THE MEADS OF ASPHODEL

Running Out Of Time Doing Nothing GODREAH

Brit metal’s mad monks go batshit wild in the ruins

“Wake up, you wankers!

It’s the end of the fucking world!” may be the greatest opening statement on a heavy metal record ever. For those familiar with the Meads, the Brits’ irresistible mixture of cynicism, mischief and musical wrongness has never felt more pertinent than it does in these terrifying times. Running… artfully nails the chaotic spirit of the age. Somewhere amid the genre-mincing lunacy of songs like Cockroach Marionettes and Recollections Of A Hand Loom-Weaver lurks a robust core of ragged black metal, but we are deep in hallucinogenic, fuck-the-rules territory here. From plaintive acoustic folk and woozy soundscapes, wonky electronics to symphonic bombast, it’s all going on, and it’s utterly hypnotic.

FOR FANS OF: Sigh, Vulture Industries, Devin Townsend