Music Review: The Body 

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There's nothing more brutal than the life of the body. It's utterly physical, locked in constant struggle with the spirit — and after the spirit departs, is left rotting on the earth, pinned down with its own weight. If that sounds like a William Faulkner writing prompt, well, Chip King and Lee Buford are from the South, and their band, The Body, joins literary depression to unrelenting brutality as well as any resident of Yoknapatawpha County. This is peak sludge — plodding at the slowest possible clip, King's feral screams barely register over sheer morass of their guitar/bass/electronics assault. But, thanks in part to their commitment to indeterminate membership, no two The Body records sound the same, incorporating bleak noise and angelic choirs with equal unease.

The Body is preceded by Austin AmRep worshipers Burnt Skull and SA native Crawl, who has perfectly married a name to a pace. Crawl's Michael Engle does The Body one better in the minimum-personnel department, conjuring a canopy of doom entirely by himself on drums and a homemade two-string bass nailed to an honest-to-Tartarus animal spine. $9, 8pm, Paper Tiger, 2410 N. St. Mary's St., papertigersa.com –Lance Higdon

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