Mourning Carnivals From Now On, is Umbilichaos' 13th record, marking a path of constant production over the last 15 years. The title alludes to the hegemonic vision of joyful Brazilianness, but which experienced the loss of almost 700.000 lives, during one of the most murderous and disgusting governments in the country's modern history, glued to a coup d'état that put an end to several social achievements of the last 30 years. In the Brazilian genesis and daily life, there is a history of oppression and violence. Each body is a battlefield crossed by colonialism, christianity and capitalism. This is the context that informs the creation of this record: sound as a portrait of mental illness, alienation, lack of purpose and the death of the future. For which all that remains is to scream with all horror of the soul, a mourning for what was not. This new cyber-manifesto continues to portray the human conflict with time and the limits of being, the search for identity and belonging, an attempt to reach traces of truth through each chord. They also contain the certainty that the universe follows its course, despite of us. It will always be what it should be, and what it always was. In the existentialist lyrics, mythological and religious images are evoked, to translate the impassive despair in the face of absurdity, and the search for some sacredness beyond dogmas and through the expansion of consciousness. This record brings some new approach in the compositions. Shorter and more straightforward pieces, without elements like samples and manipulated sounds, for the sake of greater clarity and raw sound pressure. On the other hand, there is even more incidence of strange time signatures and broken rhythms, as if the drum-machine Shiva were a young Dale Crover replicant. While maintaining the bassy and crunchy heavyness of the guitars, there is a deliberate and ostensive use of dissonant chords and intervals, flirting with free-jazz and atonality. Andy Hawkins said metal/hardcore has great intensity with boring chords, and the lesson was learned, as if Tom Warrior, Stig, Greg Ginn and Bernard Sumner played in a chamber Orchestra for Glenn Branca. The delicate parts could have been in a Joni Michell’s record, except for the effects bringing dense, lysergic shadows. All of this, while maintaining Umbilichaos' characteristic crawling tempo and epic feel. And the most human part of this entity, the vocals, sparse, roared with abandon, that still give way to introverted softness, amidst the labyrinth built in the compositions. Celebrating the absurd is also confronting it. If the universe and life itself are crumbling to cosmic dust, we might as well enjoy the ride there. And with this new work, I keep my commitment of following the way to absolute silence, but it won't in quietly.