Probably more famous for its alluring Disney princesses now, Sweden was once known for a hell hole of insipid demons raging dereliction through the purest form of magic that the world has ever known. It was a time of grotesque beauty and pallbearers Entrails imbue those characteristics without fault.
Without any fucking around this album is an intense and deep love letter to the hoards of scum. A classic unadulterated piece of filth. It is sweeter than pulling nails in a bookish re-enactment of the king of thieves parable. Conditioning and nativities aside the music is fresh for a genre that spans over nearly three decades.
The guitar work is brutal, concise, and flawless in constructing tunes that are not fucking about just for show. Every flick has meaning playing behind its execution and the coherence is refreshing, complimented by the hoarse and unobtrusive narration of Joakim Svensson. Riffing on such popular tracks as the ubiquitous funeral dirge, Obliterations’ penchant for timely changes and epic melodies are select. Obliging an aria of imposition that is strangely approachable.
Blissfully this album sounds like doom. The sort of doom you want to participate in. The kind of doom you want to be a natural energy source for in a mosh pit. If viewed as a sentiment to the waxing Stockholm scene then it is honorific to the music parleyed by that famous era, but as a new beginning it is more succulent than taught brains.