Elastic, biomechanical grind that digs deep grooves in your consciousness and in your face. Shares some of Maruta’s robotic, entropic dementia; crushing, satiating slabs will often fly off spasmodically into disharmonic orbit. The whirling kick-speed and weighty guitar tone land Priapus squarely on the death side of grind. Lyrically and vocally intense in pursuit of its disconsolate ethos; miraculous anthems of self-hate.
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