Albums to haunt your Halloween

Halloween music tends to be as much of a novelty as seasonal wax lips and plastic vampire fangs.

But really, wouldn’t you rather celebrate All Hallows Eve with some seriously frightening tunes?

We thought so. And so here are some truly revolting recommendations for the scariest albums of all time.

Burmese, “A Mere Shadow And Reminiscence.” You’ll be begging for some real-life paranormal activity to take your mind off this blood-freezing shock of misanthropy. Equal parts crushing doom and noise-fetishizing Whitehouse worship, the vocals here are so irate and menacing, it’s as if they were delivered through clenched teeth.

Give this bad boy a spin, and the only thing you’ll be reminiscing about is unsoiled Fruit of the Looms.

Godflesh, “Streetcleaner.” On this industrial metal nightmare, Godflesh frontman Justin Broderick seriously sounds like a possessed Linda Blair right before her head spins 360 degrees, Woodsy The Owl-style in “The Exorcist.”

Tense, turgid drum machine beats and subterranean bass lines create a feeling of intense claustrophobia, like you’re locked in a phone booth with Beelzebub.

This one should come with a sponge to soak up all the cold sweat.

Diamanda Galas, “Plague Mass.” Diamanda Galas has a voice that registers like a lightning bolt to the base of the spine. The avant-garde singer/performance artist has a four-octave range with an upper register that’ll make you feel like a goose bump incarnate.

This concept album about the ravages of the AIDS epidemic sees Galas speaking in tongues, playing Satan and attempting to approximate the malevolence of the virus in question.

Oh, and did we mention that she also looks kind of like Nosferatu’s daughter?

Pig Destroyer, “Prowler in the Yard.” This perverse grind nerve rattler is the musical equivalent of a creepy, heavy breathing dude in a trench coat fogging up your bedroom window while you get undressed late at night.

It begins with the truly disturbing “Jennifer,” a robot-voiced narrative where a young girl licks her friend’s eyeballs like sugar cubes, then plunges into a shrieking hell of bloody larynxes and warp-speed riffs that work the body like hurled meat cleavers.

A snuff film in sonic form.

Bethlehem, “Dictus Te Necare.” The title translates to “kill yourself,” but upon experiencing the agonized roar of this German black metal battering ram, you hardly need it spelled out for you.

This is some seriously bleak and wrist-slashing stuff, with vocals suggestive of a banshee getting waterboarded.

In a strange way, the record is quite the pick-me-up though, because no matter how bad you’re feeling, these dudes have definitely got it worse.

Contact reporter Jason Bracelin at jbracelin@reviewjournal.com or 702-383-0476.