Seemingly undecided as to whether or not to birth itself, The Third Plague begins with a barely perceptible throb and grows in size like the steady swelling of a tumour. With a gradual layering of guitars, harmonium, voice and viola Asva carve slow patterns in white noise so dense it’s tangible, welling up malignantly before fading out with an albescent sputter, knowing full well that the threat they leave hanging carries more weight than its actual execution.

Recorded live, side b’s A Trap For Judges is a more physical affair, relying on the slow descent of doom-laden chord progressions and craven, witchlike shrieks as much as the subtle sounds underpinning them. The combination weighs oppressively on the spirit, an almost unbearable dirge dragged through the dirt before crumpling inward with a grim sense of finality, ending somewhat appropriately for a band in the business of total fucking negation.