In astronomy, the Big Crunch is a hypothesis which states that the known universe will eventually fold back upon itself into an impossibly dense singularity, perhaps setting the stage for yet another expansion, in an endlessly self-perpetuating process of unprejudiced creation and destruction. Like the universe wrought into existence from an infinitesimal point of origin, like worlds being birthed in cosmic conflagrations of unimaginably violent splendor. Much even like life itself; an assortment of tenuous chemical bonds transitioning into a nature, stubborn and red in tooth and claw – Profanatica just is. No external stimuli required, Paul Ledney carries his obscene cacophony from door to door, hawking unreasoning, unbiased hate as the very lifeblood of existence. His is a music of homogeneity, of catharsis in the face of unremitting self flagellation; a Martyr-esque exhilaration in finding ultimate truth through unbridled ugliness. Thy Kingdom Cum is the soundtrack to the beginning and the end.
Assembled from the most primitive of components, then whipped into recursive eddies that wash up against a shore of intense percussion, simplistic yet dripping with vitality and an urgent, almost desperate need to communicate a grisly intimacy, Thy Kingdom Cum brooks no tolerance for pretension yet in a curious way, out of rough-hewn blocks arises a structure monolithic and of an unnervingly argent luminosity. Musically, Profanatica ties in with the earliest rustlings of first wave black metal and death metal, sharing obvious kinship with both Sarcophago and Incantation but it could be said with some justification that this music reaches even further back into an antiquity of the person, tapping into the first stirrings of the restless spirit within.
Single-string, chromatic, tremolo-picked notes dominate this as all of Profanatica‘s work. Riffs generally consist of a sequence of three to four such notes, played repeatedly and in successively higher octaves to create an almost hypnotic, all-enveloping haze. Thy Kingdom Cum also sees sporadic use of more conventional death and doom metal-based chord changes to puncture this atmosphere but the predominant mood is of an impenetrable, red mist swirling, creating a disorientation of the senses. A macabre strain of melody is eventually borne, not dissimilar to Darkthrone‘s Transilvanian Hunger though certainly less romantic; dissonant, unmusical elements coming together in harmony, a classic study of wholes being greater than their parts.
Paul Ledney’s voice, as ever, is the center piece of Thy Kingdom Cum. Christianity is the outward, tactile source of his ire but organized religion is only a husk. Ledney’s throat-lacerating rasps convey an incomprehensibly total disdain for every moral construct, a void in the center of the human consciousness where good and evil cede absolute control to chaos. Making relativism redundant, Profanatica present one of the stronger cases for inherent purity in extreme metal.