Their self-titled record is like getting a brain massage from a warbling synth and a trap snare.
Fueled by folklore and guitar solos.
Invigorating and alive, contrary to the deathly genre of which it belongs.
This is a fearful record for sure, but it is a fear that cannot ebb away simply because you are not in control of it. In other words, paranoia.
Taking the concept of catharsis to an unspoken place few dare to venture by infusing something rarely used in extreme metal: beautiful carnage.
With the state of the world as it is, it’s really no surprise that so many new death metal bands are erupting onto the scene.
While you’re nursing your rusty tetanus-filled wounds, be prepared to dance your way to a cyber beat.
Filthy and Frenzied.
Eccentric, cerebrum-liquefying savagery.
Russia’s Dunwich remind us how even little brush strokes can shape a wholly haunting landscape.
Immolating our cerebrums.
Scott Stapp didn’t died for our sins.