(This record review originally appeared in the SF Weekly.)

Obedience Cuts smacks the nerves like a putrescent animal bleating its death wail, like end-of-the-line Rust Belt steel decay — rows of oil-stained warehouses steadily collapsing in on themselves. But what feels particularly disturbing — and breathtaking — is the palpable sense of detail and patience these noisemakers exert constructing these speaker-shredding, darkly psychedelic horrorscapes. Like pre-pube boys obsessively beating roadkill, Hair Police gnarls every single microscopic sound particle. What results is a quivering pile of guitar feedback, ominously crackling static, stuttering hardcore-derived percussion, and a litany of human gasps and shrieks, producing sharp, psychosomatic unease for this listener. “Full of Guts” works best. Primal drum-thumping and hysterical moans maneuver under a dark veil of blistering fuzz, which would not sound out of place in an Argento flick. BTW — did you know that every hand you see stabbing some helpless woman in an Argento movie is the director’s own? He doesn’t trust anybody else to get it just right.