Some music makes you want to dance. Some music makes you want to cry. But some music makes you want to ram your skull through a thousand brick walls. In a good way. Plymouth’s powerviolence peddlers have lined up a debut album so putrid and barbaric that serious bodily harm to the brain and face seems like the only logical response. The relentless destruction is juxtaposed with a pervasive feeling of desolation and emptiness, like the concepts of aggression and sorrow are dancing in the flickering light of the world burning around them. From front to back Debt is drowning in darkness, surviving only on brutality, with just one track breaking the three-minute mark. In between the roaring vocals and battering drums, there are nuances finding new ways to cause pain. Just like the best torture masters, there’s no point in just having one way of removing teeth.