Since the turn of the millennium, GraveWax Records has consistently signed the most depraved bands around. Bands that make the Devil keep his kids locked in at night, terrified at the hints and whispers of what might lurk out there in the abysmal darkness. Bands so sick that we keep them chained to the water heater downstairs so that we might contain their gleeful malevolence, just letting the stuff out a little at a time for fear of kicking the doors of Hell wide open.
You might notice that these bands seemingly have nothing in common. You might even assume that we just ran down to the local cemetery, spade and contract in hand, and dug up every piece of worm-riddled flesh we could get our grubby hands on. Well, you’d be wrong to think that. Dead wrong. You see, GraveWax transcends the apartheid of genres by rising beyond simple categorizations. Every band on our growing roster has something very important in common: a death aesthetic. And a fresh way of dealing with it, whether it be the hellfire preaching of Those Poor Bastards or Sons of Perdition, the putrefying chops of the Route 66 Killers, or the EC comics mentality of the Creepniks. These bands share a common language from many different tongues.
Sometimes anachronistic, oftentimes downright degenerate, the assorted fiends and ghouls of GraveWax Records never fail to please. Now open up and say “ARGHH!!!!!!”