“As autumn attempts to blow its crisp, leaf-scented breeze through the still-humid, still-swamp-assy climes of Northeastern Florida, I can’t help but reach for my own aural equivalent of a pumpkin spice latte, a sound so comfortable that it’s akin to slipping on a well-worn hoodie that’s seen better days. Kiddos, it’s time to revisit the sounds of early 90s doom/death. I’m talking about reminiscing of days both Brave and Murderous, of paradise being lost, and of flowers withering.” Old dooms.
