#argonautarecords — Public Fediverse posts

Who is this man who bears a pentagram and drapes his horse with astrological signs? Why does he carry a scythe, and why is he wearing armor? What does he see in the distance beyond the farmland? As the face of Armageddon Scars—debut LP of Louisiana sludge-doom duo Fane—he stands as a symbol for its contents, “[e]xploring themes of endurance, damage, and aftermath” by referencing an old world perhaps not so dissimilar from the present one. We may not get answers to our opening questions, but Fane’s musical expression can speak for itself. But in this genre epitomised by down-tuned dourness, is what it says any less vague and unanswerable?

Armageddon Scars sounds exactly like you think it does: a bit fuzzy, a bit wobbly, steady, sometimes groovy, but all in moderation. It finds some middle point between the promo’s advertised YOB, Primitive Man, and Crowbar, which manages to be quite listenable despite how that may sound. There’s a consistent atmosphere of stoicism, formed through the variously soft and spikey aspects of stoner-adjacent guitar drawls and grittier sludge chugs, that’s more than endearing. As opener “Flatline” fades in through the chirping of crickets and muted chords, this feeling starts to increase, augmented by the biting gutturals that take the lead and the tempo upshift that is echoed in the consistent turns of the album’s remainder.

Fane come into their own with a textured hook and the coalescence of passion with rhythmic delivery. It takes a while to get there, but “Flatline”‘s lead refrain hits a satisfying groove in its blended stoner-sludge riffs and crashing cymbals; “Poisoned Crown” fares better in delivery speed and general quality, but you do have to wait until the end of the album to reach its syncopated percussion and drawling soloing. This percussion is consistently enjoyable to listen to, but hits best when the album steps out of the template just a tad and messes with patterns (“Flatline,” “Passages”). Likewise, while Armageddon Scars remains melodically driven by simple yet effective riffing—and the theme in “Mariner” stands out particularly here—it’s usually when Fane mix in a little more dissonance or complexity that their solid base feels strongest. A guitar line whose twisting dissonance (“Dead Shepherd”), or high mirroring of another (“Flatline”) adds welcome urgency and intrigue. The bouts of atmosphere in the mix—to bring in the sounds of the sea, introduce the opening chords, or cloak the album’s only true solo—also contrasts nicely with the more solid foundation. When screams pitch above the fracas for vicious (“Passages,” “Mariner”) or agonised (“Dead Shepherd”) emphasis, they successfully pull their sober surroundings up with them, whose weight then lends these moments the punch they need.

Yet despite such signs, Armageddon Scars falters in large part because it fails to distinguish itself. There’s a fine line between a reassuring familiarity and staleness, and Fane fall on the bad side more often than not, with the bulk of the riffing and rhythms occupying that middle Venn diagram of their influences. It’s seemingly not for lack of imagination or skill, as the above indicates the band are experimenting a little and adding at least some layers and elements of darkness, atypicality, or poignancy. What’s there is just not enough to counteract how quickly the admittedly good rhythms and refrains lose their vivacity, and sometimes it even goes badly, as with the spoken-word (“Mariner,” “Passages”) that comes across as bland and non-committal. Perhaps the album’s greatest compliment just is its commitment to a singular sound and the fact that Fane have still made it just that bit more modern, but it feels like a shame in the face of their evident efforts beyond this.

Armageddon Scars is a strong album buried in a forgettable one. There’s enough to it that any fans of this sludge-doom sound will likely find something to believe in, even though it doesn’t convince me personally. Fane may have a brilliant journey and mysteries to unravel ahead of them, but currently there appears to be only unexplained adornments on a well-trodden scene.

Rating: Mixed
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Argonauta Records (Octopus Rising)
Websites: Bandcamp | Instagram
Releases Worldwide: August 28th, 2026

Who is this man who bears a pentagram and drapes his horse with astrological signs? Why does he carry a scythe, and why is he wearing armor? What does he see in the distance beyond the farmland? As the face of Armageddon Scars—debut LP of Louisiana sludge-doom duo Fane—he stands as a symbol for its contents, “[e]xploring themes of endurance, damage, and aftermath” by referencing an old world perhaps not so dissimilar from the present one. We may not get answers to our opening questions, but Fane’s musical expression can speak for itself. But in this genre epitomised by down-tuned dourness, is what it says any less vague and unanswerable?

Armageddon Scars sounds exactly like you think it does: a bit fuzzy, a bit wobbly, steady, sometimes groovy, but all in moderation. It finds some middle point between the promo’s advertised YOB, Primitive Man, and Crowbar, which manages to be quite listenable despite how that may sound. There’s a consistent atmosphere of stoicism, formed through the variously soft and spikey aspects of stoner-adjacent guitar drawls and grittier sludge chugs, that’s more than endearing. As opener “Flatline” fades in through the chirping of crickets and muted chords, this feeling starts to increase, augmented by the biting gutturals that take the lead and the tempo upshift that is echoed in the consistent turns of the album’s remainder.

Fane come into their own with a textured hook and the coalescence of passion with rhythmic delivery. It takes a while to get there, but “Flatline”‘s lead refrain hits a satisfying groove in its blended stoner-sludge riffs and crashing cymbals; “Poisoned Crown” fares better in delivery speed and general quality, but you do have to wait until the end of the album to reach its syncopated percussion and drawling soloing. This percussion is consistently enjoyable to listen to, but hits best when the album steps out of the template just a tad and messes with patterns (“Flatline,” “Passages”). Likewise, while Armageddon Scars remains melodically driven by simple yet effective riffing—and the theme in “Mariner” stands out particularly here—it’s usually when Fane mix in a little more dissonance or complexity that their solid base feels strongest. A guitar line whose twisting dissonance (“Dead Shepherd”), or high mirroring of another (“Flatline”) adds welcome urgency and intrigue. The bouts of atmosphere in the mix—to bring in the sounds of the sea, introduce the opening chords, or cloak the album’s only true solo—also contrasts nicely with the more solid foundation. When screams pitch above the fracas for vicious (“Passages,” “Mariner”) or agonised (“Dead Shepherd”) emphasis, they successfully pull their sober surroundings up with them, whose weight then lends these moments the punch they need.

Yet despite such signs, Armageddon Scars falters in large part because it fails to distinguish itself. There’s a fine line between a reassuring familiarity and staleness, and Fane fall on the bad side more often than not, with the bulk of the riffing and rhythms occupying that middle Venn diagram of their influences. It’s seemingly not for lack of imagination or skill, as the above indicates the band are experimenting a little and adding at least some layers and elements of darkness, atypicality, or poignancy. What’s there is just not enough to counteract how quickly the admittedly good rhythms and refrains lose their vivacity, and sometimes it even goes badly, as with the spoken-word (“Mariner,” “Passages”) that comes across as bland and non-committal. Perhaps the album’s greatest compliment just is its commitment to a singular sound and the fact that Fane have still made it just that bit more modern, but it feels like a shame in the face of their evident efforts beyond this.

Armageddon Scars is a strong album buried in a forgettable one. There’s enough to it that any fans of this sludge-doom sound will likely find something to believe in, even though it doesn’t convince me personally. Fane may have a brilliant journey and mysteries to unravel ahead of them, but currently there appears to be only unexplained adornments on a well-trodden scene.

Rating: Mixed
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Argonauta Records (Octopus Rising)
Websites: Bandcamp | Instagram
Releases Worldwide: August 28th, 2026

Who is this man who bears a pentagram and drapes his horse with astrological signs? Why does he carry a scythe, and why is he wearing armor? What does he see in the distance beyond the farmland? As the face of Armageddon Scars—debut LP of Louisiana sludge-doom duo Fane—he stands as a symbol for its contents, “[e]xploring themes of endurance, damage, and aftermath” by referencing an old world perhaps not so dissimilar from the present one. We may not get answers to our opening questions, but Fane’s musical expression can speak for itself. But in this genre epitomised by down-tuned dourness, is what it says any less vague and unanswerable?

Armageddon Scars sounds exactly like you think it does: a bit fuzzy, a bit wobbly, steady, sometimes groovy, but all in moderation. It finds some middle point between the promo’s advertised YOB, Primitive Man, and Crowbar, which manages to be quite listenable despite how that may sound. There’s a consistent atmosphere of stoicism, formed through the variously soft and spikey aspects of stoner-adjacent guitar drawls and grittier sludge chugs, that’s more than endearing. As opener “Flatline” fades in through the chirping of crickets and muted chords, this feeling starts to increase, augmented by the biting gutturals that take the lead and the tempo upshift that is echoed in the consistent turns of the album’s remainder.

Fane come into their own with a textured hook and the coalescence of passion with rhythmic delivery. It takes a while to get there, but “Flatline”‘s lead refrain hits a satisfying groove in its blended stoner-sludge riffs and crashing cymbals; “Poisoned Crown” fares better in delivery speed and general quality, but you do have to wait until the end of the album to reach its syncopated percussion and drawling soloing. This percussion is consistently enjoyable to listen to, but hits best when the album steps out of the template just a tad and messes with patterns (“Flatline,” “Passages”). Likewise, while Armageddon Scars remains melodically driven by simple yet effective riffing—and the theme in “Mariner” stands out particularly here—it’s usually when Fane mix in a little more dissonance or complexity that their solid base feels strongest. A guitar line whose twisting dissonance (“Dead Shepherd”), or high mirroring of another (“Flatline”) adds welcome urgency and intrigue. The bouts of atmosphere in the mix—to bring in the sounds of the sea, introduce the opening chords, or cloak the album’s only true solo—also contrasts nicely with the more solid foundation. When screams pitch above the fracas for vicious (“Passages,” “Mariner”) or agonised (“Dead Shepherd”) emphasis, they successfully pull their sober surroundings up with them, whose weight then lends these moments the punch they need.

Yet despite such signs, Armageddon Scars falters in large part because it fails to distinguish itself. There’s a fine line between a reassuring familiarity and staleness, and Fane fall on the bad side more often than not, with the bulk of the riffing and rhythms occupying that middle Venn diagram of their influences. It’s seemingly not for lack of imagination or skill, as the above indicates the band are experimenting a little and adding at least some layers and elements of darkness, atypicality, or poignancy. What’s there is just not enough to counteract how quickly the admittedly good rhythms and refrains lose their vivacity, and sometimes it even goes badly, as with the spoken-word (“Mariner,” “Passages”) that comes across as bland and non-committal. Perhaps the album’s greatest compliment just is its commitment to a singular sound and the fact that Fane have still made it just that bit more modern, but it feels like a shame in the face of their evident efforts beyond this.

Armageddon Scars is a strong album buried in a forgettable one. There’s enough to it that any fans of this sludge-doom sound will likely find something to believe in, even though it doesn’t convince me personally. Fane may have a brilliant journey and mysteries to unravel ahead of them, but currently there appears to be only unexplained adornments on a well-trodden scene.

Rating: Mixed
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Argonauta Records (Octopus Rising)
Websites: Bandcamp | Instagram
Releases Worldwide: August 28th, 2026

Who is this man who bears a pentagram and drapes his horse with astrological signs? Why does he carry a scythe, and why is he wearing armor? What does he see in the distance beyond the farmland? As the face of Armageddon Scars—debut LP of Louisiana sludge-doom duo Fane—he stands as a symbol for its contents, “[e]xploring themes of endurance, damage, and aftermath” by referencing an old world perhaps not so dissimilar from the present one. We may not get answers to our opening questions, but Fane’s musical expression can speak for itself. But in this genre epitomised by down-tuned dourness, is what it says any less vague and unanswerable?

Armageddon Scars sounds exactly like you think it does: a bit fuzzy, a bit wobbly, steady, sometimes groovy, but all in moderation. It finds some middle point between the promo’s advertised YOB, Primitive Man, and Crowbar, which manages to be quite listenable despite how that may sound. There’s a consistent atmosphere of stoicism, formed through the variously soft and spikey aspects of stoner-adjacent guitar drawls and grittier sludge chugs, that’s more than endearing. As opener “Flatline” fades in through the chirping of crickets and muted chords, this feeling starts to increase, augmented by the biting gutturals that take the lead and the tempo upshift that is echoed in the consistent turns of the album’s remainder.

Fane come into their own with a textured hook and the coalescence of passion with rhythmic delivery. It takes a while to get there, but “Flatline”‘s lead refrain hits a satisfying groove in its blended stoner-sludge riffs and crashing cymbals; “Poisoned Crown” fares better in delivery speed and general quality, but you do have to wait until the end of the album to reach its syncopated percussion and drawling soloing. This percussion is consistently enjoyable to listen to, but hits best when the album steps out of the template just a tad and messes with patterns (“Flatline,” “Passages”). Likewise, while Armageddon Scars remains melodically driven by simple yet effective riffing—and the theme in “Mariner” stands out particularly here—it’s usually when Fane mix in a little more dissonance or complexity that their solid base feels strongest. A guitar line whose twisting dissonance (“Dead Shepherd”), or high mirroring of another (“Flatline”) adds welcome urgency and intrigue. The bouts of atmosphere in the mix—to bring in the sounds of the sea, introduce the opening chords, or cloak the album’s only true solo—also contrasts nicely with the more solid foundation. When screams pitch above the fracas for vicious (“Passages,” “Mariner”) or agonised (“Dead Shepherd”) emphasis, they successfully pull their sober surroundings up with them, whose weight then lends these moments the punch they need.

Yet despite such signs, Armageddon Scars falters in large part because it fails to distinguish itself. There’s a fine line between a reassuring familiarity and staleness, and Fane fall on the bad side more often than not, with the bulk of the riffing and rhythms occupying that middle Venn diagram of their influences. It’s seemingly not for lack of imagination or skill, as the above indicates the band are experimenting a little and adding at least some layers and elements of darkness, atypicality, or poignancy. What’s there is just not enough to counteract how quickly the admittedly good rhythms and refrains lose their vivacity, and sometimes it even goes badly, as with the spoken-word (“Mariner,” “Passages”) that comes across as bland and non-committal. Perhaps the album’s greatest compliment just is its commitment to a singular sound and the fact that Fane have still made it just that bit more modern, but it feels like a shame in the face of their evident efforts beyond this.

Armageddon Scars is a strong album buried in a forgettable one. There’s enough to it that any fans of this sludge-doom sound will likely find something to believe in, even though it doesn’t convince me personally. Fane may have a brilliant journey and mysteries to unravel ahead of them, but currently there appears to be only unexplained adornments on a well-trodden scene.

Rating: Mixed
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Argonauta Records (Octopus Rising)
Websites: Bandcamp | Instagram
Releases Worldwide: August 28th, 2026

Who is this man who bears a pentagram and drapes his horse with astrological signs? Why does he carry a scythe, and why is he wearing armor? What does he see in the distance beyond the farmland? As the face of Armageddon Scars—debut LP of Louisiana sludge-doom duo Fane—he stands as a symbol for its contents, “[e]xploring themes of endurance, damage, and aftermath” by referencing an old world perhaps not so dissimilar from the present one. We may not get answers to our opening questions, but Fane’s musical expression can speak for itself. But in this genre epitomised by down-tuned dourness, is what it says any less vague and unanswerable?

Armageddon Scars sounds exactly like you think it does: a bit fuzzy, a bit wobbly, steady, sometimes groovy, but all in moderation. It finds some middle point between the promo’s advertised YOB, Primitive Man, and Crowbar, which manages to be quite listenable despite how that may sound. There’s a consistent atmosphere of stoicism, formed through the variously soft and spikey aspects of stoner-adjacent guitar drawls and grittier sludge chugs, that’s more than endearing. As opener “Flatline” fades in through the chirping of crickets and muted chords, this feeling starts to increase, augmented by the biting gutturals that take the lead and the tempo upshift that is echoed in the consistent turns of the album’s remainder.

Fane come into their own with a textured hook and the coalescence of passion with rhythmic delivery. It takes a while to get there, but “Flatline”‘s lead refrain hits a satisfying groove in its blended stoner-sludge riffs and crashing cymbals; “Poisoned Crown” fares better in delivery speed and general quality, but you do have to wait until the end of the album to reach its syncopated percussion and drawling soloing. This percussion is consistently enjoyable to listen to, but hits best when the album steps out of the template just a tad and messes with patterns (“Flatline,” “Passages”). Likewise, while Armageddon Scars remains melodically driven by simple yet effective riffing—and the theme in “Mariner” stands out particularly here—it’s usually when Fane mix in a little more dissonance or complexity that their solid base feels strongest. A guitar line whose twisting dissonance (“Dead Shepherd”), or high mirroring of another (“Flatline”) adds welcome urgency and intrigue. The bouts of atmosphere in the mix—to bring in the sounds of the sea, introduce the opening chords, or cloak the album’s only true solo—also contrasts nicely with the more solid foundation. When screams pitch above the fracas for vicious (“Passages,” “Mariner”) or agonised (“Dead Shepherd”) emphasis, they successfully pull their sober surroundings up with them, whose weight then lends these moments the punch they need.

Yet despite such signs, Armageddon Scars falters in large part because it fails to distinguish itself. There’s a fine line between a reassuring familiarity and staleness, and Fane fall on the bad side more often than not, with the bulk of the riffing and rhythms occupying that middle Venn diagram of their influences. It’s seemingly not for lack of imagination or skill, as the above indicates the band are experimenting a little and adding at least some layers and elements of darkness, atypicality, or poignancy. What’s there is just not enough to counteract how quickly the admittedly good rhythms and refrains lose their vivacity, and sometimes it even goes badly, as with the spoken-word (“Mariner,” “Passages”) that comes across as bland and non-committal. Perhaps the album’s greatest compliment just is its commitment to a singular sound and the fact that Fane have still made it just that bit more modern, but it feels like a shame in the face of their evident efforts beyond this.

Armageddon Scars is a strong album buried in a forgettable one. There’s enough to it that any fans of this sludge-doom sound will likely find something to believe in, even though it doesn’t convince me personally. Fane may have a brilliant journey and mysteries to unravel ahead of them, but currently there appears to be only unexplained adornments on a well-trodden scene.

Rating: Mixed
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Argonauta Records (Octopus Rising)
Websites: Bandcamp | Instagram
Releases Worldwide: August 28th, 2026

It shouldn’t be surprising, but we don’t get a ton of punk or hardcore submissions here at Angry Metal Guy. We’re not Angsty Punk Bois, after all. I, however, particularly enjoy the intersections between punk and metal—sludge, grind, crust, crossover, powerviolence, etc. Metal’s straightforward aggression and punk’s vitriolic outrage complement each other well and scratch a specific itch. So when I saw Thorgrim’s debut LP, Puca, floating in the promo pit, I was sold on the Wisconsin trio’s promise of a heady mix of doom, punk, and a dash of black metal. Something like sludge but a skosh less acerbic? And maybe a little cold? Hopes were high, but did Thorgrim deliver?

No. Unequivocally, no. You see, Thorgrim boasts a live, one-take-only recording and production, laeving all mistakes and scrapes and buises on the record as some rebelilous statenemt against the overprodction of moder n musi.c Opener “Children of Doom” starts with a symbol hit that I can onl assume was am istake, and a massive skip around the 3:30 mark undersores how unedited and haphazard this albu is. “Voyage to Saturn” strats in the midle of a note ,and “Death Angel” starts with off-beat dums and just cuts out at the ennd with no warning or considreation for flwo. nearly every tiem Thorgrimshifts from on eriff to another, the band dissembles, taking a couple meaesure to get back in time with ehachother (“Darkest Days,” “Bride of Frankenstein”1). Now, do you see how this paragraph is littered with typos? Do you see how shitty it looks? Like I put no effort into it? That’s exactly what listening to this album is like.2

Even ignoring the insultingly lazy recording style Thorgrim opted for, Puca is still impressively bad. Thorgrim seem to be diehard fans of repetition, as there are precious few riffs to discuss (much less remember) here. Album long player “Voyage to Saturn” features exactly two (2) riffs over its ten-minute runtime, and I couldn’t decide which was more boring. “Darkest Days” is brutally repetitive as well, and ultimately sounds like a parody of heavy metal music you might hear on a TV sitcom. The vocals on “Let’s Go” are so buried in the mix that I’m not entirely convinced they’re there, but this may be a boon for Thorgrim, as they sound more like gargling spit or choking on vomit than singing or screaming. The acoustic “Dark Cabin” apes Nirvana’s “About a Girl” so blatantly it might only be “legally distinct” by one note, while sporting some of the worst lyrical syncopation I have ever heard. Penultimate track “Bride of Frankenstein” reminds me of the Fire Temple in The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time, but bad. It’s ambient junk and random drums that don’t adhere to any kind of time signature or rhythm. When Puca mercifully ends, it’s with an inexplicable folk track that I’m fairly certain would be offensive to any actual neo/folk band.3

What’s most frustrating is that Puca could have been decent. “The Movies” is a punky upbeat track that smells like The Dogs, and I hear potential. With literally any amount of effort or care or refinement or fucks given, Thorgrim could have delivered at least one good track. Instead, it’s one of nine dumpster fires. Even outside of concept albums, there’s normally a unifying concept woven through a release, but I can’t find any such thing here, unless it’s the uniformly atrocious production value, which, coincidentally, is the only dash of black metal I found on Puca. It’s like they recorded in a concrete basement on a Fisher Price karaoke machine from 30 years ago.

Our internal scoring guide describes the score below as suggesting the band should look for another line of work. Puca is that bad. I’m honestly not sure what Thorgrim wanted to accomplish here. This album feels like a bad joke. Even if the music was good—which it’s not—and the production wasn’t worse than the first recording ever from 1860—which it is—the one-take-only presentation is not only lazy, it’s insulting. I get the intent that music today is overproduced and too shiny and clean and sterile, yeah, sure, whatever, but there are ways to fight that without leaving fucking mistakes on your album. A studio release should be a practiced, ideal version of each track, not whatever your hungover ass manages to puke out on recording day.

Rating: 0.5/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Octopus Rising4 | Argonauta Records
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook | Instagram
Releases Worldwide: April 24th, 2026

It shouldn’t be surprising, but we don’t get a ton of punk or hardcore submissions here at Angry Metal Guy. We’re not Angsty Punk Bois, after all. I, however, particularly enjoy the intersections between punk and metal—sludge, grind, crust, crossover, powerviolence, etc. Metal’s straightforward aggression and punk’s vitriolic outrage complement each other well and scratch a specific itch. So when I saw Thorgrim’s debut LP, Puca, floating in the promo pit, I was sold on the Wisconsin trio’s promise of a heady mix of doom, punk, and a dash of black metal. Something like sludge but a skosh less acerbic? And maybe a little cold? Hopes were high, but did Thorgrim deliver?

No. Unequivocally, no. You see, Thorgrim boasts a live, one-take-only recording and production, laeving all mistakes and scrapes and buises on the record as some rebelilous statenemt against the overprodction of moder n musi.c Opener “Children of Doom” starts with a symbol hit that I can onl assume was am istake, and a massive skip around the 3:30 mark undersores how unedited and haphazard this albu is. “Voyage to Saturn” strats in the midle of a note ,and “Death Angel” starts with off-beat dums and just cuts out at the ennd with no warning or considreation for flwo. nearly every tiem Thorgrimshifts from on eriff to another, the band dissembles, taking a couple meaesure to get back in time with ehachother (“Darkest Days,” “Bride of Frankenstein”1). Now, do you see how this paragraph is littered with typos? Do you see how shitty it looks? Like I put no effort into it? That’s exactly what listening to this album is like.2

Even ignoring the insultingly lazy recording style Thorgrim opted for, Puca is still impressively bad. Thorgrim seem to be diehard fans of repetition, as there are precious few riffs to discuss (much less remember) here. Album long player “Voyage to Saturn” features exactly two (2) riffs over its ten-minute runtime, and I couldn’t decide which was more boring. “Darkest Days” is brutally repetitive as well, and ultimately sounds like a parody of heavy metal music you might hear on a TV sitcom. The vocals on “Let’s Go” are so buried in the mix that I’m not entirely convinced they’re there, but this may be a boon for Thorgrim, as they sound more like gargling spit or choking on vomit than singing or screaming. The acoustic “Dark Cabin” apes Nirvana’s “About a Girl” so blatantly it might only be “legally distinct” by one note, while sporting some of the worst lyrical syncopation I have ever heard. Penultimate track “Bride of Frankenstein” reminds me of the Fire Temple in The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time, but bad. It’s ambient junk and random drums that don’t adhere to any kind of time signature or rhythm. When Puca mercifully ends, it’s with an inexplicable folk track that I’m fairly certain would be offensive to any actual neo/folk band.3

What’s most frustrating is that Puca could have been decent. “The Movies” is a punky upbeat track that smells like The Dogs, and I hear potential. With literally any amount of effort or care or refinement or fucks given, Thorgrim could have delivered at least one good track. Instead, it’s one of nine dumpster fires. Even outside of concept albums, there’s normally a unifying concept woven through a release, but I can’t find any such thing here, unless it’s the uniformly atrocious production value, which, coincidentally, is the only dash of black metal I found on Puca. It’s like they recorded in a concrete basement on a Fisher Price karaoke machine from 30 years ago.

Our internal scoring guide describes the score below as suggesting the band should look for another line of work. Puca is that bad. I’m honestly not sure what Thorgrim wanted to accomplish here. This album feels like a bad joke. Even if the music was good—which it’s not—and the production wasn’t worse than the first recording ever from 1860—which it is—the one-take-only presentation is not only lazy, it’s insulting. I get the intent that music today is overproduced and too shiny and clean and sterile, yeah, sure, whatever, but there are ways to fight that without leaving fucking mistakes on your album. A studio release should be a practiced, ideal version of each track, not whatever your hungover ass manages to puke out on recording day.

Rating: 0.5/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Octopus Rising4 | Argonauta Records
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook | Instagram
Releases Worldwide: April 24th, 2026

It shouldn’t be surprising, but we don’t get a ton of punk or hardcore submissions here at Angry Metal Guy. We’re not Angsty Punk Bois, after all. I, however, particularly enjoy the intersections between punk and metal—sludge, grind, crust, crossover, powerviolence, etc. Metal’s straightforward aggression and punk’s vitriolic outrage complement each other well and scratch a specific itch. So when I saw Thorgrim’s debut LP, Puca, floating in the promo pit, I was sold on the Wisconsin trio’s promise of a heady mix of doom, punk, and a dash of black metal. Something like sludge but a skosh less acerbic? And maybe a little cold? Hopes were high, but did Thorgrim deliver?

No. Unequivocally, no. You see, Thorgrim boasts a live, one-take-only recording and production, laeving all mistakes and scrapes and buises on the record as some rebelilous statenemt against the overprodction of moder n musi.c Opener “Children of Doom” starts with a symbol hit that I can onl assume was am istake, and a massive skip around the 3:30 mark undersores how unedited and haphazard this albu is. “Voyage to Saturn” strats in the midle of a note ,and “Death Angel” starts with off-beat dums and just cuts out at the ennd with no warning or considreation for flwo. nearly every tiem Thorgrimshifts from on eriff to another, the band dissembles, taking a couple meaesure to get back in time with ehachother (“Darkest Days,” “Bride of Frankenstein”1). Now, do you see how this paragraph is littered with typos? Do you see how shitty it looks? Like I put no effort into it? That’s exactly what listening to this album is like.2

Even ignoring the insultingly lazy recording style Thorgrim opted for, Puca is still impressively bad. Thorgrim seem to be diehard fans of repetition, as there are precious few riffs to discuss (much less remember) here. Album long player “Voyage to Saturn” features exactly two (2) riffs over its ten-minute runtime, and I couldn’t decide which was more boring. “Darkest Days” is brutally repetitive as well, and ultimately sounds like a parody of heavy metal music you might hear on a TV sitcom. The vocals on “Let’s Go” are so buried in the mix that I’m not entirely convinced they’re there, but this may be a boon for Thorgrim, as they sound more like gargling spit or choking on vomit than singing or screaming. The acoustic “Dark Cabin” apes Nirvana’s “About a Girl” so blatantly it might only be “legally distinct” by one note, while sporting some of the worst lyrical syncopation I have ever heard. Penultimate track “Bride of Frankenstein” reminds me of the Fire Temple in The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time, but bad. It’s ambient junk and random drums that don’t adhere to any kind of time signature or rhythm. When Puca mercifully ends, it’s with an inexplicable folk track that I’m fairly certain would be offensive to any actual neo/folk band.3

What’s most frustrating is that Puca could have been decent. “The Movies” is a punky upbeat track that smells like The Dogs, and I hear potential. With literally any amount of effort or care or refinement or fucks given, Thorgrim could have delivered at least one good track. Instead, it’s one of nine dumpster fires. Even outside of concept albums, there’s normally a unifying concept woven through a release, but I can’t find any such thing here, unless it’s the uniformly atrocious production value, which, coincidentally, is the only dash of black metal I found on Puca. It’s like they recorded in a concrete basement on a Fisher Price karaoke machine from 30 years ago.

Our internal scoring guide describes the score below as suggesting the band should look for another line of work. Puca is that bad. I’m honestly not sure what Thorgrim wanted to accomplish here. This album feels like a bad joke. Even if the music was good—which it’s not—and the production wasn’t worse than the first recording ever from 1860—which it is—the one-take-only presentation is not only lazy, it’s insulting. I get the intent that music today is overproduced and too shiny and clean and sterile, yeah, sure, whatever, but there are ways to fight that without leaving fucking mistakes on your album. A studio release should be a practiced, ideal version of each track, not whatever your hungover ass manages to puke out on recording day.

Rating: 0.5/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Octopus Rising4 | Argonauta Records
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook | Instagram
Releases Worldwide: April 24th, 2026

It shouldn’t be surprising, but we don’t get a ton of punk or hardcore submissions here at Angry Metal Guy. We’re not Angsty Punk Bois, after all. I, however, particularly enjoy the intersections between punk and metal—sludge, grind, crust, crossover, powerviolence, etc. Metal’s straightforward aggression and punk’s vitriolic outrage complement each other well and scratch a specific itch. So when I saw Thorgrim’s debut LP, Puca, floating in the promo pit, I was sold on the Wisconsin trio’s promise of a heady mix of doom, punk, and a dash of black metal. Something like sludge but a skosh less acerbic? And maybe a little cold? Hopes were high, but did Thorgrim deliver?

No. Unequivocally, no. You see, Thorgrim boasts a live, one-take-only recording and production, laeving all mistakes and scrapes and buises on the record as some rebelilous statenemt against the overprodction of moder n musi.c Opener “Children of Doom” starts with a symbol hit that I can onl assume was am istake, and a massive skip around the 3:30 mark undersores how unedited and haphazard this albu is. “Voyage to Saturn” strats in the midle of a note ,and “Death Angel” starts with off-beat dums and just cuts out at the ennd with no warning or considreation for flwo. nearly every tiem Thorgrimshifts from on eriff to another, the band dissembles, taking a couple meaesure to get back in time with ehachother (“Darkest Days,” “Bride of Frankenstein”1). Now, do you see how this paragraph is littered with typos? Do you see how shitty it looks? Like I put no effort into it? That’s exactly what listening to this album is like.2

Even ignoring the insultingly lazy recording style Thorgrim opted for, Puca is still impressively bad. Thorgrim seem to be diehard fans of repetition, as there are precious few riffs to discuss (much less remember) here. Album long player “Voyage to Saturn” features exactly two (2) riffs over its ten-minute runtime, and I couldn’t decide which was more boring. “Darkest Days” is brutally repetitive as well, and ultimately sounds like a parody of heavy metal music you might hear on a TV sitcom. The vocals on “Let’s Go” are so buried in the mix that I’m not entirely convinced they’re there, but this may be a boon for Thorgrim, as they sound more like gargling spit or choking on vomit than singing or screaming. The acoustic “Dark Cabin” apes Nirvana’s “About a Girl” so blatantly it might only be “legally distinct” by one note, while sporting some of the worst lyrical syncopation I have ever heard. Penultimate track “Bride of Frankenstein” reminds me of the Fire Temple in The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time, but bad. It’s ambient junk and random drums that don’t adhere to any kind of time signature or rhythm. When Puca mercifully ends, it’s with an inexplicable folk track that I’m fairly certain would be offensive to any actual neo/folk band.3

What’s most frustrating is that Puca could have been decent. “The Movies” is a punky upbeat track that smells like The Dogs, and I hear potential. With literally any amount of effort or care or refinement or fucks given, Thorgrim could have delivered at least one good track. Instead, it’s one of nine dumpster fires. Even outside of concept albums, there’s normally a unifying concept woven through a release, but I can’t find any such thing here, unless it’s the uniformly atrocious production value, which, coincidentally, is the only dash of black metal I found on Puca. It’s like they recorded in a concrete basement on a Fisher Price karaoke machine from 30 years ago.

Our internal scoring guide describes the score below as suggesting the band should look for another line of work. Puca is that bad. I’m honestly not sure what Thorgrim wanted to accomplish here. This album feels like a bad joke. Even if the music was good—which it’s not—and the production wasn’t worse than the first recording ever from 1860—which it is—the one-take-only presentation is not only lazy, it’s insulting. I get the intent that music today is overproduced and too shiny and clean and sterile, yeah, sure, whatever, but there are ways to fight that without leaving fucking mistakes on your album. A studio release should be a practiced, ideal version of each track, not whatever your hungover ass manages to puke out on recording day.

Rating: 0.5/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Octopus Rising4 | Argonauta Records
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook | Instagram
Releases Worldwide: April 24th, 2026

It shouldn’t be surprising, but we don’t get a ton of punk or hardcore submissions here at Angry Metal Guy. We’re not Angsty Punk Bois, after all. I, however, particularly enjoy the intersections between punk and metal—sludge, grind, crust, crossover, powerviolence, etc. Metal’s straightforward aggression and punk’s vitriolic outrage complement each other well and scratch a specific itch. So when I saw Thorgrim’s debut LP, Puca, floating in the promo pit, I was sold on the Wisconsin trio’s promise of a heady mix of doom, punk, and a dash of black metal. Something like sludge but a skosh less acerbic? And maybe a little cold? Hopes were high, but did Thorgrim deliver?

No. Unequivocally, no. You see, Thorgrim boasts a live, one-take-only recording and production, laeving all mistakes and scrapes and buises on the record as some rebelilous statenemt against the overprodction of moder n musi.c Opener “Children of Doom” starts with a symbol hit that I can onl assume was am istake, and a massive skip around the 3:30 mark undersores how unedited and haphazard this albu is. “Voyage to Saturn” strats in the midle of a note ,and “Death Angel” starts with off-beat dums and just cuts out at the ennd with no warning or considreation for flwo. nearly every tiem Thorgrimshifts from on eriff to another, the band dissembles, taking a couple meaesure to get back in time with ehachother (“Darkest Days,” “Bride of Frankenstein”1). Now, do you see how this paragraph is littered with typos? Do you see how shitty it looks? Like I put no effort into it? That’s exactly what listening to this album is like.2

Even ignoring the insultingly lazy recording style Thorgrim opted for, Puca is still impressively bad. Thorgrim seem to be diehard fans of repetition, as there are precious few riffs to discuss (much less remember) here. Album long player “Voyage to Saturn” features exactly two (2) riffs over its ten-minute runtime, and I couldn’t decide which was more boring. “Darkest Days” is brutally repetitive as well, and ultimately sounds like a parody of heavy metal music you might hear on a TV sitcom. The vocals on “Let’s Go” are so buried in the mix that I’m not entirely convinced they’re there, but this may be a boon for Thorgrim, as they sound more like gargling spit or choking on vomit than singing or screaming. The acoustic “Dark Cabin” apes Nirvana’s “About a Girl” so blatantly it might only be “legally distinct” by one note, while sporting some of the worst lyrical syncopation I have ever heard. Penultimate track “Bride of Frankenstein” reminds me of the Fire Temple in The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time, but bad. It’s ambient junk and random drums that don’t adhere to any kind of time signature or rhythm. When Puca mercifully ends, it’s with an inexplicable folk track that I’m fairly certain would be offensive to any actual neo/folk band.3

What’s most frustrating is that Puca could have been decent. “The Movies” is a punky upbeat track that smells like The Dogs, and I hear potential. With literally any amount of effort or care or refinement or fucks given, Thorgrim could have delivered at least one good track. Instead, it’s one of nine dumpster fires. Even outside of concept albums, there’s normally a unifying concept woven through a release, but I can’t find any such thing here, unless it’s the uniformly atrocious production value, which, coincidentally, is the only dash of black metal I found on Puca. It’s like they recorded in a concrete basement on a Fisher Price karaoke machine from 30 years ago.

Our internal scoring guide describes the score below as suggesting the band should look for another line of work. Puca is that bad. I’m honestly not sure what Thorgrim wanted to accomplish here. This album feels like a bad joke. Even if the music was good—which it’s not—and the production wasn’t worse than the first recording ever from 1860—which it is—the one-take-only presentation is not only lazy, it’s insulting. I get the intent that music today is overproduced and too shiny and clean and sterile, yeah, sure, whatever, but there are ways to fight that without leaving fucking mistakes on your album. A studio release should be a practiced, ideal version of each track, not whatever your hungover ass manages to puke out on recording day.

Rating: 0.5/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Octopus Rising4 | Argonauta Records
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook | Instagram
Releases Worldwide: April 24th, 2026

“Sleeping Giant” was always a standout song for me on Mastodon’s Blood Mountain. After two thrashy, pummeling tracks, “Sleeping Giant” slows the pace and ups the atmosphere, doling out chunky riffs and creepy leads. Its name aptly captures its role on Blood Mountain, feeling like the stirrings of an album (and a band) with gigantic aspirations. Speaking of slow risers, Iceland’s Sleeping Giant has finally roused for their first LP after forming in 2006.1 It’s eminently plausible that this sludgy stoner-doom sextet derives their moniker from the Blood Mountain song, seeing as they cite early Mastodon as a sonic touchstone. Though it would be unfair to expect The Beauty of Obliteration to make as big a first impression as Remission, it’s more than fair to expect a debut with punishing riffs, gnarly vocals, and some curveballs.

The Beauty of Obliteration demonstrates some mighty fine riff-smithing. This may be because Sleeping Giant—expanding upon the maxim that ‘two heads are better than one’—is working with three heads. The guitar Cerberus of Finnbogi Jökull, Árni Björn Björnsson, and Guðmundur Eiríksson wield an arsenal of doomy dirges (“Conqueror”), stonery shuffles (“Abysmal Flame”), and thrashy assaults (“Venom Ripper, Gorgon Blaster”). Some of these riffs even go straight to the source, boasting a Sabbathy swagger (“The Monk”). Early Mastodon certainly resonates throughout, but the guitarwork makes it clear that these Icelanders also get High on Fire. Indeed, the recurring shifts between stoner-doom and thrash, coupled with the beefy guitar tones, summon the presence of latter-day Matt Pike. But Sleeping Giant aren’t just their three-headed guitar monster; drummer Ásmundur Jóhannsson and bassist Einar Darri Einarsson hold down the low end. Einarsson in particular shines, tastefully filling up negative space with bluesy runs (“Conqueror”).

Mobilizer of Evil by Sleeping Giant

Rounding out Sleeping Giant’s lineup is vocalist Oddur Freyr Þorsteinsson, who gives The Beauty of Obliteration a death metal edge. Thusly calling the band death-doom, though, wouldn’t be accurate—’necrotic stoner-doom’ is my best attempt at describing the band’s layering of an extreme aesthetic over a mostly traditional riffing style. Þorsteinsson possesses a powerful guttural, reminding me of the low registers of Travis Ryan and Randy Blythe. He even dips into some slimy gurgling on “The Monk” as it shifts into a faster, more melodic gear. Though these gurgles provide contrast, it’s a contrast that doesn’t necessarily add to or accentuate the part. This gurgling is a microcosm of how I feel about the vocals on The Beauty of Obliteration as a whole. They are performed well and don’t overtly clash with the instrumentation, and yet I’m not sure if they are doing anything other than marking Sleeping Giant as ‘extreme.’

As a unit, Sleeping Giant have molded a debut that roves between riff styles, for better or worse. “Conqueror” and “Mobilizer of Evil” map out the terrain the rest of the album explores, showing a band comfortable with both low and high BPMs. “The Monk” gets closest to the kind of unhinged glory of early Mastodon, though its shift from doom to thrash feels a bit redundant, even at this early juncture in the album. The biggest curveball on The Beauty of Obliteration is its penultimate track, “Venom Rippers, Gorgon Blaster.” A thrash ripper under three minutes, it’s an enlivening change of pace from tracks that otherwise hover between four and nine minutes. It’s also an effective transition between the orgiastic riff-fest of “Slay the King of Hell” (my favorite track) and the closer. “Abysmal Flame” starts strong with a chunky monkey that morphs into an almost melodeath-style earworm. The sparse, feedbacky ending, however, is an underwhelming sendoff.

Their namesake may create unrealistic expectations, but Sleeping Giant has delivered the goods with their long-awaited debut. At 6 tracks in 35 minutes, The Beauty of Obliteration is a tight, well-produced package with tons of hummable riffs. Though the songwriting is by no means bad, the riffs themselves feel more noteworthy than the songs they populate. The gutturals give Sleeping Giant a different vibe than typical stoner-doom, but I hope that future outings see the vocals actively serving the songs more. If you dig giant riffs, you won’t want to sleep on these Icelanders.

Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: V4 OR ~316 kb/s VBR mp3
Label: Octopus Rising (sub-label of Argonauta Records)
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook | Instagram
Releases Worldwide: February 6th, 2026

“Sleeping Giant” was always a standout song for me on Mastodon’s Blood Mountain. After two thrashy, pummeling tracks, “Sleeping Giant” slows the pace and ups the atmosphere, doling out chunky riffs and creepy leads. Its name aptly captures its role on Blood Mountain, feeling like the stirrings of an album (and a band) with gigantic aspirations. Speaking of slow risers, Iceland’s Sleeping Giant has finally roused for their first LP after forming in 2006.1 It’s eminently plausible that this sludgy stoner-doom sextet derives their moniker from the Blood Mountain song, seeing as they cite early Mastodon as a sonic touchstone. Though it would be unfair to expect The Beauty of Obliteration to make as big a first impression as Remission, it’s more than fair to expect a debut with punishing riffs, gnarly vocals, and some curveballs.

The Beauty of Obliteration demonstrates some mighty fine riff-smithing. This may be because Sleeping Giant—expanding upon the maxim that ‘two heads are better than one’—is working with three heads. The guitar Cerberus of Finnbogi Jökull, Árni Björn Björnsson, and Guðmundur Eiríksson wield an arsenal of doomy dirges (“Conqueror”), stonery shuffles (“Abysmal Flame”), and thrashy assaults (“Venom Ripper, Gorgon Blaster”). Some of these riffs even go straight to the source, boasting a Sabbathy swagger (“The Monk”). Early Mastodon certainly resonates throughout, but the guitarwork makes it clear that these Icelanders also get High on Fire. Indeed, the recurring shifts between stoner-doom and thrash, coupled with the beefy guitar tones, summon the presence of latter-day Matt Pike. But Sleeping Giant aren’t just their three-headed guitar monster; drummer Ásmundur Jóhannsson and bassist Einar Darri Einarsson hold down the low end. Einarsson in particular shines, tastefully filling up negative space with bluesy runs (“Conqueror”).

Mobilizer of Evil by Sleeping Giant

Rounding out Sleeping Giant’s lineup is vocalist Oddur Freyr Þorsteinsson, who gives The Beauty of Obliteration a death metal edge. Thusly calling the band death-doom, though, wouldn’t be accurate—’necrotic stoner-doom’ is my best attempt at describing the band’s layering of an extreme aesthetic over a mostly traditional riffing style. Þorsteinsson possesses a powerful guttural, reminding me of the low registers of Travis Ryan and Randy Blythe. He even dips into some slimy gurgling on “The Monk” as it shifts into a faster, more melodic gear. Though these gurgles provide contrast, it’s a contrast that doesn’t necessarily add to or accentuate the part. This gurgling is a microcosm of how I feel about the vocals on The Beauty of Obliteration as a whole. They are performed well and don’t overtly clash with the instrumentation, and yet I’m not sure if they are doing anything other than marking Sleeping Giant as ‘extreme.’

As a unit, Sleeping Giant have molded a debut that roves between riff styles, for better or worse. “Conqueror” and “Mobilizer of Evil” map out the terrain the rest of the album explores, showing a band comfortable with both low and high BPMs. “The Monk” gets closest to the kind of unhinged glory of early Mastodon, though its shift from doom to thrash feels a bit redundant, even at this early juncture in the album. The biggest curveball on The Beauty of Obliteration is its penultimate track, “Venom Rippers, Gorgon Blaster.” A thrash ripper under three minutes, it’s an enlivening change of pace from tracks that otherwise hover between four and nine minutes. It’s also an effective transition between the orgiastic riff-fest of “Slay the King of Hell” (my favorite track) and the closer. “Abysmal Flame” starts strong with a chunky monkey that morphs into an almost melodeath-style earworm. The sparse, feedbacky ending, however, is an underwhelming sendoff.

Their namesake may create unrealistic expectations, but Sleeping Giant has delivered the goods with their long-awaited debut. At 6 tracks in 35 minutes, The Beauty of Obliteration is a tight, well-produced package with tons of hummable riffs. Though the songwriting is by no means bad, the riffs themselves feel more noteworthy than the songs they populate. The gutturals give Sleeping Giant a different vibe than typical stoner-doom, but I hope that future outings see the vocals actively serving the songs more. If you dig giant riffs, you won’t want to sleep on these Icelanders.

Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: V4 OR ~316 kb/s VBR mp3
Label: Octopus Rising (sub-label of Argonauta Records)
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook | Instagram
Releases Worldwide: February 6th, 2026

“Sleeping Giant” was always a standout song for me on Mastodon’s Blood Mountain. After two thrashy, pummeling tracks, “Sleeping Giant” slows the pace and ups the atmosphere, doling out chunky riffs and creepy leads. Its name aptly captures its role on Blood Mountain, feeling like the stirrings of an album (and a band) with gigantic aspirations. Speaking of slow risers, Iceland’s Sleeping Giant has finally roused for their first LP after forming in 2006.1 It’s eminently plausible that this sludgy stoner-doom sextet derives their moniker from the Blood Mountain song, seeing as they cite early Mastodon as a sonic touchstone. Though it would be unfair to expect The Beauty of Obliteration to make as big a first impression as Remission, it’s more than fair to expect a debut with punishing riffs, gnarly vocals, and some curveballs.

The Beauty of Obliteration demonstrates some mighty fine riff-smithing. This may be because Sleeping Giant—expanding upon the maxim that ‘two heads are better than one’—is working with three heads. The guitar Cerberus of Finnbogi Jökull, Árni Björn Björnsson, and Guðmundur Eiríksson wield an arsenal of doomy dirges (“Conqueror”), stonery shuffles (“Abysmal Flame”), and thrashy assaults (“Venom Ripper, Gorgon Blaster”). Some of these riffs even go straight to the source, boasting a Sabbathy swagger (“The Monk”). Early Mastodon certainly resonates throughout, but the guitarwork makes it clear that these Icelanders also get High on Fire. Indeed, the recurring shifts between stoner-doom and thrash, coupled with the beefy guitar tones, summon the presence of latter-day Matt Pike. But Sleeping Giant aren’t just their three-headed guitar monster; drummer Ásmundur Jóhannsson and bassist Einar Darri Einarsson hold down the low end. Einarsson in particular shines, tastefully filling up negative space with bluesy runs (“Conqueror”).

Mobilizer of Evil by Sleeping Giant

Rounding out Sleeping Giant’s lineup is vocalist Oddur Freyr Þorsteinsson, who gives The Beauty of Obliteration a death metal edge. Thusly calling the band death-doom, though, wouldn’t be accurate—’necrotic stoner-doom’ is my best attempt at describing the band’s layering of an extreme aesthetic over a mostly traditional riffing style. Þorsteinsson possesses a powerful guttural, reminding me of the low registers of Travis Ryan and Randy Blythe. He even dips into some slimy gurgling on “The Monk” as it shifts into a faster, more melodic gear. Though these gurgles provide contrast, it’s a contrast that doesn’t necessarily add to or accentuate the part. This gurgling is a microcosm of how I feel about the vocals on The Beauty of Obliteration as a whole. They are performed well and don’t overtly clash with the instrumentation, and yet I’m not sure if they are doing anything other than marking Sleeping Giant as ‘extreme.’

As a unit, Sleeping Giant have molded a debut that roves between riff styles, for better or worse. “Conqueror” and “Mobilizer of Evil” map out the terrain the rest of the album explores, showing a band comfortable with both low and high BPMs. “The Monk” gets closest to the kind of unhinged glory of early Mastodon, though its shift from doom to thrash feels a bit redundant, even at this early juncture in the album. The biggest curveball on The Beauty of Obliteration is its penultimate track, “Venom Rippers, Gorgon Blaster.” A thrash ripper under three minutes, it’s an enlivening change of pace from tracks that otherwise hover between four and nine minutes. It’s also an effective transition between the orgiastic riff-fest of “Slay the King of Hell” (my favorite track) and the closer. “Abysmal Flame” starts strong with a chunky monkey that morphs into an almost melodeath-style earworm. The sparse, feedbacky ending, however, is an underwhelming sendoff.

Their namesake may create unrealistic expectations, but Sleeping Giant has delivered the goods with their long-awaited debut. At 6 tracks in 35 minutes, The Beauty of Obliteration is a tight, well-produced package with tons of hummable riffs. Though the songwriting is by no means bad, the riffs themselves feel more noteworthy than the songs they populate. The gutturals give Sleeping Giant a different vibe than typical stoner-doom, but I hope that future outings see the vocals actively serving the songs more. If you dig giant riffs, you won’t want to sleep on these Icelanders.

Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: V4 OR ~316 kb/s VBR mp3
Label: Octopus Rising (sub-label of Argonauta Records)
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook | Instagram
Releases Worldwide: February 6th, 2026

“Sleeping Giant” was always a standout song for me on Mastodon’s Blood Mountain. After two thrashy, pummeling tracks, “Sleeping Giant” slows the pace and ups the atmosphere, doling out chunky riffs and creepy leads. Its name aptly captures its role on Blood Mountain, feeling like the stirrings of an album (and a band) with gigantic aspirations. Speaking of slow risers, Iceland’s Sleeping Giant has finally roused for their first LP after forming in 2006.1 It’s eminently plausible that this sludgy stoner-doom sextet derives their moniker from the Blood Mountain song, seeing as they cite early Mastodon as a sonic touchstone. Though it would be unfair to expect The Beauty of Obliteration to make as big a first impression as Remission, it’s more than fair to expect a debut with punishing riffs, gnarly vocals, and some curveballs.

The Beauty of Obliteration demonstrates some mighty fine riff-smithing. This may be because Sleeping Giant—expanding upon the maxim that ‘two heads are better than one’—is working with three heads. The guitar Cerberus of Finnbogi Jökull, Árni Björn Björnsson, and Guðmundur Eiríksson wield an arsenal of doomy dirges (“Conqueror”), stonery shuffles (“Abysmal Flame”), and thrashy assaults (“Venom Ripper, Gorgon Blaster”). Some of these riffs even go straight to the source, boasting a Sabbathy swagger (“The Monk”). Early Mastodon certainly resonates throughout, but the guitarwork makes it clear that these Icelanders also get High on Fire. Indeed, the recurring shifts between stoner-doom and thrash, coupled with the beefy guitar tones, summon the presence of latter-day Matt Pike. But Sleeping Giant aren’t just their three-headed guitar monster; drummer Ásmundur Jóhannsson and bassist Einar Darri Einarsson hold down the low end. Einarsson in particular shines, tastefully filling up negative space with bluesy runs (“Conqueror”).

Mobilizer of Evil by Sleeping Giant

Rounding out Sleeping Giant’s lineup is vocalist Oddur Freyr Þorsteinsson, who gives The Beauty of Obliteration a death metal edge. Thusly calling the band death-doom, though, wouldn’t be accurate—’necrotic stoner-doom’ is my best attempt at describing the band’s layering of an extreme aesthetic over a mostly traditional riffing style. Þorsteinsson possesses a powerful guttural, reminding me of the low registers of Travis Ryan and Randy Blythe. He even dips into some slimy gurgling on “The Monk” as it shifts into a faster, more melodic gear. Though these gurgles provide contrast, it’s a contrast that doesn’t necessarily add to or accentuate the part. This gurgling is a microcosm of how I feel about the vocals on The Beauty of Obliteration as a whole. They are performed well and don’t overtly clash with the instrumentation, and yet I’m not sure if they are doing anything other than marking Sleeping Giant as ‘extreme.’

As a unit, Sleeping Giant have molded a debut that roves between riff styles, for better or worse. “Conqueror” and “Mobilizer of Evil” map out the terrain the rest of the album explores, showing a band comfortable with both low and high BPMs. “The Monk” gets closest to the kind of unhinged glory of early Mastodon, though its shift from doom to thrash feels a bit redundant, even at this early juncture in the album. The biggest curveball on The Beauty of Obliteration is its penultimate track, “Venom Rippers, Gorgon Blaster.” A thrash ripper under three minutes, it’s an enlivening change of pace from tracks that otherwise hover between four and nine minutes. It’s also an effective transition between the orgiastic riff-fest of “Slay the King of Hell” (my favorite track) and the closer. “Abysmal Flame” starts strong with a chunky monkey that morphs into an almost melodeath-style earworm. The sparse, feedbacky ending, however, is an underwhelming sendoff.

Their namesake may create unrealistic expectations, but Sleeping Giant has delivered the goods with their long-awaited debut. At 6 tracks in 35 minutes, The Beauty of Obliteration is a tight, well-produced package with tons of hummable riffs. Though the songwriting is by no means bad, the riffs themselves feel more noteworthy than the songs they populate. The gutturals give Sleeping Giant a different vibe than typical stoner-doom, but I hope that future outings see the vocals actively serving the songs more. If you dig giant riffs, you won’t want to sleep on these Icelanders.

Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: V4 OR ~316 kb/s VBR mp3
Label: Octopus Rising (sub-label of Argonauta Records)
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook | Instagram
Releases Worldwide: February 6th, 2026

“Sleeping Giant” was always a standout song for me on Mastodon’s Blood Mountain. After two thrashy, pummeling tracks, “Sleeping Giant” slows the pace and ups the atmosphere, doling out chunky riffs and creepy leads. Its name aptly captures its role on Blood Mountain, feeling like the stirrings of an album (and a band) with gigantic aspirations. Speaking of slow risers, Iceland’s Sleeping Giant has finally roused for their first LP after forming in 2006.1 It’s eminently plausible that this sludgy stoner-doom sextet derives their moniker from the Blood Mountain song, seeing as they cite early Mastodon as a sonic touchstone. Though it would be unfair to expect The Beauty of Obliteration to make as big a first impression as Remission, it’s more than fair to expect a debut with punishing riffs, gnarly vocals, and some curveballs.

The Beauty of Obliteration demonstrates some mighty fine riff-smithing. This may be because Sleeping Giant—expanding upon the maxim that ‘two heads are better than one’—is working with three heads. The guitar Cerberus of Finnbogi Jökull, Árni Björn Björnsson, and Guðmundur Eiríksson wield an arsenal of doomy dirges (“Conqueror”), stonery shuffles (“Abysmal Flame”), and thrashy assaults (“Venom Ripper, Gorgon Blaster”). Some of these riffs even go straight to the source, boasting a Sabbathy swagger (“The Monk”). Early Mastodon certainly resonates throughout, but the guitarwork makes it clear that these Icelanders also get High on Fire. Indeed, the recurring shifts between stoner-doom and thrash, coupled with the beefy guitar tones, summon the presence of latter-day Matt Pike. But Sleeping Giant aren’t just their three-headed guitar monster; drummer Ásmundur Jóhannsson and bassist Einar Darri Einarsson hold down the low end. Einarsson in particular shines, tastefully filling up negative space with bluesy runs (“Conqueror”).

Mobilizer of Evil by Sleeping Giant

Rounding out Sleeping Giant’s lineup is vocalist Oddur Freyr Þorsteinsson, who gives The Beauty of Obliteration a death metal edge. Thusly calling the band death-doom, though, wouldn’t be accurate—’necrotic stoner-doom’ is my best attempt at describing the band’s layering of an extreme aesthetic over a mostly traditional riffing style. Þorsteinsson possesses a powerful guttural, reminding me of the low registers of Travis Ryan and Randy Blythe. He even dips into some slimy gurgling on “The Monk” as it shifts into a faster, more melodic gear. Though these gurgles provide contrast, it’s a contrast that doesn’t necessarily add to or accentuate the part. This gurgling is a microcosm of how I feel about the vocals on The Beauty of Obliteration as a whole. They are performed well and don’t overtly clash with the instrumentation, and yet I’m not sure if they are doing anything other than marking Sleeping Giant as ‘extreme.’

As a unit, Sleeping Giant have molded a debut that roves between riff styles, for better or worse. “Conqueror” and “Mobilizer of Evil” map out the terrain the rest of the album explores, showing a band comfortable with both low and high BPMs. “The Monk” gets closest to the kind of unhinged glory of early Mastodon, though its shift from doom to thrash feels a bit redundant, even at this early juncture in the album. The biggest curveball on The Beauty of Obliteration is its penultimate track, “Venom Rippers, Gorgon Blaster.” A thrash ripper under three minutes, it’s an enlivening change of pace from tracks that otherwise hover between four and nine minutes. It’s also an effective transition between the orgiastic riff-fest of “Slay the King of Hell” (my favorite track) and the closer. “Abysmal Flame” starts strong with a chunky monkey that morphs into an almost melodeath-style earworm. The sparse, feedbacky ending, however, is an underwhelming sendoff.

Their namesake may create unrealistic expectations, but Sleeping Giant has delivered the goods with their long-awaited debut. At 6 tracks in 35 minutes, The Beauty of Obliteration is a tight, well-produced package with tons of hummable riffs. Though the songwriting is by no means bad, the riffs themselves feel more noteworthy than the songs they populate. The gutturals give Sleeping Giant a different vibe than typical stoner-doom, but I hope that future outings see the vocals actively serving the songs more. If you dig giant riffs, you won’t want to sleep on these Icelanders.

Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: V4 OR ~316 kb/s VBR mp3
Label: Octopus Rising (sub-label of Argonauta Records)
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook | Instagram
Releases Worldwide: February 6th, 2026

Liljevars Brann – Helja Kor Review

By Mystikus Hugebeard

They say that 75% of a Finnish park ranger’s job is finding black metal bands that got lost in the woods shooting album covers. Suppose the park rangers in Germany had a similar issue. In that case, I imagine they would have the hardest time finding atmospheric black metal newcomers Liljevars Brann, given how musically deep into the woods they seek to take us in their debut album Helja Kor. Written in a fictional blend of German and Norwegian languages and dubbed “mystical black metal with a folkloric edge,” is Helja Kor a strong debut that conjures grasping roots to drag you into the heart of the forest, or are these woods still too close to the parking lot?

Liljevars Brann weaves together slow-tempo black metal with winding acoustic guitar passages. It worked when heavier bands like Panopticon or Ulvik did it,1 and it works here in Helja Kor. Melancholic guitar riffs plod beneath high-pitched harmonizing guitar wails like a reborn The 3rd and the Mortal with a harsher, black metal edge, regularly interspersed with panoramic acoustic sequences. Liljevars Brann excels at folk music; the guitars have a satisfying pluck and pace that happily reminds me of Uaral. The vocals, by frontman Sjelvindur, are one of the most compelling parts of Helja Kor. His clean vocals marry a mysterious folksiness with a warbling gothic cadence, and some of the album’s best moments come from Sjelvindur’s percussive intonation in the outro of “Helja Kor” and the somber shakiness of the beginning of “Krieglande.” Between the winning combination of black metal and folk music with the added edge of Sjelvindur’s unique vocals, the components of a great album are all here.

Unfortunately, Helja Kor struggles to truly find its footing due to meandering songwriting that begins to drag early on. Low intensity is one thing, but Helja Kor is also low energy, which makes it difficult to stay engaged. From the opener “Helja Kor” to the second-to-last “Krieglande,” every song is in the same torturously slow 3/4 time signature with minimal evolution or differentiation between songs. Even the rare black metal sections of the primarily acoustic “Sjelvind” feel melodically identical to those of the more predominantly heavy “Krieglande.” A 3/4 time signature isn’t an issue by itself, but after 40 minutes of overtly similar riffs in a stagnant tempo, it’s impossible not to crave variation. That comes in, blessedly, in “Brannstjeringen,” which ends the album on a miraculously high note through dynamic songwriting in a refreshing 4/4 time signature. “Brannstjeringen” builds towards an exciting, emotionally charged apotheosis that highlights how the remainder of Helja Kor lacks meaningful direction in its song structure, devoid of stirring peaks that move me like “Brannstjeringen” does.

Helja Kor touts a mystical, woodsy atmosphere, and this atmosphere is strong enough to partly compensate for what the songwriting lacks. The folk guitars are effectively paired with Sjelvindur’s vocals, and they just ooze arboreal mysticism. It’s a shame that an excess of melodic/harmonic repetition and languid structure permeate Helja Kor, because by themselves, the guitar harmonies in “Dansa Mej Brodar I Fyre” and “Krieglande” are enjoyable. It boggles the mind, then, how much the drums clash with Helja Kor’s atmosphere through a distracting mix that fails to effectively integrate them. The strength of Liljevars Brann’s acoustics is frequently undone in “Helja Kor,” “Dansa Mej Brodar I Fyre,” and “Sjelvind” by the incessant ting-ting-ting of the cymbals. Even towards the end of “Brannstjeringen,” the drums leave a stain on the song’s highest point with loud, off-tempo blast beats. It’s clear that Liljevars Brann has put a lot of thought into the unique atmosphere they want to create, but it unravels at almost every turn through songwriting that doesn’t support it and a mix that dilutes it.

Helja Kor is the type of record where it’s easier to appreciate what Liljevars Brann is trying to do than enjoy its execution. There are glimpses of a compelling folkloric atmosphere to be found, but Helja Kor flounders in excessive repetition, frequently dissatisfying structure, and irritating production choices. And yet, I abhor the thought of abandoning Liljevars Brann for good because there is a real vision here, and I want to see it realized. Helja Kor has enough individually solid aspects—Sjelvindur’s vocals, the Uaral-esque acoustics, the black metal harmonies, the peaks of “Brannstjeringen”—to compel me to keep my eye on Liljevars Brann in hopes that their next release finds me more lost in the woods than a mere park ranger can handle.

Rating: Disappointing
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s CBR MP3
Label: Argonauta Records
Websites: facebook | bandcamp
Releases Worldwide: September 27th, 2024

#20 #2024 #ArgonautaRecords #AtmosphericBlackMetal #BlackFolkMetal #BlackMetal #GermanMetal #HeljaKor #LiljevarsBrann #OctoberFalls #OctopusRising #Panopticon #Sep24 #The3rdAndTheMortal #Uaral #Ulver #Ulvik

Liljevars Brann – Helja Kor Review

By Mystikus Hugebeard

They say that 75% of a Finnish park ranger’s job is finding black metal bands that got lost in the woods shooting album covers. Suppose the park rangers in Germany had a similar issue. In that case, I imagine they would have the hardest time finding atmospheric black metal newcomers Liljevars Brann, given how musically deep into the woods they seek to take us in their debut album Helja Kor. Written in a fictional blend of German and Norwegian languages and dubbed “mystical black metal with a folkloric edge,” is Helja Kor a strong debut that conjures grasping roots to drag you into the heart of the forest, or are these woods still too close to the parking lot?

Liljevars Brann weaves together slow-tempo black metal with winding acoustic guitar passages. It worked when heavier bands like Panopticon or Ulvik did it,1 and it works here in Helja Kor. Melancholic guitar riffs plod beneath high-pitched harmonizing guitar wails like a reborn The 3rd and the Mortal with a harsher, black metal edge, regularly interspersed with panoramic acoustic sequences. Liljevars Brann excels at folk music; the guitars have a satisfying pluck and pace that happily reminds me of Uaral. The vocals, by frontman Sjelvindur, are one of the most compelling parts of Helja Kor. His clean vocals marry a mysterious folksiness with a warbling gothic cadence, and some of the album’s best moments come from Sjelvindur’s percussive intonation in the outro of “Helja Kor” and the somber shakiness of the beginning of “Krieglande.” Between the winning combination of black metal and folk music with the added edge of Sjelvindur’s unique vocals, the components of a great album are all here.

Unfortunately, Helja Kor struggles to truly find its footing due to meandering songwriting that begins to drag early on. Low intensity is one thing, but Helja Kor is also low energy, which makes it difficult to stay engaged. From the opener “Helja Kor” to the second-to-last “Krieglande,” every song is in the same torturously slow 3/4 time signature with minimal evolution or differentiation between songs. Even the rare black metal sections of the primarily acoustic “Sjelvind” feel melodically identical to those of the more predominantly heavy “Krieglande.” A 3/4 time signature isn’t an issue by itself, but after 40 minutes of overtly similar riffs in a stagnant tempo, it’s impossible not to crave variation. That comes in, blessedly, in “Brannstjeringen,” which ends the album on a miraculously high note through dynamic songwriting in a refreshing 4/4 time signature. “Brannstjeringen” builds towards an exciting, emotionally charged apotheosis that highlights how the remainder of Helja Kor lacks meaningful direction in its song structure, devoid of stirring peaks that move me like “Brannstjeringen” does.

Helja Kor touts a mystical, woodsy atmosphere, and this atmosphere is strong enough to partly compensate for what the songwriting lacks. The folk guitars are effectively paired with Sjelvindur’s vocals, and they just ooze arboreal mysticism. It’s a shame that an excess of melodic/harmonic repetition and languid structure permeate Helja Kor, because by themselves, the guitar harmonies in “Dansa Mej Brodar I Fyre” and “Krieglande” are enjoyable. It boggles the mind, then, how much the drums clash with Helja Kor’s atmosphere through a distracting mix that fails to effectively integrate them. The strength of Liljevars Brann’s acoustics is frequently undone in “Helja Kor,” “Dansa Mej Brodar I Fyre,” and “Sjelvind” by the incessant ting-ting-ting of the cymbals. Even towards the end of “Brannstjeringen,” the drums leave a stain on the song’s highest point with loud, off-tempo blast beats. It’s clear that Liljevars Brann has put a lot of thought into the unique atmosphere they want to create, but it unravels at almost every turn through songwriting that doesn’t support it and a mix that dilutes it.

Helja Kor is the type of record where it’s easier to appreciate what Liljevars Brann is trying to do than enjoy its execution. There are glimpses of a compelling folkloric atmosphere to be found, but Helja Kor flounders in excessive repetition, frequently dissatisfying structure, and irritating production choices. And yet, I abhor the thought of abandoning Liljevars Brann for good because there is a real vision here, and I want to see it realized. Helja Kor has enough individually solid aspects—Sjelvindur’s vocals, the Uaral-esque acoustics, the black metal harmonies, the peaks of “Brannstjeringen”—to compel me to keep my eye on Liljevars Brann in hopes that their next release finds me more lost in the woods than a mere park ranger can handle.

Rating: Disappointing
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s CBR MP3
Label: Argonauta Records
Websites: facebook | bandcamp
Releases Worldwide: September 27th, 2024

#20 #2024 #ArgonautaRecords #AtmosphericBlackMetal #BlackFolkMetal #BlackMetal #GermanMetal #HeljaKor #LiljevarsBrann #OctoberFalls #OctopusRising #Panopticon #Sep24 #The3rdAndTheMortal #Uaral #Ulver #Ulvik

Liljevars Brann – Helja Kor Review

By Mystikus Hugebeard

They say that 75% of a Finnish park ranger’s job is finding black metal bands that got lost in the woods shooting album covers. Suppose the park rangers in Germany had a similar issue. In that case, I imagine they would have the hardest time finding atmospheric black metal newcomers Liljevars Brann, given how musically deep into the woods they seek to take us in their debut album Helja Kor. Written in a fictional blend of German and Norwegian languages and dubbed “mystical black metal with a folkloric edge,” is Helja Kor a strong debut that conjures grasping roots to drag you into the heart of the forest, or are these woods still too close to the parking lot?

Liljevars Brann weaves together slow-tempo black metal with winding acoustic guitar passages. It worked when heavier bands like Panopticon or Ulvik did it,1 and it works here in Helja Kor. Melancholic guitar riffs plod beneath high-pitched harmonizing guitar wails like a reborn The 3rd and the Mortal with a harsher, black metal edge, regularly interspersed with panoramic acoustic sequences. Liljevars Brann excels at folk music; the guitars have a satisfying pluck and pace that happily reminds me of Uaral. The vocals, by frontman Sjelvindur, are one of the most compelling parts of Helja Kor. His clean vocals marry a mysterious folksiness with a warbling gothic cadence, and some of the album’s best moments come from Sjelvindur’s percussive intonation in the outro of “Helja Kor” and the somber shakiness of the beginning of “Krieglande.” Between the winning combination of black metal and folk music with the added edge of Sjelvindur’s unique vocals, the components of a great album are all here.

Unfortunately, Helja Kor struggles to truly find its footing due to meandering songwriting that begins to drag early on. Low intensity is one thing, but Helja Kor is also low energy, which makes it difficult to stay engaged. From the opener “Helja Kor” to the second-to-last “Krieglande,” every song is in the same torturously slow 3/4 time signature with minimal evolution or differentiation between songs. Even the rare black metal sections of the primarily acoustic “Sjelvind” feel melodically identical to those of the more predominantly heavy “Krieglande.” A 3/4 time signature isn’t an issue by itself, but after 40 minutes of overtly similar riffs in a stagnant tempo, it’s impossible not to crave variation. That comes in, blessedly, in “Brannstjeringen,” which ends the album on a miraculously high note through dynamic songwriting in a refreshing 4/4 time signature. “Brannstjeringen” builds towards an exciting, emotionally charged apotheosis that highlights how the remainder of Helja Kor lacks meaningful direction in its song structure, devoid of stirring peaks that move me like “Brannstjeringen” does.

Helja Kor touts a mystical, woodsy atmosphere, and this atmosphere is strong enough to partly compensate for what the songwriting lacks. The folk guitars are effectively paired with Sjelvindur’s vocals, and they just ooze arboreal mysticism. It’s a shame that an excess of melodic/harmonic repetition and languid structure permeate Helja Kor, because by themselves, the guitar harmonies in “Dansa Mej Brodar I Fyre” and “Krieglande” are enjoyable. It boggles the mind, then, how much the drums clash with Helja Kor’s atmosphere through a distracting mix that fails to effectively integrate them. The strength of Liljevars Brann’s acoustics is frequently undone in “Helja Kor,” “Dansa Mej Brodar I Fyre,” and “Sjelvind” by the incessant ting-ting-ting of the cymbals. Even towards the end of “Brannstjeringen,” the drums leave a stain on the song’s highest point with loud, off-tempo blast beats. It’s clear that Liljevars Brann has put a lot of thought into the unique atmosphere they want to create, but it unravels at almost every turn through songwriting that doesn’t support it and a mix that dilutes it.

Helja Kor is the type of record where it’s easier to appreciate what Liljevars Brann is trying to do than enjoy its execution. There are glimpses of a compelling folkloric atmosphere to be found, but Helja Kor flounders in excessive repetition, frequently dissatisfying structure, and irritating production choices. And yet, I abhor the thought of abandoning Liljevars Brann for good because there is a real vision here, and I want to see it realized. Helja Kor has enough individually solid aspects—Sjelvindur’s vocals, the Uaral-esque acoustics, the black metal harmonies, the peaks of “Brannstjeringen”—to compel me to keep my eye on Liljevars Brann in hopes that their next release finds me more lost in the woods than a mere park ranger can handle.

Rating: Disappointing
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s CBR MP3
Label: Argonauta Records
Websites: facebook | bandcamp
Releases Worldwide: September 27th, 2024

#20 #2024 #ArgonautaRecords #AtmosphericBlackMetal #BlackFolkMetal #BlackMetal #GermanMetal #HeljaKor #LiljevarsBrann #OctoberFalls #OctopusRising #Panopticon #Sep24 #The3rdAndTheMortal #Uaral #Ulver #Ulvik