Bloody hell, you know when the first detuned note hits that you’re in for some pretty dense stuff with this one, and it just doesn’t let up from there on in. Guttural, metallized crust punk is the order of the day, and while the bat-winged spectre of Sacrilege looms large over proceedings you could see anyone with a passing fancy for Doom, Bolt Thrower or even Coffins getting themselves in a lather for the mercilessly intelligent songwriting, desperation-fuelled vocals or the simple fact that every single riff is like a shovel’s worth of wet earth being heaped on as you take your last few shallow breaths.
