Congested, constipated and claustrophobic though it is, not much on these Ohio metalcorers' seventh album explains their persistent chart success. Mark Hunter's barfy wrestler growls, for instance, turn more intense exactly when you'd expect them to. Classic-rock guitar noodling sometimes springs out unexpectedly though, and the groove gets fairly mechanistic -- almost Prong-like at points. "Plastic Wonderland" suggests they're more interesting sad than mad, and "The Transmigration" offers proggy electronic breathing space. But only "Kings of the Shadow World" evokes the intended dystopia.