What was once alienating and difficult in Eat Skull’s music now reads as interesting quirks attached to pleasing packages.
At its best, III almost has hints of being a summery punk opera, at worst it's four guys fumbling around to find their new sound.
There is a consistency to the album that is both its strength and its weakness.
The two halves of III frequently war, the pleasantly shambling rhythms consistently undermined by Enborn’s just off-key yawling on viscerally unusual topics, as well as the occasional genre shift.
When your best track has lyrics about “watching dead horses decompose” it’s indicative of a standard lower than that of a Tesco Value burger.