Genre: Martial / Industrial / Folk

Luftwaffe could well sell this album based on the guest appearance by Douglas P. itself, but such a statement would be selling the rest of the album short, an album of old school industrialism, grating noise and harsh rhythms with bellowed vocals a quick summation, couple that with a traipse of folk and you have an interesting mix of dark sonics.

Disturbed discourse unveils ‘Trephanus Uhr’ behind an unsettling child’s voice looped in a continuous stream, fabricated distortion filtering all frequencies in some form. Proclamations drive the vocal element more than attempts at harmony, and given the lice-ridden decay of percussion and throes of grated mechanisms lends the work a sinister affair, even when said utterances are drenched in filtered corruption. The rhythms at times are stilted, but subsequent tracks demonstrate more hypnotic martial rhythms that Luftwaffe seems best at on this album. Vanes of looped vocals adorn the reaches of most tracks, streaming ticker tape of debased echoes, adding to the dominant theme of the voice as sounding board. A pall, a mist of ashes obscures nearly all tracks on ‘Trephanus Uhr’, warping all sound in viscera of volcanic aftermath and destruction, drums grained and vocals rotted to gargling bellows. Folk tracks oddly pepper the furor with martial murk, a few of these tracks are not digested through the rasped tract, and for a large run of successive tracks the industrialism fades before a blend of folk and martial destruction meets and leads out the album.

Solarised surgical artwork adorns ‘Trephanus Uhr’, a foetus drawn violently from a skeletal womb, a twisted viviparous birth. The black gloss four-page booklet is stamped in vibrant bloody red, decayed artwork, intense liner notes and elucidation on nihilism and history. Hermeticism clashes into chaos symbolism that adorns the disc face in full colour. A little harsh on the eyes in general with the aesthetics of design accorded only moderate attention.