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Granted, much of Descendent the Black Throne had a special magick that helped it elude easy "blackthrash" categorization - namely, through an acute balance between the bestial and more classically speed metal tropes - but the molten, even martial pulse the band employ here turns these more deliberately hypnotic spells of possession into veritable anthems of minimalism, spilling poison and black blood in equal measure, and giving new rise to the term "headbanging." And just like its predecessor, the recording across The Flame of Hate locates that elusive middle-ground between fuck-off raw and clear/cutting, with each incensed-yet-impassioned note ringing out through the humid haze before mangling the mind with quintessentially Chilean diabolism. At eight compact songs, The Flame of Hate wastes no time and demands repeat ignition, each glowing/glowering ember lighting the way to absolute possession.
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