Circle of Dead Children

Circle of Dead Children

The Genocide Machine


Fuckin’ fierce, absolutely unrelenting, an aural holocaust. This is the sound of the aptly monikered Circle of Dead Children. Seventeen blasts in nearly 29 minutes, The Genocide Machine displays CODC as the most urgently intense and downright ugly grindcore troupe this side of Pig Destroyer • both elements long dormant in the hyperblast scene, if that means anything to you • the band plowing through shattered shards of mince-core, crust-punk, and brutal death metal with a sickly abandon and vocal lacerations that equally probe the dankest regions of the bass tone and the upper stratosphere of treble: not drop-dead original, but drop-dead lethal any way you cut it. And with occasional forays into horrific Japanoise ambience (“From Eros to Thanatos,” “CH/OR,” and “Isabella’s Nightmare”), and armed with an impossibly bent lyrical scope (among others, “It’s a Bloody Day When You Get Your Head Nailed to a Cross,” “Only One Per Coffin,” “When We Make the Clouds Scream,” “Extreme Cannibal Smoke!”), these blast-furnace berzerkers’ fruits taste that much sweeter • that is, like decade-old septic tank sewage and acid-ravaged sheet metal. Poetic, if you will. The Genocide Machine? Damn right.

Necropolis Records, PO Box 14815, Fremont, CA 9439-4815;

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