Five years ago, almost to the day, I remember sitting in a backroom, dingy office, click-clacking my life away with the most melancholy feeling stuck in my chest. I also remember this album helping me get to the better days.

I don't remember where I first heard this track, but I do remember pulling my knees to my chest and ugly sobbing in the shower after drinking half of a bottle of gin after a funeral. The amount of catharsis I managed to wring out of this is incalculable.

I first heard fk mt. in a crowded bar in Columbia, SC back in 2014. They were opening for another act, but I'll be damned if they didn't take all of my attention that night with that raw emotion packed into every note. I bought this burned CD from them, and to this day, I still listen to these tracks; they've eeked their way into primary playlists.

Frantic waves of drum and bass crash haphazardly into harmonious 8-bit currents, and yet there is never a moment where the arrangement feels accidental. Even when riddled with discordant jolts of new and heart-racing percussion, ANNIHILATRIX manages to offer pockets of respite within masterfully arranged melodies -- almost therapeutic in the way each track unshackles decades-old memories that were long ago settled into the dusted surfaces of cartridge and compact disc.