The frontier settlement was brazen in its construction, built so near to the badland dales as it was by those seeking to make their fortunes mining the rich metal deposits of the hills to the west. Many had flocked to the settlement despite the warnings from those native to the lands surrounding the area of the terrifying creatures that lurked behind the hills, the valleys of which were enchanted with a dark and ancient magic that twisted even the most benign of creatures into unrecognizable and monstrous forms. Many of these peoples had long known of the riches of the hills but had stayed their hands from reaping their bounties, fearing what curse or creature might descend upon them should they do so. Yet the greed of these new hapless individuals was unfettered by fear, or perhaps driven by it within those who had lost everything in their previous homes. Regardless of motive, the town of Gildenhills had sprung into being in less than a fortnight, and as many began to strike their picks and shovels into the black earth of the hills beyond the town stories began to abound of fortunes made with a single swing.

For some time, the boom continued. The town’s population exploded, and its bustling saloons and mercantile stores drowned out the sounds that were uttered in the night. It was first the lone miner who worked late, hoping to strike a vein of gold all their own, whose final scream echoed out from within the tunnel he had bored. Then it was the cattle that had strayed from the herd, found with few bits of still-warm flesh left clinging to bones that bore the indentations of thousands of teeth. When a full camp of miners disappeared and the sheriff’s posse vanished next, those who had abided longest in the area began to recount stories in the shadowed corners of the saloons. They told varmints whose teeth oozed with pestilence, the chittering sound of which could be heard often between the hills. Some, they said, were big enough to kill a man’s dog all of their own, but tales warned much more fervently of the small ones that gathered in swarms. Shaken, they told of watching their comrades drown underneath a tide of fur and fang, exsanguinated almost instantaneously by the thousand cuts that were so quickly inflicted upon them. No rifle nor revolver carried enough ammunition to cull these beasts, and for those subjected to their unearthly hunger there was neither hope of survival nor recourse of revenge. Thus it was, it seemed, that for every ounce of precious ore extracted from these hills there was a price, a price the HILLRATZ would exact in blood.

L 33 returns to EATBRAIN with HILLRATZ, the latest single from the Bulgarian veteran that teems with swarming sonic energy. Whether dispatched through the churning guitars of the B-side “Give a FK” or the skittering percussion of the single’s title track, L 33 delivers a twin pairing of tracks imbued with everything EATBRAIN excels at offering - sinister, unrestrained, and inimitable Neurofunk.

Written by Gwen Kubik