There's plenty to be said about Marijuana Deathsquads' future-forward approach to electronic hardcore—the controlled chaos, the indescribable squalor, the sometimes random and high-profile laundry list of collaborators—but what's often overlooked, somehow, is one of the group's main ingredients: singer Isaac Gale's distorted, piercing howl. Like a poltergeist creeping out of a snowy, crackling television screen, Gale's tortured, throaty hollering is the stuff of zombie nightmares, simultaneously gut-wrenching and enthralling. Crouched over a tangle of laptops and wires, while the rest of the ever-evolving band churns away behind him, Gale holds a microphone to his lips, lets out a painful wail, and cranks a knob to make his ghost-screams echo and loop into infinity, and we have no choice but to stand and stare, awestruck.