Metal maniacs, rejoice! I am proud to present to you: MASTER; signed via Hammerheart Records, hailing from the United States of America - performing Death/Thrash Metal, on their 11th full-length studio album entitled: "The Human Machine" (released August 5th, 2022). Since formation in 1983; the trio in question have a vast catalog at their disposal, ranging from 8 demos, 7 splits, 5 live albums, 2 videos,  2 EPs, 4 compilations, and a mighty 14 full-length album discography in their library of death so far. I am introduced to their 11th record entitled: "The Human Machine", 11 tracks ranging around 45:51 - MASTER arrange an intricately designed formula on some heavy-hitting Death/Thrash Metal amalgamations.

Opening up with this technical bulldozing, a blistering chisel amplifies high with rampant romp of adrenaline and sonically seamless rampage within the titular track. Belting a clobbering foundation in rip roaring solidity; a berserking blitzkrieg arms a brimming, barrage frenzy on some monstrously meaty manifestations of volatile stampedes that quake relentlessly with bludgeoning heft and groove-bomb harmony. Trailblazing triggers hook a boisterously bouncy calamity, surging with stridently thudding sturdiness and alarming chaos. Chugging frolics from twinning maelstrom riffs Pat Shea & Alex '93' Nejezchleba ramify with shredding nimbleness, rapidly shifting with vivacious tactics that rumble with reverberation mayhem & synergetic stability to boot. "It's What Your Country Can Do For You" executes a fierce firepower attribute in dexterously dynamic virtuosity & quintessential havoc, bombastically drilling into eardrums with wildly rushing progression - slaying with striking pursuits of monolithic tempo, distorted gnarliness and a profusely robust viscerality that thunders with kicking momentum which steamrolls with piercing pandemonium while fueled frantically with throttling ruthlessness for good sport.

Trampling speakers with punchy weight; pummeled drummer hammers his set with steely precision, stompy artillery and smacking pounds from battering slabber Ruston Grosse. Raging mobility surges with raw, rough snares & scouring velocity, while "Twisted Truth" merges some piledriving rambunctiousness that distills an experimental hybrid in flexibly fundamental wickedness, where radical demolition injects an audible bass injection from flickering front man & thumper Paul Speckman himself. Infectious contortion drills into you with salubrious systematics of concretely gritty headiness, while raspy throatiness uproariously soars with shouty yells amongst a bleeding grumble in extreme aggression. Bellowing barks fabricate a guttural growl in beefy but cordial intensity, implementing a distinct element in distinguished brutality that's most moving.

"True Color" floors it with nothing but crunchy chunkiness and vehement versatility, utilizing flamboyant craftsmanship ability to make you want to break chairs over other chairs in a mechanical transformation of sulfurous metal malignance. Thrilling masquerades in furious clamor and anarchy, examines a fervor-ridden savagery that smothers souls with persevering methods of jumpy machinations of snarly rifts within some pulverizing creativity in razing trembles that will get heads banging in no time. "Suppress Free Thinking" subjugates you to unleash a diabolical forge of wrathfully seething madness, open up that pit and destroy all those who dare enter it. The practical vortex of archaic archetypes in instrumentally barbaric songwriting musicianship manifolds with strong potential, while shrieking cords compile a crisp sound production virulence that's most destructive and vicious.

"A Replica Of Invention" invents a prolific roundhouse of galloping but borderline alignment in hardened exhilaration, where upheaval density echoes with resounding but booming desegregation and empowering intensity. A divine intervention in demoralizing bashfulness magnifies with deep grunting, increasing loudness lacerates bodies into a bone-crushing assimilation for going crazy in a heightened mass of persisting tenacity to go insane exponentially. "Faceless Victims Expelled" continues to unravel snappy potency in efficacious impact, impulsing you with suave sophistication to swerve with beating hits of thrashy velocity. Rollicking with tremoring vigor & rigorous thrust, MASTER makes sure to stimulate you with pugnacious thickness and filth that's just most invigorating for most pit etiquette. "Worship The Sun" has an indelible but memorable pattern that builds a flowing doom-esque feel embedded, until more motoring transgression furnaces heat filled grandures in euphonically grandiose inhumanity - making sure to rid you of emotive drapivity in no time flat.

The penultimate banger "The Lack Of Space" assimilates with otherworldly piercings that pumps with more driving bolts that jolt you with shocking effect, as a drifting but tactile volley of tight but bruising substance, unearthing organic and innovative blends in Death Thrash metal machinery. While the overall concluding epic "Impale To Kill'' finishes the record with buoyant conundrums for good measure - the bottom line here is that MASTER most surely knows how to offer a degree in avante-garde musicality of this sub-genre in place, supplying a healthy dose in some killer lacerating tendencies that's most tenaciously rewarding for a neck-breaking good time. "The Human Machine" most certainly deserves discovery, it is enjoyably brisk and an experience that's worthy of spinning while replaying a good handful of times. Do check it out!