Hailing from some un-named place in the South-East UK apparently more famed for it's dire smack habits than music scene (what, London?), this disaffected gang of gut dissolvers are a sort of looking inwards Gallows of the disembodied thrash worlds. Dismantling the recently re-emerging classic thrash menu, already in drastic danger of falling into the trap of formula fascism - shovelling heaps of kidney collapsing hardcore chug into it's ever freshly eviscerated torso, they appear to be laying waste to their stagnant provincial town and small town mentalities with a scintillatingly astringent attack of dark, scathing savagery, as opposed to the Watford mob's wider ire. Opening with an enticing flurry of almost spaghetti western mantras is entirely appropriate as they suck on souls like a starving plains drifter as they clatter through a twenty minute tirade, whirling your wilting innards through a NASA gravity machine on waves of unyielding incandescent quaking, clattering shell-hole crawl. Despite occasional flourishes of the dark growl vs melodic chorus approach they never succumb to the emasulated screamo nor does it matter a whirrr or age lessen it's impact that the each five track middle finger, especially the exultifically magnificent Through The K-hole and Hope in Silence brazenly brandish their wares in a similar manner (ie power) as Battery and nor again do they flesh this skin-shredding scowl out with insidply intricate fret cramp. Rage with this machine not against it.