Back with their musky, technicolor splatter scuzz, The Death Wheelers don’t dare ease the throttle on their drive to create soundtracks to what would be the world’s greatest fictional bikesploitation and gore film fest. These Quebec-based zombie grease goons manage to evoke the sticky floor and stale popcorn smell of an old rundown Midnight movie theater with every stroke of a barre chord and bludgeoned snare drum. Theirs is a sound that does Herschell Gordon Lewis, Roger Corman and Russ Meyer proud.
Whereas their previous albums evoked the buzzsaw surf riffs of Davie Allen, Dick Dale and The Cramps, with the thunderous groove of Motörhead, their fourth album finds these troglodytes veering hard into classic 80s heavy metal while still maintaining the compelling urgency of Italian gore gods Goblin. It’s heavier, nastier, more driving and… dosed with pure backwoods möld.
In keeping with their B-movie aesthetic, the recording offers in-your-face, loud tones dripping with stench and nastiness. But it’s also some of the best produced vintage sounding underground metal you can get your claws on in these dystopian times.
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