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Some Dead Bodies – Infernal Death [EP]

some dead bodies – infernal death [ep]

Let me report from personal experience: Some Dead Bodies’ “Infernal Death” is just straight-up great make-out music—if your make-out partner is a running circular saw. Funereal organ with a zombie hunger yowl gets our lovers’ blood hot in the opening track “Tomb of Shattered Bones” but the next three minutes splatters it everywhere. By the end of that track, you’re prepared to hold onto this M-80 of an EP until it takes your fingers off (sorry, your hot and heavy DeWalt’s gonna have to diddle itself from now on).

If you’re listening to the second track “Escaping the Confines of the Crypt” at the appropriate volume (i.e., eardrum-shredding), you might mistake your aural experience for the thrill of being thrown down a garbage chute with a dozen or so cinderblocks: punkish fury in the drums, death metal screams that grind ancient stone before ascending to a machete-slashing black metal treble, with the lead guitar coming in like the futile sirens of help that will come too late. The next track “Skinwalker” sounds the martial beat of the army of the undead and might just drive you to your nearest enlistment office. Dynamic vocals clamor for the blood of innocents nearing the battlefield until the track rips opens up with a lead guitar line that sand-blasts the skin off your face like a hurricane gale full of ground glass, ending with a call-back to the opening organ—the adrenaline-soaked cool-down of two fighters gulping down their nosebleeds before finishing the fight once and for all.

The last, and in my opinion best, track has a riff to make you and that circular saw climax together: the pendulous doom of a rusted scythe swinging back and forth giving way to the slow carving of a botched execution. The combination of screams and guitar here put one in the state of the beheaded, arterial blood filling up your ear canal and muffling your last screams, while drums signal the inescapability of your situation; the track ending with all the horror of a stump spurt-gurgling blood that will not finish the circuit to its heart. Get yer girl: it’s no fucks and chill tonight, babe. (AJP)