Dwarr's Animals is something we've touted as a lost metal masterpiece, unearthed from the home press vaults of the mid 80s, and it's hard to deny that that's what it is. But if you're simply thinking chugging thrash and technically proficient but emotionally lacking music, perhaps we need to explain further. The sounds here are intensely personal, the mood murky and demented; and while there are certainly riffs, and definitely shrieking solos, the drum n' bass rhythms bounce in rubbery, demented decadence while the vocals alternately brood deeper than Danzig yet brighter than Ozzy between up-tempo, drunken-stoner jams and piano-tinged, gutter balladry. It's different, like you.
We're talking about pure music, here; music birthed from the inner darkness of a human in a specific mental space in a specifically difficult time in his life, the sort that makes you feel like an animal. It's not clear that Animals could have been made under any other conditions, it's simply that singular and microscopically detailed. Dwarr's Animals kicks like some 70s heavy metal beef slab, but it's lo-fi nature provides an added layer of South Carolinian swamp haze that separates it from tradition and ultimately makes it extraordinarily relevant in today's musical era, where everyone's kicking their recording budget to the curb in favor of dusty tape-hiss and degeneration.
It's out now, it's ready for you. We're your Animals supplier-- and we're ready to administer a large dose.