Dollars don’t lie; these are the albums we bought this week:
Crowhurst - III (releases April 5):
Crowhurst's back catalog of a bajillion releases made it difficult for me to find an entry point, but a promo for III has me hooked. Hypnotizing baritone cleans mixed with flaying screams over a noisy/posty/blacky metal make all my parts tingle, and the contributions of Andy Curtis-Brignell (Caïna) as co-writer seals the deal.
Falaise - A Place I Don't Belong To:
The emo album title belies well-crafted atmospheric blackgaze. Heart-on-sleeve emotion leaves you open to someone coming by and taking a bite, but soothe the pain with this.
Venom Prison - Samsara
Death domination displaying all the tools of the trade with impeccable killing instincts and riffs to back them up. Delightfully dynamic metamorphoses, and sweet, sinister leads are stimulation enough, but the on-point politics and lyrics of emasculation really loosen my purse strings.
Triumvir Foul - VT-XXIV || Urine of Abomination
The flapping gurgle of blown out speakers, churning vomit, harrowing filth; the perfect soundtrack for pissing on the face of God. The right mind-erasing death at the right time.
Grave Infestation - Infesticide
Slop-spattering death where the bass is the boss; you know the deal, you’ve seen the Autopsy. I bought this drunkenly on Friday night when it seemed like a perfect neck exerciser, and I stand by that decision.
Deceased - Supernatural Addiction
Ghostly White has been slamming my cans since it came out, and a recent Deceased kick revealed a hole in my collection. Deceased rock that pure heavy metal by way of proto-death perfection, and sometimes I can’t resist King Fowley’s stony-voiced tales of horror; this one is a legit classic.
Isotope - Wake Up Screaming
Isotope are an old-school (neck) wrecking crew of Oakland scene vets who parade their love for d-beat hardcore in the most energetic manner possible. Killer Anti-Cimex cover a plus!
Stalker - Powermad
Stalker play the kind of speed metal that kills you in the crosswalk. No warning, no signal, just screeching wheels of burnt rubber and the howling cackles of the powermad.