I asked the Missus to hit play on the CD player and initially thought the noise I heard was a garbage truck emptying the dumpster behind our apartment—lots of rumbling, some sort of industrial motor screeching and chugging. But it was Thursday, and our trash gets picked up on Tuesday. The noise I heard was actually the grinding, metallic sounds of Antigama. This stuff is brutal: gruff, guttural, distorted vocals that sound as if the singer’s vocal chords have been shredded with a weed whacker; mind-boggling time changes, starts and stops; frenzied drumming; violent, punishing riffage. Antigama go straight for your insides and rattle your core, sure to shake loose the shit from even the most constipated bowels. I can almost get into it when they find a groove, like on “Bloodmaker” and “Who Is My Enemy,” but the rest of it is completely lost on me. Great if you’re into this kinda thing.