Following up a solid album and two excellent EPs would be a tough ask for any band; Cryptopsy, especially so, given fans still haven't entirely forgiven them for the Unspoken King debacle. Any release from the Canadians is sure to be viewed suspiciously, however fairly, and it's no surprise that their eighth full-length here follows suit. It's a long eleven years since the band last dared release a full album, toying with us across the Book of Suffering EPs and taking a further five years since then to follow up that suggests a real lack of confidence. The first four Cryptopsy albums were all released with just two year gaps... taking longer to cook the steak doesn't necessarily mean that it will taste better, after all!

So it's not a real shock to discover that As Gomorrah Burns is solid, yet essentially lacking. Technically proficient, particularly drum batterer Flo Mounier and guitarist Christian Donaldson, yet there's a missing soul in the songwriting that means that this all flows into one ear and out of the other without leaving much of an impact. Like being beaten with a phonebook, it hurts but doesn't show bruises after. And no-one disliked Matt McGachy's performance on Unspoken King more than your correspondent here, but he's fine here, shrieking and growling along perfectly rabidly if not coming up to the standards set by Lord Worm - much like the underappreciated Mike DiSalvo.

The problem rests with the music, which is like that from some competent but not especially worthy tech-death outfit; songs generally batter along convincingly but lack hooks to the point where this all might as well be the work of an AI. There are exceptions, that sound as though they have the roots of something better in them, such as Ill Ender which uses a breakdown well and has enough neckbreaking grooves to show the band off well. Flayed the Swine opens with a Psycroptic-esque widdly riff before building to surprisingly grandiose groovy poundings, and the closing Praise the Filth also has something of an epic air, stretching its length to just under six minutes and using it well with a more ominous feel to its drawn out conclusion.

Elsewhere, things are much less memorable, even if they manage aggression and technicality - opener Lascivious Undivine a perfect example. It all feels like something of a missed opportunity; bassist Olivier Pinard is great when you can hear him in the mix, handled by Donaldson, yet all too often you can't. And although the technicality is impressive, there's nothing here particularly different from plenty of others out there; Cryptopsy should be leading the pack, not a member of it. Not exactly a failure or a disaster, yet fans should and will expect better from a once-legendary band.