#apr26 — Public Fediverse posts

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thrash—my first love. Before I worshipped at the altars of black and death, my masters cloaked themselves in denim and set my soul on fire with aggressive speed, snotty rebellion, and fist-pumping anthems. Like 2016, the godfathers of thrash have already made the last twelve months a resurgence of the old school, with varying degrees of success.1 Newer acts have also made a splash, with Cryptic Shift and Zerre wickedly pummeling our poor score counter into requesting early retirement.2 2026 at large betrays no signs of relenting, and thankfully, neither does thrash. Ten years after dropping their 2016 debut, The Unholy Trinity, California’s Nukem reemerges with sophomore effort The Grave Remains. After such a long incubation period, does Nukem prove that they have what it takes to claw out from the grave?

Despite forming in 2012, Nukem oozes classic thrash spunk by blurring Bay Area melody with East Coast attitude and gang vocals. Death Angel, Nuclear Assault, and Overkill3 influences punctuate The Grave Remains’ twelve tracks, although flashes of a dozen other bands course through Nukem’s veins. Guitarist/vocalist Steve Brogden’s snarls remind me of Warbringer’s John Kevill mixed with a more pissed-off Mark Osegueda, delivering serrated crossover barks with conviction. Rob Cavestany even makes a guest appearance on “Into the Kill Zone,” cementing the Death Angel frame of reference. Exodus staples Gary Holt and Lee Altus also sling some riffs on “Empress of Evil” and “Don’t Believe a Word” respectively, the latter of which is a Thin Lizzy cover. In total, Nukem blends a multitude of inspirations into a confluence of so many thrash wellsprings that they precipitate a voice at once familiar and distinct.

The Grave Remains by Nukem

Nukem plays infectiously fun thrash that overflows with shout-along choruses and a bass tone so plump and meaty that it quickly became my favorite aspect of The Grave Remains. Brogden’s guitars flit, chug, and cajole throughout the forty-nine minutes, yet bassist Don Lauder steals the spotlight time and again. From the slinky rumble in “Unconditional Surrender” to the coquettish interplay in “Empress of Evil,” Lauder’s bass bounces and parades with low-end jubilance. “Torture, Murder, Mutilate!” and “Random Acts of Violence” further emphasize the bass while showcasing Nukem’s six-string attack, with Xander Gambini augmenting Brogden’s core. Additionally, ex-Nukem axe-wielder (and current Dark Angel guitarist) Laura Christine joins her former bandmates and Gary Holt on “Empress of Evil,” while “Random Acts of Violence” includes an appearance from Russ Tippins (Satan and Tanith). Drummer Norm Leggio rounds out the rhythm section, ably pounding out rolls, fills, and tight rhythms in support of Nukem’s well-crafted performances.

Nukem executes thrash with the eager verve of a hungry up-and-comer, but a couple of missteps limit The Grave Remains’ ceiling. While the riffs are fine when experienced in isolation, as a whole, they often lack the hooks or memorability to distinguish themselves from one another. The Grave Remains shines brightest during bass performances and rousing choruses, but those two alone can’t support an entire thrash album. This issue wouldn’t be as glaring if the track lengths were shaved down, but as-is, only two songs (besides needless instrumentals) stay under the four-minute mark, and one of those is a cover. Repeat spins reinforce the opportunity to trim thirty to sixty seconds off several tracks, which would help punch up The Grave Remains and leave listeners craving MOAR. On a positive note, the production glows with a well-balanced mix that supplies ample room for each instrument, and Nukem’s earnest embrace of head-banging gusto guarantees I’m never having a bad time.

Ultimately, Nukem offers a classic thrash platter with a few blemishes I can see, yet easily look past. The Grave Remains won’t change the landscape of the genre, but fans will find plenty to enjoy, and despite the melting pot of references, Nukem manages to claim their spot within thrash’s wing of the metalsphere. Songs like “Unconditional Surrender” and “Curse of the Devil’s Bible” are welcome earworms that have found homes in my playlists, and I look forward to the next time Nukem asks us to come get some.

Rating: Good
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Redefining Darkness Records
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: April 10th, 2026

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

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

Absentia by Splendidula

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

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

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

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

After no less than three albums’ worth of glowing praise from my great predecessor Kronos, it’s safe to say that a new Archspire is a big deal in the hall.1 One blistering offering after another has cemented these lads as among the forerunners of tech-death, pushing BPM and bass-string structural integrity in equal measure. But the human body, alas, has limits, and with previous release Bleed the Future already pushing the speedometer well into the red, one could be forgiven for invoking the oldest of clichés: Where do they go from here? There’s only so much speed, so much scale wankery to be derived from mere flesh and bone. With a bit of a self-referential title in Too Fast to Die, Archspire have made their mission statement clear and concise; will their meteoric rise continue to light up the sky, or will their first independent release see them crash and burn?

Archspire have officially been around long enough to say “Expect the expected.” Too Fast to Die continues the band’s whirlwind musical trajectory, with an emphasis on scorching tempos and arpeggios delivered at string-withering pace. New drummer Spence Moore (formerly of Inferi, among others) plays like the lives of his family depend on it, etching his identity into the music with a smorgasbord of snare fills and delightful rhythmic shifts which somehow manage to maintain a blasting pace without ever smearing together into one double-bass-filled haze. Vocalist Oliver Aleron continues to sound pulled from an alternate universe where Atilla doesn’t suck,2 spitting syllable-heavy diatribes with gleeful abandon and an s-tier talent for phrasing which lets him compliment the intensity rather than overwhelm it. Enough breathing room is given to the bass, letting Jared Smith fill in the cracks with sweeps that rumble and clang under the chords with vibrancy and potent kinetic energy (“Red Goliath”) before disappearing back under the assault. Everything is excellently executed, engaging, and familiar.

Too Fast to Die by Archspire

And yet, there is a clear rumbling of growth and evolution in the Archspire camp. Rather than openly go out of their way to crank all the knobs from 11 to 12, Too Fast to Die puts heavy stock on pathos-riddled melody, with a heavier leaning on atmospheric theatrics and amphitheater-ready harmonies which don’t seek to overwhelm as much as invigorate and inspire. Album highlight “Carrion Ladder” features a midsection with a pair of leads so relatively simple a fledgling guitar student could learn to play them, yet thanks to the band’s compositional mastery, this simplicity isn’t an anticlimactic letdown as much as a genuine moment of appreciable, raw beauty, not to mention it features one of Oliver’s catchiest vocal parts. Such moments are littered throughout the album, with the borderline emotional chug section of “Limb of Leviticus” transitioning into the band’s traditional plucked interludes with melancholy rather than neo-classical sheen. Archspire’s interludes in older albums would have sounded just as appropriate if played by harpsichord as much as guitar, but Too Fast to Die eschews just a touch of that dual identity to place a heavier focus on thematic coherence with massive dividends.

Nevertheless, this is still a death metal record, and any gushing over emotive power and atmospheric bombast shouldn’t frighten away fans. “Liminal Cypher” features an absolutely devastating slamming section, and “Deadbolt the Backward” briefly dispenses with the atmospheres and opts for sudden shifts of waltz time signatures and straightforward brutality akin to Deeds of Flesh covering an Origin song. The most tendinitis-inducing of leads kick down your front door in “Anomalous Descent” only to suddenly shift identities and flirt with the briefest of hardcore stylings while putting an exclamation point on the proceedings with honest-to-goodness gang vocals. Somehow, this works. While Archspire haven’t quite gone prog on us with clean vocals and a litany of guest instruments (thank God), it’s delightful to see them stretching their artistic wings in so many directions and skillsets, despite promotional material perhaps pitching them as a one-trick pony of speed.

I haven’t been as high on Archspire as some of my colleagues. I enjoyed them, but felt such a style could only be mined so much. Too Fast to Die is Archspire commanding me to take those opinions and violate myself with them, track after track after track. This album sees the band embracing their not-so-newfound star status and offering an experience that is riddled with crowd-engaging moments, meticulously engineered pit fodder, and leads of such beauty that you could sing them in the shower, without sacrificing an ounce of the Africanized-bees-on-red-bull songwriting backbone. “Where do they go from here?” I wondered? Well, the answer is “bigger and better”, and if we are entering a new era of grandiosity over raw technique, I’m so here for it. You should be, too.

Rating: 4.0/5.0
DR: NA | Format Reviewed: Yet another stream, come on, guys
Label: Self-release
Website: Album Bandcamp
Releases Worldwide: April 10th, 2026

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

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

Heaven Wept by Inferi

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

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

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

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

Does Void of Light refer to a source of luminescence, or is it shorthand for its total absence? The group might know something about the latter, hailing as they do from the northerly latitude of Glasgow, Scotland. Their musical medium—a sludgy, atmospheric post-metal—also reflects a dichotomous embodiment of light and dark: often crushingly heavy and thematically bleak, but also upliftingly melodic. Asymmetries—another nod to duality and imbalance—is a debut four years in the making, drawing together the fragments of brutality and reflective ambience from the preceding EPs into a bold statement on who Void of Light are. And decisive that statement certainly is.

Void of Light’s approach to post-metal is rich and dynamic, layering leaden riffing, melancholic melody, and flexible tempos around one another to augment the music’s ability to captivate. Strikingly, flatteringly akin to Deadly Carnage in the expert intermingling of delicacy and harshness (“Still the Night Skies”) and an ever-evolving rhythm, the album flows gracefully. Dips into The Ocean of steady, progressive builds, tangles with LLNN-levels of skull-bashing heaviness (“Mirrorings”), and even flirtation with black metal (“Ends,” “Mirrorings”) compliment a nuanced, emotional soundscape with heart and bite.

Asymmetries by Void of Light

The magnetism of Asymmetries is felt gradually and with progressive strength, like approaching a planet’s gravitational field. Things begin almost understatedly in “The Passing Hours,” with a loose, modulated melody and a steady onward crush that only hints at the depths to come. That is, before the final act gives the game away when soft singing gives way to a jubilant guitar solo over the rush of blackened percussion: a dramatic backdrop for the final reprise. These soaring, energetic guitar lines weave in and out across the record, communicating joy and bittersweet blueness as they variously dance (“Silver Mask,” “Ends”) and float (“The Passing Hours,” “Still the Night Skies”) over the comparative bluntness. Gentle (“The Passing Hours,” “Ends”) and impassioned (“Silver Mask,” “Still the Night Skies,” “Mirrorings”) cleans add still more layers of emotion as they move in pitch and volume with or in brilliant opposition to the instrumentation, and equally ardent screams (“Silver Mask,” “Still the Night Skies”). None of this would be half as stirring, however, were it not wrapped around the multidimensional rhythmic core that spills over from the percussion to riffs and vocals alike. Rippling fills and agile rolls thread texture upon which singing floats or screams rain down (“The Passing Hours,” “Mirrorings”). Frequent slides into snappy off-beats (“Silver Mask,” “Ends”) and impressively rich, cascading blackened tirades (“Ends,” “Still the Night Skies,” “Mirrorings”)—the kind you’d expect from Panopticon—intensify already incendiary peaks where aforementioned guitars dance or soar.

Asymmetries, as a name, can only be used complimentarily here; perhaps the worst that could be said is that the album might get even better as it progresses. If I had to be incredibly harsh, I would point to the oft-repeated pattern of songs lapsing midway into stripped-back plucking and singing before the reprise of heaviness. Even then, songs don’t sound the same, and the formula is an effective conduit for tension and emotion, formula though it may be. Really, though, Asymmetries feels ideally formed and structured to deliver the maximum impact as it is: the rhythms growing more fluid and restless, the layers of sung and screamed vocals more multiplicitous, and the returning spaces of poignant ambience serving to gradually dial up the pathos as well as the more tangible force of the riffs, drumbeats, and roars. If the ascendant singing in the final act of “Silver Mask” lifts you up, wait until “Still the Night Skies,” and the cascading multitracking on “Mirrorings”. If “The Passing Hours” jolts you into attention with its final forcefulness, wait until the sudden savagery that closes “Ends” and then how the following songs stack this ardour with that singing, and the consistently gorgeous waves of clear and hazy melody.

Asymmetries’ power was not instantly obvious, but with every listen its grip grew tighter and the sky around it lost its colours as they were drawn into the void. Void of Light effectively communicate a dichotomy between light and shadow in their sad, uplifting, harsh, fragile debut. And if this is where they’re starting from, then heads, hearts, and score-safety-counters everywhere will need to watch out in the future.

Rating: Great!
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Ripcord Records
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: April 3rd, 2026

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