Fancy some blackened crust? Mexico has you covered. This is some violent, lo-fi metal that is equal parts Venom, Kreator, and Toxic Narcotic. Like the sample says, "I hate happy music...just shut (TFU)." Profanator have a mission: kill the hippies, shave mohawks on their corpses.
I was initially ready to classify this as some big, dumb, comfort food metal. But I must apologize profusely after hearing the guitar. Like The Haunted in a tin can, Profanator make both Gothenburg and thrash riffs their bitch while rocking the D-beat from hell. Some of these hooks may have singed the hair right out of my ear cavities.
Then you have the hardcore punk vocals to rip the remaining tissue from your throat. Think Black Flag meets Slayer. The delivery is menacing and surely delivered from a sweaty basement stage. I think Rollins himself could do little more than nod with approval. After the show he'd probably say, “Hey kid, catch” while tossing his sweaty gym shorts like Mean Joe Greene.
Every aspect of this album is taken to 11. From the thrashy solos to the relentless speed, this is what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object: it bulldozes right the fuck through it. I think I need a shower. Get your wadded-up $7 out of the couch and on bandcamp.