#complexant — Public Fediverse posts

Tasmania—outside of their famous adorable screaming murder marsupials, I know basically nothing about the island. Recently, though, Tasmania’s The Absolution Sequence seized and held my attention with everything surrounding their debut record, Dread Cycle.1 Sublime cover art by Tasmanian artist Shaun Hyatt. Technical death metal that, according to promo, “balances high-velocity musical prowess with a deeply immersive, atmospheric undertone.” But what’s this? Three guitarists? Two drummers?!2 Is there any hope of hearing a bass guitar on this thing? How big is Dread Cycle really, and are The Absolution Sequence bad enough dudes to hold it all down? I had to know.

To address The Absolution Sequence’s qualifying trait as a tech-death band, I’ll start by stating that Dread Cycle is quite the technical feat. TAS’ three-pronged guitar attack of Stephen Cusato and Steven Mason on rhythm and Luke Tucker on lead deliver all the pressure-cooked heck you’d expect of the sub-genre, spinning busy, knotted riffs that strike and pop at odd times and angles. Hear the gnarly riffage on “This Sordid Miasma” and “Promethean Pilferage” and just soak it in. Rhythmically, drummers Nick Machin and Luke Sanderson deliver mechanically precise blasts and occasional Meshuggah kick-jank (“Ghost Mantra”) while—yes—Alastair Boon’s bass features prominently in arpeggiated leads [“Despotic Ruin (Diet of Worms)”] and popping and plucking beneath the riffs (“Diary of the Emaciated”). These dudes have chops for days, but somehow Dread Cycle is surprisingly reserved. Don’t expect Archspire-scaled showy excess with The Absolution Sequence, as Dread Cycle is the kind of layered technical showcase that’s more than happy to sneak up on you at times.

What sticks out foremost about Dread Cycle is how atmospheric and big it sounds. The Absolution Sequence regularly build these tidal waves of dissonant, discordant chords that make for eerie, cataclysmic atmospheres. Tracks like “The Nightlight Sigil” and “A Mire Caked Nativity,” even amidst it’s deeply frenetic playing, absolutely ooze dense, dreary mood. These movements of cavernous density stand in nice contrast to the typical tech-death chops heard elsewhere, offering cuts like “Despotic Ruin (Diet of Worms)” greater dynamism and balancing out “Idols of Confraternity”‘s wicked fast runs and bludgeoning chugs with simpler, harmonically rich parts. It keeps the audience from growing desensitized to the chaos, as is oft to happen in tech-death. The Absolution Sequence simply sound more focused than a lot of their peers, and with that focus comes weight. Dread Cycle doesn’t blow your mind through exceptional virtuosity but clobbers you with the enormity of its compositions.

But never does The Absolution Sequence’s technical ambitions or atmospheric inclinations ever detract from Dread Cycle’s serious bite. Delivering a varied and hostile vox attack, lead vocalist Shawn Wells drives TAS onto a warpath. Through confrontational and nasty growls on “Grinding the Sphere,” pissed-off Archspire speed spitting on “Diary of the Emaciated,” and downright (Tasmanian) devilish rasps on “Idols of Confraternity,” Wells spells out Dread Cycle’s ill-will in explicit terms. The rest of TAS match that vitriol. Their three guitarists are a restless unit, constantly finding new ways to layer airy leads over feverish riff-craft while the drumming on Dread Cycle never sacrifices punch for flair. This is tech-death of a distinctly modern bent, for sure, but there’s a timeless, plain deathly meanness to Dread Cycle that makes it cathartically heavy as well as dazzingly impressive to behold.

Dread Cycle is a true cyclone of aggression, but far more cogent and less slobbery than the one Tasmania is better known for. The Absolution Sequence found a distinct and deeply enjoyable brand of tech-death that stands out even in a crowded year for the sub-genre. It’s the kind of record that’s just hard to find negative things to say about, and one that has steadily grown on me over the time I’ve spent with it. Check out Dread Cycle if you like your shadowed treks through miasmatic realms of death thoroughly buckwild as well. You know I do.

Rating: Great
DR: 5 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps MP3
Labels: Bleeding Art Collective and Blood Blast Distribution
Websites: theabsolutionsequence.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/theabsolutionsequence
Releases Worldwide: August 18th, 2026

Some bands just know what they’re about right away. Australia’s blackened death metal band Complexant poise themselves as a rising star in the continent/country/island’s extreme metal ecosystem, storming the scene with “a sound defined by weight, darkness, and unrelenting intensity.” There’s little fanfare to Complexant’s promo around their debut full-length Apex: in so many words, they merely promise to kick as much ass as they can fit in a thirty-four-minute session. They’ve tormented their home country since 2022, but Apex aims to make Complexant a global menace. But can Apex raise Complexant to the cream of the blackened death crop?

That Apex is a debut isn’t too shocking. Complexant play a dense, modern-sounding brand of brutal death metal dusted with black metal vitriol and (slight) deathcore stank. Think Cordyceps—restless riffing, crushed production, murderous intent, etcetera—but with more human-sounding vocals and a willingness to let their boots off your neck from time to time. Apex is heavy, raw, and blunt, but Complexant’s greenness shows in some undercooked ideas and seriously ham-fisted moments. Clean vocals worm their way onto “No Angels Weep” and “Afterlife,” which aren’t nearly as vital as vocalist Dan Greigsy’s screams and tack on an unwanted Stone Sour butt rockiness to the latter track’s ending. Endings are another issue. Although it’s worth celebrating Complexant’s realization of the power of editing, “Heretical Supremacy” and “Critical Mass” both end before they’ve hit their stride. Add some clumsy lyricism—”Cyclops, you only see through one perspective.” (“Cyclops”), “My head is at critical mass. One more thought and my cranium will surely collapse.” (“Critical Mass”)—and Apex’s rawness sometimes doesn’t work to Complexant’s benefit.

But more often than not, Complexant uses Apex’s bluntness as a proper instrument of devastation. Under the oppressive fury of drummer Seb Su’s blast beats, guitarists Shannon Zivkovic and Gavin Bradley and bassist Chris Tuckley churn out seething, brutish riffs one after the other, underpinning Greigsy’s incensed performance across Apex. Songs like “Swing Myself to Sleep” and “Eye for an Eye” attack with a balanced approach of imposing, dissonant blackened chords and neanderthal death chugs, the former deploying some fucked up noodling bits in the bridge and the latter ending in seriously caustic heaviness. Complexant’s mix highlights Su’s drums, who complements the guitars with a similarly dynamic balance of concussive speed (“No Angels Weep,” “Apex”) and groove (“No Hope for Sanctuary,” “Eye for an Eye”) while littering just enough fills across Apex for good measure. Finally, Complexant utilize breakdowns conservatively and effectively to punctuate dramatic moments in their songs (“Swing Myself to Sleep,” “Cyclops”) rather than writing everything tailored to the breakdown. Apex is a thematically uncompromising record, and thus benefits from the unsophisticated sound Complexant bestows it.

Not to be cruel, but Apex sounds best to these ears when Complexant sound just miserable. Apex features some truly harrowing and uncomfortable lyrics, and these moments usually encompass Complexant’s best material. From the suicidal ideation of “Swing Myself to Sleep,” to the vengeful murder fantasies of “Eye for an Eye,” to the proclamations against life itself on “Afterlife,” Complexant don’t endear themselves to you with their sunny dispositions. When Greigsy screams, “Eye for an eye when you take a man’s life. You brought a weapon, a weapon to a fist fight,” (“Eye for an Eye”), you best believe the instrumentals rise to meet his vitriol. At times Apex reminds me of Whitechapel’s The Valley in both sound and in barefaced confessional lyricism, reaching its emotional zenith on closer and album highlight “No Hope for Sanctuary.” Relaying the speaker’s childhood home life, his early claim of how he “was raised by fucking vandals” is bolstered by scenes of harrowing domestic violence and abuse, offering up an apt metaphor of being trapped under debris for the unstable environment he came up in. Apex doesn’t reach greatness as a whole, but in these uncompromisingly bleak moments Complexant reach the mark.

I had a good time having a bad time with Apex. Proving further that everything from Australia wants to kill you, Complexant can bring the hurt with the best of them, and Apex is a more than adequate exercise in hostility. Even where songwriting faltered, Apex is still enjoyable through the simple joy of the disgusting riff. Now, if Complexant hone their songwriting further by the time they’re ready for album number two, we’ll have something truly worth watching. If for our own safety, at the least.

Rating: Good!
DR: 4 | Format Reviewed: ???1
Labels: Bleeding Art Collective and Blood Blast Distribution
Websites: complexant.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/complexantband
Releases Worldwide: July 31, 2026