This record does not belong on this plane of existence. The cover alone—a painting of a leather jacket-clad demonic metalhead wielding his glowing green, laser-shooting, toxic sludge-filled guitar penis—is clearly from some alternate reality in which the citizens of the world are governed by the unseen power of heavy metal. The music only confirms that some sort of inter-dimensional wormhole must have temporarily opened up and allowed this to slide out of that magnificent metal realm and into Razorcake headquarters. It’s a searing mix of early thrash and new wave of British heavy metal, combined with lethal doses of punk and pure rock’n’roll. The songs move fast, but refuse to leave you in the dust. They carry you with them on the sidecars of their guitar solo cycles, while the singer’s cesspool triumphant voice guides the way through the darkness ahead, grinning. Yes, this is truly from another realm where metal is everything. The back cover says it’s from Denmark, but I know better.