Oof! This one hits you hard in the solar plexus like a bagful of wet sand, Xibalba dealing in bellicose roars and a guitar sound so low they had to fucking drill for it. The basic idea is anachronistic but, at this point in hardcore history, sounds curiously fresh, the band scenting their territory somewhere between Disembodied’s low-end pummel and the dissonant, otherworldly lurch of Bloodlet. However much you poke around there’s zero fat to be found amid the enormous chugging riffs, the things grinding up against each other until they finally interlock, occasionally backed by shrill guitar squall or dark periods of threatening ambience. If there’s one fault to be found it’s that the brow-beating mid-level pace sometimes edges towards monotony, but chances are you’ll want to man up and push on through regardless or simply take five, swig a protein shake and throw yourself back in once your quivering muscles return to normality.
