FullofHellburst forth with incredible force from the small, dagger-shaped city of Ocean City, Maryland, 15 years ago. Over fivefull-lengths, five collaborativefull-lengths, and countless splits, EPs, singles, and noise compilations, theyve evolved at extraordinary speed, their music becoming more complicated and technical without ever slowing down or losing its soul. Everything on aFullofHellalbum feels like a blur: smears of guitar, harsh noise shaken like gravel in a bag, singer Dylan Walkers snarl and bite carrying him into outer space or into the core of the earth. Theyre coiled, interlocking, impossible to penetrate, and they move with alarming speed.
Walkers lyrics have always framed their suffering with what he calls fantastical, metaphorical shit, but on Coagulated Bliss his writing is clear and direct. The albums title is meant partly to reflect the idea of the over-pursuit of happiness leading to miserywhether in addiction, greed, or anything else. Your happiness is just out of reach and you dont know why, he says. Too much of this bliss, you think youve found your endpoint, but its really just this small, tiny, little thing thats going to ruin your fucking life. And that could be anything. Much of the album is rooted in the bands own experiences. A hundred dead ends, a thousand dead friends, Walker screams on Doors to Mental Agony. I hear their howling, I hear them weeping. There are corpses slicked with morning dew, false balms for deep wounds, numb failures, thieves in the night and killers in the dark. There are many trackmarks; there are many dirty needles.
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