Growth's debut album - 'The Smothering Arms of Mercy' | Out December 4, 2020
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GROWTH began as a study in isolation by brothers Tristan (guitars/bass/artwork) and Nelson Barnes (drums) in Melbourne, Australia, after a decade's absence from each other while pursuing music overseas. With the line-up soon rounded out by Luke Frizon (ex Jack The Stripper) on vocals, the trio set out to create music that explored the human aspects of connection, trauma, despair, and the fragility of hope. The result is THE SMOTHERING ARMS OF MERCY, a claustrophobic narrative of total spiritual collapse written while in psychiatric care and thrown over nine suffocating acts. The debut album was recorded in Melbourne, produced and engineered by Growth, drums engineered by Troy McCosker (Ne Obliviscaris), and mixed/mastered by Fredrik Nordström (Opeth, The Haunted) in Gothenburg, Sweden. MERCY highlights the extremity of grief and asks the listener to reflect on their relationship with loss and vulnerability. Pain can be the source of your power. Learn to greet it as a friend.

Credits:
Directed, filmed & edited by Adrian Goleby
Concept by Growth, Adrian Goleby and Edward J. Reinhardt.
Rothko - Edward J. Reinhardt
Red - Mitchell Legg
Costume Design - Emilia Karlsson
Production Assistant - Walter W

Growth is:
Luke Frizon - Vocals
Tristan Barnes - Guitars/Bass
Nelson Barnes - Drums

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Lyrics:
Lumbering from darkened rooms
Slithers through ward corridors
In witching hours searching for the end; for the final chapter
A breathless epilogue and the bliss of release

Soul rot
The terminus of spirits when all is lost
Watch yourself fade to a pinprick
Forgotten and scarred by despair
Give yourself over to decay

To watch everything you loved slip away;
tumourous and bloated by the spectre of your presence

Misery cascades and cripples
Something rotten grows within; festering at its vicious whim
Some other self armed with gnashing teeth that charges forth when all else grows dim
Nascent, it beckons

Cloaked in vile, barbiturate haze;
my own dark halo to mark my final days
I know my hell better than I know myself
And I know what will take it all away
Leave only wreckage and poisoned ground

Cruelly snatches at every inch of reason and swallows it whole
Like parasites swarming from sallow skin

Soul rot
The terminus of spirits when all is lost
When you watch yourself fade to a pinprick
Forgotten and scarred by despair
Torn apart by suicidal rage

Reflected in bitterness as it pools beneath in brackish tides
Everything leathers
Pestilence erupts; spirit deconstructs

Soul rot
That from which I crawl my way back, just to cascade into ruin
Bitterly aware of the shadows that stand above me

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