As much as album rankings vary from one fan to the next, most Corpslings (taking that descriptor out for a stroll...we'll see if it sticks) agree that Torture is a tidemark in the discography. It's not terribly divisive. Chances are, if you don't care for Torture, you don't care for Cannibal Corpse. Well, let me rephrase that; if Torture isn't your body bag, you probably don't have a taste for the second half of CC's indissoluble career. This record bears all of the finery of the Corpsegrinder era. If you've read any of these reviews, you know that I am an expounder of said era. George Fisher rules! Chris Barnes drools!
Just kidding, dear reader. I respect Barnes's work on the first four CC releases. It's just so hard not to rip on the guy, what with recent social media effluvium. But that's neither here nor way over there. Let's talk Torture. To be honest, I don't have much to say beyond rudimentary praise. For production duties, the band stuck with Erik Rutan. Going back to his well was still paying remittance, so it made sense to strike the ferrous clinker while...wait, what? My words are eating my brain. Again. Songs sound full. There is nothing missing from the rumpus, yet the instruments are clearly separated.
Torture is my second favorite CC supercharger. After the disillusionment brought on by Evisceration Plague, I was gobsmacked by convective loops of death metal that knocked me on my ass. I didn't see this one coming. In the run-up to an album's unveiling, band members typically spout the same flushed guff (read: bullshit) about their work. I'm not casting blame. Of course they feel a flatulent sense of satisfaction; I would, too! But I've learned to take these comments with an entire shaker of salt, whether it's Cannibal Corpse or Cannabis Corpse. How was I to know that Alex Webster was telling the truth when he said that Torture "facefucked your sister?" Okay, that's not an actual quote, but my sister swears to this day that...okay, I don't have a sister.
"Demented Aggression" and "Sarcophagic Frenzy" are bitchin' tunes that start Torture out on the right severed foot. They deserve their place in the sun, but for me, the album proper doesn't slam until "Scourge of Iron." It begins as an admittedly generic double-bass incursion. Then the percussion ceases, leaving only a plodding rhythm guitar. The riff is joined by Paul. His drums come back in to march in brutal solidarity with his fellow troops (the strings, not the pickers). Y'know, I've used the term "heavy" to communicate the avoirdupois of a trillion compositions. Motherfucker, "Scourge of Iron" is heavier than most of the music you have heard. In your life. It's really, really, really heavy.
I've hopped into another paragraph, so I guess I should progress to the next topic. "As Deep as the Knife Will Go" is more than a great title; it's a sick mid-paced head-bobber. The chorus is too cool. It's almost as if George was born to deliver those vocal patterns. They feel natural. By the same token, Pat and Rob were seemingly conceived to shred, pitching solos over the middle of the plate. Strrrrrrrike! It's uncanny. These dudes perspire death metal. When they squat on a toilet, what happens? Death metal. For all I know, the knotty "Intestinal Crank" was recorded in a bathroom.
Now that I've referenced baseball and bowel movements, I'd say it's a good time to wrap it up. Torture is excellent. Period. That's all I really needed to type. This review is moot, much like my sister.
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