#apr25 — Public Fediverse posts

Record(s) o’ the Month – April 2025

By Angry Metal Guy

“April is the cruellest month,” wrote T.S. Eliot in a poem that no one quoting it has ever finished reading.1 And while Eliot was quite metal in his exquisite, existential despair about WWI or whatever, he never understood true existential dread. I speak, of course, of the dread of being force-fed twenty-five promising albums, half of which are drenched in so much reverb that you feel like you’re swimming, only to realize that you didn’t even review the Record o’ the Month yourself. Regardless, this April continued to be cruel. But this cruelty came bearing bloodied knuckles and a furrowed (and noticably pronounced) brow. Dormant Ordeal took that energy and weaponized it.

It’s not every month that a death metal album crawls out of the woodwork and shatters the Score Safety Counter like a warhammer through a piñata, but Dormant Ordeal—whose new record Tooth and Nail dropped April 18th, 2025, from Willowtip Records [Bandcamp]—did exactly that. Tooth and Nail is a masterclass in (blackened) death metal—”the classic Polish death metal sound”—done right. It’s taut, unreleating, melodic when it counts, and angrier than Angry Metal Guy when reminded of the existence of Disqus. This record hits a sweet spot inside of me best described as the “oh yeah, that’s how death metal is done” spot. The riffs flow, and my brain just opens up the spigots, releasing a veritable tsunami of dopamine. Every riff that cuts, every transition that seethes, and every recognition of the slick, skilled ways that these guys construct songs, I get a nice big kick of that Happy Chemical. Tooth and Nail is dynamic, punishing, aggressive, and better yet, it’s smart. Dormant Ordeal is like a boxer who knows exactly when to drop his guard and knock you out.2 Our very own Tyme was so excited he penned an overwrought review of Angry Metal Guyan proportions. In one of his more uncontainable moments of verbal climax, he ejaculated: “Tooth and Nail represents the absolute best of what Dormant Ordeal can be.” The rest of us wiped down the walls and nodded in agreement. And I, being an instantiation of the will of the staff through my very existence, elected it to be Record o’ the Month.

Runner(s) Up:

Structure // Heritage [April 25th, 2025 | Ardua Music | Bandcamp] — “Solo” doom project Structure did a thing that I never thought possible. It made Steel Druhm feel about a Dutch doom metal project like I felt about The 11th Hour. Oh, also, it crushed our collective will to live in the most painful way possible. A labor of love from Bram Bijlhout of Officium Triste, Heritage is crushing, exquisite, and dramatic in all the right ways. Pim Blankenstein’s vocal contributions take this funeral doom lament to operatic heights. Steel Druhm, while shotgunning his seventh doppelbock, enthusiastically spilled his beer all over the bar while trying to emphasize for everyone slightly louder than necessary that Structure has written “a monumental doom epic that caves in your chest with its raw power and brings a tear to the most jaded eye with its heartwrenching beauty!” He even gave it a 4.5, which is 5.0 in Steel Druhmese. And if none of that convinces you, I, too, concede that this is a great record and I suspect it’s going to be quite present during Listurnalia.

Messa // The Spin [April 11th, 2025 | Metal Blade Records | Bandcamp] — The reason I started doing three, or sometimes four, releases for Record(s) o’ the Month was because there were times when it was just impossible to choose. This month is actually kind of cruel in that all three of these could have been Record o’ the Month without question. Italian doom-jazz mystics Messa put up a good fight with their most seductive release yet. The Spin sheds the sprawl of Close in favor of tighter, moodier bangers. For my part, this is as good as I think they’ve ever sounded. Sharky Shark Boy was right when he said that “Sara’s smouldering, siren-like vocals have hit a whole new level,” lending the compositions a power I don’t remember Messa having. The Spin is doom with eyeliner and a degree in art history—classy, smokey, and ready to crush you with riffs and moody quotes from a Frenchman. While Messa has always had some appeal, there’s something about The Spin that works differently. It’s not like they’re a new band with a new sound, but instead, to quote Sharky Shark Boy, “Rather like using a velvetizer to make your hot chocolate. It’s still hot chocolate. But it’s thicker, richer, and, well, velvet-ier.” Yeah, I think that analogy pretty much says it all. No? Fine, The Dolphin Half of the Aquatic Duo chirped and bobbed overexcitedly: “Music this powerful stands ready to inspire binge listening, tone envy, and, with any luck, another generation hopelessly addicted to six strings screaming at unadvisable volumes.” And that seems like the final word on the matter.

#2025 #Apr25 #DormantOrdeal #Heritage #Messa #OfficiumTriste #RecordSOTheMonth #RecordsOfTheMonth #Structure #The11thHour #TheSpin #ToothAndNail

Cave Sermon – Fragile Wings Review

By Thus Spoke

For the second year in a row, I was blindsided by a silent Cave Sermon drop. At least it didn’t take me 11 months to catch up this time.1 Album number three, Fragile Wings, sees Charlie Parks returning as a solo act, but now handling vocals on top of everything else. This latter is a welcome development, given how well the previous record proved vocals complement and enhance the unique musical style. After Divine Laughter blew my socks off and nonchalantly pushed its way to the top half of my 2024 year-end list, a follow-up so soon filled me with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. Surely he couldn’t do it again? But, of course, he has.

Fragile Wings is instantly recognisable as Cave Sermon, but rather than simply being Divine Laughter part two—not that I would have complained about that—it is tonally quite different. Different, but with the same dreamlike longing at its core. Whereas its predecessor felt nihilistic and angry, Fragile Wings is a little more vulnerable, a little sadder, and more wistful. This shines through the now more prominent melodies, which feel playful and exuberant, in the beguiling way that characterises Cave Sermon’s sound. Fluid layers of liquid strums, riffs that vibrate alternately with urgency and mirth (“Hopeless Magic,” “”Moloch”), and tremolos that burr and hum as much as they warble like songbirds up and down scales (“Three-Headed Moth,” “Ancient to Someone”). The untamed tempos that lead tracks through a series of stomps, sways, charges, and thoughtful pauses are more mischievous than before, in a way that makes explicit the spirited defiance that bubbled within Divine Laughter. Parks’ vocals work just as well as Miguel Méndez’s did, if not better, against this vibrant backdrop, and there’s an additional weight given to the already strange and touching lyrics because their author is now delivering them himself.

Fragile Wings is stirring and vivacious, and somehow outdoes Divine Laughter in its sparkling dynamism and bright unusualness. After arresting with odd, colourful arrangements, Cave Sermon looks wryly over at the listener and says, “watch this,” as some effervescent lead comes frolicking in (“Moloch,” “Three-Headed Moth”), or an already satisfying groove switches to a new dance with a flick and a crash (“Hopeless Magic,” “Ancient for Someone”); you can’t help but smile back. The very way guitars are distorted, and the atmosphere surrounding their notes and the here-skittish, there-assertive percussion, is…different. And this is all charming because it’s not self-indulgent; not weird and challenging and complicated, but refreshing, like a splash of cool water to the face on a hot day. All the more so given how Cave Sermon makes it look easy, creating a soundscape that seems simpler than it is, managing to presage and reprise melodies and rhythms in a way I can only describe as “very cool.” Interwoven strands of ethereal ambience—warm strums and purring high notes (“Arrows and Clay,” “Sunless Morning”)—violent sludgy riffs and a tripping, resonant drumbeat (“Moloch,” “Ancient for Someone”); symphonies of burbling tremolo and synths (“Hopeless Magic,” “Ancient for Someone”); and the delicate assuredness of wavering melodies, each are so carefully placed, but weightless, as though carried by some spirited wind that breezes through each track.

In this organic, careless novelty and expression, Fragile Wings continues what Divine Laughter established, but does it better. Not only is it more poignant, it flows with a more tangible through-line, and even cleverer rhythmic interplay. There is no track-length ambient noise here; this tendency is relegated to the faded conversation that closes “Arrows and Clay,” and the birdsong scattered over the serene first act of “Sunless Morning.” The difference is that these are not divorced from the music, but part of it, contributing to its sense of nostalgia, and sombre reflectiveness. A harsher version of me would still argue that the first half of “Sunless Morning” is a bit too slow of a build, but another would gesture fanatically at the song’s second act, with its quaking bass refrain and heartfelt tremolo descent melody that might actually be the best on the album, before it enters another wild dance I won’t spoil. Cave Sermon has refined their ability to transition between energies and styles whilst keeping the tone consistent. So seamless is the integration that it no longer feels like multiple genres are in play, but like a new one entirely.

Fragile Wings confirms what I had secretly hoped, that Divine Laughter was not just lightning in a bottle. If anything, it only raises the bar. Cave Sermon create music that is some magical combination of emotionally stirring, endlessly engrossing, and completely unique. There is simply no other artist in metal making music like them.2 You have to hear this.

Rating: Excellent3
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Self-Release
Website: Bandcamp
Releases Worldwide: April 16th, 2025

#2025 #45 #Apr25 #AustralianMetal #BlackMetal #CaveSermon #DeathMetal #ExperimentalMetal #FragileWings #PostMetal #Review #Reviews #SelfReleased #Sludge

Cave Sermon – Fragile Wings Review

By Thus Spoke

For the second year in a row, I was blindsided by a silent Cave Sermon drop. At least it didn’t take me 11 months to catch up this time.1 Album number three, Fragile Wings, sees Charlie Parks returning as a solo act, but now handling vocals on top of everything else. This latter is a welcome development, given how well the previous record proved vocals complement and enhance the unique musical style. After Divine Laughter blew my socks off and nonchalantly pushed its way to the top half of my 2024 year-end list, a follow-up so soon filled me with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. Surely he couldn’t do it again? But, of course, he has.

Fragile Wings is instantly recognisable as Cave Sermon, but rather than simply being Divine Laughter part two—not that I would have complained about that—it is tonally quite different. Different, but with the same dreamlike longing at its core. Whereas its predecessor felt nihilistic and angry, Fragile Wings is a little more vulnerable, a little sadder, and more wistful. This shines through the now more prominent melodies, which feel playful and exuberant, in the beguiling way that characterises Cave Sermon’s sound. Fluid layers of liquid strums, riffs that vibrate alternately with urgency and mirth (“Hopeless Magic,” “”Moloch”), and tremolos that burr and hum as much as they warble like songbirds up and down scales (“Three-Headed Moth,” “Ancient to Someone”). The untamed tempos that lead tracks through a series of stomps, sways, charges, and thoughtful pauses are more mischievous than before, in a way that makes explicit the spirited defiance that bubbled within Divine Laughter. Parks’ vocals work just as well as Miguel Méndez’s did, if not better, against this vibrant backdrop, and there’s an additional weight given to the already strange and touching lyrics because their author is now delivering them himself.

Fragile Wings is stirring and vivacious, and somehow outdoes Divine Laughter in its sparkling dynamism and bright unusualness. After arresting with odd, colourful arrangements, Cave Sermon looks wryly over at the listener and says, “watch this,” as some effervescent lead comes frolicking in (“Moloch,” “Three-Headed Moth”), or an already satisfying groove switches to a new dance with a flick and a crash (“Hopeless Magic,” “Ancient for Someone”); you can’t help but smile back. The very way guitars are distorted, and the atmosphere surrounding their notes and the here-skittish, there-assertive percussion, is…different. And this is all charming because it’s not self-indulgent; not weird and challenging and complicated, but refreshing, like a splash of cool water to the face on a hot day. All the more so given how Cave Sermon makes it look easy, creating a soundscape that seems simpler than it is, managing to presage and reprise melodies and rhythms in a way I can only describe as “very cool.” Interwoven strands of ethereal ambience—warm strums and purring high notes (“Arrows and Clay,” “Sunless Morning”)—violent sludgy riffs and a tripping, resonant drumbeat (“Moloch,” “Ancient for Someone”); symphonies of burbling tremolo and synths (“Hopeless Magic,” “Ancient for Someone”); and the delicate assuredness of wavering melodies, each are so carefully placed, but weightless, as though carried by some spirited wind that breezes through each track.

In this organic, careless novelty and expression, Fragile Wings continues what Divine Laughter established, but does it better. Not only is it more poignant, it flows with a more tangible through-line, and even cleverer rhythmic interplay. There is no track-length ambient noise here; this tendency is relegated to the faded conversation that closes “Arrows and Clay,” and the birdsong scattered over the serene first act of “Sunless Morning.” The difference is that these are not divorced from the music, but part of it, contributing to its sense of nostalgia, and sombre reflectiveness. A harsher version of me would still argue that the first half of “Sunless Morning” is a bit too slow of a build, but another would gesture fanatically at the song’s second act, with its quaking bass refrain and heartfelt tremolo descent melody that might actually be the best on the album, before it enters another wild dance I won’t spoil. Cave Sermon has refined their ability to transition between energies and styles whilst keeping the tone consistent. So seamless is the integration that it no longer feels like multiple genres are in play, but like a new one entirely.

Fragile Wings confirms what I had secretly hoped, that Divine Laughter was not just lightning in a bottle. If anything, it only raises the bar. Cave Sermon create music that is some magical combination of emotionally stirring, endlessly engrossing, and completely unique. There is simply no other artist in metal making music like them.2 You have to hear this.

Rating: Excellent3
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Self-Release
Website: Bandcamp
Releases Worldwide: April 16th, 2025

Show 3 footnotes

1. Thank you, Dolph. ↩
2. If there is, please tell me who they are. ↩
3. Watch this space for a possible contrite upgrade. ↩

#2025 #45 #Apr25 #AustralianMetal #BlackMetal #CaveSermon #DeathMetal #ExperimentalMetal #FragileWings #PostMetal #Review #Reviews #SelfReleased #Sludge

Cave Sermon – Fragile Wings Review

By Thus Spoke

For the second year in a row, I was blindsided by a silent Cave Sermon drop. At least it didn’t take me 11 months to catch up this time.1 Album number three, Fragile Wings, sees Charlie Parks returning as a solo act, but now handling vocals on top of everything else. This latter is a welcome development, given how well the previous record proved vocals complement and enhance the unique musical style. After Divine Laughter blew my socks off and nonchalantly pushed its way to the top half of my 2024 year-end list, a follow-up so soon filled me with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. Surely he couldn’t do it again? But, of course, he has.

Fragile Wings is instantly recognisable as Cave Sermon, but rather than simply being Divine Laughter part two—not that I would have complained about that—it is tonally quite different. Different, but with the same dreamlike longing at its core. Whereas its predecessor felt nihilistic and angry, Fragile Wings is a little more vulnerable, a little sadder, and more wistful. This shines through the now more prominent melodies, which feel playful and exuberant, in the beguiling way that characterises Cave Sermon’s sound. Fluid layers of liquid strums, riffs that vibrate alternately with urgency and mirth (“Hopeless Magic,” “”Moloch”), and tremolos that burr and hum as much as they warble like songbirds up and down scales (“Three-Headed Moth,” “Ancient to Someone”). The untamed tempos that lead tracks through a series of stomps, sways, charges, and thoughtful pauses are more mischievous than before, in a way that makes explicit the spirited defiance that bubbled within Divine Laughter. Parks’ vocals work just as well as Miguel Méndez’s did, if not better, against this vibrant backdrop, and there’s an additional weight given to the already strange and touching lyrics because their author is now delivering them himself.

Fragile Wings is stirring and vivacious, and somehow outdoes Divine Laughter in its sparkling dynamism and bright unusualness. After arresting with odd, colourful arrangements, Cave Sermon looks wryly over at the listener and says, “watch this,” as some effervescent lead comes frolicking in (“Moloch,” “Three-Headed Moth”), or an already satisfying groove switches to a new dance with a flick and a crash (“Hopeless Magic,” “Ancient for Someone”); you can’t help but smile back. The very way guitars are distorted, and the atmosphere surrounding their notes and the here-skittish, there-assertive percussion, is…different. And this is all charming because it’s not self-indulgent; not weird and challenging and complicated, but refreshing, like a splash of cool water to the face on a hot day. All the more so given how Cave Sermon makes it look easy, creating a soundscape that seems simpler than it is, managing to presage and reprise melodies and rhythms in a way I can only describe as “very cool.” Interwoven strands of ethereal ambience—warm strums and purring high notes (“Arrows and Clay,” “Sunless Morning”)—violent sludgy riffs and a tripping, resonant drumbeat (“Moloch,” “Ancient for Someone”); symphonies of burbling tremolo and synths (“Hopeless Magic,” “Ancient for Someone”); and the delicate assuredness of wavering melodies, each are so carefully placed, but weightless, as though carried by some spirited wind that breezes through each track.

In this organic, careless novelty and expression, Fragile Wings continues what Divine Laughter established, but does it better. Not only is it more poignant, it flows with a more tangible through-line, and even cleverer rhythmic interplay. There is no track-length ambient noise here; this tendency is relegated to the faded conversation that closes “Arrows and Clay,” and the birdsong scattered over the serene first act of “Sunless Morning.” The difference is that these are not divorced from the music, but part of it, contributing to its sense of nostalgia, and sombre reflectiveness. A harsher version of me would still argue that the first half of “Sunless Morning” is a bit too slow of a build, but another would gesture fanatically at the song’s second act, with its quaking bass refrain and heartfelt tremolo descent melody that might actually be the best on the album, before it enters another wild dance I won’t spoil. Cave Sermon has refined their ability to transition between energies and styles whilst keeping the tone consistent. So seamless is the integration that it no longer feels like multiple genres are in play, but like a new one entirely.

Fragile Wings confirms what I had secretly hoped, that Divine Laughter was not just lightning in a bottle. If anything, it only raises the bar. Cave Sermon create music that is some magical combination of emotionally stirring, endlessly engrossing, and completely unique. There is simply no other artist in metal making music like them.2 You have to hear this.

Rating: Excellent3
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Self-Release
Website: Bandcamp
Releases Worldwide: April 16th, 2025

#2025 #45 #Apr25 #AustralianMetal #BlackMetal #CaveSermon #DeathMetal #ExperimentalMetal #FragileWings #PostMetal #Review #Reviews #SelfReleased #Sludge

Cave Sermon – Fragile Wings Review

By Thus Spoke

For the second year in a row, I was blindsided by a silent Cave Sermon drop. At least it didn’t take me 11 months to catch up this time.1 Album number three, Fragile Wings, sees Charlie Parks returning as a solo act, but now handling vocals on top of everything else. This latter is a welcome development, given how well the previous record proved vocals complement and enhance the unique musical style. After Divine Laughter blew my socks off and nonchalantly pushed its way to the top half of my 2024 year-end list, a follow-up so soon filled me with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. Surely he couldn’t do it again? But, of course, he has.

Fragile Wings is instantly recognisable as Cave Sermon, but rather than simply being Divine Laughter part two—not that I would have complained about that—it is tonally quite different. Different, but with the same dreamlike longing at its core. Whereas its predecessor felt nihilistic and angry, Fragile Wings is a little more vulnerable, a little sadder, and more wistful. This shines through the now more prominent melodies, which feel playful and exuberant, in the beguiling way that characterises Cave Sermon’s sound. Fluid layers of liquid strums, riffs that vibrate alternately with urgency and mirth (“Hopeless Magic,” “”Moloch”), and tremolos that burr and hum as much as they warble like songbirds up and down scales (“Three-Headed Moth,” “Ancient to Someone”). The untamed tempos that lead tracks through a series of stomps, sways, charges, and thoughtful pauses are more mischievous than before, in a way that makes explicit the spirited defiance that bubbled within Divine Laughter. Parks’ vocals work just as well as Miguel Méndez’s did, if not better, against this vibrant backdrop, and there’s an additional weight given to the already strange and touching lyrics because their author is now delivering them himself.

Fragile Wings is stirring and vivacious, and somehow outdoes Divine Laughter in its sparkling dynamism and bright unusualness. After arresting with odd, colourful arrangements, Cave Sermon looks wryly over at the listener and says, “watch this,” as some effervescent lead comes frolicking in (“Moloch,” “Three-Headed Moth”), or an already satisfying groove switches to a new dance with a flick and a crash (“Hopeless Magic,” “Ancient for Someone”); you can’t help but smile back. The very way guitars are distorted, and the atmosphere surrounding their notes and the here-skittish, there-assertive percussion, is…different. And this is all charming because it’s not self-indulgent; not weird and challenging and complicated, but refreshing, like a splash of cool water to the face on a hot day. All the more so given how Cave Sermon makes it look easy, creating a soundscape that seems simpler than it is, managing to presage and reprise melodies and rhythms in a way I can only describe as “very cool.” Interwoven strands of ethereal ambience—warm strums and purring high notes (“Arrows and Clay,” “Sunless Morning”)—violent sludgy riffs and a tripping, resonant drumbeat (“Moloch,” “Ancient for Someone”); symphonies of burbling tremolo and synths (“Hopeless Magic,” “Ancient for Someone”); and the delicate assuredness of wavering melodies, each are so carefully placed, but weightless, as though carried by some spirited wind that breezes through each track.

In this organic, careless novelty and expression, Fragile Wings continues what Divine Laughter established, but does it better. Not only is it more poignant, it flows with a more tangible through-line, and even cleverer rhythmic interplay. There is no track-length ambient noise here; this tendency is relegated to the faded conversation that closes “Arrows and Clay,” and the birdsong scattered over the serene first act of “Sunless Morning.” The difference is that these are not divorced from the music, but part of it, contributing to its sense of nostalgia, and sombre reflectiveness. A harsher version of me would still argue that the first half of “Sunless Morning” is a bit too slow of a build, but another would gesture fanatically at the song’s second act, with its quaking bass refrain and heartfelt tremolo descent melody that might actually be the best on the album, before it enters another wild dance I won’t spoil. Cave Sermon has refined their ability to transition between energies and styles whilst keeping the tone consistent. So seamless is the integration that it no longer feels like multiple genres are in play, but like a new one entirely.

Fragile Wings confirms what I had secretly hoped, that Divine Laughter was not just lightning in a bottle. If anything, it only raises the bar. Cave Sermon create music that is some magical combination of emotionally stirring, endlessly engrossing, and completely unique. There is simply no other artist in metal making music like them.2 You have to hear this.

Rating: Excellent3
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Self-Release
Website: Bandcamp
Releases Worldwide: April 16th, 2025

#2025 #45 #Apr25 #AustralianMetal #BlackMetal #CaveSermon #DeathMetal #ExperimentalMetal #FragileWings #PostMetal #Review #Reviews #SelfReleased #Sludge

Cave Sermon – Fragile Wings Review

By Thus Spoke

For the second year in a row, I was blindsided by a silent Cave Sermon drop. At least it didn’t take me 11 months to catch up this time.1 Album number three, Fragile Wings, sees Charlie Parks returning as a solo act, but now handling vocals on top of everything else. This latter is a welcome development, given how well the previous record proved vocals complement and enhance the unique musical style. After Divine Laughter blew my socks off and nonchalantly pushed its way to the top half of my 2024 year-end list, a follow-up so soon filled me with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. Surely he couldn’t do it again? But, of course, he has.

Fragile Wings is instantly recognisable as Cave Sermon, but rather than simply being Divine Laughter part two—not that I would have complained about that—it is tonally quite different. Different, but with the same dreamlike longing at its core. Whereas its predecessor felt nihilistic and angry, Fragile Wings is a little more vulnerable, a little sadder, and more wistful. This shines through the now more prominent melodies, which feel playful and exuberant, in the beguiling way that characterises Cave Sermon’s sound. Fluid layers of liquid strums, riffs that vibrate alternately with urgency and mirth (“Hopeless Magic,” “”Moloch”), and tremolos that burr and hum as much as they warble like songbirds up and down scales (“Three-Headed Moth,” “Ancient to Someone”). The untamed tempos that lead tracks through a series of stomps, sways, charges, and thoughtful pauses are more mischievous than before, in a way that makes explicit the spirited defiance that bubbled within Divine Laughter. Parks’ vocals work just as well as Miguel Méndez’s did, if not better, against this vibrant backdrop, and there’s an additional weight given to the already strange and touching lyrics because their author is now delivering them himself.

Fragile Wings is stirring and vivacious, and somehow outdoes Divine Laughter in its sparkling dynamism and bright unusualness. After arresting with odd, colourful arrangements, Cave Sermon looks wryly over at the listener and says, “watch this,” as some effervescent lead comes frolicking in (“Moloch,” “Three-Headed Moth”), or an already satisfying groove switches to a new dance with a flick and a crash (“Hopeless Magic,” “Ancient for Someone”); you can’t help but smile back. The very way guitars are distorted, and the atmosphere surrounding their notes and the here-skittish, there-assertive percussion, is…different. And this is all charming because it’s not self-indulgent; not weird and challenging and complicated, but refreshing, like a splash of cool water to the face on a hot day. All the more so given how Cave Sermon makes it look easy, creating a soundscape that seems simpler than it is, managing to presage and reprise melodies and rhythms in a way I can only describe as “very cool.” Interwoven strands of ethereal ambience—warm strums and purring high notes (“Arrows and Clay,” “Sunless Morning”)—violent sludgy riffs and a tripping, resonant drumbeat (“Moloch,” “Ancient for Someone”); symphonies of burbling tremolo and synths (“Hopeless Magic,” “Ancient for Someone”); and the delicate assuredness of wavering melodies, each are so carefully placed, but weightless, as though carried by some spirited wind that breezes through each track.

In this organic, careless novelty and expression, Fragile Wings continues what Divine Laughter established, but does it better. Not only is it more poignant, it flows with a more tangible through-line, and even cleverer rhythmic interplay. There is no track-length ambient noise here; this tendency is relegated to the faded conversation that closes “Arrows and Clay,” and the birdsong scattered over the serene first act of “Sunless Morning.” The difference is that these are not divorced from the music, but part of it, contributing to its sense of nostalgia, and sombre reflectiveness. A harsher version of me would still argue that the first half of “Sunless Morning” is a bit too slow of a build, but another would gesture fanatically at the song’s second act, with its quaking bass refrain and heartfelt tremolo descent melody that might actually be the best on the album, before it enters another wild dance I won’t spoil. Cave Sermon has refined their ability to transition between energies and styles whilst keeping the tone consistent. So seamless is the integration that it no longer feels like multiple genres are in play, but like a new one entirely.

Fragile Wings confirms what I had secretly hoped, that Divine Laughter was not just lightning in a bottle. If anything, it only raises the bar. Cave Sermon create music that is some magical combination of emotionally stirring, endlessly engrossing, and completely unique. There is simply no other artist in metal making music like them.2 You have to hear this.

Rating: Excellent3
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Self-Release
Website: Bandcamp
Releases Worldwide: April 16th, 2025

#2025 #45 #Apr25 #AustralianMetal #BlackMetal #CaveSermon #DeathMetal #ExperimentalMetal #FragileWings #PostMetal #Review #Reviews #SelfReleased #Sludge

Coffin Feeder – Big Trouble Review

By El Cuervo

Sometimes you can judge a book by its cover. The intellectual property rights-busting album artwork of Big Trouble by Coffin Feeder pays tribute to the silliest action movies of the 80s and 90s, just like the music within. This album represents the band’s full-length debut after a pair of EPs that tickled our very own Kenstrosity. Though the core members may be Belgian, the bands through which these guys ordinarily peddle their wares (Aborted, Leng Tch’e) are fused with a steaming smorgasbord of high-profile guest spots (Benighted, Cattle Decapitation, Archspire). The result is an energetic fusion of various cores, from death to grind to hard (also the order of events at Dr. A.N. Grier’s place on a Friday night). How are these sub-genres fused?

Distilling Big Trouble down into its key elements is relatively easy, even if those key elements themselves don’t offer easy listening. It combines the monumental heft of deathcore with the sneering attitude of hardcore and the speedy intensity of grindcore. “Porkchop Express” is prototypical of the album, as it blends a stomping lead that reeks of slam with a faster, tremolo-picked verse, while the vocals unpredictably flip between pig squeals, hardcore shouts, and deathly growls. These songs are extremely extreme, favoring an obnoxiously loud master, boisterous riffs, and relentless energy. It’s a lot, but also – at least on first listen – a lot of fun. It’s difficult to dislike something so active and aggressive, and it’s all too brief to become bored. The cacophony is more of an experience than mere music.

I also admire how Coffin Feeder lean into their own silliness; they represent the diametric opposition to bands that take themselves too seriously. It’s difficult to dispute the “What is best in life?” speech from Conan the Barbarian when layered over beefcake deathcore (“The Destroyer”). But I would also argue that Big Trouble favors style over substance. The sense of humor pastes over an album that’s solid in execution of the fundamentals, but not much better. It feels like the band has used up all their ideas by the back half of the record. The songs become predictable, shuffling between mid-paced/deathlier passages, faster/grindier passages, and slower/breakdown passages. Likewise, most of the riffs sound basically the same. Though the leads are typically entertaining, not many of the tracks really stand out because they follow similar sounds throughout.

Like all good -core music, the breakdowns are often the highlights. When those blast beats are broken down with a slower but groovier lead, heads will bang. In fact, breakdowns are such an easy win in -core music that they feel like a song-writing crutch. Big Trouble accordingly struggles more where there are longer gaps between those fist-pumping moments. “Plain Zero” is a straighter death metal track with a hefty punch, but the relative absence of breakdowns means my attention is less focused. Paradoxically, there are other tracks with poorly deployed breakdowns that disrupt their flow. “Love at First Death” features a pause that becomes a beefy breakdown, but it’s too sudden and changes the tone of the song. Despite solid leads and entertaining grooves, some tracks aren’t particularly cohesive. The music is so frenetic that it can feel disjointed; it’s an amalgamation of ideas but not written into tidy, individual songs.

Coffin Feeder boast some qualities that will undoubtedly appeal to those with a brutal, slamming proclivity. The songs flex with muscular riffs and mighty breakdowns, and the motley vocals go some way to offering a little variety. But Big Trouble (in Little Belgium) ultimately fails to distinguish its individual songs due to repetitive songwriting. Its sheer power can’t overcome a lack of creative spark or ingenuity required to elevate music beyond the average. I feel like there’s more to come from these Belgians.

Rating: 2.5/5.0
DR: 4 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps MP3
Label: Listenable Records
Websites: coffinfeederband.com | coffinfeeder.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/coffinfeeder
Releases Worldwide: April 25th, 2025

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