Zipperguts Books Of Blood Review
Zipperguts
Books Of Blood
Horror Shock Records
2025
Horror Shock Records aren’t releasing an album; they are unleashing a DISEASE. October 3rd will mark the day humanity gets its ears split wide open by “Books of Blood”, the new sermon of filth and fury from Zipperguts. Vinyl, CD, hell, they should’ve pressed this thing into sheets of HUMAN SKIN because that’s how wrong and right it feels. This isn’t the start of spooky season; it’s the opening of the KILLING SEASON. Lock your doors, hide your priests, and kiss your loved one’s goodbye because Zipperguts has climbed out of the coffin and he’s humping your Halloween candy bowl.
I first heard this maniac on “Shockwaves Vol. 2” and thought: what the fuck is this abomination? No Misfits vibes, no cutesy “whoa-oh” choruses, just pure stalk-and-slash audio pornography. It was like a knife pressed against my jugular whispering, “smile for me, darling”. And now with “Books of Blood”, the knife has been shoved in…
Before, Zipperguts was a one-man ghoul with a drum machine, a haunted ventriloquist doll rattling in a shoebox. But this time, he dragged in an unholy cult of creeps from The Creepy Crawlers and Hideous Monster, with Reverend Chad Wells himself lurking in the background, producing, howling and vomiting into the chalice. The result is a MONSTER stitched together, lurching into the night with an axe in one hand and a rosary in the other.
Listening to “Books of Blood” is like kneeling in a confessional while a serial killer breathes heavy behind the screen and starts describing the smell of your insides. Twenty-one minutes of blood-slick mania that makes you feel complicit, dirty, aroused, guilty, and begging for more.
“Smile” is a razorblade dipped in bubblegum, a Punk anthem so catchy it feels like you’re pogoing on corpses in a grave. “Shallow Grave” is the dirge that never lets go, those riffs crawl up your spine like centipedes while Chad Wells’ backing vocals hammer the last nail into your box. Play it loud enough and you’ll taste dirt in your mouth. “Not Too Dead”? That’s not a song, it’s a necrophiliac manifesto, one minute of furious corpse worship, screaming that you’re never too dead to fuck. Crown the corpse queen and bow before her rotting majesty!
And then there’s “I Fuck Nuns.” Holy Christ in a blood-filled baptism pool. It’s got a riff that sounds like a Flock of Seagulls record was found in a dumpster behind a porno theater and played through a Marshall amp. Zipperguts is shrieking blasphemy straight into my skull, and I can’t decide if I’m supposed to be laughing, jerking off, or vomiting. So, I did all three. Simultaneously!
The rest of the record is no less diseased, songs that make your skin crawl, your dick twitch, your moral compass spin until it snaps in half. Vocally, Zipperguts is a young Lemmy possessed by Satan and fed through a meat grinder. The Creepy Crawlers and Hideous Monster guests drag his music out of the grave and force it to dance in the moonlight.
Grab “Books of Blood” and baptize yourself in the noise. Zipperguts is here to stalk, slash and skull-fuck your sanity. And if you’re not ready for that, then you’re already dead – and by now you should know you're never too dead to fuck...