Morbific - Bloom of the Abnormal Flesh

Angry Metal Guy 50

Finnish wizards of gore Morbific have been at this grimy game for half a decade, and to say the wear their ruptured hearts on their sleeves would be much more of an understatement than anything they have churned out of the chum factory on their previous two full-lengths or this, their third. The gloriously titled Bloom of the Abnormal Flesh drips with youthful enthusiasm, but as Ferox so eloquently described their absolute barbarism in his review of their sophomore outing, Squirm Beyond the Mortal Realm, Morbific aren’t here to break any new musical barriers; they’re just cracking skulls. These three Finnish grave robbers aren’t surgeons, they’re pugilists with all the finesse of a Sledge-o-Magic to a watermelon. If you don’t want to get messy, stay away from these three amigos, but if you’re into wearing a plastic schmatta in the front row at Sea World, gear up. Morbific are the Gallagher 2 to the Gallaghers of their progenitors. Take equal parts Autopsy, Carcass, and Mortician, whack them up in a blender, and you have the chunky, vile smoothie that is Bloom of the Abnormal Flesh. Even the logo is a noble homage to Impetigo sans prominently placed penis.

The aforementioned great gore grandads have been oft imitated generation after generation. First came General Surgery, then 45 different Razorback Records bands, but like copying an album to a cassette, and then copying that cassette to another cassette, the quality tends to decrease a bit with each duplicate. Some of the latest crop are more successful in their savagery, like Miasmatic Necrosis, Pathologist, Pharmacist, and the very close-to-my-heart/sphincter monikered Hemorrhoid. While I will visit these morgues on occasion for a quick whiff of formaldehyde, as an old head, I find myself going back to the actual classics where all the stuff started, and I fear that Morbific, as much as they mean well, pale compared to the much meatier outings of their forefathers.

Bloom of the Abnormal Flesh by Morbific

Opening dirty ditty “Smut Club (For the Chosen Scum)” sets the seedy bar high, lurching like an unhoused leviathan on meth on the wrong side of the sidewalk in an affluent neighborhood. Vocalist/bassist Jusa Janhonen announces his arrival with a mighty ‘Pillard’ (a new phrase for ‘a cavernous roar that ends with a foul gurgle’ that is expected to be added to the Oxford English Dictionary in the fall of 2025). His equally foul bass breakdown at the minute mark has a satisfying squelch, especially when doubled by Olli Väkeväinen’s buzzsaw guitar tone, and Ollli’s brother, Onni’s refreshingly untriggered drum sound perfectly captures all the Discharge d-beat spirit of old. The literal gurgle under the ensuing keyboard interlude mid song is a shining moment in the proceedings that lends an air of almost innovation to what is otherwise a primarily paint-by-numbers OSDM affair. For example, the straightforward song two, “Panspermic Blight,” would benefit from a little more coloring outside of the chalk outlines.

It’s when Morbific bring new smells to the noxious bouquet that the listens are more rewarding. While their hearts are in the right place, in the case of this gory mess removed from the chest and planted on the grimy piss-soaked floor of a rest stop bathroom, rather than sticking, much of this rotted meat falls away from the bone. While the fuzz bass sound in the slow section of “Womb of Deathless Deterioration” gives me a rigor mortis hard on and the musical interlude “Stifling Stagnant Reek” is a very gloomy and interesting respite, moments like that make the more workmanlike passages pale by comparison. In the six minutes of the title track where they balance nuance with barbarity to great effect elevate things to a level that I hope Morbific can further harness to a greater focus on outing four.

Like a B-level horror film, Bloom at its core delivers all the blood and guts, but not always the heart and soul. As a relatively new jockey in this race to the grave, Morbific still have plenty of time to hone their craft to that of a razor sharp serial killer on a decade long spree as opposed to a Floridian meth head that got pissed off he/she/they got kicked out of a Circle K and decided to do the Dance of the Machetes in D Minor. It’s my firm belief that great things are yet to come from this truculent triumvirate, but this time around, the flesh needs a little more time to putrefy.

Rating: 2.5/5.0
DR: | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3
Label: Me Saco Un Ujo Records
Websites: morbific.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/morbific
Releases Worldwide: April 21st, 2025

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