Beneath Oblivion

One would be left with the impression that Cincinnati, OH is a deserted wasteland where the sun never shines if Beneath Oblivion were to be believed. What comes out on their latest record isn't the kind of thing that sounds like it could be inspired by the city's office-working, wheatgrass-drinking citizens. "Weighed down" doesn't begin to describe it ― "Atomic Mother" spends the lead half dragging through waist-deep sludge, becoming enveloped and then falling into a chaotic hell filled by shrieks from frontman Scott Simpson. Apart from their outright heaviness, the ability to alter tactics mid-fight is the band's greatest asset; they go back and forth between scorched earth riffs, dispersed acoustics, white noise and all-out obliteration ("Hope, The Deceiver"). This record is bleak, but with its darkness comes an ethereal quality, one that will have the listener sucked into a complete and uninterrupted session crawling down the tunnel From Man To Dust has burrowed.