The Headless Ritual took exactly twenty-five seconds to make its argument for being a supremely ass-kicking album. The remaining forty-four minutes or so? Just a victory lap. Autopsy has never seen nearly as many imitators as some of its peers such as Incantation or Entombed, but The Headless Ritual serves as a red-hot notice to even the very best of Autopsy’s descendents that they’d better up their game, because these old gore-revellers are hungrier than they’ve been since Mental Funeral.
