Released: March 30, 1992
La Sexorcisto: Devil Music Vol. 1 doesn’t creep into place. It snaps on, loud and immediate, like a machine already warmed up and left running. The album announces its priorities quickly: motion over mood, filth as texture, control as structure. This isn’t chaos for its own sake. It’s noise organized into forward movement.
That movement is established early. Tracks like “Thunder Kiss ’65” don’t build atmosphere so much as activate it. The riff locks in, the beat hits with mechanical insistence, and repetition becomes propulsion. The song doesn’t expand or escalate. It drives, letting familiarity turn into force. The album teaches you how it works by doing it again and again.
“Black Sunshine” deepens that logic without changing direction. The groove is thicker, the pace steadier, but the posture remains intact. Samples and spoken fragments don’t distract from the motion—they reinforce it. Everything is arranged to keep the track advancing, even when it sounds like it’s grinding in place. Movement here isn’t speed; it’s pressure sustained.
Throughout the record, filth isn’t decorative. Distortion, noise, and grime are structural elements, layered into the rhythm rather than draped over it. Songs like “Welcome to Planet Motherfucker / Psychoholic Slag” feel confrontational not because they’re wild, but because they refuse refinement. The album doesn’t clean up its edges. It uses them.
“Grindhouse (A Go-Go)” and “I Am Legend” underline how tightly controlled that grime actually is. The beats are rigid, the loops exact, the guitars treated as percussive tools as much as melodic ones. Even at its most lurid, the album sounds disciplined. Nothing wanders. Nothing drifts. Every piece is locked to the same engine.
The record’s sense of motion is inseparable from its physicality. This is music built for bodies, not for contemplation. The grooves repeat long enough to become tactile, to register in muscle memory before thought catches up. Tracks like “Soul-Crusher” slow the tempo without releasing tension, proving that speed was never the point. Control was.
“Cosmic Monsters Inc.” carries that control into something almost hypnotic. The repetition tightens, the noise stacks, and the song feels less like a progression than a loop you’ve been dropped inside. The album doesn’t need variety to stay engaging. It relies on insistence.
Production is key to how La Sexorcisto holds together. The sound is thick and abrasive, but it’s also precise. Drums are hard and uniform, bass and guitar are fused into a single grinding surface, and vocals function more as command signals than narratives. The mix doesn’t separate elements for clarity. It compresses them into a single moving mass.
What makes the album last isn’t its shock value or its imagery. It’s the discipline underneath the filth. La Sexorcisto matters because it treats noise and repetition as tools of control, not excess. The record doesn’t spiral. It advances, track after track, with the same locked posture.
When it ends, it doesn’t resolve or fade out. It cuts away, leaving the motion implied rather than completed. That unfinished feeling is intentional. La Sexorcisto: Devil Music Vol. 1 holds because it never lets the machine stop—only the tape.
Written by Rob Joncas for DeadNoteMedia.
Artist information and music courtesy of the band.
© 2025 DeadNoteMedia. All rights reserved.
DeadNoteMedia 