You know, there are a few bands who so settled into who their identity, into what a/an [Insert Band Name Here] album should sound like, that diversion seems almost unthinkable. AC/DC and MOTORHEAD come to mind, RAMONES, NAPALM DEATH. Far from a slight, though, at least in the aforementioned instances, what we’re given goes beyond simple “branding”, revealing bands who don’t know how to be anything except themselves – it comes from within. It’s the marrow in their bones, for better or worse. Cleveland’s RINGWORM is one such band, and thus on its eighth, Death Becomes My Voice, most of us already know what we’re getting. Thankfully, in this case, it isn’t such a bad thing.

While the title track kicks off in the quartet’s typical, vigorous style, it’s on ‘Carnivores’ that the engine begins to churn, the Furnace (see what I did there?) begins to burn, straight past singe and into full-on scald territory. No time for pleasantries, barely a “Fuck You!”, but at 2:05, when a classic NUCLEAR ASSAULT-worthy thrash riff chokeslams us to the ground, you know RINGWORM’s still got a trick or three up the sleeve of its Champion hoodie. Slung low ‘n’ slow, ‘Acquiescence’ connects like an unexpected uppercut, and ‘God Of The New Flesh’ is a sonic shark circling the oblivious swimmer until the teeth close ‘round its midsection, then off to find more challenging prey. ‘Let It Burn’ lives up to its name, triphammer rhythm and staccato riff, but injected with a stomp recalling greats like KILLING TIME, JUDGE and, if we’re being fair, RINGWORM itself.

And it’s here, within Death Becomes My Voice, that the difference between predictability and familiarity becomes stark fucking clear. Recommended for fans of aggression.
Review By: Lord Randall

Death Becomes My Voice
4 / 6