THE BEAST

This is the first single from Demikhov's upcoming album The Chemical Bath, out in January 2023 on Dio Drone (IT), Sweetohm (GR), Kontingent Records (BU). Recorded and Mixed by Demikhov at Produzioni Rumorose Mastered by James Plotkin Artwork by Officina Infernale BIO A chaotic and nervous mix of post-hardcore sounds and noise experimentation, between fuzzes and hammers. The trio since 2013 has 2 albums and 4 Ep's, over a hundred dates between Italy and Europe, and a reputation as noise extremists that make every live show a devastating experience. Their latest album will be released in January 2023 via Dio Drone, Kontingent Records and Sweetohm. THE ALBUM "The Chemical Bath" consists of six previously unreleased tracks for a total of 37 minutes. The album was recorded by the band at Produzioni Rumorose, the recording studio founded and run by the band itself, and mastered by James Plotkin (Isis, Horseback, Khanate, Sunn 0))), etc.). The album is also enhanced by the participation of ambient and noise artist Mauro Diciocia (Torba) and Monika Khot (Nordra, Zen Mother). Continuing the artistic quest already inaugurated with the previous album, this one also takes the form of a concept album in which the events of contemporary history intersect with the theoretical horizons of the scientific avant-garde. In particular, the events of the Russian scientists and cosmists who, at the turn of the century, propagated the idea of a science destined to defeat death as the last enemy of humanity find space. It was precisely the body of the first leader of the October Revolution, Lenin, who was the first to be made the objects of such interests: through its tracks, the record traces the events to which that body was subjected, from the first attempts at embalming, through the ultimate preservation treatment (the "chemical bath" that gives the record its title), to the construction of the imposing mausoleum with its religious cult. LYRICS Eroded muscles Damaged brain Dead The leader’s body Has nothing left But a chemical bath Black horses And pale flowers of grief January’s cold Like salt on my open wounds Iron stars Start crumble into rust Gazing through tears At the closing tomb