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Punishing life-negating doom metal from Portland. First recording. Trio. Six cuts.
Decibel: Lung Molde ride out on a sound like mighty, onyx-armored black steeds of Frazettan musculature with bluish fire issuing from their nostrils in profile. Then the vocals come in--separating Lung Molde from the crowd of heavier-than-anything-ever doom/sludge--and instantly you know this is a record you’re going to love.
No Clean Singing: Lung Molde is a hard pull into a lightless pit, and while the band do a frighteningly effective job creating an atmosphere of hopeless collapse, the powerhouse riffs and jolting rhythms will keep you rooted in place, head moving, until they’ve finished the demolition job on your psyche. Prepare for a devastating experience, press play, and inhale the lung molde.
Invisible Oranges: Possessing the same heroin-withdrawal-driven spirit which brought us Dopethrone, Lung Molde’s brand of doomed depression is a crushing one.