����� Available on CD and gatefold vinyl, both emblazoned with striking foil-stamped artwork, with the vinyl accompanied by a digital download code.

����� One of my favorite bands on Neurot right now, this powerhouse outfit is back with their sophomore album of cynical, pulverizing industrial metal, rubbing our faces in societal rot via nine songs of pounding tribal drumming, droning metallic guitars, abrasively dialed-in electronics and gobs of mechanical malevolence. They've gotten some attention due to their lineup - the band is comprised of Mike IX Williams (Eyehategod), Scott Kelly (Neurosis), Bruce Lamont (Yakuza), Sanford Parker (Minsk) and the shadowy "Minister Of Propagana", Seward Fairbury - but once you start listening to this clanking, electrocuted nightmare, everyone fades into the shadows, merging together into a single malevolent entity.

����� As on their debut, the band delivers more of their apocalyptic industrialized heaviness, blending Williams's spoken word prose and pissed-off screams with Scott Kelley's monstrous bellow, and laying them out over slow-moving, seething blasts of jittery electronic rhythms, mutated dubstep-esque low-end crunch and paranoid skitter, all wound together with crushing metallic guitars, towering synths and swells of majestic, Neurosis-esque power. You can glimpse ghosts of Wax Trax past throughout songs like "White Man's Gonna Lose" and "Superglued Tooth", tantalizing traces of classic late 80s industrial metal, and it's not difficult to spot the other influences on Whip; you can hear echoes of everything from Ministry and Killing Joke to Swans and even Fields Of The Nephilim reverberating through these songs, but Corrections House end up synthesizing these influences into something that's distinctly theirs, resembling a bedraggled paramilitary outfit using sheet-metal percussion and brutal pneumatic drum machines and controlled bursts of violent noise to wreak psychological havoc on their audience. Traces of classic power electronics pulse throughout the album, which can be grim and grave but also hideously danceable at times, and whenever that pounding mechanized heaviness suddenly becomes strafed by Lamont's swirling sax, it makes my blood boil. And there are a couple of interesting left turns, like "Visions Divide" which blends ghostly acoustic guitar and mariachi-like synth horns into a haunting post-industrial soundscape that almost sounds like Coil performing a Morricone piece. Everything feels more focused than Last City Zero, an album that I was already a fan of; here, the grim industrial rock has evolved into something tighter, sharper, and denser, even as their deformed loops and sludgy riffs seem to be rotting and crumbling across each chapter of this dystopian communiqu�.