Famishgod – Rotting Ceremony (2021)

Bad doom metal focuses on aesthetic and technique to create a mood for consumers to purchase the way you would clothing at an outlet mall. Good doom metal subtly manipulates mood throughout the course of a piece in order to create the impression of expanding depth within a singular atmosphere.

Fortunately, Famishgod come to us from the latter camp. Their more maudlin, goth-rock inspired moments may strain the tolerance of some listeners, but a habit of massaging these themes via forward momentum into churning death metal riffing keeps this tendency in check.

In fact, it is this development of single-picked notes over shuddering chords into either flowing tremolo, or violent rhythms that achieves the aforementioned expansion of mood. Famishgod show us how an exploration of sorrow can result in conflict, but also revelation. If anything, their fault is not bringing their most intense moments to their height, even if that would perhaps betray the seeming aim of doom metal to be music that quietly develops in the background of your mind.

Pako Deimler – All instruments
Dave Rotten – Vocals

1. The Sun, the Death
2. Ascencion
3. Fear Your Own Shadow
4. Deep Fall
5. Rotting Paradise
6. Crystal Palace
7. Earthly

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40 thoughts on “Famishgod – Rotting Ceremony (2021)”

  1. curio says:

    All NPC deniers of history need to be placed into meat grinders.

    1. Walter says:


    2. NPCs -> compost

    3. You're going to die says:

      You really shouldn’t waste your precious time with such trivialities.

  2. Ketanji's rank cunt says:

    Good review. I’d add that as with so many recent metal albums, the atmosphere created is neutered by the compressed, plasticy production.

    On another note, why isn’t there an official DMU review of Condemned by Confessor?

    1. fear of autonomous death says:

      Too much reverb too. The immediacy of otherwise good metal suffers for it.

  3. Unholy says:

    Has anybody heard the 2020 remaster of Far Away From The Sun? Is it an improvement over the original?

    1. T Malm says:

      Sounds like the drums are louder. The guitars on that album have always been a little difficult to decipher and that hasn’t really changed.

      I dunno if it’s an improvement, but I wouldn’t kick it out of bed.

      It’s on Metal Tracker if you want to try it out.

  4. Slayer Player says:

    Speaking of production. I’ve seen all those “Production:” snippets prefacing the reviews in the Reviews section. But I’m bewildered as to what makes for good metal production.

    Brett, which metal records do you think have the best production?

    1. I am somewhat production-agnostic. As long as the record can be heard, the production has done an OK job.

      However, bad production can make albums hard to discern. Peaks produce noise, and low reproduction of bass makes guitars sound like electric mandolins or something. Too much EQing of guitar can make for a clear but listeless tone with distortion that sounds more like brass than strings.

      The volume war is another problem. ProTools compression made loud but is usually done badly and drowns out sound.

      As far as volumes? I like the first Deicide, first Incantation, Sinister Hate, maybe the second Gorguts, Entombed Clandestine, and so forth, although many of my favorites have rough production like the Carnage album, Sepultura EPs, and early Morbid Angel.

      It seems difficult for producers to capture the full range of guitar without it crowding out the bass and drums, so they tend to drop guitar bass and increase drum treble, making for a tinny sound. Either that or they wash it all together and it sounds like a schizophrenic convict shouting out Bible verses as he rapes you in the prison showers.

      1. Large Throbbing Veiny Rectum With Eyeliner and Cigar says:

        The last part made me rock hard

        1. We are going to have a Prison Sex Writing Competition soon, honoring the paterfamilias of the genre:

          Part 1

          I sat gripping the bars as they pounded my ass like a roadside construction crew digging a ditch. The first one to have a go around with me was a sweaty and rather large cross dresser by the name of Kirby, his man boobs rubbed the back of my neck like two deflated whoopie cushions and his throaty grunting filled my ears like the sounds of hungry pigs fighting eachother for a mid-day feeding.

          The man that kept the towel gripped in my mouth was a skinny black man with a dick like the trunk of a circus elephant. In fact the irony came in the form of him making me call it by a pet name, Petey, Petey the Penis is what he made me call it. Goddamn i hated Petey, I hated Petey every time he touched my mouth, I hated Petey every time he spit in my eye, and i hated Petey everytime he burrowed a nice comfortable home inside my ass. Petey will most likely be the next visitor in my ass, and that is one house guest i am not looking forward to, but that is just part of biting down on the towel in the c-wing of San Quentin.

          Part 2

          It’s been a month since i first entered these walls, these walls of pain and butt pillaging sorrow. I remember my first night here, i thought i had accomplished something because i made it through twelve hours with out having my ass violated, oh how little i knew. They don’t get you on your first day, or your second, hell sometimes they give you a week before they actually tie you to a bed and pile drive your ass. But make no mistake about it, they are watching and waiting.

          My first time was with the skinny little black dish washer known as Buckshot and his elephant sized cock Petey the penis. Oh Goddamn how i hate petey. For some reason i never saw it coming, i didn’t see the hints that Buckshot had marked my ass for entry, but now that i look back the signs are clear. When he walked by me in the mess hall and told me to lube up it didn’t register, when he slapped my ass in the shower and told me to keep em loose and ready it didn’t register, when he sent me flowers in the rec yard with a note saying he was looking forward to tonight, it didn’t register, but it should have. Those are the signs of prison love and imminent rape. He bribed one of the guards, i know he did, because after lights out my cell popped open and in walked Buckshot with Petey in hand.

          He clocked me twice across the head before laying my limp body across the mattress…gosh…you gotta love that prison foreplay. It’s fickle and trite but oh so tender. He forced a white towel in my mouth before stripping my pants off and scuba diving in my ass. Petey was fast and brutal, i tried to break free, but every time Buckshot would clock me another one. Now it’s a routine to me, biting down on the towel in the C Block of San Quentin….

          Part 3

          I was taking my shower, letting the water cleanse my violated body as much as possible. My ass was still sore from the plundering done previously by Buckshot and his horse sized cock nick named Petey. I always keep an eye out when i am taking my shower, you never know when one of those tattooed up gay bastards is going to sneak up behind you and attempt to play hide the weasle in your ass, that is a game that usually ends with me sucking my thumb in the fetal position while my body is degraded by strange fluids, never fun.

          So as i am rubbing myself down with the soap it slips from my grasp, the goddamn soap slips from my grasp. So i have to ask myself, what’s this soap worth, if i bend down to pick it up i open my ass for an all out assault. I look over my shoulder and decide it’s safe. Just as i bend down i feel a loud stinging on my left ass cheek as one of the prisoners smacks me with his towel. I shoot upwards nailing my balls on the water handle and doubling backwards in pain. As i am laying on the floor a prisoner seizes my hands and locks them above my head. I am struggling but to no avail. His friend, a man as tall as he is wide, stands over me. His fat fleshy stretch mark ridden stomach soaked with perspiration. His balls, wrinkled and wet and strangely resembling Clint Eastwoods face dangle above my head. He begins to lower himself, setting his balls on my lips. I struggle doing my best to keep my mouth closed as those wrinkled hairy orbs of homosexual desire try to fight their way in my mouth. A fist slams into my nuts forcing my mouth open in pain and the fat mans hairy nut sack finds it’s way in my mouth. Having nuts in your mouth is a strange feeling, it’s like sucking on an old persons face, except you have a cock across your nose at the same time. As these nuts swim around inside my mouth i get a strange feeling that this won’t be the last time i suck balls in San Quentin…

          Part 4

          My time on C-Block has resulted in the utter destruction of my ass and any thing that possibly resembles my manhood. I am a bitch, a punk, a walking hole for other convicts to stick their dicks in. This is my stake in life, my claim, my fate, to be a prison cum bucket, woo hoo, oh how exciting….

          So my cell opens, it’s morning, time to get ready for breakfast. I ease myself from my bed, a place where i have been raped anally and had my mouth defiled multiple times, as i stand i feel the familiar pain in my ass. I have begun walking stiff because of the constant pain from the numerous ass poundings i have recieved courtesy of Buckshot and many other prisoners. Before i can really wake up two large black men that i do not recognize step into my cell, they have rape in their eyes and they are looking to release it on to me, or in to me is probably closer to the truth.

          “What do you guys want with me?” I ask, with an idea of their intentions already running around inside of my head.
          “We don’t want you, we just want your ass.” I have been raped before, i know the drill. But i have never been the meat in two black mens sandwich, and i’ll be goddamned if i was about to start. The thought of being dp’d by two very large black schlongs did not appeal to me at all.
          “Let’s go than, bring it on, i eat fuckers like you for breakfast!” I said as i weakly raised my fists to fight. They smiled, coy grins showing an inner joy for the fight they were about to take on.
          “Well, i hope you like sausage!” One of them responded. They jumped on me, they beat me black and blue before stripping me down and raping me. I do like sausage though, just not the cream filled kind…

          Part 5

          I had gone a month without being sodomized or tea bagged. My ass was starting to go back to normal and i was just getting the taste of Buckshots balls out of my mouth, when the warden called me to his office.

          Warden: Hey boy, i heard to been taking it from behind pretty good lately, word is you’re the best piece of ass we have had on hand in some time.

          Me: Well i do appreciate the comment sir, but i can’t say i’m too fond of the attention.

          Warden:Ah nonsense son, i believe i am going have myself a go around wit ya. Milo, Otis, hold him over the desk.

          And before i could react his boys were on me, my pants were down, and i was once again biting down on a towel in the C-block of San Quentin. The warden spanked me a few times and grunted while telling me i smelled pretty. I was almost relieved to be raped by the warden rather than Buckshot and his foot long penis named Petey. The warden was more tender and loving and he even cuddled with me and told a few jokes after he was done plowing my ass. All in all i was kind of numb towards the whole thing, yes i was raped again, but it wasn’t by Buckshot or one of the other prison brothers with their freakishly large peckers, so that was a nice change. I have to say, looking at it, that was the best sex i had so far on the C-Block, and at least there weren’t any balls in my mouth.

          Part 6: The Saga Continues

          The rapes have not stopped, but their frequency has lessened to a degree. I am able to walk upright about twice a week, a change from the wide legged shuffling i am used to doing, accompanied by a chorus of cat calls and ass slaps from the different inmates who have owned my inner sanctum.
          Two weeks ago, and against my will, i was entered into the C-Block beauty pagent. I begged and pleaded, “I’m not a pretty lady, I’m not a pretty lady” i screamed as they pushed me on stage. The warden, standing offstage with a rifle in hand, forced me to pout and wiggle my “apple pie money maker” as Bootylicous played in the background. At the end of the night, when i heard i’d won, i broke down into tears. My prize, a night with the Mcreggor Brothers, the envy of every hardcore latent homosexual on C-Block, but i am not a hardcore latent homosexual. I am a victim of homosexual lust, nothing more. They saw my ruby red starfruit ass and ran through it like a pack of buffalo through an indian reservation.
          My night with the Mcreggors was a mix of love and anger. While it wasn’t as painful as my previous poundings, it was the most humiliating. They made me get on my knees and beg for their balls like puppy treats, all while holding a shiv to the back of my neck; talk about a demanding lover, sheesh. Haven’t they ever heard of foreplay, i mean helllo! They called me a dirty boy and made me sit in the corner and suck my thumb while they sprayed me with their “super soakers”…you figure that one out. Afterwards, they gave me a treat, I got to “pluck cherries” from their “salad bowls”…and in case you’re wondering there were no actual cherries involved, and these salad bowls were made of ass. Yes, i cried, i cried alot. And the next day i stayed curled up on my cot, my mascara was smeared, and my beauty pagent dress was stained and smelling of sweat and rape. And the ironic thing is, when i was asked what the one thing was that i wanted out of the beauty pagent, i said i didn’t want to be raped…yeah, fat fucking chance!

          Chapter 7: The Final Chapter

          It was the night of my release, my final night in this place of pent up homo erotic frustration. The final night i had to sleep on my back with one eye open. Had i really made it through? Was the ass raping over. Christ, i hoped so, hopefully i could leave, get my ass surgically repaired, and maybe move on with my life, and find a thread of diginity and manhood somewhere along the line. Hell, maybe i could finally experience sex with a female again, i have grown oh so weary of feeling calloused fingers in my mouth, and hairy chests along the expanse of my back, not to mention the thick intruder that was usually in my ass during these two simoultaneous events.
          Oh goddamn, if it was only that simple….
          My cell door swung open, in the metal frame of my 8 by 10 apartment stood the warden, with his two cronies, Milo, and Otis. Great, time for another raping. They pulled me from the cell,I didn’t struggly, the warden made sure to slap my battered ass as his two cronies drug me past him, coy bastard. They took me down stairs and tied me to a pole in the center of the cell block, a line of prisoners slowly formed behind me. They all had their standard issue shirts on…but none of them wore pants…or underwear for that matter. I began to cry, not out of fear, i wasn’t afraid, i have been raped, i have been raped by the best of them. This was a situation my ass had been trained for, i knew the drill, and it could handle what was about to happen. I cried because i hadn’t bathed and my hair was dishevled, i mean, i was Ms C-Block for christ sake, i had a reputation to live up to. But now, here i was, tied to a pole, twisted at an awkard angle, oh how humiliating. Buckshot came up beside me and lubed my ass up with a bottle of oil. I thanked him, he told i was the best lover he ever had, and that i always treated him and that ungodly schlong Petey with just the right amount of tender loving care. Hell, truth was, i’d grown attached to Petey, everytime i was with him he was either buried up my ass or working his way inside my mouth, and even though he was a brutal, blunt, and rather unpredictable bastard, i’ll be goddamned if i didn’t love him for it.
          So in the end, i was raped by every prisoner on the C-Block, some of them had my ass more than once. Hell, even the warden got himself a little piece of the action. But all of that taught me something. It taught me that you can find love anywhere, whether it be at the tip of a cock or the bottom of my ass, the love is there. You just have got to know how to interpret it. That backhand across the mouth that you may think is nothing more than a brutal expression of pent up homosexual rage may be his way of saying “I love you”. Ya know, part of me is going to miss biting down on the towel in the C-Block of San Quentin.

          1. praise be Brandon says:

            You are a fucking faggot. Kill yourself and this website

      2. Condemner PB says:

        “It seems difficult for producers to capture the full range of guitar without it crowding out the bass and drums, so they tend to drop guitar bass and increase drum treble, making for a tinny sound. ”

        There’s more to that than just this. Guitar cabinets create a really horrible resonant peak at about 100Hz (the exact spot depends on the cab) that’s almost impossible to discern in the room but is incredibly dominant under a microphone. If you don’t smash down on this, hard, you’re left with an incredibly annoying humming sound which, in addition to being annoying, also destroys any clarity in your mix.

        1. Interesting. I wonder if there is a new cabinet design which resonates at a less obnoxious frequency.

          Then again, most people seem to be recording direct-to-digital at this point.

          1. Condemner PB says:

            The cabinet resonance can’t be eliminated entirely (crossover distortion on a power chord in a tube amp creates frequencies an octave below the root, and most guitar equipment is never designed to accurately represent frequencies below 80Hz; the stuff that does, like Thiele cabs, ends up sounding weird to most people’s ears, just because it’s so different from what we’re accustomed to, and most of them are 1×12 designs that can’t handle high wattage) but it can be reduced; however, every known technique for reducing it has some drawbacks. The most common technique is to simply make the cab’s internal volume larger; Mesa and Orange do this with their cabs. The downside to this is that it makes guitars naturally more “distant”; it doesn’t just kill the resonance, but also a lot of the critical midrange frequencies that make a guitar stand out in a mix. You can also install some sort of insulation/bunting on the inside of the cab, but this tends to make the attack of notes less sharp, and rolls off much of your top end. Finally, you can front-load the cab, which is actually my preferred method of cabinet construction, but a lot of people dislike how this emphasizes the “grainy” parts of the guitar distortion, and it does hype the 3k-4khz region in a way that can be ear-fatiguing.

            Some possibly interesting Youtube samples if you want to explore this:

            “Normal” cab construction: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UuD_le-BE0E&list=PLgMVJZQaJHBf-TtHvk9Q8ERXuBsQK7rnM&index=9
            Oversized cab: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rbNdBVCeGhI&list=PLgMVJZQaJHBf-TtHvk9Q8ERXuBsQK7rnM&index=4
            Insulated cab: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vhb46n5DVh0&list=PLgMVJZQaJHBf-TtHvk9Q8ERXuBsQK7rnM&index=1
            Front-loaded cab: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3LxQVBk0KZU&list=PLgMVJZQaJHBf-TtHvk9Q8ERXuBsQK7rnM&index=14

      3. Piercing earrape cymbals says:

        Overcompressed production is the worst most fatiguing thing about modern metal, just after compositions that go nowhere. Its all so tiresome.

        1. Warkvlt is High IQ Music says:

          That’s why a true MetalHead only listens to Divine Necromancy, Satanic Blood et the Mayhem demos.

        2. I think it is how they often hide how bad the music is: use production that if it cannot wow you, at least blasts you into submission. “That was brutal…” — yes, but was it good?

          1. Gnarly says:

            That’s what she said.

  5. Stevie Wonder says:

    I don’t get the production on albums like Ritual of Infinity and Onward to Golgotha. As soon as the guitarists tremolo pick lower scales the music turns into inaudible mud, at least to my ears. I genuinely wonder if there’s something wrong with my hearing, or if my speakers are tuned wrongly (any advice there?), or if it’s somehow on purpose and I’m missing the point.

  6. Adrian says:

    Fred durst should be killed
    Rap rock sucks and Latinos sucks wiggers suck I love Hawaiians
    That is all

    1. I can agree on rap rock. Rap seems irrelevant to me too, sort of like advertising. Wiggers are like cuck Republicans, people who act against their inner selves, therefore should be treated as plastic. I thought Fred Durst died of COVID-19? Maybe that was a fever dream… the product of a restless sleep on the porch as a norther blows in and cold rain begins to fall upon a silent world, revealing only the emptiness and the temporality of all.

  7. molestor says:

    Try it out on other speakers or headphones I guess and see if it sounds any different. The production is fine but it can take a while before your ears easily follow the riffing behind the drums and vocals. I personally don’t like too much bass in the mix as I find that gets in the way of hearing melody.

    Blasting it in one room and listening in the next room gives an amazing sound but not always feasible if there’s other people around.

    Being in a meditative state helps too. The more calm you are the more receptive you are to the transitions.

  8. Trouble was the greatest Doom Metal band of all, Kyuss were underrated, and Monster Magnet was a great institution before Space Lord.

    1. Greatest: Saint Vitus (Black Sabbath was proto-metal), Cathedral, Skepticism

      Kyuss: indie rock

      Monster Magnet: indie rock

      1. Cynical says:

        Candlemass were better than Cathedral. Neither deserve to be mentioned alongside Skepticism, though.

        1. molestor says:

          Candlemass were a more consistent band but never put out anything as good as the first Cathedral. But yeah, Skepticism takes the top spot.

      2. Cynical says:

        Also, you forgot Winter and Ras Algethi.

      3. Rush is my chastity belt says:

        Like My Bloody Valentine, Kyuss put out their own brand of quality rock music. I don’t really care about the later offshoots.

  9. What did you say says:

    “Bad doom metal focuses on aesthetic and technique to create a mood for consumers to purchase the way you would clothing at an outlet mall. Good doom metal subtly manipulates mood throughout the course of a piece in order to create the impression of expanding depth within a singular atmosphere.”

    Nice word salad there. It communicates zero meaning.

    1. I believe you are touch typing with polyps in your large intestine. Please remove iPad from rectum before proceeding.

    2. T Malm says:

      Here’s an (admittedly imperfect) analogue for you:

      Your comment: aesthetically resembles valid criticism but communicates very little aside from indicating the commenter’s lack of functioning brain cells.

      My comment: communicates my observation that you are dumb (citing your comment) and therefore both resembles and functions as valid criticism.

    3. cafe brett says:

      its the difference between style and substance you doorknob

    4. Slayer Player says:

      Have you ever been to the clothing aisle at Walmart and thought, “Wow, this jacket is rad! If I wear this, I’ll feel like Superman. Or this jacket! It’ll make me feel kind of like a cool hobo”? Then you look at the pricetag, gasping: “They’re on sale! What luck! I’ll have both of ’em. Superman today, vagabond tomorrow!”

      But, unfortunately, after a couple of days, neither jacket feels very exciting any more. Nothing about you changed and soon enough the jackets are just cheap jackets, barely able to keep you warm. How infuriating!

      That’s kind of like bad doom metal. It seems pretty rad at first, with all that cool guitar noise that sounds like it’s about to take you on a breathtaking adventure. But after a while, you realize it doesn’t go there at all – it’s just a lot of random noise! Gosh-darnit, right?

      But here’s the thing: there’s also good doom metal! And it behaves a bit differently. In a piece of good doom metal, you won’t be hit on the head with clear-as-a-bell “feelings”, no, sir! Instead, there are these sly little changes here and there – nothing too obvious! – so that after some time, you realize the song has scooped out a deep and strange new world in your mind. Weird! And good. Much better than Walmart-jacket doom metal, anyway, ha-ha!

      I hope this explanation wasn’t too tricky to understand. Otherwise, please tell me or someone else in this comments section immediately – it’s important that you get the hang of this! Wish you all the best.

    5. Walter says:

      Okay man

  10. Clement says:

    Not sure about that technical stuff -like what’s the difference between a mess and a clear mess but Brett’s prison rape fantasy got me thinking

    1. It’s why people come here, for the sodomy references.

      Rip the sacred flesh
      Sodomize the holy asshole
      Drink the red blood of the mother of earth
      Masturbation on the dead body of christ
      The king of Jews is dead
      And so are the lies
      Vomit on the host of Heaven
      Masturbate on the throne of God
      Break the seals of angels
      Drink the sweet blood of Christ
      Taste the flesh of the priest
      Sodomize holy nuns
      The king of Jews is a liar
      The Heavens will burn
      Dethrone the son of God
      God is dead
      Holyness is gone
      Purity is gone
      Prayers are burned
      Covered in black shit
      Rape the holy ghost
      Unclean birth of Jesus Christ
      Heaven will fall
      Fuck the church
      Fuck Christ
      Fuck the Virgin
      Fuck the gods of Heaven
      Fuck the name of Jesus

      1. Sodomize hairy buns says:

        What doom album is ideal for the slow, caressing your bunkmate type; then, which is best for abrupt, forearm crusing the neck, caveman-like dominance?

  11. John Doe says:

    Brett, what do you think of this remaster of The Red in the Sky is Ours? I prefer it to the original production because the guitars and the drums share a warm tone that makes them sound more like a unit.


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