Crawling Mountain Apogee

by Myopic / Torrid Husk

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about

Sprawling, progressive black metal/post-metal for fans of Krallice, Neurosis, Deathspell Omega.

"Both Myopic and Torrid Husk, who each have two lengthy tracks on Crawling Mountain Apogee, play what could broadly be described as progressive black metal, but each with their own respective take on the genre. Of the two, Myopic strays furthest from the black metal’s grim and frostbitten template, with a heavy post-rock (but not shoegaze) element to their sound. They’re also a band that understands how to use space to build tension, especially on the 10-plus minute “Unction in Passing,” which opens Crawling Mountain Apogee." - Brutal Prog

" [Torrid Husk's] music is dramatic and dynamic. It storms in a torrent of cascading riffs and blasting drums. It rings with shining guitar melodies and howls in its discordance. It drifts moodily and crashes like a river in flood. The instrumental work is tremendously impressive at every station, and the songs are filled with great vocal variety as well, from clawing shrieks to deep roars" - No Clean Singing

Torrid Husk - vimeo.com/95244482

Myopic - vimeo.com/102852655

credits

released October 7, 2014

Myopic is:

Sean Simmons - Guitar, Vocals
Nick Leonard - Bass, Vocals
Michael Brown - Drums

Torrid Husk is:

Tyler Collins - Guitar/Vocals
Jonathan Blanton - Bass/Synth
Tony Cordone - Drums

"Crawling Mountain Apogee" was recorded on May 3rd and June 28th of 2014 by Noel Mueller of Grimoire Records. Mixed and Mastered by Noel Mueller/Grimoire Records. Illustrations by Brandon Geurts. © & ℗ 2014 Grimoire Records.

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Grimoire Records Baltimore, Maryland

Grimoire Records is a hybrid recording studio/label with one credo; we record, mix and master every one of our releases.

We're based in Baltimore, MD and specialize in black, death, doom, stoner, thrash-metal, math/noise and post-rock bands based in the mid-atlantic area.
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Track Name: Myopic - Unction in Passing
Bored of all possessions: a cry from a human (is howling). In dwelling: woe croons an answer. Beckoning to you, to enter a séance and learn what comes before and after. A carried ascension to farse: unction in passing. A change comes from the body, soil envelops the facade, to cleanse the encased.
Track Name: Myopic - Remembrance
All consuming fire: breaking down into constituent parts. Lifeforce dwindling: nullification of this mortal form. Absorb yourself in meaningless trivial despair, collocate the lost. A cerebral commotion, the avalanche of pain lost its momentum. Tentative whispers sound submission to listless bonds. Growing discord in the light of empathy breaks down walls, crumbling into earth. Bleed away the weight around your neck, a discarded tissue that tore your thought. Tentative whispers sound submission to listless bonds. Growing discord in the light of empathy breaks down walls, crumbling into earth. A movement from remembrance: the catalyst of cessation.
Track Name: Torrid Husk - And ballasted the Elk
I saw the greened moon fall, and her light and its flowers distorting her visage. My memory’s lost in the waves, but I see the beauty in her violence and taste artifacts of her breath. Entrenched in the things that made me long to breathe clean, and smother every flame that I nursed. That feral star bared its cracked fangs and pounced into the sea, like it’s done a thousand times before. Diluting all salvation, her brain is a sopping wet annihilative aid. Begging to feel again. We were whispering about life and gods of skin; tithing for an anonymous death. Let me feel again. It obfuscates me to gaze upon your pocked, marred form, with lion’s eyes.
Track Name: Torrid Husk - So howled out for the world to give him a name
Bled into the swollen night. An exit wound nova against the black nest, composed of writhing limbs. An ethereal crop of sores in fields of crawling skin. Picked clean only to be reborn. There, leeched of my pride, I could have nourished the earth. Rooting deep within the ash. Planting seeds. Everything was as it was supposed to be. Blooming with slurry and bruised purity. Like an old stone weathering dull. Those scraping fangs wore shallow, tilling furrows in my skull. Those gnashing gears spat satellites of choking mold and took my breath. But I remember a time. I could lose myself in the contours of the wreckage. When I smelled the flowers, the stench drowned my soul. My tongue traced the wind, which dried it up, speaking dust. I drank the water and purged naught but bile. When I shed my skin, there was nothing left.