You may not like heavy music. There's actually a high chance you don't. Most heavy music is disturbing and is not very well done, so what's the incentive? I say it's like kung-fu: most people don't master it and give it a bad name. But those who have become true teachers turn the discipline into a sublime form of oddness, integrity, and hard-earned beauty.

Ah, look! "Mailman."

Slow.

Gnarled in the gears of a diabolical time signature.

Soot-dark.

A message of spite, hostility, defiance.

A vocal like a broken shard of glass in your hand.

A vocal like a goddamned volcano banshee.

A vocal that that also lilts about in full control through those twisted verses, paying off in satisfying falsettos on unshakable major-thirds. Bach used to end dark minor-key passages on last-second majors.

A chorus with, I'll be, a little hook in there. Dark image, sure. But this is singable.

The ending movement takes us into the most thrilling turbulence. The guitars stop muting themselves and simply let the soundscape become saturated with a vehement escalation of intervals. And through this launches an incomprehensibly high Chris Cornell singing finale splitting the heavens, rest his soul.

It is dark - but it is a bewitching, one-of-a-kind flower, tenderly gardened.