“Gaze upon the fetid rot,
Weeping wounds of the world forgot”

“Gaze upon the fetid rot,
Weeping wounds of the world forgot”
A cavalcade into depravity.
A vortex, chaotic yet tinged with longing.
Excessive ramblings on timbres harsh, elating, groovy, boisterous, and psychotic.
Racists better get to running, because Dropdead’s back and banging the war drums.
“Hell is a reflection of myself, branded in the skin of those I love.”
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.