The self-seriousness of metal is easy to poke fun at. Saasta's own description of its sounds: "raw, blackened death metal soaked in decay, pressure, and quiet failure." On the other hand, the album pretty much delivers that, albeit with some of the catchiest riffage I've heard in ages.

Saasta Cesspool (Inverse Records)

And while the songs may be misanthropic, the band also supports anti-racism initiatives. Progressive Finns? Who knew? Yes, I'm poking fun again. But while all the trappings are, indeed, a bit silly, the music is righteously crunchy. The vocals ride the line between gruff and growled, the double-kick drum throttles and elements of doom, thrash and black metal swirl around and attack each other.

Could be, and perhaps should be, an unholy mess. But happily it's an unholy rollercoaster ride, blasting through highs and melting into possibly unfashionable lows. The sound is clean enough to bring out all the elements while retaining enough of a scrim to add the requisite theatricality.

In all, one of the great adrenaline rushes of the year. Nasty, noisy and yet totally moshable. If Slayer had ever dipped fully into the death and black metal pots, it might have come up with something like this in its Seasons in the Abyss era. This is, in fact, surprisingly that good. The songs are more quick blasts than epic roars, but there are plenty of solid (and welcome) similarities. One stellar ride.

Jon Worley