without Internet Explorer,
in 1280 x 960 resolution
I am being highly charitable in thie review instead of giving this the review it deserves ( a big fat goose egg), because after all, this is a pioneering release. There, I said it. Now for the honest truth part; this sucks out loud.
The production is shite to say the least, a distorted blur of downtuned noise and muted drums--this was one of Colin Richardson's first productions, if memory serves and it shows. Some would consider this cool, but even an underground release needs a little more fidelity than this.
Once past the sound quality or lack thereof, the lack of playing ability comes into the picture, most damningly on Ken Owen's part, as it sounds as though he had just started playing drums a few months previously, and enthusiasm only counts for so much. Bill Steer's riffs all mush into a wall of mud with wet shit-tone bass flowing underneath them, and the vocals are blatantly effected out. The few solos are no more than chaotic whammy bar squalls and noises, Kerry King/Rick Rozz worship at its more blatant. Incomprehensible medical terminology for lyrics and hey presto, (AOL VOICE) you've got grind!
I can't say I really can single out any good tracks on this album, because they all are pretty much interchangeable. This is for completists and gore grind fanatics only, honestly. And I am not really either one of those two most of the time. The following album, "Symphonies of Sickness" was far, far better than this mess, and I can at least listen to that one and enjoy it.