EP from Brazilian Funeral Doom act. It doesn't get grimmer than growing up in a favela led by child hood gangs. These cats never had enough fuel to saddle up 4 deep on a Vespa and ride down hill to the neighboring beach front like all the other fun loving kids of their class. Instead, they plugged in and plodded dirges to boil rat leave-ins to. No longer the most popular sub-genre around these jazz filled halls, though I'm sure there's a lad amongst you who find this soothing. A non-reco reco, straight from Queens, as I would like to have this be played as I went down on Leah Remini. Just call me aquaman. Mauryleeeeeeeeeeeeen
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