Of the bands that define Florida death metal, which also strongly defines American Death Metal as a whole, Obituary remain a beacon of consistency. Beginning in 1984 under the Executioner moniker, Obituary built their sound around stripping the Gothic cobwebs off Celtic Frost’s mid-paced riffing. They let the guitars become a humid swamp, thick and airy. Singer John Tardy defined death metal vocals by getting as guttural as guitarist Trevor Peres’ rhythms, removing any last vestiges of thrashy snarling. Obituary have been held as models for keeping it simple, and for fans, the idea of a new album from them can seem predictable. But their self-titled 10th record proves Obituary don’t suffer for sticking to their identity.
Peres and drummer Donald Tardy remain at the heart of Obituary and feed off each other in a way few death metal bands do. Peres sounds more mangled when Donald speeds up, and already thick riffs feel impenetrable as his drumming slows. As such, Peres’ low, groveling guitar tone is more flexible than it seems. Obituary begins with two faster numbers, “Brave” and “Sentence Day”—affirmations that they’re not giving up anytime soon. Both are busy for a band who prefers to let a groovy riff sink in, and John in particular lunges with a youthfulness that rivals the band’s heyday in the late ’80s and early ’90s.
Some of Obituary’s best work has come from letting flashiness creep in. In 1990, for example, Cause of Death had its sludge punctured by James Murphy’s divebombs and neoclassically-influenced soloing. That album contained their most developed songwriting in terms of leads. Likewise, thanks to Ken Andrews’ lead work here, Obituary is their most energetic record since reforming in 2003 (they originally disbanded in ’97). On “shredder” records, the disconnect between the fireworks of the guitarist and the tepid rhythm section can be jarring. But Peres and Donald’s strong foundation keeps that from happening.
Andrews can also bow to death metal tradition, as he does with the spaced-out, Death-like leads in “Kneel Before Me.” Meanwhile, “Sentence” ends with a one-man guitar battle, as Andrews heralds not just the dueling harmonies of Judas Priest’s Glenn Tipton and K.K. Downing but also Slayer’s chaotic interplay between Jeff Hanneman and Kerry King. He’s not just versatile; he sounds like he’s genuinely excited. And that exuberance doesn’t arise from nowhere—Donald and Andrews were once members of Andrew W.K.’s backing band.
This record honors all of Obituary’s history by not compromising. Its reliability is peppered with unrest. Obituary ends the opposite of how it began—slow and yet somehow impatient. “Straight to Hell” recalls the dim flickering-light riffs of 1992’s “The End Complete,” resulting in a seediness that’s constantly promised in death metal and rarely achieved. “Turned Into Stone” centers their Celtic Frost worship, a more gradual unsettling than some of the record’s faster pillages. With these contrasts, Obituary show they’re keenly aware of dynamics in a way most bands could stand to afford. In 2017, the challenge for a veteran metal act is to not relentlessly innovate, but to mine any small new parts of their sound. Kreator and Immolation have proved successful in this regard already, and Obituary, while sticking closer to their roots, have also proven their vitality here.
