Imagine a damp humid basement, silent but for the scurrying of rats and the constant electrical thrum of row after row of halogen lamps that shine upon parallel lines of flora. This tucked away industrialised basement garden that I describe clearly represents only one thing: A rehearsal room for grind tunes of course, innocent enough, letting loose rackets down in seclusion is a great way to prevent the neighbours from mistaking your caterwauling for the cries of ritualistic animal abuse. What about the plants I hear you say? See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil, smoke no evil.
One such creature to prowl such habitats would be Bungus, laced in that fetid humidity and pungent stench of manure turn fertiliser Bungus are a swampy discordance axis alike oiled in a gooey and formless death metal lubricant, not too dissimilar from a 1950's pulp depiction of a swamp beast. 6 noxious and erratic grooving jams including a cover of DxA Flow My Tears the Policeman Said befoul you in grind slosh and wallow. the intricacy of fret boarding dancing angular, tight and engaging, yet ultimately still covered in the muck and grime thrown by a dirty duo of vocals and crepuscular drumming. Absolutely killer stuff.
Best mates in bud, blast beats and ferrous tape Satanic Blood Ritual may draw inspiration from the same horticultural sources, but their sonic harvest is a wholly different piece of vermin altogether. Elevated tones ring on the higher register in an almost debilitating pitch as the band ignite a cacaphonous shit storm. Recording quality is squalid contributing to the vocal rasp, cutting heave of guitar work and the dulling thud of drums a rudimentary tincture that suits the play style and idealistically completes the aural aesthetic of strain. Those not fearful of suffering tinnitus no doubt will find Satanic Blood Ritual every bit as gruesome as their name.