Sepultura: Noise without limits

It's been years and years since rock music was still important and had great relevance. Artists were not pop bunnies who sang with computer voices, but stars with guitars, poets, explainers of the world.

Today it is time to hear Sepultura's Chaos A.D. again.

Noise without limits

Sepultura from Brazil

The singer is a sleepy giant. The guitarist is a mass of hair and racing fingers. Their music sounds like the sound of a stylus being dragged across a Stones record. The titles have names like "Orgasmatron", "Under Siege" or "Slaves Of Pain". Sepultura is the name of the band. And she is the last bogeyman that the old lady of rock'n'roll gives birth to. Sepultura make trash metal, speed metal, grind metal - we boldly generalize: it's all horrible and repulsive.

Bloodthirsty lyrics, beauty celebrated to the extreme, speed instead of melody. Noise without limits. Where music ends, Sepultura begin. The success is all the more astonishing: the Schorre, where the South Americans' only concert in the five new countries took place, was also sold out. More than 1,000 fans enthusiastically celebrated an orgy of noise and sheer joy in the riot of the Third World Posse, as Sepultura call their current European tour.

Until a few years ago, the members of the band lived in the slums outside the city limits of Belo Horizonte. Corrugated iron shacks, stinking gutters, poverty. "You'll become a footballer or a rock star," they say, "or you'll fail." Sepultura are probably unsportsmanlike. In any case, they decided to pursue a career on the guitar.

And with their uncompromising mix of authentic anger, loudness and noisy passion, they were in the right place at the right time. The world is ending, the so-called "third" first, and four Brazilians provide the apocalyptic soundtrack. Their previous record "Arise" sold a quarter of a million copies worldwide.

Since then, Sepultura have been considered one of the style-defining groups of the genre beyond the boundaries of good taste: they turn the wild rock of yesteryear, which over the years became harmless pop, into a permanent provocation again - faster, harder, louder than ever .

The normal music fan, however, stands at the back of the hall shaking his head in disbelief at the elemental musical forces unleashed and no longer understands the world that is constantly being destroyed at the front of the stage by four long-haired, tattooed creeps and their guitars. dismantled and trampled into dust. To be honest: Grandma must have stood in front of the Rolling Stones in a similar way.