It's raining outside, the lights are out and you're listening to The Golden Palominos' Dead Inside on your portable CD player. The rain is making patterns in the shadows. The music is unleashing the hunger inside. Its darkness is swallowing you whole.

You hug your knees, grit your teeth and try to ride the wave out. It is unrelenting. You begin to think that the music is speaking directly to you. The throbbing, electronic bass is making your innards quiver and Nicole Blackman's sweet-n-sour croon is pulling you in like a black hole. The images from the player have been hard-wired into your brain -- power, sexuality, violence, regret, terror, boredom. The siren song of the gutter is playing in your headphones and yet it's strangely seductive...

Are you one of those people who likes to drop a tab of acid then go curtain shopping with your grandmother? Bad trips turn you on? You might be prepared. Dead Inside is a motherlode of dark venom, heavy, chunk-beat that sleeps all day and fucks all night. You should probably be concerned if you like it; I am.

-James P. Wisdom