Deathblow Open Season Review
Deathblow
Open Season
Sewer Mouth Records
2025
Salt Lake City has a problem, and no, I’m not talking about the whole sister-wife sitcom they’ve got running in the background. I’m talking about a filthy little secret they've been selfishly hoarding a goddamn Thrash Metal treasure named Deathblow.
Now I don’t know if it’s the altitude, the water supply, or just good ol’ fashioned mountain madness, but someone in SLC’s underground scene decided they were gonna keep Deathblow under wraps like it’s some kind of state secret. Not cool, Utah. NOT. COOL. You can’t have polygamy, majestic red rock, AND one of the hardest-hitting Thrash bands this side of 1986. Share the wealth, you cryptic cult-loving bastards!
Deathblow’s been around for years, apparently. YEARS. And this is the first time I’m hearing of them? That’s like finding out your neighbor had a fully functioning TANK in their garage and just casually used it for grocery runs. This band should be everywhere, plastered on jackets, shouted out on every Metal podcast and tattooed on the necks of street prophets yelling at traffic. But no. I had to stumble onto them like a rabid raccoon digging through the Metal underground's trash.
Let’s talk about their latest auditory pipe bomb, the 4-track EP “Open Season.” Right out the gate, it kicks your teeth down your throat and makes you say thank you. There’s a message here, maybe political, maybe just pure sonic vandalism, but either way, I’m down with it. This is music for the pissed off, the disillusioned, and those of us who still believe that Thrash should sound like a riot in a meat grinder.
We’re talking about guitars that shriek like napalm in stereo. Riffs that shred harder than a paper company during an FBI raid. Vocals that channel the ghost of a young Tom Araya through a war-torn gas mask. It’s got that early Slayer snarl, the Exploited’s snot-nosed fury, the Discharge disgust, all rolled into an 8 ball of Crossover chaos. And if that wasn’t enough to make your combat boots start moshing on their own, there’s heavy doses of D.R.I. and Suicidal Tendencies coursing through this thing.
Tracks like “Open Season” and “Never Again” don’t just hit, they detonate. These aren’t songs. These are war cries from a band that time-traveled from a 1985 CBGB bathroom stall, wielding sonic brass knuckles and a bad attitude. This is the stuff I used to buy on blind faith at Record Bar as a feral Metalhead kid, based purely on a gnarly logo and the promise of total annihilation.
Now, at my "veteran of the pit" age, where everything hurts and nothing is sacred, this EP grabs me by the collar and screams, “You’re not done yet, you old bastard!” And suddenly I’m 16 again: sweaty, high, buzzed, shirtless, throwing haymakers in a dive bar while someone’s boot hits me in the face and I love it. That’s what Deathblow does.
So, if you’ve got any blood left to boil, any muscle memory left in those neck tendons, and even the faintest whisper of Thrash nostalgia clawing at your brainstem, you need this EP. If you’re into Municipal Waste, Power Trip, or just want to feel like the apocalypse is fun again, Deathblow will scratch that itch with a rusty switchblade.
And me, I’m diving into their back catalog like it’s the goddamn Dead Sea Scrolls. See you in the pit, losers. Bring ice packs.
https://deathblow1.bandcamp.com/album/open-season