ah … Godflesh, a one-time firm favourite around our gaff especially when their ear wares reared up amid the sea of sincere guitar twiddling folk being paraded on the nightly taste making John Peel wing ding, usually provoking the eldest, as a wee toddler, to flail and fling herself across the kitchen in what to us, was a tremendous manic punk slam dance, yet viewed by a casual observer might be taken for a re-enactment of the Exorcism albeit without the sick, swearing and blasphemy. Between you and me, she was always more a Nepalm Death and Atari Teenage Riot fan until the fateful day the Spice Girls called. Anyhow back to Godflesh, new album just out or about to wreak havoc, it be called ‘post self’ and this here is the title track, is it just me that thinks that this has something of the Killing Joke ’82 vintage about it, in which case throw in trace elements of 1919 and stir the apocalyptic cauldron with some seriously brooding industrial angst and oodles of ice cold despair and voila, stoner disharmony and disquiet at its most potent and pain stricken  

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