Ever since I finally heard those thunder-fucking Hell records (I and II) I’ve realized how little Boris really did to further the mission of the band whose album they were named after; there’s so much more work to do, and while Moloch would not be categorized directly with Melvins or Hell, there’s that slow, mud-thirsty grind in the guitars that charts a similar path through the guts of its enemies. It’s like I was telling my wife the other night, at 4 a.m.: You can’t listen to this stuff unless it’s fucking loud; I’m not going to make sacrifices, and you shouldn’t either, so have your woofers ready. Like Doom Snake Cult’s slow-grinds amped up a few notches, with a singer from the Anselmo school of hard knocks. Closure won’t let you have it because you’ve experienced too much. When they jump into their devilish, Tony Danza TDE, double-blast-beat phase it feels like the world is going to crack open like an egg and spill its yolk onto our melting faces; when they break it down it feels more old-school like maybe Morgoth or Entombed are forging steel in the depths of Mount Doom. Jesus I’m pretty fucking in awe of what these guys can do. Total sonic carnage with no limit to how fast or slow they can go, and packing four songs to one side of a 7-inch is sooo power-violence. Maybe it’s time we acknowledged that never went away, at least in the hearts of the extreme.
More about: Moloch / Closure
