![]() There’s really nothing like seeing a piece of artwork and going ‘hey what’s this’ only to hit play and instantly have someone invade your mental personal space to tear your heart out and render your being into smithereens. ![]() I’ve personally always gravitated towards something that I can feel rather than hear, so it’s no wonder that Mouth Wound properly both utterly captivated me as well as fucked me up on a psychic level when I first encountered it. The artist represents the type of haunting and substantial anguish that comes a little bit too close to make you uncomfortable, yet giving you means of absolvement in the process. Mouth Wound‘s signature value lies mostly on encapsulating a combination of purification, malaise, and dread, in a heartfelt and gripping manner. Still, Mouth Wound can’t and shouldn’t be lumped into any existing category due to its unstinted nature, and that’s precisely why we’re digging into the act and its author today. The act is an embodiment of artistic expression, that joins the likes of Pharmakon, Lingua Ignota, and Ana Fosca amongst plenty of others, to introduce a new wave of brisk and thrilling cacophony to the ocean of musty and stale conventions. ![]() Mouth Wound is a vessel for personal catharsis putting into use aural leanings ranging from dark ambient and chamber music to harsh noise and black metal, with no nook in-between being left undiscovered. One of the artists dilapitating the accustomed patriarchal bullshit is Denmark’s Mouth Wound, a one-woman entity brought to flesh by Trine Paaschburg, whose latest album Nothing Will Belong To Us came out this April via the Italian Brucia Records. I am delighted with this development, as most people are (or should be), and as a result the field of experimental music has never been more alive and vibrant. Finally, the time has come to push these stubborn cunts aside, as the phenomenon I mentioned, made up of women and all others who do not identify as men, are taking their rightful place on the scene. In other words, this particular crowd of faceless men have gained a status to oversee what can be done and by whom, based on nothing more than their assumed position as superiors, reflected in the history of humanity. Over the last decade or so, there has been a rather fascinating phenomenon seething deep within the confining walls of experimental music, gnawing away at the usual boundaries set by – as usual – three-legged gatekeepers who have somehow made the impossible possible by applying boundaries to genres that should not have any, through various methods of validation and a kind of inexplicable righteousness.
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