Two tracks of coarse, determined grit from Sweden’s servant of noise, J.S.H. An outpouring of physical exertion rendered in a crunch that’s dynamic and truly heavy. Thoughts of manhandled rusty material, elbow deep, rummaging through the open chest of a great metallic predator succumbed to age and wear. Hand around the throat to choke the squeals.
Dubbed on black cassettes with on-body labels and four panel j-card.