Imagine stumbling unexpectedly into some sort of grand cataclysm: opening your front door, say, only to find yourself teetering on the edge of a sinkhole that plunges all the way down into hell.
That, friend, is what’s going on here. Guiltless don’t seem to worry about their songs having a clear beginning, middle or end. Instead they just sort of thrust you into the midst of terrible events, leaving you to figure out how to cope with them on your own. Think about the crunchy part of a Neurosis song minus all the epic lead-in, and you get the rough gist. That, or returning to a Swans gig after a nice sit-down meal only to find them still engaged in the exact same merciless dirge.
Howls emanate from somewhere or other. Pylons topple. A whole murder of crows falls dead from the sky. It’s that kind of pained, heinous, gristly churn. But it’s also undeniably artful, and if you’re willing to roll up your shirtsleeves and dig through mounds of wet grey ash then you might – might – find the occasional sharp, silvery fleck of hope.