We've Come For Your Flesh

by Burial Grid

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1.
2.
My morning pills sparkle in my palm, like the teeth of a game show host God I see his face coagulate in the swirls of my Altretamine vomit I can’t swallow and I can’t walk But I know he’s gonna save know he’s gonna save me Baiting The undertow Faithful In where it ebbs and it flows Crashing And crushing The mighty Everything but me Baiting The undertow Trusting In who it takes or lifeboats Crashing And crushing The mighty Washing me out to sea
3.
You return to the peaks Of the face-shaped mountain It was blasted by depth charge On the day of your birth They quarried for rubies But found only echoes And felt only echoes You were never here in the first place
4.
Dribbling faces Tracing the winter hair Growing like jaundice In place of the harvest Impatience Is a virtue Keep driving that hearse Into the swamp A scalding red Final sunset Trembles through a palsied eye What you are now we used to be What we are now you will be
5.
Bhoot 04:58
I know I saw what you did We have feasts in your dreams Clink glasses to your sleaze I’m in your skeleton When you were just a sprout Breaking into that house I was there When you pinned her down Fumbling at her prom gown I grinned and stared When you choke-held your son For stashing pages from Drum I was everywhere I can be anywhere But I’m in your skeleton
6.
7.
Three-thousand eight-hundred sixty-nine weeks down. Only one more to go Save your bedside breath for the battleaxe and for the plough They tell me my ears will be the last thing to go But they slid from my head into space so many years ago On week one-thousand six-hundred and four I carried you past a crabshell-laced ocean floor Their chitin shattered windshields Battered my feet like chemotherapy The next time you see me it will be my first week The next time you hear me I’ll be a grosbeak My threnody to blot out the dawn jay when she sings Please don’t wretch as my bones hollow out into wings
8.
Pishacha 06:00
You have new skin tags, but otherwise, Ted You’re in fine fettle for 12-plus years dead Pull up a chair and a hammered bronze platter There are charred burgers and spoiled creamed corn for that matter Tell me where you’ve been and what you have seen Is it like Milton or more Tarkovsky? And the women there. Would they laugh when they see me dance? And tell me, do you still denigrate them with each and every chance? You’re not Ted Flaccid folds for eyes You’re not Ted Teeth are clumps of wet flies
9.
This Ginger Ale is going to save my life I’m just kidding I know it’s over I’d bequeath you my rust-rashed Saab 99 Leaking fluids But I know it’s over Step aside please, it’s tracheotomy time Slow wave goodbye You know it’s over They can wheel me away They can will me away They can eat me away
10.

about

We've Come for Your Flesh: The meta, spiritual, temporal, and physical disassembly of Richard Walter Kozak in 10 chapters.

Burial Grid was always rooted in fear. Fear of bodily degradation. Fear of death itself. Fear of loss of control. Western MA-based producer Adam Michael Kozak has explored these themes from a somewhat comfortable, though often precariously-so, distance, potentiating the relative ease at re-contextualizing fear into something possible to triumphantly purge. That purging is often as transcendent and epic as its subjects are malformed and hideous upon reveal.

But the amplitude of fear that 2020 brought with it was a blinding, teeth-cracking din. In addition to the noise floor of socio-political upheaval and an amok pandemic, Kozak watched helplessly as his father succumbed to prostate cancer. The last several weeks of his life, Kozak's father's cognition warped like a carcass blackening on asphalt. He was visited by ghosts. Some of whom he recognized. Others that he did not. Some were soothing and were described as being much-needed connections with loved ones long lost. Others not so much. Some didn't appear to be of a human nature at all.

Disturbed by his father's visions, Kozak pored over historical texts about demonic entities across cultures, learning of their individual roles that each one played in burning off guilt, shame, fear of the future, regret, and loss of self, in preparation for dying; each one consuming a different part of its prey's physical shell.

We've Come for Your Flesh finds its inspiration from the horrors experienced secondhand by Kozak, and by the process of grieving a dying parent, panoramically. Sonic cues materialize from Kraftwerk and Roger Troutman in the form of heavily vocoded vocals, rendered as demonic and soulless as its antagonists; the collapsing percussive crush of early 90s AmRep doom-laced noise acts such as Today is the Day; the drifting, modular-synth-math of Laurie Spiegel; digital soundscapes of late 80s straight-to-video horror; the pop circulatory system of Nothing Records quasi-industrial-goth acts corroded and clogged beyond intervention.

The album's title twists its referential roots into the sordid soil of drive-in schlockmeisters such as Herschel Gordon Lewis and the recurring symbolism within demonology throughout the ages, spanning dozens of cultures' mythos. The fun adrenaline rush of splatter cinema, granted gravitas through its collision with the real-life emotional complexity of dying that is largely relegated to the writing room recycling bin.

credits

released January 22, 2021

Written, performed, and recorded by Adam Michael Kozak.

Waldorf Blofeld, Korg Minilogue, Korg Wavestation SR, Korg MS20, Novation K Station, Roland SE02, DSI Prophet 08, Yamaha Reface DX, Kurzweil K2000, Arturia Microfreak, Ensoniq Mirage, toy piano, found sounds, voice, drums and percussion

mastered by James Plotkin

cover art by Derek Vukusich

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Burial Grid Boston, Massachusetts

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