#debemur-morti-productions — Public Fediverse posts

Rain has started to leak into the ducts as Spring gets wetter and wetter. While I’m away, vacationing in a nice, dry, cloudy place, my minions are drenched and miserable. As it should be! But I’m still keeping tabs on their progress. Just because I’m having a great time somewhere else doesn’t mean these louts don’t have a quota to meet!

And meet their quota they shall, if only barely… BEHOLD!

ClarkKent’s Sci-Fi Soundbites

Epigram // Obsolescent [March 6th, 2026 – Self Released]

Combining the melodic black metal of Thulcandra and Dissection with the symphonics of Fleshgod Apocalypse and SepticFlesh, Epigram dropped a tasty little morsel with their debut, Obsolescent. The trio from Los Angeles puts on a spirited performance that borders on thrash. Tim Cauley’s display on the kit is a dominant force as he furiously blast beats his way from one song to the next. He turns “Wrath of Betrayed” into a piece of blackened thrash and proves tireless across Obsolescent’s 27-minute runtime. The lively vocal performance of Luis Echevarria adds further to Epigram’s charm. His low growls may seem underpowered, but his delivery is energetic and fun. He’s also the source of the symphonic instrumentation, via synths, though this aspect is secondary. Sure, there’s some choral chants (“Myrmidon,” “The Usurper’s Throne”), strings (“Hour of Gods”), and other vaguely symphonic sounds, but Epigram is most focused on the blackened melodic stuff. Shadi Absi throws together some great riffs, particularly on “Empires,” a work of pure black ‘n roll. The showstopper is “Hour of Gods,” with some sweet riffs and terrific energy. This song alone makes Obsolescent a worthy spin. Rounding out the musicians is Sanjay Kumar (Inferi, Wormhole), who plays solos on “Wrath of Betrayed” and “No Sin.” This is a promising debut for an eager new band.

Kal-El // Astral Voyager Vol. 2 [March 20th, 2026 – Blues Funeral Recordings]

Sporting the greatest band name of all time, Kal-El have been blasting listeners with stoner doom since 2012. Astral Voyager Vol. 2 is the follow-up to last year’s Vol. 1, and these pyschedelians’s seventh album overall. It’s been seven years since Witches of Mars was unfairly pummeled by a Kryptonian frog, and now I’d like to do the band justice by rescuing them from our filter. On this astral voyage, you get the pleasure of listening to six songs and 42 minutes of laid-back stoner tunes with plenty of fuzzy riffs—perfect for cruising around the cosmos. Their riff-centric approach puts them in the Black Sabbath camp, and the riffs on the likes of “Juno” and “The Prophecy,” which has a “Children of the Grave” vibe, are tons of fun. Further cementing the Sabbath comp is the vocal performance of Ståle Rodvelt, who carries a resemblance to Ozzy in his delivery. Longer cuts take more exploratory routes, akin to Sleep, yet still feature plenty to get your head bobbin’. “Asteroid” opens up with some sweet riffs that sustain its near eight-minute frame, while “The Nine” will still have you singing along in the final of its ten minutes. 1 So if you are in the mood for something chill that won’t put you to sleep, something that has the riffs without the risk of elevating your blood pressure, you should spend some time with Kal-El.

Thus Spoke’s Tectonic Treat

Bong-Ra // Esoterik [March 20th, 2026 – Debemur Morti Productions]

Not having received promo, it was only upon visiting DM’s Bandcamp page while writing up Aversio Humanitatis that I realised Bong-Ra had released another album. Asked whether Esoterik would be leaning more into enigmatic doom or spiky industrial electronica, the shapeshifting Bong-Ra said “yes”. The music is built on layers of dense, gritty atmosphere undulating with bass, breakbeats, and distorted riffs. Vocals are maintained from Black Noise—half-spoken snarls blurred by noise, shifting between blunt tunefulness (“Serpentine Helix”) and gargling venom (“Machine Halo”)—but at least half of the space is devoted to the purely instrumental psychosis. The saxophone is back, adding bizarre elegance and chilling eeriness in equal measure. Sometimes, Esoterik seems to be pitting its sultry and acerbic natures against one another; that chamber jazz side can take one by surprise (“Pleasures of the Flesh,” “Duality of One”), sandwiched as it is between a more punishing industrialism, but Bong-Ra just about gets away with it. This could be down to Esoterik’s efficiency in establishing (new) grooves—rhythmic and stylistic. Opener “Harmony Cloak” dispels misgivings on its skittering electronic oddity with a chorus that strikes a stylish balance between melody and dissonance; “Machine Halo” later follows in its stride. It’s an album that earns its moniker, right down to the particular spelling, and is worth the dark diversion it requires.

Grin Reaper’s Kooky Curios

Surturian // II – Hessian Spears [March 13th, 2026 – Crawling Chaos]

A German thrash band named after the legendary fire giant and guardian of Muspelheim? And on their debut LP, they launch an unrelenting, venomous assault filled with sticky riffs and bopping bass grooves in under forty-five minutes? Sign me up! Surturian plays thrash that smacks of early Testament and Metallica fused with the epic melodies of latter-day Kreator—hell, vocalist Tim Krogull reeks of Mille’s rancorous vocals, even though his name hews closer to a Voivodian disposition. In addition to thrash influences, Surturian calls upon Maiden’s signature gallops (“Cimmerians Wrath”) and anthemic melodies (“⁠Night Stalker,” “Do What Thou Wilt”), inculcating a lofty grandeur throughout II – Hessian Spears. Further fanning Surturian’s flames, the outfit navigates a varied landscape that imbues each track with its own character while never straying too far from their core sound. Hard-hitting offensives (“Blood Witchery”), slinky licks (“Night Stalker”), and oddball songwriting (“Beneath a Dying Sky”2) unite into an album I’ve regularly returned to since discovering it. If you’re feeling unSurtain, take it from me—it’s always a good time for some Hessian aggression!

Barn // Crucibles [March 24th, 2026 – Self Released]

Thanks to a certain dude/guy in the comments section, Crucibles didn’t slip past me undetected. Despite their dubious band name, Barn dropped a humdinger slab of tech death back in March that oozes with references to Unquestionable Presence (Atheist), Focus (Cynic), and, to a lesser extent, Decrepit Birth.3 There are even moments that echo more subdued moments from recent Sallow Moth releases (“The Serpent’s Perpetual Shed”). Staccato bursts of guitar, pinch harmonics, and buttery, fretless bass glissandos epitomize what Barn offers, and they spread it thick and chunky all over Crucibles’ sixty-five-minute runtime. Rustic name notwithstanding, Barn’s latest sounds like a sci-fi adventure, supported by track names like “Black Hole Lens” and “Cymatics.” The fretless bass especially helps with the futuristic aesthetic, frictionlessly gliding through gusts of abrupt, otherworldly guitars that buffet tracks from all angles. Barn rarely offers reprieve during their unconventional onslaught, but tracks like “Forbidden Fruits,” “Cymatics,” and “The Defeater” achieve such heights that I don’t find myself needing one. In short, these Boise boys warp listeners to a different dimension on Crucibles, and though it runs a tad long, I haven’t been deterred yet from lighting up this Barnburner.

Dionysiaque // La Tourbe des Rêves [March 27th, 2026 – I, Voidhanger Records]

Dionysiaque dispenses a bizarre derivative of doom on La Tourbe des Rêves that’s sure to be equal parts captivating and divisive. Reaching into the bag of tricks defined by Cathedral, Black Sabbath, and Candlemass, Dionysiaque’s sophomore album lumbers and chugs with classic rock-inspired leads and firecracker songcraft that I find utterly enthralling. Songs like “Aaron,” “Hate Fruit,” and “The Two Headed Boy” spotlight Dionysiaque’s plaintive guitar wails, contributed by L.B. and Bruno Penserini, along with their savvy balance of somber atmospheres and rousing melodies. Buoying the guitar tandem, bassist Lethal lays down frolicking, fabulous thunder via absorbing countermelodies while drummer T.H. looses potent fills and rolls throughout. Soaring atop the instrumentation are N.C.’s unorthodox vocals, which will almost certainly be the sole determining factor in listeners’ ability to engage with La Tourbe des Rêves. His delivery recalls that of Mayhem’s Attila Csihar at his most operatically deranged, never lacking conviction yet occasionally overpowering and ostentatious. Still, I appreciate and enjoy the commitment to the unhinged performance, and although dialing it back a little would make Dionysiaque’s latest more accessible, I’ve come to love La Tourbe des Rêves without apology. So don’t be afraid to let a little love into your heart—go get debauched with Dionysiaque’s aphrodisiac.

Creeping Ivy’s Pandemonic Pleasure

Mammon’s Throne // My Body to the Worms [March 13th, 2026 – Hammerheart Records]

In advising his fellow fallen angels—recently expelled from Heaven—to turn Hell into a competing kingdom, Mammon projects that All Demons will ‘work ease out of pain / Through labor and endurance.’4 Satan doesn’t heed this advice, but the third LP from Mammon’s Throne arguably does. On My Body to the Worms, this Australian five-piece inflicts pleasurable pain upon metaldom via five filthy slabs of sludgy death-doom (plus two instrumental reprieves). Mammon’s Throne conjure Hooded Menace, Temple of Void, and (old) Worm in their proclivity for plodding tempos, swampy riffs, and gravely howls (“Elixir”). The album is also a labor of love for classic (death-) doom à la Paradise Lost and My Dying Bride, mixing gothy croons, ascendant melodicism, and haunting piano into the band’s sinister stew (“Every Day More Sickened,” “At the Threshold of Eternity”). Though the listener does need some endurance, as three of the five non-instrumentals hover in the 8–9 minute range, the record flows fluidly across an easy 42 minutes. If you ever wondered what metal in league with Mammon might sound like, give My Body to the Worms a spin.

Rain has started to leak into the ducts as Spring gets wetter and wetter. While I’m away, vacationing in a nice, dry, cloudy place, my minions are drenched and miserable. As it should be! But I’m still keeping tabs on their progress. Just because I’m having a great time somewhere else doesn’t mean these louts don’t have a quota to meet!

And meet their quota they shall, if only barely… BEHOLD!

ClarkKent’s Sci-Fi Soundbites

Epigram // Obsolescent [March 6th, 2026 – Self Released]

Combining the melodic black metal of Thulcandra and Dissection with the symphonics of Fleshgod Apocalypse and SepticFlesh, Epigram dropped a tasty little morsel with their debut, Obsolescent. The trio from Los Angeles puts on a spirited performance that borders on thrash. Tim Cauley’s display on the kit is a dominant force as he furiously blast beats his way from one song to the next. He turns “Wrath of Betrayed” into a piece of blackened thrash and proves tireless across Obsolescent’s 27-minute runtime. The lively vocal performance of Luis Echevarria adds further to Epigram’s charm. His low growls may seem underpowered, but his delivery is energetic and fun. He’s also the source of the symphonic instrumentation, via synths, though this aspect is secondary. Sure, there’s some choral chants (“Myrmidon,” “The Usurper’s Throne”), strings (“Hour of Gods”), and other vaguely symphonic sounds, but Epigram is most focused on the blackened melodic stuff. Shadi Absi throws together some great riffs, particularly on “Empires,” a work of pure black ‘n roll. The showstopper is “Hour of Gods,” with some sweet riffs and terrific energy. This song alone makes Obsolescent a worthy spin. Rounding out the musicians is Sanjay Kumar (Inferi, Wormhole), who plays solos on “Wrath of Betrayed” and “No Sin.” This is a promising debut for an eager new band.

Kal-El // Astral Voyager Vol. 2 [March 20th, 2026 – Blues Funeral Recordings]

Sporting the greatest band name of all time, Kal-El have been blasting listeners with stoner doom since 2012. Astral Voyager Vol. 2 is the follow-up to last year’s Vol. 1, and these pyschedelians’s seventh album overall. It’s been seven years since Witches of Mars was unfairly pummeled by a Kryptonian frog, and now I’d like to do the band justice by rescuing them from our filter. On this astral voyage, you get the pleasure of listening to six songs and 42 minutes of laid-back stoner tunes with plenty of fuzzy riffs—perfect for cruising around the cosmos. Their riff-centric approach puts them in the Black Sabbath camp, and the riffs on the likes of “Juno” and “The Prophecy,” which has a “Children of the Grave” vibe, are tons of fun. Further cementing the Sabbath comp is the vocal performance of Ståle Rodvelt, who carries a resemblance to Ozzy in his delivery. Longer cuts take more exploratory routes, akin to Sleep, yet still feature plenty to get your head bobbin’. “Asteroid” opens up with some sweet riffs that sustain its near eight-minute frame, while “The Nine” will still have you singing along in the final of its ten minutes. 1 So if you are in the mood for something chill that won’t put you to sleep, something that has the riffs without the risk of elevating your blood pressure, you should spend some time with Kal-El.

Thus Spoke’s Tectonic Treat

Bong-Ra // Esoterik [March 20th, 2026 – Debemur Morti Productions]

Not having received promo, it was only upon visiting DM’s Bandcamp page while writing up Aversio Humanitatis that I realised Bong-Ra had released another album. Asked whether Esoterik would be leaning more into enigmatic doom or spiky industrial electronica, the shapeshifting Bong-Ra said “yes”. The music is built on layers of dense, gritty atmosphere undulating with bass, breakbeats, and distorted riffs. Vocals are maintained from Black Noise—half-spoken snarls blurred by noise, shifting between blunt tunefulness (“Serpentine Helix”) and gargling venom (“Machine Halo”)—but at least half of the space is devoted to the purely instrumental psychosis. The saxophone is back, adding bizarre elegance and chilling eeriness in equal measure. Sometimes, Esoterik seems to be pitting its sultry and acerbic natures against one another; that chamber jazz side can take one by surprise (“Pleasures of the Flesh,” “Duality of One”), sandwiched as it is between a more punishing industrialism, but Bong-Ra just about gets away with it. This could be down to Esoterik’s efficiency in establishing (new) grooves—rhythmic and stylistic. Opener “Harmony Cloak” dispels misgivings on its skittering electronic oddity with a chorus that strikes a stylish balance between melody and dissonance; “Machine Halo” later follows in its stride. It’s an album that earns its moniker, right down to the particular spelling, and is worth the dark diversion it requires.

Grin Reaper’s Kooky Curios

Surturian // II – Hessian Spears [March 13th, 2026 – Crawling Chaos]

A German thrash band named after the legendary fire giant and guardian of Muspelheim? And on their debut LP, they launch an unrelenting, venomous assault filled with sticky riffs and bopping bass grooves in under forty-five minutes? Sign me up! Surturian plays thrash that smacks of early Testament and Metallica fused with the epic melodies of latter-day Kreator—hell, vocalist Tim Krogull reeks of Mille’s rancorous vocals, even though his name hews closer to a Voivodian disposition. In addition to thrash influences, Surturian calls upon Maiden’s signature gallops (“Cimmerians Wrath”) and anthemic melodies (“⁠Night Stalker,” “Do What Thou Wilt”), inculcating a lofty grandeur throughout II – Hessian Spears. Further fanning Surturian’s flames, the outfit navigates a varied landscape that imbues each track with its own character while never straying too far from their core sound. Hard-hitting offensives (“Blood Witchery”), slinky licks (“Night Stalker”), and oddball songwriting (“Beneath a Dying Sky”2) unite into an album I’ve regularly returned to since discovering it. If you’re feeling unSurtain, take it from me—it’s always a good time for some Hessian aggression!

Barn // Crucibles [March 24th, 2026 – Self Released]

Thanks to a certain dude/guy in the comments section, Crucibles didn’t slip past me undetected. Despite their dubious band name, Barn dropped a humdinger slab of tech death back in March that oozes with references to Unquestionable Presence (Atheist), Focus (Cynic), and, to a lesser extent, Decrepit Birth.3 There are even moments that echo more subdued moments from recent Sallow Moth releases (“The Serpent’s Perpetual Shed”). Staccato bursts of guitar, pinch harmonics, and buttery, fretless bass glissandos epitomize what Barn offers, and they spread it thick and chunky all over Crucibles’ sixty-five-minute runtime. Rustic name notwithstanding, Barn’s latest sounds like a sci-fi adventure, supported by track names like “Black Hole Lens” and “Cymatics.” The fretless bass especially helps with the futuristic aesthetic, frictionlessly gliding through gusts of abrupt, otherworldly guitars that buffet tracks from all angles. Barn rarely offers reprieve during their unconventional onslaught, but tracks like “Forbidden Fruits,” “Cymatics,” and “The Defeater” achieve such heights that I don’t find myself needing one. In short, these Boise boys warp listeners to a different dimension on Crucibles, and though it runs a tad long, I haven’t been deterred yet from lighting up this Barnburner.

Dionysiaque // La Tourbe des Rêves [March 27th, 2026 – I, Voidhanger Records]

Dionysiaque dispenses a bizarre derivative of doom on La Tourbe des Rêves that’s sure to be equal parts captivating and divisive. Reaching into the bag of tricks defined by Cathedral, Black Sabbath, and Candlemass, Dionysiaque’s sophomore album lumbers and chugs with classic rock-inspired leads and firecracker songcraft that I find utterly enthralling. Songs like “Aaron,” “Hate Fruit,” and “The Two Headed Boy” spotlight Dionysiaque’s plaintive guitar wails, contributed by L.B. and Bruno Penserini, along with their savvy balance of somber atmospheres and rousing melodies. Buoying the guitar tandem, bassist Lethal lays down frolicking, fabulous thunder via absorbing countermelodies while drummer T.H. looses potent fills and rolls throughout. Soaring atop the instrumentation are N.C.’s unorthodox vocals, which will almost certainly be the sole determining factor in listeners’ ability to engage with La Tourbe des Rêves. His delivery recalls that of Mayhem’s Attila Csihar at his most operatically deranged, never lacking conviction yet occasionally overpowering and ostentatious. Still, I appreciate and enjoy the commitment to the unhinged performance, and although dialing it back a little would make Dionysiaque’s latest more accessible, I’ve come to love La Tourbe des Rêves without apology. So don’t be afraid to let a little love into your heart—go get debauched with Dionysiaque’s aphrodisiac.

Creeping Ivy’s Pandemonic Pleasure

Mammon’s Throne // My Body to the Worms [March 13th, 2026 – Hammerheart Records]

In advising his fellow fallen angels—recently expelled from Heaven—to turn Hell into a competing kingdom, Mammon projects that All Demons will ‘work ease out of pain / Through labor and endurance.’4 Satan doesn’t heed this advice, but the third LP from Mammon’s Throne arguably does. On My Body to the Worms, this Australian five-piece inflicts pleasurable pain upon metaldom via five filthy slabs of sludgy death-doom (plus two instrumental reprieves). Mammon’s Throne conjure Hooded Menace, Temple of Void, and (old) Worm in their proclivity for plodding tempos, swampy riffs, and gravely howls (“Elixir”). The album is also a labor of love for classic (death-) doom à la Paradise Lost and My Dying Bride, mixing gothy croons, ascendant melodicism, and haunting piano into the band’s sinister stew (“Every Day More Sickened,” “At the Threshold of Eternity”). Though the listener does need some endurance, as three of the five non-instrumentals hover in the 8–9 minute range, the record flows fluidly across an easy 42 minutes. If you ever wondered what metal in league with Mammon might sound like, give My Body to the Worms a spin.

The thing I am most afraid of is losing my mind. The progressive destruction dementia wreaks upon a brain is upsetting enough to endure from the outside, but the horror of that brain potentially being mine is a thought that keeps me up at night. While not explicitly about dementia, To Become the Endless Static follows the disintegration of a person’s mind as “[a]ll pathways, dreams and connections to what once formed their identity spiral down, merging into the great nothing, the endless static.” It’s a frightening, abstract concept that naturally suits Aversio Humanitatis’ brand of freeform dissonant black metal, which here takes a turn for the still more intense and unsettling. The group have garnered a reputation for long rumination between releases, and though not everyone might agree, 2020’s Behold the Silent Dwellers demonstrated the fruitfulness of this approach with its nine-year-awaited greatness. Six years on, with the sophomore but a shadow in the nebulous past, the apparition of Endless Static portended greatness once more, in addition to a genuinely scary theme. I was only too happy to indulge my masochism.

Much like the march of time and an incurable disease, Endless Static does not wait until you’re ready before attacking. “Long Stretch the Shadows” threatens whiplash as it erupts off the start line with relentless percussion and tremolos bending at uncomfortable angles. It epitomises the shift in Aversio Humanitatis’ already extreme and dissonant style towards a still more complex, confrontational, and often faster version of itself, which dominates across the album. Rhythms shift more frequently, and the distortion wrought by the layering of agonised roars and churning riffs is more clamorous; even the slower aspects are more haunting. Endless Static sees a leaning into a chaotic splendour akin to a sped-up Patristic, a more acerbic Schammasch, rendered in a deceptively melodic, deeply atmospheric way that at turns also recalls Aeviterne and Selbst. But Aversio Humanitatis prefer to create their mournfulness and urgency by disguising it as dissonance in a way distinct from any of the above. Endless Static is a masterful distillation of this practice: a soundscape whose violently aversive face admits more honesty and beauty the more you allow it.

Endless Static doesn’t just embody its concept generally; it lives it viscerally. The lurching of discordant scales (title track, “Blackened Mold Marrow”), and repeated strip-back and surge in of percussion (“Long Stretch…,” “Collapsing into the Resonance”) is upsetting yet mesmerising. And its transformation into a stumbling sway (“Strange Angles,” “The White Noise is Calling”) elevates unease with doubt. Shuddering, multitracked screams, cymbals panting like laboured breaths, and disorienting rhythm and riff patterns (“Strange Angles,” “Blackened Mold Marrow”) express the nightmare of incurable confusion. The soft creep of a melancholic tremolo behind the recurrent tumbles of percussion, and the bleeding of their melody into the pervasive atmosphere (title track, “Collapsing…”) communicate the grief of loss and the fear of the future. These patterns develop with the runtime too: the tightness with which harmony is sealed into overtly cold guitar lines slowly loosens and vocals slip more frequently into a desperate, anguished wail, culminating in the stirring lead melodies and devastating resistance of closing duo “The White Noise…” and “Collapsing…” All the while, the terror-amplifying resonance of the vocals and sinister edge to the riffs never ceases to feel frightening. But Aversio Humanitatis’ ability to shape these dissonant waves of assault into something beautiful without compromising on this affecting frightfulness makes Endless Static greatly more compelling than it otherwise might have been.

That Aversio Humanitatis can communicate all this so compellingly in a mere 35 minutes makes it that much more impactful. The speed at which “Long Stretch…”‘s confrontational unease becomes the ardour-filled protest “Collapsing…” is upsetting—another metaphor perhaps. This brings me to my only real complaint about Endless Static, which is how short it is; though I suppose it’s better to have brilliance and be left hungry than have a flawed abundance. I must, more importantly, draw attention to the drumming—courtesy of J.H—that rivals last year’s Patristic in its tenacity, dynamism, and unhinged precision whilst being so ridiculously fast and expressive (“Blackened Mold Marrow” has my jaw on the floor). Its speed and violence play no small part in Endless Static’s horror. I am also sometimes drawn to wonder if vocalist A.M is actually undergoing some phantasmagorical transformation, so wild and terrifying are his howls.

Dissonant black metal bands and degenerative diseases operate in the shadows, but Aversio Humanitatis now, if never before, deserves all the light we can cast on them. But more likely that this hypnotically horrifying work will yank you violently into its darkness. Harrowingly inexorable even in its brevity, one can’t escape the draw To Become the Endless Static.

Rating: Excellent
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Debemur Morti Productions
Websites: Official | Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: April 24th, 2026

The thing I am most afraid of is losing my mind. The progressive destruction dementia wreaks upon a brain is upsetting enough to endure from the outside, but the horror of that brain potentially being mine is a thought that keeps me up at night. While not explicitly about dementia, To Become the Endless Static follows the disintegration of a person’s mind as “[a]ll pathways, dreams and connections to what once formed their identity spiral down, merging into the great nothing, the endless static.” It’s a frightening, abstract concept that naturally suits Aversio Humanitatis’ brand of freeform dissonant black metal, which here takes a turn for the still more intense and unsettling. The group have garnered a reputation for long rumination between releases, and though not everyone might agree, 2020’s Behold the Silent Dwellers demonstrated the fruitfulness of this approach with its nine-year-awaited greatness. Six years on, with the sophomore but a shadow in the nebulous past, the apparition of Endless Static portended greatness once more, in addition to a genuinely scary theme. I was only too happy to indulge my masochism.

Much like the march of time and an incurable disease, Endless Static does not wait until you’re ready before attacking. “Long Stretch the Shadows” threatens whiplash as it erupts off the start line with relentless percussion and tremolos bending at uncomfortable angles. It epitomises the shift in Aversio Humanitatis’ already extreme and dissonant style towards a still more complex, confrontational, and often faster version of itself, which dominates across the album. Rhythms shift more frequently, and the distortion wrought by the layering of agonised roars and churning riffs is more clamorous; even the slower aspects are more haunting. Endless Static sees a leaning into a chaotic splendour akin to a sped-up Patristic, a more acerbic Schammasch, rendered in a deceptively melodic, deeply atmospheric way that at turns also recalls Aeviterne and Selbst. But Aversio Humanitatis prefer to create their mournfulness and urgency by disguising it as dissonance in a way distinct from any of the above. Endless Static is a masterful distillation of this practice: a soundscape whose violently aversive face admits more honesty and beauty the more you allow it.

Endless Static doesn’t just embody its concept generally; it lives it viscerally. The lurching of discordant scales (title track, “Blackened Mold Marrow”), and repeated strip-back and surge in of percussion (“Long Stretch…,” “Collapsing into the Resonance”) is upsetting yet mesmerising. And its transformation into a stumbling sway (“Strange Angles,” “The White Noise is Calling”) elevates unease with doubt. Shuddering, multitracked screams, cymbals panting like laboured breaths, and disorienting rhythm and riff patterns (“Strange Angles,” “Blackened Mold Marrow”) express the nightmare of incurable confusion. The soft creep of a melancholic tremolo behind the recurrent tumbles of percussion, and the bleeding of their melody into the pervasive atmosphere (title track, “Collapsing…”) communicate the grief of loss and the fear of the future. These patterns develop with the runtime too: the tightness with which harmony is sealed into overtly cold guitar lines slowly loosens and vocals slip more frequently into a desperate, anguished wail, culminating in the stirring lead melodies and devastating resistance of closing duo “The White Noise…” and “Collapsing…” All the while, the terror-amplifying resonance of the vocals and sinister edge to the riffs never ceases to feel frightening. But Aversio Humanitatis’ ability to shape these dissonant waves of assault into something beautiful without compromising on this affecting frightfulness makes Endless Static greatly more compelling than it otherwise might have been.

That Aversio Humanitatis can communicate all this so compellingly in a mere 35 minutes makes it that much more impactful. The speed at which “Long Stretch…”‘s confrontational unease becomes the ardour-filled protest “Collapsing…” is upsetting—another metaphor perhaps. This brings me to my only real complaint about Endless Static, which is how short it is; though I suppose it’s better to have brilliance and be left hungry than have a flawed abundance. I must, more importantly, draw attention to the drumming—courtesy of J.H—that rivals last year’s Patristic in its tenacity, dynamism, and unhinged precision whilst being so ridiculously fast and expressive (“Blackened Mold Marrow” has my jaw on the floor). Its speed and violence play no small part in Endless Static’s horror. I am also sometimes drawn to wonder if vocalist A.M is actually undergoing some phantasmagorical transformation, so wild and terrifying are his howls.

Dissonant black metal bands and degenerative diseases operate in the shadows, but Aversio Humanitatis now, if never before, deserves all the light we can cast on them. But more likely that this hypnotically horrifying work will yank you violently into its darkness. Harrowingly inexorable even in its brevity, one can’t escape the draw To Become the Endless Static.

Rating: Excellent
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Debemur Morti Productions
Websites: Official | Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: April 24th, 2026

Montreal atmoblack trio Miserere Luminis returns with third album, Sidera, boasting lush atmospheres and enormous feels. Formed back in 2008, Miserere Luminis dropped their eponymous debut in 2009, then disappeared from the studio for fourteen years. The triumvirate stepped out from the shadows and unleashed Ordalie in 2023, heralding a triumphant reemergence and one of the most exquisite album covers I’ve ever laid eyes on. The tunes delivered, too, are replete with more mature compositions than Miserere Luminis and a tighter runtime to boot. With their third album, can Miserere Luminis maintain their trajectory of mounting improvement, or does Sidera fall into dark, merciless obscurity?

Anyone who has supped on Miserere Luminis’ music can confidently sink their teeth into Sidera’s similarly sumptuous sounds with satisfaction. Rich and vibrant textures blanket its fifty-one minutes, eliciting nods to Wolves in the Throne Room and Der Weg einer Freiheit while never losing their own distinct identity. Restrained, controlled paces reign supreme across Sidera, where jangling guitars and implacable drums unfurl at Miserere Luminis’ leisure. Entwined with the traditional guitar, bass, and drum attack, piano and strings impart a classical zest across Sidera’s five tracks. The recipe delivers a potent concoction, flaunting an embarrassment of moments swollen with opulence and grandeur.

Sidera by Miserere Luminis

Sidera presents a complex tangle to unwind, stuffed with stunning passages that twist and meander with a menacing edge. The darkness within the music averts the malice pervading second wave-informed black metal, and instead adopts a contemplative restlessness that churns with forlorn melancholy. “Aux Vras des Vagues & des Vomissures” supplies excellently heart-wrenching pathos, where strings dance and swirl before fading in deference to the despondent bass plucks that close out the song. Follow-up “À la Douleur de l’Aube” resonates with equal poignancy, while opening duo “Les Fleurs de l’Exil” and “De Cris & de Cendres” offer a (relatively) more frantic anguish than what’s heard on subsequent tracks. Miserere Luminis not only channels their woebegone mystique with grace and aplomb, but they do so with an uncanny knack for commanding tension, augmented by Icare’s deft drumming. Neptune’s piano sources another highlight, and his interplay with Icare’s string compositions sizzle with stoic solemnity. Through it all, Annatar’s vocals cut with a raw edge that perfectly embody the stark emotions he conveys.

Though Sidera hypnotizes with its beauty from minute to minute, its entirety lacks the diversity required to support its length. Despite Miserere Luminis’ firm grasp of mood and tension, repeated listens expose the album’s monotonous elegance. After my third spin through Sidera, I couldn’t differentiate any of the tracks. Another fifteen listens on, and I’m not faring much better. To be clear, atmospheric black metal often falls into this dilemma, where the music is oriented to temperaments and feelings rather than carving out singles rife with hooks. There’s nothing intrinsically wrong with this approach, and individual passages drip with gorgeous orchestrations, subtle interplays of dissonance and melody, and tortured vocals. Yet the final impression is that a uniformity persists throughout the album that inhibits breakout moments; because of this, Sidera’s runtime suffers from bloat (the shortest track clocks in at eight-and-a-half minutes). On the other hand, Miserere Luminis resolutely owns their sound, and Sidera’s production wisely puts the spotlight on the strings and piano—classical accompaniment rarely sounds this good in black metal.

It’s impossible to deny Sidera’s power as I marinate in the swaying transitions between guitar and piano or the jazz-informed drumming. Miserere Luminis writes transportive music that seethes with agony and hope, yet lacks a dimension to separate its densely-packed glamor into the highs and lows I long for. Sidera acts as a prime example of an album that will doubtlessly please fans of the genre, but won’t change anyone’s mind about it. Hell, I delighted in my time with Miserere Luminis, even though I doubt I’ll return with regularity. The possibilities introduced on Sidera excite me more than the album itself, and while I recommend a listen if you’re even a casual fan of the genre, I mostly look forward to what Miserere Luminis does next.

Rating: Good!
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Debemur Morti Productions
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: March 6th, 2026

Montreal atmoblack trio Miserere Luminis returns with third album, Sidera, boasting lush atmospheres and enormous feels. Formed back in 2008, Miserere Luminis dropped their eponymous debut in 2009, then disappeared from the studio for fourteen years. The triumvirate stepped out from the shadows and unleashed Ordalie in 2023, heralding a triumphant reemergence and one of the most exquisite album covers I’ve ever laid eyes on. The tunes delivered, too, are replete with more mature compositions than Miserere Luminis and a tighter runtime to boot. With their third album, can Miserere Luminis maintain their trajectory of mounting improvement, or does Sidera fall into dark, merciless obscurity?

Anyone who has supped on Miserere Luminis’ music can confidently sink their teeth into Sidera’s similarly sumptuous sounds with satisfaction. Rich and vibrant textures blanket its fifty-one minutes, eliciting nods to Wolves in the Throne Room and Der Weg einer Freiheit while never losing their own distinct identity. Restrained, controlled paces reign supreme across Sidera, where jangling guitars and implacable drums unfurl at Miserere Luminis’ leisure. Entwined with the traditional guitar, bass, and drum attack, piano and strings impart a classical zest across Sidera’s five tracks. The recipe delivers a potent concoction, flaunting an embarrassment of moments swollen with opulence and grandeur.

Sidera by Miserere Luminis

Sidera presents a complex tangle to unwind, stuffed with stunning passages that twist and meander with a menacing edge. The darkness within the music averts the malice pervading second wave-informed black metal, and instead adopts a contemplative restlessness that churns with forlorn melancholy. “Aux Vras des Vagues & des Vomissures” supplies excellently heart-wrenching pathos, where strings dance and swirl before fading in deference to the despondent bass plucks that close out the song. Follow-up “À la Douleur de l’Aube” resonates with equal poignancy, while opening duo “Les Fleurs de l’Exil” and “De Cris & de Cendres” offer a (relatively) more frantic anguish than what’s heard on subsequent tracks. Miserere Luminis not only channels their woebegone mystique with grace and aplomb, but they do so with an uncanny knack for commanding tension, augmented by Icare’s deft drumming. Neptune’s piano sources another highlight, and his interplay with Icare’s string compositions sizzle with stoic solemnity. Through it all, Annatar’s vocals cut with a raw edge that perfectly embody the stark emotions he conveys.

Though Sidera hypnotizes with its beauty from minute to minute, its entirety lacks the diversity required to support its length. Despite Miserere Luminis’ firm grasp of mood and tension, repeated listens expose the album’s monotonous elegance. After my third spin through Sidera, I couldn’t differentiate any of the tracks. Another fifteen listens on, and I’m not faring much better. To be clear, atmospheric black metal often falls into this dilemma, where the music is oriented to temperaments and feelings rather than carving out singles rife with hooks. There’s nothing intrinsically wrong with this approach, and individual passages drip with gorgeous orchestrations, subtle interplays of dissonance and melody, and tortured vocals. Yet the final impression is that a uniformity persists throughout the album that inhibits breakout moments; because of this, Sidera’s runtime suffers from bloat (the shortest track clocks in at eight-and-a-half minutes). On the other hand, Miserere Luminis resolutely owns their sound, and Sidera’s production wisely puts the spotlight on the strings and piano—classical accompaniment rarely sounds this good in black metal.

It’s impossible to deny Sidera’s power as I marinate in the swaying transitions between guitar and piano or the jazz-informed drumming. Miserere Luminis writes transportive music that seethes with agony and hope, yet lacks a dimension to separate its densely-packed glamor into the highs and lows I long for. Sidera acts as a prime example of an album that will doubtlessly please fans of the genre, but won’t change anyone’s mind about it. Hell, I delighted in my time with Miserere Luminis, even though I doubt I’ll return with regularity. The possibilities introduced on Sidera excite me more than the album itself, and while I recommend a listen if you’re even a casual fan of the genre, I mostly look forward to what Miserere Luminis does next.

Rating: Good!
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Debemur Morti Productions
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: March 6th, 2026

Lychgate – Precipice Review

By Grin Reaper

Dense, dark, and demented, Lychgate’s Precipice breaks nearly six years of silence with music as unsettling as the concept it’s built upon. The album’s primary inspiration draws from E. M. Forster’s short story “The Machine Stops,” a dystopian tale first published in 1909 that cautions against over-reliance on technology.1 In it, The Machine enables people to govern their lives from isolated chambers, interacting virtually rather than in person after the Earth’s surface becomes uninhabitable. Integrating notions such as blind obedience to technology, instantaneous communication, and climate change furnishes a lavish backdrop for London’s Lychgate and their fourth LP.2 Given the promise of its premise, does Precipice step off the ledge and soar, or plummet to the depths of obscurity?

Brandishing a broad array of atmospheres and a flair for generating tension, Lychgate conjures oppressive auras that equally frighten and excite. To that end, Precipice’s aural footprint lands somewhere between Blut aus Nord’s dissonant grooves and a decelerated Imperial Triumphant at their most cinematic (think “Transmission to Mercury”), taking the avant-garde trappings of each and devising a mood and character all Lychgate’s own. Emboldened by jazzy flourishes à la Dødheimsgard, Scarcity’s cacophonous, freeform nonconformity, and Morast’s caustic claustrophobia, Lychgate forges an unforgiving yet layered experience that outstrips single reference points. Tensions runs roughshod throughout Precipice, knotting its nine tracks into gnarled enigmas that demand to be sussed out with care. Gone are the clean vocals from The Contagion in Nine Steps and An Antidote for the Glass Pill, and instead vocalist Greg Chandler focuses solely on barks and snarls that remind of Doug Moore’s urgent rasps. Atop it all, Lychgate further embeds the organ into the band’s core sound and discharges potent riffs at key climactic junctures, leaving Precipice crackling with vitality and unpredictability.

Precipice’s varied compositions and instrumentations coalesce to propel Lychgate to new heights. It’s a mature release that exemplifies the prevailing virtues of prior albums, unifying them into an impressively intricate forty-eight minutes. The organ, credited to permanent member J. C. Young and session musician F. A. Young, plays a central role, spanning the gamut from lunatic funhouse (“Anagnorisis”) to Phantom of the Opera gothic drama (“Mausoleum of Steel”). It keenly weaves a calculated stress, plying tension in ebbs and flows that cleverly and constantly push the album forward. Besides organ and piano, loose guitar structures regularly bleed into riffs plucked out of an eldritch ether, oscillating between Zappa’s Jazz from Hell and unearthly, pit-scorching acrobatics (“Renunciation”). A doleful, introspective melody in “The Meeting of Orion and Scorpio” diversifies the sound and pacing, followed by a hectic skittering in “Hive of Parasites” that gives way to a slow-burn passage heavily featuring jazz flute. Myriad components fuse into a whole that should not sound as cohesive as it does, but Lychgate takes their carnival of sounds and crafts a finely-honed album that deserves more attention than it will get with an end-of-year release.

Lychgate employs a satisfying and well-considered array of ideas in service of Precipice, though a few hiccups are present. Besides the musical diversity, Lychgate flaunts remarkable instincts when it comes to pacing. Having the longest track as the midpoint of the album works well and helps establish a clear listening milestone; I only wish the back end of “Hive of Parasites” had been trimmed a touch, as the last three minutes blur together. The mix is another boon, providing ample space for S. D. Lindsley’s guitar, Tom MacLean’s bass, and T. J. F. Vallely’s drums. The only quibble is Precipice’s density, which could put off those lacking the time to absorb its demure gifts. All told, though, Lychgate earns every bit of praise by merging this many ideas so cohesively.

Despite its late release and complex composition, Lychgate delivers a smash success that commands and indisputably warrants your attention. Precipice isn’t easy to understand, but it’s irresistibly easy to spin again and again. And you should, because it takes time to unravel.3 Precipice has been one of my most played albums of the year at a time when I’ve been busiest both personally and professionally, routinely ensnaring me with its enchanting hooks and wiles. For my money, Lychgate has released the best album of their career, and you owe it to yourself to step up to the Precipice and take a leap of faith.

Rating: Great
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Debemur Morti Productions
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: December 19th, 2025

#2025 #40 #AvantGardeBlackMetal #BlackMetal #BlutAusNord #DebemurMortiProductions #Dec25 #Dödheimsgard #EnglishMetal #FrankZappa #ImperialTriumphant #Lychgate #Morast #Precipice #Review #Reviews

Lychgate – Precipice Review

By Grin Reaper

Dense, dark, and demented, Lychgate’s Precipice breaks nearly six years of silence with music as unsettling as the concept it’s built upon. The album’s primary inspiration draws from E. M. Forster’s short story “The Machine Stops,” a dystopian tale first published in 1909 that cautions against over-reliance on technology.1 In it, The Machine enables people to govern their lives from isolated chambers, interacting virtually rather than in person after the Earth’s surface becomes uninhabitable. Integrating notions such as blind obedience to technology, instantaneous communication, and climate change furnishes a lavish backdrop for London’s Lychgate and their fourth LP.2 Given the promise of its premise, does Precipice step off the ledge and soar, or plummet to the depths of obscurity?

Brandishing a broad array of atmospheres and a flair for generating tension, Lychgate conjures oppressive auras that equally frighten and excite. To that end, Precipice’s aural footprint lands somewhere between Blut aus Nord’s dissonant grooves and a decelerated Imperial Triumphant at their most cinematic (think “Transmission to Mercury”), taking the avant-garde trappings of each and devising a mood and character all Lychgate’s own. Emboldened by jazzy flourishes à la Dødheimsgard, Scarcity’s cacophonous, freeform nonconformity, and Morast’s caustic claustrophobia, Lychgate forges an unforgiving yet layered experience that outstrips single reference points. Tensions runs roughshod throughout Precipice, knotting its nine tracks into gnarled enigmas that demand to be sussed out with care. Gone are the clean vocals from The Contagion in Nine Steps and An Antidote for the Glass Pill, and instead vocalist Greg Chandler focuses solely on barks and snarls that remind of Doug Moore’s urgent rasps. Atop it all, Lychgate further embeds the organ into the band’s core sound and discharges potent riffs at key climactic junctures, leaving Precipice crackling with vitality and unpredictability.

Precipice’s varied compositions and instrumentations coalesce to propel Lychgate to new heights. It’s a mature release that exemplifies the prevailing virtues of prior albums, unifying them into an impressively intricate forty-eight minutes. The organ, credited to permanent member J. C. Young and session musician F. A. Young, plays a central role, spanning the gamut from lunatic funhouse (“Anagnorisis”) to Phantom of the Opera gothic drama (“Mausoleum of Steel”). It keenly weaves a calculated stress, plying tension in ebbs and flows that cleverly and constantly push the album forward. Besides organ and piano, loose guitar structures regularly bleed into riffs plucked out of an eldritch ether, oscillating between Zappa’s Jazz from Hell and unearthly, pit-scorching acrobatics (“Renunciation”). A doleful, introspective melody in “The Meeting of Orion and Scorpio” diversifies the sound and pacing, followed by a hectic skittering in “Hive of Parasites” that gives way to a slow-burn passage heavily featuring jazz flute. Myriad components fuse into a whole that should not sound as cohesive as it does, but Lychgate takes their carnival of sounds and crafts a finely-honed album that deserves more attention than it will get with an end-of-year release.

Lychgate employs a satisfying and well-considered array of ideas in service of Precipice, though a few hiccups are present. Besides the musical diversity, Lychgate flaunts remarkable instincts when it comes to pacing. Having the longest track as the midpoint of the album works well and helps establish a clear listening milestone; I only wish the back end of “Hive of Parasites” had been trimmed a touch, as the last three minutes blur together. The mix is another boon, providing ample space for S. D. Lindsley’s guitar, Tom MacLean’s bass, and T. J. F. Vallely’s drums. The only quibble is Precipice’s density, which could put off those lacking the time to absorb its demure gifts. All told, though, Lychgate earns every bit of praise by merging this many ideas so cohesively.

Despite its late release and complex composition, Lychgate delivers a smash success that commands and indisputably warrants your attention. Precipice isn’t easy to understand, but it’s irresistibly easy to spin again and again. And you should, because it takes time to unravel.3 Precipice has been one of my most played albums of the year at a time when I’ve been busiest both personally and professionally, routinely ensnaring me with its enchanting hooks and wiles. For my money, Lychgate has released the best album of their career, and you owe it to yourself to step up to the Precipice and take a leap of faith.

Rating: Great
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Debemur Morti Productions
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: December 19th, 2025

#2025 #40 #AvantGardeBlackMetal #BlackMetal #BlutAusNord #DebemurMortiProductions #Dec25 #Dödheimsgard #EnglishMetal #FrankZappa #ImperialTriumphant #Lychgate #Morast #Precipice #Review #Reviews

Blut Aus Nord – Ethereal Horizons Review

By Alekhines Gun

Sometimes it’s all a question of perspective. Among the most prominent and influential of French black metal, the sometimes-solo-project-sometimes-three-piece entity known as Blut Aus Nord have manifested four or five entirely different versions of themselves over the last thirty(!) years. Occasionally, their albums are released in sets of connected sounds and themes, and other times you can be exposed to one idea you fall in love with, only for the band to pivot away into something new and unexpected; imagine the surprise fans of Fathers of the Icy Age must have felt first hearing The Work Which Transforms God. We are now at album sixteen (to say nothing of their innumerable splits and EP’s), and the question isn’t as much “is this gonna be any good” as much as “which band is showing up today?”

As it turns out, quite a few of them. The bones of Ethereal Horizons is laid via the post-metalisms of Hallucinogen, but with tones focused much more on a cosmic sense than the trippier 70s psychedelia of yore. The overall presentation of the album consists of lengthier riffs designed to evoke mood rather than raw noodling or blast-heavy assaults. Heavy emphasis is placed on a/b phrasing, which pairs two different ideas reminiscent of different eras in Blut Aus Nord’s career, but unifies them via the same sheen throughout. The organic production reigns supreme, using the beefy approach of the past two albums but firmly removing the Dis from the Harmonium with supremely melodic results.

Despite never abandoning that sense of the organic, occasional nods towards the Blut Aus Nord industrial sound makes their presence known. Riffs are longer and more repetitive across the release, sometimes dropping out into a drum-and-bass solo (“The Fall Opens the Sky”) and elsewhere having drummer W.D. Feld do a fantastic impression of the vintage drum machine (“Seclusion”). These bits are spiritually kin to 777 – Cosmosophy, using their drawn-out forms to emphasize the beauty found within while taking the listener through a plethora of emotions. The greater utilization of the properly melodic over the dissonant means that minor keys get to make their impact felt without losing the sense of harmony (“What Burns Now Listens”) with the focus placed more on hefty atmosphere rather than a collection of overly intricate riff-craft. Synth is layered throughout the album with tones pulled from the Memoria Vetusta series as well as some clips of nature and the occasional acoustic introductions and outros, tying everything together as an auditory voyage, where, in typical Blut Aus Nord fashion, the only way is forward.

Ethereal Horizons places the bulk of its weight in those atmospheres, with the writing clearly engineered to be absorbed as a whole body of work in one sitting as opposed to being tailored for playlist harvesting. This element is key, as some songwriting moments could be perceived as frustrating if taken individually. It’s rare to hear Blut Aus Nord place such emphasis on repeating motifs in their more organic work, and synth interlude “Twin Suns Reverie” can be perplexing on first listen. However, by tying together separate components of composition across their storied career into one cohesive whole, what emerges is an album larger than the sum of its parts. Mercurial shifts from nods to Disharmonium to 777 to Memoria Vetusta are aided by subtle shifts in guitar tones used from riff to riff. “The End Becomes Grace” is a key example, flinging a verse straight from the most triumphant moments of Saturnian Poetry fresh off a Hallucinogen lead, but suddenly the notes are darker, grittier, and far more properly blackened. Blut Aus Nord have had a rare moment of looking inward and backward to find a path onward, and offered up a prism with nods to their various colors, all filtered through the same jagged jewel of sound.

Like any good album by these French fiends, this might not be what everyone is hoping for. It certainly wasn’t for me. At first listen I found myself underwhelmed, then by the fourth, confused. But judging any Blut Aus Nord release on your own expectations is always going to be a fool’s errand. By mining the depth of their own past for inspiration, the band managed once again to turn their own familiarity on its head and forge a new destination to parts known only to them. Triumphantly melodic in sound yet hypnotic in scope, energetic enough to be heavy yet beautiful enough to be soothing, Ethereal Horizons is a journey of an album through beautiful cosmic pastures, and doubtless to still greater horrors beyond.

Rating: 4.0/5.0
DR: NA | Format Reviewed: Mother heckin’ gosh darn stream
Label: Debemur Morti Productions
Website: Album Bandcamp
Releases Worldwide: November 28th, 2025

#2025 #40 #blackMetal #blutAusNord #debemurMortiProductions #etherealHorizons #frenchMetal #nov25 #review #reviews

Blut Aus Nord – Ethereal Horizons Review

By Alekhines Gun

Sometimes it’s all a question of perspective. Among the most prominent and influential of French black metal, the sometimes-solo-project-sometimes-three-piece entity known as Blut Aus Nord have manifested four or five entirely different versions of themselves over the last thirty(!) years. Occasionally, their albums are released in sets of connected sounds and themes, and other times you can be exposed to one idea you fall in love with, only for the band to pivot away into something new and unexpected; imagine the surprise fans of Fathers of the Icy Age must have felt first hearing The Work Which Transforms God. We are now at album sixteen (to say nothing of their innumerable splits and EP’s), and the question isn’t as much “is this gonna be any good” as much as “which band is showing up today?”

As it turns out, quite a few of them. The bones of Ethereal Horizons is laid via the post-metalisms of Hallucinogen, but with tones focused much more on a cosmic sense than the trippier 70s psychedelia of yore. The overall presentation of the album consists of lengthier riffs designed to evoke mood rather than raw noodling or blast-heavy assaults. Heavy emphasis is placed on a/b phrasing, which pairs two different ideas reminiscent of different eras in Blut Aus Nord’s career, but unifies them via the same sheen throughout. The organic production reigns supreme, using the beefy approach of the past two albums but firmly removing the Dis from the Harmonium with supremely melodic results.

Despite never abandoning that sense of the organic, occasional nods towards the Blut Aus Nord industrial sound makes their presence known. Riffs are longer and more repetitive across the release, sometimes dropping out into a drum-and-bass solo (“The Fall Opens the Sky”) and elsewhere having drummer W.D. Feld do a fantastic impression of the vintage drum machine (“Seclusion”). These bits are spiritually kin to 777 – Cosmosophy, using their drawn-out forms to emphasize the beauty found within while taking the listener through a plethora of emotions. The greater utilization of the properly melodic over the dissonant means that minor keys get to make their impact felt without losing the sense of harmony (“What Burns Now Listens”) with the focus placed more on hefty atmosphere rather than a collection of overly intricate riff-craft. Synth is layered throughout the album with tones pulled from the Memoria Vetusta series as well as some clips of nature and the occasional acoustic introductions and outros, tying everything together as an auditory voyage, where, in typical Blut Aus Nord fashion, the only way is forward.

Ethereal Horizons places the bulk of its weight in those atmospheres, with the writing clearly engineered to be absorbed as a whole body of work in one sitting as opposed to being tailored for playlist harvesting. This element is key, as some songwriting moments could be perceived as frustrating if taken individually. It’s rare to hear Blut Aus Nord place such emphasis on repeating motifs in their more organic work, and synth interlude “Twin Suns Reverie” can be perplexing on first listen. However, by tying together separate components of composition across their storied career into one cohesive whole, what emerges is an album larger than the sum of its parts. Mercurial shifts from nods to Disharmonium to 777 to Memoria Vetusta are aided by subtle shifts in guitar tones used from riff to riff. “The End Becomes Grace” is a key example, flinging a verse straight from the most triumphant moments of Saturnian Poetry fresh off a Hallucinogen lead, but suddenly the notes are darker, grittier, and far more properly blackened. Blut Aus Nord have had a rare moment of looking inward and backward to find a path onward, and offered up a prism with nods to their various colors, all filtered through the same jagged jewel of sound.

Like any good album by these French fiends, this might not be what everyone is hoping for. It certainly wasn’t for me. At first listen I found myself underwhelmed, then by the fourth, confused. But judging any Blut Aus Nord release on your own expectations is always going to be a fool’s errand. By mining the depth of their own past for inspiration, the band managed once again to turn their own familiarity on its head and forge a new destination to parts known only to them. Triumphantly melodic in sound yet hypnotic in scope, energetic enough to be heavy yet beautiful enough to be soothing, Ethereal Horizons is a journey of an album through beautiful cosmic pastures, and doubtless to still greater horrors beyond.

Rating: 4.0/5.0
DR: NA | Format Reviewed: Mother heckin’ gosh darn stream
Label: Debemur Morti Productions
Website: Album Bandcamp
Releases Worldwide: November 28th, 2025

#2025 #40 #blackMetal #blutAusNord #debemurMortiProductions #etherealHorizons #frenchMetal #nov25 #review #reviews

Anfauglir – Akallabêth Review

By Killjoy

How much effort should be required to appreciate a piece of art? The Silmarillion, a posthumous compilation of mythology and historical accounts relating to J. R. R. Tolkien’s timeless fantasy universe, is generally regarded as a more difficult read than its more cohesive and narrative-focused predecessors, The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings.1 Still, the rewards for such dedication are said to be great, and the rich lore also serves as a creative wellspring for many an artist. Anfauglir, an anonymous duo tucked away somewhere in the United States,2 presents its own daunting work of art: a 72-minute symphonic black metal album patterned after Akallabêth, one of the main parts of The Silmarillion chronicling the rise and fall of the island kingdom Númenor. Now, I’m not the most knowledgeable Fela on the AMG staff about deep Tolkien lore, but I will nonetheless endeavor to expound upon the wonders of Akallabêth.

In this case, the term “symphonic” is just as much a descriptor of compositional structure as musical style. Comprising just four monolithic tracks, Akallabêth is arranged like a classical symphony with a black metal coating, an ambitious approach similar to that of Aquilus. Anfauglir’s orchestral compositions are no less elaborate than Aquilus’, however, they are more bombastic and grandiose rather than intimate in order to reflect the lofty source material. Although the guitars serve a secondary function in terms of carrying the melodies, Akallabêth still feels very much like black metal, with plenty of impassioned rasps and intense drumming providing an energy close to Kull or Bal-sagoth. Occasional female operatic vocals (Imago Latens) further enrich the compositions with subtle, ethereal undertones.

Akallabêth breathes and flows as naturally and effortlessly as a river. Though the tracks are immense in length, they are divided into more digestible movements, within which musical motifs and themes help orient the listener over an extended period of time without being over-relied upon. Much of the first half of “The Inevitable Truths of Time” is built around guest Tomas Brandoni’s classical guitar, and I particularly enjoy its interplay with the piano at certain points. In general, the plentiful piano sections serve as both transitions between movements and refreshing respites. The latter proves to be crucial because the surrounding orchestrations are busy; morphing between gorgeous, melodramatic, serene, menacing, triumphant, and a host of other adjectives. Though clearly aiming for cinematic grandeur (especially “Defying the Doom of Men”), they don’t feel ripped out of a movie soundtrack, nor do they feel trite or cheesy. Akallabêth is, in a word, excessive, but in the best possible way.

Akallabêth’s entertainment value is the other factor making its many minutes feel less fatiguing than they ought to. Much of the credit for this goes to the vocalist, Griss, whose snarls and screams drip with emotive inflection. The passionate delivery pulls me into the overarching narrative despite understanding few of the lyrics.3 The vocals also complement the choirs to create some of the more dramatic moments. The main aspect that mildly disrupts immersion is the sterile sound of the drums, which I assume were programmed, albeit with great care and attention to detail. Also, I wish that the guitars took the reins a little more often, especially in the few moments when they start to play an exciting riff that prematurely fizzles out (“The Rise of Númenor,” “Defying the Doom of Men”). Ultimately, though, these are inconsequential quibbles amidst a sea of resplendent and breathtaking music.

It’s been 17 years since Anfauglir’s previous album, and it’s clear that this was time well spent. Akallabêth is a rare case where the long runtime feels intrinsic to its identity rather than a failure to self-edit. Everything is meticulously arranged to make the best use of the allotted time. Further, they condensed a narrative period of over 3,000 years into only 72 minutes, an impressive feat. Akallabêth may seem intimidating at first, but it absolutely deserves to be experienced many times from start to finish. Much like what I’ve heard about The Silmarillion, you’ll get out of Akallabêth what you’re willing to put in, and if any record is worth a large time and attention commitment, it’s this one.

Rating: 4.0/5.0
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Debemur Morti Productions
Website: anfauglir.bandcamp.com
Releases Worldwide: June 27th, 2025

#2025 #40 #Akallabêth #AmericanMetal #Anfauglir #Aquilus #BalSagoth #BlackMetal #DebemurMortiProductions #Jun25 #Kull #Review #Reviews #SymphonicBlackMetal #SymphonicMetal #TolkienMetal

Anfauglir – Akallabêth Review

By Killjoy

How much effort should be required to appreciate a piece of art? The Silmarillion, a posthumous compilation of mythology and historical accounts relating to J. R. R. Tolkien’s timeless fantasy universe, is generally regarded as a more difficult read than its more cohesive and narrative-focused predecessors, The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings.1 Still, the rewards for such dedication are said to be great, and the rich lore also serves as a creative wellspring for many an artist. Anfauglir, an anonymous duo tucked away somewhere in the United States,2 presents its own daunting work of art: a 72-minute symphonic black metal album patterned after Akallabêth, one of the main parts of The Silmarillion chronicling the rise and fall of the island kingdom Númenor. Now, I’m not the most knowledgeable Fela on the AMG staff about deep Tolkien lore, but I will nonetheless endeavor to expound upon the wonders of Akallabêth.

In this case, the term “symphonic” is just as much a descriptor of compositional structure as musical style. Comprising just four monolithic tracks, Akallabêth is arranged like a classical symphony with a black metal coating, an ambitious approach similar to that of Aquilus. Anfauglir’s orchestral compositions are no less elaborate than Aquilus’, however, they are more bombastic and grandiose rather than intimate in order to reflect the lofty source material. Although the guitars serve a secondary function in terms of carrying the melodies, Akallabêth still feels very much like black metal, with plenty of impassioned rasps and intense drumming providing an energy close to Kull or Bal-sagoth. Occasional female operatic vocals (Imago Latens) further enrich the compositions with subtle, ethereal undertones.

Akallabêth breathes and flows as naturally and effortlessly as a river. Though the tracks are immense in length, they are divided into more digestible movements, within which musical motifs and themes help orient the listener over an extended period of time without being over-relied upon. Much of the first half of “The Inevitable Truths of Time” is built around guest Tomas Brandoni’s classical guitar, and I particularly enjoy its interplay with the piano at certain points. In general, the plentiful piano sections serve as both transitions between movements and refreshing respites. The latter proves to be crucial because the surrounding orchestrations are busy; morphing between gorgeous, melodramatic, serene, menacing, triumphant, and a host of other adjectives. Though clearly aiming for cinematic grandeur (especially “Defying the Doom of Men”), they don’t feel ripped out of a movie soundtrack, nor do they feel trite or cheesy. Akallabêth is, in a word, excessive, but in the best possible way.

Akallabêth’s entertainment value is the other factor making its many minutes feel less fatiguing than they ought to. Much of the credit for this goes to the vocalist, Griss, whose snarls and screams drip with emotive inflection. The passionate delivery pulls me into the overarching narrative despite understanding few of the lyrics.3 The vocals also complement the choirs to create some of the more dramatic moments. The main aspect that mildly disrupts immersion is the sterile sound of the drums, which I assume were programmed, albeit with great care and attention to detail. Also, I wish that the guitars took the reins a little more often, especially in the few moments when they start to play an exciting riff that prematurely fizzles out (“The Rise of Númenor,” “Defying the Doom of Men”). Ultimately, though, these are inconsequential quibbles amidst a sea of resplendent and breathtaking music.

It’s been 17 years since Anfauglir’s previous album, and it’s clear that this was time well spent. Akallabêth is a rare case where the long runtime feels intrinsic to its identity rather than a failure to self-edit. Everything is meticulously arranged to make the best use of the allotted time. Further, they condensed a narrative period of over 3,000 years into only 72 minutes, an impressive feat. Akallabêth may seem intimidating at first, but it absolutely deserves to be experienced many times from start to finish. Much like what I’ve heard about The Silmarillion, you’ll get out of Akallabêth what you’re willing to put in, and if any record is worth a large time and attention commitment, it’s this one.

Rating: 4.0/5.0
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Debemur Morti Productions
Website: anfauglir.bandcamp.com
Releases Worldwide: June 27th, 2025

#2025 #40 #Akallabêth #AmericanMetal #Anfauglir #Aquilus #BalSagoth #BlackMetal #DebemurMortiProductions #Jun25 #Kull #Review #Reviews #SymphonicBlackMetal #SymphonicMetal #TolkienMetal

Mütterlein – Amidst the Flames, May Our Organs Resound Review

By Dear Hollow

I’ve always unfairly ranked Rorcal above Overmars. What can I say? I got into Heliogabalus and Born Again around the same time, enamored by both single epic song interpretations of hardcore vigor, pained dissonance, and pitch-black sludge. Still, Heliogabalus took the cake when it came to bottom-scraping hellish riffs, wailing, and gnashing of teeth. Themes differ, as Rorcal’s elegant storytelling added further majesty to their colossal attack, while Overmars’ scrappy commentary on injustice and religious trauma owed a more anti-establishment aura. Rorcal remains one of my favorite acts, while Overmars broke up in 2011. Out of sight, out of mind, but it wasn’t until now that Overmars has come back to haunt me in the form of Mütterlein.

Mütterlein is a project of Overmars vocalist/bassist Marion Leclercq,1 but the sound in comparison to Overmars is a spiritual successor only. The sludge is present in the density in much the same way Author & Punisher offers, in walls of electronic darkness, synthesized percussion, and trip-hop beats, while climactic moments of mammoth post-metal chugs crash through like a freight train. Always rooted in more ominous atmospheres recalling the resounding organ of its cover, third full-length Amidst the Flames, May Our Organs Resound offers an electronic trip to the shadows that feels grandiose and explosive where it ought to, but far too stripped down in others.

Mütterlein revolves its movements around a synthesized beat, resembling either a darkwave pulse that feels a tad like Perturbator or a thunderously precise snare that feels like an electronic interpretation of Isis, and its movements flow around and atop it. It’s a simple but effective structure, as largely these percussion movements carry across an entire song, while Leclercq’s atmospheric songwriting allows more metallic movements to mesh in a slurry with the synth-driven elements that combine into a haunting overture that recalls some of horror’s more cinematic moments. From a synth-centric version of Amenra in its diminished post-metal rhythms, leads, and call-and-response riffage (“Wounded Grace”) to the pulsing wave of density interwoven with angelic choirs atop trip-hop beats (“Concrete Black,” “Ivory Claws”), and guest appearances of Church of Ra’s Treha Sektori in sprawling dark ambient interludes (“Memorial One,” “Memorial Two”), Mütterlein has a formula that is effectively simple and simply crushing when it needs to be, although its more minimalist pieces drag on for far too long (“Anarcha,” “Division of Pain”).

Mütterlein places its claustrophobic sound design front and center, and like any good post-metal album, vocals are just another instrument in Amidst the Flames, May Our Organs Resound. It’s a bit of a shame, because Leclercq gives her most passionate and disconcerting vocal performance, relying on a drawling Audrey Sylvain (ex-Amesoeurs) post-punk groan (“Ivory Claws,” “Memorial Two”) and a rabid Kristin Michael Hayter (formerly Lingua Ignota) sermonic howl (“Memorial One,” “Division of Pain”). Too much of the music becomes monotonous and repetitive without enough of her vocals to keep up the vigor and energy, its pulse quickly dwindling to a flatline (“Division of Pain”), making the tracks that feature a switch-up at its midpoint highlights (“Wounded Grace,” “Ivory Claws”). The sound palette is nice when her vocals guide the horror, giving a climactic three-prong attack of vocals, electronic pulses, and overlaying leads, but when one of those crucial elements is removed, Mütterlein quickly loses its bite.

I miss Overmars, but Mütterlein offers a brand new sound that’s both densely crushing and darkly atmospheric, even if the sound is imperfect. Recalling the likes of Author & Punisher in swaths of punishing electronics, Amenra in its haunting melodic approach, and Lingua Ignota in the fury behind the mic, there’s a lot to like about Amidst the Flames. However, there’s a thin line between intrigue and monotony, and when the track goes too long or Leclercq removes her vocals, the result becomes painfully dull in its more stark passages. Feeling a tad long at a normally reasonable forty minutes, Mütterlein offers a mixed bag with triumphant highs and dull lows in Amidst the Flames, May Our Organs Resound.

Rating: 2.5/5.0
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3
Label: Debemur Morti Productions
Websites: mutterlein.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/mutterlein
Releases Worldwide: May 9th, 2025

#25 #2025 #AmbientMetal #Amenra #Amesoeurs #AmidstTheFlames #AuthorPunisher #DebemurMortiProductions #Electronic #ElectronicaMetal #FrenchMetal #IndustrialMetal #Isis #LinguaIgnota #MayOurOrgansResound #May25 #Mütterlein #Overmars #Perturbator #PostMetal #ReverendKristinMichaelHayter #Review #Reviews #Rorcal #TrehaSektori

Blood Abscission – II Review

By Thus Spoke

We tend to underestimate how great a role knowledge of the artist plays when experiencing their art. Even if unfamiliar with their work, the awareness of them as a person (or group of people) whose intentions are either plain or discoverable through interviews, notes, or academic consensus informs our opinions insidiously but inevitably. In an age when self-promotion is easier than ever thanks to the internet, a musician choosing to remain anonymous speaks to a desire to center their music in as absolute a way as possible. Who comprises Blood Abscission, and how many of them are there? That may never be known.1 All that exists is their art. This too eschews identity beyond numbers: sophomore II following in inevitability debut I, and all tracks bearing only the numerals of their album position. We must listen to II exactly as it is, with only Blood Abscission’s solemn proclamation as potential guide: “United in pain, we step into the abyss – not as mere individuals, but as a collective force seeking meaning within the chaos, finding a voice in the silence between the stars.”

Though I discovered it in retrospect—the debut having been dropped via self-release with zero fanfare—II continues exactly as I began. Blistering, raw-adjacent atmospheric black metal, relentless beyond the occasional lapses into dreamy gaziness where the keyboards shine and feedback hums (“III,” “IV”), not unlike a synth-obsessed Alcest. Its intensity, the desperate, unintelligible screams of the vocalist, and the grand melodic themes see-sawing between melancholy beauty and eerie dissonance bring to mind Aara on one face (“I,” “V”), Decoherence the other (“II”). II feels like an exercise in pure catharsis, the repeated climaxes of ever-fiercer roars and ascending tremolos communicating only unfiltered emotion, and the contrastive stillness a cleansing indifference. With no identifiable words, and even the muffled samples dampened beyond comprehension, II’s features are solely confined to this ebb and flow, amplifying once more the facelessness and pure aesthetic centrality that Blood Abscission impose by not naming it, or themself. It is a musical black hole, both in atmosphere and sparseness of properties, and is appropriately powerful.

Unlike an actual black hole, II is something we can escape from, though Blood Abscission do a good job of holding you in place. At its most ardent peaks, when beauty pitches fearsomely into urgency, it is hard to ignore, let alone switch off (“II,” “V”). The moves from one state of being to another are smooth, regardless of their speed—whether neo-second-wave and assured to a vulnerable undulation between sorrowfulness and heartenedness (“I”), or gentle contentment to grieving resolution (“III”). “IV”‘s emanation out of the chiming whine of “III,” and procession into the torrent that opens “V,” is not just an obvious example of this compositional fluidity, but itself proves to be a thoroughly absorbing interlude that belies its length. II repeatedly invites introspection, and does so through its rawness that reaches beyond the way the vocals and instruments are mastered, a corollary of the necessary focus on the sweep of its melodies, interplay between airy keys and darker riffing, and the tides dictated by pleasingly crisp percussion. The echoing croon of an escaped tremolo, the escalation of a minor refrain into devastation, and the torture of a conclusive shriek—with the closing act of “V” standing as the album’s crowning glory in this regard—are notably affecting.

Yet II’s consistency in perdurance is a double-edged sword. While full immersion grants the listener an undoubtedly intense and emotional experience, less conscious enjoyment threatens to leave them a little cold, outside of standout apexes at least. Perhaps this is always a danger with atmo-black, particularly of this more unrestrained and unstructured variety. I can testify that after spending some time with it, its magnitude seems greater than it did initially, thanks to deeper appreciation of its nuances, but even the influence of II’s potency doesn’t eliminate flaws entirely. II could stand to be a shade shorter, to give every moment more impact; something not needed so much by its peaks, but from which some of its lingering passages would gain better standing as transitions of beneficial steadiness between outbursts.

With so much atmospheric and raw black metal out there that might as well be anonymous for all its uniformity and ironic placidity, Blood Abscission stand out not only with real anonymity, but music that speaks for itself. In form resisting memorability, in actuality quite impactful and resilient, II shows what the genre is capable of. Even if it lacks the concrete immediacy to solidify it into long-standing greatness, its noise is not meaningless, and its meaning is not lost, however imprecise it might seem.

Rating: Good
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3
Label: Debemur Morti
Website: Bandcamp
Releases Worldwide: April 11th, 2025

Show 1 footnote

1. And as is stated quite forcefully in the promo material, “Blood Abscission is NOT available for interviews.” ↩

#2025 #30 #Aara #Alcest #AmbientBlackMetal #Apr25 #AtmosphericBlackMetal #BlackMetal #BloodAbscission #DebemurMortiProductions #Decoherence #II #RawBlackMetal #Review #Reviews

Blood Abscission – II Review

By Thus Spoke

We tend to underestimate how great a role knowledge of the artist plays when experiencing their art. Even if unfamiliar with their work, the awareness of them as a person (or group of people) whose intentions are either plain or discoverable through interviews, notes, or academic consensus informs our opinions insidiously but inevitably. In an age when self-promotion is easier than ever thanks to the internet, a musician choosing to remain anonymous speaks to a desire to center their music in as absolute a way as possible. Who comprises Blood Abscission, and how many of them are there? That may never be known.1 All that exists is their art. This too eschews identity beyond numbers: sophomore II following in inevitability debut I, and all tracks bearing only the numerals of their album position. We must listen to II exactly as it is, with only Blood Abscission’s solemn proclamation as potential guide: “United in pain, we step into the abyss – not as mere individuals, but as a collective force seeking meaning within the chaos, finding a voice in the silence between the stars.”

Though I discovered it in retrospect—the debut having been dropped via self-release with zero fanfare—II continues exactly as I began. Blistering, raw-adjacent atmospheric black metal, relentless beyond the occasional lapses into dreamy gaziness where the keyboards shine and feedback hums (“III,” “IV”), not unlike a synth-obsessed Alcest. Its intensity, the desperate, unintelligible screams of the vocalist, and the grand melodic themes see-sawing between melancholy beauty and eerie dissonance bring to mind Aara on one face (“I,” “V”), Decoherence the other (“II”). II feels like an exercise in pure catharsis, the repeated climaxes of ever-fiercer roars and ascending tremolos communicating only unfiltered emotion, and the contrastive stillness a cleansing indifference. With no identifiable words, and even the muffled samples dampened beyond comprehension, II’s features are solely confined to this ebb and flow, amplifying once more the facelessness and pure aesthetic centrality that Blood Abscission impose by not naming it, or themself. It is a musical black hole, both in atmosphere and sparseness of properties, and is appropriately powerful.

Unlike an actual black hole, II is something we can escape from, though Blood Abscission do a good job of holding you in place. At its most ardent peaks, when beauty pitches fearsomely into urgency, it is hard to ignore, let alone switch off (“II,” “V”). The moves from one state of being to another are smooth, regardless of their speed—whether neo-second-wave and assured to a vulnerable undulation between sorrowfulness and heartenedness (“I”), or gentle contentment to grieving resolution (“III”). “IV”‘s emanation out of the chiming whine of “III,” and procession into the torrent that opens “V,” is not just an obvious example of this compositional fluidity, but itself proves to be a thoroughly absorbing interlude that belies its length. II repeatedly invites introspection, and does so through its rawness that reaches beyond the way the vocals and instruments are mastered, a corollary of the necessary focus on the sweep of its melodies, interplay between airy keys and darker riffing, and the tides dictated by pleasingly crisp percussion. The echoing croon of an escaped tremolo, the escalation of a minor refrain into devastation, and the torture of a conclusive shriek—with the closing act of “V” standing as the album’s crowning glory in this regard—are notably affecting.

Yet II’s consistency in perdurance is a double-edged sword. While full immersion grants the listener an undoubtedly intense and emotional experience, less conscious enjoyment threatens to leave them a little cold, outside of standout apexes at least. Perhaps this is always a danger with atmo-black, particularly of this more unrestrained and unstructured variety. I can testify that after spending some time with it, its magnitude seems greater than it did initially, thanks to deeper appreciation of its nuances, but even the influence of II’s potency doesn’t eliminate flaws entirely. II could stand to be a shade shorter, to give every moment more impact; something not needed so much by its peaks, but from which some of its lingering passages would gain better standing as transitions of beneficial steadiness between outbursts.

With so much atmospheric and raw black metal out there that might as well be anonymous for all its uniformity and ironic placidity, Blood Abscission stand out not only with real anonymity, but music that speaks for itself. In form resisting memorability, in actuality quite impactful and resilient, II shows what the genre is capable of. Even if it lacks the concrete immediacy to solidify it into long-standing greatness, its noise is not meaningless, and its meaning is not lost, however imprecise it might seem.

Rating: Good
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3
Label: Debemur Morti
Website: Bandcamp
Releases Worldwide: April 11th, 2025

#2025 #30 #Aara #Alcest #AmbientBlackMetal #Apr25 #AtmosphericBlackMetal #BlackMetal #BloodAbscission #DebemurMortiProductions #Decoherence #II #RawBlackMetal #Review #Reviews

#nowPlaying

White Ward - Love Exchange Failure

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DQ7Od-9l6Aw

Experimental-/Post Black Metal from Odessa, Ukraine

#WhiteWard #LoveExchangeFailure #BlackMetal #PostBlackMetal #ExperimentalBlackMetal #DebemurMortiProductions

#nowPlaying

White Ward - Love Exchange Failure

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DQ7Od-9l6Aw

Experimental-/Post Black Metal from Odessa, Ukraine

#WhiteWard #LoveExchangeFailure #BlackMetal #PostBlackMetal #ExperimentalBlackMetal #DebemurMortiProductions