#apocalyptic-witchcraft-recordings — Public Fediverse posts

Before the world was known, streams fed rivers, not wallets, and clouds held rain, not data. There was a time when natural phenomena birthed myth and wonder, not funding opportunities dressed up as scientific studies. It is this era, when Homo sapiens still crawled, and magic yet breathed, that drives and inspires Wyrdstæf.1 Based in the United Kingdom, Wyrdstæf harkens back to an era of great change, when Paleolithic frosts gave way to Mesolithic mists. Channeling the Stone Age through modern instruments, Wyrdstæf invites you to return to the dawn of humankind and remember what was forgotten. Is debut LP Primordial Bloodlines a doorway to a bygone age, or is all this sound and fury for naught?

Primordial Bloodlines kicks off with a ceremonial invocation, “White Spring.” Urzhan’s fierce chants and Malang’s ritualistic drums sanctify the ground and stir the blood. Strings join in the last third, adding fuel to an already potent fire. Wyrdstæf’s theatrical sensibilities here strongly evoke the likes of Nytt Land, positioning the listener amidst the proceedings, enhancing immersion. Searing black metal in the veins of Wiegedood and Kampfar erupts from the flames in the form of “Great Migrations.” Shaman and Revenant unleash descending, frostbitten riffs and determined mid-paced marches, backed by hammering double bass and blast beats. After a slightly overlong ambient intro, “Hyperborean” treks further north, adding icy synths and atavistic shouts to an already vicious, blackened brew. If Wyrdstæf continued with this formula, Primordial Bloodlines would be a very strong debut offering.

Alas, that is not the case. Primordial Bloodlines’ two longest tracks—“Parhelion” and “Primordial Bloodlines”—bring things grinding to a halt. Similar to “White Spring,” “Parhelion” focuses on ritualistic ambience, but rather than placing the listener in the middle of the action, it sounds removed, like a field recording or a documentary. As a result, the first four minutes just feel like an egregiously long sample. Two additional passages round out the track’s nine-minute runtime, but none of the three sections seem strongly connected, giving “Parhelion” a Frankenstein-esque feel. “Primordial Bloodlines” shifts to a more cinematic, heavy metal sound. While it does have a more modern and accessible musical structure, it struggles under the weight of a nine-minute runtime, as well. The title track strives for culminating, emotional poignancy, but without strong prior material to support it, “Primordial Bloodlines” falls flat, feeling toothless and hollow.

These last two tracks drive notable pacing and momentum issues on Primordial Bloodlines, but that’s not my biggest gripe here. Ranging from black metal to grandiose heavy/post-metal and incorporating tribal ambience, both immersive and detached, shows Wyrdstæf to be quite talented and committed, but they’re terribly unfocused. The promo material hints at a loosely conceptual nature to the album, but had I not already known, I certainly wouldn’t have gleaned that from the music itself. Even allowing for the compositional flexibility of a concept album, Wyrdstæf doesn’t establish a baseline from which to branch out. Playing three or four separate styles across five tracks feels more like an ill-advised compilation than a cohesive album. Focusing on any one of these would have lent Primordial Bloodlines some much-needed stability.

Primordial Bloodlines started incredibly strong. “White Spring” and “Great Migrations” are both killer tracks that work well together. Red flags began to appear with “Hyperborean,” but its blackened fury was enough to sit through a questionable, sample-adjacent front half. It’s the back half of the album where Wyrdstæf really drops the ball. “Parhelion” feels aimless and nearly anthropological, and the overly ambitious title track fails to achieve its goal and ultimately feels like another waste of time. Combined, they cover more than half of Primordial Bloodlines’ 32-minute runtime. When Wyrdstæf hits, they really hit, but with precipitously diminishing returns past the 14-minute mark, Primordial Bloodlines fails as an album. If the band can settle on a singular compositional identity and use that as a base to incorporate other elements moving forward, there’s potential for a much more impressive offering. But as it stands, the most I’ll recommend is cutting out choice tracks for playlist fodder.

Rating: 2.0/5.0
DR: 5 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Apocalyptic Witchcraft Recordings
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook | Instagram
Releases Worldwide: September 4th, 2026

One might guess that a group by the name of Soothsayer would be inherently forward-looking. Yet, this has not always been the case for this five-piece from Cork, Ireland. In his review of their debut full-length Echoes of the Earth, Cherd highlighted the primitive sound of Soothsayer’s brand of atmospheric sludge/doom while also noting signs of a contemporary mindset shift. Now that sophomore record The Unbinding is here, has Soothsayer advanced to the next age, or are they still planted in the past?

For better or worse, Soothsayer has jettisoned most of their former sludgy, fuzzy disposition while maintaining a firm hold on the doom metal. Perhaps as a consequence of this modification, the production is clearer and facilitates a greater impact of this slow, deliberate groundwork. Soothsayer honors history this time by combining their flavor of doom with lightly folkened black metal. Though the Celtic influence in The Unbinding is not as prominent as the Romanian folk music that courses through the veins of Sur Austru and Negură Bunget, I can’t help but notice similarities. In spite of the numerous ways in which Soothsayer sounds different than before, one key aspect that has not changed is their heavy emphasis on atmosphere.

Yet, The Unbinding often neglects a few crucial requirements for immersion in atmospheric music—consistency and continuity. This is evident to some extent in the compositions themselves, wherein the murky black metal and the lucid doom metal don’t always mesh together effectively. For instance, the agitated drumming and blackened riffs that open and close “Eroding the Sky” feel like misdirections with little tie-in to the substance of the song. But the main source of discomfort—at least for me—arises from the vocal delivery. Liam Hughes’s performances are more varied than on Echoes of the Earth, which should be a good thing, but they end up being distracting as they jostle between growls, snarls, and shouts. The shouts are particularly disruptive in “The Vine,” where they tend to overpower the instrumentation. Clean vocals are utilized sparingly with mixed results, sounding drab in “Sooner Acceptance” but vibrant in “A Vague Shimmer.”

There are times, though, when The Unbinding is steadier and, therefore, more digestible. The beginning of “Endless Shesha” ventures into funeral doom territory with purposeful guitar notes and deep, rumbling growls. The song then patiently builds in a sensible fashion, eventually erupting into a blackened climax that feels earned this time. Bringing up the rear of The Unbinding, “A Vague Shimmer” is the most potent amalgamation of atmospheric elements; the mystical guitar tone, meditative chanting, and tom-centric percussion all complement one another and bear the strongest resemblance to Sur Austru. Soothsayer’s policy of no track being under 7 minutes suits these two standout songs, but the other three tracks on The Unbinding don’t hold up as well under the weight of long durations.

The Unbinding sees Soothsayer make sonic advancements, albeit in a muddled manner. They attempt to conjure an occult atmosphere at all times, but appear indecisive about its nature. Although I am usually a fierce advocate for dynamic songwriting, in this case Soothsayer’s stylistic diversification comes at the expense of overall coherence. Certain compositional choices work well for me—if “Endless Shesha” is any indication, I would be interested to hear Soothsayer pivot toward funeral doom in the future. Other aspects, mainly the black metal parts, didn’t appeal to me as much, though they may be more enticing to other listeners. All in all, I expect that mileage could vary considerably, so I recommend a complete spin of The Unbinding before making a decision.

Rating: 2.5/5.0
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Apocalyptic Witchcraft Recordings
Websites: apocalypticwitchcraft.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/soothsayerdoom
Releases Worldwide: July 3rd, 2026

Cnoc An Tursa – A Cry for the Slain Review

For years, Scottish outfit Cnoc An Tursa lurked along the periphery of my awareness. I liked the few…
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For years, Scottish outfit Cnoc An Tursa lurked along the periphery of my awareness. I liked the few songs I’d heard, and I frequently saw them referenced while exploring similar artists. Yet their lack of output kept me at a distance; as I expanded my taste for folk metal, I didn’t want to fall in love with a band that had little to no appetite to get in the studio.1 For Cnoc An Tursa, you can lay aside your concerns, because they’re back after a nine-year wait to unveil third full-length A Cry for the Slain. This new opus perpetuates what Cnoc An Tursa has been doing since the band formed twenty years ago—writing blackened folk bangers fraught with grace, passion, and depth. After a prolonged absence, though, it becomes more and more difficult to bounce back if expectations outpace reality’s limitations. So, given the intervening years, does A Cry for the Slain elicit tears of joy or sorrow?

On A Cry for the Slain, Cnoc An Tursa draws upon the soundscapes of both their prior albums to hatch an experience that exists somewhere between them. Debut The Giants of Auld introduced the world to Cnoc An Tursa‘s distinctive Highland hijinx, melding rousing orchestrations with meloblack might. Of their two previous albums, A Cry for the Slain shares more in common with The Giants of Auld, harkening to the debut’s more direct songwriting than The Forty Five’s melancholic, key-drenched atmospheres. The Forty Five’s solemnity persists on A Cry for the Slain, but its application rings bittersweet as triumphant melodies dance between wistful choirs and forlorn evocations. While all three albums sound unmistakably like them, their latest takes earlier victories and forges them together into Cnoc An Tursa’s best album to date.

Throughout A Cry for the Slain, Cnoc An Tursa fuses ethereal majesty with blackened stylings and traditional melodies to create a gorgeous folk metal tapestry. The band’s allure lies with their finesse as they conjure captivating and earnest music, and the more I spin A Cry for the Slain, the more I appreciate its stark and stunning beauty. Crashing waves and reverb-laden guitars set the tone within the first track, “Na for Ghorma.” The mournful female vocals crescendo into an inevitable trudge that releases into furious trems and grating rasps on follow-up “The Caoineag.” Cnoc An Tursa consistently pits black metal acerbity against contemplative sorrow, deftly wending between complex atmospheres and emotions. This is perhaps best demonstrated on tracks “Baobhan Sith”2 and “Alba in My Heart,” where Cnoc An Tursa expertly controls song dynamics and tension with peaks and valleys in volume and pathos. Also, I’d be remiss not to mention my favorite track “Am Fear Liath Mòr,” which boasts an otherworldly quality and dextrous melodic leads that simultaneously remind me of “Love Will Tear Us Apart,” Iron Maiden, and Black Cross Hotel, yet still undeniably sounds like Cnoc An Tursa.

Despite succeeding on so many fronts, A Cry for the Slain flounders on penultimate track “Address to the Devil.” To be fair, it mostly falls victim to the heights of the preceding tracks, which all possess strong identities and exemplary writing. Comparatively, “Address to the Devil” stands out as missing the same soul. It starts promisingly enough, with frenzied tremolos lashing against scathing vocals, but from there the pace decelerates to a deliberate march. Soon enough, the song strips back to a twinkling synth and fabulous bass noodling, providing a solid core that ultimately lacks purpose or a melodic through-line to bring everything together.3 Besides “Address to the Devil,” I have no material complaints. The production and mix are smart and balanced, the forty-four-minute runtime is just right, and A Cry for the Slain’s replayability is relentless.

Cnoc An Tursa breaks their nine-year silence with a bang, and fans of their work should be pleased with A Cry for the Slain. As a newer convert, I’m disappointed I didn’t make the time to discover them earlier, but visiting their prior albums along with the new one has brought me immense, befolkened joy. I hope we don’t have to wait as long for their next outing, but until then, I’m content listening to A Cry for the Slain, knowing that time hasn’t dulled their ability to Cnoc one out of the park.

Rating: Very Good!
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Apocalyptic Witchcraft Recordings
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: April 24th, 2026