Singer John Prosenjak gets guttural about snuff films, sacrificed virgins, the Antichrist, and an absent God. At face value, the songs read like standard-issue heavy-metal bombast of the blood, guts, and gore variety. But the CD's lyric booklet ends with words from the eminently quotable Jean Rostand, slyly linking the Youngstown quartet's self-described "stompcore" with the long and ignoble tradition of French transgressive literature. With bass drums set to double-pummel, "The World Is Empty" stands, furious, in the shadow of the stoner-grind kings of Obituary. The disc concludes with "Entry Wound for the Self-Abuser," where guitarist Jeremy Cibella plays as if he's squeezing bursts from a muffled Uzi. You can't bang your head hard enough to this.
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