. You’ll not be blasting ΨΥΧΟΒΓΑΛΤΗΣ poolside this summer, cracking beers and seltzers with your buddies and their wives, crisping flesh in the sun. Chestcrush is of darkness, despair, and destitution, and that is where ΨΥΧΟΒΓΑΛΤΗΣ will take you. I have committed several hours to ΨΥΧΟΒΓΑΛΤΗΣ in preparation for this review, and this time has left me spent, my jaw firmly wired shut, soul removed. I think I need to go and listen to some Fellowship now.
Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320kbps mp3
Label: Self-Released
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: April 4, 2025
