A lack of sincerity permeates this debut album. Everything smacks of a band that used to play "core" or maybe the typical Lamb of God/Pantera fare, but smelled dollars around the sludge swamp. The riffs here are deliverd with some energy, but are weary with being so typical and well-worn. Listen to the tired Southern-fried riffs that kick off "I Am Wendigod" and "Axe Murder Hollow" and tell me you haven't heard this a hundred times before. There's something about the vocals that doesn't seem quite right either...a little too light to match with the whiskey-fueled growl of Weedeater's Dixie Dave or Sourvein's T-Roy. The Yeti boys would like you to think they stumbled out of Hog Waller, Tennessee but somehow their true roots emerge...the streets of LA.
They are surely fans of the great psychological horror film "Session 9" as that masterwork is sampled frequently throughout. For that I salute them. But then they royally fuck everything up by ending the album with twenty minutes of owls screeching and crickets chirping in the woods. Yes, literally crickets chirping. I haven't heard such bullshit since the end of Sepultura's "Roots".
Maybe All Hail The Yeti can make a big step up on their next effort, but right now, they're just another blob of tobacco spit in the great sludge swamp.
Words: Dr. Mality ( Wormwood Chronicles )
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