Released in 1996, Merzbow‘s Pulse Demon is often hailed as a near-mythical work that expanded the boundaries of experimental music. It is regarded as the quintessential example of harsh noise, and remains a defining release in both Merzbow’s extensive catalog and the broader landscape of noise. Its merciless textures, far-reaching influence on extreme music, and the polarized reactions it continues to provoke have become the stuff of legend.
Much of that reputation stems from the mystique surrounding Masami Akita, the Japanese noise pioneer behind Merzbow. Renowned for an output that exceeds more than 500 albums—which includes, among other things, collaborations with the likes of Boris and Lawrence English—Akita had already established himself as a force in the underground when Pulse Demon appeared. Rather than merely adding another album to an ever-growing discography, this release distilled Akita’s approach to noise into its most unfiltered and confrontational form. Yet this was merely the opening salvo, setting the stage for Pulse Demon to infiltrate music circles far beyond the noise underground.
Pulse Demon’s reputation was further consolidated for reaching listeners outside the usual noise music corners. This is largely thanks to its issuance on Release Entertainment, a sublabel of Relapse Records, which was primarily known for releases that year from Neurosis and Dying Fetus, among other metal acts. This distribution channel introduced harsh noise to many who might have missed it otherwise. Meanwhile, avid noise fans saw the album as a radical pivot away from Merzbow’s earlier experiments with found sounds and tape collages. Its unwavering commitment to dense feedback and distortion only added to its formidable aura. In the streaming era, a few clicks can now summon this sonic juggernaut, but the unbridled force of Pulse Demon remains as daunting as ever.
From the start, listeners frequently single out the overwhelming presence of distortion as one of the album’s most striking features. Torrents of high-frequency feedback merge with concussive low-end vibrations, creating a sonic expanse so saturated that it feels like a physical force rather than a collection of notes. Volume and ferocity take center stage, challenging anyone to locate even a hint of melody. Over time, however, the ear adjusts, and hidden micro-rhythms or faint pulses can begin to emerge beneath the deluge, suggesting a surprising complexity behind the apparent disarray.
Despite its reputation for unremitting discord, Pulse Demon presents a paradox. At first, the hour-plus runtime might appear to be a single brick of entropic sound, but closer inspection reveals flashes of structure and detail. At high volume, the music can trigger a visceral fight-or-flight response. Once that distress subsides, previously obscured frequencies stand out: some cut through the roar, while others coalesce into arcs that border on the almost musical. This phenomenon may lead you to hear the album as both uncivil and meditative in equal measure.
Though Pulse Demon maintains a cohesive sense of continual assault, it is broken into discrete tracks, each providing a glimpse into Merzbow’s organizational sensibilities. Many editions of Pulse Demon—and there have been numerous reissues of varying lengths—open with “Woodpecker No. 1” and “Woodpecker No. 2,” short but fierce blasts of scraping electronics, gut-rattling bass and shrieking treble. They set the tone immediately, testing whether listeners can tolerate, or even appreciate, such immoderation. Later tracks like “Spiral Blast” and “My Station Rock” adhere to a similarly strenuous spirit but occasionally present jagged tonal or rhythmic contours. Slight dips in frequency can jolt the ear, while abrupt leaps into higher registers underscore Merzbow’s refusal to follow conventional notions of melody or percussion.
On first listen, it’s a hard slap to the face. However, production-wise, Pulse Demon rewards close study. Rather than simply pushing every level to its maximum, the mix retains subtle distinctions among overlapping layers of feedback and distortion. “Tokyo Times Ten” is a stunning example of this bludgeoning hum that makes way for complicated layers. Low-end rumblings dominate one area of the sound field, while piercing static and feedback carve out others. This balancing act is repeated at turns and provides an underlying clarity, even at ear-splitting volumes. On Pulse Demon, Merzbow’s meticulous artistry distinguishes this work from lesser noise efforts that collapse into an undifferentiated din.
Midway through, the album unveils what many consider its ultimate trial: “Worms Plastic Earthbound.” In various Pulse Demon editions, this sprawling track can span anywhere from 16 to over 25 minutes. Its extended runtime magnifies the album’s already taxing aesthetic, evolving into an immersive, hypnotic churn of overlapping loops. Although it may appear savage or repetitive, more listens may prompt one to describe the experience as transcendent. Fans of film could relate it to the film Martyrs, a New French Extremity horror touchstone; there is a raw shock within the opening sequence, which slowly but ultimately gives way to a strangely contemplative state.
Not surprisingly, reactions to Pulse Demon are as fierce as the sounds within. Devotees of harsh noise point to it as a zenith of experimentation, praising its perverse purity and the fine gradations hidden within its towering waves of static. Yet some find the extended runtimes and massive wall of sound off-putting, arguing that the album’s unwavering aggression can feel more like an endurance test than a pleasurable listening experience. Ultimately, both sides attest to Merzbow’s mercurial power.
In fact, a common critique involves the album’s inaccessibility, especially for listeners who favor more traditional structures or melodic content. Pulse Demon not only tolerates discomfort but demands it, requiring a willingness to experience physical and mental disorientation. While some see this approach as a vital, uncompromising stance, others feel it confines the album to an esoteric niche. Yet for many listeners of experimental music, there is an initiation-like quality to sitting through Pulse Demon, a rite that marks one’s entry into the deepest recesses of noise.
Over time, the album has anchored its legacy as a bridge between harsh noise and broader audiences. Pulse Demon found its way into hands that might otherwise have overlooked the noisier fringes of experimental music. This in turn aided the general acceptance of noise as a legitimate art form—one that intersects with avant-garde precedents rooted in futurism, Dadaism and other movements that challenge traditional thinking.
Even as noise has branched into numerous offshoots, from noise rock to power electronics, Pulse Demon stands firm as a landmark release. It endures in the canon for noise artists seeking to push the medium to its limits. For newcomers, it’s a test of fortitude, and a reminder that music can be as grueling as it is revelatory. By crushing conventional norms and reshaping how sound is perceived, Pulse Demon remains an exemplar of what experimental art can achieve when it stakes its claim at the far fringes of possibility.
The impact of Pulse Demon continues to echo throughout extreme music. From black metal’s harshest tendrils to underground techno’s most abrasive subgenres, countless artists have cited it as a major inspiration. Many artists have adopted, or at least acknowledged, the LP’s core principle of unrelenting fury. In the noise world specifically, Pulse Demon serves as the yardstick by which new releases are judged.
For nearly three decades, Pulse Demon has also figured into debates over what qualifies as music. With no concession to melody, rhythm or traditional composition, it calls into question the boundaries of musical form. Some listeners see it as a consummate experiment better categorized as sound art or performance. Others argue that it is precisely the album’s refusal to compromise that makes it such a powerful statement about listening, perception, and the inherent possibilities of sound.
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