Album Review: Castrator – “Coronation of the Grotesque” (Death Metal)

Written by Kep

I wrote about Castrator back in 2022, when they dropped their debut full-length Defiled in Oblivion. Let’s go to the tape:

“Defiled in Oblivion is basically a smorgasbord made up of all the things we love about old school New York and Florida death metal, and if you dig those sounds like I do then there’s no chance you won’t thoroughly enjoy this album.”

Yep, it was good shit. Well-balanced death metal with old school sensibilities, a particularly brutal slant, meaty production, performed by four badass women, all veterans of the metal scene. It shouldn’t be a surprise, then, that the follow-up is equally great. 

Coronation of the Grotesque comprises ten tracks across 37 minutes of murderous aggression, all gas no brakes style. There are precious few moments in which skulls are not being bludgeoned, let alone moments to breathe. This is that sort of death that’s designed to devastate: blistering speed set off by monstrous stomping grooves, meaty production where the guitars have HEFT and the kick drum feels like it’s thumping through your chest, wild animalistic solos that wail and writhe, larynx-corroding vocals that go toe to toe with the ferocity of the instruments. Castrator have outdone themselves: this album is enormous. 

There’s only been one lineup change since Defiled in Oblivion, but it’s a notable one: guitarist Kimberly Orellana has departed, making way for The Breathing Process’ Sara Loerlein to join. Loerlein’s talent is clearly on display, especially in the album’s plentiful solos. They shred and flail and sing, full of technical flair and a knack for knowing what the song needs in the moment: delirious spiraling into chaos, progressions that push to the very edges of what the chords allow, strangely lyrical passages that snake exotically through thick cords of accompaniment. There are killer examples strewn throughout the runtime, but the almost proggy solo in the final stretch of “Mortem Operie” and trill-adorned passage in the opening of “Blood Bind’s Curse” are the type of highlights that bring me back for multiple listens. 

But what really makes death metal is the riffs, and Castrator has them in spades. These riffs, devoid of melody, deal only in appalling yet magnetic violence. “Fragments of Defiance” kicks things off with a fucking maelstrom of whirling guitar and we’re off to the races. You want punchy rhythmic riffage with machine-like precision? “Remnants of Chaos” will snatch you up, then flatten you with a veritable landslide of ultra-heavy chunk later. Want to feel like you’re caught in a crushing, spiraling descent into the pits of hell? Imagine that, seemingly endless circling guitars beating you downward, and then hear it come to life near the end of “Psalm of the Beguiled”. Riffs breakneck and lurching and fiery and crushing abound. They’re compact and efficient, brutally immediate and ugly as sin. These women don’t fuck around: there’s bits and pieces of the meanest bands you love, from Immolation to Cannibal Corpse to Dying Fetus, but they’re never aping those sounds, just using them to whip ass their own way. Even the album closing cover of Exodus’ “Metal Command” rips and tears in a manner that feels far more ferocious than the original, just as the cover of “Countess Bathory” did closing  Defiled in Oblivion.

Castrator once again are boosted by some particularly great production that makes everything feel as crushing as possible without losing that old school death metal edge. There’s a stretch in the middle of “Psalm of the Beguiled”—one of the few moments on the album where the band pulls back and slows things down a bit—that showcases the outrageously gnarly tone of Robin Mazen’s bass, and it sounds so good I think I literally gasped. Carolina Perez’s drums are downright cruel and Clarissa Badini’s vocals are raw rage and power, both the deep chesty roars she primarily uses and the demonic screams she sometimes layers over top. 

All of this combines to enhance the album’s lyrical themes of oppression and violence against innocent victims, palpably driving them deep like a metal spike with a sledgehammer. Badini’s voice will shake you; the rage is tangible and intense, as though it has been barely contained and is now erupting out in destructive waves of fire. The immense framework of Castrator’s riffs are the engine, and Badini’s delivery is the coal fire that belches hideous blackness and powers the whole infernal thing relentlessly forward. There are themes of abuse, murder, punishment, and brutal takedowns of misogynist culture, and all are delivered with ruthless and necessary vehemence.

THE BOTTOM LINE

The four women of Castrator have once again handed us a crushing, addictive album of cruel and brutal old school death metal. The unapologetic message is one of spiteful resistance, and this band knows how to deliver that in its most lethal form. Coronation of the Grotesque is not to be missed.