The review reads:
Anthroprophh – Outside The Circle
When someone tells you “You really need to hear this album as a whole” the knee-jerk reaction is to ask, “What new prog opus is this?” And when you read the word ‘prog’ in a rundown of Anthroprophh, the next thought is ‘This guy is full of shit.’ That’s probably true, and I won’t go as far as saying ‘Outside the Circle’ is a prog record (I will when I get enough rope), but this is one you really do need to hear as a whole. Not only for full effect, but for full context. The short jabs that riddle the album, the ‘Precession’-like drone of ‘The Ruins Of St. Luckwell‘ or ‘Albrechtdron,’ the disjointed torsion and torque … all make ‘Outside the Circle’ materialize like a warped abstract composition rendered with an intensity that blisters the paint and injects the pigment into the veins. And it is composed. Like any prog album (might as well) worth its weight in wizard’s gold, it has a discipline and focus that equals the energy and dynamics. It’s a firestorm, not a shitstorm. Most outfits that claim to traffic in the ferocity that Anthroprophh has a lock on devolve into nothing but empty displays of wankery that can outstrip any proggy noodlery. As powerful as it is, it’s far more visceral than muscular. That coiled, wiry guy who doesn’t seem to give a toss about you? He’s the one that can really kick your ass, not the big dolt staring at you with a beard that just hides a triple chin. He’s fast, elusive, slippery and is plugged directly into the socket. You can certainly draw a line anywhere through ‘Outside the Circle’ and hit an exposed nerve like the dental drill of ‘Crow With Sore Throat’ or the fractured spitting of ‘2013 And She Told Me I Was Die,’ but you’re just as likely to look ‘Dead Man On The Scene’ right in the ‘TV Eye’ or march along to the rhythm of the title cut. Let’s not leave out the inscrutable hookiness and lure of ‘Detached and in its Own Mind Riding a Ghost Train Through a Fairground it Had Built Itself’ with its acoustic interlude that exemplifies how deceptively targeted Anthroprophh’s salvos are. Anthroprophh know exactly what they are aiming for and hit it dead on, harnessing their sonic buckshot like a laser cannon. It’s a mind-warping mix equal parts the sound of accelerated putrefaction and bursting at the seams with life, discharging shards in the ears, brain and guts. To come full circle, the same comrade who gave advice at the start said it’s not something you play at a dinner party. Probably not. It’s what you put on to kill dinner before you serve it.
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