| There’s a particular energy to Deathcrush—a frenzied, unrefined blast of aggression that feels like the audible equivalent of scrawling anarchy symbols in blood on the walls of metal history. Mayhem's 1987 debut EP is less of a polished product and more of a statement: a sonic middle finger to convention, taste, and control. And while its legacy has often been tangled with infamy and myth, one listen is all it takes to recognize that Deathcrush is more than just a historical artifact—it’s the primal heartbeat of a movement.
Arriving at a time when the term “black metal” was still coalescing into a distinct form, Deathcrush sounds like a frenzied crossroads of early thrash, death, and first-wave black metal, with a dose of hardcore’s reckless abandon. From the grinding title track to the unforgettable filth of “Chainsaw Gutsfuck,” Euronymous’s riffs are wild and jagged—never technical, but bursting with intent. They cut like rusted blades, tearing through any notions of traditional songwriting. In truth, the beauty here lies in the chaos: a calculated sloppiness that gives the EP its hostile charm.
Necrobutcher’s bass work rumbles with a foul, murky tone that grounds the erratic guitar work in something corporeal. His contributions aren’t flashy, but they’re essential—providing that diseased undercurrent the record thrives on. Drummer Manheim’s performance swings between unhinged and tight enough to keep things from flying apart completely, with that iconic snare sound giving each track a distinctive rawness. It's punk in spirit, metal in muscle, and entirely unlike anything that came before it.
Vocally, the EP offers a dual assault. Maniac’s shrieks are piercing, frantic—like a madman clawing his way out of a grave—while Messiah’s ghoulish growls on “Witching Hour” and “Pure Fucking Armageddon” add a theatrical flair, conjuring the grim showmanship that would later define Norwegian black metal aesthetics. The contrast works brilliantly, with each voice adding its own flavor of chaos to the mix.
Lyrically, it’s a blast of pure, tasteless provocation—grotesque, juvenile, and utterly perfect for its purpose. These weren’t sophisticated statements; they were anti-everything manifestos, scrawled in blood and bile. But in context, they capture the energy of young musicians breaking barriers not through precision, but through pure force of will.
Even its infamous opener—Conrad Schnitzler’s industrial march “Silvester Anfang”—feels like an omen, a warped war drum that prepares listeners for the madness to come. It’s the kind of touch that reinforces how deliberate Mayhem were in crafting their own mythos, even in these early days.
Deathcrush isn’t just a demo, or an EP—it’s a turning point. It planted the seeds of the second wave of black metal, not by being fully formed, but by refusing to follow any rules at all. It's confrontational, crude, and completely vital. This wasn’t Mayhem at their most mature, but it was Mayhem at their most important.
|
