by Octopi Mills
"White Granite" introduces the latest album with some guitar work that has a southern sound in places and runs around the fret board with itself, keeping a melancholic sort of sound and screaming vocals are employed as a banal staple which one cannot do without in the style. A strumming, black metal-type guitar of a more modern affair are kept in the play and further employed in the staggered high strings with moments of somewhat jazz-like noodling around and self styled progressions happen all the time.
There is talk of challenges and maturity in the promos, and all the grand things a musician tells himself in such cases, or things said when all other words are squandered. Cleaner strings are arranged in their parts, as with much music of today and before; as is arranged moments of sad themes, and it all reminds me of a long, boring summer day when it's too bright and a minor headache keeps one shuffling around in circles around in the gravy of mediocrity. In the end it sounds like a few guys screwing around to get off the ground and go somewhere afar but return to the same old place. The swirl of the syrupy sounds is there nearly always, turning one's thoughts to molasses and thick confusion as the band wallows in being a band for the play length. My tongue becomes like my mind; useless and gibbering in the pure inability to say or do anything with the review as the men go on and on.
TORTURE CHAMBER >