#apr26 — Public Fediverse posts

Cards on the table—this review is late. Really late. We got the promo, but it went unclaimed, and it wasn’t until I picked up Lynx’s Trinity of Suns for personal enjoyment that I listened. Before I finished my first spin, I knew I had to Filter it. And that’s exactly what I did. I sat down to write my 200ish words about Lynx’s sophomore album, and the words spilled out. Too many, actually. I described how every subsequent journey through Trinity of Suns deepens my appreciation for Lynx’s retro rock, and soon I realized I had more to say than a limited word count would allow. Over the last month, Lynx has enraptured me with their sultry siren song, entrenching Trinity of Suns as a mainstay for commutes and chores. Rather than saving it as a Thing You Might Have Missed, though, I dared to write the counter-breaking missive I hoped my betters would permit. I begged. I cajoled. I cashed in the scant favors and political capital I’ve accrued since joining the staff to get this thing published. Was it worth it? If you’re reading these words, you’re damn right it was.

Between releasing 2021’s Watcher of Skies and follow-up Trinity of Suns, Lynx underwent a transformation I can only describe as transcendent. Huck N Roll offered some pointed criticism for their debut, a slab of 70s hard rock worship in the vein of Thin Lizzy and Blue Öyster Cult. Specifically, Huck noted that the songwriting was as unrefined as guitarist Marvin Keifer’s vocal performance, and the wanton surfeit of cymbals debilitated the listening experience. Five years later, Lynx obliterates whatever expectations listeners set based on Watcher of Skies. Most notably, Trinity of Suns introduces Amy Zine as full-time lead vocalist1—a decision that catapults Lynx’s potential into the Skies. Just as importantly, though, Lynx displays more restraint and maturity in their arrangements to wonderful effect.

Though the core of Lynx’s identity remains the same, the band deftly incorporates inspirations to elevate their sound. Rather than relegating the best moments to snappy intros, Trinity of Suns steeps its compositions in throwback, classic rock drama. “Stranger Sign in the Sky” boasts a Rushified break that harkens to “By-Tor and the Snow Dog,” while “Oppressive Season” starts with an intro that could pass for a lost Jimmy Buffet cut before tumbling into a Thin Lizzy tizzy. “Seven Days of Darkness,” meanwhile, melds the majesty of Pink Floyd psychedelia with the soulful intimacy of Tanith’s starkest emotional moments, eliciting a warm, heartfelt fuzz that pairs perfectly with the desert-ready palette Lynx paints with. The resulting thirty-nine minutes simmer with subtle heat, proving how the songwriting has evolved over the last half-decade.

\In addition to more fluid song structures, Lynx unchains stunning performances across Trinity of Suns. Amy Zine’s smoky vocals cut to my core, whether she’s belting out head-bopping choruses (“Island Universe”) or caressing with a tender croon (“Seven Days of Darkness”), and I simply cannot get enough. Still, as fabulous as her contributions are,2 they don’t carry Trinity of Suns alone. Everyone else in Lynx pitches in with guitars, though they’re primarily supplied by Tim Künz and Janni Athanasiadis. In addition to his gorgeous acoustic twangs on “Seven Days of Darkness,” Franz Fesel ably commands drums from the pocket while Phil Helm rumbles with luxurious yet understated bass. Honestly, Lynx’s low-end locks into such powerful grooves that Trinity of Suns would be undermined and underserved with a lesser performance, and if you need any convincing, go listen to the back-to-back tandem of “Oppressive Season” and “Trinity of Suns.”

Lynx is a band that understands the assignment, and Trinity of Suns should be enough to convince anyone that this kitty has claws. My only unfulfilled desire from Trinity of Suns is a three-minute banger nestled after “Voyager” or “Oppressive Season” where the entire band goes hog-fucking-wild. “Oppressive Season” comes closest, though holds back enough to avert the pandemonium I crave. With the talent Lynx brandishes, I’d love to hear them cut completely loose. Otherwise, Trinity of Suns accomplishes everything I want from a band of Lynx’s ilk, and each time “Island Universe” concludes, I’m left even more smitten. Whatever these cats do next, I’ll be there.

Rating: Great!
DR: 9 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Dying Victims Productions
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: April 24th, 2026

Ten long years passed since Grond released Worship the Kraken, a fun and meaty slab of Bolt Thrower-meets-Autopsy-meets-Lovecraft madness. With such a protracted lull in recording activity, I was sure there was never going to be another Grond record, but lo and behold, The Temple peeked above the horizon just enough for me to catch it on the approach. I quiver with anticipation to see what cosmic horrors await me there.

Grond is the same stomping monstrosity that left the world all those years ago, muscular and be-tentacled as ever. Their Bolt Thrower riffs and nasty bass tone still take center stage, ensuring that any listener’s face scrunches up in grotesque relief (“Weddigen,” “Submergence”). A Temple of Void-like doom/death shroud adorns The Temple in shadowed moods and ominous atmosphere, creating a vastness of scale and stature Worship the Kraken didn’t have (“U-29,” “Dreadnought”). Much like other modern old-school revival acts like Frozen Soul, simplicity is Grond’s best friend, choosing reliable parts and pieces of the death metal arsenal to ensure maximum impact in their songwriting. Thankfully, Grond’s high-fantasy horror theme, frightful guitar pyrotechnics in solos and flourishes (“Dreadnought”), and beefy production help set The Temple apart from contemporary examples of the style and make for a highly engaging 48 minutes.

At first, though, I wasn’t sure if The Temple justified its ten-year incubation period. It’s their slowest, their longest, and arguably their simplest record in terms of structure. I wondered if this meant it offered less substance or weaker engagement. I was wrong. Without sacrificing heft or extremity, Grond doubled down on accessibility and groove to make The Temple their most easily digestible outing thus far (“Pour le Merite,” “Radiant Fury”), but they made considerable effort using accessibility to their advantage. In place of compositional complexity, odd time signatures, or speed, wild lead guitar exhibitionism, gut-punching bass burbles, and clever drum fills abound. This trade, in turn, makes even the most straightforward cuts exciting and distinctive (“The Temple”). Furthermore, revisits uncover even more nifty details and entertaining embellishments—again sourced primarily from the guitar work—that bring depth and charm to The Temple for which initial impressions don’t account.

The Temple boasts many traits and nuances that not only make it a joy to return to, but also help shrink its inflated runtime, yet some areas could still use a trim. At a bloated six-and-a-half minutes, the title track only barely justifies its length with the strength of its guitar work, but would be stronger still with a full minute or so hacked off the first half for brevity. In fact, most of The Temple’s nine tracks toy with that ambitious six-minute barrier. While a vast majority of them don’t feel nearly that long, they all have at least one small grouping of measures that, if culled, wouldn’t detract from the compositions to which they belong (“Weddigen,” “Dark Solitude of the Sea,” “U-29”). Additionally, instrumental intro “Rotter Himmel” adds very little to the whole except to tumble right into the opener proper. At three minutes, it begs either to be nipped, tucked, and integrated into “Weddigen,” or to be cut altogether.

Aside from a spot of bloat, there’s a lot to enjoy in The Temple. It’s a rare kind of classically informed, doom-tinged, mid-paced death metal that grows with every spin. Grond achieved that grower status with their third LP, and it was worth the ten-year wait. It might not be a groundbreaking album, but competes well in its field and pairs very nicely with other Lovecraft-inspired death metal from the likes of Sulphur Aeon or Corpsessed. So if that’s your bag, Grond’s your monster. Choose your vessel, and enter the gate The Temple!

Rating: Very Good
DR: 5 | Format Reviewed: ~260 kbps VBR mp3
Label: XTreem Music
Websites: grond.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/grondrus
Releases Worldwide: April 30th, 2026

Manilla Road, Motörhead, and Megaton Sword walk into a bar—Lemmy’s pick, if that helps you picture the place. Someone yells, “cops outside!” The word “cops” clears the room faster than napalm ever could. Stampede. The bands are swept up in the deluge of bodies, bewildered and sweaty. Amidst the chaos, several shuffle into a nearby van. Driving off, they realize that 1) these aren’t their bandmates, 2) this is Di’Anno-era Iron Maiden’s van with their keys and all their equipment left inside, and 3) they picked up Dropkick Murphys somewhere along the way. If this hypothetical group decided to run with it, they would sound like Chariots Overdrive. Hailing from Beijing, China, and currently residing in Atlanta, Georgia, these adherents of the NWoBHM sound old as dirt on their debut, The End of Antiquity, injecting fantastical lyricism inspired by Chinese history and folklore into their mix. But can this van/chariot go the distance, or has this ride seen its last mile?

The End of Antiquity is driven by allegiance to metal in the purest form, and Chariots Overdrive wield it with punk-like tenacity. Speed and belligerence rule The End of Antiquity, embodied in the full-band gang vocals of “Marching Maniacs” and the Dead Kennedys-like discordance of “Parasite.” The belts and snarls singer G.H.Z uses on “A Taikonautic Alchemist” and “Chariots Overdrive”1 would fit as well with Rancid as they do here, and their guitars and bass evoke the aforementioned early Maiden years in the punkish bite (“The End of Antiquity”). Bassist Z.Z.Y lays down aggressively clicky, highly melodic lines across The End of Antiquity, giving Chariots Overdrive a burly-yet-catchy streak akin to Steve Harris’ playing and bolstering G.H.Z and Y.Z’s gnarly dual guitars and W.R.C’s punchy drums into a full-bodied declaration of victory. Chariots Overdrive feel rooted in the simple joy of throwing ragers with the boys, and The End of Antiquity is, if nothing else, a rager.

Chariots Overdrive don’t overcomplicate anything, which is a boon and bane to The End of Antiquity. Most songs play around simple melodies over two to four chords. Guitar solos aren’t flashy on The End of Antiquity, but they’re incisive. When the outcome is exhilarating like “Chariots Overdrive” or Judas Priest-levels of catchy like “Marching Maniacs,” it’s hard to argue. But it also puts the onus of The End of Antiquity’s success on Chariot Overdrive’s performances, which can falter. G.H.Z isn’t a powerhouse vocalist and sounds downright rough at times, especially where Chariot Overdrive attempt harmonization, such as the chorus of “A Taikonautic Alchemist.” It also means that, despite the album’s lean runtime, The End of Antiquity sounds somewhat exhausted by the time “Nomadic Warfare” and the title track appear, as their hooks are comparatively weaker to the rest of the record. I’m all for simplifying something for the sake of effectiveness, but what’s left has to be as tight as you can make it. In this regard, Chariots Overdrive can improve.

What Chariots Overdrive need is a more refined identity. Like early Iron Maiden, Chariots Overdrive seem to strive towards a dirty-yet-sophisticated sound and theming, evidenced by the fingerstyle guitar and serene bass-and-piano interludes of “Where Dust Reigns” and “Sunken Throb,”2 but these instrumentals’ moods aren’t matched or mirrored by the rest of the album and feel tacked-on as a result. The standout, 12-minute song “A Bizarre Pilgrimage to the Cubik Mansion” hints at what Chariots Overdrive can do, as the band navigates artfully between Motörhead’s hyped-up rock n’ roll and Black Sabbathian gloomy doom.3 But the track buckles a bit under its weight by the end and feels done a few minutes before it’s over. Chariots Overdrive are engaging by grit and energy, but without a solid grasp on what exactly they are doing, The End of Antiquity can only be a fun-but-flawed work when taken as a whole.

The End of Antiquity has some flaws, but I still like where the Chariots Overdrive van is going. If you like any of the bands mentioned above it’s a safe bet you’ll get something out of this. There’s obvious chemistry between the band, and their debut has plenty of good moments throughout that are both fun in the present and hint towards a stronger future. I don’t want Chariots Overdrive to give up on what they’re doing, but if they can merge their punk hooliganism with the finesse they aspire towards in the next album, it’ll be a hit. There’s a lot of highway ahead, but this chariot’s got tread to spare yet.

Rating: Mixed
DR: 84 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps MP3
Label: Gates of Hell Records
Websites: chariotsoverdrive.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/chariotsoverdrive
Releases Worldwide: April 3rd, 20265

German death-doom outfit Décembre Noir has received a fair amount of praise here over the years, with four of their five albums garnering ‘Great’ to ‘Good’ ratings from three of AMG’s finest—Madam X, Huck N’ Roll and, most recently, Ferox, whose review of 2023’s Your Sunset | My Sunrise cited a band that may be resting on laurels, perhaps having lost touch with its muse. Whether those issues led Sebastian Görlach, founding guitarist and one of two main songwriters, to depart the band in the Spring of 2024 is unclear. It is, however, germane since he has returned with a new death doom project, Avertat, and a debut album, Dead End Life. While Görlach admits it was hard to walk away from his “baby,” Avertat offers him the opportunity to reunite with “the same forces that have always defined his relationship with metal: emotional truth, atmospheric depth, and the ability to transform darkness into sound.” All that’s left to decide is whether Avertat, and more importantly, Dead End Life, has any future.

On Dead End Life, Avertat draws from the same well of desolate darkness that Décembre Noir has plumbed for years. Add a fair amount of My Dying Bride to the mix, and you can sense what Avertat is about. From skins to strings, Görlach impressively handles all of Dead End Life’s instrumental responsibilities, even contributing his own deathly growls—here, a satisfying mix of Mikael Akerfeldt and Lars Dotzauer.1 Tracks adhere to a tried-and-true formula, oscillating between speedier, chug-heavy melo-death (“Your Hate,” “The Sea”) and slower-paced, melancholic doom (“[7],” “Call to Death”). And while the addition of clean vocals is hardly groundbreaking, the crisp, prog-poppy tones of non-metal newcomer Enrico Langguth—eerily reminiscent of Tim Charles (Ne Obliviscaris)—are refreshing and bright, serving as a dynamic counterpoint to Görlach’s gruffness.2 Langguth’s emotively hopeful delivery both assuages and drives home the pain of Dead End Life’s deeply emotional stories, which are as heavy as Avertat’s music.

Avertat wastes no time getting down to its bleak, loss-is-life business. Album opener “Your Hate” sets the tone, its chunky, angry riffs, razor-sharp leads, and driving drum beats employed to tell the story of an abused child grown up to take care of his abusive parent as Görlach roars the lyric, “Whenever your hand rises, time blurs within me, I am the child that endures it,” before pleading, “When will you stop, when will you stop living?” This anguish cedes to another as the beautiful piano intro of “[7]” introduces us to the painful tale of Marianne Bachmeier.3 Doomy chords and lilting leads are the backdrop as Langguth croons a mother’s lament, “Seeking out for her smile, I always search for her hand, always held onto her so close”4 before death-heavy riffs and Görlach’s growls come crashing in, “Every shot looses the chains, gifts me freedom for the moment,” reflecting a mother’s vigilante-fueled grief and anger. Whether it’s the Line of Deathless Kings-like lilting leads and doomy riffs of “Call to Death” and “Last Request,”—the former a song about war as told through the eyes of war, replete with some Bolt Throwerish chugs—or the long-form doom-goodery of “My Blood,” recounting a father’s pride, Avertat packs a wallop.

Barely shy of 39 minutes, Avertat doesn’t loiter, and despite the brevity of this kind being rare in the genre, it definitely increases Dead End Life’s replay value. In fact, as the final strains of “Last Request” faded from my speakers, I found myself longing for another song, settling instead to start Dead End Life again. Görlach’s production—yes, he produced Dead End Life too—is warm and enveloping, leaving little for me to quibble with. I suppose, if pressed, I could say I connected least with the blast beats of “The Sea,” as they ran rampant under slower-paced guitars and vocals, but honestly, ’twas a small thing. I just wish there was MOAR!

Avertat delivers a heartfelt experience on Dead End Life, rife with emotional and musical heaviness—elevated by the back-and-forth vocal trade-offs of Görlach and Langguth. While I can’t pontificate on Décembre Noir’s future without Sebastian Görlach, I can absolutely say that Avertat’s future looks bright, despite a recipe that peddles in darkness. I will absolutely be here for whatever comes next, and so too should you.

Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320kbps mp3
Label: Lifeforce Records
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: April 24th, 2026

Look at that cover. It looks like the sort of neon-drenched fever dream burst straight from the mind of an unmedicated, hyperactive toddler whose special interests are cyborg dinosaurs and laser-wielding ninjas that promises the sort of maximalist, power cheese pungent enough to stink up any room. Luckily for us, German fromagers Victorius have been honing their brand of hook-forward, Saturday-morning-cartoon power metal for years. Their 7th album, World War Dinosaur, is a continuation of the band’s deeply unserious “space ninjas vs. holy dinosaurs” storyline showcased on records like Dinosaur Warfare – Legend of the Power Saurus, Space Ninjas From Hell,and Dinosaur Warfare Pt. 2 – The Great Ninja War. I’m all for ridiculous imagery and album concepts, as long as they don’t overshadow the compositions themselves. Can Victorius manage to avoid being crushed under the weight of their own cheese?

On World War Dinosaur, Victorius demonstrates a seasoned knack for crafting straightforward, yet satisfying, dinosaur-themed power metal bangers. The band’s execution of their over-the-top subject matter is less garish than one might expect, eschewing lengthy spoken-word sections or lore-heavy character backstories in favor of poppy power metal with dinosaur-specific hooks. Tracks are fast-paced and built around the tried-and-true power formula of hyper-melodic guitar/synth hooks over galloping drums, with huge, festival-ready singalong choruses, and Victorius are masters at transitioning seamlessly between the expected sections. It’s easy to get lost in the Galneryus-esque haze of dino rippers on songs like “Raptor Squad Attack,” “Brachio Bazooka Battalion,” and “Dino Power Resistance,” which fully lean into their concept. There’s a simple joyousness to be had in listening to well-executed, catchy power metal, and it’s only made more fun by the blatantly absurd subject matter.

Luckily, Victorius aren’t just coasting on a dumb (read: brilliant) gimmick; they actually play like a band that’s been around the block. Vocalist David Bassin, who’s sounded a bit weightless in the past, finally shows up swinging. Here, he sounds confident and inspired, helped by stacked vocal harmonies and gang shouts, which appropriately heighten big moments. Bassin’s soaring tenor absolutely shines while belting out ludicrous lines on ridiculous choruses (“World War Dinosaur,” “Dino Race From Outer Space), leading the charge and treating the “dino vs. ninja” subject matter as if his life depended on it. Beyond the choruses, it’s the truly infectious non-vocal melodic lines that stand out on repeated listens. Guitarists Dirk Scharsich and Flo serve up sharp, memorable leads that weave throughout the songs, with the opening fanfare of “Kingdom of the Strong” and “Lost Legacy” serving as highlights. Throw in the usual bombastic orchestration and gloriously tacky synth work, and suddenly these compositions coalesce into something that’s still sugary and familiar, but hit just a bit harder than your typical middling power metal.

I only wish World War Dinosaur saw Victorius take more musical and conceptual risks. Every song is in the 3-4 minute range, and nearly all of them follow the tried and true power metal formula. There are some mid-tempo cuts like “Evil Mean Megalodon” about a cybernetic shark/submarine of all things, but most tracks feel incredibly similar. This extends to the concept as well, which seems to exist primarily as dinosaur-covered wrapping paper over some standard power metal lyrics about war and battles. There seems to be very little about the actual dinosaur-ninja war as promised, with no narrative progression present, just several songs about dinosaur war units (“Raptor Squad Attack,” “Brachio Bazooka Battalion,” “Prehistoric Panzer Power”), one song about laser ninjas (“Lazer Ninja Thunderstorm”) and a vague conclusion about “fighting forever” (“Lost Legacy”). None of this really detracts from the fun, chorus-focused power metal on display, but it does feel like a minor missed opportunity to elevate the record beyond the sum of its parts.

Nonetheless, World War Dinosaur is a well-crafted, entertaining and incredibly campy slab of power metal. Victorius aren’t charting particularly novel territory, but they’re clearly familiar with the elements that make this style so enjoyable and the over-the-top concept helps to make the whole package more exciting. For those in search of some accessible power cheese to brighten their day, look no further.



Rating: Good!
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Perception Records
Websites: victoriusmetal.net | facebook.com/victoriusmetal
Releases Worldwide: April 17th, 2026

With 33 songs and over two hours of music, Lord of the Lost has written an ambitious trilogy, mercifully spread across eight months rather than released all at once. On Opvs Noir, the band leans into the darker, more gothic aspects of their pop-infused metal, bringing plenty of guest collaborators aboard to keep things spicy. The first two volumes of this opvs have proven a success, with creative instrumentation and an affecting performance from frontman Chris Harms. The question is whether Lord of the Lost can keep up the momentum across another 11 tracks on Vol. 3. The finale of an ambitious project such as this can often feel bittersweet, as it marks the end of something you have (hopefully) come to love, or, like the finales to the Mission Impossible series or Daniel Craig’s James Bond run, it can just be plain disappointing.

Unlike the more energetic, sometimes ostentatious arrangements of the prior two records, Vol. 3 proves to be a much mellower affair. The gothic symphonic elements often pair with softer pop/rock tunes, many of which aim at mood over hooks. Opener “Kill the Lights” starts off with a poppy beat, some cellos, and a growling Chris Harms, and though the chorus might not stick, it’s an overall good song. The moodier pieces don’t always work, however. “The Shadows Within,” which alternates between slower pop and higher energy techno-pop, is largely forgettable. The minimalist finale, “The Days of Our Lives,” serves as a disappointing send-off for the trilogy, though Harms, as usual, makes it worthwhile with his melodic cadence. Though overall less exciting, Vol. 3 does offer plenty of catchy ballads and duets, including “La Vie Est Hell,” performed with departing Kissin’ Dynamite frontman, Hannes Braun.1 It doesn’t do anything fancy, yet I find it often playing in my head on repeat.2

Opvs Noir Vol. 3 does milk some variety out of a couple of pop-related themes coursing through it: empowerment and doomed love. The two most upbeat tunes, “I’m a Diamond” and “I Hate People,” play out as Rammstein techno-industrial pop anthems for people who don’t quite fit in with mainstream society. While “I’m a Diamond” is the catchiest song on offer, the lyrics are a touch contrived.3 “I Hate People” turns the misanthropic-sounding title on its head by directing its ire towards those who seek to force their limited ideology on others.4 Lyrically, the synth-heavy, hip-hop adjacent “My Funeral” is my favorite, containing tongue-in-cheek lyrics where Harms proclaims that “Black is my happy colour” and “I’m gonna, gonna wear / Pink to my funeral.” Rounding out the pop themes are a few love songs, from the Duran Duran-inspired synth pop track, “Square One,” complete with ’80s toms, to a touching duet with Ambre Vourvahis (Xandria). These touches do help keep a rather mild record from growing stale.

While the songs here are well-written, produced, and performed, there’s no denying that it feels as if Lord of the Lost ran out of gas by Vol. 3. The hooks just don’t come as easily, and the lower energy levels feel like a letdown compared to the highs of the first two volumes. One issue is the blandness of the guitars. While creative riffing has not been one of Lord of the Lost’s fortes, they made up for it in the past with more creative arrangements. The generic riffs that fire up on choruses from “The Shadows Within” to “Your Love is Colder Than Death” feel like halfhearted attempts to inject some life into tepid tunes. Much more effective is the penultimate song, “Take Me Far Away,” which ends with an exciting burst of drums and riffs that brings the record to life, albeit briefly.5

This finale ends up bittersweet, feeling more like a whimper than a bang. Yet for fans of Chris Harms and co., it’s not a total loss. Chris Harms is able to elevate even the blandest of tunes; there’s not a single bad song, though many are only mildly enjoyable. Unlike a lot of the dreck that some of the more popular metal bands release, however, Lord of the Lost puts a lot of thought and care into their music, and the Opvs Noir trilogy has plenty to offer those who like their metal less extreme, yet still carrying an edge.



Rating: 2.5/5.0
DR: N/A | Format Reviewed: Stream
Label: Napalm Records
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Site
Releases Worldwide: April 10th, 2026

You may not recognize her name if you don’t follow her solo work, but Leila Abdul-Rauf is an experienced metal musician. As vocalist and guitarist in death metal group Vastum, and semi-frequent collaborator with other extreme and unconventional artists like Dream Unending, she is something of a veteran on 20 Buck Spin. Yet it is only now, with Andros Insidium, that her eponymous solo project sees a release on this label, and the change is more than symbolic. Whilst staying within the realms of experimental dark ambience—and retaining her signature trumpet—the music has taken a decisively heavier turn as Leila dials up the oppressive drone, shapes instrumental elements into dissonant, strange patterns, and incorporates vicious, harsh vocals. And if the cover isn’t clue enough,1 she seems to have something to say.

Andros Insidium is a ritual of sorts, but an allegorical one. Leila uses the goddess Ishtar2, specifically her fabled descent into and ascent out of the underworld, as a vessel to explore womanhood in general. Mythology and ceremony act as a framework to “exorcise” demons of patriarchy and the feminine rage that riles against them. Anger reaches an apex in harrowing “Andros Insidium” where Leila condemns “you” (man) in a chorus of haunting half-sung chants, whispers, and snarls for continually assaulting and torturing “her” (woman). Though superficially dissimilar, it vividly recalls a Caligula-era Lingua Ignota with its minimalist piano and cold narration that becomes screams. This is the first appearance of these gargling, screamed vocals on the record, and one of only two songs that include them, the other being closer “Return to Anu.” The time leading up to this release is filled with tension, the ambience smothering the soundscape without reprieve, as eerie plucks and unsettling cleans undulate through it to the beat of portentous drums and tambourine—a bit like an alternate-universe Swans, though sometimes randomly reminiscent of Haunted Plasma (“Stripped Before the Eye of Death,” “Return to Anu”).

Andros Insidium by Leila Abdul-Rauf

Andros Insiduim is out to make its listener uncomfortable, and it unequivocally succeeds. Just about every element from the ritualistic drum patterns, strange melodies from synth, trumpet, and string, and omnipresent thousand-ton drone sets you on edge. The clanging of steel drums that open the album, and return only in the final track, immediately puts the listener on edge. But it’s Leila’s variously dramatic, baleful, and cold—often multitracked—vocals (“Stripped Before the Eye of Death,” “Fractured Body”)3—and the lyrics they deliver—that pulls these feelings of unease into full potency. As a powerless witness (“Stripped…,” “A Requiem…”), a prophetess (“Fractured Body,” “Return to Anu”), or a divine judge (“Andros Insidium”), her accented intonations give her the air of a haunted narrator; and the very dissonance of the vocal lines seems to emphasise their unflinchingly dark lyrical content more than more traditionally mournful melodies could. The sparse use of harsh vocals enhances their viciousness, and their final appearance occurs in a passage that mimics their first—with the same piano tritones and drumbeat—reinforcing their importance both emotionally and musically. In all, it can be a viscerally disturbing experience.

Yet Andros Insidium also has some groovy and even beautiful moments. “Eros Anima” centres a bizarrely catchy rhythm with its menagerie of hand percussion, trumpet, and guitar, while “A Requiem for Ishtar” sees weeping strings accompany angelic sopranos in a genuinely sad lament, and opener “Descent into Kur” consists of mostly harmonious, if ominous, synth melodies. In the context of the whole, however, such occasions are barely less unsettling than the dissonance and only throw those harsher, uglier moments into sharper relief. You could argue they make the music harder to listen to than if they were entirely absent, and the whole thing were obscure and confrontational. Nothing here feels truly random or needless, particularly when one treats it like the story it is and listens actively. But without devoting your full attention, some of the more esoteric aspects tend to jump out at you awkwardly—the announcing trumpets and didgeridoo-like male drones in “Senex Rule,” or the skin-crawling unfolding of “Andros Insidium,” for example.

As with much avant-garde music, your ability to go on the journey of Andros Insidium will depend on your tolerance for weirdness and willingness to feel uncomfortable. In executing her ritual of catharsis, Leila Abdul-Rauf indulges no sentiment but her own—par for the course with extreme metal perhaps, but in this medium, the risk of alienation could be higher. Nevertheless, this is a striking work that deserves at least an open-minded explore.

Rating: Good
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: 20 Buck Spin
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: April 17th, 2026

It’s been some time since Splendidula has visited these pages. The fearsome Carcharodon reviewed their sophomore record, Post Mortem, as a wee n00b long ago in 2018, wherein he saw glimmers of potential in the gothic doom metal. He didn’t cover 2021’s Somnus for unknown reasons, though I think he might have been pleased with the heavier post-metal inclinations that permeated the record. The years since then have been rough for this Belgian group, marred by the passing of several loved ones, including their bassist Peter Chromiak. Absentia emerges in the wake of these tragedies as a means to both express and confront this debilitating heartache and loss.

Chromiak’s absence is felt in the very essence of Absentia. Although drummer Joachim Taminau took up the bassist role, the burly bass presence from the prior two records is all but gone. Splendidula kept much of their gothic doom but, fittingly, chose to fill the void with another of metal’s most expressive subgenres—DSBM. Whereas Kristien Cools previously stuck to clean vocals (for the most part), she now becomes both beauty and beast, dividing her time between sorrowful singing and shrieking. She also leans on a couple of notable guest vocalists. Tim Yatras (Austere) adds blackened snarls and backing cleans to “Absentia,” followed by Aaron Stainthorpe (ex-My Dying Bride, High Parasite), who contributes his rumbling growls and velvety baritone to “Echoes of Quiet Remain.” These guest selections neatly encapsulate the two different aspects of Absentia.

Absentia by Splendidula

While much music (and art in general) is born from a place of grief, Absentia is practically synonymous with it. Underneath the stoic exterior lurks a raw torment that flares up whenever and however it wants. For example, “Donkerte” begins with despondent singing, but as the verse progresses, Cools’s voice escalates until finally a primal scream spills out. Later, the double-tracked cleans and screams give the impression of one putting on a brave face as anguish roils inside. When her voice dips into the lower ranges (particularly in “Absentia” and “Let It Come to an End”), it takes on a sort of nasally drawl which augments the mournful atmosphere, though this likely won’t appeal to everyone. Also like grief, sections of certain songs tend to linger for longer than one might like (“Echoes of Quiet Remain,” “Kilte,” “Absentia”).

Absentia musically conveys the importance of a healthy support system during times of grief. Though much hinges on Cools’s vocal performances, the other two members of Splendidula help to sustain her in subtle but important ways. During “Dalkuldar,” a forlorn respite from the turmoil, the snare rhythms and bass drum beats are akin to a bolstering drumline. The tempestuous percussion also heightens the sense of desperation in “Kilte.” Closing track “Let It Come to an End” flips the script, letting Cools take a backseat and bringing guitarist Guy Van Campenhout’s growls to the forefront, perhaps emblematic of leaning on loved ones during times of crisis.

In terms of emotional devastation, Absentia is as potent a record as you’re likely to find. Kristien Cools keeps improving with each release, and the compositions complement her increasingly diverse vocal styles well. The deeply personal nature of Splendidula’s work of art is both strength and weakness. The intense and authentic expression of grief is harrowingly beautiful, but in a way that seems impossible for an outsider to fully appreciate. Like attending a funeral for someone you didn’t know, it’s easy to empathize with those in mourning but difficult to feel the same deep personal connection. That said, the next time grief comes for me personally, I may be very grateful that I became acquainted with Absentia.

Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Argonauta Records
Websites: splendidula.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/Splendidula
Releases Worldwide: April 3rd, 2026

To receive the honor of reviewing duties for Noise’s latest as a superfan of his output is an exciting prospect. I tend to agree with Carcharodon when it comes to their critical consensus, and Kanonenfieber is one of my favorite acts around. So, when I was (presumptively) lucky enough to review the latest Non Est Deus record, Blessings and Curses, I was excited to say the least. We have lavished praise here at AMG across the Noise spectrum, and while his projects range in quality, that quality remains firmly in the top tier of melodic black metal. So, with all that out of the way, is the latest noise from Noise a blessing of black metal righteousness or a curse on the venerable artist’s output?

Out of the gate, Blessing and Curses works to establish a more unique sound for Non Est Deus in comparison to Noise’s other projects. Whereas Legacy could lean a little too close to Kanonenfieber or Leiþa at times, this latest record makes a clear differentiation between the new Non Est Deus and the old. Noise’s vocals are clear and crisp, sung completely in English, and never hit the heaviness of Kanonenfieber or the tortured emotion of Leiþa. In fact, the first band that came to mind when spinning Blessings and Curses was Rotting Christ. At first glance, this feels like a clear step in a better direction for a project that needed a more unique identity, but upon further inspection, it hampers the album at nearly every turn.

Blessings and Curses by Non Est Deus

Blessings and Curses has a strong artistic foundation and conceptual structure, with three interludes (Prayer I, II, and III, respectively) and psalms scourging every major track. The album feels unique in the way that it follows a believer in God who loses their way and becomes disillusioned, directly mirroring the diptych on the album cover, as well as the title of the record. Phenomenal album cover aside, the musical progression isn’t as pronounced as I had hoped based on the concept, and Blessings and Curses is repetitive throughout. Nearly every track follows a similar structure, including choruses that repeat the same cadence and emotional beats on a majority of the songs. Noise returns to refrains that have a main line (usually the song title) followed by a “whispered” section that either repeats that same idea or only a slight variation on it (“Show Mercy”, “My Lord”, “The Forsaken”, “The Indulgence”). It leaves Blessings and Curses sounding like someone trying to replicate Noise as opposed to Noise himself.

To Blessings and Curses’ detriment, spoken word sections are back, and the album remains worse for it. The opening “Prayer I” feels entirely throwaway, and the interludes are so quick as to make them feel like an afterthought. The psalms on each track also kill momentum, with their placement typically towards the finale of the song. Derailing every track, the psalms are the vegetables before getting to the meat of it all. While they serve the album conceptually, they are half-baked throughout. The idea of splitting the album is an interesting one, and the best tracks are in the back half, but Blessings and Curses is sonically stagnant. “Show Mercy” and “Forgive Me” (an album highlight) play with some very light black n’ roll elements, making me wish the first half had gone all in on that idea, leaving the second half to be a blasting blackened death beast. Unfortunately, neither is that diverse, sitting in this mid space that just sounds a bit like Noise on autopilot. None of the songs are bad, some are even great, but the album as a whole feels like it wastes a phenomenal concept.

If you told me I would be reviewing Noise for AMG in 2026, I would call you a fuckin’ liar and that you shouldn’t play with my emotions. If you told me that I would be the one to give Noise a proper tongue lashing, I would be doubly upset. As a stalwart fan of the artist, I still enjoyed Blessings and Curses on a lizard-brain level, and there are some truly great tracks (Forgive Me, Kora, Transgression). I appreciate Non Est Deus doing more to differentiate itself from the rest of Noise’s work, but I would love to see it pushed even further and move out of its melodic black metal safe zone. As it stands, a mediocre Noise record is still better than most other offerings out there, but for an artist with such incredible albums under his belt, I prayed for more.

Rating: Mixed
DR: N/A| Format Reviewed: A dreamy streamy
Label: Noisebringer Records
Websites: Website | Bandcamp
Releases Worldwide: April 3rd, 2026

For a band that takes its namesake from a Harry Potter reference (ew), Nashville’s Inferi are infinitely more brutal than its original inspiration. Blending searing speed, flashy technicality, and death metal intensity, Inferi have been at the forefront of tech death for over fifteen years now, and their latest release, Heaven Wept, comes after a five-year gap. With such a chasm between their releases, is Heaven Wept a reformation for the band or a refinement of their sound?

Heaven Wept establishes itself quickly, and the band sounds tighter than ever. Immediately apparent is Stevie Boiser’s vocals, which flit from screeching highs, boastful mids, and throat-wrinkling lows. Boiser doesn’t seem to have a weak point when it comes to his capabilities, and he leads tracks along like a malicious conductor (not unlike Trevor Strnad of The Black Dahlia Murder, RIP). For Inferi, the technical prowess expands beyond just the instruments, and the vocals on display across Heaven Wept are bound to make an impression. Not to be overtaken, guitarists Malcom Pugh and Sanjay Kumar showcase their axe mastery throughout. A majority of the tracks feature individual solos by each, and none of them overstay their welcome. If they aren’t competing in shredding territory, they work in tandem on solos in the remainder of the songs. Spencer Moore’s drums round out Inferi’s sound, and in a rare turn, they sound surprisingly natural for a tech death band. Perhaps the melodic aspect of Inferi’s core sound helps keep Moore’s drums from becoming robotic, and his playing spans core stylings, technical blowouts, and military marches, never staying in one space for too long.

Heaven Wept by Inferi

While Heaven Wept is by no means a stylistic change-up from their previous work, the latest record utilizes more dissonant harmonies and tends to feel more ethereal as a result. Combine that with some symphonic backing, and you have an atmospheric album without relying on overly long instrumental passages that break up the pacing. Inferi takes the melodic part of technical melodic death metal very seriously, and Heaven Wept is surprisingly catchy and approachable, while still being so dense that I imagine listeners will discover new secrets after numerous listens. “The Rapture of Dead Light” calls to mind melodic death metal masters The Black Dahlia Murder while combining some light core elements (don’t worry, Inferi is not a deathcore band now). The band smartly uses crushing breakdowns but only at a minimum, and where they have the most impact.

Heaven Wept doesn’t waste a second, coming in at eight tracks and under forty minutes, the album is pure face-melting goodness throughout. Every band member lays it all out on each song, and I wouldn’t call a single one a miss. The title track is a stylistic standout, slowing things down with a lumbering staccato riff that worms its way throughout the song. Boiser’s vocals follow along with the riff, punctuating the melody while also adding a bit of slam to Heaven Wept’s complex sound. “Of Rotted Wombs” is oozing with atmosphere, with a backing organ, a choir, and wailing guitars that pull emotion from every string. It is a track that feels huge without relying on a bunch of pomp and circumstance. Despite the inclusion of the aforementioned organ and choir, they are a small part of the song and only appear in the background. The incredible solo from Kumar in the back half of the track ties a bow on an album highlight.

Heaven Wept could very well be Inferi’s best work yet. Dripping with style and substance, as well as piling on the atmosphere without resorting to trite methods or wasteful interludes, this is an album that is solid throughout. It isn’t without its flaws; the low end is basically non-existent, and even the band plays live without a bassist. There are occasional bass flourishes on the album that remind me of Job for a Cowboy’s Sun Eater at times, but they are few and far between. The album also lacks the instrumental flair of 2018’s Revenant, and fans looking for a return to that record will be disappointed. Overall, these are nitpicks for an album that nails everything it sets out to do and then some. Inferi have shown that they can stand tall as the masters of modern technical melodic death metal without losing sight of what brought them there in the first place. Heaven Wept epitomizes the idea of metal at every turn and will likely have something to offer any earnest listener.

Rating: 4.0/5.0
DR: 4 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: The Artisan Era
Websites: Instagram | Bandcamp
Releases Worldwide: April 10th, 2026

Read it in the stars: an Astral Spectre is upon us. German multi-instrumentalist Tenebros has spent the past six years mixing up a potent blend of black and heavy metal across three long players that take the NWoBHM energy, blackened aggression, and the occultic flair of 70s hard/prog rock.1 Astral Spectre’s third revelation, 2026s Cosmic Mirage, is poised to be the project’s most ambitious record, taking their established sound and putting it through “more sophisticated arrangements” and utilizing “professional mixing for the first time.” It all looks good to me, but are Astral Spectre the real deal, or is Cosmic Mirage just that?

Astral Spectre’s sound is indebted to the proto-metal and progressive rock of the 1970s, but Cosmic Mirage is no mere exercise in nostalgia. Take Nite and give them Blue Öyster Cult’s guitar tone, longer songs, a meaner blackened rasp, a Hammond organ, and (sometimes) a clarinet, and you’d get Cosmic Mirage. Black metal manifests in Tenebros’ aforementioned rasping, foreboding tones and odd blast beats (“Chronomancer,” “Dancing with Ghosts”), but Astral Spectre’s bread and butter is warm, lively rock n’ roll. NWoBHM twin guitars soar over most tracks, dominating “Stardrifter” and “The Witch’s Waltz” while keys fill out the middle ranges where a rhythm guitar typically would. The organ towers over Cosmic Mirage, adding weight and texture to Astral Spectre’s sound while lending Cosmic Mirage a deeper gothic edge (“The Witch’s Waltz”). Astral Spectre also use clarinet on certain tracks, imbuing snaky, sultry leads to “Death of Osiris” while trading solos with the guitar on “The Demon’s Offer.” Overall, though Cosmic Mirage evokes a specific scene and era of music’s past, Astral Spectre stand on their own through creative utilization of its various pieces.

Cosmic Mirage by Astral Spectre

Cosmic Mirage is at its best when Astral Spectre simply floor it. The opening duo of “Stardrifter” and “Chonomancer” bubble over with energetic hooks, roaring with Iron Maiden gallops and punchy, off-kilter keys that don’t let up and make for one of the best one-two punches I’ve heard this year. Tenebros’ drumming deserves recognition, as he can lend songs like “Cosmic Mirage” and “Stardrifter” ridiculously propulsive energy while laying down serious groove over the Opeth-meets-Maiden “Death of Osiris.” The drumming is brisk, but so slick that it feels laid back, working nicely with Tenebros’ thrumming yet reserved bass playing. But where Cosmic Mirage shines brightest is in its solos, where fast, classically-influenced and highly melodic playing evoke the likes of Adrian Smith (“Stardrifter”), Ritchie Blackmore (“Dancing with Ghosts”) and Eddie Van Halen (“Death of Osiris”). When it all comes together, Astral Spectre sounds like a souped-up Kansas or Blue Öyster Cult crushing it with Tribulation. And that’s just beautiful.

The only knock against Cosmic Mirage is when Astral Spectre’s progressive tendencies come at the expense of hookiness. Astral Spectre flexes their songcraft on longer cuts “Death of Osiris” and “Cosmic Mirage,” and though both songs have good moments, they are bogged down by slow passages that aren’t as vital as the faster, more rockin’ tunes. “Death of Osiris” in particular languishes in repetition for its first half, riffing on a thoroughly cliché “Egyptian” melody before sliding into an Iron Maidenesque bass-plucked build-up to the clarinet solo, where things finally take off.2 “Cosmic Mirage” starts strong with a driving beat and strong hooks before dropping into a spacey, Pink Floyd-like passage that just doesn’t demand your attention as much, and by the time Astral Spectre get their momentum back, the song is basically over. Also, Cosmic Mirage’s clarinet, while it weaves compelling melodies and lends the album a uniquely mellow mood, is always way upfront in the mix and tends to drown out the guitar. This and an understated bass presence are the only gripes I have with the otherwise warm and open mix of Cosmic Mirage, just as Astral Spectre’s few hiccups regarding their longer songs are the only real problems I have with the album at large.

Cosmic Mirage has more going on than it seems at first glance. Besides some missteps in the longer songs, Astral Spectre crafted an ambitious, engrossing, and deviously fun album that anyone with a love for twin guitars should get behind. Tenebros is a phenomenal musician and the fact that Astral Spectre aren’t signed baffles me. As rich as it is immediate, Cosmic Mirage has grown on me with every listen, and I wouldn’t be surprised if it continues to grow well into the year. Chase the mirage!

Rating: Very Good!
DR: 10 | V0 VBR mp3
Label: Self-Released
Websites: astral-spectre.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/OfficialAstralSpectre
Releases Worldwide: April 10th, 2026

Hot on the heels of my first encounter with Alice Simard’s work (Luminesce), another notch in her roster dropped into my unsuspecting lap. Canadian brutal slam/goregrind trio Onchocerciasis Esophagogastroduodenoscopy (henceforth referred to simply as OE) spawned seven years ago from a mire of gore, and Fugue Gnawed from the Scabbed God Cerebrum marks their second full expulsion. Mere seconds after slamming that play button, viscous fluids so voluminous as to mismatch the mass of the entities that expel them flood the entirety of my being, overflowing gushingly into the surrounding environs with destructive force. The general public gazes upon this outlandishly fecund release with equal parts disgust and fascination. Despite the grotesque nature of it all, though, I can’t in good conscience call the experience unpleasurable. Quite the opposite, in fact.

Brutal in the same inhuman way as known slammers Epicardiectomy and Organectomy, absurd as a lot of material coming out of the Indonesian and Chinese scenes are, and irreverently creative enough to recall the novel songwriting of Wormhole, Artificial Brain, Unhuman, and Unfathomable Ruination, OE’s style is often a delight and moreso a challenge. Alice (who is here credited under guitars, songwriting, and drum programming), Jesse Agiomamitis (vocals, lyrics1), and the mysterious The Popu (drum programming, guitars, lyrics, songwriting, synth, vocals) shine as a collaborative team, delivering a deceptively wide variety to what is typically an extremely limited stylistic palette. All 33 minutes of Fugue fall neatly in the brutal slamgrind niche, but it’s undeniably one of the wildest executions of the style. That unhinged spirit affords the ballistic percussion a sense of immediate danger that belies its impossible technicality, the monstrously toilet-tastic vocals a sense of vibrant dynamics they absolutely should not have, and the multifaceted guitar work a kaleidoscopic personality that colors the entire record in vivid detail.

Fugue Gnawed from the Scabbed God Cerebrum by Onchocerciasis Esophagogastroduodenoscopy

However, and perhaps even as a consequence of these aforementioned traits, Fugue is a trial in music appreciation. Not for the faint of heart or the frail of ear, Fugue seems to wholly reject the idea of memorability as a virtue. Certainly, in its first half, before “Gutted & Corpsed” shocks me with an almost beautiful shift from relentless assault to thoughtful transitions and subversive intricacies, Fugue is hell-bent on punishing any listener that comes close. Gnashing with serrated teeth crowding a jaw capable of crushing diamond like Nerds candy, “Conquering Divinity” through “Entombed Within the Infinite Panopticon” bullies anyone that approaches with endless slam riffs (but fast), violent scrapes (“The Fallen Lament, Paralytikus Ascends”), fucked-up lead guitar atmospheres (“Severing What Makes Me Human,” “Apotheotic Apotemnophilia”), machine-gun blasts and double-bass abuse (“Entombed Within the Inifinite Panopticon”), and unreal spans of sustained phlegmy gutturals (name a song, any song). The addition of eerie bongs and bells adds to the sinister nature of these initial songs, but only minimally aids their memorability. Yet, they are all counterintuitively enjoyable in the same manner as discovering your first kink.

Thankfully, that first prolonged salvo of abject violence only takes 13 minutes, at which time Fugue shifts. It’s hard to expect creativity and thoughtful detailing to come into play with this kind of extreme fringe music. Undeterred by that reality, OE start integrating more purposeful dissonant flourishes, effervescent leads bordering against—but never quite crossing into—melody, and a downright airy atmosphere that together recall 50% Wormhole, 50% Afterbirth (“Heaven’s Empty Halls”). More Wormhole-isms abound in conjunction with Epicardiectomy madness and Artificial Brain-ed atmosphere as “Hurt Beyond Healing” and “Forged in the Blackest Reaches of Blasphemy” pair high-detail phrasing with terrifying brutalizations. While still escaping the realm of immediacy, memorability, or accessibility, Fugue’s second act shows OE’s greater range as songwriters in such a way as to compel me to revisit with great anticipation, enthusiastic for the deeper details I might uncover.

While far from easy to love, for any number of reasons all associated with the extreme nature of its composition and its over-the-top execution, Fugue Gnawed from the Scabbed God Cerebrum is an album of rare quality in the scene of disgusting, inhuman music. Many will balk at its cartoonish gurgle vox, its total lack of subtlety in the first phase, and the relentlessness of its dense and complex instrumentation. Those who weather that storm will discover something a bit more substantial underneath. I didn’t expect to find that substance myself, but here I am. Join me, if you think you can handle it!

Rating: Good!
DR: 42 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3
Label: Stillbirth Records
Websites: officialonchocerciasis.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/OnchoOfficial
Releases Worldwide: April 3rd, 2026