Honestly, this is some vile slime right here. The third album from Danish death worshippers Undergang merges the stinking rot of early Obituary, the undead lollop of Winter and the cloacal grunts of something ancient and Finnish, the gurgling depths the vocals plumb only matched by the lunging low-end of the guitars. The whole thing has a hairy, hulking physicality about it that looms like a nightmare slowly taking shape, everything yellow of eye, dripping of fang and straining with a wanton desire to rend everyone in its path limb from limb. To top it off the songs are somehow catchy, the riffs memorable as well as mortifying and each song neatly structured without a note wasted or a shuddering blastbeat out of place. It is, frankly, masterful, and about as satisfying a journey across stygian waters as you could hope to take this year.
