This super-limited cassette features one long twenty-minute track each from blackened noise outfit Crown Of Bone and the awesome Cali duo Fields of Rape, who offer up some wicked lycanthropic no-fi black/noise metal on their side.

Crown Of Bone is up first with "Covenant of Demons, Part I", a pure harsh noise wall that sounds like a waterfall of broken glass heard from across a considerable distance. As this staticky, hissing maelstrom takes root, monstrous death metal style vocals swoop in, inhuman shrieks and roars reverberating across this vast wall of high-end distortion. Over the duration of the piece, additional feedback and scraps of half-glimpsed melody are layered across the oceanic hiss, sending shocks of vicious brain-drill noise and blurred traces of ghostly sound strafing through CoB's black blizzard meditation. In the last minutes of the track, it transforms into something much more akin to black metal, a lone tremolo riff drifting over the waves of black hiss, finally dropping off into a pit of depraved vocals and piercing drone.

This is the first time I've heard Fields Of Rape, and I ended up loving their mix of no-fi, lunatic black metal and sputtering, murky drones. Their side is comprised of several untitled tracks, starting off with a murky din of pounding, caveman oil-drum rhythms and rumbling distortion; an actual drum kit starts to make its way into this steady pounding beat as the rhythm grows slightly more complex, followed by some totally wrecked black metal guitar smearing its droning, dissonant chords over that barbaric backbeat. It's like some super primitive black industrial, a stoned cross between an early Test Dept demo and a rehearsal tape recorded on a broken Tascam by some Finnish black metal maniac in his bedroom. It eventually drops off into a long stretch of minimal crackle at the end, but then rips back into another blast of noisy galloping black metal, occasionally veering off into a barbaric drum solo, and strewn with some fucking awesome maniacal vocals that sound like the singer is howling at the moon over the frostbitten blackness. The rest of the side veers back and forth between these frenzies of stumbling, super low-fi black metal and the long passages of minimal droning feedback, until the band finally breaks down into a crumbling, washed-out melody at the end, transforming into a muted din of keening feedback, industrial buzz and ghostly distorted drift that starts to sound like some softened, diffused version of Wold's black blizzard blasts. Definitely one for the Legion Blotan fans to check out.

Limited to fifty copies.