The darkness permeates. A steady pulse of percussion… pummel pummel pummel. It rises and breathes like some bastard creation that should not move but does. It intimidates. It scares. It puts the lotion on its body. It has a soaring sense of volume and an occasional mean streak that sounds like darkest Ministry if you locked it up in a cage and poked sticks at it for a couple of weeks. The electronic elements are soaked through and distortion is applied like a heavy coke jones. Gothic drama battling metallic destruction. Produced to sonically rape your ears and add a soundtrack to your denied perversions. When it moves, Slayer could co-pilot. When it gets weird, Butthole Surfers spiked their drink. Designed to assault with intention, range and focus… truly a work to appreciate. Small doses may be required as Red Harvest is like any other good drug. Overdosing tends to bleed the whole thing into one blurry flashback.