The industrial world is often micromanaged to a few mainstream touchstones (mostly those who came before Nine Inch Nails and those who came after), neglecting the wealth of demur and sadistic tones the genre has conjured for nearly half a century. The machinery of manufacturing transformed over time into a gothic stew of steeled, twisted, and mangled melodies that spoke to man’s new place in a world dominated by technology even as our primal urges to kill, eat, sleep, and fuck ran rampant below this already-rusting metallic crust. This is the world in which the anonymous three known as Rose Croix dwell, hiding in the cavernous depths of our soul and waiting to prey upon a world that has crammed its very being into neatly packaged assembly-line products. The trio’s self-titled tape creeks and crawls with the sound of Industrial Revolution as it rots, with vocals sounding more like a new underground language learned after humans forgot their native tongue, when work itself was the primary form of communication. Strange echoes and rattles force themselves in between the spaces, a chilling reminder that this apocalyptic future isn’t as far from our grasps as we’d like to imagine. Wherever these brave beings reside and whatever has brought them to Rose Croix, may they stay as unidentified harbingers of what a world without feeling would resemble.
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