Snap! The sound of ankle-length shorts-wearing emo kids breaking their chicken legs as they jump off the bandwagon, yelling “Sell Out” at the top of their whiny, pre-pubescent voices. Lamb Of God have matured, in case you miss the crescendo building wash of keyboards accompanying a swirl of guitars and Randy Blythe’s sinister whispers to open Sacrament. More conventional metal structures include dual guitar interplay (are those solos I hear?), variation in tempo and intensity (not full-on throughout) and Blythe’s attempts at subtle vocalization, if not outright singing. Clear enunciation and generally well metered, nearly spoken, the uncompromising lyrics are discernible. As radical as it sounds, it’s not, merely refinements that, overall, serve to enhance the brutality. That’s not to say Sacrament isn’t a violent, hate-filled platter - it is, but more in the model of orchestrated black metal (‘Again We Rise’) than blunt force hardcore trauma. Listen to Blythe’s varied approach within ‘Foot To The Throat’, a rant against the mentality within their home state of Virginia. Even more vitriol is saved for the Mecca of the left coast, double barrels trained on ‘Forgotten (Lost Angels)’. As yet undisclosed (wait for the interviews) personal vendettas dot the landscape: “I just got the news today, you’re dying. Hot Damn! We’re already partying… I truly don’t give a fuck about you. I never have and I never will. Each day you breathe is more time to kill.” (‘More Time To Kill’, truly the heaviest track). The staccato ‘Redneck’ invades Reinventing The Steel histrionics and riffage (with doses of ride cymbal), while ‘Beating On Death’s Door’, the concluding, drug-riddled parable, is a nitro-speed romp. Applause to Lamb Of God, for not taking the easy way out. As for the detractors, every generation must suffer through their Metallica-working-with-big-producer-to-take-the-edge-off, a la Ride The Lightning. Deal with it!