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"Did you get a job? Did you call your father? What did you do today? I think you're really cracking up, you're going crazy. Where are we going to live? What are we going to eat? Shut up! Shut up!" screams a disturbed lady on the introductory sample of 'Combat Shock', the fourth track on Meth Drinker's debut 12", Meth Drinker. That same song ends with a little Casio melody playing within a bit of crackling that'll make you wonder what's wrong with your speakers, until you realize the only thing wrong is the awful music you're listening to.
Those are the nice bits. In between you get three disturbed individuals from Wellington, New Zealand, dealing out painfully-tortured sludge doom so ugly and so vicious that you'll wish you were being chased by a knife-wielding junkie in an alley somewhere, instead of listening to this. Meth Drinker are proper sludge. That means they're not playing groovy southern rock with a few downtuned riffs, like what the term seems to mean to some people these days. It means they're puking their guts out with some dragged-out, miserable, hopeless and confrontational music that you're not supposed to like. Like Grief, Eyehategod, or Noothgrush, the tempos are slow to non-existent, the vocals are spat out, rolled in a black ball of pain and disgust, and each note of each monolithic riff takes its own bitter time to be wrenched out of guitarist Sam Thurston's poor abused instrument.
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