Cianide Gods of Death

Cianide Gods of Death
Talk about toiling away in the underground. This Chicago, IL-based band have been at it since 1988, with every full-length (this is number six) coming out on a different, way obscure label. Cianide here sound like a group of dudes who have certainly endured the hardships of being neglected, even by people who love the underdog, every crusty, Celtic Frost-worshipping riff (see "Forsaken Doom" for several of them) cutting through the hoary production with a sneer, snarl and middle finger raised high. Although the album is death metal through and through, all sludge-y riffs that come across as the bastard, unloved spawn of Bolt Thrower and Obituary rehearsal outtakes ("Dead and Rotting" and "The One True Death"), the spirit of old Celtic Frost (and, to a lesser degree, Venom and Hellhammer) is all over the place in Cianide's utter disregard for everything except the pursuit of the evilest, most bad-ass riff. It's a pursuit they're single-mindedly chasing on this disc, as the drummer attempts to keep up with the guys, who are standing up, no one smiling, everyone thinking morbid thoughts, tuning down, down, down and playing, somehow, even lower. (Hells Headbangers)