It's nice to be taken completely out of your comfort zone once in a while. Metal, with its many, many subgenres, is never usually something I have the time to explore, so when I do, I make sure it's worth my while. This album was pitched to me as a terrifying, brutal beast of a record, and if that's what you're looking for, Christs, Redeemers will meet your every expectation. It's nightmarish stuff - in the best way possible, of course - but its creators do their best to wrong-foot the listener at every turn.

Terrifying brutality is all well and good, yes, but when you're a band that have become known for pushing the boundaries of the sub-genres in which they operate - sludge and doom metal - there will always need to be more; and The Body have no trouble giving you more - if you're all right with surrendering everything in return, that is. The duo's fourth offering is the sort of record that doesn't ask for your attention so much as forces you to shut the hell up and listen. Putting it lightly, it's not going to be for everyone: a nihilistic journey to the darkest corners of the world.

There's a sense of ominous dread running through these 10 tracks that never diminishes; instead, it only seems to intensify. 'I, The Mourner of Perished Days' acts as an overture of sorts, with The Assembly of Light Choir on particularly mournful form, yet creating a wholly unexpected sense of serenity that, once established, is shattered completely in 46 seconds. 'To Attempt Openness' ploughs through seven hair-raising minutes, with Chip King and Lee Buford whipping up a maelstrom of despairing melody. Drums pound and guitars crash, pushing King's howling vocals so far back into the mix that they're rendered unintelligible, before the whole thing slides effortlessly into a harrowing half-time groove, linking up with the unsettling samples and untamed ferocity of 'Melt Away' in a manner which suggests the band are approaching this chaos in a more structured way than was previously thought. Their new record flows wonderfully from one track to the next, mixing things up just enough so that it doesn't risk becoming stale.

There are lighter moments among all the darkness; before it's obliterated by 'Prayers Unanswered', which features arguably the heaviest riff on the record, 'Night of Blood in a World Without End' sees the choir make another appearance, though its morbid lyrics and plaintive strings maintain a desolate mood. There's even room for a splash of techno influence in the juddering beats and pulsing electronics of 'Denial of the Species', while 'Shrouded' makes effective use of unnerving static and an almost cinematic opening before another sledgehammer riff comes crashing in.

Closer 'Bearer of Bad Tidings' is as defeated-sounding as its title suggests, the duo's sound tipping over into noise-rock territory over seven anxiety-ridden, gut-churning minutes, far away from the relative calm in which it began. The faint of heart are advised to steer well clear of an album like this; everyone else - if you're in the mood to be challenged, to be immersed within the sheer, destructive force of uncompromising music, Christs, Redeemers should be your next port of call.