Frankly, Zero Hour's direction lays back a bit on all the academics and focuses on digestible structuring, obviously creating songs driven more so by riffs than atmosphere. Being that Zero Hour is Zero Hour, it's actually a comfortable transition for one concrete reason: they don't screw it up. One could say their path is more in tune with modernism, but Zero Hour still dishes out their electronic bloodline: Jasun Tipton's virtuoso guitar work, Troy Tipton's psychotic bass plucking up and down, and Fred Marshall's explosive voice that sounds so much like his predecessor it isn't even possible to tell the two apart. Things turn a little sour when three songs crammed in the middle of the record swiftly devalue Zero Hour's decency by rehashing previously-used riffs and patterns, producing banal carbon copies in more ways than one; certainly derailing an unusually-successful listening experience for a cluster of musical charades, hopping here and there with no noteworthy aftermath.

A much-needed insurrection suddenly occurs when the title track rolls around, revamping the album's direction in a way that potently illustrates a lush resonance of simple yet power riffs, phenomenal lead guitar work, and an ending melody which enthralls with each sequence; the song itself is a conscious demonstration of Zero Hour's absolute power. None of the record's woes stop the title track - an eleven minute monolith - from being completely excellent when everything is said and done, thankfully. Nothing really comes between the album and the listener’s enjoyment beyond that, making the universal effort feel both omnipotent and rightfully rejuvenated.