Impenetrable onslaughts of filth-sheen crunch-stomp industrial that carry with 'em glitch-outs aplenty/saxophone/the tormented wails of the damned, absolute antagonism seemingly much more than just a painted on attitude: this is a fitting soundtrack for an increasingly plausible dystopian future of merciless machinery and mass shootings, or in a more optimistic light, for instigating a prison riot and then torturing the captured escapees. A midway acoustic slice of bellowing-storm folk is a welcome changeup while maintaining an apocalyptic aura, while charming titles like "Crossing My One Good Finger", "Superglued Tooth" and "When Push Comes to Shank" cement the image of disfigured miscreants as its makers -- grudge-riddled perhaps, but amidst something that resembles a sense of humor. Screams are accordingly vicious-n-acidic, though he's not quite a maestro when it comes to spoken word and mumbling. But hey, that's what all those layers are good for.
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