#apr26 — Public Fediverse posts

You may note that I haven’t published a full review in more than a week. You may also note that my most recent contribution to AMG Productions was a ranking for the best of death metal’s old guard. You may peek at the score below and question my ability to remain objective in light of my recent musical diet. But worry not, dear reader! Objectivity is my prime objective, Fairness and Justice my guiding lights. You can rest assured that this review of Ignobleth’s debut LP, Manor of Primitive Anticreation, contains naught but Unbiased and Very Correct Opinions™.

Hailing from northern Italy, Ignobleth peddles a unique blend of black and death metal. This trio, comprised of A.L. on guitar, A.B. on bass and vocals, and M.O. on drums, combines the esoteric psychosis of Ritual Ascension with the grime and filth of Rotpit and an HM2 pedal. The result is a worship service held in the darkest recesses of a city sewer system. Murky, mangy riffs echo and multiply as they careen down lightless, sweating passageways, and haunted rasps reverberate in the mire. Together, Ignobleth creates an oppressive and turbid atmosphere, most acutely felt on “Proselyte Pig I” and “And the Lunar Mass Shatters.” The loping, swinging main riff of the former evokes gothic, vaudevillian horror, while M.O.’s icy kit work on the latter encourages eldritch panic.

Speaking of M.O., his percussive assault is perhaps the highlight of Manor of Primitive Anticreation, but not for the reason you might think. Indeed, he effortlessly oscillates between blackened blasts, death-infused rhythms, and punky beats (“Warped Abyssal Architecture,” “Forked Tongues”), but the predominance of the drums here is largely a result of a very subpar production job. Vocals and drums are centered on an unnecessarily wide sound stage with strings as far left and right as they can go, and as a result, each track feels less like a cohesive song and more like instruments playing at the same time. And while A.L.’s guitar is fairly clear when spotlighted for leads and hooks, the second the rest of the band joins in, it becomes barely audible mush. Prime examples include “Obelisk of Deformity,” which, during faster paced sections, becomes a wall of indeterminable sound, and “Proselyte Pig II,” which drowns its main riff in vat of sludge, such that I can barely hear more than two notes when I know A.L. is playing several more.

Would that the woes of Manor of Primitive Anticreation stopped there. Ignobleth includes an intro and three separate interludes on an album spanning only 11 tracks (“Intro,” “Spores,” “Interlude: Lecherous Sex Magick,” and “Manor of Primitive Anticreation”1). Interludes and ambient pieces can work, but here, they’re little more than minorly spooky synths, garbled spoken word, and choral bits that annoyingly interrupt the main course. Manor of Primitive Anticreation boldly includes even more ambience in the outro of “And the Lunar Mass Shatters,” and the last two minutes of album closer, “Among the Seventy-Two Embalmed Ekpyrotic Gods.” Even if the pacing were tighter and less stilted, the songwriting itself leaves much to be desired. Repetition runs rampant through the album (“Among…,” “Proselyte Pig I,” “Obelisk of Deformity”), blunting riffs and passages that could have bitten much harder. There’s also an overreliance on wordless howls over mildly furious instrumental sections. It’s so frequent that song structures seem composed almost entirely of bridges and solos with few verses or choruses to be found, compounding the album’s repetitive tendencies.

This has been a frustrating album to work with. While Ignobleth’s tone is deliciously vile, the songwriting and production leave me deeply disappointed. Over several spins, I got the distinct impression that Manor of Primitive Anticreation isn’t blackened death metal so much as something that sounds vaguely like it. It’s fine in the background, but direct attention reveals it to be a shallow imitation. Much of Manor of Primitive Anticreation seems geared toward a live audience—song structures, tone, prevalence of blast beats—and I have no doubt that it fucks quite hard in such a setting. Unfortunately, this style does not translate well to a studio production, much less the review process.

Rating: 1.5/5.0
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Caligari Records
Websites: Bandcamp | Instagram
Releases Worldwide: April 17th, 2026

Written By: Aleken’s Gunstrosity

Every year has one magical moment that I look forward to with great anticipation: the first metal release that wows me enough to think it’ll be my AotY. It’s an electric sensation, and it just so happens that Alekhines Gun brought first lightning to my world this year, in the form of atmospheric post-black metal band Silaera’s debut record, An Aberration of the Void. The Chicagoan triplet, established in 2019 as a one-man project, rounded out their lineup with a bassist and a second guitarist last year as they recorded their striking debut. Complete with a stunning Burke piece adorning its cover, An Aberration of the Void left Gun and I with our jaws on the floor, so much so that we had no choice but to write this review together. Two different voices, one unified piece.

An Aberration of the Void is an apt moniker for Silaera’s first outing, as the band masterfully wields all of black metal’s forms as if they were intrinsic properties of their very being. At once gorgeous, frightening, triumphant, and evil, An Aberration of the Void recalls the sweeping flares of Mare Cognitum (“A Celestial Grave”), the gentle caress of Noltem (the first quarter of “Fall into Cosmic Sleep”), the fervent dissonance of Vimur (“From Entropic Dust”), and the devastating heft of the altogether more vicious Keres (“Abhorring the Lifting of Eyes, the middle third of “Fall into Cosmic Sleep”). Yet, Silaera’s talent for transitions and assembly manage to craft a vision like visiting an alien planet; you’ve seen planets before, but none like this, and trying to classify its place in the cosmos in relation to other stars is a waste of time. This planet simply is. An Aberration’s production conjures specters of the celestial in similar fashion, transversely aligning full, rich chords, cavernous reverb, and a deep low end against crystalline shimmers and bright midranges. The result is a magical composition of unknown and unknowable beauty churning with the destructive energy of a collapsing star.

If you need a quick peak into the nebula awaiting, point your telescopes to “Abhorring the Lifting of Eyes,” a masterstroke of composition, creativity, and unpredictability. Launching with a sparkling1 trem-heavy intro, it glides into a long-form riff of cosmic mysticism before variating into a brutally heavy crush, which then spontaneously combusts into a jagged groove attack liable to snap your neck like a toothpick. Tellingly, vocals take a dumbfounding length of time to kick in, but aren’t noticed in their absence until they make their presence known—this serves only to enhance their impact. Moments of contrast like this abound on An Aberration, giving new meaning to the term “beauty and the beast,” but few hit harder than “From Entropic Dust” and epic closer “Fall into Cosmic Sleep” when they offset their impeccable atmospheric allure with deadly swings and terrifying dissonance. Imagine if Cosmic Putrification wrote an album about their feelings and had it produced by Blackbraid, and you’ll almost get it. Silaera takes their songwriting chiaroscuro even further, morphing and mutating phrases with each repetition so radically as to redefine, but never estrange, the tones and textures of the next measure.

That songwriting makes An Aberration of the Void engaging and stimulating from start to finish in spite of its uniformly long-form construction. You’d expect a record where no song falls below six minutes to feature some bloat, but not here. Not a moment wasted, An Aberration arranges compelling choices and elevating decorations around every corner, on both the songwriting and production front. The snare positively crackles and pops when devolving into ferocious blasts, but sibilates and snaps instead during gentler phrases to emphasize mood and atmosphere to great effect (“A Celestial Gaze”). A throaty rasp informs the more intense sections while guttural roars evoke a lurking monstrosity when the moment calls for something more ominous (“Fall into Cosmic Sleep”). Riffs pummel and pound with the terrible force of black holes, but delicate melodies ascend beyond the heavens in tandem to uplift the listener as the event horizon guarantees their final destination (“Abhorring the Lifting of Eyes,” “Fall into Cosmic Sleep”). This interplay of contrast and complement, paired with meticulous detailing, is the unfathomable core of An Aberration of the Void, and the main reason why it universally captivates my attention.

Criticisms are extremely difficult to commit to, not just for me, but also for Gun. Neither one of us felt any held water for longer than a few moments. We nonetheless noted that, for some, Silaera’s disparate references could feel disjointed in the moment,2 with cohesion only coming after focused spins. An Aberration of the Void also does not escape common genre trappings: maximum reverb, more runtime dedicated to slower paces than outright aggression, arpeggios everywhere. But in execution, these small points of contention feel like inseparable parts of the cosmos Silaera created, and what a wondrous cosmos it is.

Rating Consensus: Great!!3
DR: Lost to the Void | Format Reviewed: Bandcamp Stream
Label: Self Released
Websites: silaera.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/Silaera
Releases Worldwide: April 10th, 2026

There are few concepts in the Western tradition as misunderstood as that of “the death of God.” It is not a triumphant proclamation, nor a call for apathetic nihilism. What has been coined in recent online discourse as a ‘meaning crisis’ is only barely getting the point. The Loss of Transcendence—some universal, ultimate, mind-independent Truth and set of values—is a beginning, an event that should prompt critical thought and action and confrontation of a human condition that we sedate ourselves out of with belief in a higher power or sense and reason in the universe; hope; or the rescinding of responsibility to the idea that ‘nothing matters.12 The Great Observer seem to have done their homework for the most part, with their debut channeling their thrashy blackened death into a philosophical call to action that blends Existentialism with Stoicism and Epicureanism. Fresh on the scene and immediately going all-in in aggression and storytelling, what can The Great Observer give to us?

On the face of it, Loss of Transcendence is standard black/death/thrash, with a rotating emphasis on each of those three components. Sticking primarily to up-tempo, gritty riffing in a vein somewhere between Necrophobic, Tomb Mold, and Morbid Angel—though a less flashy iteration—The Great Observer do nonetheless find time to linger in some cavernousness that vaguely recalls Disembowelment. They further emphasise their mean streak with a pervasive vocal echo that adds to the grime of the throaty howls and is compounded during the many instances when such vocals are multi-tracked or delivered as a group. But not all of this energy is used in service of evil; there’s a strong anthemic side to these choruses and a jaunty bombast to many a beat. In many ways, it gives off the aura of classical extreme metal—back when Black Metal was an album title, and ugliness, speed, and aggression were the name of the game in a fundamentally different way to how they are now. And yet, under the layers of dirt and behind the malevolence lie small seeds of nuance, and it is to Loss of Transcendence’s great detriment that they remain scattered seeds alone.

Loss of Transcendence flirts with many things—intrigue, atmosphere, tenacity—but never quite wins any of them over. Riffs generally check boxes for pugnacity, but even at their most brutish and slick (“The Great Observer,” “Impervious Creation”), they have no edge, no force. At the worst end, guitar lines are entirely blunt thanks to nondescript, generic-sounding melodies and patterns (“Herald of Thorns,” “How Far the Faithless will Venture”). It’s unfortunate that all of the best guitar sits in the record’s back half, with “Impervious Creation” and “The Weight of Being Free” delivering shimmying, sliding shredding capable of winning over the harshest of critics, and the latter track featuring a genuinely beautiful, buttery smooth solo that combines everything great about grimy yet gorgeous extreme metal. The frequent use of group vocals, which sometimes creates an impressive miasma of harrowing calls (“Impervious Creation,” title track), falls awkwardly flat when delivered as rousing shouts (“Sentenced at High Noon,” “At The Summit of Consciousness,” “The Weight…”) thanks to the latter’s surprising corniness. The Great Observer also experiment in an exasperatingly random manner with distortion, with a liquid, Worm-adjacent effect appearing in random snatches never to develop (“Parénklisis (Fallen Into Existence),” “How Far…,” “The Weight…,” title track); and the worst part is that it’s good! The pace, generally high, is also stymied by not one but two synth-heavy instrumentals as “Parénklisis…” opens the album with a gravitas that never appears again, and “Ékstasis (The Lonesome Path)” needlessly presses pause for two minutes of ambience and whispering.

In reality, Loss of Transcendence feels frustratingly lukewarm. A mix that pushes guitars erratically between the far background and the very forefront, and a baffling decision3 to layer vocal tracks and reverb like lasagna over these riffs (“The Great Observer,” “Sentenced at High Noon,” “The Weight…,” title track) makes what could be decent blackened death sound almost poor. Almost the only time the guitars sound good is when they sound great, soloing in sudden clarity (“Sentenced…,” “Impervious Creation”) and with fluent expressiveness (“The Weight…,”), and these highlights appear exclusively in the second half. Given this, it becomes harder to forgive the swing of strangely upbeat gang shouts (“Sentenced…,” “Herald of Thorns”) and a brusque attitude to riff-writing that tends to shy away from character.

It’s always a shame when a concept I’m particularly interested in is delivered in mediocre form. Loss of Transcendence strikes as an album that would have had heads spinning and Bibles being reached for in the early 90s but now its grit cannot make up for its shortcomings. Failing to develop their best ideas and sidelining their assets far too often, The Great Observer still haven’t seen how to capitalise on their strengths, and Loss of Transcendence loses more than higher values as a result.

Rating: Disappointing
DR: 9 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: BlackSeed Productions
Website: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: April 30th, 2026

With a name like that and an album cover featuring a vivisected human head, you’d be forgiven for thinking that Nequient play a form of knuckle-dragging brutal death. Instead, the Chicago four-piece specializes in a brand of chaotic, grinding metallic hardcore that recalls the frenetic math explosion of the early 2000s. Avarice is the band’s third full-length and promises a “unique synthesis of extreme metal and hardcore” to “blast listeners out of complacency with withering screeds against the malignant forces ravaging our world.” Despite some solid releases from last year, it’s been a while since new mathcore shook me to the bone and reminded me of modern existence’s inherent fragility. Nequient have the requisite political bile coursing through their veins—the same volatile fuel that powers the genre’s most unhinged eruptions—but is Avarice actually worth your time, or just another flailing heap of panic chords destined to suffocate beneath a pile of white-belt-era clichés?

On Avarice, Nequient paints an anarchic arras with a dizzying amount of stylistic touchstones. The band combines the unhinged frivolity of The Sawtooth Grin with the fast-paced stop/start violence of The HIRS Collective, and loads their tracks with riffs that actually stick, echoing early Converge at their most surgical. The twist? These songs feel coherent. Longer runtimes turn what could be scattershot spasms into fully realized compositions, bolstered by a wide palette of metallic textures. Blackened tremolos (“Christofascist Zombie Brigade”), demented odd-meter thrash gallops (“Brain Worms”), and sludged-out funeral dirges (“Splenetic And Moribund”) are all threaded together with mathy convulsions Nequient execute with unnerving precision. Throughout the record, the band moves between ideas at a dizzying pace, consistently impressing with bewildering moments of aural chaos.

More than just a collection of moments, the songs on Avarice are propelled by relentless pacing and tangible chemistry among the band members. Nequient’s secret sauce lies in the interplay between Patrick Conahan’s disorienting guitar cascades and drummer Chris Avgerin’s dextrous, fill-heavy style. Conahan glides between mosh-ready grind parts (“Mad King / Fool”), undulating, deathy descents (“Rintrah Roars”), and unsettling noise-rock lurches (“Siege Mentality”). Avergin follows along expertly, always mirroring the spastic guitarwork with tasty, intuitive drum parts that guide the ear and ground the anarchy. Aaron Roeming provides the low-end thunder and adds a purposeful heft that thickens the chunkier riffcraft while vocalist Jason Kolkey leads the charge, alternating between a sassy, vitriolic spew and full-bodied death growls while delivering caustic epithets about the horrors of modern life. Kolkey’s acerbic lyrics pull the whole disgusting package together, melding poetic death metal abstraction with punk’s immediacy and sharpening the record’s nihilistic aura into a potent weapon aimed at a broken system.

In fact, Nequient is almost too adept at channeling the noxious undercurrent of societal id, leaving precious little room to breathe across Avarice’s full-frontal assault. Longer tracks usually ease up on the throttle and inject variety with less frantic, slower sections, like with a menacing sludge-into-breakdown (“Rintrah Roars”), or a hazy, chordal comedown (“Stochastic Terror”). Still, I find myself wanting just a touch more space to find my bearings during full-album listens. Avarice is well-paced, and there are more than enough ideas to keep the 40-minute runtime interesting, but it’s missing one or two blissed-out melodic ideas1 or jaw-dropping displays of contrast to elevate it to the peak of the mathcore mountain. This doesn’t prevent Avarice from being a stunning display of technical aggression, but it does mean more than a few spins to decipher its labyrinthine heaviness.

Nequient really impressed me with this one. Avarice is a nerve-flayed, teeth-grinding listen that captures the low-grade panic and spiritual exhaustion of modern life with alarming precision. Rather than settling for dime-a-dozen mathcore spasms or rote metallic bludgeoning, the Chicago crew stitches together dissonance, groove, chaos, and razor-wire technicality into something far more purposeful. It’s punishing without being empty, intricate without disappearing up its own ass, and memorable enough to demand repeat spins. If you’re craving chaotic metallic extremity that does more than regurgitate the usual suspects, Nequient have your number.

Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: 5 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Nefarious Industries
Websites: nequient.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/nequient.band
Releases Worldwide: April 24th, 2026

Maybe war never changes, but Warside has. Between releasing inaugural EP The Enemy Inside, and recording their debut, three of Warside’s five members left the band. Now a quartet, the Lyon, France collective tromps into the death metal arena, brandishing Cognitive Extinction, their first long play. Down a guitarist, Warside reports Cognitive Extinction as having ‘a rawer, more direct sound.’ Though The Enemy Inside can’t be classified as polished or subtle, Cognitive Extinction embraces an even leaner, meaner aggression through twenty-eight minutes. Additionally, Warside weaves a broad theme into the album—the erosion of intelligence and critical thinking due to the proliferation of screens and dependence on technology. It’s an increasingly relevant theme in these crazy times, but is Warside’s warning enough to keep listeners’ gray matter from atrophying into pudding?

Though simply billed as ‘death metal,’ Warside skews towards the technical end of the spectrum. Dying Fetus, Misery Index, and Vomitory are cited as influences in the promo materials, and while elements of those bands exist on Cognitive Extinction,1 I also hear the frantic immediacy of Benighted and Aborted enmeshed with the tech-heavy grooves of more recent Cryptopsy and Suffocation. Technical without falling into technical death metal territory and bruising without earning a brutal death metal tag, Warside toes the line between extreme metal subgenres without fully committing to any specific one. Rather than wavering or wandering, though, Cognitive Extinction sounds confident, direct, and ready to peel your skull back to get a look at your cognition firsthand.

Despite adding some new members and shuffling guitar duties, Warside launches a savage assault that never relents. Returning from The Enemy Within, guitarist Vincent Morelle resumes six-string duties on Cognitive Extinction while former guitarist Jérôme dons the mantle of bassist. Joining them are duo Mathieu (vocals) and Thô (drums) from deathgrind project Festering Process, and together this foursome unleashes barrage after barrage of merciless death metal thunder. Tracks “Neurocide” and “Invasive Thoughts” meld Morbid Angel’s wicked melodies with Nile’s violent velocity, frequently coaxing involuntary stank-face. “Visceral” punches with Suffocation’s might, windmilling between stutter-stop leads and kick drum cannonades, while “Thirst for Rot” dive bombs into an early solo before hitting a swarthy Cryptopsy-meets-Decapitated groove. Throughout, Mathieu discharges fierce gutturals that remind me of Benighted’s Julien Truchan,2 primal and bloodthirsty without ever going full BREEE. All told, kinetic hooks, furious blast beats, and husky bass grooves carry the momentum of each track, with feverish solos offering brief detours from Warside’s otherwise unyielding onslaught.

Warside evokes death metal titans throughout Cognitive Extinction, yet clinging too tightly to these touchstones prevents them from fully realizing an identity of their own. In fairness, Cognitive Extinction works cohesively, with a consistent aural context that’s as bludgeoning as it is swift. And even though Warside sidesteps critical flaws, hooking an overcrowded niche with deathly wares can be a significant challenge. Genre greats can provide a strong template for writing compelling music, but emulation without innovation risks giving listeners an experience that drives them back to inspirations. Said simply, bands with unique sounds become reference points, while others get buried beneath the sands of time. In this regard, Cognitive Extinction feels like a half measure, where a blend of influences comes together to form a coherent album, yet lacks a wholly original voice.

Standout performances and sharp, economical songwriting distinguish Warside as an act I’ll follow closely, and help achieve a portion of the identity they need. Cognitive Extinction teems with talent and promise, and despite the abysmal dynamic range,3 the mix is well-balanced and allows listeners to appreciate what Warside does within its runtime. I’ve greatly enjoyed my time with Cognitive Extinction, and a couple of its gems have helped add some weight to my Heavy Moves Heavy ’26 playlist, but with so many killer death metal albums out this year, I’m unsure what lasting impact it’ll have. Time will tell, and in the meantime, I hope that Warside continues honing their blades to keep minds and interest sharp.

Rating: Good!
DR: 3 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Gruesome Records
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: April 17th, 2026

There was a time in my youth when bands like California’s Atreyu, Killswitch Engage and their ilk were all I wanted to listen to. Whether this was due to the novelty of the sound in its era, coinciding with my novice experience with metal as a whole, or perhaps the reflection of my own earnest angst resonating from the common themes of the scene, records like As Daylight Dies or Lead Sails Paper Anchor marked core albums in my metallic upbringing. However, with only two exceptions, I never kept up with any of these bands as time passed. My tastes shifted and evolved. For a time, I forgot entirely about Atreyu, until the itch to sing a few of their songs in the car became too much to bear. And so, when I saw Atreyu were not only still active, but about to release a new record aptly entitled The End is Not the End, I had to know how almost 20 years of time away changed my appreciation for Atreyu.

One thing that 20 years did not change was Atreyu’s style. Since my introduction to them with Lead Sails Paper Anchor, an album I still hold in high regard for better or for worse, they firmly entrenched their metalcore base with poppy beats, addicting choruses, and earnest, if ham-fisted, lyrics. Thankfully, they also boasted one of the better vocalists in a style hell-bent on employing whiny tenors with unrefined technique, both in harsh and clean styles. If anything, Brandon Saller has only gotten better with time and practice. The rest of the lineup shifted and swirled until settling into its current form in 2020,1 but other than a marked uptick in pop-centric songwriting, Atreyu preserved the core of their 2007 sound remarkably well.

This both works in their favor and leaves me cold. On one hand, killer hit-makers that are impossible to resist (“Break Me,” “All for You”) recall the shockingly effective simplicity of post-grunge-pop acts like Daughtry or Shinedown at their peak. On the other hand, a distinct lack of unique ideas or distinct identity for the vast majority of its 45-ish minute runtime (with the exception of “Ego Death” and “Children of the Light”) leaves me starving for something of substance. At times, as in the generic “Death Rattle,” small songwriting choices (the crowd-core “MOTHERFUCKER” shout being one) cause a minor recoil in my spine as it recalls the more embarrassing moments of my teen years. However, album standouts “Children of Light” and “In the Dark” evoke a legitimate callback to classic In Flames-style melodic death metal, rippling with energetic gallops and even a cool tandem guitar/saxophone solo. These songs don’t go so far as to abandon Atreyu’s pop sensibilities or cheesy lyrics, but they are big fun nonetheless and are sure to please crowds mightily.

Yet I struggle to recall anything from The End is Not the End once it… well… ends. As happy as I am pulling my favorite songs like “All for You” or “In the Dark” for playlist duties—which would eventually allow them to find purchase in my memory—I can’t help but stew in disappointment that nothing here sticks with the immediacy of past bangers like “Doomsday,” “When Two Are One” or “Falling Down.” I can appreciate that The End is Not the End is an altogether more hopeful and uplifting record compared to that angsty, bitter predecessor of my youth, but the shift in tone hasn’t helped the songwriting. On that front, The End is Not the End sounds like Atreyu going through the motions, spinning their wheels, and making very little forward momentum. In turn, I found very little here to grab onto and even less that grabbed me first.

I still want to go to bat for these guys. As many times as I’ve heard my comrades and co-conspirators belittle Atreyu, I can’t help but protect the soft spot I have for them. At the same time, The End is Not the End is not going to convince any of the naysayers, and hasn’t won me over either. There are great songs here with choruses that I would have a blast belting out at a drop of a hat. A couple of small sparks of unexpected heft remind me that Atreyu are, indeed, part of the metal landscape, albeit on the poppiest fringe of the core region. All in all, though, I’m not going to think at all about The End is Not the End 20 years from now. Alas.

Rating: Disappointing.
DR: Use Your Imagination | Format Reviewed: Streamfarm
Label: Spinefarm Records
Websites: atreyuofficial.com | facebook.com/Atreyu
Releases Worldwide: April 24th, 2026

Sludge purveyors Armed for Apocalypse have little interest in fitting neatly into a scene or pandering to an audience. They lack both the time and the inclination. What they do have is relentless drive, a mountain of riffs, and a spirit forged through lived experience and hard-earned endurance. The Portland-by-way-of-Chico quartet has learned its lessons the hard way over 17 years and 3 LPs, cutting their teeth on the road, betting on Kickstarter campaigns to fund tours, and grinding it out night after night. That pathos bleeds through every pore of their music. 2022’s Ritual Violence was a distortion-soaked, relentlessly heavy effort rooted in the likes of Eyehategod, even if its uniformity somewhat blunted its impact. Fourth LP, The Earth is Breathing Beneath Me, is no different, thriving on sheer physicality and a firm commitment to a clearly defined approach that remains Armed for Apocalypse’s bread and butter.

If you’re in the mood for a good ol’ fashioned chug-fest, Armed for Apocalypse is here to deliver. The Earth is Breathing Beneath Me locks into its identity early, delivering big, lumbering grooves that bulldoze the listener with sheer physical force. “Fists Like Feathers” and “Ashes of the Night” announce their arrival immediately with huge down-tuned riffs and distorted drawls dipped in djenty flavors, while “Spellbound,” “Keep Up Appearances” and “Lost Without a Light” pick up the pace with simple but effective Converge-esque hooks and breakdowns that feel designed to move bodies. Drummer Nick Harris absolutely hammers his kit, driving this sludgernaut1 forward with obliterating momentum. Nate Burman’s vocals split the difference between Greg Puciato’s (The Dillinger Escape Plan, Better Lovers) unhinged howls and Phil Anselmo’s tough‑guy roar, never wavering from his acrid delivery or venturing from his tonal range. You won’t find any flash or frills here, just straight, unchecked fury, and these lads execute it with confidence.

While The Earth is Breathing Beneath Me maintains an intense, uncompromising core, its narrow scope limits its upside. Fueled largely by rigid structures and an overreliance on recurring songwriting formulas, Armed for Apocalypse’s consistency can be appealing in short bursts, but over time, the group’s approach causes tracks to blur together. From “Lost Without A Light” through “Lurk,” the record delivers a run of pit-inducing cuts that are lean, direct, and effective, but repeated, tropey breakdowns funnel each track back into the chug factory. It reinforces the sense that The Earth is Breathing Beneath Me could have benefited from bolder, more creative risks. Penultimate song “Bathed in a Tepid Pool of My Own Filth,” functions as a four-minute interlude of resonant, open string drones, offering little relief from the textural wash percolating throughout, particularly after tracks like “Beyond the Mirage” or “Immortal” have already bludgeoned you into submission with similar through-lines.

However, scattered moments of variety across The Earth is Breathing Beneath Me provide evidence that Armed for Apocalypse aren’t purely one-trick. Crestfallen verses and brief melodic passages (“Immortal”) and moments of vulnerability (“Beyond the Mirage,” the title track) suggest more nuanced songwriting, but they surface too sparingly to lift the record from its murky haze. Elsewhere, “Fist Like Feathers” shows the group’s songwriting chops with a strong bout of riffs and hooks that are memorable from the start, while “Lurk” cycles Nails-like assaults before predictably reverting to metalcore breakdowns. Kurt Ballou’s (Converge) production gives everything a massive, polished heft,2 emphasizing Armed for Apocalypse’s crunchy, blue‑collar ethos and ensures that each pummeling section does its best to batter you until you’re bloodied and broken.

The Earth is Breathing Beneath Me isn’t a record that invites deep emotional attachment so much as it aims for raw force. When Armed for Apocalypse allows themselves room to experiment, The Earth Is Breathing Beneath Me hints at something more. Those moments underline that Armed for Apocalypse has the talent and discipline to push beyond sheer heaviness. Their yeoman identity, relentless energy, and willingness to get in and get out without excess flash work to their advantage in many respects, and that authenticity can be enough to satisfy. But I can’t help but crave more. Regardless of my desires, The Earth is Breathing Beneath Me never pretends to be more (or less) than what it is and is ultimately content to stop right there.

Rating: Mixed
DR: 5 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3
Label: Church Road Records
Websites: armedforapocalypse.bandcamp.com | armedforapocalypse.com | facebook.com/armedforapocalypse
Releases Worldwide: April 24th, 2026

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

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

From their origins in Mexico City to the 2022 SXSW Festival in Austin, Texas, the three members of Demons My Friends have a shared journey that made their union fateful. This shared geography has played a role in their musical process, as they split recording their sophomore album, Survive/Yourself, between Mexico and Texas. Post-COVID personal struggles inform the record’s themes, with illness, job losses, and family crises cited as sources of the anxiety that fueled their songwriting. Demons My Friends don’t deliver doses of sadboi, however. What they play is a raw, rough, and gritty style of grunge. Though it flirts with mainstream acts like Alice in Chains and Soundgarden, Survive/Yourself plays its grunge outside the box. While creating music is undoubtedly a healthy outlet, the question remains as to whether it’s a good idea to get too friendly with your demons.

Demons My Friends mixes thick stoner/sludge guitar tones with catchy alternative rock hooks for a compelling sonic palette. The fuzzy guitar on opener “The Theory of Change” evokes Mastodon, while the chorus takes a page out of ’90s rock acts like Nirvana and Bush. Yet the tracks on Survive/Yourself run a bit longer than the more radio-friendly examples of grunge, allowing room for meandering and play. Often these moments serve as highlights, especially the melodic lead that pops up mid-song on “The Last Dance.” And though the sludge proves to be the dominant guitar tone, Demons My Friends also show their more sensitive side. “Kalorama,” with its catchy strummed guitar lead, borrows heavily from Pearl Jam’s soft jams. On other tunes, the guitar grows more playful, with a twangy arpeggio on “We All End Up Here” and a really cool psychedelic bit on the record’s catchiest song, “Brain Holographics.”

Survive/Yourself by Demons My Friends

Unfortunately, Demons My Friends also end up being their own worst enemy. The back half of Survive/Yourself finds a pretty successful formula with some catchy tunes that could almost pass for radio-friendly. Yet the band makes some questionable choices that hold them back. As great as “Brain Holographics” is, it stretches on for too long thanks to a lengthy instrumental detour that sees the song nearly lose its way. The fun, High on Fire-inspired stoner track, “Smile,” includes a weird bit of growling that mars a rather tight tune. Also at issue are the vocal performances. Since both Pablo Anton and Lu Salinas have vocal credits, I’m not sure who’s the culprit, but one of the two consistently sounds off-key, and his voice especially strains on higher registers (most noticeable on “Last Dance” and “Star Child”). These sound issues give a sense of raw emotion, but they also distract from the flow of the songs.

The production, with a DR score of 10, proves a boon, but some production choices prove a bane. The largest boon belongs to the guitars. The thick, fuzzy tone is so satisfying as it fires up on “The Theory of Change” and then again about two minutes into “We All End Up Here.” Similarly, Salinas’s bass benefits, contributing some funk on “Brain Holographics” and some nastiness on “Smile.” Littered throughout Survive/Yourself, however, are odd sound issues that detract from the music. The finale of “The Theory of Change” sounds like someone let their kid play with the recording equipment, as a childlike voice repeats “I” over and over. Other noise effects tricked my brain into thinking I was hearing something outside the music. Pattering raindrop drum beats on “Brain Holographics” had me looking up at the ceiling, scared to see a leak. Vocal oddities here and there, such as the strange spoken parts on “Star Child,” gave me the feeling someone had crept up behind me. Cleaning these issues up would have resulted in a much smoother album.

While they showcase some nice licks and cool ideas, Demons My Friends have some demons to exorcise from their songwriting repertoire. There are aspects of their more experimental side that work well—some exploratory instrumental passages and the varied guitar tones. Yet some of what they do just pulls listeners out of the musical experience. They have a clear knack for some great hooks—I find myself humming the chorus on “Brain Holographics” pretty frequently, for one. I look forward to hearing how they are able to evolve their blend of experimental and mainstream music on their next release.

Rating: 2.0/5.0
DR: 10 | Format Reviewed: WAV
Label: Ripple Music
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Site
Releases Worldwide: April 17th, 2026

From their origins in Mexico City to the 2022 SXSW Festival in Austin, Texas, the three members of Demons My Friends have a shared journey that made their union fateful. This shared geography has played a role in their musical process, as they split recording their sophomore album, Survive/Yourself, between Mexico and Texas. Post-COVID personal struggles inform the record’s themes, with illness, job losses, and family crises cited as sources of the anxiety that fueled their songwriting. Demons My Friends don’t deliver doses of sadboi, however. What they play is a raw, rough, and gritty style of grunge. Though it flirts with mainstream acts like Alice in Chains and Soundgarden, Survive/Yourself plays its grunge outside the box. While creating music is undoubtedly a healthy outlet, the question remains as to whether it’s a good idea to get too friendly with your demons.

Demons My Friends mixes thick stoner/sludge guitar tones with catchy alternative rock hooks for a compelling sonic palette. The fuzzy guitar on opener “The Theory of Change” evokes Mastodon, while the chorus takes a page out of ’90s rock acts like Nirvana and Bush. Yet the tracks on Survive/Yourself run a bit longer than the more radio-friendly examples of grunge, allowing room for meandering and play. Often these moments serve as highlights, especially the melodic lead that pops up mid-song on “The Last Dance.” And though the sludge proves to be the dominant guitar tone, Demons My Friends also show their more sensitive side. “Kalorama,” with its catchy strummed guitar lead, borrows heavily from Pearl Jam’s soft jams. On other tunes, the guitar grows more playful, with a twangy arpeggio on “We All End Up Here” and a really cool psychedelic bit on the record’s catchiest song, “Brain Holographics.”

Survive/Yourself by Demons My Friends

Unfortunately, Demons My Friends also end up being their own worst enemy. The back half of Survive/Yourself finds a pretty successful formula with some catchy tunes that could almost pass for radio-friendly. Yet the band makes some questionable choices that hold them back. As great as “Brain Holographics” is, it stretches on for too long thanks to a lengthy instrumental detour that sees the song nearly lose its way. The fun, High on Fire-inspired stoner track, “Smile,” includes a weird bit of growling that mars a rather tight tune. Also at issue are the vocal performances. Since both Pablo Anton and Lu Salinas have vocal credits, I’m not sure who’s the culprit, but one of the two consistently sounds off-key, and his voice especially strains on higher registers (most noticeable on “Last Dance” and “Star Child”). These sound issues give a sense of raw emotion, but they also distract from the flow of the songs.

The production, with a DR score of 10, proves a boon, but some production choices prove a bane. The largest boon belongs to the guitars. The thick, fuzzy tone is so satisfying as it fires up on “The Theory of Change” and then again about two minutes into “We All End Up Here.” Similarly, Salinas’s bass benefits, contributing some funk on “Brain Holographics” and some nastiness on “Smile.” Littered throughout Survive/Yourself, however, are odd sound issues that detract from the music. The finale of “The Theory of Change” sounds like someone let their kid play with the recording equipment, as a childlike voice repeats “I” over and over. Other noise effects tricked my brain into thinking I was hearing something outside the music. Pattering raindrop drum beats on “Brain Holographics” had me looking up at the ceiling, scared to see a leak. Vocal oddities here and there, such as the strange spoken parts on “Star Child,” gave me the feeling someone had crept up behind me. Cleaning these issues up would have resulted in a much smoother album.

While they showcase some nice licks and cool ideas, Demons My Friends have some demons to exorcise from their songwriting repertoire. There are aspects of their more experimental side that work well—some exploratory instrumental passages and the varied guitar tones. Yet some of what they do just pulls listeners out of the musical experience. They have a clear knack for some great hooks—I find myself humming the chorus on “Brain Holographics” pretty frequently, for one. I look forward to hearing how they are able to evolve their blend of experimental and mainstream music on their next release.

Rating: 2.0/5.0
DR: 10 | Format Reviewed: WAV
Label: Ripple Music
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Site
Releases Worldwide: April 17th, 2026

From their origins in Mexico City to the 2022 SXSW Festival in Austin, Texas, the three members of Demons My Friends have a shared journey that made their union fateful. This shared geography has played a role in their musical process, as they split recording their sophomore album, Survive/Yourself, between Mexico and Texas. Post-COVID personal struggles inform the record’s themes, with illness, job losses, and family crises cited as sources of the anxiety that fueled their songwriting. Demons My Friends don’t deliver doses of sadboi, however. What they play is a raw, rough, and gritty style of grunge. Though it flirts with mainstream acts like Alice in Chains and Soundgarden, Survive/Yourself plays its grunge outside the box. While creating music is undoubtedly a healthy outlet, the question remains as to whether it’s a good idea to get too friendly with your demons.

Demons My Friends mixes thick stoner/sludge guitar tones with catchy alternative rock hooks for a compelling sonic palette. The fuzzy guitar on opener “The Theory of Change” evokes Mastodon, while the chorus takes a page out of ’90s rock acts like Nirvana and Bush. Yet the tracks on Survive/Yourself run a bit longer than the more radio-friendly examples of grunge, allowing room for meandering and play. Often these moments serve as highlights, especially the melodic lead that pops up mid-song on “The Last Dance.” And though the sludge proves to be the dominant guitar tone, Demons My Friends also show their more sensitive side. “Kalorama,” with its catchy strummed guitar lead, borrows heavily from Pearl Jam’s soft jams. On other tunes, the guitar grows more playful, with a twangy arpeggio on “We All End Up Here” and a really cool psychedelic bit on the record’s catchiest song, “Brain Holographics.”

Survive/Yourself by Demons My Friends

Unfortunately, Demons My Friends also end up being their own worst enemy. The back half of Survive/Yourself finds a pretty successful formula with some catchy tunes that could almost pass for radio-friendly. Yet the band makes some questionable choices that hold them back. As great as “Brain Holographics” is, it stretches on for too long thanks to a lengthy instrumental detour that sees the song nearly lose its way. The fun, High on Fire-inspired stoner track, “Smile,” includes a weird bit of growling that mars a rather tight tune. Also at issue are the vocal performances. Since both Pablo Anton and Lu Salinas have vocal credits, I’m not sure who’s the culprit, but one of the two consistently sounds off-key, and his voice especially strains on higher registers (most noticeable on “Last Dance” and “Star Child”). These sound issues give a sense of raw emotion, but they also distract from the flow of the songs.

The production, with a DR score of 10, proves a boon, but some production choices prove a bane. The largest boon belongs to the guitars. The thick, fuzzy tone is so satisfying as it fires up on “The Theory of Change” and then again about two minutes into “We All End Up Here.” Similarly, Salinas’s bass benefits, contributing some funk on “Brain Holographics” and some nastiness on “Smile.” Littered throughout Survive/Yourself, however, are odd sound issues that detract from the music. The finale of “The Theory of Change” sounds like someone let their kid play with the recording equipment, as a childlike voice repeats “I” over and over. Other noise effects tricked my brain into thinking I was hearing something outside the music. Pattering raindrop drum beats on “Brain Holographics” had me looking up at the ceiling, scared to see a leak. Vocal oddities here and there, such as the strange spoken parts on “Star Child,” gave me the feeling someone had crept up behind me. Cleaning these issues up would have resulted in a much smoother album.

While they showcase some nice licks and cool ideas, Demons My Friends have some demons to exorcise from their songwriting repertoire. There are aspects of their more experimental side that work well—some exploratory instrumental passages and the varied guitar tones. Yet some of what they do just pulls listeners out of the musical experience. They have a clear knack for some great hooks—I find myself humming the chorus on “Brain Holographics” pretty frequently, for one. I look forward to hearing how they are able to evolve their blend of experimental and mainstream music on their next release.

Rating: 2.0/5.0
DR: 10 | Format Reviewed: WAV
Label: Ripple Music
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Site
Releases Worldwide: April 17th, 2026

From their origins in Mexico City to the 2022 SXSW Festival in Austin, Texas, the three members of Demons My Friends have a shared journey that made their union fateful. This shared geography has played a role in their musical process, as they split recording their sophomore album, Survive/Yourself, between Mexico and Texas. Post-COVID personal struggles inform the record’s themes, with illness, job losses, and family crises cited as sources of the anxiety that fueled their songwriting. Demons My Friends don’t deliver doses of sadboi, however. What they play is a raw, rough, and gritty style of grunge. Though it flirts with mainstream acts like Alice in Chains and Soundgarden, Survive/Yourself plays its grunge outside the box. While creating music is undoubtedly a healthy outlet, the question remains as to whether it’s a good idea to get too friendly with your demons.

Demons My Friends mixes thick stoner/sludge guitar tones with catchy alternative rock hooks for a compelling sonic palette. The fuzzy guitar on opener “The Theory of Change” evokes Mastodon, while the chorus takes a page out of ’90s rock acts like Nirvana and Bush. Yet the tracks on Survive/Yourself run a bit longer than the more radio-friendly examples of grunge, allowing room for meandering and play. Often these moments serve as highlights, especially the melodic lead that pops up mid-song on “The Last Dance.” And though the sludge proves to be the dominant guitar tone, Demons My Friends also show their more sensitive side. “Kalorama,” with its catchy strummed guitar lead, borrows heavily from Pearl Jam’s soft jams. On other tunes, the guitar grows more playful, with a twangy arpeggio on “We All End Up Here” and a really cool psychedelic bit on the record’s catchiest song, “Brain Holographics.”

Survive/Yourself by Demons My Friends

Unfortunately, Demons My Friends also end up being their own worst enemy. The back half of Survive/Yourself finds a pretty successful formula with some catchy tunes that could almost pass for radio-friendly. Yet the band makes some questionable choices that hold them back. As great as “Brain Holographics” is, it stretches on for too long thanks to a lengthy instrumental detour that sees the song nearly lose its way. The fun, High on Fire-inspired stoner track, “Smile,” includes a weird bit of growling that mars a rather tight tune. Also at issue are the vocal performances. Since both Pablo Anton and Lu Salinas have vocal credits, I’m not sure who’s the culprit, but one of the two consistently sounds off-key, and his voice especially strains on higher registers (most noticeable on “Last Dance” and “Star Child”). These sound issues give a sense of raw emotion, but they also distract from the flow of the songs.

The production, with a DR score of 10, proves a boon, but some production choices prove a bane. The largest boon belongs to the guitars. The thick, fuzzy tone is so satisfying as it fires up on “The Theory of Change” and then again about two minutes into “We All End Up Here.” Similarly, Salinas’s bass benefits, contributing some funk on “Brain Holographics” and some nastiness on “Smile.” Littered throughout Survive/Yourself, however, are odd sound issues that detract from the music. The finale of “The Theory of Change” sounds like someone let their kid play with the recording equipment, as a childlike voice repeats “I” over and over. Other noise effects tricked my brain into thinking I was hearing something outside the music. Pattering raindrop drum beats on “Brain Holographics” had me looking up at the ceiling, scared to see a leak. Vocal oddities here and there, such as the strange spoken parts on “Star Child,” gave me the feeling someone had crept up behind me. Cleaning these issues up would have resulted in a much smoother album.

While they showcase some nice licks and cool ideas, Demons My Friends have some demons to exorcise from their songwriting repertoire. There are aspects of their more experimental side that work well—some exploratory instrumental passages and the varied guitar tones. Yet some of what they do just pulls listeners out of the musical experience. They have a clear knack for some great hooks—I find myself humming the chorus on “Brain Holographics” pretty frequently, for one. I look forward to hearing how they are able to evolve their blend of experimental and mainstream music on their next release.

Rating: 2.0/5.0
DR: 10 | Format Reviewed: WAV
Label: Ripple Music
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Site
Releases Worldwide: April 17th, 2026

From their origins in Mexico City to the 2022 SXSW Festival in Austin, Texas, the three members of Demons My Friends have a shared journey that made their union fateful. This shared geography has played a role in their musical process, as they split recording their sophomore album, Survive/Yourself, between Mexico and Texas. Post-COVID personal struggles inform the record’s themes, with illness, job losses, and family crises cited as sources of the anxiety that fueled their songwriting. Demons My Friends don’t deliver doses of sadboi, however. What they play is a raw, rough, and gritty style of grunge. Though it flirts with mainstream acts like Alice in Chains and Soundgarden, Survive/Yourself plays its grunge outside the box. While creating music is undoubtedly a healthy outlet, the question remains as to whether it’s a good idea to get too friendly with your demons.

Demons My Friends mixes thick stoner/sludge guitar tones with catchy alternative rock hooks for a compelling sonic palette. The fuzzy guitar on opener “The Theory of Change” evokes Mastodon, while the chorus takes a page out of ’90s rock acts like Nirvana and Bush. Yet the tracks on Survive/Yourself run a bit longer than the more radio-friendly examples of grunge, allowing room for meandering and play. Often these moments serve as highlights, especially the melodic lead that pops up mid-song on “The Last Dance.” And though the sludge proves to be the dominant guitar tone, Demons My Friends also show their more sensitive side. “Kalorama,” with its catchy strummed guitar lead, borrows heavily from Pearl Jam’s soft jams. On other tunes, the guitar grows more playful, with a twangy arpeggio on “We All End Up Here” and a really cool psychedelic bit on the record’s catchiest song, “Brain Holographics.”

Survive/Yourself by Demons My Friends

Unfortunately, Demons My Friends also end up being their own worst enemy. The back half of Survive/Yourself finds a pretty successful formula with some catchy tunes that could almost pass for radio-friendly. Yet the band makes some questionable choices that hold them back. As great as “Brain Holographics” is, it stretches on for too long thanks to a lengthy instrumental detour that sees the song nearly lose its way. The fun, High on Fire-inspired stoner track, “Smile,” includes a weird bit of growling that mars a rather tight tune. Also at issue are the vocal performances. Since both Pablo Anton and Lu Salinas have vocal credits, I’m not sure who’s the culprit, but one of the two consistently sounds off-key, and his voice especially strains on higher registers (most noticeable on “Last Dance” and “Star Child”). These sound issues give a sense of raw emotion, but they also distract from the flow of the songs.

The production, with a DR score of 10, proves a boon, but some production choices prove a bane. The largest boon belongs to the guitars. The thick, fuzzy tone is so satisfying as it fires up on “The Theory of Change” and then again about two minutes into “We All End Up Here.” Similarly, Salinas’s bass benefits, contributing some funk on “Brain Holographics” and some nastiness on “Smile.” Littered throughout Survive/Yourself, however, are odd sound issues that detract from the music. The finale of “The Theory of Change” sounds like someone let their kid play with the recording equipment, as a childlike voice repeats “I” over and over. Other noise effects tricked my brain into thinking I was hearing something outside the music. Pattering raindrop drum beats on “Brain Holographics” had me looking up at the ceiling, scared to see a leak. Vocal oddities here and there, such as the strange spoken parts on “Star Child,” gave me the feeling someone had crept up behind me. Cleaning these issues up would have resulted in a much smoother album.

While they showcase some nice licks and cool ideas, Demons My Friends have some demons to exorcise from their songwriting repertoire. There are aspects of their more experimental side that work well—some exploratory instrumental passages and the varied guitar tones. Yet some of what they do just pulls listeners out of the musical experience. They have a clear knack for some great hooks—I find myself humming the chorus on “Brain Holographics” pretty frequently, for one. I look forward to hearing how they are able to evolve their blend of experimental and mainstream music on their next release.

Rating: 2.0/5.0
DR: 10 | Format Reviewed: WAV
Label: Ripple Music
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Site
Releases Worldwide: April 17th, 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

The life of the unpaid, overworked metal reviewer is not an easy one. The reviewing collective at AMG lurches from one new release to the next, errors and n00bs strewn in our wake. But what if, once in a while, the collective paused to take stock and consider the discography of those bands that shaped many a taste? What if multiple aspects of the AMG collective personality shared with the slavering masses their personal rankings of that discography, and what if the rest of the personality used a Google sheet some kind of dark magic to produce an official guide to, and an all-around definitive aggregated ranking of, that band’s entire discography? Well, if that happened, we imagine it would look something like this…

Formed in 1988, Immolation emerged shortly after death metal’s dawn of aggression. Alongside Incantation, Suffocation, and Mortician, Immolation cemented themselves as a cornerstone of New York’s death metal scene in the early 90s. Since then, the band has erected a kingdom of consistency, releasing cut after unholy cut of complex arrangements, unwavering hostility, and anti-religious ruminations about the failures of gods. Key to Immolation’s dependable, high-quality output are mainstays bassist/vocalist Ross Dolan and guitarist Robert Vigna, who have both been with the band since inception. Even Immolation’s other members prove steadfast, with drummer Steve Shalaty searing skins since 2003 and Alex Bouks lending his axe since 2016. Through eleven full-length releases, Immolation has proven that their ability to harness ruin and forge death metal majesty is nigh unparalleled.

With twelfth album Descent arriving soon, staffers old and new clamored to share their opinions on how Immolation’s back catalog stacks up. Unlike rankings mostly prescribed by overwhelming consensus on their highs and lows, Immolation presents a discography with nothing to atone for, providing fertile ground for healthy, well-considered discourse. Without further ado, then, let’s put our ears to the door of a world below and divine these diabolical rankings!

– Grin Reaper

The Rankings

Grin Reaper

In my book, nobody does pure death metal better than Immolation. More consistent than Suffocation and Incantation and more uncompromising than Morbid Angel and Cryptopsy,1 Immolation scoffs at AMG’s Law of Diminishing Recordings™ as they reign atop an unimpeachable discography that lacks a single turd. Seriously. The ‘worst’ album Immolation ever put out still rivals or surpasses the best from most other death metal outfits, and their indomitable march to dismantle the weak and unworthy entrenches them as one of my all-time favorite acts. Jesus wept—Immolation never fucking flinched.

#11. Harnessing Ruin (2005) — Something has to be last, and Harnessing Ruin gets my tap. Songwriting-wise, Immolation drops a strong effort with acerbically grim leads and a rousing introduction to new drummer Steve Shalaty. Guitars supply the album highlights—from the gnarled riffing in “Our Savior Sleeps” and the sludgy sway on “Son of Iniquity” to the scalding solo on “Dead to Me,” Bob Vigna and Bill Taylor sizzle with hell’s fire across Harnessing Ruin. Unfortunately, the album’s production holds it back, and the muffled mix lacks the bite of Unholy Cult. Also, the longest songs cluster at the end, dragging the back half a touch.

#10. Kingdom of Conspiracy (2013) — Kingdom of Conspiracy just ekes ahead of Harnessing Ruin, clocking three minutes briefer despite having one more track. To my ears, Kingdom of Conspiracy features Immolation’s brightest, most modern production. This offers a boon to Dolan’s grating growls and the tormented guitar tandem of Vigna and Taylor, but it also buries the bass and pushes the drums further away from the dead corpse smacks that characterize my favorite Immolation bass drum tones. As one might expect from the bottom end of such an excellent discography, Kingdom of Conspiracy does little wrong, but lacks the heretical heft that defines Immolation’s best material.

#9. Shadows in the Light (2007) — Concluding what I consider Immolation’s middle period, Shadows in the Light chronologically bridges their weakest link, Harnessing Ruin, and powerhouse Nuclear Blast debut, Majesty and Decay. Shadows in the Light drastically improves on Harnessing Ruin’s production, wading out of the former’s forlorn pall and laying down brimstone-tinged bangers like one-two punch “Passion Kill” and “World Agony.” A sense of immediacy pervades Shadows that, while not lacking in the lowest-ranked albums, burns even hotter here, filling its forty minutes with writhing leads and furious drumming that typifies what Immolation does so damned well.

#8. Failures for Gods (1999) — Failures for Gods falling to #8 proves just how potent Immolation’s discography is, as the album would be a crown jewel in countless other discographies. On the surface, Failures for Gods has everything Immolation fans could ask for: punishing grooves, tortured guitars, and vocals that could command the armies of hell. Despite that, Failures for Gods feels like it holds back from the devastating offensive that would launch a year later, instead rehashing rather than progressing what Immolation accomplished on their first two albums. Still, Failures introduced drummer Alex Hernandez, and though his masterstrokes would be heard on Close, songs like “God Made Filth” and “The Devil I Know” heralded the storm to come.

#7. Dawn of Possession (1991) — Pure fucking evil rarely sounds this intoxicating. Steeped in an unpolished production that’s coarse yet clear, Dawn of Possession hooks ears and souls alike, flaying them with its hellish implements. Though it’s Immolation’s most straightforward album, tracks like “Into Everlasting Fire, “Those Left Behind,” and “Immolation” exemplify why suburban mothers clutch their pearls when they happen upon their precious babes listening to death metal. Dawn of Possession was my entry point for Immolation, and it encompasses everything the band offers without guile. I still recommend it for the uninitiated, particularly those who enjoy straight-up OSDM with a side of heresy.

#6. Unholy Cult (2002) — Where Failures for Gods luxuriates in gloomy menace and Close to a World Below reeks of sulfurous damnation, Unholy Cult blurs the line between the two. Starting with a slow build on opener “Of Martyrs and Men,” Unholy Cult careens between ominous drawls and infernal fervor with a substantially improved production over Immolation’s 90s output. “Unholy Cult” remains the second-longest song these death peddlers have penned, and it looms large, rooted in the front half of the album. From there, the tracks rumble and blitz up to closer “Bring Them Down,” a funky barnburner that highlights Dolan’s basswork amidst Immolation’s blazing backdrop.

#5. Majesty and Decay (2010) — Immolation unleashed a juggernaut for their first platter with Nuclear Blast. Blistering, contemplative, and brimming with moldering melody, Majesty and Decay swats with the divine laze of a celestial being, uncoiling at its leisure but devastating in its wrath once roused. Tracks like “A Glorious Epoch” and “The Rapture of Ghosts” toe this line, where beefy chugs pound beneath soaring, anthemic guitars. Meanwhile, the likes of “The Purge” and “A Token of Malice” hit with the force of a thunderclap, unrelenting in their fury. I originally had Majesty and Decay in the same tier as Atonement and Acts of God, but the busy mix and unimaginatively titled “Intro” and “Interlude” hold it back.2

#4. Atonement (2017) — With no song running past the five-minute mark, Atonement exhibits Immolation’s dedication to excising the fat and gristle. Vigna’s crooked leads and crushing riffs mesh perfectly with new guitarist Alex Bouks’ calculated anarchy, and together they synchronize in exquisite harmony. Along with Majesty and Decay, Atonement might be the closest Immolation comes to achieving accessibility. Typically, my favorite straight-up death metal furnishes little room for nuance, and though Immolation doesn’t have a reputation for subtlety, Atonement expertly doles out moments of relief (the end of “When the Jackals Come,” the intro to “Lower”) that almost lull you into safety before the bottom drops out and sends you to hell.

#3. Acts of God (2022) — When I first saw Immolation flaunting fifteen tracks totaling over fifty minutes, I thought their best days were behind them. Bloat is never a good sign, particularly from a band with such a pristine track record. I happily resign to being wrong, though, as Acts of God not only subverted but demolished my expectations. Immolation’s allure lies in the intricacies of their music. Dolan’s patristic admonishment of humanity, Vigna and Bouks’ serpentine noodling, and Shalaty’s tempestuous brutalization of the kit define the band’s sound, yet here the music is more direct and urgent than ever. Rather than missing any beats, Immolation sounds ruinously revitalized.

#2. Here in After (1996) — Though not a significant shift away from Dawn of Possession, Immolation struck nails to gold with Here in After. Compared to later releases, Here in After radiates a few extra degrees of chaos, with deranged soloing that reminds of Slayer’s vision of hell and a slightly more impassioned vocal performance from Dolan. To be clear, his vocals are one of my favorite aspects of Immolation’s sound, and his matter-of-fact, comprehensible gutturals against such malicious metal engenders wonderful drama. The edge to his voice on “Nails to Gold” and “Christ’s Cage” adds a dimension of metaphysical dread that is the chef’s kiss throughout Here in After’s inflamed impiety.

#1. Close to a World Below (2000) — I can’t fathom any other Immolation album topping this blasphemous bonanza than Close to a World Below. Opening with my favorite Immolation track “Higher Coward,” the album bursts forth with an unapologetic eruption of sinuous guitars, vicious growls, and an unyielding onslaught by drummer Alex Hernandez. The drum tones alone deserve a spotlight, but the cataclysmic bombardment of stick on skin violence stops me dead in my tracks anytime one of Close to a World Below’s songs pops up. Immolation distills the essence of what worked so well on previous albums and folds those layers into a perfect performance across eight insidiously immaculate tracks. “Father, You’re Not a Father,” “Unpardonable Sin,” and the closing title track resonate with especially inspired performances, but the entirety of Close to a World Below boils over with the most unhinged and malignant performance of Immolation’s career. Being damned never sounded so Iconic.

Lavender Larcenist

#11. Harnessing Ruin (2005) — Immolation does not have a bad album, but Harnessing Ruin feels like a band chugging along in a bit of an in-between space. The production is muddled here, especially after Unholy Cult and Close to a World Below, but “Our Savior Sleeps” still retains that Immolation heft while “At Mourning’s Twilight” is an inspired closer with an incredible solo at the midpoint. Harnessing Ruin would be the best album of many other bands’ careers, but it is only a lower-tier album for a band as storied as Immolation.

#10. Shadows in the Light (2007) — Shadows in the Light follows Harnessing Ruin in terms of feeling like a band spinning its wheels (as much as a band as talented as Immolation can). Even then, “Passion Kill” is a classic Immolation track with an incredible breakdown that will make a fan out of any listener. “World Agony” follows with a dissonant wailing riff backing as it drops headfirst into a rolling bulldozer of a track. Unfortunately, there isn’t much else to Shadows in the Light that helps it stand out amongst the rest of Immolation’s discography, but it still makes for a solid death metal record with some memorable tracks that have stood the test of time.

#9. Failures for Gods (1999) — Failures for Gods is a solid album that is no slouch in the songwriting department, but it is marred by some truly busted production. Everything feels muddy, oddly loud, and compressed at the same time. “No Jesus, No Beast” is a monster, and the title track features that classic evil tone that becomes so apparent in late-stage Immolation, but the production handicaps this album at every turn. Great songwriting goes a long way, but in a race this tight, poor production brings Failures for Gods low.

#8. Kingdom of Conspiracy (2013) — Kingdom of Conspiracy shaves off a bit of Majesty and Decay’s technicality to its detriment. It is the closest Immolation has come to creating an album that is more groove than tech. As a result, it is probably one of their more approachable records, but it is the weakest of their current era. “Keep the Silence” is a monster of a track, and Kingdom has more than enough material to make it worth a listen. I think this is an album more fans should revisit, and newbies should start with, because it is hooky, heavy, and groovy in ways that will tickle your evil organ.

#7. Dawn of Possession (1991) — Dawn of Possession is an incredible debut from a band that is clearly young and ready to fuck the world up. Robert Vigna’s trademark style is immediately apparent, and Immolation’s blend of groove, dizzying technicality, and evil vibes is on display out of the gate. Craig Smilowski’s drumming is absurd in its rhythm and technical flourishes, but the album lacks the atmosphere that Immolation became famous for later in their career. Dawn of Possession is a fantastic debut that is only brought down by the extent to which its tracks bleed together. Something Immolation struggles with throughout their career.

#6. Here in After (1996) — Here in After sees the band refine their skills and write tighter songs that hit harder while adding just a little dash of that trademark Immolation vibe. The groove is starting to creep in, and tracks like “Christ’s Cage” showcase the band playing with the truly evil tone that pervades their most recent work. Album opener “Nailed to Gold” is a classic for the band, and Here in After is a quintessential Immolation album. Ross Dolan’s vocals have switched from Dawn’s nastier tone to his trademark bellow, and Vigna’s pirouetting shredwork is here to stay. Here in After is Immolation in classic form.

#5. Close to a World Below (2000) — Opening with “Higher Coward”, Close to a World Below starts on a high note and never stops delivering. The production foibles of Failures are ironed out, and Immolation sounds like a band ready to bulldoze society. “Unpardonable Sin” is as heavy as it is frantic with its switches back and forth between dissonant groove and face-melting speed. “Lost Passion” crescendos into trademark Immolation wankery in the best way, but Close to a World Below still suffers from some odd production. Dolan’s vocals feel slightly different track to track, but this is an album with some of Immolation’s best songs to date.

#4. Unholy Cult (2002) — Something about Unholy Cult just clicks for me. “Of Martyrs and Men” is that pure, wonderful, evil shit. After an explosive intro, the track moves into one of Immolation’s most crushing riffs. The title track is a slice of hell in a way the band hasn’t played with since “Christ’s Cage”, an eight-minute epic that is as catchy as it is devastating. Vigna flips from this vibrato-tremolo guitar riff right into an all-out assault and back to massive Immolation grooves without a hitch. Unholy Cult is stuffed with great tracks and feels like a first step towards the second half of Immolation’s career, where atmosphere and groove hold more sway over pure technicality.

#3. Majesty and Decay (2010) — Majesty and Decay is where modern Immolation comes into full form. Part truly diabolical atmosphere, part neutron star heavy, all technical and groovy as hell. “Intro” gives listeners a glimpse into the band’s future. “A Glorious Epoch” has one of the best riffs, basically ever, making for a track that gets my blood boiling without fail. “A Token of Malice” is astounding in its technicality while being a freight train of destruction with Vigna riding shotgun. Majesty and Decay is also the best Immolation has sounded up to this point, where the production finally feels consistent, clear, and absolutely brutal.

#2. Atonement (2017) — Likely an album that will grace the top tier on every list, Atonement feels like the quintessential Immolation album. If I were to introduce the band to anyone, I would probably start here. “When the Jackals Come” is one of the band’s best tracks, and “Lower” is just astounding in how brutal Immolation still is decades later. It also keeps things at a slim and trim forty-four minutes, and album closer “Epiphany” puts a perfect bow on this devil baby. There isn’t a track worth skipping on Atonement, a feat made all the more impressive when it is a band ten albums into their career.

#1. Acts of God (2022) — Where do I start with Acts of God? To me, it is the perfect combination of creativity, groove, technicality, and that evil Immolation sound we have come to know and cherish. As one of Immolation’s longest albums, you would think the well has run dry, but the intro “Abandoned” and interlude “And The Flames Wept” add so much cohesion to the album and drape the entire affair in a veil of depravity. Acts of God features some of Immolation’s biggest and baddest riffs, while also pushing their atmosphere to new heights. Their most evil album, their most creative, and maybe even their heaviest. “Noose of Thorns” is led by a diabolical descending riff that drops into high-pitched tapping that sets the tone so well you can’t help but feel pulled by hell’s destructive currents. “Immoral Stain” is dripping with malice; you can hear it seep into every riff and lyric. “Let the Darkness In” features a bouncing, infectious groove that immediately flips into Vigna’s trademark dissonant wails. Acts of God is Immolation’s magnum opus in every sense, and somehow my favorite album by a band that feels like they can do no wrong.

Mark Z.

Immolation feel like old friends. I discovered them early in my extreme metal journey and was immediately captivated by Bob Vigna’s unconventional riffing style and Ross Dolan’s commanding (and surprisingly comprehensible) growl. No matter what’s happened in the metal scene, it’s always been comforting to know that Immolation have been there, touring relentlessly while consistently delivering their trademark brand of dissonant death metal and never releasing a true dud. In the world of old school death metal, they’re the one band I could always count on. Because of that, they’ll always have a special place in my ever-blackening heart.

#11. Shadows in the Light (2007) — Not a bad album, just a relatively bland one. While there are some inspired ideas, most of the tracks have little of the dark atmosphere or interesting songwriting found on their earlier material. Nonetheless, it’s a testament to Immolation’s quality that even their worst album still has stuff as good as the lumbering grooves of “Passion Kill” or the growl-along catchiness of “World Agony,” which is one of the group’s best songs.

#10. Harnessing Ruin (2005) — Arguably Immolation’s most accessible album, Harnessing Ruin shows them trying to find their place in the mid-2000s death metal scene by writing some more direct songs than usual. Just like with Shadows in the Light, however, this album sags in its back half and lacks the darkness or quality of the first few records. There’s good stuff here, but this record also feels bleak and oddly dated, possibly due to the generic mid-2000s artwork, plain production job, or the misguided use of whispered vocals in “Dead to Me” and “Son of Iniquity.”

#9. Kingdom of Conspiracy (2013) — The fucking drums, man. The drum sound here is borderline overbearing, and given that this record is already pretty fast, the overall experience is a relentless and punishing one that largely crushes nuance beneath the heel of its boot. Fortunately, the riffing is still strong, and the album’s generally fast nature makes the slower, commanding marches of “Keep the Silence” and “All That Awaits Us” hit all the harder.

#8. Majesty and Decay (2010) — After a relatively lackluster era in the mid-2000s, Immolation signed to Nuclear Blast and seemed hell-bent on redemption with Majesty and Decay. Compared to its immediate predecessors, this record has an improved production job, more dynamic songwriting, and a better sense of structure (with the band employing an intro track and interlude for the first time). While the title track’s Gateways to Annihilation vibes make it one of the band’s best slower songs, the album as a whole would be better if some of the weaker tracks were shaved off and a few others were tightened up a bit.

#7. Acts of God (2022) — This is a very good album with two main issues: It’s too long, and it has the misfortune of having to follow up Atonement. Not even an Immolation album needs to be 52 minutes long, and compared to its predecessor, the production is stuffier and the songs aren’t as strong. As a whole, however, this is still a blasphemous good time that maintains a consistently high level of quality throughout, with “The Age of No Light” and “Overtures of the Wicked” being especially powerful cuts.

#6. Unholy Cult (2002) — Immolation’s fifth album represents a bridge between the apocalyptic malevolence of their early material and the polished hostility of their later work. It’s also potentially their most vicious and chaotic release, with the opening track “Of Martyrs and Men” even featuring some borderline-mathcore riffs. While at times tough to untangle, Unholy Cult ultimately succeeds as a 41-minute shrapnel blast of ideas that somehow combines the epic and the violent into an utterly compelling whole.

#5. Failures for Gods (1999) — The start of Immolation’s long partnership with producer Paul Orofino, Failures for Gods is held back a bit by his lack of prior experience with death metal, with the bass drums sounding like bouncing basketballs. Stylistically and structurally, however, this is essentially Here in After Part II, with twisted and brooding compositions that vary between being grandiose and cutthroat. While a bit front-loaded, Failures is still a brilliant record. In a just world, “No Jesus, No Beast” would be the closer at every Immolation show.

#4. Dawn of Possession (1991) — Immolation’s debut essentially gave their death-thrash demo tracks a murkier production job and placed them alongside newer songs that would hint at the band’s dissonance to come. As such, Dawn of Possession is the most traditional death metal album in the band’s catalog while also being one of the most distinct and stylistically diverse. While Bob Vigna would only improve as a songwriter from here, Dawn’s numerous classic tracks and otherworldly sense of blasphemy make it easy to love, warts and all.

#3. Atonement (2017) — How the fuck is this album so good? Late-career albums aren’t supposed to be this good, but this is the rare lightning-strike release where everything hits just right: the production, the songwriting, the performances, and even the cover art (which marks the return of the band’s classic logo). It’s like they found a way to increase the quality of everything while sacrificing nothing, resulting in a record that’s powerful yet understated, hooky yet stuffed with riffs, and listenable yet extreme. It may be slightly front-loaded, but it’s still one of my favorite death metal albums of the 2010s.

#2. Here in After (1996) — Arriving five years after their debut, Here in After shows Immolation truly coming into their own, with Bob Vigna’s dark, dissonant arrangements and Ross Dolan’s menacing, intelligible growl both emerging in full force. The improved songwriting is apparent right from the flawless opener, “Nailed to Gold,” which could be one of the Top 10 death metal songs ever. While the twisted structures that follow are less immediately accessible, it all eventually coalesces into a masterfully crafted whole, demonstrating a keen sense of flow and diversity while exuding a timeless, unheavenly darkness that only Immolation could conjure.

#1. Close to a World Below (2000) — There are certain albums so good that they transcend not only their own band’s discography, but also the rest of their genre. Close to a World Below is one of those albums. Never before or since has an album sounded so much like being in hell, with a suffocating and merciless production job that somehow still allows every note to be heard in all its unholy glory. Drummer Alex Hernandez delivers a once-in-a-career performance that sounds like he’s bashing every part of his kit at once, and Bob Vigna somehow manages to write his catchiest material while still delivering riffs more warped than ever. The record also has one of the best openings of all time, with a sullen voice asking, “Didn’t you say. . . Jesus was coming?” before a blasting onslaught tramples any hope of ever making it to heaven. Fukk it, send me below!

Spicie Forrest

Having begun my metal journey in nü territory, there are holes in my metallic knowledge you could drive a commercial truck through.3 While Immolation has long been a name vaguely known to me, it wasn’t until Atonement that I actually heard any of their music. So, when the call for a ranking came in, I saw an excellent opportunity to dive deeply into a storied discography and see what I’ve been missing.

#11. Harnessing Ruin (2005) — While comparably unremarkable, even the bottom end of this list is still good. The truth is, Immolation has never put out a bad album. With such a consistent base quality, placing albums in a numbered order became a game of sudden death. The nail in the coffin for Harnessing Ruin? The whispering vocals on “Dead to Me” and “Son of Iniquity.”

#10 Unholy Cult (2002) — How the hell do you follow up Close to a World Below? By comparison—and even in isolation—Unholy Cult feels lackluster and unremarkable. I’d likely still recognize most of this as Immolation in a playlist, and it’s still very solid death metal by any measure, but there’s precious little here that demands my attention or elevates it above background music. Additionally, pacing shifts, as on “Reluctant Messiah” and “Bring Them Down,” make it difficult to find a groove or flow through the album.

#9 Failures for Gods (1999) — The first three albums Immolation released are all, more or less, of a piece. Failures for Gods maintains much of the quality from earlier releases, from the searing, whiplash solo work and deep riffage of “No Jesus, No Beast” and “Failures for Gods” to the brooding, intimidating tone of “The Devil I Know.” There’s a bit of staleness that creeps into Failures for Gods, though. Aside from some odd, Spanish-inflected acoustic riffing on the title track, not much here stands out from their earlier work or in retrospect.

#8 Shadows in the Light (2007) — Immolation’s output through the mid-00s is, for me, their least engaging, but Shadows in the Light sees them begin to turn things around toward the high quality they’d been known for in the early years. The percussion on Shadows in the Light caught me by surprise, reminding me mightily of Slipknot’s self-titled. Steve Shalaty’s kit work feels alive and visceral, just itching to incite a riot. This holds especially true on “Passion Kill” and “Breathing the Dark.”

#7 Kingdom of Conspiracy (2013) — Kingdom of Conspiracy is an odd duck in Immolation’s discography. This 2013 release has proven divisive not only for its shift in theme,4 but for its notably clean production, as well. While I do appreciate the clarity and snappiness, it is a tad sterile. Ross Dolan’s vocals are hurt the most by this, making him sound toothless and tired. Highlights like “All That Awaits Us” and “God Complex” still hit hard, but as a whole, Kingdom of Conspiracy just doesn’t have the searing identity of records higher on this list.

#6 Here in After (1996) — Being the sophomore album is a tough break. The pressure’s on, expectations are high. Here in After largely holds the line and even improves on the debut in some ways—the title track and “Christ’s Cage” are absolute powerhouses, wielding the weight of worlds like feathers. That said, Here in After does not feel as compositionally tight or structurally sound as Dawn of Possession. Additionally, much of the solo work feels jarring and a skosh too chaotic for my sensibilities, especially on “Nailed to Gold” and “Burn with Jesus.”

#5 Majesty and Decay (2010) — A continuation of the upward shift in quality from Shadows in the Light, Majesty and Decay sees Immolation beginning to explore the more tempered, measured sound so prevalent in their contemporary output. Some tracks, like “A Thunderous Consequence” and “Power and Shame,” fall flat in their attempts to create atmosphere, but “Divine Code” and “A Glorious Epoch” show exactly how menacing and powerful Immolation can be and truly embody the title of the album.

#4 Dawn of Possession (1991) — This served as the standard by which all else was measured. Apocalyptic and vicious, Immolation’s debut was a revelation. There’s a ferocity on Dawn of Possession that only a young band eager to share their vision can produce. And in so doing, Immolation marred the tapestry forever. Injecting their relentless assault with streaks of virtuosity, Dawn of Possession became the bar not only for the band, but for thousands of inspired musicians in the decades since. Immolation has tweaked and tempered their blueprint in the 35 years since, but the core has always remained.

#3 Acts of God (2022) — I’m normally not a fan of intros, but “Abandoned” sets the stage perfectly for the brutal and utterly savage cudgeling to come. Fully returning to the unchecked hatred for Christians and their gods, Acts of God is contemptuous and caustic in way that hasn’t been heard since Close to a World Below. Most impressive here is Immolation’s success in merging the pomp and circumstance of their modern output with the rage of their early work. While not strictly their best release, Acts of God is a quintessential work, defining the true identity of Immolation.

#2 Close to a World Below (2000) — Already known for their malicious, uncompromising sound, Immolation cranks all the dials to eleven on Close to a World Below. It’s seething, it’s virulent, it’s fucking hostile. If this masterpiece ever lets up, it’s only to parade and mock the mangled corpse of Christ before grabbing a bigger hammer. Every second of this album drips with scorn, from the indictment of “Father, You’re Not a Father,” to the blasphemy of “Unpardonable Sin.” I get chills at the start of “Higher Coward” every fucking time, and they don’t go away until long after “Close to a World Below” fades out.

#1 Atonement (2017) — The first Immolation album I ever heard, Atonement still remains untouched. The imperial confidence and contempt—the sheer power—left me speechless, and I still return to it, nearly ten years later. Atonement is more atmospheric than much of their other work, but the result is a heretofore unknown level of weight and heft, no doubt aided by its more vibrant and textured production. Like the change in the air before a coming storm, Atonement feels like a harbinger of ruin, and at times like the disaster itself. Barns burn on tracks like “Destructive Currents” and “Rise the Heretics,” but Immolation truly shines in patient malevolence. Highlights like “When the Jackals Come,” “Thrown to the Fire,” and “Lower” are in no rush to grind your bones to paste. Atonement is the full realization of what was hinted on Majesty and Decay, and it is breathtaking to behold.

Angry Metal Guy Staff Ranking

Thanks to the dark magic of profane arithmetic, we present the aggregate staff ranking below:

1. 1. Harnessing Ruin (2005)
   2. Shadows in the Light (2007)
   3. Kingdom of Conspiracy (2013)
   4. Failures for Gods (1999)
   5. Unholy Cult (2002)
   6. Dawn of Possession (1991)
   7. Majesty and Decay (2010)
   8. Here in After (1996)
   9. Acts of God (2022)
   10. Atonement (2017)
   11. Close to a World Below (2000)

For any ignorant, curious, or non-practicing heathens out there that need to bathe in the everlasting fire, look no further than AMG’s Immolation primer:



Since spewing out from the Swedish death metal scene back in 1996, Vomitory have been one of the most consistent acts in extreme metal. Album after album of no-frills, brutal, yet enthralling Swedeath emerged from the puke shack, and you could always look forward to getting something gruesome and sick from them. They had a long layoff after 2011s Opus Mortis VIII, but when they came back with 2023s All Heads Are Gonna Roll, it was as if they never left at all. That platter was tried-and-trve Vomitory: aggressive, heavy, abrasive, but weirdly catchy. Now they’re back in the hunt with 10th album, In Death Throes, sporting new axe worker Christian Fredriksson in place of Peter Östlund. Is this corpse still delectable and appropriately unsavory? Will their simple but effective template finally start to show signs of metal fatigue? Let’s discuss these questions at the Vomitorium.

Mere seconds into opener “Rapture in Rupture,” you know you’re in for a good, rough time. This is Vomitory in all their putrid glory. HM-2 powered riffs buzz loudly like diseased insects, drums thunder and blast, and Erik Rundqvist roars over the chaos like a sick wilderbeast in heat. The energy level is set to “Berserk Meth Nutter on Crack,” and the riffs work to peel away your skin and degrade your bone structure. It offers nothing you haven’t heard before, or even something you haven’t heard from Vomitory before, but that matters not at all because this shit kills. Lead single “For Gore and Country” keeps the adrenaline and testosterone pumping with more high-speed gore and near-grind death, and it’s a joy to be bulldozed by it. The band refuse to ease back on the death throttle until 4th track, “Wrath Unbound,” where they slot into Bolt Thrower territory and appropriate that war-loving crew’s iconic riff palette for a bit of tank-in-the-muck grinding. It works very well, though it makes me long for a new Bolt Thrower album.

Elsewhere, “Cataclysmic Fleshfront” goes extra fast and mean on those still left in the fight, at times verging on beef-brained slam in a way that will bring Dolphin Whisperer to the yard faster than any cheesy milkshake ever could. This is abrasive, brain-deadening shit, but Vomitory uses the chaos to try a few new things, and damn if those big chugs aren’t satisfying. If you were to play this at the gym, your primal ape rage would increase tenfold as other gym goers fled in terror. “Two and a Half Men” introduces a simple yet effective riff, then absolutely beats you into a bloody pulp with it for 3 in the most relentless way possible. I mean this as a positive. Closer “Oblivion Protocol” injects interestingly melodic and moody harmonies into the mix, possibly as a balm to help you recover from the 30-plus minute mega-ass whopping they just put on you. It’s a cool changeup, and it sticks out. Are there lesser moments? I suppose one could say “Forever Scorned” isn’t quite as tremendously murderous as its peers, but it’s still a good song with loads of death boulders to hurl. At a very tight 38-plus minutes and with all songs in the 3-4 minutes window, In Death Throes blows your head off and then fucks off in quick order. Nothing stays too long or feels bloated. At the same time, the songs all have their own identity and don’t bleed into a revolting mush as they easily could with a less practiced hand at the wheel.

I’ve always been a huge fan of Erik Rundqvist’s death vocals, and In Death Throes is another testament to his unnatural abilities. His roars are just guttural enough to hit that subhuman level and add the right amount of sick extremity to the material. He isn’t puking up nuclear hairballs a la Cryptworm, but he doesn’t sound restrained either. Longtime guitarist Urban Gustafsson pairs well with newcomer Christian Fredriksson and together they uncork a nonstop succession of ragged, jagged riffs designed to traumatize and harm. They even toss a killer Exodus riff into “Erased in Red” that’s better than what we actually heard from Exodus recently. Tobias Gustafsson has the unenviable task of keeping up with the rest of these maniac mauraders, and his kit work is frantic, frenzied, and just technical enough to satisfy. Once again, Vomitory stick to what always worked for them, and somehow, it works as well now as it did in 1996.

Vomitory made a fierce comeback in 2023, and now they’re showing it was no late-career fluke with In Death Throes. This is a rowdy, skull-crushing death metal opus with plenty of meat to chew on. All that meat is rancid, so all the better! Trust in Vomitory and get your ears assailed by this blasty bastard. It would be wise, my friends.



Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 256 kbps mp3
Label: Metal Blade
Websites: vomitory.net | vomitory.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/vomitoryband | instagram.com/vomitoryband
Releases Worldwide: April 10th, 2026

When it comes to snakes and music, I’m a simple man. I think of Testament’s Brotherhood of the Snake, High on Fire’s Snakes for the Divine, Deicide’s Serpents of the Light, and Sir Mix-a-Lot. And now Philadelphia’s Crotaline1 slithers in flaunting first-wave-of-black-metal ballads rife with references to snake genitalia. Black metal’s second wave garners most of the attention, having shaped what most consider to be the genre’s trve north, but Mayhem, Darkthrone, Immortal, and Emperor never would have become what they are without Bathory’s lo-fi virulence, Venom’s proto-thrashed, punk-informed edgelording, and Celtic Frost’s sinister atmospheres and doomy trudges. First-wave black metal fairly characterizes what Crotaline provides on debut The Embrace of Cloacal Desire, as it’s ridden with direct, unadorned riffing, torturous plods, and a classically DIY aesthetic. Crotaline’s debut sounds like a blast, and I hope it is—my anaconda don’t want none unless it’s got fun, hun.

In many senses, The Embrace of Cloacal Desire is a primitive album. Crotaline relates carnal tales of ophidian lust in straightforward spurts of stripped-down metal, preferring uncomplicated riffs and instrumentation to deliver their herpetological gospel. In this way, Crotaline reminds me more of Hellhammer than Bathory or Celtic Frost. Tom G. Warrior’s (Triptykon) first project,2 Hellhammer distinguished itself more for its chaos and enthusiasm than its execution. Similarly, The Embrace of Cloacal Desire attacks with zealous verve, flitting through nine tracks of intermittently thrashy and doom-laden black metal. Despite the bold mashup of genres, though, Crotaline never quite brings their fangs within striking distance.

The Embrace of Cloacal Desire by Crotaline

Two primary issues plague The Embrace of Cloacal Desire, and each boils down to the same root cause—simplicity. While the drums supply a commendable rhythmic thunder, mostly Crotaline’s performance either plays too safe or lacks the technical firepower to achieve big moments. After a protracted minute-and-a-half intro, opener “Breeding the End” gets properly started. Unleashing a classic thrash riff recalling Bonded by Blood-era Exodus, a peppy bass groove joins in to underpin the melody. The pace slows at the chorus, cutting to a second riff before wending back to the main one. “Widow’s Web” kicks in next, treating listeners to a Venom-meets-Bathory hook that, just like the preceding song, tamps the brakes for vocals and a bridge. The pattern wears thin quickly, and The Embrace of Cloacal Desire suffers from this constricted songwriting—particularly in the back half. Too many half-formed ideas reach for big moments, only to topple into funereal crawls. For an album dedicated to dangerous snakes and sex organs, too often I’m left unthrilled and unfulfilled.

Ultimately, the lack of memorable passages and songs leaves The Embrace of Cloacal Desire as drab and listless as a shed snakeskin. Solid building blocks reside in Crotaline’s DNA, but the shapes of their assembled structures never coalesce into more than their constituent components. Where varying tempos can effectively lead to dynamic pacing and musical climaxes, Crotaline’s overuse of the fast-to-slow momentum shifts undercuts their songwriting. “As the Serpents Feast” exits the chorus and launches into a punky bridge begging for a wailing solo, but instead delivers an understated, unconvincing lead lacking excitement and dexterity. “Red Moon of Despair” starts promisingly enough, yet drops to a two-minute slog of glacial pacing. The same framework repeats on “Beneath the Reeds,” and yet again on “Hemipenes; The Embrace of Cloacal Desire.” Rather than mirroring a narrative or cleverly subverting expectations, these pivots can seem haphazard or lazy, leading to either frustration or boredom.

In spite of a great album concept and comparisons to bands I enjoy, Crotaline’s debut fails to charm my snake. Predictable songwriting and uninspired performances make The Embrace of Cloacal Desire’s thirty-five minutes feel longer than they are, and no song manages to entirely sidestep these issues. Even so, it takes guts to write this wild shit, and even more so to memorialize these ideas in song. Venom lurks within Crotaline, but the band needs to retool their bite. Hopefully they can figure it out and give us a rousing sophomore resurgence. Until then, I’m left to wonder if maybe I’m bored with it, or maybe it’s Crotaline.

Rating: Bad
DR: N/A | Format Reviewed: WAV
Label: Liminal Dread Productions
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: April 3rd, 2026