Brutal Truth
End Time

The stench of the end of times is so close that you don't even need to open the window to notice its rotting presence. And the countdown seems perfectly sealed by the existence of Brutal Truth. More than twenty years of descent into the foundations of decaying cities, exposed wires sizzling and falling into pools of urban sludge. And few entities from the bothersome rusty hive of grindcore can boast collaborations with the Melvins. What more could you want? Simply "End Time".

The hour has finally struck, the timeline crumples onto a concrete block on which the anathemas of past civilization are written, which, stretched to its extreme, created monsters of this caliber. If you withstand the sludge fury of "Malice", mental confusion at extreme levels with no escape, repetitive atonality, putrid noise filled with a guttural voice from God knows where, or the exhausting pachyderm power of "Warm Embrace Of Poverty", with guitars exhausting over just a bit more than two riffs amid off-key squeals and a bass mimicking an engine, or the furious senselessness of the title track, played with indecent nervousness that flows through nerves, making it difficult to create complete loops and the message is more than clear "our future is now/our world is ending/our life for disdain has brought about our end time/it’s our time" until it turns into a melancholic tail on an unexpected ending, or again to the HC with the thickness of a tank launched at a thousand per hour on a road full of zombies in "Small Talk", and the finale with suffocating and amorphous slowness of "Drink Up" that tears the skin from the body, with microprogressions of guitar here and there drowned in the bleach of the hate of horrid feedback, if you withstand all this then yes, you can enjoy the last moments of a world that has stunk of death for quite a while.