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"If some mad scientist locked himself into an underground lab and discovered a way to electrify a dying badger, plug it into an amplifier and market it as a rock band, it might come out sounding like God's Temple of Family Deliverance. Playing half its set with its backs to the audience and taking cues from drummer Chris Ryan, the trio hammered the audience with plodding, uninspired metal and inaudible screaming where vocals usually are." Ben Hill, Daily Cougar
"God's Temple of Family Deliverance, on the other hand, did not play the room. They were way, way too loud, and way, way too wild. They didn't notice that they were losing the crowd. If you want to please just yourself, play in your garage." -Olivia Alvarez, Houston Press
"God's Temple play run of the mill death metal, with some Metallica-has-done-this before chord changes." -Punk Planet
"God's Temple delivers an equally cool take on sludgey heaviness. The first thing that grabs your eye is the gruesome cover illustration of warrior corpses impaled on stakes on some mist-enshrouded battlefield, which might fool you into thinking this is old school death metal circa 1985. But when you crack this album open, what oozes out are huge, winding trance states of serpentine math/doom riffage and potent floor-tom/feedback workouts, divided into a four song cycle with each jam stretched out into a 10-17 minute epic. At their core, God's Temple traffic in the same sort of sticky, feedback-infested 16 rpm hardcore sludge as Noothgrush, Grief, and old Melvins, but they infiltrate the tarpit riffs and gluey tempo with some intricate math-rock moves and unexpected melodic flourishes that are hidden beneath the detuned doom. Extended bouts of amplifier feedback howl and proggy, angular guitar lines appear throughout as well, like some barbaric fusion of The Melvins, Eyehategod, and Don Caballero dunked in tar. Killer crushing hypno-math-magma-metal." - Crucial Blast
"My calf is sore from an early morning leg cramp (is there any other kind?) possibly caused by too much second hand smoke. Seriously. My colleague swears she stopped getting leg cramps once she stopped smoking. I got the smoke seeing Acid Mothers Temple play. Despite its name, the band consists of aging Japanese dudes with long hair and (3 of 4) beards. The band name pretty much describes the sound. Think Buddhist hippies who took a lot of acid. Unfortunately before they came on we had to suffer through some other band called gods temple of family deliverance (I might have the words in the wrong order) which we called gods temple of family tinitis. They stank and they are touted as one of Houston's best up and coming bands. In this town both of these things can be true simultaneously." -Unkown blogger
"Best Heavy Shit: God’s Temple of Family Deliverance
We got a lot of sweat for not giving these guys some much- deserved credit last year. God’s Temple has been throwing down I Houston for a few years now and have built both a loyal following and their own distict breed of metal. Borrowing from both Sabbath-esque old school elements and bludgeoning dynamics of their contemporaries, GTFD are a diamond in the rough. Not too polished yet not to mushy, their live shows are loud and obnoxious. Just as they should be. See em’ at Walter’s on the 16th." -Free Press Houston : Cynic's Choice Music Awards 2006
"Oil does not exist underground in big cavernous pools. Though we see it this way in cartoons, it’s actually is packed into the pores of rocks under fantastic pressure, trying desperately to reach the surface, but is trapped by a shale. Once the seal is punctured by a drill-bit thousands of feet underground, the pressure the oil is under causes it to rush upwards with tremendous force. When done improperly, a reservoir the size of Kentucky might attempt to barrel out of a single hole with fantastic consequences for the eyes and ears.
This is how I view God’s Temple of Family Deliverance; as a black broth whose sound fills a room and bores itself into the tiniest crevices of the walls looking to escape and equalize the pressure. They are tuned down to the Pliocene. They are mightier than their instruments. But, I don’t want to give the impression that they are uncontrolled or undisciplined. They are not a sonic Spindletop, with sounds flailing about wildly and uselessly, moving from curiosity to bore-inspiring in the course of a few minutes.
There is a discipline. There is a science. There is a massive floating platform in the cold North Sea, controlling the resource, bringing it to market in an orderly (though not uninspiring) fashion. A platform moored in 20 foot seas where once only Vikings dared sail. " -theskyline.net
