My personal ranking of Cannibal Corpse compendiums has waffled over the years. If you're a CC freak, I'm sure your opinions have fluctuated with the elapsing course of time. The whitecaps, the breakers...this is already too goddamn philosophical. Point being! I used to regard Tomb of the Mutilated as the stateliest, most measured offering of the Barnes era. Nowadays, my death metal compass leads me to 1994's The Bleeding. It's not my favorite CC record overall, but we can burn that bridge when we cross it. After we cross it? Eh, viaducts and cantilevers are above my pay grade.
Against my better judgment, I'm going to start by focusing on the album's principal flaw. Chris sounds fine. You could tell that he was losing something, but he still had something to lose. My beef relates directly to the lyrics. Yes, they're as abominable as they ever were ("Fucked With a Knife" and "She Was Asking For It" are not U2 songtitles), but compared to earlier material, they are dumbed down to a disquieting degree. The dude was running out of ideas. What is "Pulverized" about? It's about killing someone. And "The Pick-Axe Murders"? Killing someone, but with an axe! The actual phraseology is dry and hampered. Maybe this wouldn't bother me so much if I wasn't a writer.
Can we get to the music now? Stop bossing me around, me. The band unlatched their aural hoofprints on The Bleeding, experimenting with melody and technicality. I use the term loosely, but the tracks here are accessible, at least from an arrangement standpoint. It's easier to finger the chorus (ew, sorry). You can distinguish a beginning, a middle, and an end. To be frank, that's how I like my extreme metal, although it may not be the preferred "kvlt" way to compose music. Riffs? Sweet lobotomy Mary, the riffs on this thing are heavier than Heather Feather. After "Staring Through the Eyes of the Dead" raises the (presumptively flesh-woven) curtain, "Spooned With a Knife" rattles your cervix with a rifftastic riff. It riffs you.
"Pulverized" plays on every strength of The Bleeding. The tempos vary, the vocal patterns are memorable, and those fucking riffs are lethal. Speaking of tempo, the catchy "Return to Flesh" and the sinister, atmospheric "Force Fed Broken Glass" slow the violence down a notch. Like I said, the cannibalistic corpses were ready to prod their routine, to tread alfresco of their comfort zone. No, not Fresca. Yes, they still make Fresca. Yes, I have been known to crack open a bottle at random intervals. It's not bad! Fruity. Refreshing. But that is neither here nor there. I get distracted so easily these days. Sorry?
In summation, citrus soft drinks-OH, GODDAMN IT! I have yet to utter the adjective that I believe best describes The Bleeding. That would be "fun." I don't know why exactly, but I have a blast cranking this album in a cross section of assorted environments. Admittedly, it's attached to fond memories of a trip to Disney World, of all places (if I'm not mistaken, I picked it up at a record store near our hotel). Bereaved of nostalgia, I know for a fact that I'd still love The Bleeding. I am deducting a half-Abbath for the frontman's waning commitment to the group collective. Today, it's obvious. I wonder if it stuck out like a sore thumb in 1994. Hey, the vocals are decent. I'm certainly not complaining about his replacement.
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