#italian-metal — Public Fediverse posts

Nearly a decade has passed since Italian black metal project Lorn last graced these halls. Arrayed Claws greatly impressed the sage Eldritch Elitist back in 2017, who praised its “caustic edge and sheer strangeness.” The man behind the project, Radok, seems to have been relatively quiet in the last nine years, but I don’t think he was idle. In the intervening years, I think Radok has been watching and listening, and he’s found the present lacking. In an endless ocean of new content, Radok sees naught but an arid desert, devoid of depth. On Lorn’s fourth full-length, Searing Blood, Radok promises to reject modernity’s vapid content singularity and conceptually return to black metal’s roots. Is Searing Blood an oasis in the desert, or is it just a mirage?

Those returning to Lorn will immediately notice some differences between Arrayed Claws and Searing Blood. First and foremost, Radok’s newest effort actually has a low end. Where Arrayed Claws was almost grating in its shrill and disquieting tone, Searing Blood rumbles and shakes the ground upon which it stands. This makes for a more physically enjoyable experience, avoiding the listener fatigue that threatened Arrayed Claws. Fans will also clock the shift from fairly distilled black metal toward the atmospheric variety. Radok’s 8-string guitar is still a deeply unsettling force to reckon with (“Haderburg”), but there’s an unexpected tenderness to Searing Blood. While it’s not uncommon for atmoblack bands to focus on the majesty of nature, Radok approaches it through a lens of disillusionment with contemporary life, weaving a sense of loss, betrayal, and impotent outrage into Searing Blood.

Change isn’t always a good thing, but it is on Searing Blood. While Lorn does pay homage to the past with brilliantly discordant melodicism (“Searing Blood,” “Leuchtenburg”), an increased prevalence of synths and the introduction of new elements well-suited to atmospheric spaces allow Lorn greater breadth of expression. “Leuchtenburg” channels Panopticon with metal-stringed chords that hint at a synth-backed, acoustic interlude. Draped in the gothic tones of Unto Others, picked leads on “Gallows” float in and out, evoking a beautiful sense of tension and anxiety. Airy, choral synths and ringing melodies bestow instrumental “Ordo Draconis” with a magical, otherworldly quality. Through it all, Searing Blood’s heart of aching tremolos and agonizing screams adeptly evokes the Romantic’s view of Modernity, an indictment of what is and a yearning for what was.

Lorn’s exploration of a new form isn’t without its stumbles, though. The acoustic interlude in “Leuchtenburg” is a little long, and the synths can distract from the strings. At over nine minutes, “Gallows” similarly sags under its own weight, and “Ordo Draconis” features a jarring transition that only leads to a mismatched back half. Sample usage is a bit heavy-handed,1 and Searing Blood wouldn’t suffer for their omission. Lorn also relies heavily on certain compositional decisions, robbing them of their impact. Short lulls that explode into a furious bridge appear far more often than they should, even multiple times in a single track (“Gallows,” “Threshold’s Tragedy”). And while I appreciate a good fade out, ending every song that way grows stale quickly.

Searing Blood isn’t what I expected. I had prepared to be unsettled and challenged, but I was instead guided through a poignant and emotive journey. Both novel and familiar, Searing Blood presents a surprisingly singular vision. Rather than simply refining Lorn’s particular flavor of dissonant black metal, Radok tills new soil with well-worn tools. Lorn’s new direction is compelling, missteps aren’t fatal, and there’s ample room for Radok to both improve and continue exploring this space. A tighter and more varied composition would aid any future efforts. Searing Blood won’t necessarily drop any jaws, but for those on the fence, it should convince you to keep an eye on Lorn.

Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 256 kbps
Label: I, Voidhanger Records
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: May 15th, 2026

You may note that I haven’t published a full review in more than a week. You may also note that my most recent contribution to AMG Productions was a ranking for the best of death metal’s old guard. You may peek at the score below and question my ability to remain objective in light of my recent musical diet. But worry not, dear reader! Objectivity is my prime objective, Fairness and Justice my guiding lights. You can rest assured that this review of Ignobleth’s debut LP, Manor of Primitive Anticreation, contains naught but Unbiased and Very Correct Opinions™.

Hailing from northern Italy, Ignobleth peddles a unique blend of black and death metal. This trio, comprised of A.L. on guitar, A.B. on bass and vocals, and M.O. on drums, combines the esoteric psychosis of Ritual Ascension with the grime and filth of Rotpit and an HM2 pedal. The result is a worship service held in the darkest recesses of a city sewer system. Murky, mangy riffs echo and multiply as they careen down lightless, sweating passageways, and haunted rasps reverberate in the mire. Together, Ignobleth creates an oppressive and turbid atmosphere, most acutely felt on “Proselyte Pig I” and “And the Lunar Mass Shatters.” The loping, swinging main riff of the former evokes gothic, vaudevillian horror, while M.O.’s icy kit work on the latter encourages eldritch panic.

Speaking of M.O., his percussive assault is perhaps the highlight of Manor of Primitive Anticreation, but not for the reason you might think. Indeed, he effortlessly oscillates between blackened blasts, death-infused rhythms, and punky beats (“Warped Abyssal Architecture,” “Forked Tongues”), but the predominance of the drums here is largely a result of a very subpar production job. Vocals and drums are centered on an unnecessarily wide sound stage with strings as far left and right as they can go, and as a result, each track feels less like a cohesive song and more like instruments playing at the same time. And while A.L.’s guitar is fairly clear when spotlighted for leads and hooks, the second the rest of the band joins in, it becomes barely audible mush. Prime examples include “Obelisk of Deformity,” which, during faster paced sections, becomes a wall of indeterminable sound, and “Proselyte Pig II,” which drowns its main riff in vat of sludge, such that I can barely hear more than two notes when I know A.L. is playing several more.

Would that the woes of Manor of Primitive Anticreation stopped there. Ignobleth includes an intro and three separate interludes on an album spanning only 11 tracks (“Intro,” “Spores,” “Interlude: Lecherous Sex Magick,” and “Manor of Primitive Anticreation”1). Interludes and ambient pieces can work, but here, they’re little more than minorly spooky synths, garbled spoken word, and choral bits that annoyingly interrupt the main course. Manor of Primitive Anticreation boldly includes even more ambience in the outro of “And the Lunar Mass Shatters,” and the last two minutes of album closer, “Among the Seventy-Two Embalmed Ekpyrotic Gods.” Even if the pacing were tighter and less stilted, the songwriting itself leaves much to be desired. Repetition runs rampant through the album (“Among…,” “Proselyte Pig I,” “Obelisk of Deformity”), blunting riffs and passages that could have bitten much harder. There’s also an overreliance on wordless howls over mildly furious instrumental sections. It’s so frequent that song structures seem composed almost entirely of bridges and solos with few verses or choruses to be found, compounding the album’s repetitive tendencies.

This has been a frustrating album to work with. While Ignobleth’s tone is deliciously vile, the songwriting and production leave me deeply disappointed. Over several spins, I got the distinct impression that Manor of Primitive Anticreation isn’t blackened death metal so much as something that sounds vaguely like it. It’s fine in the background, but direct attention reveals it to be a shallow imitation. Much of Manor of Primitive Anticreation seems geared toward a live audience—song structures, tone, prevalence of blast beats—and I have no doubt that it fucks quite hard in such a setting. Unfortunately, this style does not translate well to a studio production, much less the review process.

Rating: 1.5/5.0
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Caligari Records
Websites: Bandcamp | Instagram
Releases Worldwide: April 17th, 2026

There are few concepts in the Western tradition as misunderstood as that of “the death of God.” It is not a triumphant proclamation, nor a call for apathetic nihilism. What has been coined in recent online discourse as a ‘meaning crisis’ is only barely getting the point. The Loss of Transcendence—some universal, ultimate, mind-independent Truth and set of values—is a beginning, an event that should prompt critical thought and action and confrontation of a human condition that we sedate ourselves out of with belief in a higher power or sense and reason in the universe; hope; or the rescinding of responsibility to the idea that ‘nothing matters.12 The Great Observer seem to have done their homework for the most part, with their debut channeling their thrashy blackened death into a philosophical call to action that blends Existentialism with Stoicism and Epicureanism. Fresh on the scene and immediately going all-in in aggression and storytelling, what can The Great Observer give to us?

On the face of it, Loss of Transcendence is standard black/death/thrash, with a rotating emphasis on each of those three components. Sticking primarily to up-tempo, gritty riffing in a vein somewhere between Necrophobic, Tomb Mold, and Morbid Angel—though a less flashy iteration—The Great Observer do nonetheless find time to linger in some cavernousness that vaguely recalls Disembowelment. They further emphasise their mean streak with a pervasive vocal echo that adds to the grime of the throaty howls and is compounded during the many instances when such vocals are multi-tracked or delivered as a group. But not all of this energy is used in service of evil; there’s a strong anthemic side to these choruses and a jaunty bombast to many a beat. In many ways, it gives off the aura of classical extreme metal—back when Black Metal was an album title, and ugliness, speed, and aggression were the name of the game in a fundamentally different way to how they are now. And yet, under the layers of dirt and behind the malevolence lie small seeds of nuance, and it is to Loss of Transcendence’s great detriment that they remain scattered seeds alone.

Loss of Transcendence flirts with many things—intrigue, atmosphere, tenacity—but never quite wins any of them over. Riffs generally check boxes for pugnacity, but even at their most brutish and slick (“The Great Observer,” “Impervious Creation”), they have no edge, no force. At the worst end, guitar lines are entirely blunt thanks to nondescript, generic-sounding melodies and patterns (“Herald of Thorns,” “How Far the Faithless will Venture”). It’s unfortunate that all of the best guitar sits in the record’s back half, with “Impervious Creation” and “The Weight of Being Free” delivering shimmying, sliding shredding capable of winning over the harshest of critics, and the latter track featuring a genuinely beautiful, buttery smooth solo that combines everything great about grimy yet gorgeous extreme metal. The frequent use of group vocals, which sometimes creates an impressive miasma of harrowing calls (“Impervious Creation,” title track), falls awkwardly flat when delivered as rousing shouts (“Sentenced at High Noon,” “At The Summit of Consciousness,” “The Weight…”) thanks to the latter’s surprising corniness. The Great Observer also experiment in an exasperatingly random manner with distortion, with a liquid, Worm-adjacent effect appearing in random snatches never to develop (“Parénklisis (Fallen Into Existence),” “How Far…,” “The Weight…,” title track); and the worst part is that it’s good! The pace, generally high, is also stymied by not one but two synth-heavy instrumentals as “Parénklisis…” opens the album with a gravitas that never appears again, and “Ékstasis (The Lonesome Path)” needlessly presses pause for two minutes of ambience and whispering.

In reality, Loss of Transcendence feels frustratingly lukewarm. A mix that pushes guitars erratically between the far background and the very forefront, and a baffling decision3 to layer vocal tracks and reverb like lasagna over these riffs (“The Great Observer,” “Sentenced at High Noon,” “The Weight…,” title track) makes what could be decent blackened death sound almost poor. Almost the only time the guitars sound good is when they sound great, soloing in sudden clarity (“Sentenced…,” “Impervious Creation”) and with fluent expressiveness (“The Weight…,”), and these highlights appear exclusively in the second half. Given this, it becomes harder to forgive the swing of strangely upbeat gang shouts (“Sentenced…,” “Herald of Thorns”) and a brusque attitude to riff-writing that tends to shy away from character.

It’s always a shame when a concept I’m particularly interested in is delivered in mediocre form. Loss of Transcendence strikes as an album that would have had heads spinning and Bibles being reached for in the early 90s but now its grit cannot make up for its shortcomings. Failing to develop their best ideas and sidelining their assets far too often, The Great Observer still haven’t seen how to capitalise on their strengths, and Loss of Transcendence loses more than higher values as a result.

Rating: Disappointing
DR: 9 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: BlackSeed Productions
Website: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: April 30th, 2026

Aliens offer to take you away and give you a perfect—albeit short—life: do you say yes? According to Italian cosmic prog metal band Vanderlust, many of you would. “So, a bunch of people everywhere on Earth gave themselves” to the Coelacanths for that same offer, so opens The Human Farm. Several generations later, a human uprising leads to an escape from slavery and the discovery that the Coelacanths were all along harvesting Humans for their emotions. This isn’t meant to be funny. Vanderlust were deadset on telling a compelling sci-fi adventure in The Human Farm, enlisting guest keyboardist Francesco Londino (S91) and vocalist Martina Barreca (Mass Excess) to play the role of the Coelacanths. But did Vanderlust give us a sci-fi adventure for the ages with The Human Farm?

The gooey earnestness with which Vanderlust spill their adventure on The Human Farm is often matched by skill and musical vision. Vanderlust tear through speed-demonic numbers like “Viral Escape” or “Golden Shackles” with acerbically hooky, Vektor-gone-power-metal riffage while creating respite between the narrative beats with moody clean guitars and skittering drums on “The Turning Point” and “Connection Failed.” Guitarist Francesco Romeggini solos like mad on The Human Farm, shredding Megadethly over Blind Guardian riffs on the almost-instrumental “From the Cave – Fuga” and imbuing “Drive” with a gravitas and refinement. Bassist David Cantina and drummer Giacomo Mezzetti hold down Vanderlust’s rhythms, both driving (“Reborn…Again”) and groovy (“Humanity 3.0 – The New Canaan”) and shine on the “Battlefield”‘s bass solo and underlying fills. Ricca Morello’s vocals can get a bit mush-mouthed in the softer moments, but his power metal-inclined range and delivery crush the big moments, and Barreca’s death growls hit consistently, recalling Ophelion’s vocal duo on 2025’s The Jaunt. The Human Farm isn’t groundbreaking conceptually, but Vanderlust have the chops to tell their tale.

The Human Farm thrives in its biggest moments. Morello sounds his best when he goes all in, like on the Blind Guardian-coded power bonanza “Battlefield”1 and emotionally charged bookends “Humanity 2.0 – The Human Farm” and “Humanity 3.0 – The New Canaan.” Barreca’s growls add tons of punch to Vanderlust’s sound. When she trades lines with the choir on “Connection Failed” or clean sings on “Reborn…Again” and brings Meat Loaf melodrama to Dream Theater balladry, it feels so right. However, The Human Farm lulls when Vanderlust take the pedal off the metal. Momentum from “Golden Shackles” dissipates in the slow-burning of “The Turning Point” and doesn’t return until halfway through “Connection Failed,” and the barn-burning energy of “Viral Escape” is utterly deflated by the narrative interlude “…Find Them!”. However, Vanderlust are at any given time never too far off from another soaring crescendo, making The Human Farm an exciting listen, if not consistently so.

Vanderlust’s conceptual ambitions ultimately hinder The Human Farm, I feel. Vanderlust frequently dumb down musical ideas to allow narration more sonic space. This issue is exacerbated by the uniformly bad acting performances across The Human Farm, which resembles those 90s PC games where they just threw some interns into the booth. But even if the line reads were good, interjected into songs like “From the Cave – Fuga” and “Connection Failed,” they come off as a tacked-on concession to the story rather than an integral part of the music, coming off as distracting or even detrimental to the music. Vanderlust can do interesting things musically to tell their story, like having Barreca clean sing in “Reborn…Again” after the Coelacanths are defeated, reflecting them at their most vulnerable, or reworking the “Humanity 2.0…” motif into the end of “Humanity 3.0…,” where humankind has escaped captivity but find new challenges in freedom and lead some to question their revolution altogether.2 But for the most part, the way Vanderlust tell the story of The Human Farm detracts from what they do well: thrashy prog-power anthems.

If Vanderlust could hone their storytelling as well as their songwriting on The Human Farm, we’d have a great record on our hands. As is, there are too many conflicting elements in The Human Farm for more than a lukewarm recommendation, though there are fantastic songs throughout. Fans of prog-power will find things to like here, and Vanderlust is a band to keep an eye on, and I certainly will try to catch their third album should they make one. I’m not sure if Vanderlust have a Terminal Redux or Access All Worlds in them, but I wouldn’t put it past them either.



Rating: Mixed
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: V0 VBR mp3
Label: Rockshots Records
Websites: facebook.com/vanderlustofficial | soundcloud.com/vanderlust-music
Releases Worldwide: April 17th, 2026

In my hitherto short stint of indefinite indentured servitude in the hall, I’ve frequently noted the importance of albums with narrative. In my younger days, I was a simp for albums with as many tracks as I could find. Deluxe editions? Yes please. Reissues, demos, covers, unreleased bonus cuts? Heck yeah, inject that right into my veins. It’s only as the responsibilities of adulthood overtook casual listening time that I began to appreciate albums with brevity, direction, and a distinct sense of a complete, full-bodied work. Well, everybody buckle in, because somewhere in the ether a big middle finger on a monkey’s paw has curled in my direction, by way of Italy’s Dwellnought, presenting their debut album Monolith of Ephemerality. Oh, we will go on a journey together, alright, but will there be anything left worth recounting of this Monolith on our return?

Despite an album title seemingly indebted to the more thesaurus-riddled branches of slam, Dwellnought actually traffic in a brand of feedback-drenched blackened doom. Atmospheric theatrics are the name of the game, with an album that seeks to deprive the listener of anything approaching light, optimism, or major keys. Rumbling feedback collapses into slow bpm plods with sustained trem-chords filling in the negative spaces in time for single cymbal/bass drum hits before eventually metamorphosing into an earthquake shattering riff while vocalist S bellows and wails from just beyond the mix. The doom takes the biggest prevalence as Monolith of Ephemerality rarely exceeds a brisk trot in pace, with any spurts of speed eventually devolving back into exhausted continuations.

Monolith of Ephemerality by DWELLNOUGHT

Such commitment to crippling atmosphere is admirable, but it comes at the expense of almost everything else. Dwellnought have attempted an unusual formula, channeling the claustrophobia of Teitanblood in production but channeled through an almost Bell Witch chord pacing with occasional flourishes of Ossuary crust-heaving. The formula finds its peak at the beginning, with long-form intro “Slumbering Through the Dream of Impermanence” flowing seamlessly into massive 17-minute barnburner “The Final Desire is Unbeing.” Here is the Dwellnought recipe at its most refined. The otherwise needlessly lengthy intro is atmospheric and mood-setting, with the oscillation of tempo and tone in its follow-up masterfully executed. Within this lengthy run comes segments heavily indebted to drum-machine era Blut Aus Nord gelling into a barbaric Cough waltz with effortlessness. This 20-minute kickoff shows real promise, evoking the abyss with texture as much as color, or lack thereof.

If only the rest of the album followed suit. The quality dip in the back three-fifths represents not a slope as much as a sudden drop-off where memorable songwriting is sacrificed utterly at the altar of mood. The dedication to the mood is palpable, as not one note approaches anything optimistic or upbeat, but in their avoidance of such things, Dwellnought also sidestep memorability or impact. “Crystalized Flesh Identities Condensed into Wombs of Matter” can’t make up its mind whether it wants to be fast or slow and has tempo changes marked more by indecision than deliberate arrangement. Both this and “Ill Whispers” frequently rely on chords ringing out via prolonged strum with minimalized drumbeats, but the notes are mixed so homogenously I struggle to tell if there are actual riffs or if Dwellnought are riding atonality into oblivion. The opening to both tracks borders on self-plagiarism in their similarity, and no single moment of menace comes close to matching the peak of the preceding songs. Additionally, Monolith of Ephemerality ends on a 6-minute assault of nothing but static and a grumbly voice speaking out of the void, which is wild since that’s exactly how “Crystalized Flesh…” ends as well. An attempt at a narrative is clear, and yet this climax is far from earned, given the drought of memorable set pieces to justify such a noise-rooted outro.

And yet, I keep coming back to those first twenty minutes. It takes balls the size of a bird of a plane of ClarkKent1 to open up your already longform album with your highest quality riffs. Had these two songs made up all of Monolith of Ephemerality as a single-track ep (not dissimilar to Suffering Hour’s Dwell, for example), this would make an excellent addition to the end-of-the-year EP roundups. There’s a genuine seed of promise in how Dwellnought have put their best foot forward, but the collapse in quality as the album continues cannot be denied. The mix is massive, the tone dark, the atmosphere oppressive, and the influences are a recipe for a good time. But somewhere along the way, Dwellnought stared so hard into the abyss that eventually even the abyss stopped staring back. All atmosphere and very little riffage, this album is an excellent reminder to be careful what we wish for.

Rating: 2.0/5.0
DR: 5 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Caligari Records
Website: Album Bandcamp
Releases Worldwide: February 20th, 2026

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

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

Sub Janus by Calvana

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

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

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

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

Finally, the new year is upon us! A fresh start for some, same shit different year for others; mainly, my minions who toil in the mines ducts of the Filter. Since they don’t get any holidays, they probably don’t even fucking know it’s 2026 yet, but that’s okay. As long as they come back to HQ with a substantial haul, their ability to know when it is is immaterial.

These are the sacrifices we (not me, though), make to ensure you get the goods relatively on time-ish. So say thank you!

Kenstrosity’s Freaky Foursome

Upiór // Forefathers’ Eve (Redemption) [January 2nd, 2026 – Self Released]

Featuring members of Gorod (Benoit Claus) and Xaoc (Kévin Paradis), Upiór pinged my radar after a certain cosmic Discordian pinged me. A blistering combination of Fleshgod Apocalypse opulence and Wachenfeldt aggression, sophomore release Forefathers’ Eve (Redemption) impressed me immediately as “The Black Paintings ripped my face right off. “A Blessing or a Curse” doubled down on speed, blasting rhythms, and eerie melodies to propel itself straight into my Song o’ the Year long-list. Even with three instrumental interludes, all of which are quite fluffy, Forefathers’ Eve (Redemption) crams pummeling riffs, exuberant percussion, and dramatic lushness into its 51-minute runtime. “Forefathers’ Eve (Part I),” a fantastic companion to Fleshgod Apocalypse’s “Cold As Perfection” without aping its features, conjures a similarly affecting character that draws me in completely. Forefathers’ Eve (Redemption)’s middle section continues to build personality and develop greater dynamics from that point, represented most clearly in melodic riffs and expressive leads/soloing (“The Woman that Weeps”). Leading into its conclusion, a tonal shift towards the dire at this junction foreshadows the imminent release of Upiór’s second act, Forefathers’ Eve (Damnation) (due in early April), charring songs like “Forefather’s Eve (Part II)” and “Between the Living and Dead” with blackened rabidity and dissonant flourishes. All of this to say, Upiór launched this latest arc with a striking blow, and I can only imagine what’s in store for Damnation.

Forefathers’ Eve (Redemption) by Upiór

KadavriK // Erde666 [January 9th, 2026 – Self Released]

Germany’s melodic death metal quintet KadavriK have been cranking out records since 2007, but I only heard about them this year, once again, thanks to Discord. Erde666, their fifth outing, takes an unorthodox and progressive approach to melodic death metal, which makes comparisons difficult to draw. Stripped down and raw in some moments, mystical and lush in others, Erde666 is all about textures. Its opening title track explores that spectrum of sounds and philosophies to its fullest, even drawing heavy influence from blues, psychedelia, and sludge at times (“Getrümmerfreund”), but it all coalesces seamlessly. Following up an opener as strong as that would be a tall order for anyone, but KadavriK are clever songwriters, and the long form served them well even compared to the more straightforward tracklists of previous installments (“Nihilist,” “Das Ende Des Anthropozäns”). Off-kilter guitar melodies countered against twinkling Kalmah synths and sweeping strings do a lot of work to elevate and liven the crushing chords of their high-impact riffs as well, which adds a ton of interest into an already unconventional melodic death record (“Widerhall”). All of this makes for a record that might not be as immediate or fast-paced as most aim for in this space, but, counterintuitively, significantly more memorable. Don’t sleep on this one, folks!

Erde 666 by KadavriK

Luminesce // Like Crushed Violets and Linen [November 20th, 2026 – Self Released]

Prolific at a scale I haven’t witnessed since Déhà, Luminesce mastermind Alice Simard, based in Québec, piqued my curiosity for the first time with Like Crushed Violets and Linen, her sophomore effort under the Luminesce moniker. Boasting machine-gun rapidity (“Exploited Monochromaticism”), off-kilter rhythms (“Silver”), and a downright romantic sense of melody (“Like Crushed Violets and Linen,” “Lamp of Fulguration”)—countered by lyrical themes ranging from guilt complexes to gender identity (“To Restore”)—Like Crushed Violets and Linen is a deeply personal record forged in a melodic technical death metal mold. And as such a record, it recalls the vicarious guitar pyrotechnics of Inferi and Obscura while securing a melodic sensibility more in line with neoclassical composition (“The Covenant of Counterfeit Stars”). Unlike many of her contemporaries, however, Alice is a master of editing. Filled with killer ideas and instrumental wizardry without involving a drop of bloat, each of these seven songs coalesce into a buttery-smooth 30-minute excursion that punches far above its feathery mass. The addition of delightful chiptune dalliances helps distinguish Luminesce further from the pack (“To Restore”), though I’m torn about how far forward they are in the mix. In fact, the mix is my main gripe, as Like Crushed Violets and Linen is muffled and a bit flat, despite boasting a much-appreciated meaty bass presence. Nonetheless, if you’re looking for an unlikely tech-death contender, Luminesce might be just what you need.

Like Crushed Violets and Linen by Luminesce

Bone Storm // Daemon Breed [January 30th, 2026 – Self Released]

As the CEO of this Filter company, I withhold the right to break the rules and include a very cool bonus fourth option, Bone Storm’s cavebrained Daemon Breed. Do you like Bolt Thrower? Yes, you do. Do you like Bear Mace? Yes, you do. By proxy, then, you already like Connecticut’s Bone Storm as they draw from the same chunky, groove-laden school of death metal. At a somewhat overachieving 50 minutes, Daemon Breed pummels the listener beneath a veritable smorgasbord of neck-breaking riffs built upon a framework of triplet grooves, swaggering syncopations, and galloping double bass assaults. Their approach is simple and unburdened by blistering speed, fiddly technicality, or atmospheric deviation, and in that way recalls the undeniable immediacy and brutal effectiveness of records like Black Royal’s Firebride. With highlights “Heaven’s End (Burn Them All),” “Plaguerider,” “Sanctimonious Morality,” and above all “Ritual Supremacy,” Bone Storm use that approach with aplomb, proving that the spirit of classic, no-frills death metal is vital and vicarious. Delightfully cogent roars and gutturals allow the most difficult deliveries (see “Daemon Breed”) to feel vicious and purposeful, while a subtle thread of melody (see “Cursed Born”) affords the record a small measure of songwriting variety to break things up just when Daemon Breed needs it most. Heavy reliance on triplets and perhaps a zealous desire to put down every idea that seems good even if it’s placed immediately adjacent to much better one (“Halo of Disease” and “Hammer of Judas” bookending “Ritual Supremacy” are tough positions to defend, as is “Wrist Slitter” next to the fun Frozen Soul-esque “Blood Priest”), hold it back from higher praise only mildly. Moral of the story? Enter the bone zone, with haste!

Daemon Breed by Bone Storm

Creeping Ivy’s Riffy Remainder

Lord Elephant // Ultra Soul [January 30th, 2026 – Heavy Psych Sounds]

Sometimes, you don’t need dynamic songwriting, harmonic density, or even a vocalist. Sometimes, all you need are riffs. Okay, and maybe some psychedelic leads to go over those riffs. Ultra Soul, the sophomore album from Italian instrumental trio Lord Elephant, delivers 48 minutes of pure, mostly unadulterated stoner-doom. In the feudal jungle of heavy riff rock, Lord Elephant pays scutage to King Buffalo, similarly forming longish compositions where simple, bluesy figures reign supreme, stretching their limbs in grassy patches. Occasionally, guitarist Leandro Gaccione, bassist Edoardo De Nardi, and drummer Tommaso Urzino lock into some lively, head-bobbing grooves (“Gigantia”). But mostly, Lord Elephant keeps things meditative, hypnotizing listeners with Earthless drones and lurches (“Smoke Tower,” “Black River Blues”). De Nardi’s bass often leads the way (“Electric Dunes”), the underwater tone of which reminds me of falling for Isis.1 Lord Elephant aren’t reinventing any wheels here; the familiarity of their bluesy riffing simply won’t interest those for whom such bluesiness is a staid marker of old-man rock. The absence of vocals, however, makes Ultra Soul work as pseudo-ambient music that can set the mood, or accompany tasks, or gateway a normie. Closer listening will reveal, though, a tight trio reveling in the rudiments of rock music—a drummer, bassist, and guitarist vibing on a riff.

Ultra Soul by Lord Elephant

Andy-War-Hall’s Salvaged Windfall

Juodvarnis // Tékmés [January 23rd, 2026 – Self Released]

Lithuania’s Juodvarnis cooked for a long six years between albums for their fourth record Tékmés. With the confidence and sharpness displayed on all levels by Juodvarnis here, that was clearly time well spent in the kitchen. Sporting a brand of progressive black metal that blends the Enslaved framework of prog-black with the epic heft and melody of Iotunn and the crushing rhythms and harsh vocals of Gojira, Tékmés is tight, lively and achieves a remarkable level of melancholic thoughtfulness without neglecting the average listener’s chronic need for riffs. Translated to “flow” from Hungarian,2 Tékmés navigates inter-song and album-wide progressions of pummeling rhythms (“Dvasios Ligos”) and slow marches (“Tamsiausias Nušvitimas”), impassioned clean vocals (“Platybės”) and razor-throated screams (“Juodos Akys”) to achieve a gradual, natural sense of advancement across its 42-minute journey. If progressive black metal that knows how to riff and can turn the reverb off 11 sounds like a good time to you, give Juodvarnis’ Tékmés a shot sometime.

Tékmés by Juodvarnis

Thus Spoke’s Obscure Offerings

Ectovoid // In Unreality’s Coffin [January 9th, 2026 – Everlasting Spew Records]

Normally, it takes copious amounts of reverb, wonkiness, melody, or turbo-dissonance for death metal to be palatable to me. Every once in a while, however, an album like Ectovoid’s In Unreality’s Coffin comes along and shows me that there is another way. The music’s stickiness has a lot to do with its boundary-straddling take on OSDM. Ostensibly, the battering, percussion, sawblade riffing, and gruff gurgling growls mark it as your everyday modern no-nonsense death metal, somewhere between Cryptopsy and Immolation. But In Unreality’s Coffin is more like tech-death, disso-death, and brutal-death in a trench coat than it is any one of them, or another subgenre.3 Its arpeggios can be rhythmically snappy, sometimes combined with equally sharp vocal delivery (“Intrusive Illusions (Echoes from a Distant Plane)”), but more often than not channel a churning chaos that resists punchiness for a darker unease I find addictive (“Collapsing Spiritual Nebula,” “Erroneous Birth”). The music is constantly speeding up or slowing down, churning guitars collapsing with slides (“Dissonance Corporeum”) or pitching upwards in squeals (“In Anguished Levitation”), or evolving into mania as screams and growls fragment and layer (“Formless Seeking Form”). Rather than being exhausting, it’s exhilarating, with expertly-timed releases of diabolically echoing melody (“Collapsing Spiritual Nebula”) or a new groove to latch onto (“In Unreality’s Coffin”) coming to keep you afloat. Ectovoid keep you guessing without actually really pushing the boundaries, making In Unreality’s Coffin both a lot of fun and straightforwardly br00tal enough to sustain a savage workout; or just a really intense 45 minutes.

In Unreality’s Coffin by Ectovoid

Exxûl // Sealed into None [January 15th, 2026 – Productions TSO]

Phil Tougas has had an impressive start to the year. Before Worm’s Necropalace this February, came Sealed into None, the debut by Exxûl—a genre-blending, kinda blackened epic-power-doom-heavy-metal group also comprising several of Phil’s Atramentus band-mates. Several people brought up this album in the comments on my Worm review, often to the tune of “Exxûl better,” and while I respectfully disagree on the quality ranking of the two, I can’t deny how fabulous Sealed into None is. Here again are genres of music I’m usually unable to connect with—in this instance, power and classical heavy metal—but shaped in a way that opens my eyes and ears. Yes, the high-pitched wail style of singing first took me a little off-guard when they first arose on “Blighted Deity,” and they offend my usual tastes. But they are impressive, and work in a way I thought only harsh vocals could when following the trajectory of distorted keys and guitar (“Walls of Endless Darkness”), or shouting into an atmospheric abyss (“The Screaming Tower”). Oh, and of course, the overall vibe of magnificent, melodramatic blackened doom that sets the scene, capped off with—predictably—phenomenal guitarwork, is just magic and enough for me to get past my knee-jerk vocal ick and love it not in spite of that, but because of what it can bring to the whole. I love the slow builds to dazzling solos (“Bells of the Exxûl through to “Blighted Deity,” “The Screaming Tower”) and the way the camper, heavy-metal sides blur into something darker (“Labyrinthine Fate”). I just love this album, to be honest.

Sealed Into None by Exxûl

ClarkKent’s Canadian Catch

Turpitude // Mordoré [January 1, 2026 – Self Released]

Since 2019, Alice Simard has been a prolific presence in Quebec’s underground metal scene. She consistently releases albums for several different projects, from the ambient atmoblack of Coffret de Bijoux to the tech death of Luminesce (also uncovered in this month’s Filter by our Sponge Fren). Mordoré, the fourth full-length for Turpitude, thrives on its riffs and carries a cheerful energy reminiscent of the carefree raw black metal of Grime Stone Records stalwarts Wizard Keep and Old Nick. Yet Simard opts for traditional instruments, no synths, though production choices make the drumsticks sound as if they’re banging against blocks of wood, give the guitars a lofi reverb, and cause Simard’s voice to fade into the background in a cavernous growl. The riffs are the real star, with some terrifically catchy melodic leads and trems throughout (“La Traverse Mordorée,” “Aller de L’avant”). This combination of riffs, a raw sound, and often upbeat tunes draws comparison to Trhä and To Escape. While Mordoré keeps a mostly cheery tone, Turpitude’s no one-trick pony. There’s a tinge of the melancholic on the moody, atmospheric “Peintra,” as well as a successful stab at covering a non-metal song a lá Spider God on “Washing Machine Heart.”4 This is a worthwhile endeavor for those who like their black metal raw and energetic.

Mordoré by Turpitude

Grin Reaper’s Heavy Haul

Valiant Sentinel // Neverealm [January 16th, 2026 – Theogonia Records]

Greek heavy metal heroes Valiant Sentinel dropped their sophomore platter Neverealm back in mid-January, unleashing forty-six minutes that reek of high fantasy. Galloping riffs, driving drums, and vocal harmonies aplenty supply a cinematic adventure that basks in fun. While the pacing of Neverealm mainly operates in high-energy bombast, Valiant Sentinel smartly weaves in mid-paced might, evidenced by how the controlled assault of “Mirkwood Forest” provides a breather after opening chest-thumpers “War in Heaven” and “Neverealm.” Acoustic pieces “To Mend the Ring” and “Come What May” further diversify Neverealm’s heavy metal holdings, and while I’m usually keener on more aggressive numbers, these two tracks comprise some of my favorite moments on the album.5 Mostly, Valiant Sentinel summons comparisons to Germany’s heavy/power scene—chief among them Blind Guardian—going so far as to bring in BG drummer extraordinaire Frederik Ehmke. I also catch fleeting glimpses of Brainstorm and Mystic Prophecy in Valiant Sentinel’s DNA, though guitarist and composer Dimitris Skodras does a commendable job carving out a distinct identity for the band. Featuring skilled performances across the board and guest spots from Burning Witches’ Laura Guldemond (“Neverealm”) and Savatage’s Zak Stevens (“Arch Nemesis”), Valiant Sentinel packs loads of drama into a streamlined package. So what are you waiting for? Go grab your polyhedrals and a Spelljammer, and set sail for Neverealm.

Neverealm by Valiant Sentinel

Fili Bibiano’s Fortress // Death Is Your Master [January 30th, 2026 – High Roller Records]

Does Shredphobia keep you away from metal? Does the sultry siren call of licks, riffs, and chugs make you break into a cold sweat? If so, I strongly urge you to stay away from Fortress’ sophomore album, Death Is Your Master. Channeling Tony Martin-era Black Sabbath and 80s Judas Priest, Fortress drops six-string shenanigans that’ll get your booty shaking and the floor quaking, offering a romping retro slab that goes down slow ‘n’ easy. The overt classic 80s heavy metal worship on tracks “Flesh and Dagger” and “Night City” delivers riff after riff recalling the glory days, giving Fortress an authenticity that expands what could have otherwise been a one-dimensional LP. Guitarist Fili Bibiano sizzles with axe-slinging abandon, occasionally conjuring the neoclassical debauchery of Yngwie (“Savage Sword,” “Maze”). Still, it’s not all about the guitar, and drummer Joey Mancaruso and vocalist Juan Aguila nail their contributions as Fortress wends their way through a trim thirty-four minutes. On a guitar-forward album featuring slick songwriting and singalong jams, Death Is Your Master bumps, dives, and wails in a slow-burn frenzy of classic heavy goodness. Dig in!

Death Is Your Master by Fili Bibiano’s Fortress

Baguette’s Brutal Burglary

Skulld // Abyss Calls to Abyss [January 23rd, 2026 – Time to Kill Records]

While last year was alright for death metal and notably starred Dormant Ordeal, I felt it was lacking in quantity of impressive releases for said cornerstone of the metal underground. Fortunately, Italian group Skulld is here to start off the year with a bang! Abyss Calls to Abyss takes Bolt Thrower’s tank-rolling grooves (“Mother Death”) and Dismember’s melodic buzzsaw action (“Wear the Night as a Velvet Cloak”) and adds in some crust punk influence as extra seasoning (“Le Diable and the Snake”). It feels like they’ve taken some influence from both Finnish and Swedish varieties of death metal as well, and I’m here for it! The band is fluent in switching things up at the drop of a hat without sacrificing energy or cohesion. “Mother Death” and “Drops of Sorrow” go from heavy, dissonant chords to big lead guitar melodies, which in turn lead to a chunky and punky death metal groove that’s bound to get your head moving. Teo’s drumming controls the mood in excellent fashion, adding fast blast beats or slow-pummelling stomps when called for. The vicious, varied growls of Pam further cement the violence contained within and add to the album’s attitude. At a brief 34 minutes spread over eight songs, it wastes no time going for your throat in a multitude of ways. Get this album into your skull or get Skulld!

Abyss Call To Abyss by Skulld

Total Annihilation // Mountains of Madness [January 16th, 2026 – Testimony Records]

What would happen if you took Vader, Slayer and Sodom and threw them in a big ol’ manic death/thrash blender? The answer is Mountains of Madness! While Swiss Total Annihilation’s earliest works were more in line with classic ’80s thrash metal, they have increasingly moved towards more aggressive and relentless pastures, and their songwriting is all the better for it. Fourth album Mountains of Madness channels records like Vader’s Litany and Sodom’s Tapping the Vein in particular (“The Art of Torture,” “Age of Mental Suicide”), taking advantage of a relentless, drum-forward groove and a furious vocal performance. The album’s dual guitar attack weaves together thrashier tunes with parts that reach straight up Swedeath territory, be it melodic or not. In addition, tracks like “Mountains of Madness” and “Choose the Day” throw some melodic thrash akin to Sodom’s self-titled album into the mix for that extra bit of variety and replay value. Mountains of Madness isn’t afraid to slow things down with a satisfying lead riff, but most of Mountains of Madness is at a respectful lightning-fast pace, as thrash should. Another brief but powerful addition to the January pile ov skulls!

Mountains Of Madness by Total Annihilation

Polaris Experience // Drifting Through Voids [January 2nd, 2026 – Distant Comet Entertainment]

On the earliest days of the year, Japan delivered an awesome surprise drop of death metal-influenced progressive thrash! Polaris Experience features various Cynical riffs (“Interplanetary Funambulist,” “Bathyscapes”) while sporting a similarly old-school guitar tone throughout. Being progressive thrash, the main focus is naturally on the oh-so-sweet instrumentation that balances melody and groove seamlessly. The instrumental “Parvati” alone highlights how tight everything is, from the snappy drumming to the bouncy bass work. Most importantly, the music is catchy and memorable despite its relative complexity and lack of brevity. Additionally, Drifting Through Voids uses vocals sparingly but in all the right ways, complementing its technicalities with a traditional thrashy, harsh bark. The fact that it’s a two-man project and a debut makes it all the more impressive. Fans of similar recent progressive and technical shenanigans like Species should take notes post-haste. Considering we’ve already had this and Cryptic Shift this early in the year, and how prog/tech thrash is usually only allowed one or two notable albums per year, we could be in for a banner year for the subgenre. It also marks the first time in ages that a Japanese album has genuinely good production. Welcome to the new millennium!

Drifting Through Voids by Polaris Experience

Unlike some of our staff, I’ve never been in a band. However, I can imagine the feeling of satisfaction in putting together and releasing that first full-length record. For every band that achieves this milestone, countless more never do. Italy’s Borrower was nearly among that number. Formed in 1993, Borrower released three demos in the ’90s, a fourth in 2005, and then disappeared until 2018 with their debut EP. Whatever interrupted their musical career, the dream remained, and they finally released their first album (and signed to a label, to boot) 33 years later with their founding vocalist, Massano Ratano, and drummer, Frank Formoso, joined by new guitarists Matteo Marzo and Matteo Marini. Behold their vision, a story of killer, humanoid demons as told through music that harks back to some of the legends of ’80s and ’90s speed metal.

Granted, the concept of an album where each song tells a story about a distinctive demonic entity with its own unique “physical traits” and “specific weapon” is extremely silly, yet Killerdemons proves to be a catchy and cool affair. Borrower claim Motörhead, Judas Priest, and Dio as their main influences, and they write spare, riff-tastic tunes in their honor. The guitars carry much more heft than their influences, however, with enough reverb to take tunes dangerously close to stoner territory a lá High on Fire and Black Sabbath. This marriage between speed and stoner proves effective. “El Degollador” oscillates between lightning-fast, “Ace of Spades”-inspired riffs and slower, “War Pigs”-style stoner riffs in a performance that’s sure to give you whiplash. Taking a cue from AC/DC, Borrower keeps their song structures simple yet catchy. The rollicking “Stay Alive” best demonstrates this virtue with crisp songwriting and energetic pacing. Each track has distinctive riffs that are far more powerful than the demons it conjures.

In the eight years since their 2018 EP, A Plague Chapter…, Borrower has vastly improved their sound and instrumental prowess. The two Matteos have played a major role in this transformation. Marini’s fuzzy guitar tone adds heft where the EP’s guitars sounded tinny. His blending of Motörhead-style riffcrafting with the density of High on Fire and Mastodon adds an extra oomph to tracks like “Der Todessoldat” and “Tough Fight.” Marzo’s bass takes a commanding presence as well. He adds depth and backbone to the music, making his presence especially felt on the slower moments of “Knocking on the Coffins.” Formoso takes a restrained approach behind the kit, occasionally blasting the cymbals (“Dream on Fire”), but mostly setting the pace with an effective simplicity. The wild card of the group is vocalist Ratano. He seemingly channels Lemmy, Arnold Schwarzenegger, and Fozzie Bear in a truly strange, yet somehow endearing performance. His Italian accent, which drags out the words “kee-ler dee-mons” during the chorus of “Killerdemons,” adds a level of camp that contributes to the goofy fun.

While Borrower keeps Killerdemons to a concise 36 minutes, the record does falter on the two songs that stray from the 3-4 minute range. The first, “Knocking on the Coffins,” has some memorable riffs, including a cool, old school solo, but at over five minutes, it drags on a bit too long. Positioned between the album’s two best tracks, it also proves to be a major momentum killer. The biggest sore thumb, however, is the six-plus minute finale, “A Chaos Vortex.” Not only does it lack memorable riffs, but it falters in its final two minutes as the band sorely misjudges when to best wrap it up. Trimming 2-3 minutes from each of these songs would have immensely improved the album’s otherwise incredible pacing.

As I established last month, metal tends to invite some weird characters, and the killer demon universe created here is certainly an odd one. But that’s also what makes metal so much fun. Bands feel free to try out their off-the-wall ideas, from literary– or video game-inspired themes to the creation of fantasy or sci-fi realms. And sometimes these ideas actually work. Borrower finally sees through their vision, or at least the start of it, and presents it in such a catchy, cool way. I love to see original ideas performed with such care and passion, and I hope these guys continue to cultivate their ideas and musical talents.



Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Argonauta Records
Website: Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Site
Releases Worldwide: February 13th, 2026

#ThursDeath this week is the new LP by VEXITUM (one man project of Walt Dorian in Italy). This is a big death metal contender for me this year. Great oldschool feel, hooky, dynamic, cavernous as fuck, etc.

As @wendigo said, as soon as you get past the wild dungeon reverb (which you'll eventually find endearing), this one really hits.

https://vexitum.bandcamp.com/album/evocation-of-cosmic-decay

#metal #DeathMetal #Italy #ItalianMetal #Vexitum #2026Records #2026Albums #OSDM @HailsandAles @wendigo @swampgas @rtw @guffo @nnenov @flockofnazguls @Kitty @c0m4 @umrk @pephorror

Michael Dorn has appeared on screen in more episodes of Star Trek than anyone else.1 His character, the mighty Klingon warrior, Captain2 Worf is known to greatly enjoy gagh, a traditional Klingon delicacy comprised of live, wriggling serpent worms. It’s fucking gross. It’s also the first thing I thought of when I saw the album art for Gorrch’s sophomore effort, Stillamentum. Founded in 2010 and hailing from Cavaso del Tomba in northeastern Italy, Gorrch is the unsettling black metal project of fraternal duo, Chrimsicrin and Droich. Now, a decade after 2015 debut Nera estasi, Gorrch plumbs the depths of the abyss, seeking to give voice to the primal fear and disgust of being covered in roiling, writhing masses of maggots.

Standard black metal isn’t dark enough for Gorrch. Stillamentum is about horror and dread. Opener “Nimbus” wastes no time burying you alive in a cramped wooden box. Guitars like clamoring bells ring with sanity-threatening dissonance while pummeling blast beats quickly deplete your limited oxygen. Droich viciously saws at palm-muted strings like the erratic, terrifying sprints of cockroaches exploring what’s in the box (you). A lull at the midpoint ushers in a spiraling riff, rising like your gorge in mortal terror. Heretical Gregorian chanting reveals your captors as zealots, and all hope of seeing the sun again dies. Deranged prayers ripped from Chrimsicrin’s throat (“Vorago,” “Angor”), metallic tones like snapping wires (“Vorago,” “Larvæ”), and ritualistic percussion (“Phlegma”) keep you locked in this waking nightmare. The blasphemous love child of Gaerea and Imperial Triumphant, Stillamentum is cacophonous, claustrophobic, and rapturously disturbed.

Stillamentum by Gorrch

Developing and fostering atmosphere through repetition is a common trope in black metal. Stillamentum is no exception, but Gorrch’s approach makes the assessment thereof a bit of a challenge. Each track begins with strong, fast riffs, either searing or psychotic, drawing me in and demanding my attention. Somewhere in the middle third, however, long passages featuring markedly less instrumental variation take over and guide the song to its conclusion. The result is two or three minutes of relatively repetitive instrumentals per track. This was not an issue while running errands or gaming or otherwise spinning Stillamentum in the background—and was in fact a boon—as I enjoyed basking in the consistent atmosphere, but on focused listens, these stretched sections can stall the furious momentum gained earlier in each song.

This same critique can be found mirrored in the structure of Stillamentum as a whole. The front half—“Nimbus,” “Vorago,” and “Larvæ”—as well as closer “Phlegma,” evoke a singular and impressive sense of fear. “Cryptæ” and “Angor,” however, feel less inspired, giving the album’s quality a parabolic shape. They’re not bad songs by any means; there are parts of each I particularly enjoyed. I loved the tempo shift at the midpoint of “Angor” and the clanging, descending riffs in “Cryptæ,” and the synergy between the ritual chanting and Chrimsicrin’s drum work on both tracks is very effective. Even so, they seem closer to boilerplate black metal than the rest of Stillamentum, their teeth notably blunter in comparison. As on the level of individual tracks, this structure works well in the background, but under scrutiny, it highlights opportunities for Gorrch to improve their pacing and direction.

Gorrch shines brightest at their darkest and most unsafe. On Stillamentum, theirs is an abyssal darkness, drenched in formicative3 horror and clothed in perverse piety. At their most oppressive, Gorrch is exactly my kind of black metal: suffocating, malicious, dissonant, and maybe a little blasphemous. Were I grading based on highlights alone, Stillamentum would score much higher. Alas, those peaks are saddled with overlong atmospheric passages, a slight overuse of chanting vocals, and mildly inconsistent quality. If Gorrch can distill their strengths from Stillamentum and hone them to delve even deeper into the void, they’ll unearth something truly unspeakable.

Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: 9 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Avantgarde Music
Websites: Bandcamp
Releases Worldwide: January 30th, 2026

Brutal cold envelops the building as my minions scrape through ice and filthy slush to find even the smallest shard of metallic glimmer. With extensive budget cuts demanded by my exorbitant bonus schedule—as is my right as CEO of this filtration service—there was no room to purchase adequate gear and equipment for these harsher weathers. However, I did take up crocheting recently so each of my “employees” received a nice soft hat.

Hopefully, that will be enough to tide them over until the inclement weather passes and we return to normal temps. Until then, they have these rare finds to keep them warm, and so do you! REJOICE!

Kenstrosity’s Knightly Nightmare

AngelMaker // This Used to Be Heaven [November 20th, 2025 – Self Released]

I’ve been a fan of AngelMaker’s since their 2015 debut Dissentient. The grossly underrated and underappreciated Vancouver septet are a highly specialized deathcore infantry, with their lineup expanding steadily over their career in concert with their ever-increasing songwriting sophistication. Unlike the brutish and belligerent debut and follow-up AngelMaker, 2022’s Sanctum and new outing This Used to Be Heaven indulge in rich layering, near-neoclassical melodies, and dramatic atmosphere to complement AngelMaker’s trademark sense of swaggering groove. With early entries “Rich in Anguish” and “Haunter” establishing the strength of both sides of their sound, it always surprises me how AngelMaker successfully twist and gnarl their sound into shapes—whether it be hardcore, blackened, or melodic—I wasn’t anticipating (“Silken Hands,” “Relinquished,” “Nothing Left”). A rock-solid back half launched by the epic “The Omen” two-part suite brings these deviations from the expected into unity with the deathcore foundation I know AngelMaker so well for (“Malevolence Reigns,” “Altare Mortis”), and in doing so secure their status as one of the most reliably creative deathcore acts in the scene. Nothing here is going to change the minds of the fiercer deathcore detractors, but if your heart is open even just a crack, there’s a good chance This Used to Be Heaven will force themselves into it, if not entirely rip the whole thing asunder. My advice is simply to let it.

This Used To Be Heaven by AngelMaker

ClarkKent’s Sonic Symphonics

Brainblast // Colossus Suprema [November 11th, 2025 – Vmbrella]

A debut album five years in the making from a band formed in 2015, Colossus Suprema is the brainchild of Bogotá, Colombia’s Edd Jiménez. Jiménez turned his passion for and training in classical composition towards his symphonic progressive act, Brainblast. With Bach as an inspiration, Brainblast’s brand of technical death metal has the grandeur of Fleshgod Apocalypse, the speed of Archspire, and the virtuosity of concert musicians. Jiménez’s classical training shows — the compositions have an orchestral feel, only played at insane energy levels. The speed, the depth, and the breadth of the instrumentation are sure to leave you breathless. Nicholas Le Fou Wells (First Fragment) lays down relentless kitwork with jaw-dropping velocity, while Eetu Hernesmaa provides technical fretwork that’ll similarly leave you awestruck. He delivers sublime riffs on “Relentless Rise” and a surprising melodic lead that steals the show on “Unchain Your Soul.” Perhaps most prominent is the virtuoso play of the bass from Rich Gray (Annihilator) and Dominic Forest Lapointe (First Fragment) that is omnipresent and funky on each and every song. To top it all off is the piano (perhaps from Jiménez), giving the music some gravitas with the technical, concert-style playing. This record is just plain bonkers and tons of fun. Given this is the debut from a young musician, the idea that Brainblast has room to grow is plenty exciting.

COLOSSUS SUPREMA by BRAINBLAST

Gods of Gaia // Escape the Wonderland [November 28th, 2025 – Self Released]

If you’ve been eagerly awaiting the next SepticFlesh release, Germany’s Gods of Gaia have got you covered. Founded in 2023 by Kevin Sierra Eifert, Gods of Gaia is made up of an anonymous collective from around the world, contributing to a dark, heavy, and aggressive form of symphonic metal. Their sophomore album, Escape the Wonderland, features a collection of death metal songs with plenty of orchestral arrangements that add a dramatic flair. Along with crushing riffs and thunderous blast beats, you’ll hear choral chants (“Escape the Wonderland,” “Burn for Me”), bits of piano (“What It Takes”), and plenty of cinematic symphonics. SepticFlesh is the obvious influence, but the grandiosity of Fleshgod Apocalypse flares up on cuts like the dramatic “Rise Up.” The front half is largely aggressive, with “What It Takes” taking the energy to thrash levels. The back half dials down the energy, even creeping to near doom on “Krieg in Mir,” but never pulls back on the heaviness. Cool as the symphonic elements are, the riffs, blast beats, and brutal vocal delivery are just as impressive. Make no mistake, this is melodic death metal above all else, with symphonic seasonings that elevate it a notch. Just the opposite of what the record title suggests, this is one wonderland you won’t want to escape.

Escape the Wonderland by Gods of Gaia

Grin Reaper’s Frozen Feast

Hounds of Bayanay // КЭМ [November 15, 2025 – Self Released]

Two-and-a-half years after dropping debut Legends of the North, Hounds of Bayanay returns with КЭМ to sate your eternal lust for folk metal.1 Blending heavy metal with folk instrumentation, specifically kyrympa2 and khomus,3 as well as throat singing, Hounds of Bayanay might sound like a Tengger Cavalry or The Hu knockoff, but you’ll do yourself a disservice by writing them off. Boldly enunciated, clarion cleans belt out in confident proclamations while grittier refrains and overtones resonate beneath, proffering assorted and engaging vocal stylings. Rather than dwelling overlong in strings and tribal chanting, the deft fusion of folk instruments with traditional metal defines Hounds’ sound and feels cohesively integrated on КЭМ, providing an intimate yet heavy backdrop to a hook-laden and alluringly replayable thirty-nine minutes. In addition to the eclectic folk influence, there’s a satisfying variety of songwriting from track to track, with “Ardaq,” “Cɯsqa:n,” and “Dɔʃɔrum” exemplifying the enticing synthesis of styles. More than anything else, Hounds of Bayanay embodies heart and fun, warming my chilly days with a well-executed platter of Eastern-influenced folk metal. Don’t skip this one, or the decision could hound you.

KEM by Hounds Of Bayanay

Blood Red Throne // Siltskin [December 05, 2025 – Soulseller Records]

I’m shoving up against the deadline to wedge this one in, but Blood Red Throne’s latest deserves a mention, and bulldozing is just the sort of thing you should do while listening to BRT’s brand of bludgeoning, pit-stomping romp. Back in December, the venerable Norwegian death metal act dropped twelfth album Siltskin, maintaining their prolific and consistent release schedule. In addition to their dependable output, BRT stays the course with pummeling, brutish pomp. In his coverage of Nonagon and Imperial Congregation, Doc Grier drums up comparisons to Old Man’s Child, Panzerchrist, and Hypocrisy, and while I’m not inclined to disagree on those points, I’ll add that Siltskin also harkens to Kill-era Cannibal Corpse in its slick coalition of mid-paced slammers, warp-speed blitzes, and fat ‘n’ frolicking bass. Add to that the sly, sticky melody from the likes of Sentenced’s North from Here (“Vestigial Remnants”), and you’ve got a recipe for a righteous forty-five-minute smash-a-thon. Blood Red Throne’s last few records have been among their best, which is an incredible feat for a band this far into their career. While Siltskin doesn’t surpass BRT’s high-water mark, it keeps up, and if you’re hungry for an aural beatdown, then Blood Red Throne would like to throw their crown into the ring for consideration.

Siltskin by Blood Red Throne

Gotsu-Totsu-Kotsu // Immortality [December 17, 2025 – Bang the Head Records]

I am woefully late to the charms of Gotsu-Totsu-Kotsu, a Japanese death metal outfit prominently featuring slap ‘n’ pop bass. Had it not been for our trusty Flippered Friend, I might have continued this grievous injustice of ignorance, but thankfully, this is not the timeline to which I’m doomed. Immortality is Gotsu-Totsu-Kotsu’s seventh album, and those who enjoy the band’s previous work should remain satisfied. For new acolytes, Gotsu-Totsu-Kotsu grasps the rabid intensity of Vader and Krisiun and imbues it with a funky edge. Meaty bass rumbles and sprightly slapped accents, provided by bassist/vocalist Haruhisa Takahata, merge with Kouki Akita’s kit obliteration to establish a thunderous, unrelenting rhythm section. Atop the lower end’s heft, Keiichi Enjouji shreds and squeals with thrashy vigor and a keen understanding of melody. First proper track “Anima Immortalis” even includes gang intonations that work so well, I wish they were more prevalent across the album. The sum total of Gotsu-Totsu-Kotsu’s atmosphere is one of plucky exuberance that strikes with the force of a roundhouse kick to the dome. Had I discovered it sooner, Immortality would have qualified for a 2025 year-end honorable mention, as I haven’t been able to stop spinning it or the band’s prior releases.4 Though I’m still in the honeymoon phase, I expect this platter to live on in my listening, and recommend you not miss this GTK killer like I almost did.

Thus Spoke’s Random Revelations

The Algorithm // Recursive Infinity [November 21st, 2025 – Self Released]

I’ve been a fan of The Algorithm since the early days, back when their electronica-djent was almost twee in its experimental joy, spliced with light-hearted samples. Over the years, Rémi Gallego has tuned his flair for mesmeric, playful compositions to develop a richer, more streamlined sound. Recursive Infinity continues the recent upward trend Data Renaissance began. With riffs and rhythms the slickest since Brute Force, and melodies the brightest and most colourful since equally-prettily adorned Polymorphic Code, it’s a cyberpunk tour-de-force. The wildness is trained, chunky heaviness grounding magnetic melodies (“Race Condition,” “Mutex,” “By Design”), dense chugging transitioning seamlessly into techno (“Advanced Iteration Technique,” “Hollowing,” “Graceful Degradation), and adding bite to bubbly, candy-coloured soundscapes (“Rainbow Table,”). The skittering of breakbeats tempers synthwave (“Endless Iteration), and bright pulses wrap cascading electro-core (“Race Condition,” “Mutex”) and orchestral melodrama (“Recursive Infinity”). It’s often strongly reminiscent of some point in The Algorithm’s history, but everything is upgraded from charming to entrancing. This provides a new way to interpret Recursive Infinity: not just a reference to an endless loop in general, but to Boucle Infinie (Infinite Loop)—Remi’s other musical project—and by extension, The Algorithm themselves. Yet he is still experimenting, including vocoder vocals (“Endless Iteration,” “By Design”) for a surprisingly successful dark-Daft Punk vibe in slower, moodier moments. With nostalgic throwbacks transformed so beautifully, and the continued evolution, there’s simply no way I can ignore The Algorithm now. And neither should you.

Recursive Infinity by The Algorithm

Owlswald’s Holiday Scraps

Sun of the Suns // Entanglement [December 12th, 2025 – Scarlet Records]

Bands and labels take heed—We reserve December for two things: Listurnalia and celebrating another trip around the sun. It is not for releasing new music. Yet this blunder persists, ensuring we inevitably miss gems like Sun of the Suns’ sophomore effort, Entanglement.5 The record dropped just as the world was tuning out for the year, and it deserves much better. Building on the foundation of their 2021 debut, TIIT, the Italian trio has significantly beefed up their progressive death formula. Mixing tech-death articulation with deathcore brutality, Entanglement ensures fans of Fallujah will feel right at home with its effervescent clean melodies and crystalline textures. Francesca Paoli (Fleshgod Apocalypse) returns to provide another masterclass behind the kit with rapid-fire double-bass, blasts, and tom fills, while guitarists Marco Righetti and Ludovico Cioffi deliver cosmic shredding and radiant solos that are both technical and deliberate. While the early tracks lean into Fallujahian songcraft and Tesseract-style arpeggios, the album shines brightest late when the group largely sheds its stylistic orbit. “Please, Blackout My Eyes” pivots toward a majestic Aeternam vibe with ethereal tech-death incisiveness, while “One With the Sun” and “The Void Where Sound Ends Its Path” hit like a sledgehammer with Xenobiotic’s deathcore grooves. Though Luca Dave Scarlatti’s vocals lack differentiation, the sheer quality of the compositions carries the weight, proving Sun of the Suns are much more than mere clones.

Entanglement by Sun Of The Suns

I swear I’ve seen that saguaro before, in Pima County, standing just off the side of the road, marked among the millions crowding the bajadas. At that size, the sun rising over the Ajos has cast its strange shadow westward tens of thousands of times, yet it’s still young; a few generations removed from a pre-invasion Sonoran desert that thrived before the mountains had Spanish names, before the concept of the gringo, before the thousands of hung-over ones flattened every snake living within half a mile of Highway 85 driving back from “Rocky Point.” Maybe its great-great-grandmother’s seeds were carried by a coyote, lips stained sticky sanguine, slinking under the monsoon clouds when the only people around were O’Odham, themselves too distracted by the bounty to notice her stealing one more fruit from their baskets. Four generations later, a gray fox takes a pit stop under a creosote, setting a lucky propagule up for seventy years of extension, inch by inch, towards the noon summer sun, until a freak event smears its meristem into a radiate new form, ending this lineage forever.

Just after that point, someone takes its picture, and a couple of Italian guys slap it on a black metal album. A black metal album bent on re-orienting the genre away from a frostbitten North and towards an imaginary sun-bleached South, the saguaro being perhaps the most resilient (and, tellingly, clichéd) symbol thereof. Ambitions often crumble against this landscape; the schemes of miners fall through, the hopeful homesteads dry into rubble, at the bodies of desperate migrants collapse in the canyons. Beauty and hostility, available in such great measure here, produce the romance of the desert, the basis for Radici. Diespnea fail to capture either.

Radici by Diespnea

Diespnea practice oddball black metal in the Dødheimsgard idiom, attempting to reinvigorate a staid sound with odd and abrupt inclusions. At the end of “Radici,” they iron a bass groove flat onto gridded electronic beats, then gradually build vocals, drums, and guitars back into the matrix in what would be the record’s most memorable section if it didn’t feel almost identical to the ending of “Vultures.” When the tactic comes around yet again in “Mescalynia,” the effect is more of annoyance than interest. When the duo isn’t dabbling in dull electronica, they’re often whooping and cackling in what seems to be an awful pastiche of pre-Columbian musical traditions.

But the core failure of Radici isn’t in its lazy discursions but the soporific black metal that they depart from. Say what you will about 666 International, there’s no denying the intensity on display. Radici’s official kvlt tab book leads are usually played at three-quarters speed, and the spaces between them sag even more in tempo. Creative songwriting on cuts like “Radici” and “Mescalynia” is hard to appreciate when dragged out for six minutes, though tediously predictable guitar work, and the dull production and brickwalled master don’t do the record any favors. It’s a bit too on-the-nose for a band called Diespnea to sound this asthmatic.

Diespnea have the creativity to embark on something adventurous, but lack the curiosity to decide on a destination, instead floating around their “imaginary South” totally insulated from the confrontation with the real. It’s a painful missed opportunity; the places and traditions and feelings that the duo smudge at are truly profound, and Diespnea’s lazy Tintin “South” is at best an obfuscation and at worst a downright parody of the beauty that desert landscapes, their life, and their peoples hold.

The key to survival in the desert is specificity. In the Sonoran desert, oaks cling only to shady canyon bottoms; senitas populate only the hottest, sandiest washes; water scorpions flourish in ephemeral pools the size of bathtubs, and whole biotas erupt and disappear with the summer monsoons. The desert’s beauty comes from millions of years of coevolution, from novelty and extinction and cycles of glaciation that have stripped away that which does not belong again and again until everything that remains has its place and is fighting to keep it. Radici’s vagaries have nothing in common with places like this, and what Diespnea offer beyond those vagaries is just as unconvincing. And so, Radici comes nearly dead on arrival.

Rating: 2.0/5.0
DR: 4 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps MP3
Label: Code 666 Records
Websites: facebook.com/diespnea | diespnea.com | diespnea.bandcamp.com
Releases Worldwide: February 13th, 2026

Literal metals are always cooler when they come from space. A blade forged from meteoric iron is effectively the same as one made from iron you can find on Earth, but don’t tell me you wouldn’t want the space knife way more. Likewise, metal music always sounds cooler when it feels like it’s from another world. Enter ZU, the Italian jazz metal trio comprised of guitarist/bassist Massimo Pupillo, saxophonist/keyboardist Luca Mai, and drummer Paolo Mangardi. ZU forged their latest record, Ferrum Sidereum, Latin for “iron of (or from) the stars,” to sonically approach something otherworldly, drawing from the historical spiritual significance of meteoric iron as inspiration for their music. And forge ZU did, because Ferrum Sidereum is an 80-minute double album of progressive, industrial, punk-infused, and fully instrumental jazz metal. But is Ferrum Sidereum a gift from the stars, or should you look for your metal closer to home?

Ferrum Sidereum is a record that revels in texture and rhythm more so than melody. Like ObZen-era Meshuggah, ZU play melodically bare but rhythmically exquisite riffs, with their prog and metal elements manifesting into bouncy, syncopated djent jabs prominent on tracks like “Golgotha” and “Kether.” Guitars are low (“Ferrum Sidereum”), bass is plucked with abandon (“Charagma”), and drums roll with jazz-practiced precision and metal aggression (“La Donna Vestita Di Sole”). Industrial elements and saxophone conspire to either inject a sense of progression to simple riffs (“Hymn of the Pearl”) or, more often than not, tear your ears a new one with punkish, dissonant whines and whistles (“Fuoco Saturnio”). ZU bounce between these loud, crunched moments with Tool-like passages of meditative, methodical calm and repetition with a hodgepodge of percussive additions to fill out space (“Pleroma”). You likely won’t be able to hum anything off Ferrum Sidereum by the end, but it’s undeniable that ZU are very particular about sounding a very particular way.

Ferrum Sidereum by ZU

ZU have the chops to carry the load of a double album, but Ferrum Sidereum unfortunately doesn’t have the substance to fill one. To achieve a sense of spiritual ritualism, ZU obviously had to rely on repetition within songs, but it quickly just gets excessive and bland. Differences between songs—like “AI Hive Mind” and its distinct, mathcore level of scronk in its guitar tone and saxophone or “Golgotha” and its use of ghostly choir to build unnerving atmospheres—get lost in the flood of crushed djenting that better defines Ferrum Sidereum. ZU stick to such a strict palette that following along to the album as a whole becomes tedious, and the lack of melodic leads or even just a singer make Ferrum Sidereum easy to drift away from mentally. Eighty minutes and no hook is a big ask for any listener. Ferrum Sidereum’s uniform construction does lend it a sense of unity, and ZU’s expert musicianship and occasional atmospheres do make the record a good background listen, but for the purpose of intentional, critical listening, it leaves much to be desired.

This is deeply disappointing to me, because Ferrum Sidereum can at times be simply transcendent. When it comes to shaping otherworldly and religious atmospheres, when ZU get it right, they get it right. “La Donna Vestita Di Sole” feels like a festival from another planet with its twisty sax riff, while the conclusion to the closing title track uses the dichotomy of furious palm-muted riffing and complete silence to make an ending both meditative and succinct. The one-two punch of “The Celestial Bull and the White Lady” and “Hymn of the Pearl” sees ZU at their most sublime, awash with delayed clean guitars and tribal drumming derived from the same sacred geometry as Lateralus, both stirring and refreshing to the mind and soul. There’s great material on Ferrum Sidereum, songs so good I can see clearly the greatness that ZU see in it, but material buried under about as much runtime of bloat as well.

I know there’s a world where Ferrum Sidereum clicks with me, but here and now it doesn’t. ZU are wildly talented musicians, and I know there are fans of instrumental metal who will gobble this up, but for me too much of what makes Ferrum Sidereum enthralling (its rich atmosphere and contemplative nature) is sidelined by what makes it boring (djent). “Hymn of the Pearl” may make a reappearance in December for SotY contention, but I think I’ve gotten enough of ZU’s latest as a whole. But I’ll keep an eye out for falling rocks, regardless.

Rating: Disappointing
DR: 5 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps MP3
Label: House of Mythology
Websites: zuhom.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/vajrazu | zuism.net
Releases Worldwide: January 9th, 2026

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

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

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

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

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



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

Metal Fatigue is not a moral failing: it is a physiological phenomenon, befalling even the most honorable of headbangers. Though traditional metal can tire in its own way, Metal Fatigue mostly lurks on the severe side of the genre. Too often, extreme metal exhausts by coupling sonic monotony with album lengths more appropriate for episodes of prestige television. Given my own struggles with Metal Fatigue, I was intrigued to see Let Water Flow—a 28-minute black metal record from Moon Wisdom—sitting in the sump. The solid advance singles convinced me to cover this Italian trio’s debut. Moon Wisdom describe theirs as second-wave style black metal, with notes of depressive gaze and punk. As a short Long Play, Let Water Flow sets itself up to leave black metal fans wanting more.

Let Water Flow sits nicely in the second-wave black metal lane. Perhaps the best touchstone for Moon Wisdom’s sound is Immortal. Similar to Diabolical Fullmoon Mysticism, “Intro” plucks gentle, atmosphere-drenched chords as the lead-in to the first proper song. “As Rain”—one of the advance singles—dashes from Kaelos’s epic riffing to Faith’s sinister screeching and Hexis’s galloping drum work. Tasty solos are a recurring theme across the album, similar to Havukruunu draping classic shred over Immortal black metal (“Frozen Soul,” “Solitude”). “Dark Shades,” the other advance single, demonstrates a more modern version of Moon Wisdom’s second-wave worship. The song’s sparse, textural bridge transforms its evil opening into an affecting gateway for mournful modulations and a furious finale. Throughout Let Water Flow, shifts between macabre delicacy and blackened crudity bring Lamp of Murmuur to mind.

Let Water Flow by Moon Wisdom

The concise runtime of Let Water Flow cuts like a double-edged sword. It makes the album eminently relistenable but draws attention to inconsistent songwriting. “As Rain,” for instance, opens the album with dynamic concision, but its concluding solo ends abruptly, reading more like a bridge than a destination. “Ashen Winds” suffers a similar fate. It develops an engaging interplay between creepy and pummeling riffs that culminates too soon. Conversely, “Frozen Soul,” the mid-album curveball, could be trimmed. The song establishes an enchanting, melancholic vibe, but redundancy hits in its slow-building rock crescendo. “Dark Shades,” the last proper song, stands as the strongest track on Let Water Flow. It showcases Moon Wisdom’s talent for creating something epic that isn’t overlong. Unfortunately, the album (essentially) ends here; the brief “Lullaby of the Woods” puts the album to bed, but “Dark Shades” sounds like the band finally starting the day.

Let Water Flow possesses compelling qualities that, if accentuated, would cultivate Moon Wisdom’s sound. As mentioned, the band professes a depressive blackgaze influence. Sonically, this mostly unadorned record doesn’t really impart a gaze aesthetic. “Frozen Soul” comes closest to inspiring hypnotic shore-staring, especially in its enticing bass feature.1 But the song, like the album, embodies gaze less through production effects and more through compositional dynamics. I actually like that Moon Wisdom doesn’t drown their guitarwork in reverb. Still, the sparse sections could be developed to give these songs more character. Moon Wisdom also cites a punk influence, but I didn’t detect much of this across Let Water Flow. Beyond “As Rain,” which contains a d-beat, nothing struck me (musically) as punk. A pretty non-punk element on the album is the violin on closer “Lullaby of the Woods.” More of this would have worked well, especially on the “gaze” sections.2

Let Water Flow—I’m surprised to say—had me experiencing Metal Deficiency.3 I commend Moon Wisdom’s impulse towards brevity, but the album feels like an EP with a short intro/conclusion framework tacked on. The inconsistent songwriting and underexplored derivations keep this debut from feeling vital and fully realized. At only 28 minutes, however, Let Water Flow is certainly worth a spin, especially if black metal is your jam. Moon Wisdom satisfy the second-wave itch while showing potential for more. If properly harnessed, their tendency towards terseness might produce a follow-up combating the scourge of Metal Fatigue.

Rating: 2.5/5.0
DR: 11 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Hypnotic Dirge Records
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook | Instagram
Releases Worldwide: January 16th, 2026

Formed in Bologna, Italy, HyperioN has been kicking around since 2015. When they visited these halls in 2017, Eldritch Elitist called their debut, Dangerous Days, “the strongest 3.0 possible,” citing its ability to “effortlessly [inject] elements of trash and power metal into the proceedings” and its “significant room for future growth.” HyperioN returns now in 2026 with their third full-length,1 Cybergenesis, a concept album chronicling an interdimensional war, humanity’s enslavement, and their eventual rebellion and liberation. Although still a five-piece, HyperioN sports an entirely new lineup save for founding guitarist Davide Cotti. Can this massive injection of fresh blood catapult these space-age heavy metallers to the greater heights Eldritch Elitist saw in the band?

New blood or not, HyperioN has a vision for their sound and proudly stays the course. Like previous efforts, Cybergenesis is heavily inspired by the likes of Metal Church and Judas Priest. But thematically rooted in sci-fi territory, HyperioN establishes the futuristic, dystopian backdrop of Cybergenesis’ narrative in much the same fashion that Blaze Bayley did on Silicon Messiah. A neoclassical opening gives way to a “Deafening” detonation of traditional heavy metal, soaring and gritty vocals, and Mozartian fills. HyperioN maintains this momentum with sticky choruses (“Yet We Still Fight,” “Blood over Chrome”), courtesy of new vocalist Max Morelli, and the strong axe work of Cotti and newcomer Francis Dipasquale (“Rewire, Rebuild,” “The Shackles of Chronitus,” “Rhizome Rider”). The potential Eldritch Elitist saw is brutally obvious when the band comes together to exceed their mathematical sum. Moments like the ends of “Grain of Sand”—where a squealing guitar lead cranks up the intensity of the final chorus—and “The Shackles of Chronitus”—where the solo extends to usher Morelli back to center stage—are particularly well done.

Cybergenesis by HyperioN

From a songwriting perspective, Cybergenesis is largely on par with previous efforts—aside from the baffling spoken word intro on “The Whole of Time”—but it’s not executed as well. Morelli is a fairly good vocalist, but he is much different than HyperioN’s previous vocalist and can’t reach the clean, clear highs of Dangerous Days. Rather than find ways to highlight the registers where he does excel, Morelli struggles to mimic previous efforts and seems shoved into too rigid a box. Bassist Simone Cauli employs a tone notably rougher than before. It’s got a retro sound that feels at odds with the futuristic subject matter of Cybergenesis. Where the bass was velvety on Dangerous Days, it’s much grittier or more textured here. Similar to HyperioN’s debut, drummer Francesco Madonna puts in a serviceable but largely unremarkable performance.

Structurally, Cybergenesis isn’t breaking any new ground. Most songs fall in the 4-5 minute range and follow a standard verse-chorus-verse-chorus pattern. No risks are taken here, and this is a fundamentally safe album. This isn’t a criticism per se—HyperioN’s ability to competently utilize well-established constructions is certainly impressive—but it does hold Cybergenesis back from being greater. To its credit, it’s a pretty lean record, clocking in at just under 40 minutes. The music moves along at a good pace, and there’s no real bloat to be found here. But especially in the back half, Cybergenesis can get repetitive as its lack of originality becomes more apparent, which somewhat counteracts the album’s good pacing and brisk runtime.

HyperioN boasts some great guitar work, especially in solos and hooks and such, but I struggled to find much else on Cybergenesis that stood out. I see the same opportunity for growth that Eldritch Elitist did on their debut, but this feels like a step back. It’s marred by a vocal performance that struggles to match the music and a general lack of novel material. Nonetheless, Cybergenesis is solid meat-and-potatoes fare. It’s good background music and playlist filler, but it’s nothing to write home about. You won’t find any new metal converts worshipping at the altar of Cybergenesis, but for those who dig trad/heavy metal muchly, HyperioN’s newest offering should be plenty filling.

Rating: 2.5/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Fighter Records
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook | Instagram
Releases Worldwide: Jan 15th, 2026

As is perhaps unsurprising for a doom act, Dvm Spiro appear to have a preoccupation with death. The subtitle of their debut, MMXIX – In Frigidum Lectum is Latin for In a Cold Bed—presumably an allusion to one’s grave—and now, sophomore MMXXVI – Grave states that concept explicitly. This legacy in misery actually extends further into the past, as three of Dvm Spiro’s four members also play in longstanding Italian doom outfit Nihili Locus. With this kind of doom pedigree, the promotional references to legendary artists My Dying Bride, Funeral, and Shape of Despair feel promising and are apt insofar as the core vibe goes. But there are far more sides to Grave than these clickbait comparisons can capture, and it’s in these that the record stands or falls.

Grave is funeral doom, broadly categorized. It borrows plenty from a cavernous and malevolent doom-death on the one hand, and an almost post-doom ambience on the other. Rather than any of the actual touchstones mentioned, it is Ahab that Dvm Spiro’s music seems to channel most strongly and frequently, the particular rhythm and tone of warm liquid plucks and an intruding sinister melody—combined with the crushing heaviness either side—reminding me in particular of Call of the Wretched Sea (“Indistinta Morte,” “Insoluto D’Anima”). There are also a few hints of the aforementioned Funeral (“Troppo Lente Scendono Le Tue”) and Endonomos (“Dissentimento”). In general, Dvm Spiro largely eschew that grandiose transcendence of synth-forward funeral doom and tip the melodic scales away from mournful beauty in favor of a more unsettling dissonance or uncomfortable modal shifting. There are still majestic, mellifluous moments, but Grave seems intended to trouble its listener more than anaesthetise or provide catharsis.

It’s this subversion of aesthetic expectations that gives Dvm Spiro and Grave their character. On paper, the vocal dynamic between female cleans and male harsh vox in the context of doom suggests an ethereal Beauty-and-the-Beast dichotomy—à la Shape of Despair or Draconian. But Dvm Spiro don’t play into the trope so neatly, elevating tension with multifaceted performances from both vocalists. Valeria De Benedectis’ singing carries some of the record’s most beautiful moments (“Indistinta Morte,” “Troppo Lente…”), but also some of the most discomfiting as her voice lapses into haughty, ardent repetition (“Indistinta Morte”) or turns sharply into a malevolent tone (“Preludio,” “Dissentimento”). Roberto Ripollino’s growls join her sometimes for an undeniably powerful duet of opposites (“Dissentimento”) but so too do Maurizio DeMichelis’s raspier snarls (“Troppo Lente…,” “Insoluto D’Anima”), creating a blunter, less perfect contrast that jostles the emotions. Pianos, strings, and guitars alike flow, strum, and weep with pathos for a phrase (“Troppo Lente…”), a rare rise above the gloom (“Preludio,” “Dissentimento”), or a dreamlike intro (“Indistinta Morte,” “Insoluto D’Anima”); in these moments, you could almost believe you’re in the more comforting, less real world of another, prettier doom. Grave, however, has other designs, shifting into discordance or another key, dropping a strange tritone and an accompanying guitar chord (“Preludio,” “Indistinta Morte,” “Troppo Lente…”), forcing you to confront the negativity.

Grave is thus striking, but not always in a way that works. I couldn’t and won’t argue that metal of any kind must be an unchallenging listening experience, but Dvm Spiro’s choices sometimes go beyond adding nuance and approach confusion. The modulations can be too jarring (“Preludio,” “Insoluto D’Anima”), songs too long without meaningful builds (“Indistinta Morte”), and prevarication around structures and refrains sometimes frustrating (“Troppo Lente…”). There is both too much and too little happening for the album’s epic 75-minute length to maintain the coherence and magnetism that might be added with more flowing compositions that committed more firmly to a sinister dissonance or uplifting pathos through each successive movement. And so multifaceted passages tend to distract, and extended sections pull back the progression of compositions, rather than drive it onwards.

Let it not be said that Grave is thereby a weak record. Its brilliant moments of both harmony (“Troppo Lente…”) and malevolence (“Indistina Morte”) shine and prove Dvm Spiro capable of magnificence in both aspects. There is a peculiar power in the subtleties and variance of their melodic and compositional approaches that may resonate more with some listeners than others. As a whole, it doesn’t possess the magnitude or the mystique to fully envelop right now. Perhaps its strength is far more insidious.

Rating: Good
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps
Label: My Kingdom Music
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: January 16th, 2025

As 2025 winds to a close, the depleted promo pit growls with hunger, eager for the new year and a fresh bucket o’ chum.1 As I sift through the meager mid-December hopefuls, I detect a flash of black and silver. Snatching the promo, I discover clarinet-wielding Vittorio Sabelli and his project Dawn of a Dark Age, along with ninth album Ver Sacrum. Released between 2014 and 2017, the band’s first five albums examined The Six Elements. Ver Sacrum is the conclusion of a tetralogy that explores the Samnites, a Roman-conquered civilization with roots in modern-day central Italy.2 Dear Hollow found the first part of the tetralogy wondrous at its best, but undercut by a tedious, ill-conceived back half. Even so, I couldn’t resist the allure of clarinet metal. After nine albums and a bit of baggage, can Sabelli & Co. bring a warm light to dreary days, or are we left in the dark of a false dawn?

At its core, Dawn of a Dark Age plays avant-garde black metal with folksy instrumentation, and on Ver Sacrum they set aside the scathing hostility found on earlier works to hone mood and atmosphere. Though the speed varies throughout the album, proceedings mostly stick to mid-paced tempos. Sound-wise, Dawn of a Dark Age sits at a crossroads of influences, eliciting the tribal spirit of Wardruna, the wistful temperament of Primordial, and the post-black pangs of White Ward.3 While these comparisons help orient expectations, Dawn of a Dark Age’s milieu is uniquely their own, and despite some imperfections, the band clearly demonstrates lessons learned.

Ver Sacrum by DAWN OF A DARK AGE

In addition to supplying much of the instrumentation throughout Ver Sacrum, Sabelli surrounds himself with a strong cast. Drummer Diego ‘Aeternus’ Tasciotti returns, skillfully supporting Dawn of a Dark Age with subdued cymbals and calculated double-bass rolls. In fact, Aeternus’ subtle kitwork deftly boosts the drama as slower passages accelerate and guitars and bass frolic with clarinets and keys. I particularly enjoy the accordion’s role, conjuring vivid Arcadian imagery as its lilting wheeze plays counter to delicate bass grooves and acoustic strums. Most distinctive, though, are the clarinet and bass clarinet. Outside Van Halen’s “Big Bad Bill (Is Sweet William Now),” I don’t recall any clarinet-centric passages in metal, and Ver Sacrum gives the ol’ licorice stick headlining prominence. Mixing clarinets with metal isn’t a combination I’d ever considered, but on Ver Sacrum, Dawn of a Dark Age convinces me there’s plenty of room for its warm, sulky timbre. Atop the music, new vocalist Ignazio Cuga saunters in with a deep, resonant style that ably treads ground covering croaks, growls, and throat singing.4 All told, Ver Sacrum creates an evocative atmosphere that mostly enchants with its rustic drones and occasional black metal bursts.

While Dawn of a Dark Age sharply demonstrates invigorated songwriting and improvements on the pitfalls from prior outings, Ver Sacrum still encounters a few snags. The 40-minute album length is just right, but the tendency to linger on passages remains, drawing beguiling moments past their prime. And though the awkward transitions found on La Tovola Osca have been largely addressed, a few are present here. Aside from these, performances sizzle, the production suits the music, and the assorted instruments and pacing concoct an engaging, well-manicured experience. The only thing holding back Ver Sacrum from higher praise is the lack of standout moments. I sink into the music every time I spin it, yet once it’s over, I’m left with impressions of the overall sound, absent specific refrains to call me back. Multiple listens reinforce Dawn of a Dark Age’s understated grace, but transitioning away from passages earlier would help build bigger climaxes and elevate Ver Sacrum’s immediacy.

Over eleven years and nine albums, Dawn of a Dark Age has whetted an uncanny aptitude for creating diverse textures and ambiances. Despite my gripes, Ver Sacrum hits more often than misses, and stands as a solid release in a month where good new music is in short supply. Further, this is a must-listen for anyone who wants to like black metal but generally finds it inaccessible. Dawn of a Dark Age takes harsher components of the genre and softens the edges, creating a concise yet engrossing experience for anyone looking to dip their toes into befolkened black waters.

Rating: Good!
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: My Kingdom Music
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: December 12th, 2025

You may be wondering what on earth I am doing willingly touching a black metal album, let alone complimenting one. Well, you know what they say: never let them know your next move. Mysterious Polish-Italian collective Amalekim garnered praise in these hallowed halls with their 2023 release Avodah Zarah, our own Thus Spoke calling it a highlight during a weaker year for the genre. Naturally, I disliked the album, which tends to be a good sign for the average black metal fan. I was nevertheless surprised to see Shir Hashirim released to little fanfare or label promotion after such a positive reception 18 months prior. One look at the ‘melodic’ prefix reactivated my optimist instincts; maybe Amalekim was worth another shot. Two years is a long time in music, let alone fleeting personal tastes.

Not much has necessarily changed with Amalekim’s vicious formula, but the refinements are significant. The core of the band’s sound still lies in the realms of early Gaerea but is also distinctly its own thing altogether. And contrary to Gaerea’s recent development,1 Amalekim isn’t planning to go metalcore any time soon. No, Shir Hashirim further improves on the band’s best qualities while retaining their identity, offering relentless speed and riffs for days (“Chant II: Shir Hashirim,” “Chant IV: Sodot HaYekum”). It’s what I like to call ‘violently melodic’ for all the right reasons, both the intense drumming by Ktulak and the demonic vocals of Mróz enhancing the spite present in the dueling guitars. Most importantly, Amalekim never lets their foot off the gas pedal on their mission to create hauntingly aggressive yet beautifully melodic music.

Shir Hashirim by Amalekim

Shir Hashirim’s success comes from its subversion of common black metal tropes without abandoning them. Gone is the overreliance on standard tremolo and blast beat abuse that I previously took issue with. Those elements are both still key to the album, but in a much more appealing and bite-sized, fresh context (“Chant III: Mesharet HaShilton,” “Chant VIII: Mishteh Malkhuti”). Amalekim’s songwriting has evolved into a much more varied beast with plenty of creative drum and riff patterns to show for it. It almost feels like there’s a bunch of death metal DNA in the band’s songwriting this time (“Chant VI: Tisha Daltot”); in this way, I could see it being the blackened mirror image of Dormant Ordeal’s newest. Where Shir Hashirim improves over Dormant Ordeal’s excellent release is the wonderfully warm and roomy production, a complete opposite of what many others in this scene go for. It once again shows that your album doesn’t need to be crushed or lo-fi to sound brutal—great production simply makes the performance all the more powerful and unyielding.

Shir Hashirim is the first black metal record in ages to catch my interest, and one of the best albums of the year at that. Violent, melodic, and extremely fast all at once, its 38-minute package of eight chants simply leaves me wanting to immediately replay the experience all over again. It’s tight and consistent in a way few other records this year are, and its form of melodic fury makes the album unintentionally catchy. Amalekim’s oppressive and angry atmosphere should satiate the usual suspects, but the breakneck pace and no-nonsense songwriting on Shir Hashirim are sure to appeal to a wider audience as well.

Track to Check Out: “Chant II: Shir Hashirim,” “Chant IV: Sodot HaYekum,” and “Chant VII: Haka’as HaNachash.”

This week's #ThursDeath is EP 'Voidspawn Sacrifice' from last year by northern Italy's IGNOBLETH. This is death with dynamics, it has both faster and sloggy parts, and it also has some black metal touches (kinda war metal). And these guys are doing it well. The band members are super young, in their teens (16 and 17 as of last year), and already making amazing shit like this. Hope they keep it up. These three songs (plus a short-ish intro track that isn't too bad) are great.

https://maskedeadrecords.bandcamp.com/album/voidspawn-sacrifice

#metal #DeathMetal #BlackMetal #BlackenedDeath #Italy #ItalianBands #ItalianMetal #WarMetal @HailsandAles @brian @rtw @swampgas @c0m4 @umrk @Kitty @guffo @nnenov

Strigiform – Aconite Review

By Samguineous Maximus

Sometimes, you catch a glint from deep within the festering promo heap and you know exactly what kind of beast you’re about to prod. Strigiform’s debut, Aconite, radiates the unmistakable stench of “I, Voidhanger-core”—that wonderfully cursed strain of aural decimation that critics slobber over while normal metalheads back away slowly, usually on smaller wierdo labels like I, Voidhanger or Transcending Obscurity. Think along the lines of AMG darlings from this year like Hexrot, Patristic and Ritual Ascension. Let’s check the boxes, just for safe measure. Genre tag reads “avant-garde black/death” (Check). Hails from Italy, where pretension and brilliance are often bedfellows (Check). Cover art looks like a philosophy major’s panic attack rendered in oil paint (Check). Pretentious song titles? “Knell of Nethermost Withdrawal” (Triple Check). This is the kind of swirling, self-immolating chaos that promises either transcendence or a migraine.

Luckily for Strigiform, their songcraft does anything but check boxes, and the compositions on Aconite are nuanced and powered by a crack team of impeccable musicians. This is a quartet of underground metal veterans, from bands such as Vertebra Atlantis, Afraid of Destiny and Thirst Prayer, showing every bit of their pedigree across a lean 34-minute runtime. They merge the reality-altering riffcraft of mid-period Blut Aus Nord, the crystalline cleans of Haunter’s lighter moments and the sly virtuosity of Serpent Column into something entirely their own. Guitarist Saprovore careens between satisfying second-wave tremolos, uncomfortable suspended arpeggios, and spacey, phaser-coated clean sections dripping with a subtle menace. This delectable guitar work is backed by a tasty, jazz-fueled bass performance by Aiokos, who anchors the 6-string haze with a warm, meaty backbone, guiding the ear through these twisted compositions with melodic fills and supporting the eldritch riffery when necessary. The instrumental trio is rounded out by Morte Rossa on drums, who blasts and gallops as expected during the more anarchic moments, but also brings a gentle rhythmic touch to the record’s softer motifs. Each performance is impressive in its own right, but it’s the synthesis of these talented players working together to create considered compositions that elevate Aconite to a higher plane of perverse consciousness.

On Aconite, songs unfold naturally, brimming with skronktastic chaos and understated melodies. Strigiform understands the necessary push and pull to accent a work’s heavier moments, spending almost as much time lulling you into a sense of hypnotic false security as they do pummeling your eardrums with unholy blackened fury. The more aggressive cuts (“Adamant,” “Obsecration”) are led by omnidimensional death-tinged riffs and octopus-armed drum grooves while vocalist N shrieks abstract void poetry atop it all, but the rest of the album leaves plenty of room for brooding atmosphere. “Scorched and Hostile” emerges from its aural onslaught and ends on a sickening off-time chordal refrain, while album highlight “Hypnagogic Allure” weaves around a gorgeously haunting, Imperial Triumphant-esque clean arpeggio, building towards a dissonant freak-out as its poignant conclusion. Aconite demonstrates a pointed and deliberate pacing that often eludes bands of this ilk. Whenever a section might overstay its welcome, Strigiform interject with a novel, mind-bending part which furthers the song, easing up on the gas when necessary, but always deepening the band’s twisted vision.

Musically, Aconite is superb, but the work as a whole is elevated by Strigiform’s keen sense of thematics. The six songs on Aconite are ordered from shortest to longest, with each piece becoming more and more expansive until the 8-minute finale “Knell of Nethermost Withdrawal,” a tune that begins with nearly two minutes of abstract noise before the band’s familiar groaning lurch explodes into action. A full album listen gives the sense of descending into the Conradian darkness of some sinister subterranea. This is aided by some truly standout lyrics which evoke a poetic nihilism with the flourish of French symbolists like Baudelaire or Rimbaud. Such evocative lines as “Encapsulation of screaming cells / Inebriated by rotten velvet / Heal me with your aconite hands / Soak me in crimson flames / Turn my wrath to limestone / Drown in smoke” or “Molten into iridescent hallucinations / of devoured perception / yet again, another moment of consciousness / coerced into contemplation.” set my inner English major’s heart ablaze and are clear evidence that Aconite has the narrative weight to match its outstanding musicianship.

With Aconite, Strigiform have crafted a fully realized artistic statement that pushes the boundaries of esoteric underground metal. It’s the kind of album that makes all the trials and tribulations of music reviewing worthwhile—a debut from an unknown band on a modest label that completely floors you. Aconite is dynamic, intricate, and richly layered, a record every fan of avant-garde metal should hear. I can’t wait to see what Strigiform do next

Rating: 4.0/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3
Label: I, Voidhanger Records
Websites: i-voidhangerrecords.bandcamp.com/album/aconite
Releases Worldwide: November 14th, 2025

#2025 #40 #aconite #afraidOfDestiny #avantGarde #blackMetal #blackenedDeathMetal #blutAusNord #deathMetal #experimentalMetal #haunter #i #iVoidhanger #imperialTriumphant #italianMetal #nov25 #review #reviews #serpentColumn #strigiform #thirstPrayer #vertebraAtlantis

Christiano Filippini’s Flames of Heaven – Symphony of the Universe Review

By Twelve

Choosing new music to review is an interesting process. Once you pick a thing, you’re pretty much locked into it. So I try to forecast: what will I be okay with listening to over and over again for the next week or two? Having just reviewed Lykke, I was very much in the mood for something more upbeat, and I didn’t have to read far past the band name Christiano Filippini’s Flames of Heaven to know Symphony of the Universe fit the bill. Indeed, when I requested the files for review, Dolphin Whisperer, overheard the request. “Is that Italian power metal?” he asked. “It sounds like Italian power metal.” “I didn’t check,” I answered. “But yes.” We were right. Symphony of the Universe is Flames of Heaven’s sophomore full-length, and it is as Italian, power-y, and cheesy as you’re thinking. In that way, you and D.W. are very much alike.

On that note, I’m having trouble getting this review going because Flames of Heaven really does sound exactly like you might expect given its name, origin, and album photo. Their hallmark: fast, bombastic power metal in the Rhapsody of Fire vein, augmented with keys and arrangements (from Filippini himself), but largely focusing on symphonic/power riffs (Michele Vioni) and high-tenor vocals (Marco Pastorino, Fallen Sanctuary). After a brief orchestral intro track, “On the Wings of Phoenix” sets the stage expertly: the main melody carried by lead guitars in perfect emulation of the impressively catchy chorus, the whole a dedication to adventure, rebirth, and hope. “The Archangel’s Warcry” puts keys at the forefront, creating an epic feel while also boasting one of the most impressive guitar solos on the album. Again, we hear it: a catchy chorus, an upbeat style, a sense of venturing that gets the head nodding even hours later. This is Flames of Heaven’s style, and they’re comfortable in it.

Not that there’s no variety on Symphony of the Universe, though it is a bit sparser than I’d personally prefer. There are straightforward European-style power metal tracks like “Midnight Riders” and “On the Wings of Phoenix,” epics like “The Archangels’ Warcry” and “Symphony of the Universe,” and then traditionally-inspired songs like “Don’t Leave Me Tonight”—the requisite power ballad—and “Tears of Love and Hate.” These songs dial back on the epic fantasy imagery and tread even more familiar roads—love, heartbreak, relationships. The music style similarly changes, dialing back the speed and “power” for a more trad-metal sound (though they do give bassist Giorgio Terenziani a somewhat-rare chance to shine, which is welcome). “When Love Burns” even reminds me of Brother Firetribe, which is not something I say often.

That means there’s a lot going on in Symphony of the Universe. The whole album runs sixty-nine minutes over thirteen tracks, two of which are instrumental bookends. It shifts styles often, though the base formula stays firmly in the “cheesy” Euro-power style. This means it’s a lot to listen to all at once, and I would even suggest that every song could have at least one minute trimmed from it without negatively impacting its quality, and no song over seven minutes needs to be longer than five, especially in “Darkside of Gemini” and “On the Wings of Phoenix.” The number of false stops, “one last chorus” instances, and lengthy interludes add up; I honestly think Symphony of the Universe could be twenty to thirty minutes shorter and better for it, because there wouldn’t be time for ear fatigue to build up. Whether by removing stylistically-clashing songs like “Tears of Love and Hate” (especially jarring, as it follows the monumental “The Archangel’s Warcry”), or cutting down on excess choruses and add-ons at the end of long songs, it seems Flames of Heaven could have edited a lot more of this project than they have.

My feelings for Symphony of the Universe are conflicted: it’s a genuinely fun, catchy album and a reliable, if predictable, sample of modern European power metal. I got the power metal pick-me-up I was hunting for, but there’s simply too much of it—and so much relies on an industry-standard formula. As a whole, Symphony of the Universe splinters under its enormous weight. There’s a great album in here, but the whole feels less than the sum of its parts.

Rating: 2.5/5.0
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3
Label: Limb Music
Websites: flamesofheaven.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/cristianofilippinisflamesofheaven
Releases Worldwide: November 14th, 2025

#25 #2025 #brotherFiretribe #christianoFilippinisFlamesOfHeaven #fallenSanctuary #italianMetal #limbMusic #nov25 #powerMetal #review #reviews #rhapsodyOfFire #symphonicMetal #symphonyOfTheUniverse

Novembre – Words of Indigo Review

By Owlswald

Melancholic is the word that best describes the atmospheric sound of Italy’s Novembre. Existing in the dark corners of doom and death metal since their origins as Catacomb in 1990, the group—spearheaded by brothers Carmelo and Giuseppe Orlando—adopted the name Novembre in 1993, spending over three decades fusing their emotive sound of metal aggression and classical composure. Despite being largely underrated, their output includes the acclaimed cornerstone, Novembrine Waltz (2001), and the progressively leaning Materia (2006) and The Blue (2007). Following a prolonged hiatus—and the crucial departure of Giuseppe Orlando—2016’s URSA provided proof of life. While the album had enough trademark characteristics to appease many (like Grymm), it failed to impress me, raising my fears that the Novembre I once loved was gone. The burden of proof now rests on their ninth LP, Words of Indigo, to prove these longstanding veterans still possess their romantic magic.

If you liked URSA, it’s likely you will love Words of Indigo. Despite the nine-year break and additional lineup shifts,1 fresh blood has instilled a dynamism and richness that was missing on URSA. Novembre’s outstanding musicianship explores territories both old and new, delivering phenomenal guitar leads with the group’s familiar romantic passages. Buttery, soothing textures and serene melodies are often undercut by moments of calculated aggression. These elements interlace death, power, rock and doom to build a sonic architecture of musical contrast, constantly ebbing and flowing between tranquil plateaus, cinematic sweeps and energetic torrents. Carmelo Orlando’s mumbling vocals remain prevalent, though they frequently adopt a darker and heavier identity, his blackened rasps matching Novembre’s waves of death metal aggression. Among the rich instrumental additions of piano (“Statua”), saxophone (“Your Holocene”), church bells (“Chisea dell’alba”) and acoustic guitar (“Intervallo”), Words of Indigo evokes an Enslaved-meets-Anathema synthesis, containing considerable depth and a classic sensibility that pays homage to their Italian heritage.

Driven by gloomy, foreboding melodies juxtaposed with transcendent bridges of beauty and serenity, Words of Indigo is a complex emotional landscape, dynamic and rich in its sculpting. “Statua” washes the listener in a sea of layered, solemn progressive tones before its gorgeous, piano-driven end grants a necessary homecoming. “Neptunian Hearts” balances black intensity with beautiful resolving melodies—including one of the best guitar solos on the album—while “House of Rain” uses a brooding vibe, a midpoint solo and beautiful contributions by Ann-Mari Edvardsen (The 3rd & the Mortal) to fuel its delicate crescendo. Even lengthy instrumental “Ipernotte” shifts rapidly from technical tapping and thundering double-bass to a dystopian, crestfallen tone, its chaotic ending mitigated by a percussive and underutilized flamenco guitar. The combined guitar work of Alessio Erriu, Federico Albanese and Carmelo Orlando is arguably Words of Indigo’s engine. Their leads paint a diversely progressive palette of virtuosic shredding (“Brontide”) and Fallujah-like atmospherics (“Sun Magenta”) to flashy power tapping and bright harmonics (“Your Holocene,” “Brontide”), elevating Novembre’s songwriting to the next level.

Faithful to its roots, Words of Indigo retains some of Novembre’s familiar challenges: a tendency toward sonic conformance and Orlando’s persistent use of his signature mumbling vocal technique. As with URSA, the album suffers a bit from mid-point fatigue, as tracks tend to coalesce toward the center, causing my appetite for the remainder to wane. Though not a deal breaker, Words of Indigo’s track sequencing also struggles, presenting as separate pieces rather than a cohesive whole. Minor production choices, such as the unnecessary fade-out/fade-in ending of “House of Rain,” compound this segmentation. However, Words of Indigo is certainly better paced than its predecessor, with a superior variety of tempos, vocals and instrumental additions that help keep the songwriting interesting. Finally, Orlando’s characteristic delivery—highlighted on tracks like “Sun Magenta,” “Post Poetic,” and “Your Holocene”—remains divisive, directly eroding the vitality of the songwriting by distracting from the superior instrumentation.

Words of Indigo marks Novembre’s definitive return following yet another long hiatus and lineup change and it delivers on nearly every front. It’s dynamic and richly textured, weaving the group’s familiar characteristics into a sonic tapestry defined by compelling, adventurous guitar leads. While clunky at times, Words of Indigo signals a new phase for Novembre, successfully positioning them not just as underappreciated doom and death metal mainstays, but as artists intent on consistently reimagining their core identity. This complex, nuanced emotional landscape absolutely warrants your attention and has firmly rekindled my intrigue for what is hopefully to come.

Rating: Very Good!
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3
Label: Peaceville Records
Websites: novembre2.bandcamp.com/music | novembre.co.uk | facebook.com/Novembre1941#
Releases Worldwide: November 7th, 2025

#2025 #35 #Anathema #Catacomb #DoomMetal #Enslaved #Fallujah #ItalianMetal #Nov25 #Novembre #PeacevilleRecords #ProgressiveMetal #Review #Reviews #The3rdTheMortal #WordsOfIndigo

Elettra Storm – Evertale Review

By ClarkKent

Italy has a well-established power metal scene, particularly the ostentatious Rhapsody of Fire and the dazzling Frozen Crown. Looking to make a foothold in this scene is Elettra Storm with the release of their sophomore album, Evertale. While it may look like a strange word for those not fluent in Italian, Elettra comes from the Greek mythological figure, Electra/Elektra. It also serves as a root word for electricity, which helps explain both the odd-sounding band name and the storm surrounding the head of the woman on the cover. This quintet isn’t looking to reinvent the cheese wheel; they just want to write some catchy songs and give their lead singer, Crystal Emiliani, a chance to show off her pipes. Do they have that spark to set the power metal world on fire?

While people like to tease that Wilderun is Disney metal, if Disney were to actually sign a metal artist, they would likely sound like Elettra Storm. They straddle the line between power metal and hard rock mixed with some pop. They don’t quite bring the dance vibes like Battle Beast, but their power metal also isn’t as aggressive or hard-hitting as Frozen Crown. Guitar riffs and drum beats are relatively muted, though not without a lively energy, as Elettra Storm largely plays it safe instrumentally. Instead, they rely on the strength of their frontwoman, and Emiliani delivers. She channels a mix of Disney-friendly pop artists from Idina Menzel to Celine Dion. On “Blue Phoenix,” I half-expected Emiliani to break out into “Let it go” when she buoyantly sings the refrain “And rise again,” while “Secrets of the Universe” has a moment where her voice briefly brought me back to that titanic hit from decades ago.

For power metal of this caliber to work, the choruses need to be catchy, but on this score, Evertale is a mixed bag. It’s not that the choruses are a miss, but that they’re often forgettable. It doesn’t help that the lyrics tend to be convoluted. On “Hero Among Heroes,” Emiliani sings “Hero among heroes / Rise the sword up in the sky / Strong of arm and mind”—this ESL tendency hampers catchiness. Evertale also suffers a general lack of hooks. For the most part, riffs are bland, standard rock fare, and melodies are nil. Opener “Endgame” has some hooky synths, but Elettra Storm rarely returns to them on the rest of the record. “Master of Fairytales” also shows potential when it opens with energetic blast beats and a decent chorus, but the song drops that energy the rest of the way. “Blue Phoenix,” on the other hand, is proof they have the capability of writing really good power metal. It has Evertale’s most creative riffs, a consistent level of energy, and a chorus that soars in a dazzling display like the mythological bird. In the end, Elettra Storm could learn a lot from studying stalwarts of catchy power metal like Unleash the Archers.

Elettra Storm actually feels most at home on the lone track that’s geared more towards pop than metal: “One Last Ray of Light.” This tune eschews the usual power metal trappings of noodly riffs and high energy. It features a piano and what sounds like a mandolin playing a lovely melody.1 Then the chorus hits and the real magic happens. Emiliani’s voice rises to a beautiful lilt as she belts out the catchiest chorus on Evertale. The song is a certifiable banger, and it is also where Elettra Storm sounds most comfortable. Between this and “Blue Phoenix,” Elettra Storm have it in them to write some great power metal—if only they could apply these successes to the rest of Evertale.

The end result is an album that is pleasantly bland, with tracks ranging from forgettable to slightly above average, as well as a couple that are quite good. I won’t deny that I sometimes find myself whistling a random tune like “Judgment Time” while I’m out and about. Evertale hits that sweet spot between power metal and adult pop/rock where it could find an audience in either genre. Elettra Storm provides an electric vocalist, a little bit of guitar noodling, and radio rock song structures that make it a pleasant in-the-moment listen. But the record fails to take many risks or hit many of the highs the genre is capable of. Instead, it plays things a little too safe and doesn’t quite live up to its elettra-fying name.

Rating: 2.5/5.0
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 256 kbps mp3
Label: Scarlet Records
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: October 24th, 2025

#25 #2025 #BattleBeast #CelineDion #ElettraStorm #Evertale #FrozenCrown #HardRock #IdinaMenzel #ItalianMetal #Oct25 #PowerMetal #Review #Reviews #RhapsodyOfFire #ScarletRecords #UnleashTheArchers #Wilderun

This week's #ThursDeath is new EP 'Infecting Grotesque Decay' by Milan, Italy's CHAOSPIRACY. This is four tracks of some really great, grueling OSDM inspired stuff. And how about that cover art! Would be amazing to hear a full LP from these guys.

https://chaospiracy.bandcamp.com/album/infecting-grotesque-decay

#metal #DeathMetal #ItalianMetal #ItalianBands #Milan #MilanItaly #OSDM #Chaospiracy @HailsandAles @brian @rtw @swampgas @guffo @c0m4 @flockofnazguls @Kitty

Void of Sleep – The Abyss Into Which We All Have to Stare Review

By Saunders

Italy’s progressive sludge toilers Void of Sleep unleashed an impressive debut courtesy of 2012’s gripping Tales Between Reality and Madness, dropped a less impressive sophomore album in 2015’s New World Order, before returning to form on the darker progressive explorations of 2020’s Metaphora. Perhaps not helped by a sluggishly sporadic pattern of recorded material, Void of Sleep’s bright talents remain hidden in obscurity, ensuring a low profile. Which is a damn shame, as their albums offer plenty, especially the debut and Metaphora. Out of the blue, Void of Sleep re-emerge for the first time in over five years, locked and loaded with their wordily titled fourth album, The Abyss Into Which We All Have to Stare. Can Void of Sleep emerge from an extended slumber to flex their songwriting muscles and write an album to finally grant them the exposure this gifted unit deserve?

Void of Sleep long refined the burly, hook-laden ball of energy of their debut into the darker, introspective, progressive rock channels of their more recent material. Each LP shares familiar elements while remaining distinctive. Charting complex, winding arrangements and post-metal swells, without abandoning their psych flourishes and chunkier sludge rock heft, Void of Sleep continue spiraling down increasingly melancholic, spacey and adventurous wormholes. Musically, The Abyss Into Which We All Have to Stare is most similar to their previous outing, burrowing synth-steeped atmospherics and probing instrumental jams into their muscular sludge rock and progressive foundations.

Whereas heavier use of synths, tribal infused rhythms and hypnotic instrumental segments are ever prevalent across the album’s lengthy individual movements (barring a short introduction piece), Void of Sleep maintain shreds of the hooky, surging sludge rock fury of their previous work. “Misfortune Teller” harkens back to the versatile and heaving sludge blows and melodic sensibilities of their past endeavors to solid effect. It’s an aspect of their sound dialed back, with their more aggressive, heavier roots occasionally missed. Delving deeper into proggy, post-metal realms, Void of Sleep shift the balance towards slower-burning, more elusive songwriting traits and a sound that is less immediate, perhaps suffering slightly as a result. The album’s meandering beginnings, reflected on ambient opening movement, “Dark Gift,” and feeding into the drawn-out build-up on the otherwise impactful prog-sludge and propulsive dynamic shifts of “Omens from Nothingness,” make for a curiously sedate start. Void of Sleep strongly favor lengthy compositions, including four of the album’s seven songs extending beyond the eight-minute mark. This isn’t exactly new territory for Void of Sleep, this time unleashing their longest album to date.

The marathon four-song trek from “Lullaby to Woe” to closer “A Demon In My View” comprises a large chunk of the runtime. Despite a multitude of interesting ideas and stellar moments, the lengthy stretch is a mixed bag. “Lullaby to Woe” features nods to Tool and The Ocean, weaving pulsing rhythms and a progressive ebb and flow arrangement, fed through a burly, stoner prog filter. Killer hooks and addictive grooves reside, marred by a bloated, sample-laden mid-section impacting momentum, temporarily drifting from the song’s strengths and potency. Quality musicianship and surging climax aside, “From the Unborn Mother” loses focus and lacks a gratifying hook to nail the landing. Not without minor issues, the closing duo fare better overall. Following a creepy carnival-esque intro, “Phantoms of Nihil” takes a while to hit its stride, eventually showcasing its heavier wares, progressive strokes, and booming vocals. Burdo’s thick, accented vox may prove divisive, though remain an asset, juggling dual guitar duties while belting out impassioned, rugged cleans and occasional heavier screams and bellows. His versatile and emotive delivery makes a punchy impact, sounding rougher and more seasoned against the album’s bleaker tones. Though a few misguided moments and awkward vocal phrasing arise, it’s another solid performance.

Void of Sleep remains a gifted bunch of sludge-slinging progsters and underappreciated unit in the modern progressive metal and sludge scenes. The Abyss Into Which We All Have to Stare may lose some of the focus and addicting songwriting spark of their stronger efforts, yet features enough engaging elements, a gritty delivery, and subtly infectious hooks to stay afloat. An organic, punchy production job and excellent musicianship also shine. Unfortunately, pacing issues, ambition occasionally giving way to meandering misadventure, contribute to bloat and faltering cohesion to an otherwise intriguing batch of moody and darkly mysterious progressive tunes.

Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: 10 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Aural Music
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: October 17th, 2025

#2025 #30 #AuralMusic #ItalianMetal #Oct25 #ProgressiveMetal #ProgressiveSludge #Review #Reviews #SludgeRock #TheAbyssIntoWhichWeAllHaveToStare #TheOcean #Tool #VoidOfSleep

Harvest — For the Souls We Have Lost Review

By Steel Druhm

Written By: NamelessN00b_606

Since nostalgia drives the creation and consumption of so much contemporary metal, metalheads might be interested in its etymology. A borrowing from post-classical Latin that combines the ancient Greek νόστος (‘return home’) and ‑αλγία (‘pain’), ‘nostalgia’ meant something like a pathologized homesickness when it came into English usage in the eighteenth century.1 So if you’re nostalgic for, say, the gothic doom metal of the 1990s, then 90s gothic doom is your musical home, your longing for this home rises to the level of a physical ailment, and Harvest may have the cure. A new Italian quintet, Harvest describes itself as an earnest tribute to bands like My Dying Bride, Paradise Lost, and Katatonia. As with any album overtly tapping into the past, the hope is that For the Souls We Have Lost, Harvest’s debut, administers a ‘stalg salve with its own unique fragrance.

For the Souls We Have Lost succeeds at sounding like its inspirations. At the core of Harvest are barebones, Sabbathian riffs, reminiscent of the way My Dying Bride practices Sabbath revival on an album like The Angel and the Dark River. Vocally, Emanuele resembles Aaron Stainthorpe in both his clean and extreme registers. Emanuele and guitarist Fabio Torresan offer simple yet effective interplays between gothy croons, Iommian phrases, and macabre growls, especially on “Floating Leaves.” But no doom with gothic aspirations can do without gloomy atmosphere. In addition to supplying a second guitar, Matteo Gandolfi plays keyboards, adding texture via synthetic strings (“Floating Leaves”), choirs (“Born Alone”), and horns (“Shining Moon”). These elements nicely fill out the refreshingly open production of For the Souls We Have Lost, especially on closer “The Path of Life.” Harvest have crafted a debut that will transport listeners to a graveyard poetry reading in 1997, with Paradise Lost’s Gothic and Katatonia’s Brave Murder Day providing the soundtrack.

Doom is an inherently direct subgenre, but simplicity often holds For the Souls We Have Lost back. The main riffs in both “Hunter of Souls” and “Shining Moon” are a bit too straightforward; they would have benefited from some variation. On the songwriting front, most of these songs include a clean or acoustic guitar break in the middle (“Floating Leaves,” “Hunter of Souls,” “Shining Moon”). This is a common way to approach a bridge in doom, but it becomes a predictable pattern here. These sections also raise another issue: the dryness of the non-distorted guitar tones. Opener “Born Alone,” for example, begins with a two-chord progression played by a clean guitar lacking character. The song eventually kicks into heavy gear, but when it returns to its dry-clean progression in the middle, the song ends up feeling like a buildup without a payoff.

The vocals do occasionally elevate these songs, though they present their own challenges. On the clean side, Emanuele favors a mid-range croon that results in some memorable hooks (“Floating Leaves,” “Hunter of Souls”). At other points, however, the cleans don’t hit the ear in the best way. The verse to “In Shape of Beast” includes melodic jumps that are kind of catchy but that don’t mesh with the supporting music. Similarly, “Shining Moon” ends with a cappella vocals that waver when they should be commanding attention. On one song, the cleans sound like the work of a different vocalist. “Born Alone” drops a droning monotone atop its simple chord progression, which doesn’t do much to develop the melody.2 Whereas the rest of the album has those satisfying, Stainthropean swings in inflection, “Born Alone” sets a flat—and retrospectively confusing—tone as the opener.

If 90s gothic doom is your home, then you probably won’t need to consult your doctor before taking For the Souls We Have Lost. Such listeners will find comfort across the album’s reasonable 37-minute runtime, particularly from “Floating Leaves” and “The Path of Life.” If, however, the subgenre is more like the Victorian house of an esoteric neighbor, then For the Souls We Have Lost probably won’t do much for you. The retro production won’t read as charmingly nostalgic, and the inconsistencies will prevent full immersion. Harvest have done a good job conjuring the matter and spirit of their influences; hopefully, their follow-up will play off their strengths to develop a unique identity.

Rating: 2.0/5.0
DR: 11 | Format Reviewed: V0 mp3
Label: Octopus Rising Records (sub-label of Argonauta Records)
Websites: harvest-doom.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/harvestdoom
Releases Worldwide: September 26th, 2025

#20 #2025 #BlackSabbath #DeathDoom #DoomMetal #ForTheSoulsWeHaveLost #Harvest #ItalianMetal #Katatonia #MyDyingBride #OctopusRisingRecordsArgonautaRecords #ParadiseLost #Review #Reviews #Sep25

Warcoe – Upon Tall Thrones Review

By Spicie Forrest

Certain decades and locations have a unique and instantly recognizable sound, like 90s hip hop, Florida death metal, 70s rock, etc. But such subgenres—at least for metal—are no longer regionally or temporally exclusive. There are American bands that play Swedeath and 2010s bands that play 80s thrash. In this postmodern era, iconic sounds of time and place are constantly worshipped, reimagined, and repurposed by new bands for a contemporary global audience. Warcoe is one such band. When I first heard the vintage doomsters, I thought them from the 70s or 80s, but they formed in Pesaro, Italy in 2021. Impressed with their retro style, I laid claim to their third full-length, Upon Tall Thrones, and spent some time reveling in the sounds of yesteryear.

From the first notes of opener “Octagon,” it’s clear Warcoe grew up on Black Sabbath and their progeny. Carlo’s bass is warm and velvety, while Stefano’s devious guitar tone compliments his Ozzy-esque vocals well. More than mere worshippers, Warcoe augments their classic sound with stoner rock and metal. “The Wanderer” and “Brown Witch” summon Monolord with mammothian riffage, while leaner, more energetic tracks like “I’ve Sat upon Tall Thrones (but I’ll Never Learn)” and “Spheres” strike a balance between Windhand, The Sword or Kadaver. Beyond doom and stoner metal, Warcoe also incorporates more classic styles. Stefano’s lead guitar never fails to impress, his hooks and solos recalling your dad’s favorite cuts from CCR or ZZ Top. As a whole, Upon Tall Thrones presents a nostalgic, vintage sound dressed in modern clothes.

While Upon Tall Thrones initially sounded great in the background, its faults appeared when I began paying closer attention. I love the timbre of Stefano’s voice, and it fits Warcoe’s style, but his delivery is fairly monotone. Stefano’s minimal range holds several good moments back from greatness (“I’ve Sat…,” “Dark into Light”). This may be a stylistic choice, but it grows tiresome around the midpoint. The production on Upon Tall Thrones is a much bigger issue. I’m not sure what happened between drummer Francesco sitting down to record and me downloading the files, but the drums skip and stutter quite a bit. It’s mostly confined to the cymbals, and it’s more noticeable on the back half, but I heard at least one instance on every track except drumless acoustic interlude “Gather in the Woods.” That track has its own problems, though, as static popping accompanies every. single. note. It’s maddening, I can’t unhear it, and it ruins an otherwise great acoustic break.

Faults aside, I still hear ambition and potential on Upon Tall Thrones. But for the tail end of “Deepest Grave,” there’s no bloat here. Warcoe is dynamic. Rarely does a riff overstay its welcome or a song miss its best endpoint. Even with two instrumental tracks smack dab in the middle of the album (“Gather in the Woods” and “Flame in Your Hand”), the energy doesn’t falter, and my attention doesn’t wander. Warcoe even manages a little successful experimentation. Blackened tremolos hover above the proceedings on “Dark into Light,” and the 16-bit, Wraith Knighted solo of “Flame in Your Hand” sends me hurtling down memory lane to play Final Fantasy IV. It’s Warcoe’s willingness to explore beyond their influences that makes me think they’re chasing something special here.

I try not to quote promo material, but in the case of Warcoe’s Upon Tall Thrones, “groovy doom from the abyss” and “vintage darkness with sharp and heavy riffs” work pretty well. Unfortunately, what excels in a casual environment falls short under closer scrutiny. My criticisms of Upon Tall Thrones aren’t apocalyptic, but they are consistent and pervasive, bringing the entire album down. This resulted in a lower score than I wanted, but I have hope for the future. Warcoe shows promise. If Stefano can expand his range and the band can both secure cleaner production and hone their unique sound, whatever succeeds Upon Tall Thrones has the potential for excellence.

Rating: 2.5/5.0
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: FLAC
Label: Ripple Music | Morbid And Miserable Records
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook | Instagram
Releases Worldwide: September 26th, 2025

#25 #2025 #BlackSabbath #CreedenceClearwaterRevival #DoomMetal #ItalianMetal #Kadaver #Monolord #MorbidAndMiserableRecords #OzzyOsbourne #Review #Reviews #RippleMusic #Sep25 #TheSword #UponTallThrones #Warcoe #Windhand #WraithKnight #ZZTop

Blutsauger – Nocturnal Blood Tyrants

By Alekhines Gun

Raw black metal is a tricky proposition. There’s an extremely thin line to walk between production choices designed to add mood and atmosphere to compositions via a wall of auditory fog and production choices that sound like someone threw their equipment down….wait, haven’t we done this already? We sure have, and boy oh boy have we landed on the opposite side of the coin. While Italy is most known for its symphonic (Fleshgod Apocolypse) and tech death (Hour of Penance) scenes, its black metal collective is also alive and well, doing their own thing in their dark corner of the world. Today’s offering is the debut release by duo Blutsauger (German for “Bloodsucker”), coming hot off the heels of sole demo Path of the Bleeding Dead. A gander at that colorless, bleak art aptly spells out the whole mission statement, as Nocturnal Blood Tyrants comes to land blackened crowbars to your very glass jaws, with not a dollop of fun to be found.

How raw is raw? Nocturnal Blood Tyrants is an abrasive, loud, violent listen, with treble turned up wide into a blast furnace of sound over Archgoat-esque drum savagery and not a glimmer of bass (instrument or tone) detected in the ensuing fallout. Utilizing the searing, caustic approach of Dethroned, Conquered and Forgotten era Judas Iscariot with the gain cranked up to 11, Blutsauger aren’t here to be memorable as much as overwhelming. “The Black Hunters” shows the album’s blueprint in all its blackened glory, with a flood of chords collapsing from one quick shift to the next as the drums1 charge relentlessly underneath the tornado of tones. In terms of presentation, Nocturnal Blood Tyrants never lets up, with no chords ever obtaining warmth and vocals maintaining a Blasphemous perpetual pitch throughout the release.

Wisely, Blutsauger make up for this uninviting presentation with a good variety in their riff approach. On average, Nocturnal Blood Tyrants uses an A/B phrasing, where a song comes out blasting and shredding with blood and vinegar before using tempo shifts to craft moments of individuality and personality. “Black Shroud Ritual” is a key example, with a sudden swerve of a slowdown that evolves into straightforward headbangability with the drums presenting some brief moments of real rhythmic transitions and one to two-measure fills. This approach is developed over the course of the album, where what begins as a clear and concise formula starts to grow roots and blossom into something more mature and layered the deeper into the listen you go. This variety in riffing is a welcome reprieve for what would threaten to be a completely flavorless haze of a listen.

Curiously, this results in the more interesting ideas of Nocturnal Blood Tyrants being located in the back half. Title track “Nocturnal Blood Tyrants” flirts with sustained, depressive open chords for a prolonged passage, with the drums presenting military style rolls and staccato-heavy fills. “Wash Them With Fire” sports the album’s first actual lead and consequently stands out like a lightning bolt in a clear sky, particularly when the drums switch their stylings into china-heavy accents and fills before dropping into a vintage Tsjuder tank-plodding attack. Blutsauger even try their hand at the greatest trope in all genres of metal (Le epic grand finale track) with a doomy tempo and a complete lack of the speed and ruthless assaults of the preceding 27 minutes. This exhausted display, the sound of an outfit spent of all their energy and wrath, but never of their sardonicism and anger, makes for a surprisingly efficient album closer by contrast, even if the samples used are wasted in the mix.

Much like a really well-made horror movie, I can’t see myself returning to Nocturnal Blood Tyrants often unless the mood strikes, but only because of how well it accomplishes what it sets out to do. Blutsauger crafted a release that is utterly devoid of anything that could be called beautiful, attractive, or endearing. Its production is violent on the ears, its chord progressions never become softer than “melancholic”, and its tonal palette is as warm as your ex’s heart. But for the spirit of raw black metal, such traits are ringing endorsements. A careful attention to riffcraft and refusal to let the production overtake the importance of actual songwriting have conjured forth an album of genuine quality, if not of approachability. Raw black metal is a tricky proposition, and if you’re on team No Fun in metal2. I cannot imagine this leaving anything but a blackened frown on your face.

Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: 103 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: ATMF
Website: Album Bandcamp
Releases Worldwide: August 29th, 2025

#2025 #30 #Archgoat #ATMF #Aug25 #Blasphemous #Blutsauger #DeTenebrarumPrincipio #FleshgodApocalypse #HourOfPenance #ItalianMetal #JudasIscariot #NocturnalBloodTyrants #Review #Reviews #Tsjuder