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Street Tombs – Existence is Corruption Review

Sometimes it just feels good to let rip some ferocious riffs, pound the drums at headbanging velocity, and…
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Sometimes it just feels good to let rip some ferocious riffs, pound the drums at headbanging velocity, and rail about society’s ills at a pitch that a caveman can appreciate. At least that’s how I imagine New Mexico’s Street Tombs approaches their songwriting. In 2023, they gave out a good ol’ thrashing on their debut, Reclusive Decay, which didn’t see coverage here, but did land on Decibel’s top 40 albums of the year. Though Reclusive Decay had barely above 30 minutes of music, it’s taken three years to release Existence is Corruption, yet another 30 minutes of high-octane crusty punk. Maybe they used that time to research the thematic content of their lyrics, whose topics include the “complacency, corruption, and destruction” that plague modern society. Nah, who am I kidding? They just want to bludgeon you over the head with the well-honed vocal, riff, and d-beat attack they’ve spent that time sharpening.

Street Tombs combine the punky influence of early d-beat purveyors, Discharge and Celtic Frost, with the physical, in-your-face riffage of Bolt Thrower. This blend makes for a high-energy attack with endless riffs and plenty of whiplash as your neck attempts to navigate their bruising soundscape. Existence is Corruption is a no-frills dose of death metal, skipping the usual atmospheric opener and going straight for the jugular on the pummeling “Pestilent Storm.” This proves the norm, as song after song blasts with furious drum beats and killer riffs, only really pausing for atmospherics once, when “Systematic Suffering” ends on some guitar feedback and atmospherics, to horrifying effect. The risk for this kind of approach is that the music might bleed together, but Street Tombs keep their riffs creative and mix up the pacing. There are plenty of brief but spectacular solos as well as mood shifts that allow the guitars to dig in at a different, less furious angle. So yes, the caveman will dig what these guys are doing, but so will the more evolved among our species.

While they have the vibe of early Discharge, Street Tombs filter it through more modern production values, giving the instruments more punch. This probably comes across on the drums more strongly than anything else. Ben Brodsky’s performance provides a sturdy foundation for the music, and his sheer power gives a boost thanks to a relentless, pounding energy. Brodsky has the sense to lay back and get creative in order to avoid any fatigue from constant d-beat jackhammering, notably some mid-tempo antics on “Systematic Suffering.” The riff attack from David McMaster and Damian Jacoby also engages the brain at a primal level, yet there’s a progressiveness to how they play, allowing surprising developments to permeate the songs. “Mental Mutilation” displays this ability to engage carnal pleasures while the guitars organically shift, leading to a fabulous, though sadly brief, solo.

As much as Street Tombs does mix things up, a uniformity begins to creep into Existence is Corruption. Yes, there are shifts in tone and pacing within songs, but the persistent d-beat blasts and deathly riffs still dominate the record. It’s hard to complain when they play them this effectively, and in such a brief package, yet it does mean individual tracks begin to blend together. Given the style, the 3-4 minute range is the sweet spot, which means the songs that reach or hit the 5-minute mark start to feel repetitive (“Upset the Grave,” “Deceptor”). Jacoby’s vocal delivery similarly suffers from a one-dimensional nature. Don’t get me wrong. I love his vocals and believe they add a distinctive personality to the music, but the lack of diversity in delivery does contribute to that sense of uniformity. In all, these are some nitpicky ways of saying Existence is Corruption didn’t quite break the score counter, but it came close.

These streets may be mean, they may be ugly, and they may be gritty, but most importantly they are loads of fun. Where some death metal acts seek to be as dense and incomprehensible as possible, or insert levels of high artistry in their work, it’s refreshing that acts like Street Tombs exist to engage your id, though with a high level of creativity, mixing intellectual stimulation with brain-melting riffs. These guys don’t do anything that hasn’t been done before, yet they excel at it and have written a record that’s some of the most fun I’ve had with death metal this year.

Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Carbonized Records
Websites: Bandcamp
Releases Worldwide: August 21st, 2026

Sometimes it just feels good to let rip some ferocious riffs, pound the drums at headbanging velocity, and rail about society’s ills at a pitch that a caveman can appreciate. At least that’s how I imagine New Mexico’s Street Tombs approaches their songwriting. In 2023, they gave out a good ol’ thrashing on their debut, Reclusive Decay, which didn’t see coverage here, but did land on Decibel’s top 40 albums of the year. Though Reclusive Decay had barely above 30 minutes of music, it’s taken three years to release Existence is Corruption, yet another 30 minutes of high-octane crusty punk. Maybe they used that time to research the thematic content of their lyrics, whose topics include the “complacency, corruption, and destruction” that plague modern society. Nah, who am I kidding? They just want to bludgeon you over the head with the well-honed vocal, riff, and d-beat attack they’ve spent that time sharpening.

Street Tombs combine the punky influence of early d-beat purveyors, Discharge and Celtic Frost, with the physical, in-your-face riffage of Bolt Thrower. This blend makes for a high-energy attack with endless riffs and plenty of whiplash as your neck attempts to navigate their bruising soundscape. Existence is Corruption is a no-frills dose of death metal, skipping the usual atmospheric opener and going straight for the jugular on the pummeling “Pestilent Storm.” This proves the norm, as song after song blasts with furious drum beats and killer riffs, only really pausing for atmospherics once, when “Systematic Suffering” ends on some guitar feedback and atmospherics, to horrifying effect. The risk for this kind of approach is that the music might bleed together, but Street Tombs keep their riffs creative and mix up the pacing. There are plenty of brief but spectacular solos as well as mood shifts that allow the guitars to dig in at a different, less furious angle. So yes, the caveman will dig what these guys are doing, but so will the more evolved among our species.

While they have the vibe of early Discharge, Street Tombs filter it through more modern production values, giving the instruments more punch. This probably comes across on the drums more strongly than anything else. Ben Brodsky’s performance provides a sturdy foundation for the music, and his sheer power gives a boost thanks to a relentless, pounding energy. Brodsky has the sense to lay back and get creative in order to avoid any fatigue from constant d-beat jackhammering, notably some mid-tempo antics on “Systematic Suffering.” The riff attack from David McMaster and Damian Jacoby also engages the brain at a primal level, yet there’s a progressiveness to how they play, allowing surprising developments to permeate the songs. “Mental Mutilation” displays this ability to engage carnal pleasures while the guitars organically shift, leading to a fabulous, though sadly brief, solo.

As much as Street Tombs does mix things up, a uniformity begins to creep into Existence is Corruption. Yes, there are shifts in tone and pacing within songs, but the persistent d-beat blasts and deathly riffs still dominate the record. It’s hard to complain when they play them this effectively, and in such a brief package, yet it does mean individual tracks begin to blend together. Given the style, the 3-4 minute range is the sweet spot, which means the songs that reach or hit the 5-minute mark start to feel repetitive (“Upset the Grave,” “Deceptor”). Jacoby’s vocal delivery similarly suffers from a one-dimensional nature. Don’t get me wrong. I love his vocals and believe they add a distinctive personality to the music, but the lack of diversity in delivery does contribute to that sense of uniformity. In all, these are some nitpicky ways of saying Existence is Corruption didn’t quite break the score counter, but it came close.

These streets may be mean, they may be ugly, and they may be gritty, but most importantly they are loads of fun. Where some death metal acts seek to be as dense and incomprehensible as possible, or insert levels of high artistry in their work, it’s refreshing that acts like Street Tombs exist to engage your id, though with a high level of creativity, mixing intellectual stimulation with brain-melting riffs. These guys don’t do anything that hasn’t been done before, yet they excel at it and have written a record that’s some of the most fun I’ve had with death metal this year.

Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Carbonized Records
Websites: Bandcamp
Releases Worldwide: August 21st, 2026

Sometimes it just feels good to let rip some ferocious riffs, pound the drums at headbanging velocity, and rail about society’s ills at a pitch that a caveman can appreciate. At least that’s how I imagine New Mexico’s Street Tombs approaches their songwriting. In 2023, they gave out a good ol’ thrashing on their debut, Reclusive Decay, which didn’t see coverage here, but did land on Decibel’s top 40 albums of the year. Though Reclusive Decay had barely above 30 minutes of music, it’s taken three years to release Existence is Corruption, yet another 30 minutes of high-octane crusty punk. Maybe they used that time to research the thematic content of their lyrics, whose topics include the “complacency, corruption, and destruction” that plague modern society. Nah, who am I kidding? They just want to bludgeon you over the head with the well-honed vocal, riff, and d-beat attack they’ve spent that time sharpening.

Street Tombs combine the punky influence of early d-beat purveyors, Discharge and Celtic Frost, with the physical, in-your-face riffage of Bolt Thrower. This blend makes for a high-energy attack with endless riffs and plenty of whiplash as your neck attempts to navigate their bruising soundscape. Existence is Corruption is a no-frills dose of death metal, skipping the usual atmospheric opener and going straight for the jugular on the pummeling “Pestilent Storm.” This proves the norm, as song after song blasts with furious drum beats and killer riffs, only really pausing for atmospherics once, when “Systematic Suffering” ends on some guitar feedback and atmospherics, to horrifying effect. The risk for this kind of approach is that the music might bleed together, but Street Tombs keep their riffs creative and mix up the pacing. There are plenty of brief but spectacular solos as well as mood shifts that allow the guitars to dig in at a different, less furious angle. So yes, the caveman will dig what these guys are doing, but so will the more evolved among our species.

While they have the vibe of early Discharge, Street Tombs filter it through more modern production values, giving the instruments more punch. This probably comes across on the drums more strongly than anything else. Ben Brodsky’s performance provides a sturdy foundation for the music, and his sheer power gives a boost thanks to a relentless, pounding energy. Brodsky has the sense to lay back and get creative in order to avoid any fatigue from constant d-beat jackhammering, notably some mid-tempo antics on “Systematic Suffering.” The riff attack from David McMaster and Damian Jacoby also engages the brain at a primal level, yet there’s a progressiveness to how they play, allowing surprising developments to permeate the songs. “Mental Mutilation” displays this ability to engage carnal pleasures while the guitars organically shift, leading to a fabulous, though sadly brief, solo.

As much as Street Tombs does mix things up, a uniformity begins to creep into Existence is Corruption. Yes, there are shifts in tone and pacing within songs, but the persistent d-beat blasts and deathly riffs still dominate the record. It’s hard to complain when they play them this effectively, and in such a brief package, yet it does mean individual tracks begin to blend together. Given the style, the 3-4 minute range is the sweet spot, which means the songs that reach or hit the 5-minute mark start to feel repetitive (“Upset the Grave,” “Deceptor”). Jacoby’s vocal delivery similarly suffers from a one-dimensional nature. Don’t get me wrong. I love his vocals and believe they add a distinctive personality to the music, but the lack of diversity in delivery does contribute to that sense of uniformity. In all, these are some nitpicky ways of saying Existence is Corruption didn’t quite break the score counter, but it came close.

These streets may be mean, they may be ugly, and they may be gritty, but most importantly they are loads of fun. Where some death metal acts seek to be as dense and incomprehensible as possible, or insert levels of high artistry in their work, it’s refreshing that acts like Street Tombs exist to engage your id, though with a high level of creativity, mixing intellectual stimulation with brain-melting riffs. These guys don’t do anything that hasn’t been done before, yet they excel at it and have written a record that’s some of the most fun I’ve had with death metal this year.

Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Carbonized Records
Websites: Bandcamp
Releases Worldwide: August 21st, 2026

Sometimes it just feels good to let rip some ferocious riffs, pound the drums at headbanging velocity, and rail about society’s ills at a pitch that a caveman can appreciate. At least that’s how I imagine New Mexico’s Street Tombs approaches their songwriting. In 2023, they gave out a good ol’ thrashing on their debut, Reclusive Decay, which didn’t see coverage here, but did land on Decibel’s top 40 albums of the year. Though Reclusive Decay had barely above 30 minutes of music, it’s taken three years to release Existence is Corruption, yet another 30 minutes of high-octane crusty punk. Maybe they used that time to research the thematic content of their lyrics, whose topics include the “complacency, corruption, and destruction” that plague modern society. Nah, who am I kidding? They just want to bludgeon you over the head with the well-honed vocal, riff, and d-beat attack they’ve spent that time sharpening.

Street Tombs combine the punky influence of early d-beat purveyors, Discharge and Celtic Frost, with the physical, in-your-face riffage of Bolt Thrower. This blend makes for a high-energy attack with endless riffs and plenty of whiplash as your neck attempts to navigate their bruising soundscape. Existence is Corruption is a no-frills dose of death metal, skipping the usual atmospheric opener and going straight for the jugular on the pummeling “Pestilent Storm.” This proves the norm, as song after song blasts with furious drum beats and killer riffs, only really pausing for atmospherics once, when “Systematic Suffering” ends on some guitar feedback and atmospherics, to horrifying effect. The risk for this kind of approach is that the music might bleed together, but Street Tombs keep their riffs creative and mix up the pacing. There are plenty of brief but spectacular solos as well as mood shifts that allow the guitars to dig in at a different, less furious angle. So yes, the caveman will dig what these guys are doing, but so will the more evolved among our species.

While they have the vibe of early Discharge, Street Tombs filter it through more modern production values, giving the instruments more punch. This probably comes across on the drums more strongly than anything else. Ben Brodsky’s performance provides a sturdy foundation for the music, and his sheer power gives a boost thanks to a relentless, pounding energy. Brodsky has the sense to lay back and get creative in order to avoid any fatigue from constant d-beat jackhammering, notably some mid-tempo antics on “Systematic Suffering.” The riff attack from David McMaster and Damian Jacoby also engages the brain at a primal level, yet there’s a progressiveness to how they play, allowing surprising developments to permeate the songs. “Mental Mutilation” displays this ability to engage carnal pleasures while the guitars organically shift, leading to a fabulous, though sadly brief, solo.

As much as Street Tombs does mix things up, a uniformity begins to creep into Existence is Corruption. Yes, there are shifts in tone and pacing within songs, but the persistent d-beat blasts and deathly riffs still dominate the record. It’s hard to complain when they play them this effectively, and in such a brief package, yet it does mean individual tracks begin to blend together. Given the style, the 3-4 minute range is the sweet spot, which means the songs that reach or hit the 5-minute mark start to feel repetitive (“Upset the Grave,” “Deceptor”). Jacoby’s vocal delivery similarly suffers from a one-dimensional nature. Don’t get me wrong. I love his vocals and believe they add a distinctive personality to the music, but the lack of diversity in delivery does contribute to that sense of uniformity. In all, these are some nitpicky ways of saying Existence is Corruption didn’t quite break the score counter, but it came close.

These streets may be mean, they may be ugly, and they may be gritty, but most importantly they are loads of fun. Where some death metal acts seek to be as dense and incomprehensible as possible, or insert levels of high artistry in their work, it’s refreshing that acts like Street Tombs exist to engage your id, though with a high level of creativity, mixing intellectual stimulation with brain-melting riffs. These guys don’t do anything that hasn’t been done before, yet they excel at it and have written a record that’s some of the most fun I’ve had with death metal this year.

Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Carbonized Records
Websites: Bandcamp
Releases Worldwide: August 21st, 2026

Sometimes it just feels good to let rip some ferocious riffs, pound the drums at headbanging velocity, and rail about society’s ills at a pitch that a caveman can appreciate. At least that’s how I imagine New Mexico’s Street Tombs approaches their songwriting. In 2023, they gave out a good ol’ thrashing on their debut, Reclusive Decay, which didn’t see coverage here, but did land on Decibel’s top 40 albums of the year. Though Reclusive Decay had barely above 30 minutes of music, it’s taken three years to release Existence is Corruption, yet another 30 minutes of high-octane crusty punk. Maybe they used that time to research the thematic content of their lyrics, whose topics include the “complacency, corruption, and destruction” that plague modern society. Nah, who am I kidding? They just want to bludgeon you over the head with the well-honed vocal, riff, and d-beat attack they’ve spent that time sharpening.

Street Tombs combine the punky influence of early d-beat purveyors, Discharge and Celtic Frost, with the physical, in-your-face riffage of Bolt Thrower. This blend makes for a high-energy attack with endless riffs and plenty of whiplash as your neck attempts to navigate their bruising soundscape. Existence is Corruption is a no-frills dose of death metal, skipping the usual atmospheric opener and going straight for the jugular on the pummeling “Pestilent Storm.” This proves the norm, as song after song blasts with furious drum beats and killer riffs, only really pausing for atmospherics once, when “Systematic Suffering” ends on some guitar feedback and atmospherics, to horrifying effect. The risk for this kind of approach is that the music might bleed together, but Street Tombs keep their riffs creative and mix up the pacing. There are plenty of brief but spectacular solos as well as mood shifts that allow the guitars to dig in at a different, less furious angle. So yes, the caveman will dig what these guys are doing, but so will the more evolved among our species.

While they have the vibe of early Discharge, Street Tombs filter it through more modern production values, giving the instruments more punch. This probably comes across on the drums more strongly than anything else. Ben Brodsky’s performance provides a sturdy foundation for the music, and his sheer power gives a boost thanks to a relentless, pounding energy. Brodsky has the sense to lay back and get creative in order to avoid any fatigue from constant d-beat jackhammering, notably some mid-tempo antics on “Systematic Suffering.” The riff attack from David McMaster and Damian Jacoby also engages the brain at a primal level, yet there’s a progressiveness to how they play, allowing surprising developments to permeate the songs. “Mental Mutilation” displays this ability to engage carnal pleasures while the guitars organically shift, leading to a fabulous, though sadly brief, solo.

As much as Street Tombs does mix things up, a uniformity begins to creep into Existence is Corruption. Yes, there are shifts in tone and pacing within songs, but the persistent d-beat blasts and deathly riffs still dominate the record. It’s hard to complain when they play them this effectively, and in such a brief package, yet it does mean individual tracks begin to blend together. Given the style, the 3-4 minute range is the sweet spot, which means the songs that reach or hit the 5-minute mark start to feel repetitive (“Upset the Grave,” “Deceptor”). Jacoby’s vocal delivery similarly suffers from a one-dimensional nature. Don’t get me wrong. I love his vocals and believe they add a distinctive personality to the music, but the lack of diversity in delivery does contribute to that sense of uniformity. In all, these are some nitpicky ways of saying Existence is Corruption didn’t quite break the score counter, but it came close.

These streets may be mean, they may be ugly, and they may be gritty, but most importantly they are loads of fun. Where some death metal acts seek to be as dense and incomprehensible as possible, or insert levels of high artistry in their work, it’s refreshing that acts like Street Tombs exist to engage your id, though with a high level of creativity, mixing intellectual stimulation with brain-melting riffs. These guys don’t do anything that hasn’t been done before, yet they excel at it and have written a record that’s some of the most fun I’ve had with death metal this year.

Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Carbonized Records
Websites: Bandcamp
Releases Worldwide: August 21st, 2026

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Crotaline – The Embrace of Cloacal Desire Review

When it comes to snakes and music, I’m a simple man. I think of Testament’s Brotherhood of the…
#NewsBeep #News #Music #1.5 #2026 #AmericanMetal #Apr26 #AU #Australia #Bathory #BlackMetal #CelticFrost #Crotaline #Darkthrone #Deicide #Emperor #Entertainment #Hellhammer #HighonFire #Immortal #LiminalDreadProductions #mayhem #review #reviews #SirMix-A-Lot #Testament #TheEmbraceofCloacalDesire #Triptykon #Venom
https://www.newsbeep.com/au/591284/

Crotaline – The Embrace of Cloacal Desire Review

When it comes to snakes and music, I’m a simple man. I think of Testament’s Brotherhood of the…
#NewsBeep #News #Music #1.5 #2026 #AmericanMetal #Apr26 #AU #Australia #Bathory #BlackMetal #CelticFrost #Crotaline #Darkthrone #Deicide #Emperor #Entertainment #Hellhammer #HighonFire #Immortal #LiminalDreadProductions #mayhem #review #reviews #SirMix-A-Lot #Testament #TheEmbraceofCloacalDesire #Triptykon #Venom
https://www.newsbeep.com/au/591284/

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

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

The Embrace of Cloacal Desire by Crotaline

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Embrace of Cloacal Desire by Crotaline

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Embrace of Cloacal Desire by Crotaline

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Embrace of Cloacal Desire by Crotaline

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Embrace of Cloacal Desire by Crotaline

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

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

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

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

https://www.europesays.com/uk/839309/ Calvana – Sub Janus Review #2026 #30 #AdirondackBlackMass #BlackMetal #Calvana #CelticFrost #Entertainment #Immortal #ItalianMetal #Mar26 #music #Review #Reviews #SubJanus #UK #UnitedKingdom #venom

Picture “black metal.” What do you see? Frigid wastelands illuminated by burning churches? Damp crypts beneath gothic cathedrals? Varg’s stupid backyard vlogs? One band would have you consider the picturesque slopes of Tuscany’s sunbathed Calvana mountain region. The anonymous duo of Italy’s Calvana have raised hell in the name of their treasured namesake mountains for over a decade and across two records, delivering belligerent blackened arts they describe as “trend-free,” “rough and robust,” and “never recalling anything remotely modern nor much else from the darkest past.” Their latest opus, Sub Janus, aims to continue this mission of esoteric aggression and deepest darkness, sounding older than even the oldest black metals do. Can Calvana bring defiant pride to their mountains, or should Sub Janus be left in the present-past?

I don’t buy the claim that Calvana are especially enigmatic in sound, but Sub Janus sounds distinct regardless. Evoking Celtic Frost darkness, serrating it with Venom rawness and supercharging it with Immortal aggression, Calvana play simple compositions brought to life by deep atmospheres and overwhelming force. Torrents of classic black metal tremolo blasts are a staple of Sub Janus, and songs like “My Prayer to Diana” and “Meine Süße Sternenkriegerin”1 rage with a take-no-prisoners attitude that showcases this mode of Calvana at their best. When not frothing over maddening speed, Calvana are practitioners of the slow and menacing, evident on the solemn death march of “Summer Storm” or the sinister, bowed string intro of “Carnivore.” Vocally, Calvana’s frontperson sounds like an old Universal monster, groaning and snarling slurred and theatrically all over Sub Janus, and accompanied by searing guitars and bottom-heavy bass Calvana sit in a niche thoroughly theirs while still playing within the tropes of the sub-genre.

Sub Janus by Calvana

Calvana draw from a refined selection of tricks for Sub Janus, lending the album both focus and, unfortunately, a feeling of déjà vu. Most songs move between two modes: starting slow and ending fast or starting fast and ending slow. Both “Twilight Song” and “Death of Pan” open with brief fanfare before bringing the hurt, folding arpeggios over cascading blast beats and walls of guitar before shifting halfway to a halftime pace. This approach is most effective on “Fear Makes You Tame,” where the slow turn sees most of the band drop out entirely while doomy strums and haunting tremolos ring out amidst a discord of tortured wails and screams. It’s silly, campy, but fun. Calvana’s approach of slow-to-fast works usually better, however, as “Summer Storm” and album-highlight “Sorry” build tension through subtle progression and eccentric rhythms that make their rise to full-speed riffage all the more cacophonous. This small playbook makes Sub Janus a repetitive affair. Songs with especially little going on, like “Meine Süße Sternenkriegerin,” “Twilight Song,” and the closer “Sub Janus,” feel substantially longer than their runtimes suggest. Calvana have something working with Sub Janus, but I wish that it had a little more going for that something.

But if Sub Janus is hampered by songwriting woes, then Calvana saved it with lively production and performances. Calvana’s analog production and emphasis on giving the full band a spotlight lends Sub Janus an earthy, full-bodied sound defined by enormity and dynamism. Everything feels just right in the mix, especially the bass guitar, which sounds burly and substantial. Black metal demands furious showmanship and Calvana deliver mightily, spitting hellfire on “Fear Makes You Tame” and lathering “Carnivore” in horror-film dread. This is especially true of the drummer, who plays out of their damn gourd on Sub Janus, pummeling lightning-fast fills on “Death of Pan,” exacting punishment upon their hated crash cymbals on “My Prayer to Diana” and thumping out one gnarly drum groove on “Sorry.” All of this, more than anything on Sub Janus, makes Calvana seem as ancient as they aimed to feel. Sub Janus feels like a relic lost to time, dug from the Earth, bearing an archaic dread and untamed vitriol still vital today.

Tuscany is a beautiful place, but Calvana would have you believe the sun never once shone there on Sub Janus. Its songwriting issues limit the replay value of Sub Janus, and my feelings toward the album have dimmed somewhat over the weeks, but the fire Calvana brought to it definitely makes me want to keep this band on my radar. A fun, dark, and decently paced romp, Sub Janus is worth the time of black metal fans who prefer their tunes musty and damp. Visit sunny blackened Calvana today!

Rating: Good
DR: 8 | Format: 320 kbps MP3
Label: Adirondack Black Mass
Websites: calvana.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/calvana
Release Date: March 20th, 2026

Picture “black metal.” What do you see? Frigid wastelands illuminated by burning churches? Damp crypts beneath gothic cathedrals? Varg’s stupid backyard vlogs? One band would have you consider the picturesque slopes of Tuscany’s sunbathed Calvana mountain region. The anonymous duo of Italy’s Calvana have raised hell in the name of their treasured namesake mountains for over a decade and across two records, delivering belligerent blackened arts they describe as “trend-free,” “rough and robust,” and “never recalling anything remotely modern nor much else from the darkest past.” Their latest opus, Sub Janus, aims to continue this mission of esoteric aggression and deepest darkness, sounding older than even the oldest black metals do. Can Calvana bring defiant pride to their mountains, or should Sub Janus be left in the present-past?

I don’t buy the claim that Calvana are especially enigmatic in sound, but Sub Janus sounds distinct regardless. Evoking Celtic Frost darkness, serrating it with Venom rawness and supercharging it with Immortal aggression, Calvana play simple compositions brought to life by deep atmospheres and overwhelming force. Torrents of classic black metal tremolo blasts are a staple of Sub Janus, and songs like “My Prayer to Diana” and “Meine Süße Sternenkriegerin”1 rage with a take-no-prisoners attitude that showcases this mode of Calvana at their best. When not frothing over maddening speed, Calvana are practitioners of the slow and menacing, evident on the solemn death march of “Summer Storm” or the sinister, bowed string intro of “Carnivore.” Vocally, Calvana’s frontperson sounds like an old Universal monster, groaning and snarling slurred and theatrically all over Sub Janus, and accompanied by searing guitars and bottom-heavy bass Calvana sit in a niche thoroughly theirs while still playing within the tropes of the sub-genre.

Sub Janus by Calvana

Calvana draw from a refined selection of tricks for Sub Janus, lending the album both focus and, unfortunately, a feeling of déjà vu. Most songs move between two modes: starting slow and ending fast or starting fast and ending slow. Both “Twilight Song” and “Death of Pan” open with brief fanfare before bringing the hurt, folding arpeggios over cascading blast beats and walls of guitar before shifting halfway to a halftime pace. This approach is most effective on “Fear Makes You Tame,” where the slow turn sees most of the band drop out entirely while doomy strums and haunting tremolos ring out amidst a discord of tortured wails and screams. It’s silly, campy, but fun. Calvana’s approach of slow-to-fast works usually better, however, as “Summer Storm” and album-highlight “Sorry” build tension through subtle progression and eccentric rhythms that make their rise to full-speed riffage all the more cacophonous. This small playbook makes Sub Janus a repetitive affair. Songs with especially little going on, like “Meine Süße Sternenkriegerin,” “Twilight Song,” and the closer “Sub Janus,” feel substantially longer than their runtimes suggest. Calvana have something working with Sub Janus, but I wish that it had a little more going for that something.

But if Sub Janus is hampered by songwriting woes, then Calvana saved it with lively production and performances. Calvana’s analog production and emphasis on giving the full band a spotlight lends Sub Janus an earthy, full-bodied sound defined by enormity and dynamism. Everything feels just right in the mix, especially the bass guitar, which sounds burly and substantial. Black metal demands furious showmanship and Calvana deliver mightily, spitting hellfire on “Fear Makes You Tame” and lathering “Carnivore” in horror-film dread. This is especially true of the drummer, who plays out of their damn gourd on Sub Janus, pummeling lightning-fast fills on “Death of Pan,” exacting punishment upon their hated crash cymbals on “My Prayer to Diana” and thumping out one gnarly drum groove on “Sorry.” All of this, more than anything on Sub Janus, makes Calvana seem as ancient as they aimed to feel. Sub Janus feels like a relic lost to time, dug from the Earth, bearing an archaic dread and untamed vitriol still vital today.

Tuscany is a beautiful place, but Calvana would have you believe the sun never once shone there on Sub Janus. Its songwriting issues limit the replay value of Sub Janus, and my feelings toward the album have dimmed somewhat over the weeks, but the fire Calvana brought to it definitely makes me want to keep this band on my radar. A fun, dark, and decently paced romp, Sub Janus is worth the time of black metal fans who prefer their tunes musty and damp. Visit sunny blackened Calvana today!

Rating: Good
DR: 8 | Format: 320 kbps MP3
Label: Adirondack Black Mass
Websites: calvana.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/calvana
Release Date: March 20th, 2026

Picture “black metal.” What do you see? Frigid wastelands illuminated by burning churches? Damp crypts beneath gothic cathedrals? Varg’s stupid backyard vlogs? One band would have you consider the picturesque slopes of Tuscany’s sunbathed Calvana mountain region. The anonymous duo of Italy’s Calvana have raised hell in the name of their treasured namesake mountains for over a decade and across two records, delivering belligerent blackened arts they describe as “trend-free,” “rough and robust,” and “never recalling anything remotely modern nor much else from the darkest past.” Their latest opus, Sub Janus, aims to continue this mission of esoteric aggression and deepest darkness, sounding older than even the oldest black metals do. Can Calvana bring defiant pride to their mountains, or should Sub Janus be left in the present-past?

I don’t buy the claim that Calvana are especially enigmatic in sound, but Sub Janus sounds distinct regardless. Evoking Celtic Frost darkness, serrating it with Venom rawness and supercharging it with Immortal aggression, Calvana play simple compositions brought to life by deep atmospheres and overwhelming force. Torrents of classic black metal tremolo blasts are a staple of Sub Janus, and songs like “My Prayer to Diana” and “Meine Süße Sternenkriegerin”1 rage with a take-no-prisoners attitude that showcases this mode of Calvana at their best. When not frothing over maddening speed, Calvana are practitioners of the slow and menacing, evident on the solemn death march of “Summer Storm” or the sinister, bowed string intro of “Carnivore.” Vocally, Calvana’s frontperson sounds like an old Universal monster, groaning and snarling slurred and theatrically all over Sub Janus, and accompanied by searing guitars and bottom-heavy bass Calvana sit in a niche thoroughly theirs while still playing within the tropes of the sub-genre.

Sub Janus by Calvana

Calvana draw from a refined selection of tricks for Sub Janus, lending the album both focus and, unfortunately, a feeling of déjà vu. Most songs move between two modes: starting slow and ending fast or starting fast and ending slow. Both “Twilight Song” and “Death of Pan” open with brief fanfare before bringing the hurt, folding arpeggios over cascading blast beats and walls of guitar before shifting halfway to a halftime pace. This approach is most effective on “Fear Makes You Tame,” where the slow turn sees most of the band drop out entirely while doomy strums and haunting tremolos ring out amidst a discord of tortured wails and screams. It’s silly, campy, but fun. Calvana’s approach of slow-to-fast works usually better, however, as “Summer Storm” and album-highlight “Sorry” build tension through subtle progression and eccentric rhythms that make their rise to full-speed riffage all the more cacophonous. This small playbook makes Sub Janus a repetitive affair. Songs with especially little going on, like “Meine Süße Sternenkriegerin,” “Twilight Song,” and the closer “Sub Janus,” feel substantially longer than their runtimes suggest. Calvana have something working with Sub Janus, but I wish that it had a little more going for that something.

But if Sub Janus is hampered by songwriting woes, then Calvana saved it with lively production and performances. Calvana’s analog production and emphasis on giving the full band a spotlight lends Sub Janus an earthy, full-bodied sound defined by enormity and dynamism. Everything feels just right in the mix, especially the bass guitar, which sounds burly and substantial. Black metal demands furious showmanship and Calvana deliver mightily, spitting hellfire on “Fear Makes You Tame” and lathering “Carnivore” in horror-film dread. This is especially true of the drummer, who plays out of their damn gourd on Sub Janus, pummeling lightning-fast fills on “Death of Pan,” exacting punishment upon their hated crash cymbals on “My Prayer to Diana” and thumping out one gnarly drum groove on “Sorry.” All of this, more than anything on Sub Janus, makes Calvana seem as ancient as they aimed to feel. Sub Janus feels like a relic lost to time, dug from the Earth, bearing an archaic dread and untamed vitriol still vital today.

Tuscany is a beautiful place, but Calvana would have you believe the sun never once shone there on Sub Janus. Its songwriting issues limit the replay value of Sub Janus, and my feelings toward the album have dimmed somewhat over the weeks, but the fire Calvana brought to it definitely makes me want to keep this band on my radar. A fun, dark, and decently paced romp, Sub Janus is worth the time of black metal fans who prefer their tunes musty and damp. Visit sunny blackened Calvana today!

Rating: Good
DR: 8 | Format: 320 kbps MP3
Label: Adirondack Black Mass
Websites: calvana.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/calvana
Release Date: March 20th, 2026

Picture “black metal.” What do you see? Frigid wastelands illuminated by burning churches? Damp crypts beneath gothic cathedrals? Varg’s stupid backyard vlogs? One band would have you consider the picturesque slopes of Tuscany’s sunbathed Calvana mountain region. The anonymous duo of Italy’s Calvana have raised hell in the name of their treasured namesake mountains for over a decade and across two records, delivering belligerent blackened arts they describe as “trend-free,” “rough and robust,” and “never recalling anything remotely modern nor much else from the darkest past.” Their latest opus, Sub Janus, aims to continue this mission of esoteric aggression and deepest darkness, sounding older than even the oldest black metals do. Can Calvana bring defiant pride to their mountains, or should Sub Janus be left in the present-past?

I don’t buy the claim that Calvana are especially enigmatic in sound, but Sub Janus sounds distinct regardless. Evoking Celtic Frost darkness, serrating it with Venom rawness and supercharging it with Immortal aggression, Calvana play simple compositions brought to life by deep atmospheres and overwhelming force. Torrents of classic black metal tremolo blasts are a staple of Sub Janus, and songs like “My Prayer to Diana” and “Meine Süße Sternenkriegerin”1 rage with a take-no-prisoners attitude that showcases this mode of Calvana at their best. When not frothing over maddening speed, Calvana are practitioners of the slow and menacing, evident on the solemn death march of “Summer Storm” or the sinister, bowed string intro of “Carnivore.” Vocally, Calvana’s frontperson sounds like an old Universal monster, groaning and snarling slurred and theatrically all over Sub Janus, and accompanied by searing guitars and bottom-heavy bass Calvana sit in a niche thoroughly theirs while still playing within the tropes of the sub-genre.

Sub Janus by Calvana

Calvana draw from a refined selection of tricks for Sub Janus, lending the album both focus and, unfortunately, a feeling of déjà vu. Most songs move between two modes: starting slow and ending fast or starting fast and ending slow. Both “Twilight Song” and “Death of Pan” open with brief fanfare before bringing the hurt, folding arpeggios over cascading blast beats and walls of guitar before shifting halfway to a halftime pace. This approach is most effective on “Fear Makes You Tame,” where the slow turn sees most of the band drop out entirely while doomy strums and haunting tremolos ring out amidst a discord of tortured wails and screams. It’s silly, campy, but fun. Calvana’s approach of slow-to-fast works usually better, however, as “Summer Storm” and album-highlight “Sorry” build tension through subtle progression and eccentric rhythms that make their rise to full-speed riffage all the more cacophonous. This small playbook makes Sub Janus a repetitive affair. Songs with especially little going on, like “Meine Süße Sternenkriegerin,” “Twilight Song,” and the closer “Sub Janus,” feel substantially longer than their runtimes suggest. Calvana have something working with Sub Janus, but I wish that it had a little more going for that something.

But if Sub Janus is hampered by songwriting woes, then Calvana saved it with lively production and performances. Calvana’s analog production and emphasis on giving the full band a spotlight lends Sub Janus an earthy, full-bodied sound defined by enormity and dynamism. Everything feels just right in the mix, especially the bass guitar, which sounds burly and substantial. Black metal demands furious showmanship and Calvana deliver mightily, spitting hellfire on “Fear Makes You Tame” and lathering “Carnivore” in horror-film dread. This is especially true of the drummer, who plays out of their damn gourd on Sub Janus, pummeling lightning-fast fills on “Death of Pan,” exacting punishment upon their hated crash cymbals on “My Prayer to Diana” and thumping out one gnarly drum groove on “Sorry.” All of this, more than anything on Sub Janus, makes Calvana seem as ancient as they aimed to feel. Sub Janus feels like a relic lost to time, dug from the Earth, bearing an archaic dread and untamed vitriol still vital today.

Tuscany is a beautiful place, but Calvana would have you believe the sun never once shone there on Sub Janus. Its songwriting issues limit the replay value of Sub Janus, and my feelings toward the album have dimmed somewhat over the weeks, but the fire Calvana brought to it definitely makes me want to keep this band on my radar. A fun, dark, and decently paced romp, Sub Janus is worth the time of black metal fans who prefer their tunes musty and damp. Visit sunny blackened Calvana today!

Rating: Good
DR: 8 | Format: 320 kbps MP3
Label: Adirondack Black Mass
Websites: calvana.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/calvana
Release Date: March 20th, 2026

Picture “black metal.” What do you see? Frigid wastelands illuminated by burning churches? Damp crypts beneath gothic cathedrals? Varg’s stupid backyard vlogs? One band would have you consider the picturesque slopes of Tuscany’s sunbathed Calvana mountain region. The anonymous duo of Italy’s Calvana have raised hell in the name of their treasured namesake mountains for over a decade and across two records, delivering belligerent blackened arts they describe as “trend-free,” “rough and robust,” and “never recalling anything remotely modern nor much else from the darkest past.” Their latest opus, Sub Janus, aims to continue this mission of esoteric aggression and deepest darkness, sounding older than even the oldest black metals do. Can Calvana bring defiant pride to their mountains, or should Sub Janus be left in the present-past?

I don’t buy the claim that Calvana are especially enigmatic in sound, but Sub Janus sounds distinct regardless. Evoking Celtic Frost darkness, serrating it with Venom rawness and supercharging it with Immortal aggression, Calvana play simple compositions brought to life by deep atmospheres and overwhelming force. Torrents of classic black metal tremolo blasts are a staple of Sub Janus, and songs like “My Prayer to Diana” and “Meine Süße Sternenkriegerin”1 rage with a take-no-prisoners attitude that showcases this mode of Calvana at their best. When not frothing over maddening speed, Calvana are practitioners of the slow and menacing, evident on the solemn death march of “Summer Storm” or the sinister, bowed string intro of “Carnivore.” Vocally, Calvana’s frontperson sounds like an old Universal monster, groaning and snarling slurred and theatrically all over Sub Janus, and accompanied by searing guitars and bottom-heavy bass Calvana sit in a niche thoroughly theirs while still playing within the tropes of the sub-genre.

Sub Janus by Calvana

Calvana draw from a refined selection of tricks for Sub Janus, lending the album both focus and, unfortunately, a feeling of déjà vu. Most songs move between two modes: starting slow and ending fast or starting fast and ending slow. Both “Twilight Song” and “Death of Pan” open with brief fanfare before bringing the hurt, folding arpeggios over cascading blast beats and walls of guitar before shifting halfway to a halftime pace. This approach is most effective on “Fear Makes You Tame,” where the slow turn sees most of the band drop out entirely while doomy strums and haunting tremolos ring out amidst a discord of tortured wails and screams. It’s silly, campy, but fun. Calvana’s approach of slow-to-fast works usually better, however, as “Summer Storm” and album-highlight “Sorry” build tension through subtle progression and eccentric rhythms that make their rise to full-speed riffage all the more cacophonous. This small playbook makes Sub Janus a repetitive affair. Songs with especially little going on, like “Meine Süße Sternenkriegerin,” “Twilight Song,” and the closer “Sub Janus,” feel substantially longer than their runtimes suggest. Calvana have something working with Sub Janus, but I wish that it had a little more going for that something.

But if Sub Janus is hampered by songwriting woes, then Calvana saved it with lively production and performances. Calvana’s analog production and emphasis on giving the full band a spotlight lends Sub Janus an earthy, full-bodied sound defined by enormity and dynamism. Everything feels just right in the mix, especially the bass guitar, which sounds burly and substantial. Black metal demands furious showmanship and Calvana deliver mightily, spitting hellfire on “Fear Makes You Tame” and lathering “Carnivore” in horror-film dread. This is especially true of the drummer, who plays out of their damn gourd on Sub Janus, pummeling lightning-fast fills on “Death of Pan,” exacting punishment upon their hated crash cymbals on “My Prayer to Diana” and thumping out one gnarly drum groove on “Sorry.” All of this, more than anything on Sub Janus, makes Calvana seem as ancient as they aimed to feel. Sub Janus feels like a relic lost to time, dug from the Earth, bearing an archaic dread and untamed vitriol still vital today.

Tuscany is a beautiful place, but Calvana would have you believe the sun never once shone there on Sub Janus. Its songwriting issues limit the replay value of Sub Janus, and my feelings toward the album have dimmed somewhat over the weeks, but the fire Calvana brought to it definitely makes me want to keep this band on my radar. A fun, dark, and decently paced romp, Sub Janus is worth the time of black metal fans who prefer their tunes musty and damp. Visit sunny blackened Calvana today!

Rating: Good
DR: 8 | Format: 320 kbps MP3
Label: Adirondack Black Mass
Websites: calvana.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/calvana
Release Date: March 20th, 2026

https://www.europesays.com/es/428279/ Mille Petrozza (Kreator) recuerda el momento en que casi se une a Celtic Frost: “Tocaban en un búnker de la Segunda Guerra Mundial” #CelticFrost #Entertainment #Entretenimiento #ES #España #KREATOR #MillePetrozza #MR2022 #Music #Música #Spain

Necrosexual – Road to Rubble Review

It was a day like any other at the AMG water cooler when someone mentioned Necrosexual had a…
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https://www.newsbeep.com/us/485983/

Necrosexual – Road to Rubble Review

It was a day like any other at the AMG water cooler when someone mentioned Necrosexual had a…
#NewsBeep #News #US #USA #UnitedStates #UnitedStatesOfAmerica #Music #2026 #3.5 #AmericanMetal #BlackMetal #BlackMetalArchives #CelticFrost #DevilMaster #Entertainment #Feb26 #KingDiamond #midnight #Necrosexual #review #reviews #RoadtoRubble #Shitfucker #ThrashMetal #Venom
https://www.newsbeep.com/us/485983/

Necrosexual – Road to Rubble Review

It was a day like any other at the AMG water cooler when someone mentioned Necrosexual had a…
#NewsBeep #News #Music #2026 #3.5 #AmericanMetal #AU #Australia #BlackMetal #BlackMetalArchives #CelticFrost #DevilMaster #Entertainment #Feb26 #KingDiamond #midnight #Necrosexual #review #reviews #RoadtoRubble #Shitfucker #ThrashMetal #Venom
https://www.newsbeep.com/au/499158/

Necrosexual – Road to Rubble Review

It was a day like any other at the AMG water cooler when someone mentioned Necrosexual had a…
#NewsBeep #News #Music #2026 #3.5 #AmericanMetal #AU #Australia #BlackMetal #BlackMetalArchives #CelticFrost #DevilMaster #Entertainment #Feb26 #KingDiamond #midnight #Necrosexual #review #reviews #RoadtoRubble #Shitfucker #ThrashMetal #Venom
https://www.newsbeep.com/au/499158/

https://www.europesays.com/ie/352295/ Necrosexual – Road to Rubble Review #2026 #35 #AmericanMetal #BlackMetal #BlackMetalArchives #CelticFrost #DevilMaster #Éire #Entertainment #Feb26 #IE #Ireland #KingDiamond #Midnight #Music #Necrosexual #Review #Reviews #RoadToRubble #Shitfucker #ThrashMetal #Venom

It was a day like any other at the AMG water cooler when someone mentioned Necrosexual had a new album coming out. Ha, I ought to myself. I vaguely remembered reviewing the Philadelphia band’s Grim1 debut back in 2018, which I had slapped with a 1.5 due to its sloppy execution and lackluster production. Perhaps I expected too much from a band led by vocalist, guitarist, and bassist “The Necrosexual,” whose main claim to fame was doing interviews for Metal Injection and MetalSucks while clad in corpse paint. Let someone else take their new album, I thought to myself. I’m sure someone will get enticed by that band name. But week after week went by, and Road to Rubble sat in the promo bin like an unflushed quarter-turd in the office bathroom stall. Somewhere in my heart, I felt it had to be covered, and before I knew it, I had assigned it to myself. That color vomit artwork is certainly worse than the first album’s cover (which was already pretty bad), but given that The Necrosexual has taken eight years to release this second album, perhaps taking the plunge would be worth it?

Stylistically, not much has changed since Grim1. Necrosexual still play a comedic, sleazeball form of blackened punk-thrash that sounds something like a snottier version of early Celtic Frost or a PG-13 version of Shitfucker. On songs like the opener, “High Times in Hell,” the band deliver big, confident riffs over battering mid-tempo drums, all while The Necrosexual delivers his sneering roar. A few tracks also feature brief forays into genuine black metal, complete with frosty riffs underlaid by blast beats. In a move that vaguely calls to mind Devil Master, much of the album also features twinkling synth lines in the background, an effect that makes the second track, “The Brimstone Brothel,” sound like a Venom-inspired carnival ride from hell.

ROAD TO RUBBLE by Necrosexual

For all my gripes about Grim1, variety wasn’t one of them, and Road to Rubble features a similar level of diversity with a much higher level of quality. “Kiss the Knife” stands out with its catchy, sinister verses that feature the track title sung in a King Diamond-style falsetto, while the more straightforward “Lubricator” sounds like an alternate version of Morbid Tales where the dethroned emperor has become a sex slave. As the album progresses into its final third, things get more rock-esque, with the rhythms getting stompier, the leads getting more flamboyant, and the vocals getting more adventurous. “Damned Romance,” for example, is like a blackened 80s cock rock anthem that culminates with a chorus of deep crooning cleans that are impossible not to sing along with. The closer, “Hard Leather Woman,” gives off similar vibes while reminding me of Midnight with its gruff, semi-clean vocals.

If there’s any gripe I have with Road to Rubble, it’s that stacking so many slower songs in the album’s second half saps a bit of the energy generated by the quicker songs earlier in the record. By the time I’ve reached the eighth of these nine tracks, hearing another slow song like “Nocturnal Ignition” isn’t going to make me have a nocturnal emission anytime soon. Fortunately, the stellar production outweighs this quibble, with the guitars sounding full and vibrant, and the overall sound having a slightly raw edge while balancing everything well. The guitar solos are plentiful, colorful, and rocking, and the band sound like they’re enjoying the hell out of themselves over the entirety of these 35 minutes.

In revisiting Necrosexual with Road to Rubble, I initially wasn’t sure whether my taste had gotten worse or the band had gotten better. Turns out, it’s probably a little bit of the former and a whole lot of the latter. With this album, the band has maintained their penchant for variety while stepping things up in every way, with better songs, better performances, and a better production job. Beyond all that, this album just feels incredibly endearing, with a genuine, fun, and oddly timeless quality that makes Necrosexual sound like a band you want to both listen to and root for. For those who don’t mind a little humor and playfulness in their blackened thrash, I’d say this Road to Rubble is worth taking a ride down.

Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: PCM
Label: Black Metal Archives
Websites: necrosexual.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/grimmestofalltime
Releases Worldwide: February 27th, 2026

It was a day like any other at the AMG water cooler when someone mentioned Necrosexual had a new album coming out. Ha, I ought to myself. I vaguely remembered reviewing the Philadelphia band’s Grim1 debut back in 2018, which I had slapped with a 1.5 due to its sloppy execution and lackluster production. Perhaps I expected too much from a band led by vocalist, guitarist, and bassist “The Necrosexual,” whose main claim to fame was doing interviews for Metal Injection and MetalSucks while clad in corpse paint. Let someone else take their new album, I thought to myself. I’m sure someone will get enticed by that band name. But week after week went by, and Road to Rubble sat in the promo bin like an unflushed quarter-turd in the office bathroom stall. Somewhere in my heart, I felt it had to be covered, and before I knew it, I had assigned it to myself. That color vomit artwork is certainly worse than the first album’s cover (which was already pretty bad), but given that The Necrosexual has taken eight years to release this second album, perhaps taking the plunge would be worth it?

Stylistically, not much has changed since Grim1. Necrosexual still play a comedic, sleazeball form of blackened punk-thrash that sounds something like a snottier version of early Celtic Frost or a PG-13 version of Shitfucker. On songs like the opener, “High Times in Hell,” the band deliver big, confident riffs over battering mid-tempo drums, all while The Necrosexual delivers his sneering roar. A few tracks also feature brief forays into genuine black metal, complete with frosty riffs underlaid by blast beats. In a move that vaguely calls to mind Devil Master, much of the album also features twinkling synth lines in the background, an effect that makes the second track, “The Brimstone Brothel,” sound like a Venom-inspired carnival ride from hell.

ROAD TO RUBBLE by Necrosexual

For all my gripes about Grim1, variety wasn’t one of them, and Road to Rubble features a similar level of diversity with a much higher level of quality. “Kiss the Knife” stands out with its catchy, sinister verses that feature the track title sung in a King Diamond-style falsetto, while the more straightforward “Lubricator” sounds like an alternate version of Morbid Tales where the dethroned emperor has become a sex slave. As the album progresses into its final third, things get more rock-esque, with the rhythms getting stompier, the leads getting more flamboyant, and the vocals getting more adventurous. “Damned Romance,” for example, is like a blackened 80s cock rock anthem that culminates with a chorus of deep crooning cleans that are impossible not to sing along with. The closer, “Hard Leather Woman,” gives off similar vibes while reminding me of Midnight with its gruff, semi-clean vocals.

If there’s any gripe I have with Road to Rubble, it’s that stacking so many slower songs in the album’s second half saps a bit of the energy generated by the quicker songs earlier in the record. By the time I’ve reached the eighth of these nine tracks, hearing another slow song like “Nocturnal Ignition” isn’t going to make me have a nocturnal emission anytime soon. Fortunately, the stellar production outweighs this quibble, with the guitars sounding full and vibrant, and the overall sound having a slightly raw edge while balancing everything well. The guitar solos are plentiful, colorful, and rocking, and the band sound like they’re enjoying the hell out of themselves over the entirety of these 35 minutes.

In revisiting Necrosexual with Road to Rubble, I initially wasn’t sure whether my taste had gotten worse or the band had gotten better. Turns out, it’s probably a little bit of the former and a whole lot of the latter. With this album, the band has maintained their penchant for variety while stepping things up in every way, with better songs, better performances, and a better production job. Beyond all that, this album just feels incredibly endearing, with a genuine, fun, and oddly timeless quality that makes Necrosexual sound like a band you want to both listen to and root for. For those who don’t mind a little humor and playfulness in their blackened thrash, I’d say this Road to Rubble is worth taking a ride down.

Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: PCM
Label: Black Metal Archives
Websites: necrosexual.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/grimmestofalltime
Releases Worldwide: February 27th, 2026

It was a day like any other at the AMG water cooler when someone mentioned Necrosexual had a new album coming out. Ha, I ought to myself. I vaguely remembered reviewing the Philadelphia band’s Grim1 debut back in 2018, which I had slapped with a 1.5 due to its sloppy execution and lackluster production. Perhaps I expected too much from a band led by vocalist, guitarist, and bassist “The Necrosexual,” whose main claim to fame was doing interviews for Metal Injection and MetalSucks while clad in corpse paint. Let someone else take their new album, I thought to myself. I’m sure someone will get enticed by that band name. But week after week went by, and Road to Rubble sat in the promo bin like an unflushed quarter-turd in the office bathroom stall. Somewhere in my heart, I felt it had to be covered, and before I knew it, I had assigned it to myself. That color vomit artwork is certainly worse than the first album’s cover (which was already pretty bad), but given that The Necrosexual has taken eight years to release this second album, perhaps taking the plunge would be worth it?

Stylistically, not much has changed since Grim1. Necrosexual still play a comedic, sleazeball form of blackened punk-thrash that sounds something like a snottier version of early Celtic Frost or a PG-13 version of Shitfucker. On songs like the opener, “High Times in Hell,” the band deliver big, confident riffs over battering mid-tempo drums, all while The Necrosexual delivers his sneering roar. A few tracks also feature brief forays into genuine black metal, complete with frosty riffs underlaid by blast beats. In a move that vaguely calls to mind Devil Master, much of the album also features twinkling synth lines in the background, an effect that makes the second track, “The Brimstone Brothel,” sound like a Venom-inspired carnival ride from hell.

ROAD TO RUBBLE by Necrosexual

For all my gripes about Grim1, variety wasn’t one of them, and Road to Rubble features a similar level of diversity with a much higher level of quality. “Kiss the Knife” stands out with its catchy, sinister verses that feature the track title sung in a King Diamond-style falsetto, while the more straightforward “Lubricator” sounds like an alternate version of Morbid Tales where the dethroned emperor has become a sex slave. As the album progresses into its final third, things get more rock-esque, with the rhythms getting stompier, the leads getting more flamboyant, and the vocals getting more adventurous. “Damned Romance,” for example, is like a blackened 80s cock rock anthem that culminates with a chorus of deep crooning cleans that are impossible not to sing along with. The closer, “Hard Leather Woman,” gives off similar vibes while reminding me of Midnight with its gruff, semi-clean vocals.

If there’s any gripe I have with Road to Rubble, it’s that stacking so many slower songs in the album’s second half saps a bit of the energy generated by the quicker songs earlier in the record. By the time I’ve reached the eighth of these nine tracks, hearing another slow song like “Nocturnal Ignition” isn’t going to make me have a nocturnal emission anytime soon. Fortunately, the stellar production outweighs this quibble, with the guitars sounding full and vibrant, and the overall sound having a slightly raw edge while balancing everything well. The guitar solos are plentiful, colorful, and rocking, and the band sound like they’re enjoying the hell out of themselves over the entirety of these 35 minutes.

In revisiting Necrosexual with Road to Rubble, I initially wasn’t sure whether my taste had gotten worse or the band had gotten better. Turns out, it’s probably a little bit of the former and a whole lot of the latter. With this album, the band has maintained their penchant for variety while stepping things up in every way, with better songs, better performances, and a better production job. Beyond all that, this album just feels incredibly endearing, with a genuine, fun, and oddly timeless quality that makes Necrosexual sound like a band you want to both listen to and root for. For those who don’t mind a little humor and playfulness in their blackened thrash, I’d say this Road to Rubble is worth taking a ride down.

Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: PCM
Label: Black Metal Archives
Websites: necrosexual.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/grimmestofalltime
Releases Worldwide: February 27th, 2026

It was a day like any other at the AMG water cooler when someone mentioned Necrosexual had a new album coming out. Ha, I ought to myself. I vaguely remembered reviewing the Philadelphia band’s Grim1 debut back in 2018, which I had slapped with a 1.5 due to its sloppy execution and lackluster production. Perhaps I expected too much from a band led by vocalist, guitarist, and bassist “The Necrosexual,” whose main claim to fame was doing interviews for Metal Injection and MetalSucks while clad in corpse paint. Let someone else take their new album, I thought to myself. I’m sure someone will get enticed by that band name. But week after week went by, and Road to Rubble sat in the promo bin like an unflushed quarter-turd in the office bathroom stall. Somewhere in my heart, I felt it had to be covered, and before I knew it, I had assigned it to myself. That color vomit artwork is certainly worse than the first album’s cover (which was already pretty bad), but given that The Necrosexual has taken eight years to release this second album, perhaps taking the plunge would be worth it?

Stylistically, not much has changed since Grim1. Necrosexual still play a comedic, sleazeball form of blackened punk-thrash that sounds something like a snottier version of early Celtic Frost or a PG-13 version of Shitfucker. On songs like the opener, “High Times in Hell,” the band deliver big, confident riffs over battering mid-tempo drums, all while The Necrosexual delivers his sneering roar. A few tracks also feature brief forays into genuine black metal, complete with frosty riffs underlaid by blast beats. In a move that vaguely calls to mind Devil Master, much of the album also features twinkling synth lines in the background, an effect that makes the second track, “The Brimstone Brothel,” sound like a Venom-inspired carnival ride from hell.

ROAD TO RUBBLE by Necrosexual

For all my gripes about Grim1, variety wasn’t one of them, and Road to Rubble features a similar level of diversity with a much higher level of quality. “Kiss the Knife” stands out with its catchy, sinister verses that feature the track title sung in a King Diamond-style falsetto, while the more straightforward “Lubricator” sounds like an alternate version of Morbid Tales where the dethroned emperor has become a sex slave. As the album progresses into its final third, things get more rock-esque, with the rhythms getting stompier, the leads getting more flamboyant, and the vocals getting more adventurous. “Damned Romance,” for example, is like a blackened 80s cock rock anthem that culminates with a chorus of deep crooning cleans that are impossible not to sing along with. The closer, “Hard Leather Woman,” gives off similar vibes while reminding me of Midnight with its gruff, semi-clean vocals.

If there’s any gripe I have with Road to Rubble, it’s that stacking so many slower songs in the album’s second half saps a bit of the energy generated by the quicker songs earlier in the record. By the time I’ve reached the eighth of these nine tracks, hearing another slow song like “Nocturnal Ignition” isn’t going to make me have a nocturnal emission anytime soon. Fortunately, the stellar production outweighs this quibble, with the guitars sounding full and vibrant, and the overall sound having a slightly raw edge while balancing everything well. The guitar solos are plentiful, colorful, and rocking, and the band sound like they’re enjoying the hell out of themselves over the entirety of these 35 minutes.

In revisiting Necrosexual with Road to Rubble, I initially wasn’t sure whether my taste had gotten worse or the band had gotten better. Turns out, it’s probably a little bit of the former and a whole lot of the latter. With this album, the band has maintained their penchant for variety while stepping things up in every way, with better songs, better performances, and a better production job. Beyond all that, this album just feels incredibly endearing, with a genuine, fun, and oddly timeless quality that makes Necrosexual sound like a band you want to both listen to and root for. For those who don’t mind a little humor and playfulness in their blackened thrash, I’d say this Road to Rubble is worth taking a ride down.

Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: PCM
Label: Black Metal Archives
Websites: necrosexual.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/grimmestofalltime
Releases Worldwide: February 27th, 2026

It was a day like any other at the AMG water cooler when someone mentioned Necrosexual had a new album coming out. Ha, I ought to myself. I vaguely remembered reviewing the Philadelphia band’s Grim1 debut back in 2018, which I had slapped with a 1.5 due to its sloppy execution and lackluster production. Perhaps I expected too much from a band led by vocalist, guitarist, and bassist “The Necrosexual,” whose main claim to fame was doing interviews for Metal Injection and MetalSucks while clad in corpse paint. Let someone else take their new album, I thought to myself. I’m sure someone will get enticed by that band name. But week after week went by, and Road to Rubble sat in the promo bin like an unflushed quarter-turd in the office bathroom stall. Somewhere in my heart, I felt it had to be covered, and before I knew it, I had assigned it to myself. That color vomit artwork is certainly worse than the first album’s cover (which was already pretty bad), but given that The Necrosexual has taken eight years to release this second album, perhaps taking the plunge would be worth it?

Stylistically, not much has changed since Grim1. Necrosexual still play a comedic, sleazeball form of blackened punk-thrash that sounds something like a snottier version of early Celtic Frost or a PG-13 version of Shitfucker. On songs like the opener, “High Times in Hell,” the band deliver big, confident riffs over battering mid-tempo drums, all while The Necrosexual delivers his sneering roar. A few tracks also feature brief forays into genuine black metal, complete with frosty riffs underlaid by blast beats. In a move that vaguely calls to mind Devil Master, much of the album also features twinkling synth lines in the background, an effect that makes the second track, “The Brimstone Brothel,” sound like a Venom-inspired carnival ride from hell.

ROAD TO RUBBLE by Necrosexual

For all my gripes about Grim1, variety wasn’t one of them, and Road to Rubble features a similar level of diversity with a much higher level of quality. “Kiss the Knife” stands out with its catchy, sinister verses that feature the track title sung in a King Diamond-style falsetto, while the more straightforward “Lubricator” sounds like an alternate version of Morbid Tales where the dethroned emperor has become a sex slave. As the album progresses into its final third, things get more rock-esque, with the rhythms getting stompier, the leads getting more flamboyant, and the vocals getting more adventurous. “Damned Romance,” for example, is like a blackened 80s cock rock anthem that culminates with a chorus of deep crooning cleans that are impossible not to sing along with. The closer, “Hard Leather Woman,” gives off similar vibes while reminding me of Midnight with its gruff, semi-clean vocals.

If there’s any gripe I have with Road to Rubble, it’s that stacking so many slower songs in the album’s second half saps a bit of the energy generated by the quicker songs earlier in the record. By the time I’ve reached the eighth of these nine tracks, hearing another slow song like “Nocturnal Ignition” isn’t going to make me have a nocturnal emission anytime soon. Fortunately, the stellar production outweighs this quibble, with the guitars sounding full and vibrant, and the overall sound having a slightly raw edge while balancing everything well. The guitar solos are plentiful, colorful, and rocking, and the band sound like they’re enjoying the hell out of themselves over the entirety of these 35 minutes.

In revisiting Necrosexual with Road to Rubble, I initially wasn’t sure whether my taste had gotten worse or the band had gotten better. Turns out, it’s probably a little bit of the former and a whole lot of the latter. With this album, the band has maintained their penchant for variety while stepping things up in every way, with better songs, better performances, and a better production job. Beyond all that, this album just feels incredibly endearing, with a genuine, fun, and oddly timeless quality that makes Necrosexual sound like a band you want to both listen to and root for. For those who don’t mind a little humor and playfulness in their blackened thrash, I’d say this Road to Rubble is worth taking a ride down.

Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: PCM
Label: Black Metal Archives
Websites: necrosexual.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/grimmestofalltime
Releases Worldwide: February 27th, 2026

🇺🇦 #NowPlaying on #KEXP's #SeekAndDestroy

Celtic Frost:
🎵 Circle of the Tyrants

#CelticFrost

https://hexwound.bandcamp.com/track/circle-of-the-tyrants-celtic-frost-cover

https://open.spotify.com/track/32sQ2J49CEEoZVGoSHSmsd

🇺🇦 #NowPlaying on #KEXP's #SeekAndDestroy

Celtic Frost:
🎵 Circle of the Tyrants

#CelticFrost

https://hexwound.bandcamp.com/track/circle-of-the-tyrants-celtic-frost-cover

https://open.spotify.com/track/32sQ2J49CEEoZVGoSHSmsd

🇺🇦 #NowPlaying on #KEXP's #SeekAndDestroy

Celtic Frost:
🎵 Circle of the Tyrants

#CelticFrost

https://hexwound.bandcamp.com/track/circle-of-the-tyrants-celtic-frost-cover

https://open.spotify.com/track/32sQ2J49CEEoZVGoSHSmsd

🇺🇦 #NowPlaying on #KEXP's #SeekAndDestroy

Celtic Frost:
🎵 Circle of the Tyrants

#CelticFrost

https://hexwound.bandcamp.com/track/circle-of-the-tyrants-celtic-frost-cover

https://open.spotify.com/track/32sQ2J49CEEoZVGoSHSmsd

🇺🇦 #NowPlaying on #KEXP's #SeekAndDestroy

Celtic Frost:
🎵 Circle of the Tyrants

#CelticFrost

https://hexwound.bandcamp.com/track/circle-of-the-tyrants-celtic-frost-cover

https://open.spotify.com/track/32sQ2J49CEEoZVGoSHSmsd

Sometime in the 2010s, I started disliking music with too many flourishes and began seeking out stuff that was more stripped-down, unpolished, and primitive. At this time, Barbarian were the perfect find. Depending on the album, this Italian trio has referred to themselves as “Regressive Metal,” “Absolute Metal,” or, in the case of their sixth album, Reek of God, “Retrogarde Metal” (typo and all). Led by vocalist and guitarist “Borys Crossburn,” their sound is essentially early Celtic Frost if they were fronted by a guitar-wielding grizzly bear who had a bizarre penchant for the occasional Running Wild-style melody. I’ve had many a fun time cranking my stereo and greasing my ear canals to 2014’s Faith Extinguisher and 2019’s To No God Shall I Kneel, though I agree with El Cuervo that 2022’s Viperface sagged a bit in the hookiness department. After several years on Hells Headbangers Records, Mr. Crossburn and crew have now jumped ship to a new label, Dying Victims Productions, for Reek of God, their first album in four years.

Despite the shift, Barbarian seem to have lost none of their belligerence. The album’s intro, aptly titled “Warning,” is a reimagining of the intro of the same name from the 1993 Ice-T album Home Invasion, and it helpfully informs listeners that they are listening to a Barbarian LP before instructing them to take out the tape if they are offended by phrases like “may the Almighty choke on all my sins.” From there, the first proper track, “Maxima Culpa,” roars in with burly and unapologetic guitars, throttling drums, and Crossburn’s gruff roars. As before, the sound is regressive, pulling lovingly from speed metal, thrash, black metal, and even bits of classic heavy metal with its brief majestic leads. While not the most memorable cut, it’s clear this unwashed bunch still have plenty of piss and vinegar to offer. The follow-up, “Sledgehammer,” further beats this home, with its big chunky riffs and pummeling proclamation of the track title helping the song live up to its blunt moniker.

Sadly, as Reek of God continues, it starts to stink in ways that perhaps it didn’t intend. It soon becomes apparent that Viperface’s shortage of standout hooks seems to have continued on this album—only here, it’s more of an issue. Viperface still succeeded in spite of that hangup because the songs were well-developed and took interesting turns, even if not everything was the most memorable. Here, however, the band have shortened their average track length to around three minutes, and rather than use that abbreviated format to write tight, catchy bangers, the group instead almost always eschew notable refrains in favor of simply tossing together an assortment of decent, aggressive riffs they seem to have had lying around the practice room. The result feels like an album of brief speed metal vignettes that largely pass by without much note. The production only amplifies this issue, as it sounds like the guitars and vocals are fighting for space in the mix, with the guitars having a blaring tone that I don’t love.

Fortunately, there’s still some good here. The last proper track, “Retrogarde Metal” (yes, it’s actually spelled like that), finally does feature a fun shout-along refrain, and closing the album with the horror-synth instrumental “Crurifragium” was a cool touch. “Freak Magnet,” a cover of the all-female rock band L7, is also a solid cut that adds a bit of punky energy late in the runtime. I also enjoy some of the classic heavy metal licks that appear on “Cancer Cross,” though such ideas generally seem to be less prevalent on this album than on previous ones. Crossburn also delivers some nice attitude in his vocals, with at least one “UGH!” and a self-referential shoutout of “Tell them what’s up, Crossburn!” before a ripping solo.

Overall, though, it’s hard not to be a little disappointed here. By doubling down on their no-fucks-given attitude, Barbarian seems to have taken an even moar primitive and less refined approach, resulting in shorter songs that have plenty of energy but not as much that sticks to the ribs. In their best prior works, the band excelled at combining mighty riffs and melodic leads into wholly engaging compositions. Only time will tell if we’ll ever see them do that again.



Rating: 2.5/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Dying Victims Productions
Websites: linktr.ee/barbarianmetal | facebook.com/barbarianmetal
Releases Worldwide: January 23rd, 2026

Sometime in the 2010s, I started disliking music with too many flourishes and began seeking out stuff that was more stripped-down, unpolished, and primitive. At this time, Barbarian were the perfect find. Depending on the album, this Italian trio has referred to themselves as “Regressive Metal,” “Absolute Metal,” or, in the case of their sixth album, Reek of God, “Retrogarde Metal” (typo and all). Led by vocalist and guitarist “Borys Crossburn,” their sound is essentially early Celtic Frost if they were fronted by a guitar-wielding grizzly bear who had a bizarre penchant for the occasional Running Wild-style melody. I’ve had many a fun time cranking my stereo and greasing my ear canals to 2014’s Faith Extinguisher and 2019’s To No God Shall I Kneel, though I agree with El Cuervo that 2022’s Viperface sagged a bit in the hookiness department. After several years on Hells Headbangers Records, Mr. Crossburn and crew have now jumped ship to a new label, Dying Victims Productions, for Reek of God, their first album in four years.

Despite the shift, Barbarian seem to have lost none of their belligerence. The album’s intro, aptly titled “Warning,” is a reimagining of the intro of the same name from the 1993 Ice-T album Home Invasion, and it helpfully informs listeners that they are listening to a Barbarian LP before instructing them to take out the tape if they are offended by phrases like “may the Almighty choke on all my sins.” From there, the first proper track, “Maxima Culpa,” roars in with burly and unapologetic guitars, throttling drums, and Crossburn’s gruff roars. As before, the sound is regressive, pulling lovingly from speed metal, thrash, black metal, and even bits of classic heavy metal with its brief majestic leads. While not the most memorable cut, it’s clear this unwashed bunch still have plenty of piss and vinegar to offer. The follow-up, “Sledgehammer,” further beats this home, with its big chunky riffs and pummeling proclamation of the track title helping the song live up to its blunt moniker.

Sadly, as Reek of God continues, it starts to stink in ways that perhaps it didn’t intend. It soon becomes apparent that Viperface’s shortage of standout hooks seems to have continued on this album—only here, it’s more of an issue. Viperface still succeeded in spite of that hangup because the songs were well-developed and took interesting turns, even if not everything was the most memorable. Here, however, the band have shortened their average track length to around three minutes, and rather than use that abbreviated format to write tight, catchy bangers, the group instead almost always eschew notable refrains in favor of simply tossing together an assortment of decent, aggressive riffs they seem to have had lying around the practice room. The result feels like an album of brief speed metal vignettes that largely pass by without much note. The production only amplifies this issue, as it sounds like the guitars and vocals are fighting for space in the mix, with the guitars having a blaring tone that I don’t love.

Fortunately, there’s still some good here. The last proper track, “Retrogarde Metal” (yes, it’s actually spelled like that), finally does feature a fun shout-along refrain, and closing the album with the horror-synth instrumental “Crurifragium” was a cool touch. “Freak Magnet,” a cover of the all-female rock band L7, is also a solid cut that adds a bit of punky energy late in the runtime. I also enjoy some of the classic heavy metal licks that appear on “Cancer Cross,” though such ideas generally seem to be less prevalent on this album than on previous ones. Crossburn also delivers some nice attitude in his vocals, with at least one “UGH!” and a self-referential shoutout of “Tell them what’s up, Crossburn!” before a ripping solo.

Overall, though, it’s hard not to be a little disappointed here. By doubling down on their no-fucks-given attitude, Barbarian seems to have taken an even moar primitive and less refined approach, resulting in shorter songs that have plenty of energy but not as much that sticks to the ribs. In their best prior works, the band excelled at combining mighty riffs and melodic leads into wholly engaging compositions. Only time will tell if we’ll ever see them do that again.



Rating: 2.5/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Dying Victims Productions
Websites: linktr.ee/barbarianmetal | facebook.com/barbarianmetal
Releases Worldwide: January 23rd, 2026

Sometime in the 2010s, I started disliking music with too many flourishes and began seeking out stuff that was more stripped-down, unpolished, and primitive. At this time, Barbarian were the perfect find. Depending on the album, this Italian trio has referred to themselves as “Regressive Metal,” “Absolute Metal,” or, in the case of their sixth album, Reek of God, “Retrogarde Metal” (typo and all). Led by vocalist and guitarist “Borys Crossburn,” their sound is essentially early Celtic Frost if they were fronted by a guitar-wielding grizzly bear who had a bizarre penchant for the occasional Running Wild-style melody. I’ve had many a fun time cranking my stereo and greasing my ear canals to 2014’s Faith Extinguisher and 2019’s To No God Shall I Kneel, though I agree with El Cuervo that 2022’s Viperface sagged a bit in the hookiness department. After several years on Hells Headbangers Records, Mr. Crossburn and crew have now jumped ship to a new label, Dying Victims Productions, for Reek of God, their first album in four years.

Despite the shift, Barbarian seem to have lost none of their belligerence. The album’s intro, aptly titled “Warning,” is a reimagining of the intro of the same name from the 1993 Ice-T album Home Invasion, and it helpfully informs listeners that they are listening to a Barbarian LP before instructing them to take out the tape if they are offended by phrases like “may the Almighty choke on all my sins.” From there, the first proper track, “Maxima Culpa,” roars in with burly and unapologetic guitars, throttling drums, and Crossburn’s gruff roars. As before, the sound is regressive, pulling lovingly from speed metal, thrash, black metal, and even bits of classic heavy metal with its brief majestic leads. While not the most memorable cut, it’s clear this unwashed bunch still have plenty of piss and vinegar to offer. The follow-up, “Sledgehammer,” further beats this home, with its big chunky riffs and pummeling proclamation of the track title helping the song live up to its blunt moniker.

Sadly, as Reek of God continues, it starts to stink in ways that perhaps it didn’t intend. It soon becomes apparent that Viperface’s shortage of standout hooks seems to have continued on this album—only here, it’s more of an issue. Viperface still succeeded in spite of that hangup because the songs were well-developed and took interesting turns, even if not everything was the most memorable. Here, however, the band have shortened their average track length to around three minutes, and rather than use that abbreviated format to write tight, catchy bangers, the group instead almost always eschew notable refrains in favor of simply tossing together an assortment of decent, aggressive riffs they seem to have had lying around the practice room. The result feels like an album of brief speed metal vignettes that largely pass by without much note. The production only amplifies this issue, as it sounds like the guitars and vocals are fighting for space in the mix, with the guitars having a blaring tone that I don’t love.

Fortunately, there’s still some good here. The last proper track, “Retrogarde Metal” (yes, it’s actually spelled like that), finally does feature a fun shout-along refrain, and closing the album with the horror-synth instrumental “Crurifragium” was a cool touch. “Freak Magnet,” a cover of the all-female rock band L7, is also a solid cut that adds a bit of punky energy late in the runtime. I also enjoy some of the classic heavy metal licks that appear on “Cancer Cross,” though such ideas generally seem to be less prevalent on this album than on previous ones. Crossburn also delivers some nice attitude in his vocals, with at least one “UGH!” and a self-referential shoutout of “Tell them what’s up, Crossburn!” before a ripping solo.

Overall, though, it’s hard not to be a little disappointed here. By doubling down on their no-fucks-given attitude, Barbarian seems to have taken an even moar primitive and less refined approach, resulting in shorter songs that have plenty of energy but not as much that sticks to the ribs. In their best prior works, the band excelled at combining mighty riffs and melodic leads into wholly engaging compositions. Only time will tell if we’ll ever see them do that again.



Rating: 2.5/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Dying Victims Productions
Websites: linktr.ee/barbarianmetal | facebook.com/barbarianmetal
Releases Worldwide: January 23rd, 2026

Sometime in the 2010s, I started disliking music with too many flourishes and began seeking out stuff that was more stripped-down, unpolished, and primitive. At this time, Barbarian were the perfect find. Depending on the album, this Italian trio has referred to themselves as “Regressive Metal,” “Absolute Metal,” or, in the case of their sixth album, Reek of God, “Retrogarde Metal” (typo and all). Led by vocalist and guitarist “Borys Crossburn,” their sound is essentially early Celtic Frost if they were fronted by a guitar-wielding grizzly bear who had a bizarre penchant for the occasional Running Wild-style melody. I’ve had many a fun time cranking my stereo and greasing my ear canals to 2014’s Faith Extinguisher and 2019’s To No God Shall I Kneel, though I agree with El Cuervo that 2022’s Viperface sagged a bit in the hookiness department. After several years on Hells Headbangers Records, Mr. Crossburn and crew have now jumped ship to a new label, Dying Victims Productions, for Reek of God, their first album in four years.

Despite the shift, Barbarian seem to have lost none of their belligerence. The album’s intro, aptly titled “Warning,” is a reimagining of the intro of the same name from the 1993 Ice-T album Home Invasion, and it helpfully informs listeners that they are listening to a Barbarian LP before instructing them to take out the tape if they are offended by phrases like “may the Almighty choke on all my sins.” From there, the first proper track, “Maxima Culpa,” roars in with burly and unapologetic guitars, throttling drums, and Crossburn’s gruff roars. As before, the sound is regressive, pulling lovingly from speed metal, thrash, black metal, and even bits of classic heavy metal with its brief majestic leads. While not the most memorable cut, it’s clear this unwashed bunch still have plenty of piss and vinegar to offer. The follow-up, “Sledgehammer,” further beats this home, with its big chunky riffs and pummeling proclamation of the track title helping the song live up to its blunt moniker.

Sadly, as Reek of God continues, it starts to stink in ways that perhaps it didn’t intend. It soon becomes apparent that Viperface’s shortage of standout hooks seems to have continued on this album—only here, it’s more of an issue. Viperface still succeeded in spite of that hangup because the songs were well-developed and took interesting turns, even if not everything was the most memorable. Here, however, the band have shortened their average track length to around three minutes, and rather than use that abbreviated format to write tight, catchy bangers, the group instead almost always eschew notable refrains in favor of simply tossing together an assortment of decent, aggressive riffs they seem to have had lying around the practice room. The result feels like an album of brief speed metal vignettes that largely pass by without much note. The production only amplifies this issue, as it sounds like the guitars and vocals are fighting for space in the mix, with the guitars having a blaring tone that I don’t love.

Fortunately, there’s still some good here. The last proper track, “Retrogarde Metal” (yes, it’s actually spelled like that), finally does feature a fun shout-along refrain, and closing the album with the horror-synth instrumental “Crurifragium” was a cool touch. “Freak Magnet,” a cover of the all-female rock band L7, is also a solid cut that adds a bit of punky energy late in the runtime. I also enjoy some of the classic heavy metal licks that appear on “Cancer Cross,” though such ideas generally seem to be less prevalent on this album than on previous ones. Crossburn also delivers some nice attitude in his vocals, with at least one “UGH!” and a self-referential shoutout of “Tell them what’s up, Crossburn!” before a ripping solo.

Overall, though, it’s hard not to be a little disappointed here. By doubling down on their no-fucks-given attitude, Barbarian seems to have taken an even moar primitive and less refined approach, resulting in shorter songs that have plenty of energy but not as much that sticks to the ribs. In their best prior works, the band excelled at combining mighty riffs and melodic leads into wholly engaging compositions. Only time will tell if we’ll ever see them do that again.



Rating: 2.5/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Dying Victims Productions
Websites: linktr.ee/barbarianmetal | facebook.com/barbarianmetal
Releases Worldwide: January 23rd, 2026

Sometime in the 2010s, I started disliking music with too many flourishes and began seeking out stuff that was more stripped-down, unpolished, and primitive. At this time, Barbarian were the perfect find. Depending on the album, this Italian trio has referred to themselves as “Regressive Metal,” “Absolute Metal,” or, in the case of their sixth album, Reek of God, “Retrogarde Metal” (typo and all). Led by vocalist and guitarist “Borys Crossburn,” their sound is essentially early Celtic Frost if they were fronted by a guitar-wielding grizzly bear who had a bizarre penchant for the occasional Running Wild-style melody. I’ve had many a fun time cranking my stereo and greasing my ear canals to 2014’s Faith Extinguisher and 2019’s To No God Shall I Kneel, though I agree with El Cuervo that 2022’s Viperface sagged a bit in the hookiness department. After several years on Hells Headbangers Records, Mr. Crossburn and crew have now jumped ship to a new label, Dying Victims Productions, for Reek of God, their first album in four years.

Despite the shift, Barbarian seem to have lost none of their belligerence. The album’s intro, aptly titled “Warning,” is a reimagining of the intro of the same name from the 1993 Ice-T album Home Invasion, and it helpfully informs listeners that they are listening to a Barbarian LP before instructing them to take out the tape if they are offended by phrases like “may the Almighty choke on all my sins.” From there, the first proper track, “Maxima Culpa,” roars in with burly and unapologetic guitars, throttling drums, and Crossburn’s gruff roars. As before, the sound is regressive, pulling lovingly from speed metal, thrash, black metal, and even bits of classic heavy metal with its brief majestic leads. While not the most memorable cut, it’s clear this unwashed bunch still have plenty of piss and vinegar to offer. The follow-up, “Sledgehammer,” further beats this home, with its big chunky riffs and pummeling proclamation of the track title helping the song live up to its blunt moniker.

Sadly, as Reek of God continues, it starts to stink in ways that perhaps it didn’t intend. It soon becomes apparent that Viperface’s shortage of standout hooks seems to have continued on this album—only here, it’s more of an issue. Viperface still succeeded in spite of that hangup because the songs were well-developed and took interesting turns, even if not everything was the most memorable. Here, however, the band have shortened their average track length to around three minutes, and rather than use that abbreviated format to write tight, catchy bangers, the group instead almost always eschew notable refrains in favor of simply tossing together an assortment of decent, aggressive riffs they seem to have had lying around the practice room. The result feels like an album of brief speed metal vignettes that largely pass by without much note. The production only amplifies this issue, as it sounds like the guitars and vocals are fighting for space in the mix, with the guitars having a blaring tone that I don’t love.

Fortunately, there’s still some good here. The last proper track, “Retrogarde Metal” (yes, it’s actually spelled like that), finally does feature a fun shout-along refrain, and closing the album with the horror-synth instrumental “Crurifragium” was a cool touch. “Freak Magnet,” a cover of the all-female rock band L7, is also a solid cut that adds a bit of punky energy late in the runtime. I also enjoy some of the classic heavy metal licks that appear on “Cancer Cross,” though such ideas generally seem to be less prevalent on this album than on previous ones. Crossburn also delivers some nice attitude in his vocals, with at least one “UGH!” and a self-referential shoutout of “Tell them what’s up, Crossburn!” before a ripping solo.

Overall, though, it’s hard not to be a little disappointed here. By doubling down on their no-fucks-given attitude, Barbarian seems to have taken an even moar primitive and less refined approach, resulting in shorter songs that have plenty of energy but not as much that sticks to the ribs. In their best prior works, the band excelled at combining mighty riffs and melodic leads into wholly engaging compositions. Only time will tell if we’ll ever see them do that again.



Rating: 2.5/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Dying Victims Productions
Websites: linktr.ee/barbarianmetal | facebook.com/barbarianmetal
Releases Worldwide: January 23rd, 2026

3/ #eindhovenmetalmeeting day two ended for us with the Swiss giants of #triptykon delivering a selection of newer tunes and #CelticFrost classics to everyone’s delight, and on the second stage, #sinister who made a rare appearance in their native land. Long live EMM!

3/ #eindhovenmetalmeeting day two ended for us with the Swiss giants of #triptykon delivering a selection of newer tunes and #CelticFrost classics to everyone’s delight, and on the second stage, #sinister who made a rare appearance in their native land. Long live EMM!

3/ #eindhovenmetalmeeting day two ended for us with the Swiss giants of #triptykon delivering a selection of newer tunes and #CelticFrost classics to everyone’s delight, and on the second stage, #sinister who made a rare appearance in their native land. Long live EMM!

Ugh! Wir hatten im #BLECHPodcast Tom G. Warrior (#Hellhammer, #CelticFrost, #Triptykon) zu Gast und sprachen über die Anfänge extremer Musik. Neue Folge: https://www.metal1.info/podcast/blech-folge-52-wie-wurde-der-metal-extrem-mit-tom-g-warrior/

Ugh! Wir hatten im #BLECHPodcast Tom G. Warrior (#Hellhammer, #CelticFrost, #Triptykon) zu Gast und sprachen über die Anfänge extremer Musik. Neue Folge: https://www.metal1.info/podcast/blech-folge-52-wie-wurde-der-metal-extrem-mit-tom-g-warrior/

Ugh! Wir hatten im #BLECHPodcast Tom G. Warrior (#Hellhammer, #CelticFrost, #Triptykon) zu Gast und sprachen über die Anfänge extremer Musik. Neue Folge: https://www.metal1.info/podcast/blech-folge-52-wie-wurde-der-metal-extrem-mit-tom-g-warrior/

Ugh! Wir hatten im #BLECHPodcast Tom G. Warrior (#Hellhammer, #CelticFrost, #Triptykon) zu Gast und sprachen über die Anfänge extremer Musik. Neue Folge: https://www.metal1.info/podcast/blech-folge-52-wie-wurde-der-metal-extrem-mit-tom-g-warrior/

Celtic Frost, el imperio de la gran bestia | vía #SonidosOcultos

https://www.sonidosocultos.com/reportajes/celtic-frost-el-imperio-de-la-gran-bestia/

#blackmetal #celticfrost #chile #chileterrorfest #elimperiodelagranbestia #metal #perfilesso #reportajeso #t2025 #teatrocaupolicán

Celtic Frost, el imperio de la gran bestia | vía #SonidosOcultos

https://www.sonidosocultos.com/reportajes/celtic-frost-el-imperio-de-la-gran-bestia/

#blackmetal #celticfrost #chile #chileterrorfest #elimperiodelagranbestia #metal #perfilesso #reportajeso #t2025 #teatrocaupolicán

Celtic Frost unveil ‘Morbid Tales’ fine art collection, selling ‘Morbid Tales’ sculptures for $1,800

Celtic Frost are the focus of a new fine art and jewelry collection curated and approved by Tom…
#NewsBeep #News #US #USA #UnitedStates #UnitedStatesOfAmerica #Music #CelticFrost #Entertainment #hardcore #Lambgoat #Metal
https://www.newsbeep.com/us/298534/

Celtic Frost unveil ‘Morbid Tales’ fine art collection, selling ‘Morbid Tales’ sculptures for $1,800

Celtic Frost are the focus of a new fine art and jewelry collection curated and approved by Tom…
#NewsBeep #News #US #USA #UnitedStates #UnitedStatesOfAmerica #Music #CelticFrost #Entertainment #hardcore #Lambgoat #Metal
https://www.newsbeep.com/us/298534/

Terror Corpse – Ash Eclipses Flesh Review

By Saunders

Already boasting a killer debut EP to their name in 2025, courtesy of the sick, old school deathgrind mayhem comprising Systems of Apocalypse, Texan wrecking crew Terror Corpse hit the ground running in their short time together. The newly minted outfit come seasoned with underground cred, featuring members that have logged time in the likes of Malignant Altar, Oceans of Slumber, Necrofier and Insect Warfare. Recording the EP as a five-piece, debut full-length Ash Eclipses Flesh finds Terror Corpse stripping back to a trio and shifting tact musically. While remnants of the heavily grind-influenced charge of Systems of Apocalypse remains intact, Terror Corpse mine the fetid soil of vintage death metal, citing the likes of Celtic Frost, Incantation and pre-2000s Morbid Angel as key influences. Throw in shades of Immolation, Terrorizer, early Carcass and Exhumed, and you have a recipe for a good old-fashioned beatdown. However, don’t be fooled into thinking Terror Corpse is a run-of-the-mill act riding the decaying coattails of legacy acts of the past. Ash Eclipses Flesh respects the past, while paving its own twisted path through grisly killing fields and dank caverns of grotesqueries.

Terror Corpse merge old timey underground aesthetics with a vital injection of their own character and modern appeal. Presenting a grimy and wickedly brutal collection of grind-encrusted old-school death, Terror Corpse both encompasses and deviates from the deathgrind formula of the EP, pivoting into deathlier, guttural realms. Any disappointment of the sound shift is swiftly bludgeoned on opening track “Pyre of Ash and Bone.” The song makes a hellish statement, hammering down violent, riffy death marches through menacing atmospheres, as uber low guttural vox, squealing leads, and livewire drumming seal the deal. Dobber Beverly again cements his status as a cult legend in extreme metal drumming. Also handling guitar duties with main vocalist Mat V, the duo reinforces the album’s retro, brutish charms, primitive clubbings, and ominous atmosphere with a vital collection of top-shelf riffs, mangled leads, and headbangable delights.

Ash Eclipses Flesh revels in shifting gears from dense, noisy chaos and relentless blasts to knuckle-dragging grooves, and monstrous, caverncore-esque swarms, Terror Corpse also incorporate infectious bursts of thrashy death and gnarled, punkish grind into the fray. After a solid, respectable beginning, Ash Eclipses Flesh really hits stride on third cut “Womb of the Hollow Earth,” and it’s a ripping, high-potency ride from here on in. Elsewhere, they delve into death-doom slogs, inflicted upon the devastating “Fallout Obliteration,” and punishing mid-section on the lurching, vicious stomp of “Sons of Perdition.” Refusing to neglect their classic grindcore and splattery deathgrind roots, Terror Corpse bring the filth and dual vox, including shrieky highs, to the thrashing intensity of “Nuclear Winter.” Meanwhile, the tremendous “The Hollow That Devours” intersperses cavernous double bass rumbles and thrashy bursts with immense mid-paced chuggery and thick, insidious grooves.

Versatile tinkering of their songwriting formula ensures the songs chart diverse territories, while remaining uncompromisingly brutal and wickedly infectious. Even the closing cover of Celtic Frost’s “Into the Crypts of Rays” doesn’t feel wasteful or tacked on. Terror Corpse inject the song’s anthemic, punky edge with their own beefed-up deathgrind spark. Beverly’s energetic, nuanced drumming proves essential as the album’s beating heart, driving the fluctuating pulse rate and need for speed, slick tempo shifts, and rambunctious, sewage-coated grooves. The power of the riff compels, not through technical wizardry, but courtesy of a firm understanding of the genre’s classic origins and grimy, atmospheric underpinnings. Infectious and rancidly beefy riffs, wildly unhinged leads, and sinister melodic currents define the excellent axework. There are no glaring flaws or major drawbacks preventing a strong recommendation. Perhaps you could argue Terror Corpse aren’t doing anything especially new or innovative, while the dominant, incomprehensible gutturals might be a tough sell for some listeners.

Twenty-twenty-five has delivered diverse treats across the metalverse, including top-notch death metal releases of varied persuasions within the genre. Ash Eclipses Flesh is another not to be missed. What they lack in bells, whistles, techy flair or innovation, Terror Corpse more than compensate through their authentic and fresh spin on a vintage sound. A tightly performed, superbly produced, and invigorating slab of riffy old school death, armed with gnarled deathgrind and grisly brutal death ammunition, Ash Eclipses Flesh is a surefire corker and end-of-year list disruptor.

Rating: 4.0/5.0
DR: 9 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Dark Descent Records
Websites: Facebook | Bandcamp
Releases Worldwide: November 21st, 2025

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