Michael Ferentino’s Lamashtu epitomizes the winged, child-birthing hybrid-god of Mesopotamian myth: a symbolic entity designed to scare creations into full-fledged existance. Ferentino’s album represents this frightful practice, instilling his Love In Reverse sensibilities, while smoothing extra Bedtime for Robots frosting upon a theme of creation through pain.
Most of Lamashtu's compositions possess a pugnacious, if not flexible snap, in particular the triggering track, “Disconnected Ice”, which twangs like a frayed rubber band. It also strengthens as it progresses, even if occasionally conciliated by Ferentino’s melodious voice, which alludes to self-inflicted abasement and lingering irritation (like the vexation of having something in one's eyes). “Disconnected Ice” leaves one severed from (but tied to) the cold, hard chunks of life, and because of its pledge, it ascends as a bloodshot beauty to the ears.
“Necrophage” has a similar, audio shape, though it moves much faster (a cataclysm propelled at Rob Zombie speed), invoking the idea of bringing matters full circle through hurtful resurrection.
In the idealized groove of “Disconnected Ice” and “Necrophage”, there’s “Dark Ness”. This selection recognizes the thunder in one's head, expressing an urge to dispel the vile words one has endured, though in the end, one abides by the insolent aches nonetheless.
“God Thinks” inserts shards of "Dark Ness" in a computational crash that may have slipped from David Lynch's gears. Indeed, God thinks we're no good, as Ferentino exclaims, but are we not each a god of our own deflating device, and therefore, are our thoughts not godly creations, the mechanized seeds that lead to all the sludge we see and hear? (Surely, the fabled Lamashtu would say so.)
If “God Thinks”, as the questions begs, then “Caveat Emptor” births inedible confirmations through an elated cover. The composition presents a ska-horned intro, prompting one’s giddiness to fly off the grid, as wet-dream worries and timeworn regrets spread.
“Legions of Naphula”, however, combines all of the above, joining one on a path straight into Hell. It behaves as might an eternal war cry, an inexhaustible, demonic roar, a primal purgation for all that one has faced and all that one is yet to greet.
Unlike the aforementioned queue, other Lamashtu tracks hold a gentler beat (as if any Ferentino composition could ever be gentle!), and in these offerings, the drill may twirl slower, but it digs just as deep.
“Shank” is an excellent case in point, stirring a morning’s funky brew, steady enough to stab one into empathetic submission, but its tonality becomes baleful, just as life does at each unexpected turn.
“Forlorn” is "Shank'"s older, cosmic sibling: a sorrowful, siren-signal sent from outer space that knows and bemoans impeding distress, where an interaction with the hard-core essence of existence provides fruit, with each note (em)bitter(ed).
“Side Effects May Include Death” swarms around the latter two, though it's more sardonic for its Van Halen rift, its subtle rhapsody acknowledging and assimilating fickle cures and blown-away dreams: those damned things that must penetrate reality, even as they repel it.
The industrialized “Antagonistica” and the album's harrowed epilogue, “Afterword”, emote similar, survivalist vibes. Their downcast culmination, abetted by "Side Effects'" crotchety complexion, germinates a contemplation that one can only pin to one’s sleeve.
Then (last but not least among Ferentino's chiming spasms) there’s the title track, “Lamashtu”, which encapsulates the album's profound angle with a New Wave, soundtrack shove. In its starved supposition, it’s a deity of many parts, which wishes to mock and regurgitate. It reminds the listener that through strife, breathing begins, and once one breathes, life’s journey begins, its trails and trials sometimes suffocating and at other times, decimating: the fermented residue of fine art, all thanks to a derisive demon.
By the time one finishes Lamashtu, one will come to praise Ferentino’s metaphoric perspective. He understands where one has come and where one is going. Lamashtu dispatches the connecting essays through its creator's unadulterated intuition and the listener's uninhibited imagination.
Ferentino's lyrical offspring is streaming everywhere, but for a YouTube taste of his genius, visit
https://www.youtube.com/watch?fbclid=IwAR2YivGjhnfQAwG8NB9qJpeEW49S1xYtVWoz21P4KPdWaun22uQ679Q-r4Y&v=1OPNVapsLEQ&feature=youtu.be
and
https://www.youtube.com/watch?fbclid=IwAR2RL-9W4J7QY418YleOi2Ik0_IdIKUDE1wSblgZjmqbxlxx-tQ7bIVmoyM&v=qRUjjh7NKi4&feature=youtu.be
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