Your Limit EP
As rattling as an intro as you could hope to hear from a band like this, the title track plays like some fucked up march that leads into a slow skip. OOZEPUS maintain a necessary trudge and assembly line repetition throughout most of Your Limit, a mouthful of viscous fluid spewed across every track. For "Insult," a wailing guitar melody pierces through the track's industrial crawl. It's probably the album's most humanizing moment, that expressive tone trailing across the ugliness beneath.
Truly the only speed OOZEPUS manage is via "CYN," its pace burdened by the music's weight. With surges of guitar sound coursing though its rhythmic upswing, "CYN" cuts a carnage-riddled path to "Farmers," a fractured, doom-laden near-9 minutes that, at points, seems to recall Greg Ginn's numerous attempts at Iommi'izing Black Flag. The track eventually shifts into multiple fits of percussive turbulence until the song ends.
I bet this would sound great on a cassette.
Letters From A Tapehead
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