I've never been convinced of the term "industrial music," especially in the context of the past decade. In fact, I guarantee that no self-effacing musician gives a shit about what sub- upon sub-genre is thrown on them these days. Certainly not Seattle's Grave Babies. Replace the image of efficient pistons and clanging metalworks with an acutely precise team of bone-crushers. In fact, replace it with an acutely precise team of cinema sound-engineers, replicating the bone-crushing sound by snapping a thousand celery stalks exactly in time. I've actually never heard a human bone break, so celery is all I got. This is a "goth" band dripping ceremonial worm-gut harmonies over fresh salad. And I fucking like it. Salad goth.
Grave Babies :: Haunted