• Rating:
Unhealthy methods, guitars like shredded metal sheets, precise and sharp like glittering scalpels.
The bile spill of "HOD" serves as a business card, the insurmountability of the sordid sonic mass driven by a perpetually overloaded rhythm section seems to implode and explode at any moment, the filtered voices buried by the chasms of guitar sound emerge laden with a suffering reminiscent of Unsane, everything is scabrously thrown at the eardrums without any sort of warning.
The plots twist in exciting dualisms between feverish emotions, painful and chilling schemes as lucid as they are tense and treacherous, metropolitan clangs that do not disdain musicality and some rough melodic structures, always provided they too are soaked in tar and malaise. "Gut Bug" twists upon itself between centrifugal noise and a circular mantra of afflicted melody, there's the thick disemboweling groove of "Splinter", "Castration Anxiety", bare, nervous and on the brink of collapse, yet everything flows in a damn wonderful way, the saturated, organic, and terrifying sound fuses with precise and ruthless rhythmic frameworks, a bespectacled Steve Albini behind the mixer in the torture room produces these Los Angeles gentlemen in a manically perfect way.
Like looking into a heart of darkness.
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