“”Noise” is a term often used to describe metal by those who haven’t yet submersed themselves in the genre. When you’re not used to being assaulted by distortion and screams, the whole panoply of extreme genres undoubtedly poses a seemingly impenetrable thicket of bloodied thorns; it seems insane that people would choose to settle in such an environment, make their homes there, and grow the forest ever greater. Indian are the fetid leaf litter of the forest, the floor of grimy, wet, compacted remains where plantae gives way to fungi and fungi to bacteria.” Kronos weaves a strange tale of forests, mulch and mouse bones as he unveils an early candidate for Album of the Year.
