They say you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover, but it’s pretty obvious that “Sleepers in the Rift” is a badass filet of God-slapping death metal based on the Lovecrafitian artwork. The depiction of some colorful monster coiling its goopy tentacles in what looks like a hellish invasion of Earth fits the impending slaughter quite appropriately, both in style and theme. The well-respected Pulverized Records – again taking quality over trendy crap – found another gem in Morbus Chron to coincide with the label’s roster of unholy death metal within the band’s debut full-length record. “Sleepers in the Rift” is the exact definition of death metal. It’s harsh and brutal, plain and simple; no further explanation necessary. Think back to the glory days when bands like Nihilist and Autopsy had no problem pouring boiling, rotten riffs, primal percussion patterns and dark, disgusting vocals on a grand platter of splatter and you’ll have a general idea of what Morbus Chron is all about.This is really as primitive as it gets, and it's really a surprise Morbus Chron wasn't jamming with Mantas and Autopsy way back in the day. "Sleepers in the Rift" is like a nightmare of tangled, ravenous hooks and grooves storming through a variety of beats and paces that are all fundamental characteristics of gory death metal. The songs are largely unpredictable, in that they follow a labyrinthine of tempos and techniques that are all varied between the guttural mess of visceral madness. If you're familiar with Autopsy, Nihilist or the remaining founders of true death metal, then you'll have a general idea about what to expect; Morbus Chron is hardly different, but their brilliance is undeniable. The insane conglomeration of malevolence following tunes like "Ways of Torture" or "Lidless Coffin" heaves slice after slice of stitched brutality with more convulsions and head-banging insanity than Job For A Cowboy and the other flavors of the week.
The vocalist (simply dubbed "Robba") uses the age-old techniques of vocalizing death metal, through deep, guttural growls to shrieks of a godless horror. His wretched vocals during the awesome “Creepy Creeping Creep” are so f***ing sick and twisted that it should be customary for every death metal band to sound like this creepy creeping creeper; he's a total monster at handling the microphone. And instead of submitting to the digital polishing, Morbus Chron used the dirtiest recording equipment imaginable. Raw, filthy guitar chops gloriously echo beneath the constant pounding of distorted percussion wonderfully, almost like this was recorded on an analog tape somewhere in the bowels of a derelict shed. The whole album simply represents one core value: death f***ing metal.
There's nothing better than finding an album like "Sleepers of the Rift" that is both sensational on a musical level and stylistically impeccable. Every moment of every track gnarls and drools like a cannibalistic zombie on a quest for brains, and there hasn't been a better representation of frantic, dirty death metal since the true marauders of gore and horror cursed this world with their vile art; it's a surprise Morbus Chron was not a part of this original uprising. Overall, the gentlemen of Morbus Chron are resurrecting the core values of death metal right before your eyes, but don't lean in too close or these maniacal murderers will gouge them out!