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The Vilest Breed: Evil, Gutteral, and Raw…

Everybody claims their scene is heavy. Until they hear what Florida has to offer.

Something truly brutal is clawing it’s way out of the depths of Venice, spitting fury, attitude, and music so infernal the only name that fit was The Vilest Breed.

It’s a damn good description.

Playing Tampa’s Brass Mug (as a three-piece), The Vilest Breed crushed the stage, the crowd, and every ear-drum in the house.

Greg Oliva, a fount of endless energy behind the kit, pummeled the fuck out of those poor skins. The drummer in a band this heavy has no choice but be a bad-ass (especially with no bassist), and Greg fits the bill. He’s more than capable of producing blast beats that cause internal organ rupture, and he did so with relish.

As the sole string musician onstage, guitarist Jay Hamilton had a helluva lot of responsibility riding on his shoulders. He brought down the house. Not only did he coax the sounds of hell out of his guitar, but he managed to take a text from his mother, throw his body around the stage (so violently that he left bits of clothing in his wake), and bellow fiendishly toward the mic…

Since we’re on the subject of mics and fiends, it needs to officially recognized that frontwoman Alice Oliva is a goddamned insane vocalist. Deep, powerful gutterals and howling, demonic shrieks, the whole death metal vocal range is hers to command.

How does all of this mayhem sound when it’s welded together and aimed at the audience? Loud, aggressive, and powerful. Between Greg thumping away on the back half of the stage and Jay and Alice carving up the front, it’s a wonder the fucking thing didn’t explode…

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