The Funeral Obsession by Decomposed: A Doom-Fueled Descent into Darkness
Let’s get one thing straight—The Funeral Obsession isn’t your average metal album. Released in 2016 on labels like Me Saco Un Ojo Records and Diamphidia, this UK-born beast of a record is a gut-punch to the senses. If you’re into doom metal or death metal (and let’s be real, who isn’t?), then Decomposed has crafted something here that’ll crawl under your skin and fester for days.
First off, props to the artwork crew—Tim Spear and Alejandro Tedín—for making an album cover so haunting it feels like staring at a car crash you can’t look away from. It sets the tone perfectly for what’s inside: slow, crushing riffs, vocals that sound like they were recorded in the depths of despair, and drumming that hits harder than life itself sometimes does.
Now, onto the tracks. I gotta single out "Dying Diseased" because holy hell, this song doesn't just haunt you—it moves in, unpacks its bags, and starts redecorating your brain with misery. The mix between James Ogawa’s lead guitar shredding and Pete Snasdell’s rhythm work creates this wall of sonic filth that makes you wanna smash stuff while also curling up in a ball. And Harry Armstrong? Dude’s growls are raw enough to make your ears bleed but somehow still carry this mournful weight. Then there's the Grief Mix version later on the album, which flips the script just enough to keep things fresh without losing that suffocating heaviness.
Another standout is "Slowly We Rot." This track is basically the musical equivalent of watching paint dry—if said paint was made of pure existential dread. The basslines rumble through the mix like distant thunder before exploding into these monstrous breakdowns. You know those moments when you're lying awake at night questioning all your life choices? Yeah, this song captures that vibe perfectly. Tim Spear’s drumming deserves special mention here; every hit lands with precision, like he’s surgically removing your will to live.
What really ties everything together is how polished yet filthy the production sounds. Kudos to Paul Johnson and Dan Lowndes for mastering and engineering this beast—they didn’t clean it up too much, leaving all the grit and grime intact. It’s like wearing old jeans with holes in them: imperfect, but damn comfortable.
By the time you hit closer "Procession Of The Undertakers," you might feel like you’ve been buried alive. But honestly, isn’t that kind of the point? Decomposed isn’t trying to cheer you up or give you hope—they’re dragging you down into their coffin and slamming the lid shut. And weirdly, it works.
Here’s the kicker though: as heavy and oppressive as The Funeral Obsession is, it’s strangely cathartic. Like screaming into a void until your throat hurts, only to realize someone else is screaming back. Maybe we all need albums like this once in a while—to remind us that even in our darkest moments, someone else gets it. Or maybe Decomposed just hates happiness. Either way, crank this sucker loud and let the rot set in.
