Now this is more like it! If there's a band right now who deserve to be hailed as underground gems it's the Massachusetts quartet Soul Remnants. Why? Because they're doing it the right way. These gruesome b*stards take their craft seriously and never waver from the cardinal virtue of writing songs you'd enjoy—if death metal's your thing, that is. Having amply supped from a pool of influences occupied by the likes of Cannibal Corpse, Suffocation, Immolation, Carcass, and Kataklysm, the trio now inflict their gruesome chopwork upon mankind with eight punishing tracks bursting with brutal songs that would make Dethklok squeal like little girls. Weighed down by testicular riffs and infernal rhythm work, Plague of the Universe will worm its way into the heart of anyone infatuated by punishing heaviness lathered with deep guttural growls.
Even better, the production here is ace. Not too polished, but gritty enough to convey the album's atmosphere. While their lyrics don't exactly break new ground, the songwriting and musicianship here is fully matured, giving the listener no reason to fear lackluster tunes. Right from its opening salvo Chopwork through the punishing twists and turns of Bloodsick until the devastating proportions of the bleak title track arriving at the bitter end, Soul Remnants have delivered death metal double chocolate cake. It's gnarly AND delicious to hear.
To think there are but three mischievous fellows responsible for this delightful abomination. Assessing their skills is a waste of time, whether its Thomas Preziosi's impeccable work as guitarist/bassist or Mitchell Fletcher's infernal throat, it's flying colors for these necro-fueled wackos. If only there were more bands like Soul Remnants the world would have a much livelier metal scene.
Weighed down by testicular riffs and infernal rhythm work, Plague of the Universe will worm its way into the heart of anyone infatuated by punishing heaviness lathered with deep guttural growls.
Though I lived through the day, I never cared much for W.A.S.P. back in the day. Between them and Motley Crue and their goofy sadomasochistic pseudo-Satanic leather posturing, they seemed only cheap imitations of Alice Cooper's ... [ Read More ]