Black vinyl LP, gatefold jacket, 12" insert, and 24"x24" poster.
And thus spoke the impious fraternity of the heinous ones. AMEN! And so the blasphemous acrostic was completed, as the fourth wind finally came blowing with razer destructive wrath what once spawned among profaned graves and defiled temples, completing the circle of the ancient and early initiation rites.
Proclamation prophesied their major rituals as four pillars of supreme desecration and unbearable turpitude, being “Nether Tombs of Abaddon” the last one and the vilest of them all.
While some bands evolve expanding their creative horizons intruding further on wider fields, this unholy trio isolates itself on the obsolete, the conservative, the orthodoxy, the tradition and their maniacal idolatry for the authentic underground cult. Paradoxically, such a static creative dirge doesn’t necessarily mean that this new and final tormenting opus of naughty beastliness is a plain violation attack. In fact is their most distinctive and diverse assault. Without denying nor abjuring even a single code of their narrow minded integrity, they’ve evocated a ritualism of slightly less reverberating vociferations but have certainly evoked a hundredfold infernal armageddon on which is their definitive and most unchaste offence.
Just succumb and kneel before the swarm of the possessed chained avernal voices that rape everything in sight throughout its entire length. Feel the grinding punishment of those prehistoric primitive drumming reminiscent of the Brazilian hammering. Follow the mesmerizing and bow to the simplicity of those hurtfulness bass lacerating lashes. Adore the anti liturgic rudeness of their crude riffing and the abyssal shrieks of their unmistakable solos. Adhere to the imagery of their graveyard marauding which is in fact as unique and as much of their very own by decree, as the Ross Bay and Bonfim sects. Surrender to a venomous vocational offering which as the apocalyptic final manifest it is, grows on an in crescendo of truculence which culminates on an orgy of mayhemic onslaughts of unpredictable proportions, due to the total lack and unallowance of niceties, brought mercilessly by this amoral horde.
The cursing conventicle that unchristened their style as Ritualistic Black Death Hecatomb in the initiating stage of their demo days, has surpassed on their climax of vengeance the threshold of the macabre and the unbelievable by far, achieving a sound which is more than music: the deafening muttering roar of hell itself.
- Daniel Rabadán