Concentrated filth from Jimmy Aly (The Communion) and his Swollen Organs, which has evolved into one of the New York area's most unsettling noise outfit. The other stuff that I've heard from Swollen Organs (which includes some fantastic material on Annihilvs) has all gotten me prretty rattled, working from a death industrial foundation but spreading its mass out into broader regions of psychological disturbance and finely-tuned anxiety. Resentment proves to be more of the same, with five pieces of what has turned into a signature sort of crushing, bottom-heavy electronic dread. A rank biologic miasma engulfs this scum-craft, the sounds and atmopshere in every Swollen Organs recording evoking all sorts of deformation, physical and psychological trauma, dysfunctional behaviors, leaking this nasty, black-neon element that points towards something sort of Cronenbergian, a reference point that I'm sure Aly would acknowledge. The aggro level is pitched higher than much contempo death industrial though, probably attributible to his background in playing in hardcore and grindcore bands over the past two decades. It's a potent combo.

These five tracks bulge and throb before you, inititating a state of abjection as opener "Rejection (No Hope)" surrounds you with raw confessional voices as somewhat distant blasts of distorted heaviness echo through the space, gradually joined by a surf of incredibly dense white-noise static hiss, and soon a crushing apocalyptic synth riff. Within minutes, you are immersed in complete electronic doom. Rage-filled male vocals loom over increasing layers of scathing distortion and muted feedback. Intense. Murderous high-end skree rips through the rjythmic clanking and scraping of "You're The On That I Always Wanted", again matching the completely pissed-sounding vocals; "Resentment (Wastrel)" is a mass of squealing, inchoate power electronics that oozes malevolence. Metal crashes against metal while a storm of droning, high-volume engine noise blasts off of "Post Traumatic Sex Disorder", slowlty peeling back to reveal a mordant little melody hidden within the noisy chaos. The despondant spoken-word piece from a girl at the start of closer "Worthlessness (An Apology)" works to set the mournful atmosphere that's then carried over into a simple and affecting piano melody that repeats itself continuously , cloaked by peircing insectile electrlonics, rumbling waves of low-end distorition, then pulling back to a continuation of the young woman's troubling monologue on sexual abuse and intimate violence; it's one of the best Swollen Organs pieces, and has a somehat comprable power to the incredibly gutting impact of Ritual Chair's deeply personal examinations of terminal anxiety.