Under Crumbled Stairs by Lussuria

Under Crumbled Stairs by Lussuria

The Pompeiians did not know their apocalypse was coming. Pliny the Younger writes that they were not alarmed by the frequent earthquakes in the four days preceding the eruption. At the time, the violent trembling of the earth was as common as the blowing of the wind. They overlooked the signs from the gods. Life went on as normal. And this is where the new album Under Crumbled Stairs by Lussuria picks up the story, which provides a front row seat to the destruction of Pompeii through volcanic industrial, crushing noise, and evocative, surprisingly delicate, electronica. It opens with chariot wheels rumbling against cobblestone streets. Choral vocalizations tell stories in dead languages. But deep underground, tension builds, ritualistic percussion drumming up fire in the molten womb of Mt. Vesuvius. All at once, human voices are buried under textured explosions of fine-grit synth tones laying down a blanket of pumice and smoke that almost completely suffocates the screaming of those who could not escape. The slow pace of these tracks demands attention to each detail of stratified noise, a reminder that the two-day long eruption was not a sudden flash, but a continual raining down of scorching debris for miles and miles and miles. Yet with the wispy arrangement of tracks like “Moths (Morning Rust)”, visions of the peak spewing volcanic rock seem almost peaceful. Ash flutters down inch by inch to form layers almost 9 feet thick, as fine and powdery as fresh fallen snow. We enter “The Artificial Freezing of Pompeii”, a haunting portrait of the city after its razing. Spidery sonic flourishes investigate each of the deceased, who stand preserved as if suspended in their final moments. The title track “Under Crumbled Stairs” introduces a spacey, otherworldly sound, mirroring the complete transformation of the city into something that was once a home now turned hostile. At least one victim’s brain was vitrified, turned to glass by the intense heat, the seat of consciousness metamorphosed into something no longer human. 

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Panoptikon by Maria W Horn