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Digital Physical


by Fange

Ceinturon 07:24
Évanoui au petit matin de la couche des miens comme hier de celle des tiens, je ne me meus plus qu’en contre-jours et crépuscules. Vapeur de chair; omnisciente, impalpable. Mouroirs à bas rendements, fontaines de mort, assoupi à la lisière des mondes le bruit blanc de leurs cris d’aveugles s'y faisait murmure. J'y rêvassais d’une dernière pionce aux Marquises, joues baignées par la tiédeur des rayons d'un luisard à l'agonie. M'épaississant la couenne au ceinturon, infoutu d'être venin plus que contrepoison. Vanished at dawn from my kinsfolk’s bed, as yesterday from your own kind’s one, I only peep out at backlights and dusks. A vapor of flesh; omniscient, ethereal. Low-yielding hospices, founts of death, drowsing at the edge of worlds the white noise of their blind men’s cries was turning into murmur. There, I was daydreaming of a last sleep in the Marquises, cheeks bathed by the lukewarm rays of a Sol at death’s door. Hardening my hind by the belt, incapable of becoming venom more than antidote.
Bien trop de traques, zen chargé d'effluves âcres, pour se remettre ce qui en a forcé le goût. Mes saisons longues comme leurs jours, à cavaler prunelles éteintes. D’hallalis en curées, flamme parasite d’un corps fantoche. Sans la moindre véhémence ni maligne joie envers la bête exsangue qui se traîne et se vide. Mais tenu en laisse par l'enivrant remugle qui s'émane de sa tripaille encore fumante : ma perpétuelle jouvence. Too many trackings, nose full of acrid scents, to remember what had forced their taste. My seasons long as their days, hounding with lifeless pupils. From death-halloos to curées, parasitic flame of a figurehead body. Without an ounce of vehemence nor malignant joy towards the bloodless beast that crawls and bleeds out. But kept on a leash by the exhilarating stench that emanates from its still-smoking innards : my perpetual fountain of youth.
Depuis longtemps revenu des bouches à bouches sur viandasse avariée, pardonne mes airs amorphes devant ta panique de gibier pris dans les phares. Es-tu toujours aussi borgne aux retours de schlass, maintenant qu’onze litrons de chiasse cherchent à s'enfuir de leur nouvel œil de bronze? Viscères aux poings, hissés bien haut, vil orpailleur de ces visqueux boyaux. Tant de passions blêmes, tant d’aversions guindées, et moi qui n’aie jamais eu d'yeux que pour ce qui s'y noie… Gobeurs de couleuvres, tâtez enfin le nid merdeux qu'est ce nombril duveteux! For a long time done with mouth-to-mouth on tainted meat, forgive my apathetic feelings towards your game-caught-in-the-headlights’ panic. Are you still one-eyed to knives back, now that eleven liters of feces are trying to escape from their new bronze eye? So many blemish passions, so many formal aversions, and I, who only had eyes for what you hid there… Viscera in the fist, hoisted all the way up, vile gold digger of these viscous bowels. Lie-swallowers, get a taste of the shitty nest of a downy navel!
Opinel 02:10
Fils prodigue déjà revenu de tout bien que panards encore pégueux de leur cocon carmin, tes courbures d’échine remaquillées en postures opiniâtres ne prennent plus. Je ferais de toi mon veau gras, prêt à répudier tant de souvenirs d'Épinal sentant venir l’Opinel. Prodigal son already jaded of everything despite your feet still tacky from their carmine cocoon, your kowtows revamped as opinionated stances aren’t taking anymore. I will make you my fattened calf, ready to deny his storybook clichés as the Opinel gets close.
Même roitelet dans sa cage n'est que rat en mes parages; gonfle toujours le goitre et aboie à la lune j'te calcule pas. De l’œil du panoptique, je t'ai déjà vu ramper mille fois! Désavoué par tes pères, useur de soleil aux horizons en trompe-l’œil. Va-t-en-guerre réformé, de toutes tempêtes en vases clos pour une bonne tape dans le dos. Continue à baisser la tête devant ton reflet tout en réclamant un monde à ton image, la duraille en rit encore. Even kinglet in his cage will be a rat in my vicinities. Keep swelling up your goiter and bark to the moon, I have looked right through you. From the eye of the panopticon, I already saw you crawl a thousand times! Disavowed by your fathers, lifer with trompe-l'œil horizons. Discharged warmonger, of every tempest in a teapot for a good pat on the back. Keep lowering your head facing your reflection while expecting a world at your image, the stones still laugh.
Entravé par mes émotions de seconde main, le cilice comme seconde peau, j'ai bu le calice de leurs homélies jusqu'à la lie. Mon claque-merde, leur pissoir, que mes relents d’ammoniac ravivent les braises de nos ires. Maniaque devant les flammes, flasque face à moi-même. Hindered by my second-hand emotions, hair shirt as second skin, I drank the chalice of their homilies to the last drop. My gob, their piss pot, may my ammonia scents stir up the embers of our ires. Fanatic when facing the flames, spineless when alone with myself.
Même le sommeil émacié, même l’orgueil dégueulassé, j'ai creusé ce sol tronché au fumier. Sarclé ces racines, devenues autant de cordons ombilicaux nécrosés. Fils du purin aux désirs puritains, tel en était le prix à payer pour s'arracher de cette friche. Tournesol à la droiture de poignard, ciel de soufre pour mes pupilles strabiques et cramées. Mon cœur écartelé entre deux soleils. Despite emaciated sleep, despite tarnished pride, I have hollowed out this ground nailed with manure. Weeded out these roots, now become as many necrotized navel strings. Son of the slurry with puritan desires, such was the price to pay to split from this wasteland. Sunflower with a dagger’s stiffness, sulfur sky for my squinting, burnt pupils. My heart torn between two suns.


With a reputation built on their radical approach to recordings and live shows, FANGE (Rennes, France) has spent five years refining their outrageous, excessive vision of heavy music over one full-length ("Purge", 2016) and a couple of 12"EPs ("Poisse", 2014 & "Pourrissoir", 2017). Recorded over the second half of 2018 and doped by a new rhythmical section, their second full-length "Punir" (punish) doesn't make any single effort to hide their intents.

On this record, the band continues to distance themselves from their earlier works, more than ever walking the fence between sludge and death metal while still keeping their noise / industrial underlays. This time tracked & mixed by Cyrille Gachet (Year Of No Light, The Great Old Ones, Chaos Echoes) then mastered at Audiosiege by Brad Boatright (Nails, Full Of Hell, Cult Leader…), "Punir" marks a powerful step-up in the band's overwhelming body of work.


released March 1, 2019

Recorded by Cyrille Gachet at Le Bon Accueil, Rennes, France
Mixed by Cyrille Gachet at Dick Doom Studio, Bordeaux, France
Mastered by Brad Boatright at Audiosiege, Portland, USA
Artwork by Benjamin Moreau



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Throatruiner Records Nantes, France

A record label founded in 2009 & based in western France.

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