Coffins have been around long enough that you should really know what you’re getting by now, but in case you missed the big pile of memos on your desk their umpteenth release offers yet another slab of vile, groove-laden death-doom. Like master torturers who’ve learned how to torment every last raw nerve Coffins have refined their work to the point where it’s some sort of grotesque art form, with every guttural vocal line and limb-mangling riff perfectly deployed. Despite it all being clammy with the cold, dank pall of the grave there’s also a twisted sense of joy to be found, and this is arguably the most worrying thing about it – not only are these sick freaks supremely good at pulling pieces off of you with pliers, they also happen to really enjoy what they’re doing.
