I've had Thomas G Warrior on the brain lately, fishing for anything that might scratch that intolerable Celtic Frost itch. Lavandula don't even touch the tip of that iceberg, but the pathological dedication to guitar tone and morbid aesthetics are entirely endearing. I supposed you might lay a doom label on this beast, as the predominant sensation is of getting recycled into the Earth's mantle at a tectonic subduction boundary. Crush syndrome incarnate with riffs to boot. The vocals are guttural with a capital G, the kind where you need to check your beard for viscera after a spin. The album title begs you to peek at the lyric sheet, and any such inquiry is rewarded with disconsolate, dysmorphic meditations on torment. Authentic catharsis, worth the ride.