Grill Marks

Dissonant power chord clangs, alongside squelching Pantera/"A New Level" reminiscent chugger-groove and caustically gruff, C-monster style execrations surmount the mount on Pit Lord's sophomore single, an autonomous, band camp(y) / independent production which knows no better, tail-pipe sucking introduction!

Nay, and behold the D-port, Illinois two-some with a hankering for chew-some, grindingly fulminating rhythm(s) -- throughout this slightly-over four minute cookhouse dirge, we behold sentiments of char-broiled and ever-stinky, striated ululations bordering on the cantankerously menacing, and/or over-the-slop, second half, bi-atonal-octave charted ominous-ity, graced, no less, by elongated cries on behalf of PL's vocal sector, debilitating blast beats, and, lastly, broken down, shifty, outright wan slow down to sirloin town(e).

Moreover, a total lack of leads, er, doesn't get my goat, so for this, I am despondent. However, buddy's jocular, if not badly tasteful, T-shirt caption compels me to ascribe necessary, de rigueur bonus point...