Guerre Á La Guerre by Placmodium Syndrom: A Brutal Industrial Assault on the Ears
Alright, let’s get one thing straight—this ain’t your grandma's synthwave. Guerre Á La Guerre is an industrial-electro beast that slams into your skull like a sledgehammer wrapped in barbed wire. Released back in '97 by Germany’s Placmodium Syndrom under SD-Image, this album doesn’t just sit there; it growls, spits, and claws at you until you’re either hooked or pissed off. And honestly? That’s kinda the point.
Let me break it down for ya. Tracks like "Ypern" and "Scharkow" are burned into my brain—not because they’re catchy (they’re not) but because they’re relentless. “Ypern” kicks off with these jagged beats that feel like someone’s dragging nails across steel. It’s cold, mechanical, and utterly suffocating—but in the best way possible. You can almost picture some dystopian battlefield where machines have replaced soldiers, grinding everything to dust. The track builds up slowly, layering sounds until it feels like your headphones might explode. By the time it ends, you're left gasping for air, wondering what the hell just hit you.
Then there’s "Scharkow," which flips the script entirely. This one starts off sneaky, creeping in with eerie pads and glitchy noises before exploding into chaos halfway through. It’s like walking through a dark alley only to find yourself ambushed by shadows. What sticks out here isn’t so much melody—it’s raw aggression. Every kick drum hits harder than it should, every synth stab cuts deeper than expected. If you’ve got anger management issues, crank this one loud and watch your problems dissolve into static.
But look, I won’t lie—the rest of the album ain’t exactly sunshine and rainbows either. Tracks like “Bunzlau” and “Wilna-Antokol” keep the same brutal momentum going, hammering away without mercy. Even softer moments, like “Nelse,” carry this oppressive weight that makes you wanna punch a wall—or maybe hug it, depending on how messed-up your day’s been.
Here’s the kicker though: listening to Guerre Á La Guerre feels less like entertainment and more like therapy for people who hate themselves. There’s no escape from its bleakness, no shiny pop hooks to cling to. But damn if it doesn’t leave a mark. Maybe that’s why it still resonates over two decades later. Or maybe it’s just that nobody else had the guts to make something this ugly and call it art.
Final thought? If noise pollution were illegal, Placmodium Syndrom would be serving life sentences. But hey, we’d all visit them in prison anyway.
