Review by Dominik on May 1, 2026.

You hail from Britain. And you name your album "Satanic Scum Punks". So what can you reasonably expect? In my humble opinion, there are only two ways this can go. Either the band drowned in their own national sense of dry, self-aware British humor and recorded some kind of satanic parody of the latest Sabaton release that grins more than it bites. Or it exactly delivers on its promise and throws together the grit and dirt of scum punk with black metal elements that swagger more than they blast.

I was very much hoping for the latter and nearly choked on my muesli when the needle dropped. Out of nowhere, there's heavy metal riffing and even a hint of Iron Maiden inspired melody creeping in. For a brief, unsettling moment, everything sounds… competent. Respectable, even. My first thought: yes, "It's Fucking Dark" indeed and my worst fears materialized. Thankfully, that distress survives for about forty seconds and this gleeful presentation of British humor abruptly discontinues, when the song erupts into something that makes a lot more sense. There are basic, punk-infused riffs crashing in, which are backed by a solid, no-nonsense rhythm section, while the vocalist goes into full black-metal-feral menace. The production hits with enough weight to make it feel like you're being sonically run over rather than gently inconvenienced. Each instrument is trying to physically shove you out of the room.

With the title track, we get the first early highlight of the release. It comes across like some unholy hybrid between Danish Halshug, (which is a crust / punk band, should anyone know them.), Polish Mordhell, and early Impaled Nazarene. Like most of the album, also "Satanic Scum Punks" is a simple, very memorable and effective piece of abrasive noise in the bluntest way possible. Grooving midtempo collides with frantic blasting, while the vocals sound like someone gargling gravel and bad intentions. All delivered with the subtlety of bad news over a loudspeaker and handled with the delicacy of a sledgehammer in a glass factory, which, to be fair, seems entirely intentional.

"Let The Bastards Burn" keeps the formula intact and serves up a groove that's weirdly infectious and borderline catchy. There's a certain inherent nostalgia, like a drunken nod to the past, complete with those primitive vocal exclamations that feel ripped from a time when restraint was considered a personal weakness (just listen to the numerous Hellhammer inspired "uuhhhs"). The song is driven by merciless double bass and towards the end surprises with something that dares to resemble a solo. The musical approach is set in stone at this point, and the band shows no intention of deviating. This means latest by the time you hit track four, the deal is sealed. Either you're in, grinning like you've just discovered a new form of musical vandalism, or you're already drafting a scathing low-score review and a rant about artistic decline in your head.

As I clearly ended up in the former camp, you'll have to continue enduring my written drooling. Is there anything deviating from the "norm"? Slightly. "Blood On Steel" doesn't relent in terms of vocal performance, but shows a certain lightness in the musical foundation, until it doesn't and erupts into another maelstrom of aggressiveness. "Drink For Hell" practically demands audience participation. It begs you to grab a few beers, leave your dignity at the door and shout along like your life depends on it. "Fuck The Bastards" shows the band's aversion to the numerous bastards around us. It does exactly what the title suggests, functioning as a loud, unapologetic middle finger to…well, pretty much everyone.

What makes the album work is also what limits it. It's simple. Very simple. Everything here is stripped down to the bare essentials. The riffs are as basic as they come, and the structures are straightforward. The whole thing is built for immediate impact. I keep comparing the release to fast-food. It is greasy, satisfying, and not something you'd necessarily want to analyze too deeply, because thinking too much would probably ruin it. It doesn't try to be clever, which is probably its smartest move. And for the statisticians among you: counting how often the f-word appears might be the closest thing this record has to a conceptual layer. In the end you'll either love "Satanic Scum Punks" or hate it. There's not much room for polite indifference here.

Rating: 8 out of 10, because the album does exactly what its title promises. The band developed a formula and sticks to it with stubborn conviction. The release is way too entertaining to dismiss, even when it probably should be.