Not Worthy of Human Compassion doesn’t explode onto the scene with noise or immediate chaos. Instead, it creeps in, slow and deliberate, wrapping the listener in unease before the first riff even drops. The opening track, LTARMLAC, sets the stage with a haunting sample — a recording of police surveillance — a chilling reminder that real-world oppression often hits harder than any horror film or metal trope. It’s an intro that immediately grounds the album in something visceral and political, establishing a tone that’s not just angry, but seething with intent.

Rather than launching straight into fury, Scalp chooses patience and pressure. The track opens with doom-laden guitars and heavy, deliberate drumming — the kind of sonic weight that doesn’t just hit, it sinks. Every note, every beat lands like a slow-moving avalanche, suffocating and relentless. The guitars don’t riff so much as grind, like machinery coming to life in a decaying industrial hellscape. Beneath it all, the bass rumbles like tectonic plates shifting underfoot. This isn’t a rush to chaos — it’s the construction of dread. And even within the first few minutes, it’s clear this isn’t just powerviolence or grind. This is something heavier, darker — an experience sculpted as much for atmosphere as for aggression.

Once that tension is firmly set, Scalp begin to unleash. Tracks like EGODEATH and PIT erupt with ferocity, showcasing the band’s mastery of balancing precision and chaos. The guitars twist and warp with Nails-like distortion, while the vocals are nothing short of venomous — deep, guttural, and laced with disgust. Drums flip from tight, punishing blasts to sudden explosions, keeping you off-balance at every turn. The bass doesn’t just fill the low-end — it drags every riff downward, making each moment feel more suffocating than the last.

On 80ACRESOFHELL, Scalp pushes their brutality into dynamic territory, trading off between blasting, unhinged violence and slow, groove-heavy sections that feel like wading through molasses. The guest feature from Weekend Nachos injects even more filth and fury into the track, adding texture without diluting Scalp’s intensity. It’s a standout cut — not just because of the aggression, but because of how clearly it showcases the band’s ability to control the chaos.

That sense of pacing and control runs through the album like a razor’s edge. Scalp knows when to attack at full speed and when to pull back into slow-burning menace. SHACKLEROT thrives on this tension, opening with eerie, ringing guitars before crashing into blast beats and double kicks, all culminating in one of the album’s most menacing breakdowns — a stretch of pure sonic violence that refuses to resolve.

LOATHER and CROWSFOOT follow suit, cutting deep whether they're moving at high velocity or stomping at half-time. There’s no filler here — every track feels honed, like a blade sharpened to the point of danger. And yet, it never feels clinical. The emotion remains raw, feral, and unfiltered.

The interstitial moments, like SURROGATEVICTIM — a short, violent blast of powerviolence — and UNTITLED, a haunting interlude built on static, samples, and subtle ambiance, provide necessary moments of texture and breathing room. But even in these quieter spaces, the mood remains oppressive. Scalp builds an emotional environment where even silence feels dangerous.

Later in the album, CONSPIRACY pushes dissonance further, with sharp, jagged riffs and intricate cymbal work that feels like it's constantly shifting shape. RIGORVIVUS and DRAG lean heavier into groove and death-metal weight, layering chugging riffs with ghostly feedback and sinister undertones. These songs expand the album’s emotional register without straying from its core aesthetic of ruthless heaviness.

And then, there’s BOTTOMLESS — the closer, and easily one of the darkest tracks on the record. From the opening moments, it builds with unrelenting intensity: blast beats, distorted guitar textures, and an atmosphere so thick it feels like breathing smoke. The final breakdown isn’t just heavy — it’s punishing, dragging the listener into a slow, sustained collapse. There’s no release here. Just descent. It’s an ending that doesn’t resolve — it leaves you stranded in the dark.

What sets Not Worthy of Human Compassion apart from other records in the genre isn’t just its sheer aggression — though there’s plenty of that. It’s the precision. Every sound on this album is placed with intent. The production captures every filthy riff, every tortured scream, every snare hit and cymbal crash with a clarity that only heightens its brutality. It’s not polished — it’s surgical. And that surgical approach makes the rawness hit even harder.

Scalp have created something here that’s more than just a heavy album. This is heaviness with purpose. It doesn’t pander, it doesn’t waste time, and it never loses its shape, no matter how chaotic it becomes. It’s feral, yes — but also calculated, atmospheric, and deeply suffocating. Not Worthy of Human Compassion is a statement of intent from a band operating with complete confidence in their vision: to deliver a sonic experience that overwhelms not just your ears, but your entire nervous system.

Rating: 8.5/10