I'll be frank in saying I am myself unsure as to whether or not "of Worms" is an example of life imitating art or art imitating life-just for starters the titles themselves are gibberish and more than likely just references to worms, larvae, grubs, and maggots, it's difficult to take each track marker seriously, though that may be the joke in itself. Semantics aside each track delivers deep gorges of cathartic growling, sludgy guitar work, and resounding drums.

The opening track, "Effigy of Tredecuple Emaciation" is a grand opus of unconquerable magnitude (art imitating life) and has about itself an odd and unique dynamic strewn between very loud and very quiet additionally slow and fast. The doom inspired track is exceptionally gritty and dirty, a truer example of expressionism for which I have not met an equal in some time, this track is cathartic and is meant as such carrying with it piques, troughs, and despondency-wherein the entirety of the EP meets this mean as well, as heard in the succeeding track, ""Sorceress of Worms."

The raw gritty vocals succeed in creating semblances of terror and desperation as their approach is all encompassing and inescapable, even by the slightest of mention the deepened rasp burrows down the listeners core, melding with those darker demented thoughts and ideas that perforate the melody. The slow progression of "Writhing Tectonic Becephalith" amplifies these thoughts and seditions with its slow draw and heavy delivery; playing on dissonance and slowness before moving into a much quicker beat and finally ending on a fade out. The EP ends on "Feculent Unbirth" coincidentally the shortest song on the track listing yet the most involved, spanning all ranges of speed and loudness previously heard on the EP, wherein then the album ends on a wavering knell.

This EP took me by surprise as I was not expecting it to be so large and desolate by nature-that is by sound at least-wherein I was pleasantly astonished at how full the album was and how unified it felt. The drums echoed across the board sounding off like an earthquake; the guitars themselves so muddied and full of abandon; the bass unnaturally full and unapologetic for the fact; and the vocals sound as if each pitch and syllable were emitted straight from the lips of a dying demon. The crushing calamity that is "Foul" is a tempest wrapped within a hurricane, a caged and cornered animal with nothing to lose, and one can only imagine what it is that they're going to cook up next.