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Emptiness – Nowhere Speaks Review

Emptiness, nothingness, absence, non-being: such evocations of negation abound in extreme metal, often justifiably given the visceral analogy…
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Emptiness, nothingness, absence, non-being: such evocations of negation abound in extreme metal, often justifiably given the visceral analogy between dense dissonance and existential dysphoria. Among the acts walking this walk, Belgium’s Emptiness proudly stalk, with the blurb for seventh full-length Nowhere Speaks explicitly stating that it is “entirely unconcerned with making its listener comfortable.” The group’s trajectory thus far has taken them from uncompromising blackened death into ever more ambient and experimental territory, where they first crossed into the AMG-verse via Jean-Luc Ricard’s 2014 TYMHM post on Nothing But the Whole, and returned in 2017 to send shivers down Grymm’s spine with Not For Music. The sudden pivot into French-sung, distortion-free Vide was no less disturbing for its quietitude, though it may have ironically alienated fans. Nowhere Speaks thus carries the weight of significant mystery: what form has Emptiness taken this time, and does it bear any connection to their past?

Nowhere Speaks sees Emptiness heap scorn over those who doubted them—this is all of Emptiness, and there’s nothing random about it. The album begins with this affirmation, picking up the riff that was cut-off midway from Nothing But the Whole’s closer “Lowland,” and carrying on (“Nothing But The Whole (Part 2)”). It ends with it too, final track “All For Nothing” lapsing into the malevolent soundscape of Nothing But The Whole’s first, “Go and Hope,” and stopping with similar abruptness—a synecdoche for the wider circularity that connects these two albums over a decade apart. This brings a weird closure to the former record, even as Nowhere Speaks’ ending perpetuates the unsettled and unsettling sempiternality. Emptiness’ self-referential horror doesn’t stop at album construction. In a direct mirror of predecessor Vide, which was recorded by each member in isolation and geographically distant, Nowhere Speaks was recorded live all at once in the studio. This reassembling works as a metaphor for this album’s sound, which reconstructs many of Emptiness’ elements in both familiar and unfamiliar ways.

Nowhere Speaks is the opposite of immediate; everything about it creeps. And it creeps inexorably, as certain as death. The dark melodies and restlessly stalking tempos (“Nowhere Speaks,” “Words to Wind,” “When the Whole Arrives”1) are only the half of it. Sometimes the music’s atmosphere incarnates as disso-death moodiness, (“Words to Wind,” “When the Whole Arrives”), sometimes as the blurriness of noisy atmo-black (“The Threat,” “One Must See All,” “All For Nothing”), sometimes as warped, static-scattered ambience (“Darkness Commands,” “Words to Wind,” “Next In Line”). Tremolos often feel almost warm (“Nowhere Speaks,” “All For Nothing”) until they aren’t (“Words to Wind”), and the stylistic incongruence between them and the electro-industrial edge that warps whispered growls creates an eerie tone throughout. The highest points are the culmination of these apparent inconsistencies, some new genre Emptiness have been crafting all this time—a pared-back blackened-death, dark ambient, groovy, and dissonant. It builds in the second act of “Words to Wind,” stalks with predatory grace at “When the Whole Arrives”‘s intro, and spreads insidiously in “Next In Line.” Emptiness pass through extreme metal and cloak elements in atmosphere, yet all this adds rather than subtracts tension and fearfulness.

These nuanced and unusual textures are intriguing, but they sometimes veer towards a mélange that’s too understated. Emptiness have absolutely nailed the vibe, and much of Nowhere Speaks does capitalise on the magical combination of pseudo-dissonant guitar, smothering dark ambience, and unusual compositional shapes. I can forgive the myriad interludes—some of which, particularly “Darkness Commands,” are excellent in their own right—which bleed in and out of the main songs. It’s the wavering vagaries in the midpoints and margins that threaten to fade too far into the background. The burying of instruments whilst nothing else drives a progression (“Nowhere Speaks,”); muffled voices and noise (“Words to Wind”), an immersion-breaking slide into the major (“Nowhere Speaks,” “The Clash of Forces,” “All for Nothing”). At least it sounds brilliant—all the layers distinguishable, the reverb a softness rather than an obstruction, the drums, vocals and guitars each having space to spook you.

Emptiness are evidently believers in the virtue of patience, answering the open question of Nothing But The Whole’s abrupt ending more than a decade after it was posed. Nowhere Speaks is no anomaly; give it time, and it spreads out like a great gulf of nothing.2 It may have taken many listens, but I’m now so immersed in the void of beautiful nothingness Emptiness have created, that it’s hard to remember I ever really had my doubts.

Rating: Very Good
DR: 9 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Season of Mist
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: July 17th, 2026

Emptiness, nothingness, absence, non-being: such evocations of negation abound in extreme metal, often justifiably given the visceral analogy between dense dissonance and existential dysphoria. Among the acts walking this walk, Belgium’s Emptiness proudly stalk, with the blurb for seventh full-length Nowhere Speaks explicitly stating that it is “entirely unconcerned with making its listener comfortable.” The group’s trajectory thus far has taken them from uncompromising blackened death into ever more ambient and experimental territory, where they first crossed into the AMG-verse via Jean-Luc Ricard’s 2014 TYMHM post on Nothing But the Whole, and returned in 2017 to send shivers down Grymm’s spine with Not For Music. The sudden pivot into French-sung, distortion-free Vide was no less disturbing for its quietitude, though it may have ironically alienated fans. Nowhere Speaks thus carries the weight of significant mystery: what form has Emptiness taken this time, and does it bear any connection to their past?

Nowhere Speaks sees Emptiness heap scorn over those who doubted them—this is all of Emptiness, and there’s nothing random about it. The album begins with this affirmation, picking up the riff that was cut-off midway from Nothing But the Whole’s closer “Lowland,” and carrying on (“Nothing But The Whole (Part 2)”). It ends with it too, final track “All For Nothing” lapsing into the malevolent soundscape of Nothing But The Whole’s first, “Go and Hope,” and stopping with similar abruptness—a synecdoche for the wider circularity that connects these two albums over a decade apart. This brings a weird closure to the former record, even as Nowhere Speaks’ ending perpetuates the unsettled and unsettling sempiternality. Emptiness’ self-referential horror doesn’t stop at album construction. In a direct mirror of predecessor Vide, which was recorded by each member in isolation and geographically distant, Nowhere Speaks was recorded live all at once in the studio. This reassembling works as a metaphor for this album’s sound, which reconstructs many of Emptiness’ elements in both familiar and unfamiliar ways.

Nowhere Speaks is the opposite of immediate; everything about it creeps. And it creeps inexorably, as certain as death. The dark melodies and restlessly stalking tempos (“Nowhere Speaks,” “Words to Wind,” “When the Whole Arrives”1) are only the half of it. Sometimes the music’s atmosphere incarnates as disso-death moodiness, (“Words to Wind,” “When the Whole Arrives”), sometimes as the blurriness of noisy atmo-black (“The Threat,” “One Must See All,” “All For Nothing”), sometimes as warped, static-scattered ambience (“Darkness Commands,” “Words to Wind,” “Next In Line”). Tremolos often feel almost warm (“Nowhere Speaks,” “All For Nothing”) until they aren’t (“Words to Wind”), and the stylistic incongruence between them and the electro-industrial edge that warps whispered growls creates an eerie tone throughout. The highest points are the culmination of these apparent inconsistencies, some new genre Emptiness have been crafting all this time—a pared-back blackened-death, dark ambient, groovy, and dissonant. It builds in the second act of “Words to Wind,” stalks with predatory grace at “When the Whole Arrives”‘s intro, and spreads insidiously in “Next In Line.” Emptiness pass through extreme metal and cloak elements in atmosphere, yet all this adds rather than subtracts tension and fearfulness.

These nuanced and unusual textures are intriguing, but they sometimes veer towards a mélange that’s too understated. Emptiness have absolutely nailed the vibe, and much of Nowhere Speaks does capitalise on the magical combination of pseudo-dissonant guitar, smothering dark ambience, and unusual compositional shapes. I can forgive the myriad interludes—some of which, particularly “Darkness Commands,” are excellent in their own right—which bleed in and out of the main songs. It’s the wavering vagaries in the midpoints and margins that threaten to fade too far into the background. The burying of instruments whilst nothing else drives a progression (“Nowhere Speaks,”); muffled voices and noise (“Words to Wind”), an immersion-breaking slide into the major (“Nowhere Speaks,” “The Clash of Forces,” “All for Nothing”). At least it sounds brilliant—all the layers distinguishable, the reverb a softness rather than an obstruction, the drums, vocals and guitars each having space to spook you.

Emptiness are evidently believers in the virtue of patience, answering the open question of Nothing But The Whole’s abrupt ending more than a decade after it was posed. Nowhere Speaks is no anomaly; give it time, and it spreads out like a great gulf of nothing.2 It may have taken many listens, but I’m now so immersed in the void of beautiful nothingness Emptiness have created, that it’s hard to remember I ever really had my doubts.

Rating: Very Good
DR: 9 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Season of Mist
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: July 17th, 2026

Emptiness, nothingness, absence, non-being: such evocations of negation abound in extreme metal, often justifiably given the visceral analogy between dense dissonance and existential dysphoria. Among the acts walking this walk, Belgium’s Emptiness proudly stalk, with the blurb for seventh full-length Nowhere Speaks explicitly stating that it is “entirely unconcerned with making its listener comfortable.” The group’s trajectory thus far has taken them from uncompromising blackened death into ever more ambient and experimental territory, where they first crossed into the AMG-verse via Jean-Luc Ricard’s 2014 TYMHM post on Nothing But the Whole, and returned in 2017 to send shivers down Grymm’s spine with Not For Music. The sudden pivot into French-sung, distortion-free Vide was no less disturbing for its quietitude, though it may have ironically alienated fans. Nowhere Speaks thus carries the weight of significant mystery: what form has Emptiness taken this time, and does it bear any connection to their past?

Nowhere Speaks sees Emptiness heap scorn over those who doubted them—this is all of Emptiness, and there’s nothing random about it. The album begins with this affirmation, picking up the riff that was cut-off midway from Nothing But the Whole’s closer “Lowland,” and carrying on (“Nothing But The Whole (Part 2)”). It ends with it too, final track “All For Nothing” lapsing into the malevolent soundscape of Nothing But The Whole’s first, “Go and Hope,” and stopping with similar abruptness—a synecdoche for the wider circularity that connects these two albums over a decade apart. This brings a weird closure to the former record, even as Nowhere Speaks’ ending perpetuates the unsettled and unsettling sempiternality. Emptiness’ self-referential horror doesn’t stop at album construction. In a direct mirror of predecessor Vide, which was recorded by each member in isolation and geographically distant, Nowhere Speaks was recorded live all at once in the studio. This reassembling works as a metaphor for this album’s sound, which reconstructs many of Emptiness’ elements in both familiar and unfamiliar ways.

Nowhere Speaks is the opposite of immediate; everything about it creeps. And it creeps inexorably, as certain as death. The dark melodies and restlessly stalking tempos (“Nowhere Speaks,” “Words to Wind,” “When the Whole Arrives”1) are only the half of it. Sometimes the music’s atmosphere incarnates as disso-death moodiness, (“Words to Wind,” “When the Whole Arrives”), sometimes as the blurriness of noisy atmo-black (“The Threat,” “One Must See All,” “All For Nothing”), sometimes as warped, static-scattered ambience (“Darkness Commands,” “Words to Wind,” “Next In Line”). Tremolos often feel almost warm (“Nowhere Speaks,” “All For Nothing”) until they aren’t (“Words to Wind”), and the stylistic incongruence between them and the electro-industrial edge that warps whispered growls creates an eerie tone throughout. The highest points are the culmination of these apparent inconsistencies, some new genre Emptiness have been crafting all this time—a pared-back blackened-death, dark ambient, groovy, and dissonant. It builds in the second act of “Words to Wind,” stalks with predatory grace at “When the Whole Arrives”‘s intro, and spreads insidiously in “Next In Line.” Emptiness pass through extreme metal and cloak elements in atmosphere, yet all this adds rather than subtracts tension and fearfulness.

These nuanced and unusual textures are intriguing, but they sometimes veer towards a mélange that’s too understated. Emptiness have absolutely nailed the vibe, and much of Nowhere Speaks does capitalise on the magical combination of pseudo-dissonant guitar, smothering dark ambience, and unusual compositional shapes. I can forgive the myriad interludes—some of which, particularly “Darkness Commands,” are excellent in their own right—which bleed in and out of the main songs. It’s the wavering vagaries in the midpoints and margins that threaten to fade too far into the background. The burying of instruments whilst nothing else drives a progression (“Nowhere Speaks,”); muffled voices and noise (“Words to Wind”), an immersion-breaking slide into the major (“Nowhere Speaks,” “The Clash of Forces,” “All for Nothing”). At least it sounds brilliant—all the layers distinguishable, the reverb a softness rather than an obstruction, the drums, vocals and guitars each having space to spook you.

Emptiness are evidently believers in the virtue of patience, answering the open question of Nothing But The Whole’s abrupt ending more than a decade after it was posed. Nowhere Speaks is no anomaly; give it time, and it spreads out like a great gulf of nothing.2 It may have taken many listens, but I’m now so immersed in the void of beautiful nothingness Emptiness have created, that it’s hard to remember I ever really had my doubts.

Rating: Very Good
DR: 9 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Season of Mist
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: July 17th, 2026

Emptiness, nothingness, absence, non-being: such evocations of negation abound in extreme metal, often justifiably given the visceral analogy between dense dissonance and existential dysphoria. Among the acts walking this walk, Belgium’s Emptiness proudly stalk, with the blurb for seventh full-length Nowhere Speaks explicitly stating that it is “entirely unconcerned with making its listener comfortable.” The group’s trajectory thus far has taken them from uncompromising blackened death into ever more ambient and experimental territory, where they first crossed into the AMG-verse via Jean-Luc Ricard’s 2014 TYMHM post on Nothing But the Whole, and returned in 2017 to send shivers down Grymm’s spine with Not For Music. The sudden pivot into French-sung, distortion-free Vide was no less disturbing for its quietitude, though it may have ironically alienated fans. Nowhere Speaks thus carries the weight of significant mystery: what form has Emptiness taken this time, and does it bear any connection to their past?

Nowhere Speaks sees Emptiness heap scorn over those who doubted them—this is all of Emptiness, and there’s nothing random about it. The album begins with this affirmation, picking up the riff that was cut-off midway from Nothing But the Whole’s closer “Lowland,” and carrying on (“Nothing But The Whole (Part 2)”). It ends with it too, final track “All For Nothing” lapsing into the malevolent soundscape of Nothing But The Whole’s first, “Go and Hope,” and stopping with similar abruptness—a synecdoche for the wider circularity that connects these two albums over a decade apart. This brings a weird closure to the former record, even as Nowhere Speaks’ ending perpetuates the unsettled and unsettling sempiternality. Emptiness’ self-referential horror doesn’t stop at album construction. In a direct mirror of predecessor Vide, which was recorded by each member in isolation and geographically distant, Nowhere Speaks was recorded live all at once in the studio. This reassembling works as a metaphor for this album’s sound, which reconstructs many of Emptiness’ elements in both familiar and unfamiliar ways.

Nowhere Speaks is the opposite of immediate; everything about it creeps. And it creeps inexorably, as certain as death. The dark melodies and restlessly stalking tempos (“Nowhere Speaks,” “Words to Wind,” “When the Whole Arrives”1) are only the half of it. Sometimes the music’s atmosphere incarnates as disso-death moodiness, (“Words to Wind,” “When the Whole Arrives”), sometimes as the blurriness of noisy atmo-black (“The Threat,” “One Must See All,” “All For Nothing”), sometimes as warped, static-scattered ambience (“Darkness Commands,” “Words to Wind,” “Next In Line”). Tremolos often feel almost warm (“Nowhere Speaks,” “All For Nothing”) until they aren’t (“Words to Wind”), and the stylistic incongruence between them and the electro-industrial edge that warps whispered growls creates an eerie tone throughout. The highest points are the culmination of these apparent inconsistencies, some new genre Emptiness have been crafting all this time—a pared-back blackened-death, dark ambient, groovy, and dissonant. It builds in the second act of “Words to Wind,” stalks with predatory grace at “When the Whole Arrives”‘s intro, and spreads insidiously in “Next In Line.” Emptiness pass through extreme metal and cloak elements in atmosphere, yet all this adds rather than subtracts tension and fearfulness.

These nuanced and unusual textures are intriguing, but they sometimes veer towards a mélange that’s too understated. Emptiness have absolutely nailed the vibe, and much of Nowhere Speaks does capitalise on the magical combination of pseudo-dissonant guitar, smothering dark ambience, and unusual compositional shapes. I can forgive the myriad interludes—some of which, particularly “Darkness Commands,” are excellent in their own right—which bleed in and out of the main songs. It’s the wavering vagaries in the midpoints and margins that threaten to fade too far into the background. The burying of instruments whilst nothing else drives a progression (“Nowhere Speaks,”); muffled voices and noise (“Words to Wind”), an immersion-breaking slide into the major (“Nowhere Speaks,” “The Clash of Forces,” “All for Nothing”). At least it sounds brilliant—all the layers distinguishable, the reverb a softness rather than an obstruction, the drums, vocals and guitars each having space to spook you.

Emptiness are evidently believers in the virtue of patience, answering the open question of Nothing But The Whole’s abrupt ending more than a decade after it was posed. Nowhere Speaks is no anomaly; give it time, and it spreads out like a great gulf of nothing.2 It may have taken many listens, but I’m now so immersed in the void of beautiful nothingness Emptiness have created, that it’s hard to remember I ever really had my doubts.

Rating: Very Good
DR: 9 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Season of Mist
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: July 17th, 2026

Emptiness, nothingness, absence, non-being: such evocations of negation abound in extreme metal, often justifiably given the visceral analogy between dense dissonance and existential dysphoria. Among the acts walking this walk, Belgium’s Emptiness proudly stalk, with the blurb for seventh full-length Nowhere Speaks explicitly stating that it is “entirely unconcerned with making its listener comfortable.” The group’s trajectory thus far has taken them from uncompromising blackened death into ever more ambient and experimental territory, where they first crossed into the AMG-verse via Jean-Luc Ricard’s 2014 TYMHM post on Nothing But the Whole, and returned in 2017 to send shivers down Grymm’s spine with Not For Music. The sudden pivot into French-sung, distortion-free Vide was no less disturbing for its quietitude, though it may have ironically alienated fans. Nowhere Speaks thus carries the weight of significant mystery: what form has Emptiness taken this time, and does it bear any connection to their past?

Nowhere Speaks sees Emptiness heap scorn over those who doubted them—this is all of Emptiness, and there’s nothing random about it. The album begins with this affirmation, picking up the riff that was cut-off midway from Nothing But the Whole’s closer “Lowland,” and carrying on (“Nothing But The Whole (Part 2)”). It ends with it too, final track “All For Nothing” lapsing into the malevolent soundscape of Nothing But The Whole’s first, “Go and Hope,” and stopping with similar abruptness—a synecdoche for the wider circularity that connects these two albums over a decade apart. This brings a weird closure to the former record, even as Nowhere Speaks’ ending perpetuates the unsettled and unsettling sempiternality. Emptiness’ self-referential horror doesn’t stop at album construction. In a direct mirror of predecessor Vide, which was recorded by each member in isolation and geographically distant, Nowhere Speaks was recorded live all at once in the studio. This reassembling works as a metaphor for this album’s sound, which reconstructs many of Emptiness’ elements in both familiar and unfamiliar ways.

Nowhere Speaks is the opposite of immediate; everything about it creeps. And it creeps inexorably, as certain as death. The dark melodies and restlessly stalking tempos (“Nowhere Speaks,” “Words to Wind,” “When the Whole Arrives”1) are only the half of it. Sometimes the music’s atmosphere incarnates as disso-death moodiness, (“Words to Wind,” “When the Whole Arrives”), sometimes as the blurriness of noisy atmo-black (“The Threat,” “One Must See All,” “All For Nothing”), sometimes as warped, static-scattered ambience (“Darkness Commands,” “Words to Wind,” “Next In Line”). Tremolos often feel almost warm (“Nowhere Speaks,” “All For Nothing”) until they aren’t (“Words to Wind”), and the stylistic incongruence between them and the electro-industrial edge that warps whispered growls creates an eerie tone throughout. The highest points are the culmination of these apparent inconsistencies, some new genre Emptiness have been crafting all this time—a pared-back blackened-death, dark ambient, groovy, and dissonant. It builds in the second act of “Words to Wind,” stalks with predatory grace at “When the Whole Arrives”‘s intro, and spreads insidiously in “Next In Line.” Emptiness pass through extreme metal and cloak elements in atmosphere, yet all this adds rather than subtracts tension and fearfulness.

These nuanced and unusual textures are intriguing, but they sometimes veer towards a mélange that’s too understated. Emptiness have absolutely nailed the vibe, and much of Nowhere Speaks does capitalise on the magical combination of pseudo-dissonant guitar, smothering dark ambience, and unusual compositional shapes. I can forgive the myriad interludes—some of which, particularly “Darkness Commands,” are excellent in their own right—which bleed in and out of the main songs. It’s the wavering vagaries in the midpoints and margins that threaten to fade too far into the background. The burying of instruments whilst nothing else drives a progression (“Nowhere Speaks,”); muffled voices and noise (“Words to Wind”), an immersion-breaking slide into the major (“Nowhere Speaks,” “The Clash of Forces,” “All for Nothing”). At least it sounds brilliant—all the layers distinguishable, the reverb a softness rather than an obstruction, the drums, vocals and guitars each having space to spook you.

Emptiness are evidently believers in the virtue of patience, answering the open question of Nothing But The Whole’s abrupt ending more than a decade after it was posed. Nowhere Speaks is no anomaly; give it time, and it spreads out like a great gulf of nothing.2 It may have taken many listens, but I’m now so immersed in the void of beautiful nothingness Emptiness have created, that it’s hard to remember I ever really had my doubts.

Rating: Very Good
DR: 9 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Season of Mist
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: July 17th, 2026

In case you’re unfamiliar, The Epic of Gilgamesh is an ancient Mesopotamian poetic narrative, whose first complete form is dated to approximately 1800 BCE. It follows a story of King Gilgamesh and his dealings with gods and other mythic monsters, culminating in a journey for the secret of immortality.1 What better way could there be to consume this rich, literary epic than have it interpreted by the collection of artists behind From the Waters of Death? Obscure black/doom duo Swords of Dis; death metal veteran and experimenter Serpent Ascending; Neptunian Maximalism’s darker, heavier incarnation Ôros Kaù; and ambient-black dreamer Midnight Odyssey. All are infamous—if you know who they are—for their strange, unconventional styles and love for long-form expression that borders on the self-indulgent, which may make them ideally suited to a Gilgamesh retelling. You may already be experiencing a sinking feeling of dread at those name-drops. But together these artists achieve something that exceeded my expectations even as it met them squarely.

While appearing to be a split, Waters is more of a collaboration as each individual contributes vocal or instrumental talents across multiple songs, including on those they wrote and take the lead in themselves. Spearheading the whole thing are Richard and Alice Corvinus of Swords of Dis, who have a hand in all lyrics and appear on every track. These lyrics, inspired by the words of the epic itself, consist of narration interspersed with dialogue between the various characters, and the five musicians rotate and share roles depending on who is involved in the corresponding part of the story. 2 This improves the album’s internal coherence—which might otherwise be hindered in a split format—whilst also allowing each movement to take on the personality of its lead artist. As a form of adaptation, the five tracks of reverb-filled, noisy, strange, melodramatically or demoniacally vocally-led, black-adjacent fringe metal lean into the grand, frightening side to the tale whose gravity us modern-age folk probably can’t appreciate properly. And it’s that excessive, almost absurd commitment to being different, which—and I can’t believe I’m saying this—actually works.

From The Waters Of Death by SWORDS OF DIS

Drama is at the heart of oral poetic tradition, and it’s Waters’ drama that similarly grounds its best aspects. Utmost credit goes to Alice Corvinus and her fierce (“From Egalmah They Rode…”3, operatic (“Araru Births the Lord of the Wilderness,” “From Egalmah…,” “Blood Stains The Altar…”4), sometimes eerie (“Into the Wailing Darkness”5) vocal performance. Her presence dominates as she provides some narration in addition to voicing every female character (and there are a lot of goddesses involved). Dark, minor tremolo refrains and Middle-Eastern-inspired melodies support her delivery, and the theatrical, flowing style Swords of Dis employ lends itself to this expression perfectly. In a different vein, the inhumanly gurgling snarls of Guillaume Cazalet (Ôros Kaù) make for a barbed contrast to otherwise vague, even beautiful, passages (“Blood…”), and can be genuinely frightening (“Into The Wailing Darkness”). All vocals—clean or harsh—are odd to a degree, sometimes even off-putting (“Araru…”). Yet most breaches of the cringe line are brief, and ameliorated by interesting instrumentation (“Blood…,” “From the Setting…”6). Those totally averse to what we anaemically refer to as ‘avant-garde’ in extreme metal can beg to differ, but the back and forth between dissonance and harmony (“Araru…,” “Blood…”), and between uncomfortable slowness and sudden speed (“From the Setting…”), is not only well-performed, it makes sense for the record’s narrative concept. A journey represented through a monotonous pattern (“From Egalmah…,” “From the Setting…”), the fury of a deity by means of an operatic surge (“From Egalmah…”).

Waters embodies the manner of epic poetry so well, however, that its digestibility is harmed as well as helped. Whether appropriate or not, its near-90-minute runtime makes engaging with its entirety a daunting prospect, and this is a record that fares best when you do give it the time and space to immerse you.7 The very aptness of the compositional style—long repetitive sections on the one hand, and frequent switches between tempo, melody, and vocalist on the other—which mimics recitation amongst orators, can prove taxing. It creates a dynamic of brilliant moments and stand-out performances, scattered unevenly inside overextended filling. It’s perhaps not a coincidence that the album’s midsection—the two tracks led by masterminds Swords of Dis—is by far the best and most even in quality, whereas its final act—Midnight Odyssey’s—is the least engaging and unable to support its length.8

Though Waters cannot escape the idiosyncrasies of the artists behind it—and so inherently restricts its audience—as an expression of this epic poem, these approaches to black metal are surprisingly apt. If you have the time to go on this adventure with Serpent Ascending, Ôros Kaù, Swords of Dis, and Midnight Odyssey, there’s plenty to enjoy. But if nothing else, let it be an excuse to learn about the original myth that inspires such weird, sometimes wonderful music.

Rating: Good(!)
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 256 kbps mp3
Label: I, Voidhanger
Websites: Album BC | Serpent Ascending BC | Serpent Ascending FB | Ôros Kaù BC | Ôros Kaù FB | Swords of Dis BC | Swords of Dis FB | Midnight Odyssey BC | Midnight Odyssey FB
Releases Worldwide: February 13th, 2026

In case you’re unfamiliar, The Epic of Gilgamesh is an ancient Mesopotamian poetic narrative, whose first complete form is dated to approximately 1800 BCE. It follows a story of King Gilgamesh and his dealings with gods and other mythic monsters, culminating in a journey for the secret of immortality.1 What better way could there be to consume this rich, literary epic than have it interpreted by the collection of artists behind From the Waters of Death? Obscure black/doom duo Swords of Dis; death metal veteran and experimenter Serpent Ascending; Neptunian Maximalism’s darker, heavier incarnation Ôros Kaù; and ambient-black dreamer Midnight Odyssey. All are infamous—if you know who they are—for their strange, unconventional styles and love for long-form expression that borders on the self-indulgent, which may make them ideally suited to a Gilgamesh retelling. You may already be experiencing a sinking feeling of dread at those name-drops. But together these artists achieve something that exceeded my expectations even as it met them squarely.

While appearing to be a split, Waters is more of a collaboration as each individual contributes vocal or instrumental talents across multiple songs, including on those they wrote and take the lead in themselves. Spearheading the whole thing are Richard and Alice Corvinus of Swords of Dis, who have a hand in all lyrics and appear on every track. These lyrics, inspired by the words of the epic itself, consist of narration interspersed with dialogue between the various characters, and the five musicians rotate and share roles depending on who is involved in the corresponding part of the story. 2 This improves the album’s internal coherence—which might otherwise be hindered in a split format—whilst also allowing each movement to take on the personality of its lead artist. As a form of adaptation, the five tracks of reverb-filled, noisy, strange, melodramatically or demoniacally vocally-led, black-adjacent fringe metal lean into the grand, frightening side to the tale whose gravity us modern-age folk probably can’t appreciate properly. And it’s that excessive, almost absurd commitment to being different, which—and I can’t believe I’m saying this—actually works.

From The Waters Of Death by SWORDS OF DIS

Drama is at the heart of oral poetic tradition, and it’s Waters’ drama that similarly grounds its best aspects. Utmost credit goes to Alice Corvinus and her fierce (“From Egalmah They Rode…”3, operatic (“Araru Births the Lord of the Wilderness,” “From Egalmah…,” “Blood Stains The Altar…”4), sometimes eerie (“Into the Wailing Darkness”5) vocal performance. Her presence dominates as she provides some narration in addition to voicing every female character (and there are a lot of goddesses involved). Dark, minor tremolo refrains and Middle-Eastern-inspired melodies support her delivery, and the theatrical, flowing style Swords of Dis employ lends itself to this expression perfectly. In a different vein, the inhumanly gurgling snarls of Guillaume Cazalet (Ôros Kaù) make for a barbed contrast to otherwise vague, even beautiful, passages (“Blood…”), and can be genuinely frightening (“Into The Wailing Darkness”). All vocals—clean or harsh—are odd to a degree, sometimes even off-putting (“Araru…”). Yet most breaches of the cringe line are brief, and ameliorated by interesting instrumentation (“Blood…,” “From the Setting…”6). Those totally averse to what we anaemically refer to as ‘avant-garde’ in extreme metal can beg to differ, but the back and forth between dissonance and harmony (“Araru…,” “Blood…”), and between uncomfortable slowness and sudden speed (“From the Setting…”), is not only well-performed, it makes sense for the record’s narrative concept. A journey represented through a monotonous pattern (“From Egalmah…,” “From the Setting…”), the fury of a deity by means of an operatic surge (“From Egalmah…”).

Waters embodies the manner of epic poetry so well, however, that its digestibility is harmed as well as helped. Whether appropriate or not, its near-90-minute runtime makes engaging with its entirety a daunting prospect, and this is a record that fares best when you do give it the time and space to immerse you.7 The very aptness of the compositional style—long repetitive sections on the one hand, and frequent switches between tempo, melody, and vocalist on the other—which mimics recitation amongst orators, can prove taxing. It creates a dynamic of brilliant moments and stand-out performances, scattered unevenly inside overextended filling. It’s perhaps not a coincidence that the album’s midsection—the two tracks led by masterminds Swords of Dis—is by far the best and most even in quality, whereas its final act—Midnight Odyssey’s—is the least engaging and unable to support its length.8

Though Waters cannot escape the idiosyncrasies of the artists behind it—and so inherently restricts its audience—as an expression of this epic poem, these approaches to black metal are surprisingly apt. If you have the time to go on this adventure with Serpent Ascending, Ôros Kaù, Swords of Dis, and Midnight Odyssey, there’s plenty to enjoy. But if nothing else, let it be an excuse to learn about the original myth that inspires such weird, sometimes wonderful music.

Rating: Good(!)
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 256 kbps mp3
Label: I, Voidhanger
Websites: Album BC | Serpent Ascending BC | Serpent Ascending FB | Ôros Kaù BC | Ôros Kaù FB | Swords of Dis BC | Swords of Dis FB | Midnight Odyssey BC | Midnight Odyssey FB
Releases Worldwide: February 13th, 2026

In case you’re unfamiliar, The Epic of Gilgamesh is an ancient Mesopotamian poetic narrative, whose first complete form is dated to approximately 1800 BCE. It follows a story of King Gilgamesh and his dealings with gods and other mythic monsters, culminating in a journey for the secret of immortality.1 What better way could there be to consume this rich, literary epic than have it interpreted by the collection of artists behind From the Waters of Death? Obscure black/doom duo Swords of Dis; death metal veteran and experimenter Serpent Ascending; Neptunian Maximalism’s darker, heavier incarnation Ôros Kaù; and ambient-black dreamer Midnight Odyssey. All are infamous—if you know who they are—for their strange, unconventional styles and love for long-form expression that borders on the self-indulgent, which may make them ideally suited to a Gilgamesh retelling. You may already be experiencing a sinking feeling of dread at those name-drops. But together these artists achieve something that exceeded my expectations even as it met them squarely.

While appearing to be a split, Waters is more of a collaboration as each individual contributes vocal or instrumental talents across multiple songs, including on those they wrote and take the lead in themselves. Spearheading the whole thing are Richard and Alice Corvinus of Swords of Dis, who have a hand in all lyrics and appear on every track. These lyrics, inspired by the words of the epic itself, consist of narration interspersed with dialogue between the various characters, and the five musicians rotate and share roles depending on who is involved in the corresponding part of the story. 2 This improves the album’s internal coherence—which might otherwise be hindered in a split format—whilst also allowing each movement to take on the personality of its lead artist. As a form of adaptation, the five tracks of reverb-filled, noisy, strange, melodramatically or demoniacally vocally-led, black-adjacent fringe metal lean into the grand, frightening side to the tale whose gravity us modern-age folk probably can’t appreciate properly. And it’s that excessive, almost absurd commitment to being different, which—and I can’t believe I’m saying this—actually works.

From The Waters Of Death by SWORDS OF DIS

Drama is at the heart of oral poetic tradition, and it’s Waters’ drama that similarly grounds its best aspects. Utmost credit goes to Alice Corvinus and her fierce (“From Egalmah They Rode…”3, operatic (“Araru Births the Lord of the Wilderness,” “From Egalmah…,” “Blood Stains The Altar…”4), sometimes eerie (“Into the Wailing Darkness”5) vocal performance. Her presence dominates as she provides some narration in addition to voicing every female character (and there are a lot of goddesses involved). Dark, minor tremolo refrains and Middle-Eastern-inspired melodies support her delivery, and the theatrical, flowing style Swords of Dis employ lends itself to this expression perfectly. In a different vein, the inhumanly gurgling snarls of Guillaume Cazalet (Ôros Kaù) make for a barbed contrast to otherwise vague, even beautiful, passages (“Blood…”), and can be genuinely frightening (“Into The Wailing Darkness”). All vocals—clean or harsh—are odd to a degree, sometimes even off-putting (“Araru…”). Yet most breaches of the cringe line are brief, and ameliorated by interesting instrumentation (“Blood…,” “From the Setting…”6). Those totally averse to what we anaemically refer to as ‘avant-garde’ in extreme metal can beg to differ, but the back and forth between dissonance and harmony (“Araru…,” “Blood…”), and between uncomfortable slowness and sudden speed (“From the Setting…”), is not only well-performed, it makes sense for the record’s narrative concept. A journey represented through a monotonous pattern (“From Egalmah…,” “From the Setting…”), the fury of a deity by means of an operatic surge (“From Egalmah…”).

Waters embodies the manner of epic poetry so well, however, that its digestibility is harmed as well as helped. Whether appropriate or not, its near-90-minute runtime makes engaging with its entirety a daunting prospect, and this is a record that fares best when you do give it the time and space to immerse you.7 The very aptness of the compositional style—long repetitive sections on the one hand, and frequent switches between tempo, melody, and vocalist on the other—which mimics recitation amongst orators, can prove taxing. It creates a dynamic of brilliant moments and stand-out performances, scattered unevenly inside overextended filling. It’s perhaps not a coincidence that the album’s midsection—the two tracks led by masterminds Swords of Dis—is by far the best and most even in quality, whereas its final act—Midnight Odyssey’s—is the least engaging and unable to support its length.8

Though Waters cannot escape the idiosyncrasies of the artists behind it—and so inherently restricts its audience—as an expression of this epic poem, these approaches to black metal are surprisingly apt. If you have the time to go on this adventure with Serpent Ascending, Ôros Kaù, Swords of Dis, and Midnight Odyssey, there’s plenty to enjoy. But if nothing else, let it be an excuse to learn about the original myth that inspires such weird, sometimes wonderful music.

Rating: Good(!)
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 256 kbps mp3
Label: I, Voidhanger
Websites: Album BC | Serpent Ascending BC | Serpent Ascending FB | Ôros Kaù BC | Ôros Kaù FB | Swords of Dis BC | Swords of Dis FB | Midnight Odyssey BC | Midnight Odyssey FB
Releases Worldwide: February 13th, 2026

In case you’re unfamiliar, The Epic of Gilgamesh is an ancient Mesopotamian poetic narrative, whose first complete form is dated to approximately 1800 BCE. It follows a story of King Gilgamesh and his dealings with gods and other mythic monsters, culminating in a journey for the secret of immortality.1 What better way could there be to consume this rich, literary epic than have it interpreted by the collection of artists behind From the Waters of Death? Obscure black/doom duo Swords of Dis; death metal veteran and experimenter Serpent Ascending; Neptunian Maximalism’s darker, heavier incarnation Ôros Kaù; and ambient-black dreamer Midnight Odyssey. All are infamous—if you know who they are—for their strange, unconventional styles and love for long-form expression that borders on the self-indulgent, which may make them ideally suited to a Gilgamesh retelling. You may already be experiencing a sinking feeling of dread at those name-drops. But together these artists achieve something that exceeded my expectations even as it met them squarely.

While appearing to be a split, Waters is more of a collaboration as each individual contributes vocal or instrumental talents across multiple songs, including on those they wrote and take the lead in themselves. Spearheading the whole thing are Richard and Alice Corvinus of Swords of Dis, who have a hand in all lyrics and appear on every track. These lyrics, inspired by the words of the epic itself, consist of narration interspersed with dialogue between the various characters, and the five musicians rotate and share roles depending on who is involved in the corresponding part of the story. 2 This improves the album’s internal coherence—which might otherwise be hindered in a split format—whilst also allowing each movement to take on the personality of its lead artist. As a form of adaptation, the five tracks of reverb-filled, noisy, strange, melodramatically or demoniacally vocally-led, black-adjacent fringe metal lean into the grand, frightening side to the tale whose gravity us modern-age folk probably can’t appreciate properly. And it’s that excessive, almost absurd commitment to being different, which—and I can’t believe I’m saying this—actually works.

From The Waters Of Death by SWORDS OF DIS

Drama is at the heart of oral poetic tradition, and it’s Waters’ drama that similarly grounds its best aspects. Utmost credit goes to Alice Corvinus and her fierce (“From Egalmah They Rode…”3, operatic (“Araru Births the Lord of the Wilderness,” “From Egalmah…,” “Blood Stains The Altar…”4), sometimes eerie (“Into the Wailing Darkness”5) vocal performance. Her presence dominates as she provides some narration in addition to voicing every female character (and there are a lot of goddesses involved). Dark, minor tremolo refrains and Middle-Eastern-inspired melodies support her delivery, and the theatrical, flowing style Swords of Dis employ lends itself to this expression perfectly. In a different vein, the inhumanly gurgling snarls of Guillaume Cazalet (Ôros Kaù) make for a barbed contrast to otherwise vague, even beautiful, passages (“Blood…”), and can be genuinely frightening (“Into The Wailing Darkness”). All vocals—clean or harsh—are odd to a degree, sometimes even off-putting (“Araru…”). Yet most breaches of the cringe line are brief, and ameliorated by interesting instrumentation (“Blood…,” “From the Setting…”6). Those totally averse to what we anaemically refer to as ‘avant-garde’ in extreme metal can beg to differ, but the back and forth between dissonance and harmony (“Araru…,” “Blood…”), and between uncomfortable slowness and sudden speed (“From the Setting…”), is not only well-performed, it makes sense for the record’s narrative concept. A journey represented through a monotonous pattern (“From Egalmah…,” “From the Setting…”), the fury of a deity by means of an operatic surge (“From Egalmah…”).

Waters embodies the manner of epic poetry so well, however, that its digestibility is harmed as well as helped. Whether appropriate or not, its near-90-minute runtime makes engaging with its entirety a daunting prospect, and this is a record that fares best when you do give it the time and space to immerse you.7 The very aptness of the compositional style—long repetitive sections on the one hand, and frequent switches between tempo, melody, and vocalist on the other—which mimics recitation amongst orators, can prove taxing. It creates a dynamic of brilliant moments and stand-out performances, scattered unevenly inside overextended filling. It’s perhaps not a coincidence that the album’s midsection—the two tracks led by masterminds Swords of Dis—is by far the best and most even in quality, whereas its final act—Midnight Odyssey’s—is the least engaging and unable to support its length.8

Though Waters cannot escape the idiosyncrasies of the artists behind it—and so inherently restricts its audience—as an expression of this epic poem, these approaches to black metal are surprisingly apt. If you have the time to go on this adventure with Serpent Ascending, Ôros Kaù, Swords of Dis, and Midnight Odyssey, there’s plenty to enjoy. But if nothing else, let it be an excuse to learn about the original myth that inspires such weird, sometimes wonderful music.

Rating: Good(!)
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 256 kbps mp3
Label: I, Voidhanger
Websites: Album BC | Serpent Ascending BC | Serpent Ascending FB | Ôros Kaù BC | Ôros Kaù FB | Swords of Dis BC | Swords of Dis FB | Midnight Odyssey BC | Midnight Odyssey FB
Releases Worldwide: February 13th, 2026

In case you’re unfamiliar, The Epic of Gilgamesh is an ancient Mesopotamian poetic narrative, whose first complete form is dated to approximately 1800 BCE. It follows a story of King Gilgamesh and his dealings with gods and other mythic monsters, culminating in a journey for the secret of immortality.1 What better way could there be to consume this rich, literary epic than have it interpreted by the collection of artists behind From the Waters of Death? Obscure black/doom duo Swords of Dis; death metal veteran and experimenter Serpent Ascending; Neptunian Maximalism’s darker, heavier incarnation Ôros Kaù; and ambient-black dreamer Midnight Odyssey. All are infamous—if you know who they are—for their strange, unconventional styles and love for long-form expression that borders on the self-indulgent, which may make them ideally suited to a Gilgamesh retelling. You may already be experiencing a sinking feeling of dread at those name-drops. But together these artists achieve something that exceeded my expectations even as it met them squarely.

While appearing to be a split, Waters is more of a collaboration as each individual contributes vocal or instrumental talents across multiple songs, including on those they wrote and take the lead in themselves. Spearheading the whole thing are Richard and Alice Corvinus of Swords of Dis, who have a hand in all lyrics and appear on every track. These lyrics, inspired by the words of the epic itself, consist of narration interspersed with dialogue between the various characters, and the five musicians rotate and share roles depending on who is involved in the corresponding part of the story. 2 This improves the album’s internal coherence—which might otherwise be hindered in a split format—whilst also allowing each movement to take on the personality of its lead artist. As a form of adaptation, the five tracks of reverb-filled, noisy, strange, melodramatically or demoniacally vocally-led, black-adjacent fringe metal lean into the grand, frightening side to the tale whose gravity us modern-age folk probably can’t appreciate properly. And it’s that excessive, almost absurd commitment to being different, which—and I can’t believe I’m saying this—actually works.

From The Waters Of Death by SWORDS OF DIS

Drama is at the heart of oral poetic tradition, and it’s Waters’ drama that similarly grounds its best aspects. Utmost credit goes to Alice Corvinus and her fierce (“From Egalmah They Rode…”3, operatic (“Araru Births the Lord of the Wilderness,” “From Egalmah…,” “Blood Stains The Altar…”4), sometimes eerie (“Into the Wailing Darkness”5) vocal performance. Her presence dominates as she provides some narration in addition to voicing every female character (and there are a lot of goddesses involved). Dark, minor tremolo refrains and Middle-Eastern-inspired melodies support her delivery, and the theatrical, flowing style Swords of Dis employ lends itself to this expression perfectly. In a different vein, the inhumanly gurgling snarls of Guillaume Cazalet (Ôros Kaù) make for a barbed contrast to otherwise vague, even beautiful, passages (“Blood…”), and can be genuinely frightening (“Into The Wailing Darkness”). All vocals—clean or harsh—are odd to a degree, sometimes even off-putting (“Araru…”). Yet most breaches of the cringe line are brief, and ameliorated by interesting instrumentation (“Blood…,” “From the Setting…”6). Those totally averse to what we anaemically refer to as ‘avant-garde’ in extreme metal can beg to differ, but the back and forth between dissonance and harmony (“Araru…,” “Blood…”), and between uncomfortable slowness and sudden speed (“From the Setting…”), is not only well-performed, it makes sense for the record’s narrative concept. A journey represented through a monotonous pattern (“From Egalmah…,” “From the Setting…”), the fury of a deity by means of an operatic surge (“From Egalmah…”).

Waters embodies the manner of epic poetry so well, however, that its digestibility is harmed as well as helped. Whether appropriate or not, its near-90-minute runtime makes engaging with its entirety a daunting prospect, and this is a record that fares best when you do give it the time and space to immerse you.7 The very aptness of the compositional style—long repetitive sections on the one hand, and frequent switches between tempo, melody, and vocalist on the other—which mimics recitation amongst orators, can prove taxing. It creates a dynamic of brilliant moments and stand-out performances, scattered unevenly inside overextended filling. It’s perhaps not a coincidence that the album’s midsection—the two tracks led by masterminds Swords of Dis—is by far the best and most even in quality, whereas its final act—Midnight Odyssey’s—is the least engaging and unable to support its length.8

Though Waters cannot escape the idiosyncrasies of the artists behind it—and so inherently restricts its audience—as an expression of this epic poem, these approaches to black metal are surprisingly apt. If you have the time to go on this adventure with Serpent Ascending, Ôros Kaù, Swords of Dis, and Midnight Odyssey, there’s plenty to enjoy. But if nothing else, let it be an excuse to learn about the original myth that inspires such weird, sometimes wonderful music.

Rating: Good(!)
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 256 kbps mp3
Label: I, Voidhanger
Websites: Album BC | Serpent Ascending BC | Serpent Ascending FB | Ôros Kaù BC | Ôros Kaù FB | Swords of Dis BC | Swords of Dis FB | Midnight Odyssey BC | Midnight Odyssey FB
Releases Worldwide: February 13th, 2026