On Catastrophic Reconfiguration, this IL death metal outfit coughs up spores from mycetozoic muck, Molder exhume ten tracks from very recent, very shallow burials in a graveyard that’s been filled to the brim for thirty years. It’s not slick but slicked, damn near dripping with plasmodial ooze that obliviously recycles its carbon with a charmingly contented stupidity.
