Extreme Noise Terror: A Holocaust In Your Head 12"
Away from the grandeur, and although their line-up history is full of potholes - the key to unlock this classic release by Extreme Noise Terror is the double-edged vocal prongs from ENT founders Phil Vane and Dean Jones and the black-avalanche guitars of Steve Hurley (not forgetting the drum stool occupied by Mick Harris, soon to be of Scorn during the recording of this album, and Doom’s Tony "Stick" Dickens). Statement is as good as any opening gambit for a band - a trail of sludge setting fire to itself consuming the raw, political ashtray mantras spewed into its thick, corrosive grip. Another Nail in the Coffin suitably devastating the senses as a wrecking ball swings from its chain into the side of a condemned building, brick by brick. Eaten. Buried.
Away from the grandeur, and although their line-up history is full of potholes - the key to unlock this classic release by Extreme Noise Terror is the double-edged vocal prongs from ENT founders Phil Vane and Dean Jones and the black-avalanche guitars of Steve Hurley (not forgetting the drum stool occupied by Mick Harris, soon to be of Scorn during the recording of this album, and Doom’s Tony "Stick" Dickens). Statement is as good as any opening gambit for a band - a trail of sludge setting fire to itself consuming the raw, political ashtray mantras spewed into its thick, corrosive grip. Another Nail in the Coffin suitably devastating the senses as a wrecking ball swings from its chain into the side of a condemned building, brick by brick. Eaten. Buried.
Description
Away from the grandeur, and although their line-up history is full of potholes - the key to unlock this classic release by Extreme Noise Terror is the double-edged vocal prongs from ENT founders Phil Vane and Dean Jones and the black-avalanche guitars of Steve Hurley (not forgetting the drum stool occupied by Mick Harris, soon to be of Scorn during the recording of this album, and Doom’s Tony "Stick" Dickens). Statement is as good as any opening gambit for a band - a trail of sludge setting fire to itself consuming the raw, political ashtray mantras spewed into its thick, corrosive grip. Another Nail in the Coffin suitably devastating the senses as a wrecking ball swings from its chain into the side of a condemned building, brick by brick. Eaten. Buried.
