searing piss

Look, I’m sorry, but if you must insist on calling yourself Searing Piss then it’s a guaranteed given that someone like me is going to come calling. Heading out of the Washing Machine imprint of Grand Rapids, Michigan this is the noise niking self-titled debut twin set from the ever so angry Searing Piss, three dudes with obvious unresolved issues who across two short but blistered tracks, incidentally simply titled ‘A’ and er  ‘B’ might well split and polarise the listening community into two defined camps – those of the ‘what the f was that’ brigade and those of the ‘hell yes’ camp, who at this very moment are probably scrambling around for their variously prized Nepalm Death and Earache platters. There’s no niceties here mind, just a blistering and bludgeoning tidal wave of primal scorn scorched with a speed freaked hostility and an impacting incendiary that threatens like an all-out assault, free form festering freakery and caustic sand blasting replete with growls n’ grunts all shoehorned into a pair of two minute sonic headbutts.


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