CHURCH OF MISERY

It's an exquisite formula that the vast majority of metalheads can get behind. Riffs. Serial Killers. This has been the CHURCH OF MISERY way since 1995. Connoisseurs of this stuff will know what an absolute riff machine bassist Tatsu Mikami is, and "Born Under a Mad Sign" adds another absurd splurge of post-Iommi godliness to his band's already laudable catalogue. It is also as heavy as anything the Japanese miscreants have ever released, which is no mean feat.

First things first. CHURCH OF MISERY have stuck rigidly to a lyrical diet of real-life serial killer stories throughout their lengthy career, and since humanity remains thoroughly fucked up, they still have no shortage of grim tales to explore, as giant, swaggering doom riffs erupt around them. This time, an obsidian spotlight is shone on John Allen Mohammad, who carried out multiple sniper attacks in Washington D.C. in 2002 ("Beltway Sniper") and Fritz "The Butcher Of Hanover" Haarmann, who slaughtered 24 (or possibly more) young men and boys in Germany, in the early 20th century ("Most Evil"). Once again, these macabre conceptual backdrops are perfect for Mikami's relentless charge into the void: riffs and bodies pile up, side-by-side: it's a beautiful thing.

The horrors continue, of course. "Freeway Madness Boogie" is evil stoner rock par excellence, telling of Randy Kraft (a.k.a. the "Scorecard Killer"). "Murder Castle Blues" is a dense dose of pure doom magic, haunted by the specter of 19th century con man killer H.H. Holmes. Waco whack-job David Koresh is a scorched but unrepentant presence on the fuzzed-out and funky "Come And Get Me Sucker"; while Robert Hansen ("Butcher Baker") who abducted, raped and then murdered 17 women in Alaska between 1971 and 1983, brings the bloody curtain down over at least two of CHURCH OF MISERY's greatest ever riffs. Fans of obscure, early '70s proto-metal will be drooling at a beastly, organ-laced cover of HAYSTACKS BALBOA's "Spoiler", which fits so snugly here that it might as well be a Mikami original. Meanwhile, if you are sensible enough to buy this record on vinyl, Fritz Haarmann's face will peer back at you from the second disc's etched second side. Do have nightmares.

Ever since they released 1998's "Taste The Pain" EP, CHURCH OF MISERY have been a reliable benchmark for suppurating, SABBATH-saluting doom. The serial killer thing is really just an added bonus, because Mikami's riffs are uniformly magnificent, perhaps even more so than on previous peaks "Master Of Brutality" (2001) or "Houses Of The Unholy" (2009). The best ideas never get old, murder is always in style, and CHURCH OF MISERY have delivered another classic.