Drums thumped harder than a banged up nonce; vocals with the dash n verve of rusted bolts. What else to expect from ex-Electric Wizard rhythmists n former Lord of Putrefaction cantillation? Stacks. Churning enormo-riffs n portentous song titles diddling with diabolic intent (Vinho Dos Mortos; Black Hash Mass; Hand of Glory; Baptism of the Walking Dead). But lo, there be smarts n diversity. 'Frinstance, check cover: no standard issue pentagrammed runic folderol but Fucking Hell, Jake n Dinos Chapman's irony serrated Nazi diorama. So, anchored around trudge sludge riffing prowl sinister black metal buzz, melancholy deep psych ur-folk melody, hypnotick Sabbath bass drone n drum echo. Nous, never samey - except where it counts - and craves, nay, demands your attention.
Oddi wrth y brawd
kinell
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