Southern sludge-strike Forebode bestows on us all the hidden knowledge about the mass in the self-titled debut EP.
In the track “The Primitive Realm,” a possessed unknown load bends backs and breaks spines, burying the strongest Atlantes underneath. Texas, where else could such a deadly asphalt paver be encrusted like this? Wriggling, mutated snake-riffs, not even voice, but the painful bestial hyper-instinct, and the bursting drumming are bogged down in this poisonous pace, that with each blow increases the weight of this block oppressing the unreasonable space, and there’s no escape from it.
“The Primitive Realm I dwell, no future, trapped in my own hell.”
