Hogra’s 7-inch slab of death is so pig-fucked it’s absurd, a moveable noise feast of burbling underbelly, buzzing insects, whirling tornadoes, shamanic-trance voices, and sheets of static blown by a vicious wave of hell-wind. It’s like when Frodo puts on the ring and the conscious world disappears and all that is left is a nightmarish dreamscape of sharp colors and shadows. But here I go gettin’ ahead of myself again; that’s just the extremely lovable Side A. Flip-flop this sum’bitch for a different approach to non-metal mayhem: Al Jourgensen man-shouting, more of that ass-flapping wind, and a dangling rhythm that almost distracts, slapping the face every so often when there’s already plenty to mull over. Get OFF, guy!
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