Steve Colca and his diabolical coven still lurk in the shadows of Austin metallurgy, but that’s worked to the local foursome’s advantage. Like witches deep in the forest, Destroyer of Light brews a potent grind rising from the depths of a fever dream powered by late nights alongside H.P. Lovecraft, Dennis Wheatley, and a bottle of absinthe. On sophomore album Chamber of Horrors, the frontman’s burnished larynx alternates between craggy croon and seething growl, while the band’s sonic crush roils more versatility than outfits of this ilk usually manage. “Buried Alive” conjures occult detectives, back-alley sorcerers, and asymmetrical monsters driving one mad – mad, I tell you! – and “The Virgin” smashes its deviant satanic circle with Valhalla drums and an Orange amp stack. Destroyer of Light heralds the doom that came to Austin.
This article appears in August 11 • 2017.
