“Death on Fire wants you to know that Witch Hunter isn’t your grandpa’s melodeath. If that Playboy-for-Pyramid-Head cover doesn’t convince you, one spin through its prickly hollow will. There will be none of that slickly-produced astronaut cheese metal you babies lap up so greedily, not today. The music of one-man band Tim Kenefic is ugly and coarse, like clawing at a scab that will never heal.” Pick your poison, pick your scabs.
