Corrupt Moral Altar - Mechanical TidesHaving impressed with a couple of suitably nasty EP’s last year, Liverpudlian grindcore quartet Corrupt Moral Altar look set to get more pulses racing with the release of debut full-length “Mechanical Tides”, a thoroughly nasty collection of modern grind tracks that proves there’s something very rotten up north.

Opening track ‘Father Tongue’ blasts away in suitably pitiless manner but the several shifts in pace and tone indicates that a lot of thought has gone into this record and it won’t just be a route-one blast-fest. This is further suggested by the shifting unease of ‘Blood Harmony’ which adopts a slower, sludge-indebted pace in the manner of long-forgotten UK miscreants Charger at their most harrowing, with the weird sound effects and strangled gang chants creating an atmosphere of severe disharmony. However just when things were about to get a bit too miserable, the boozed-up, rocking grind of ‘Die Glocke’ and ‘Line Check’ show up to trash your speakers, steal your cider and probably piss on your carpet as the latter descends into another swaying sing-a-long that’ll have the neighbours ringing up the old bill in no time.

The near eight minute long ‘Wire Mother’ covers a lot of ground with its hefty chugging riffs, sneering punk attitude and unwillingness to stand in one place as once again the pace slows down to a crawl through broken glass as the band head to dirge territory with the terrifying screams, howling noise and trippy sound effects of before return to remind you that the bad trip at a sketchy house party you embarked on earlier in the evening isn’t over yet, although the vicious Pig Destroyer-esque barrage of riffs and screams that make up ‘Gin Dreams’ and the pitiless Brutal Truth worship of ‘Closed Casket’ is equally ruinous to your aching head.

Throwing in a strange curveball with the clean singing and relatively relaxed tones of ‘Admit Defeat’, Corrupt Moral Altar clearly have a lot more going on than your average grind band, and they just keep delivering the goods over forty-three minutes. It’s impossible to resist the grooves of ‘Sweet Talk’ or the blasting menace of ‘Insect Politicians’ while the longer, slower tracks are just as punishing in their heaviness. Add in a suitably British disgusted outlook on life and an appreciation for getting pissed and we have a new Fab Four on our hands. A belter of a grindcore album and one with lots to discover, provided you don’t mind getting your hands dirty.

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