Turns out Satanic death metal is weirdly listenable. Who knew.
251 days till W:O:A 2023.
And apparently 251 days till I willingly listen to a band whose vocalist has an inverted cross branded into his actual forehead. What could possibly go wrong?
Death Metal Royalty With a Flair for the Dramatic
Deicide—because subtlety is for cowards—have been one of those looming death metal monoliths I kept hearing about but hadn’t dared approach yet. Formed in 1987 by drummer Steve Asheim and the Hoffman brothers, they’ve basically been defining Florida-style fury since before I even knew what death metal was, let alone how to survive it. Glen Benton joined shortly after, and together they evolved from Carnage (cute) to Amon (edgy) to Deicide (there it is).
They hail from Tampa, Florida—aka the steaming swamp-womb of death metal itself. Alongside other scene titans like Morbid Angel, Obituary, and Death, Deicide helped shape the genre into something loud, fast, and gleefully blasphemous.
They’ve got twelve studio albums to their name, but most fans seem to agree: the first three—Deicide (1990), Legion (1992), and Once Upon the Cross (1995)—are the holy trinity of their discography. Or unholy, I suppose. Their biggest commercial success was The Stench of Redemption in 2006, which is objectively a revolting title. Apparently, not all their records are winners, but I’m still new here and haven’t committed to listening to all twelve just to prove a point.
Also, in case you thought I was exaggerating earlier:
- Glen Benton has literally branded an inverted cross into his forehead.
- They’ve been banned from venues and festivals.
- There have been bomb threats.
- This is not a band known for subtlety.
And yet? Somehow—they're kind of fun.
The Album I Didn’t Expect to Like
I gave their last two albums a spin—Overtures of Blasphemy (2018) and In the Minds of Evil (2013)—expecting to be mildly traumatised. But honestly? They were easier to digest than some of the more modern, messy, post-everything metal I’ve been forcing myself through.
In the Minds of Evil stood out immediately. The cover art alone is gorgeously unhinged. The first three tracks are annoyingly good. Aggressive, yes. But also weirdly enjoyable. I was not emotionally prepared to like them this much—and yet, here we are.
“Thou Begone” and the Joy of Being Punched in 4/4 Time
My absolute favourite on this album—and I do mean favourite—is track two: Thou Begone. The opening gallop is so disgustingly catchy I felt personally attacked. Riffs for days. Groove for miles. It’s one of those songs that grabs you by the spine and says, "you’re staying for this." And I did.
Fun fact: Steve Asheim had a dislocated shoulder during recording. Which makes the drumming on this album feel less like a performance and more like a flex. Respect.
Riffs, Rage, and a Lack of Subtlety (Bless Them)
The title track In the Minds of Evil and Godkill keep that momentum going—fast, brutal, but never incoherent. These songs have structure. Hooks. Solos. They don’t just punch you—they punch you in time.
There’s no filler. The songs are short, sharp, and don’t blend into an indistinguishable growl soup, which I appreciate. Also: there are actual melodic scales. And solos. Remember those?
Glen Benton, for all his chaotic energy, is locked in vocally. There's not much variation—he stays in his signature death growl lane—but when the lane works, it works. He’s known for sneaking in the odd black metal scream, but it’s not a defining feature here. What is? Consistency. And an audible sense of fury.
Blasphemy That Bangs
The full lineup here includes founding members Benton and Asheim, plus guitarists Kevin Quirion and Jack Owen. Lyrics by Benton (of course), music largely by Quirion and Owen. The result? 11 tracks. 37 minutes. One surprisingly tight and consistent death metal record.
It’s still blasphemous. It’s still Florida as hell. But there’s a focus and groove here that makes it weirdly accessible without watering anything down. Nearly every song offers something to latch on to—whether it’s a riff, a rhythm, or a particularly poetic anti-Christian snarl.
I had fun. Which feels wrong. But here we are.