I have found this bleak noise duo from somewhere around London fascinating for a while now. They first leapt onto my radar with their bitter, lump-in-the-throat throttle-fest that is last year’s full-length ‘Host Rider’. They are unique in two ways – they probably have the most outlandishly fluorescent album covers in the entire metal genre and, more importantly, they have honed a sound that is all their own and highly recognisable. And if you have successfully done both those things, why not capitalise on them?

‘Lych Milk’ is a brief annihilation – say more ‘electric chair’ than being boiled alive. The deafening mob have taken their sound and smashed it into fragments with a couple of baseball bats (signed by their last owner and more than likely to have seen a bit of action) and then scooped up their sorry mess before pumping it violently into what we call a ‘record’. From the harrowing, industrial stomp of opener ‘Gallows Wood’, through the rotten laundry basket that is ‘Sabbaticus’ and out the other side via the frontal lobotomy in the shape of ‘Footprints’, this is undeniably an onslaught.

Zebadiah Crowe are doing nothing new here at all – but that is the point. They are intriguing, murky and the musical version of the roughest of outlaws. This is ten minutes well spent and sets them up for whatever else they plan to reverse out of the gates of hell. Judas Priest, eat my hat.



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