These Southern Californians don't have much room for finesse where their barrel-chested bellowing and barking are concerned -- think Lemmy having a bad throat day, or Henry Rollins recruiting for the WWE. Yet on their third album, the Wrath consistently deliver the pile-driving pleasure of an imaginative heavy rock unit expert in multiple modes of metal, from rampaging war-march to hardcore forward-charge to wobbling grind-plod to astronomical blast-offs (see: "Grandelusion.") Stretching out while shifting tempos and gears, they keep the structures intriguing. Their brains match their brawn.