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The
slavering teenage beast known as death metal is agro enuff, really, what
with the triple-speed chainsaw riffery and the demon barking and all, but if
you DID wanna out-psycho Cannibal Corpse, how would you pull
off such a cunning stunt? Well, ya COULD throw a Noo Yawk accent on
it. Pyrexia (Webster’s sez: “a rise in the temperature of the
body; frequently a symptom of infection” )sound as if they could just as
easily be one o’ those spine-snapping NYC fight-core bands, if they were as
concerned with, uh, Krishna Awareness and “unity” (or whatever those kids
are screamin about these days) as they are about sucking the marrow outta
the rotting bones of Christ and like, bloodstorms and cranial surgery with
power tools. What I mean to say is, Pyrexia are fuckin’ TOUGH,
and that’s pretty rare in death metal circles, really. Usually, it’s kind of
a geek-fest, a shut-in, shred-head, “No girlz allowed!” kinda adolescent
fantasy. Sad, but true. Not here, man. Here, it’s a non-stop battering ram
of corrosive, whiplash Slayer riffs and an effective, deathly rasp
that only devolves into that ‘gargling with yr own splintered incisors’ once
in awhile. And whilst it all leans a little too hard on the ‘brutality’
pedal to be Thrash N’ Roll, it’s one of the ‘catchiest’ death metal rekkids
I’ve heard since one of those Swedish jobs with the keyboards and the goth
girls. And, ya know, THAT stuff is for pussies. Anyway, this is one
ferocious slab o’ metal, Jack. If ya lean in this direction, check these
maniacs out. ________________________________________________________________________________ |