With a name derived from a rather vicious fable (aren't they all), Dentata was never going to be a band dealing in sugar and spice and all things nice. In fact, there's nothing particularly nice about them. Ritualistic nudity, a fondness for spitting blood and all-round anarchy, Dentata's theatrics are not for the squeamish. But boy do they wail. As their working title suggests, the Toronto hell-raisers revel in the visceral negligibly riding a riff-roaring wave of blood and sex. Try hold on to the horns of 'Born Bright Red''s four minutes of satanic squealing guitars and belly-breaking beats to see what I mean.
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