The new album is coming, and it's still the same alchemy of salvage: guitar blood and drum scales, heavy rhythms with a hint of brass, convoluted nursery rhymes and magic formulas shouted in a trance, spiced up here and there with a seasonal find – horsehair rubbed on catgut, more commonly known as "violin." Brutal and complex, furious and incantatory, full of peaks and flats, this new opus hammers home the black-garage-gospel with the hammer of Viking gods, in the midst of a decibel storm that prefigures the electrically charged atmosphere of each of J.C. Satàn's upcoming shows.