Filthy, benzo-soaked scum-metal with the throat ripped right out. These Iowa degenerates spewed out this one album back in 2008, an all-instrumental thug-sludge freak-out that included some key personnel from cult U.S. noisecore outfit Captain 3 Leg. But this rib-smashing power-trio goes for straight heaviness, at times evoking a depraved, blasphemous, humorous High On Fire. Generally, this gruesome ultra-heavy sludge-metal is infected with the same bacteria as stuff like Melvins, (early) Sloth, Eyehategod, Fistula, Iron Monkey and a massive helping of classic doom-death a la Autopsy and even Celtic Frost. All of this gets fused to crushing mid-paced dirtbag grooves and a smatter of crossover thrash riffs and whiplash tempo changes, but these creeps also smear a droning, drugged-out freakiness, Sabbathian sliminess, and sense of absurdism to their insane heaviness that sometimes also reminds me of a way more metal-damaged Upsidedown Cross or Kilslug.

The bass guitar is so blown out and filthy that it stinks up the room and gives everyone a case of salmonella, that iron-clad guitar chugging out an endless salad of righteous thrash and leg-breaking slow-motion dirge, the rhythm section locked in tight, everyone merged into a hideous onslaught of scummy metalpunk and bloated sludge and tongue-in-cheek track titles. This shit absolutely rips. In spite of some of the goofy song titles, rampant film samples (which come from everything from 1984, Bad Boy Bubby, and Ghostbusters, to Ed Wood and classic "Satanic Panic" TV moments, proving their elevated cultural tastes), and acid-tongued attacks on social conformism, the music itself is deadly serious, a total battering ram.

And yet the Meth-heads continue to mix it up: eerie guitar leads drift over the knuckle-dragging nihilism of "Abandoned Messiah", with just a pair of gargantuan riffs crawling along the floor in a trail of their own bile and puke, squashing your face into paste. "Room 101" delivers a blast of awesome brain-damaged mosh until it transforms into a languid slowcore jam with jagged soloing. The congealed feedback and nauseating skree that turns the aptly titled "The Wrath Of Sasquatch" into a ridiculously heavy pigfuck assault. Sicko motor-boogie with "Electric Buzzard" serving up some real sleazy swing before de-volving into the album's most pulverizingly brain-dead sludge groove of 'em all...holy shit. Songs just bulldoze over you like that gnarly halftrack on the gory wasteland cover art that sorta looks like something Away from Voivod could have cooked up , often with no real terminus point; you could loop a bunch of these tracks and just get hammered for eternity. Some real head-in-a-vise shit.

The most fucked up move is when they kick off the nearly half-hour long "Frostillicus", which starts off with the most awesomely boneheaded riffcrush - imagine an utterly brainfucked Celtic Frost loooooong gone on so many percocets and shots of absinthe that they just keep grinding away at the same riff or three until the heat-death of the universe.....but after a significant time, it all drifts into a field of intrusive feedback droning on and on for-ev-er , like they just went on another beer run and left their instruments leaning against their amps and the recording still going, and just when you think you can't take anymore of that persistent, abrasive hum and whine, in comes a new wave of garbled amplifier snot and even more howling skree that stretches on and on and...

Repetitive and earth-chewing and brutalizing. The cover art comes from Andrew Walter, while the interior booklet features scrawl from the mighty Food Fortunata (Wheelchair Full Of Old Men)...