Until recently, the prolonged absence of Eyehategod meant the field was wide open for a band constructed of nihilistic rage monsters. Enter Indian, a Chicago troop achieving a sort of hate-blackened grandeur on its fifth disc From All Purity. Leading with a nearly eight-minute track called "Rape," Indian sets an agenda of vein-throbbing acrimony and despair, a docket fulfilled by the emotional and audio violence-suffused "The Impetus Bleeds," "Disambiguation," and the hope-pulverizing "Directional." The quartet rumbles forward with chests crushed by a metric ton of faith-fucking sludge, while guitarists Dylan O'Toole and Will Lindsay try to disembowel themselves throat first. Indian throws a temper tantrum on From All Purity that goes beyond petulance and into an appropriately pure state of sanity-stomping anguish, purging the demons with sulfuric acid and a nail-studded baseball bat.
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