Primal, out-and-out masterful mid-paced death. That elusive ideal many “old school” supplicants strive for unsuccessfully. Apex riffs riding manic rhythmic mastery at any speed, twisted by demented Demilich ephemera. Doomed passages give space for malefic melody and glimpses of beautiful battery. Mammoth crunch and the sweet involuntary crackling of one's cervical vertebrae. Sounds like it was recorded in a garage; was actually recorded in a garage. Perfection.
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