This album should have been called 'Riding Our Black Cocks'.
After releasing the crushingly awesome swamp fest, 1992's 'The Gloomy Reflections of Our Hidden Sorrows', bassist/vocalist Daniel Corchado chose to kick rocks and the rest of the band decided to jump on the fag filled black metal band wagon that was gaining a downhill momentum at the time, only Cenotaph did it 'Mexican' style, meaning that instead of going all out black metal, they decided to soften it up a bit by adding an unhealthy amount of traditional heavy metal elements into the mix thus giving rise to a homosexual pandemic of amorphous proportions.
Of course every pretentious fag who has jumped, screaming out of the closet has heralded this album as some sort of groundbreaking masterpiece. Fuck that. This album sucks big, AIDS infested nigger dick... and hungrily, at that.
Do not expect the same doomy and evil atmosphere from the previous album here. This is purely a festival of wholly swallowed dicks. With the release of this album, Mexico had proven that Norway had a rival in the flame-broiled sweepstakes as Mexicans left and right began jumping out of the closet, on fire. The Ricky Martin-esque album cover pretty much tells the tale.
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