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WHARFLURCH
Mycodeath And Rebirth In The Outer Clusters

Personal / Gurgling Gore / Dawnbreed (2026)
Rating: 8.5/10

It’s time to take another hallucinogenic of horror as those kaleidoscopic terrors from Florida Wharflurch lower their vile veil.

If you have steel lungs then you might just be able to cope with the latest fumes this creepy outfit spews forth. As expected it’s the usual batch of psychedelics you need to inhale; Wharflurch existing in a realm of purple toxic mushrooms and other fusty fungus. With each squalid riff a plume of mould spores are sent into the atmosphere, pustular particles disturbed by those horrid percussive blasts and salivating vocal emissions.

The landscape here is forever tarred in Technicolor vomit, an inhospitable domain layered with distorted ghoulish gardens and miasmic blurred boundaries. Wharflurch is that bad everlasting trip where nightmarish illusion seamlessly blends with a reality so disturbing so as to leave the nastiest residue at the back of the throat. Case in point, ‘Death Toll Horror’, delivered as a series of monolithic slaps which barely trudge through festering wastes of bile. The guys create their hellish landscape of multicoloured morbidity where thunder claps of doom vibrate and clash with colossal grinds of gaudy gore.

‘Forgotten Temple’ churns like a sludgy dense cauldron, the toiling bass operating within a porridge of congealed ectoplasm and ejaculate. It’s all so gloopy as the glutinous ‘Dimensional Parasite’ chugs through stinking swamps of pus, the only force to infiltrate the vomit being the hideous gasps of a vocalist suffocated by his own chest cavity. Meanwhile, ‘Revelation Ov The Spore Lords’ epitomises the fetid nature of Wharflurch’s wholesome yet sickly sound; a grim wall of slime dripping into sodden piles of rainbow coloured mould which bubbles like some volcanic geyser.

The riffs on this album exist more as bloody pulverising hammers that batter humid walls coated in sewage. A grim world of ear-splitting echoes awaits then consumes as the intrepid audience is force-fed a sickening diet of the slithering ‘The Heaving Orbs’ and doom-laden mulch in the form of ‘Headless God’. ‘Mycodeath And Rebirth / Awakening The Emissary’ is a mere soundscape of weird whispers and almost serene swirls, a come down if you wish from the horrors that is stirred and awoken. I envisage uneven, psychedelic plateaus of spewing turbulent columns drizzled by acidic, manky smelling clouds of decay, all swept continually by those foul encompassing riffs. Welcome to the void of the shrooms of doom.

Neil Arnold

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