The Canvas Sea


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Master of Muppets
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Master of Muppets From start to finish, there will be no happiness - which, of course, makes me a happy little Drewcifer, indeed. If Ancst were feeling particularly depressed and doom-inspired, this is probably what we'd get. Heavy and hard hitting when it needs to be, brooding and dark as fuck in the spaces between, this is the perfect album for those pesky hours between midnight and daylight. Favorite track: Guilty Gods.
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DonnieDarko Astonishing mixture of black metal, screamo and hardcore. Killer sound with a fitting production. The diverse vocals add some otherworldly vibe to the album.
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buffuku post metal. post hardcore.
my girlfriend said this music makes her feel lonely. Favorite track: Corinthians.
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released July 15, 2017

Additional vocals on "A Carrion Vulture" and "I Still See Plagues by Imogen Neumann.
Recorded and mixed by Mike Deslandes at The Black Lodge.
Mastered by Paul Fox at Indie Masters.
Artwork by Camille Blanchemain, widely inspired by "Le serpent d'Airain" by Gustave Doré (1878).

Scott Curtis - Vocals
Troy Power - Guitar
Adam Turcato - Bass
Dan Neumann - Drums



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SUNDR Melbourne, Australia



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Track Name: A Carrion Vulture
Birds of scavenge, feathers fall to a baron world. A familiar scent of asperity that I breathe with utmost disdain. My ears ring out, an ode to stress I can't unhear. Not of kings or idols, my feet follow a march from which I cannot stray. I watch the proud wings, that circled the sky, hang from the throats of the wretched. The albatross, flightless.
I could feel a shake of guilt through the earth, whispers of messianic nothings to the empty sky, the void between landscapes an infinite cold where nothing blooms, a residual taste of bile, won't leave me as I grow old.
Birds of scavenge, feathers fall to a baron world.
And with the cowardice of god inside, you stare back at a loss.
Run your broken hands through the soil, in disbelief; in death they will be one in the same, we will be one in the same.
Every ailing movement a reaction to fear, a lust to tear my flesh from bones.
And in your eyes, I am the vulture.
Track Name: Guilty Gods
Stained by your sun, a slave to shadow, I lurk in trenches carved by disgust.
This path is mine, free of comfort, free of your light.
I won't suffer lashes to a broken back from guilty gods, born of virgin whores.
I won't suffer your sanctuary.
Won't suffer your light.
Beyond harrowing convent walls, squeals from emaciated pigs cry like a distant voice, "I am not safe here, but I am home".
Track Name: I Still See Plagues
Dragged by horses through the cemetery, this continuance manifests gravity in the mistakes as numb transitions carry me from landscape to landscape. My soul, stained, by sermons spat like venom, under a serpent's reign.
Many a moon passed, concecrated vomit still rolls off their forked tongues, the river lined with pigs, martyrs, bastard spawn of privilege. How easy it seems to turn one's head, to shut one's eyes and count one's blessings.. But through my aphotic veil, I still see plagues.
Odium, my mentor.
Misanthropy, my vessel.
Adrift in a black tide.
And so it ends as it began.
Senescent, depleted.
Track Name: The Canvas Sea
Barely a pulse through my arteries, a fleeting moment of euphoria greets me like a rose whose thorns carve deep through my arm, to wither and die. In a glimpse of sunlight, my breath makes frost and my skin turns gold to rust.

God's humble peasants turn the screws as twisted lovers waltz under a rain of animal blood.
They call it heaven as they cleanse their bodies of hell.
Their haunting harmony resonates with every sideways glance.

I am the awkward pause in their song.
I am the uncertainty that breathes down their spine tearing every rotting tongue, from every gaunt cheek.
I, nihilistic monolith.

Hang me on the wall, a portrait of heresy.

I will forever be a black mark on this canvas sea.
Track Name: Corinthians
A silver tongue rusts, spilling death from the mouth, burning fields and purging life. I can only turn from the affray but the roots maraud beneath, tearing clay and seeking flesh.
Under a great indoctrinator's sovereignty, rehearsing what has been ghostwritten, I'm holding high a sickly hand, to shield the sun, burning on calloused soil.
Visceral, a cancerous seed planted by the sickles of the gods, in the shadow of hell.
Abyss ascends, crawling like vermin, the horrid touch on my skin,
as the hell hammer hangs.
Jilted lover, defiler of all, don't ever leave my side, without you I die.