#jul26 — Public Fediverse posts

Florida: birthplace of the first personal computer, endless just-barely-believable news stories, the modern sports drink, and death metal. Since the birth of Florida’s death metal scene in the late 80s and early 90s, the state has produced countless acts of varying quality and recognition. Among them is Hexorcist, forged in Miami’s oppressive heat in 2019. The four-piece released a demo in 2020, followed by debut LP Evil Reaping Death in 2021. Hexorcist subsequently journeyed to the land of splits for a few years, but they’ve returned with their sophomore effort, Crucificial Imprecations. Born in the land of musical giants, can Hexorcist even cast a shadow?

Crucificial Imprecations hails from a time when death and thrash were still separating themselves. After a symphonic opening reminiscent of old horror films, Hexorcist nails the gas pedal to the floor. “Crucifical Imprecations” burns and grinds the asphalt as it takes off on the highway to Hell. Like a demon, Mors Ululatus barks and growls his way through track after track of pure, unadulterated hatred for Jesus. In fact, from album art to instrumentals to lyrics, Crucificial Imprecations seems intent on reviving the glorious era of Satanic Panic. If the slimy wet bass that opens “Emissary of Evil” doesn’t send churchgoing mothers clutching for pearls, the hammering snares—driving anxiety up by the 8th note—will. Samples from 1968 cult classic The Devil Rides Out grace the final two tracks (“Unconsecrated Offerings,” “Exordium of Profanation”), and Mors Ululatus finds prime moments to scream in terror like he’s falling into the Lake of Fire itself (“Defacing Deities,” “Emissary of Evil,” “Exordium of Profanation”).

It shouldn’t be a surprise given their stomping grounds, but Hexorcist walks closely in the footsteps of Angelcorpse or Monstrosity and anchors themselves firmly in the Florida death metal sound. Riffs are plentiful, as guitarist Maleferious releases one after another, stuffing each song with several worth getting stuck in your craw. His riffs are technical and acrobatic, and his psychotic solo work frequently suffers Deathly convulsions. Bassist Lvctvs sounds thick enough to suffocate even the holiest among us in demonic ichor. When they work in tandem, matching note for note, they create singularly evil and terrifying passages (“Hexorcist”). This is only amplified by Pest’s violent and relentless kit work (“Emissary of Evil, Adverse Sacraments”). Together,1 Hexorcist ensures there’s no hope for escape from this satanic, Floridian joy ride.

Hexorcist maintains laser focus from start to finish on their sophomore release, but it’s not always to their benefit. Early in my time with Crucificial Imprecations, I thought the back half sagged, but that’s not exactly true. I realized that Hexorcist’s intensity and consistency, in a critical setting, ends up fairly monotonous. The problem here is that, regardless of how the tracks are ordered, Crucifical Imprecations starts to become a slog after any four of its eight tracks. Don’t misunderstand—this is some killer death/thrash, but across eight tracks of similar pacing, similar drumlines, similar basslines, similar solo structures, similar vocal delivery, it all blends together. Even though Crucificial Imprecations clocks in at a very short 30 minutes, the lack of identity from track to track makes it a much tougher listen than that length would suggest.

Hexorcist doesn’t exactly break any new ground here, but they do get my blood pumping pretty well. They were a no-brainer to throw on while working or driving or running errands. It wasn’t until I sat down to take some notes that I struggled with Crucificial Imprecations. Each track on Crucifical Imprecations is pretty tasty on its own, but the album is a bit of a one-trick pony. Where the forebears of the style experimented with mid-paced tracks and even slowed things down to a doomy crawl, Hexorcist lets off the gas exactly never, and there’s precious little variety to keep me engaged from start to finish. My playlists will benefit greatly from Crucificial Imprecations’ choice cuts, but I don’t see myself returning to the album as a whole.

Rating: 2.5/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Invictus Productions
Websites: Album Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: July 31st, 2026

Florida: birthplace of the first personal computer, endless just-barely-believable news stories, the modern sports drink, and death metal. Since the birth of Florida’s death metal scene in the late 80s and early 90s, the state has produced countless acts of varying quality and recognition. Among them is Hexorcist, forged in Miami’s oppressive heat in 2019. The four-piece released a demo in 2020, followed by debut LP Evil Reaping Death in 2021. Hexorcist subsequently journeyed to the land of splits for a few years, but they’ve returned with their sophomore effort, Crucificial Imprecations. Born in the land of musical giants, can Hexorcist even cast a shadow?

Crucificial Imprecations hails from a time when death and thrash were still separating themselves. After a symphonic opening reminiscent of old horror films, Hexorcist nails the gas pedal to the floor. “Crucifical Imprecations” burns and grinds the asphalt as it takes off on the highway to Hell. Like a demon, Mors Ululatus barks and growls his way through track after track of pure, unadulterated hatred for Jesus. In fact, from album art to instrumentals to lyrics, Crucificial Imprecations seems intent on reviving the glorious era of Satanic Panic. If the slimy wet bass that opens “Emissary of Evil” doesn’t send churchgoing mothers clutching for pearls, the hammering snares—driving anxiety up by the 8th note—will. Samples from 1968 cult classic The Devil Rides Out grace the final two tracks (“Unconsecrated Offerings,” “Exordium of Profanation”), and Mors Ululatus finds prime moments to scream in terror like he’s falling into the Lake of Fire itself (“Defacing Deities,” “Emissary of Evil,” “Exordium of Profanation”).

It shouldn’t be a surprise given their stomping grounds, but Hexorcist walks closely in the footsteps of Angelcorpse or Monstrosity and anchors themselves firmly in the Florida death metal sound. Riffs are plentiful, as guitarist Maleferious releases one after another, stuffing each song with several worth getting stuck in your craw. His riffs are technical and acrobatic, and his psychotic solo work frequently suffers Deathly convulsions. Bassist Lvctvs sounds thick enough to suffocate even the holiest among us in demonic ichor. When they work in tandem, matching note for note, they create singularly evil and terrifying passages (“Hexorcist”). This is only amplified by Pest’s violent and relentless kit work (“Emissary of Evil, Adverse Sacraments”). Together,1 Hexorcist ensures there’s no hope for escape from this satanic, Floridian joy ride.

Hexorcist maintains laser focus from start to finish on their sophomore release, but it’s not always to their benefit. Early in my time with Crucificial Imprecations, I thought the back half sagged, but that’s not exactly true. I realized that Hexorcist’s intensity and consistency, in a critical setting, ends up fairly monotonous. The problem here is that, regardless of how the tracks are ordered, Crucifical Imprecations starts to become a slog after any four of its eight tracks. Don’t misunderstand—this is some killer death/thrash, but across eight tracks of similar pacing, similar drumlines, similar basslines, similar solo structures, similar vocal delivery, it all blends together. Even though Crucificial Imprecations clocks in at a very short 30 minutes, the lack of identity from track to track makes it a much tougher listen than that length would suggest.

Hexorcist doesn’t exactly break any new ground here, but they do get my blood pumping pretty well. They were a no-brainer to throw on while working or driving or running errands. It wasn’t until I sat down to take some notes that I struggled with Crucificial Imprecations. Each track on Crucifical Imprecations is pretty tasty on its own, but the album is a bit of a one-trick pony. Where the forebears of the style experimented with mid-paced tracks and even slowed things down to a doomy crawl, Hexorcist lets off the gas exactly never, and there’s precious little variety to keep me engaged from start to finish. My playlists will benefit greatly from Crucificial Imprecations’ choice cuts, but I don’t see myself returning to the album as a whole.

Rating: 2.5/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Invictus Productions
Websites: Album Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: July 31st, 2026

Florida: birthplace of the first personal computer, endless just-barely-believable news stories, the modern sports drink, and death metal. Since the birth of Florida’s death metal scene in the late 80s and early 90s, the state has produced countless acts of varying quality and recognition. Among them is Hexorcist, forged in Miami’s oppressive heat in 2019. The four-piece released a demo in 2020, followed by debut LP Evil Reaping Death in 2021. Hexorcist subsequently journeyed to the land of splits for a few years, but they’ve returned with their sophomore effort, Crucificial Imprecations. Born in the land of musical giants, can Hexorcist even cast a shadow?

Crucificial Imprecations hails from a time when death and thrash were still separating themselves. After a symphonic opening reminiscent of old horror films, Hexorcist nails the gas pedal to the floor. “Crucifical Imprecations” burns and grinds the asphalt as it takes off on the highway to Hell. Like a demon, Mors Ululatus barks and growls his way through track after track of pure, unadulterated hatred for Jesus. In fact, from album art to instrumentals to lyrics, Crucificial Imprecations seems intent on reviving the glorious era of Satanic Panic. If the slimy wet bass that opens “Emissary of Evil” doesn’t send churchgoing mothers clutching for pearls, the hammering snares—driving anxiety up by the 8th note—will. Samples from 1968 cult classic The Devil Rides Out grace the final two tracks (“Unconsecrated Offerings,” “Exordium of Profanation”), and Mors Ululatus finds prime moments to scream in terror like he’s falling into the Lake of Fire itself (“Defacing Deities,” “Emissary of Evil,” “Exordium of Profanation”).

It shouldn’t be a surprise given their stomping grounds, but Hexorcist walks closely in the footsteps of Angelcorpse or Monstrosity and anchors themselves firmly in the Florida death metal sound. Riffs are plentiful, as guitarist Maleferious releases one after another, stuffing each song with several worth getting stuck in your craw. His riffs are technical and acrobatic, and his psychotic solo work frequently suffers Deathly convulsions. Bassist Lvctvs sounds thick enough to suffocate even the holiest among us in demonic ichor. When they work in tandem, matching note for note, they create singularly evil and terrifying passages (“Hexorcist”). This is only amplified by Pest’s violent and relentless kit work (“Emissary of Evil, Adverse Sacraments”). Together,1 Hexorcist ensures there’s no hope for escape from this satanic, Floridian joy ride.

Hexorcist maintains laser focus from start to finish on their sophomore release, but it’s not always to their benefit. Early in my time with Crucificial Imprecations, I thought the back half sagged, but that’s not exactly true. I realized that Hexorcist’s intensity and consistency, in a critical setting, ends up fairly monotonous. The problem here is that, regardless of how the tracks are ordered, Crucifical Imprecations starts to become a slog after any four of its eight tracks. Don’t misunderstand—this is some killer death/thrash, but across eight tracks of similar pacing, similar drumlines, similar basslines, similar solo structures, similar vocal delivery, it all blends together. Even though Crucificial Imprecations clocks in at a very short 30 minutes, the lack of identity from track to track makes it a much tougher listen than that length would suggest.

Hexorcist doesn’t exactly break any new ground here, but they do get my blood pumping pretty well. They were a no-brainer to throw on while working or driving or running errands. It wasn’t until I sat down to take some notes that I struggled with Crucificial Imprecations. Each track on Crucifical Imprecations is pretty tasty on its own, but the album is a bit of a one-trick pony. Where the forebears of the style experimented with mid-paced tracks and even slowed things down to a doomy crawl, Hexorcist lets off the gas exactly never, and there’s precious little variety to keep me engaged from start to finish. My playlists will benefit greatly from Crucificial Imprecations’ choice cuts, but I don’t see myself returning to the album as a whole.

Rating: 2.5/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Invictus Productions
Websites: Album Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: July 31st, 2026

Florida: birthplace of the first personal computer, endless just-barely-believable news stories, the modern sports drink, and death metal. Since the birth of Florida’s death metal scene in the late 80s and early 90s, the state has produced countless acts of varying quality and recognition. Among them is Hexorcist, forged in Miami’s oppressive heat in 2019. The four-piece released a demo in 2020, followed by debut LP Evil Reaping Death in 2021. Hexorcist subsequently journeyed to the land of splits for a few years, but they’ve returned with their sophomore effort, Crucificial Imprecations. Born in the land of musical giants, can Hexorcist even cast a shadow?

Crucificial Imprecations hails from a time when death and thrash were still separating themselves. After a symphonic opening reminiscent of old horror films, Hexorcist nails the gas pedal to the floor. “Crucifical Imprecations” burns and grinds the asphalt as it takes off on the highway to Hell. Like a demon, Mors Ululatus barks and growls his way through track after track of pure, unadulterated hatred for Jesus. In fact, from album art to instrumentals to lyrics, Crucificial Imprecations seems intent on reviving the glorious era of Satanic Panic. If the slimy wet bass that opens “Emissary of Evil” doesn’t send churchgoing mothers clutching for pearls, the hammering snares—driving anxiety up by the 8th note—will. Samples from 1968 cult classic The Devil Rides Out grace the final two tracks (“Unconsecrated Offerings,” “Exordium of Profanation”), and Mors Ululatus finds prime moments to scream in terror like he’s falling into the Lake of Fire itself (“Defacing Deities,” “Emissary of Evil,” “Exordium of Profanation”).

It shouldn’t be a surprise given their stomping grounds, but Hexorcist walks closely in the footsteps of Angelcorpse or Monstrosity and anchors themselves firmly in the Florida death metal sound. Riffs are plentiful, as guitarist Maleferious releases one after another, stuffing each song with several worth getting stuck in your craw. His riffs are technical and acrobatic, and his psychotic solo work frequently suffers Deathly convulsions. Bassist Lvctvs sounds thick enough to suffocate even the holiest among us in demonic ichor. When they work in tandem, matching note for note, they create singularly evil and terrifying passages (“Hexorcist”). This is only amplified by Pest’s violent and relentless kit work (“Emissary of Evil, Adverse Sacraments”). Together,1 Hexorcist ensures there’s no hope for escape from this satanic, Floridian joy ride.

Hexorcist maintains laser focus from start to finish on their sophomore release, but it’s not always to their benefit. Early in my time with Crucificial Imprecations, I thought the back half sagged, but that’s not exactly true. I realized that Hexorcist’s intensity and consistency, in a critical setting, ends up fairly monotonous. The problem here is that, regardless of how the tracks are ordered, Crucifical Imprecations starts to become a slog after any four of its eight tracks. Don’t misunderstand—this is some killer death/thrash, but across eight tracks of similar pacing, similar drumlines, similar basslines, similar solo structures, similar vocal delivery, it all blends together. Even though Crucificial Imprecations clocks in at a very short 30 minutes, the lack of identity from track to track makes it a much tougher listen than that length would suggest.

Hexorcist doesn’t exactly break any new ground here, but they do get my blood pumping pretty well. They were a no-brainer to throw on while working or driving or running errands. It wasn’t until I sat down to take some notes that I struggled with Crucificial Imprecations. Each track on Crucifical Imprecations is pretty tasty on its own, but the album is a bit of a one-trick pony. Where the forebears of the style experimented with mid-paced tracks and even slowed things down to a doomy crawl, Hexorcist lets off the gas exactly never, and there’s precious little variety to keep me engaged from start to finish. My playlists will benefit greatly from Crucificial Imprecations’ choice cuts, but I don’t see myself returning to the album as a whole.

Rating: 2.5/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Invictus Productions
Websites: Album Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: July 31st, 2026

Florida: birthplace of the first personal computer, endless just-barely-believable news stories, the modern sports drink, and death metal. Since the birth of Florida’s death metal scene in the late 80s and early 90s, the state has produced countless acts of varying quality and recognition. Among them is Hexorcist, forged in Miami’s oppressive heat in 2019. The four-piece released a demo in 2020, followed by debut LP Evil Reaping Death in 2021. Hexorcist subsequently journeyed to the land of splits for a few years, but they’ve returned with their sophomore effort, Crucificial Imprecations. Born in the land of musical giants, can Hexorcist even cast a shadow?

Crucificial Imprecations hails from a time when death and thrash were still separating themselves. After a symphonic opening reminiscent of old horror films, Hexorcist nails the gas pedal to the floor. “Crucifical Imprecations” burns and grinds the asphalt as it takes off on the highway to Hell. Like a demon, Mors Ululatus barks and growls his way through track after track of pure, unadulterated hatred for Jesus. In fact, from album art to instrumentals to lyrics, Crucificial Imprecations seems intent on reviving the glorious era of Satanic Panic. If the slimy wet bass that opens “Emissary of Evil” doesn’t send churchgoing mothers clutching for pearls, the hammering snares—driving anxiety up by the 8th note—will. Samples from 1968 cult classic The Devil Rides Out grace the final two tracks (“Unconsecrated Offerings,” “Exordium of Profanation”), and Mors Ululatus finds prime moments to scream in terror like he’s falling into the Lake of Fire itself (“Defacing Deities,” “Emissary of Evil,” “Exordium of Profanation”).

It shouldn’t be a surprise given their stomping grounds, but Hexorcist walks closely in the footsteps of Angelcorpse or Monstrosity and anchors themselves firmly in the Florida death metal sound. Riffs are plentiful, as guitarist Maleferious releases one after another, stuffing each song with several worth getting stuck in your craw. His riffs are technical and acrobatic, and his psychotic solo work frequently suffers Deathly convulsions. Bassist Lvctvs sounds thick enough to suffocate even the holiest among us in demonic ichor. When they work in tandem, matching note for note, they create singularly evil and terrifying passages (“Hexorcist”). This is only amplified by Pest’s violent and relentless kit work (“Emissary of Evil, Adverse Sacraments”). Together,1 Hexorcist ensures there’s no hope for escape from this satanic, Floridian joy ride.

Hexorcist maintains laser focus from start to finish on their sophomore release, but it’s not always to their benefit. Early in my time with Crucificial Imprecations, I thought the back half sagged, but that’s not exactly true. I realized that Hexorcist’s intensity and consistency, in a critical setting, ends up fairly monotonous. The problem here is that, regardless of how the tracks are ordered, Crucifical Imprecations starts to become a slog after any four of its eight tracks. Don’t misunderstand—this is some killer death/thrash, but across eight tracks of similar pacing, similar drumlines, similar basslines, similar solo structures, similar vocal delivery, it all blends together. Even though Crucificial Imprecations clocks in at a very short 30 minutes, the lack of identity from track to track makes it a much tougher listen than that length would suggest.

Hexorcist doesn’t exactly break any new ground here, but they do get my blood pumping pretty well. They were a no-brainer to throw on while working or driving or running errands. It wasn’t until I sat down to take some notes that I struggled with Crucificial Imprecations. Each track on Crucifical Imprecations is pretty tasty on its own, but the album is a bit of a one-trick pony. Where the forebears of the style experimented with mid-paced tracks and even slowed things down to a doomy crawl, Hexorcist lets off the gas exactly never, and there’s precious little variety to keep me engaged from start to finish. My playlists will benefit greatly from Crucificial Imprecations’ choice cuts, but I don’t see myself returning to the album as a whole.

Rating: 2.5/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Invictus Productions
Websites: Album Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: July 31st, 2026

Towards the tail end of last year, a humble group from the UK called Asira shook up my top ten list. Little did I suspect that I would hear from some of these fine musicians again so soon. Five out of the six members of the blackgaze band Cairiss contributed in some way to As Ink in Water, and now they break a decade-long silence since debut album Fall. Wilderness seeks to express and overcome personal trauma and suffering while also validating those of its audience who are waging their own solitary or unseen battles. As such, this work of art transcends sole beauty or entertainment value to extend an invitation to process and heal in whatever way may be personally needed.

Wilderness is both a continuation and amplification of the potential teased on Fall. Cairiss remains rooted at the intersection of the gossamer elegance of Sylvaine and the blackened anguish of Unreqvited. This is an uncommon type of blackgaze that successfully flits between grandiose and intimate. Freya Brown, who previously handled all vocals, is now devoted primarily to those of the harsh variety.1 Her hard work paid off—her snarls and screams are much sharper, more expressive, and more dynamic all-around. Newcomer Lydia Williams takes charge of the clean singing with similarly breathtaking results. Additionally, the instrumental melodies are more poignant; hints of Asira’s and Opeth’s soulful, progressive guitarwork can be found throughout Wilderness (“The Guide,” “Dissociate”).

In my review of As Ink in Water, I noted that Asira showed a mastery of contrast, and this is even more true of Cairiss. It’s particularly evident every time the different vocalists overlap. When Lydia’s operatic singing crests into view in “The Guide” and interlaces with Freya’s fierce growls, the effect is chill-inducing. On the mellower side, “Integrate” brings Martin Williams’ voice to the forefront for the first and only time on Wilderness as he and Lydia harmonize into a blissful siren song. But perhaps no song encapsulates Cairiss’ wondrously dichotomous nature more than album closer ‘Wildfire.” It sounds like Freya poured every ounce of feeling she possessed into each syllable of her screams, which are periodically assuaged by soothing singing and an emotive guitar solo. I’m impressed by how well Cairiss can bring together such opposing elements without one ever overwhelming the other.

Wilderness is also well-balanced in other ways. This is a carefully constructed album wherein every moment serves a purpose. None of the songs ever stall or dissolve into aimlessness. Crescendos and climaxes arrive and depart in a smooth, natural flow (“Retrace,” “The Guide,” “Dissociate”), facilitated in large part by Connor Frapwell’s percussion. He excels at building and releasing dramatic tension, evoking the ebb and flow of a thunderstorm in “Retrace” and helping the extended intro of “Nervosa” feel much shorter than it is. The total runtime is a sensible 43 minutes, suggesting a good deal of self-editing, and I’m left wanting more as the final howl in “Wildfire” dies. If I have any complaints about Wilderness, it’s that I wish that the bass lines were a bit more prominent.

Time does not heal all wounds. Some must be confronted head-on, and that is what Cairiss does heartwrenchingly and unequivocally. While I wish that it had not needed to be born from a place of such anguish, Wilderness is one of the most authentic and cathartic pieces of music I’ve heard this year so far. Cairiss has leveled up considerably in the last ten years, each member’s individual strengths shining brightly in a musical subgenre where contrast is intrinsic. Fans of blackgaze—or the beautiful sides of metal in general—should heed the beckoning to venture off the beaten path into the Wilderness.

Rating: 4.0/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 192 kbps mp3
Label: Self-Release
Websites: cairiss.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/Cairiss
Releases Worldwide: July 31st, 2026

Towards the tail end of last year, a humble group from the UK called Asira shook up my top ten list. Little did I suspect that I would hear from some of these fine musicians again so soon. Five out of the six members of the blackgaze band Cairiss contributed in some way to As Ink in Water, and now they break a decade-long silence since debut album Fall. Wilderness seeks to express and overcome personal trauma and suffering while also validating those of its audience who are waging their own solitary or unseen battles. As such, this work of art transcends sole beauty or entertainment value to extend an invitation to process and heal in whatever way may be personally needed.

Wilderness is both a continuation and amplification of the potential teased on Fall. Cairiss remains rooted at the intersection of the gossamer elegance of Sylvaine and the blackened anguish of Unreqvited. This is an uncommon type of blackgaze that successfully flits between grandiose and intimate. Freya Brown, who previously handled all vocals, is now devoted primarily to those of the harsh variety.1 Her hard work paid off—her snarls and screams are much sharper, more expressive, and more dynamic all-around. Newcomer Lydia Williams takes charge of the clean singing with similarly breathtaking results. Additionally, the instrumental melodies are more poignant; hints of Asira’s and Opeth’s soulful, progressive guitarwork can be found throughout Wilderness (“The Guide,” “Dissociate”).

In my review of As Ink in Water, I noted that Asira showed a mastery of contrast, and this is even more true of Cairiss. It’s particularly evident every time the different vocalists overlap. When Lydia’s operatic singing crests into view in “The Guide” and interlaces with Freya’s fierce growls, the effect is chill-inducing. On the mellower side, “Integrate” brings Martin Williams’ voice to the forefront for the first and only time on Wilderness as he and Lydia harmonize into a blissful siren song. But perhaps no song encapsulates Cairiss’ wondrously dichotomous nature more than album closer ‘Wildfire.” It sounds like Freya poured every ounce of feeling she possessed into each syllable of her screams, which are periodically assuaged by soothing singing and an emotive guitar solo. I’m impressed by how well Cairiss can bring together such opposing elements without one ever overwhelming the other.

Wilderness is also well-balanced in other ways. This is a carefully constructed album wherein every moment serves a purpose. None of the songs ever stall or dissolve into aimlessness. Crescendos and climaxes arrive and depart in a smooth, natural flow (“Retrace,” “The Guide,” “Dissociate”), facilitated in large part by Connor Frapwell’s percussion. He excels at building and releasing dramatic tension, evoking the ebb and flow of a thunderstorm in “Retrace” and helping the extended intro of “Nervosa” feel much shorter than it is. The total runtime is a sensible 43 minutes, suggesting a good deal of self-editing, and I’m left wanting more as the final howl in “Wildfire” dies. If I have any complaints about Wilderness, it’s that I wish that the bass lines were a bit more prominent.

Time does not heal all wounds. Some must be confronted head-on, and that is what Cairiss does heartwrenchingly and unequivocally. While I wish that it had not needed to be born from a place of such anguish, Wilderness is one of the most authentic and cathartic pieces of music I’ve heard this year so far. Cairiss has leveled up considerably in the last ten years, each member’s individual strengths shining brightly in a musical subgenre where contrast is intrinsic. Fans of blackgaze—or the beautiful sides of metal in general—should heed the beckoning to venture off the beaten path into the Wilderness.

Rating: 4.0/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 192 kbps mp3
Label: Self-Release
Websites: cairiss.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/Cairiss
Releases Worldwide: July 31st, 2026

Towards the tail end of last year, a humble group from the UK called Asira shook up my top ten list. Little did I suspect that I would hear from some of these fine musicians again so soon. Five out of the six members of the blackgaze band Cairiss contributed in some way to As Ink in Water, and now they break a decade-long silence since debut album Fall. Wilderness seeks to express and overcome personal trauma and suffering while also validating those of its audience who are waging their own solitary or unseen battles. As such, this work of art transcends sole beauty or entertainment value to extend an invitation to process and heal in whatever way may be personally needed.

Wilderness is both a continuation and amplification of the potential teased on Fall. Cairiss remains rooted at the intersection of the gossamer elegance of Sylvaine and the blackened anguish of Unreqvited. This is an uncommon type of blackgaze that successfully flits between grandiose and intimate. Freya Brown, who previously handled all vocals, is now devoted primarily to those of the harsh variety.1 Her hard work paid off—her snarls and screams are much sharper, more expressive, and more dynamic all-around. Newcomer Lydia Williams takes charge of the clean singing with similarly breathtaking results. Additionally, the instrumental melodies are more poignant; hints of Asira’s and Opeth’s soulful, progressive guitarwork can be found throughout Wilderness (“The Guide,” “Dissociate”).

In my review of As Ink in Water, I noted that Asira showed a mastery of contrast, and this is even more true of Cairiss. It’s particularly evident every time the different vocalists overlap. When Lydia’s operatic singing crests into view in “The Guide” and interlaces with Freya’s fierce growls, the effect is chill-inducing. On the mellower side, “Integrate” brings Martin Williams’ voice to the forefront for the first and only time on Wilderness as he and Lydia harmonize into a blissful siren song. But perhaps no song encapsulates Cairiss’ wondrously dichotomous nature more than album closer ‘Wildfire.” It sounds like Freya poured every ounce of feeling she possessed into each syllable of her screams, which are periodically assuaged by soothing singing and an emotive guitar solo. I’m impressed by how well Cairiss can bring together such opposing elements without one ever overwhelming the other.

Wilderness is also well-balanced in other ways. This is a carefully constructed album wherein every moment serves a purpose. None of the songs ever stall or dissolve into aimlessness. Crescendos and climaxes arrive and depart in a smooth, natural flow (“Retrace,” “The Guide,” “Dissociate”), facilitated in large part by Connor Frapwell’s percussion. He excels at building and releasing dramatic tension, evoking the ebb and flow of a thunderstorm in “Retrace” and helping the extended intro of “Nervosa” feel much shorter than it is. The total runtime is a sensible 43 minutes, suggesting a good deal of self-editing, and I’m left wanting more as the final howl in “Wildfire” dies. If I have any complaints about Wilderness, it’s that I wish that the bass lines were a bit more prominent.

Time does not heal all wounds. Some must be confronted head-on, and that is what Cairiss does heartwrenchingly and unequivocally. While I wish that it had not needed to be born from a place of such anguish, Wilderness is one of the most authentic and cathartic pieces of music I’ve heard this year so far. Cairiss has leveled up considerably in the last ten years, each member’s individual strengths shining brightly in a musical subgenre where contrast is intrinsic. Fans of blackgaze—or the beautiful sides of metal in general—should heed the beckoning to venture off the beaten path into the Wilderness.

Rating: 4.0/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 192 kbps mp3
Label: Self-Release
Websites: cairiss.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/Cairiss
Releases Worldwide: July 31st, 2026

Towards the tail end of last year, a humble group from the UK called Asira shook up my top ten list. Little did I suspect that I would hear from some of these fine musicians again so soon. Five out of the six members of the blackgaze band Cairiss contributed in some way to As Ink in Water, and now they break a decade-long silence since debut album Fall. Wilderness seeks to express and overcome personal trauma and suffering while also validating those of its audience who are waging their own solitary or unseen battles. As such, this work of art transcends sole beauty or entertainment value to extend an invitation to process and heal in whatever way may be personally needed.

Wilderness is both a continuation and amplification of the potential teased on Fall. Cairiss remains rooted at the intersection of the gossamer elegance of Sylvaine and the blackened anguish of Unreqvited. This is an uncommon type of blackgaze that successfully flits between grandiose and intimate. Freya Brown, who previously handled all vocals, is now devoted primarily to those of the harsh variety.1 Her hard work paid off—her snarls and screams are much sharper, more expressive, and more dynamic all-around. Newcomer Lydia Williams takes charge of the clean singing with similarly breathtaking results. Additionally, the instrumental melodies are more poignant; hints of Asira’s and Opeth’s soulful, progressive guitarwork can be found throughout Wilderness (“The Guide,” “Dissociate”).

In my review of As Ink in Water, I noted that Asira showed a mastery of contrast, and this is even more true of Cairiss. It’s particularly evident every time the different vocalists overlap. When Lydia’s operatic singing crests into view in “The Guide” and interlaces with Freya’s fierce growls, the effect is chill-inducing. On the mellower side, “Integrate” brings Martin Williams’ voice to the forefront for the first and only time on Wilderness as he and Lydia harmonize into a blissful siren song. But perhaps no song encapsulates Cairiss’ wondrously dichotomous nature more than album closer ‘Wildfire.” It sounds like Freya poured every ounce of feeling she possessed into each syllable of her screams, which are periodically assuaged by soothing singing and an emotive guitar solo. I’m impressed by how well Cairiss can bring together such opposing elements without one ever overwhelming the other.

Wilderness is also well-balanced in other ways. This is a carefully constructed album wherein every moment serves a purpose. None of the songs ever stall or dissolve into aimlessness. Crescendos and climaxes arrive and depart in a smooth, natural flow (“Retrace,” “The Guide,” “Dissociate”), facilitated in large part by Connor Frapwell’s percussion. He excels at building and releasing dramatic tension, evoking the ebb and flow of a thunderstorm in “Retrace” and helping the extended intro of “Nervosa” feel much shorter than it is. The total runtime is a sensible 43 minutes, suggesting a good deal of self-editing, and I’m left wanting more as the final howl in “Wildfire” dies. If I have any complaints about Wilderness, it’s that I wish that the bass lines were a bit more prominent.

Time does not heal all wounds. Some must be confronted head-on, and that is what Cairiss does heartwrenchingly and unequivocally. While I wish that it had not needed to be born from a place of such anguish, Wilderness is one of the most authentic and cathartic pieces of music I’ve heard this year so far. Cairiss has leveled up considerably in the last ten years, each member’s individual strengths shining brightly in a musical subgenre where contrast is intrinsic. Fans of blackgaze—or the beautiful sides of metal in general—should heed the beckoning to venture off the beaten path into the Wilderness.

Rating: 4.0/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 192 kbps mp3
Label: Self-Release
Websites: cairiss.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/Cairiss
Releases Worldwide: July 31st, 2026

Towards the tail end of last year, a humble group from the UK called Asira shook up my top ten list. Little did I suspect that I would hear from some of these fine musicians again so soon. Five out of the six members of the blackgaze band Cairiss contributed in some way to As Ink in Water, and now they break a decade-long silence since debut album Fall. Wilderness seeks to express and overcome personal trauma and suffering while also validating those of its audience who are waging their own solitary or unseen battles. As such, this work of art transcends sole beauty or entertainment value to extend an invitation to process and heal in whatever way may be personally needed.

Wilderness is both a continuation and amplification of the potential teased on Fall. Cairiss remains rooted at the intersection of the gossamer elegance of Sylvaine and the blackened anguish of Unreqvited. This is an uncommon type of blackgaze that successfully flits between grandiose and intimate. Freya Brown, who previously handled all vocals, is now devoted primarily to those of the harsh variety.1 Her hard work paid off—her snarls and screams are much sharper, more expressive, and more dynamic all-around. Newcomer Lydia Williams takes charge of the clean singing with similarly breathtaking results. Additionally, the instrumental melodies are more poignant; hints of Asira’s and Opeth’s soulful, progressive guitarwork can be found throughout Wilderness (“The Guide,” “Dissociate”).

In my review of As Ink in Water, I noted that Asira showed a mastery of contrast, and this is even more true of Cairiss. It’s particularly evident every time the different vocalists overlap. When Lydia’s operatic singing crests into view in “The Guide” and interlaces with Freya’s fierce growls, the effect is chill-inducing. On the mellower side, “Integrate” brings Martin Williams’ voice to the forefront for the first and only time on Wilderness as he and Lydia harmonize into a blissful siren song. But perhaps no song encapsulates Cairiss’ wondrously dichotomous nature more than album closer ‘Wildfire.” It sounds like Freya poured every ounce of feeling she possessed into each syllable of her screams, which are periodically assuaged by soothing singing and an emotive guitar solo. I’m impressed by how well Cairiss can bring together such opposing elements without one ever overwhelming the other.

Wilderness is also well-balanced in other ways. This is a carefully constructed album wherein every moment serves a purpose. None of the songs ever stall or dissolve into aimlessness. Crescendos and climaxes arrive and depart in a smooth, natural flow (“Retrace,” “The Guide,” “Dissociate”), facilitated in large part by Connor Frapwell’s percussion. He excels at building and releasing dramatic tension, evoking the ebb and flow of a thunderstorm in “Retrace” and helping the extended intro of “Nervosa” feel much shorter than it is. The total runtime is a sensible 43 minutes, suggesting a good deal of self-editing, and I’m left wanting more as the final howl in “Wildfire” dies. If I have any complaints about Wilderness, it’s that I wish that the bass lines were a bit more prominent.

Time does not heal all wounds. Some must be confronted head-on, and that is what Cairiss does heartwrenchingly and unequivocally. While I wish that it had not needed to be born from a place of such anguish, Wilderness is one of the most authentic and cathartic pieces of music I’ve heard this year so far. Cairiss has leveled up considerably in the last ten years, each member’s individual strengths shining brightly in a musical subgenre where contrast is intrinsic. Fans of blackgaze—or the beautiful sides of metal in general—should heed the beckoning to venture off the beaten path into the Wilderness.

Rating: 4.0/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 192 kbps mp3
Label: Self-Release
Websites: cairiss.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/Cairiss
Releases Worldwide: July 31st, 2026

What do you listen to death metal for? Are you a riff-centric fellow? Do you prioritize emotional catharsis? Do you like super artistic statements or are you here for a collection of banging songs? Spain’s Altarage have carved out quite a career for themselves over the last decade, beginning life as a much more predatory Portal before branching out into elements of drone and audible disease, but never wavering in their commitment to the savage and violent. Seventh album Cogwheel is rooted in the plight of the industrial worker, a major thematic shift for a typically ethereal band. I’ve had the misfortune of working in a manufacturing warehouse for a few years, and I was very curious to hear how a group rooted in cosmic horror would handle such a down-to-earth topic, so clock in with me and let’s get ready for a long day at the office.

Despite being no slouch in requisite bursts of speed and blasts, the overall vibe of Cogwheel is morose and plodding. The chords are foul, with the constant smashing of Primitive Man and a bone-crushingly heavy guitar tone that sounds like slowly being buried under liquid cement.1 It’s an album as gray as its cover, with cuts like “Wielder” offering up the methodicalness of Godflesh while drummer Phlegeton alternates between lightning assaults and drum-machine impressions. Look to “Future Wreck” for an industrial vibe, with mid-paced chords crashing together like factory gears, and Bassist Mikel Glez rumbling away under the noise. That theme of exhaustion and weariness is deeply embedded within the album’s DNA, as each cut beats you into submission over and over again.

Taken from the perspective of an average consumer of tunes, Cogwheel is a remarkably frustrating release. Songs are overly long, riffs are obnoxiously repetitive, and the drone elements are an annoyance in place of actual music. There’s an overreliance on quarter-note clanging, such as in “Not a Proper Burial”, (a gosh darn shame, as it also features one of the most devastating, and devastatingly short, riffs on the whole album), and “Peso Muerto” ends on completely atonal guitar scrapping in half notes for a full minute. There’s an unnecessary Sun 0))) tribute in all eight minutes of “1988” which does nothing for the album except being a track you regretfully recall existing. “Ichor” kicks off with nauseating strums and more half-note popping before evolving into a full-blown “Portal take you to your heaviest night at the opera” impression, with vocalist Javier going all in on vibrato-laced cleans which don’t quite suit the music underneath. And let’s not forget the three-minute ending of more string screeches, continuing the disquiet and the discontent.

And yet, when considered through the lens of what Altarage set out to accomplish, there’s an argument to be made that Cogwheel is an artistic joy.2 Every major criticism hurled at it suddenly becomes an important puzzle piece when viewed as the depiction of the overworked and spiritually malnourished industrial laborer. The riffs sound beaten and defeated, much like the broken factory employee. The few leads sound dismal, angry, and bitter, much like (presumably) that worker’s inner being. The songs are needlessly excessive in length, much like a shift, and the actual music repeatedly descends into mindless cacophony, much like the background noise emanating without remorse from the machines all around. Without pounding the metaphor to dust, Cogwheel offers up an auditory example of “commit to the bit”, taken to the most extreme maximalism. “Industrial Offering” could make a great soundtrack for the line of workers slowly trudging into another abysmal day, clocking in and disappearing under the factory smoke, leaving behind them their dreams and aspirations for another round of soul-crushing misery. Suddenly, all of Cogwheel’s points of agitation reveal themselves as purposeful and impassioned, carefully arranged for peak affect on the focused listener.

What then, is the honest reviewer to do? Cogwheel isn’t for casual listening; there are only a few riffs on here of any note, and there’s no reason for it to be seventy-five minutes long. And yet, major credit must be given for crafting such an album, where what would be extreme blemishes in the hands of another band turn into a well-thought-out artistic presentation. And so, we return to the original question of why we listen to death metal. Let the arbitrary score be a starting point for you, dear reader, to answer for yourself. If you’re seeking something engaging, violent, and immediate, deduct a full point and keep it moving, as there’s little for you here. If you appreciate music as a transcendental art piece, add a full point and stand in wonder at a thoughtful creation from a very forward-thinking band. For my part, I can’t find myself reaching back to this record much, particularly over The Approaching Roar, but I still must declare Altarage’s mission a resounding success.

Rating: 2.5/5.0
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Sentient Ruin Laboratories
Website: Official Album Bandcamp
Releases Worldwide: July 31st, 2026

What do you listen to death metal for? Are you a riff-centric fellow? Do you prioritize emotional catharsis? Do you like super artistic statements or are you here for a collection of banging songs? Spain’s Altarage have carved out quite a career for themselves over the last decade, beginning life as a much more predatory Portal before branching out into elements of drone and audible disease, but never wavering in their commitment to the savage and violent. Seventh album Cogwheel is rooted in the plight of the industrial worker, a major thematic shift for a typically ethereal band. I’ve had the misfortune of working in a manufacturing warehouse for a few years, and I was very curious to hear how a group rooted in cosmic horror would handle such a down-to-earth topic, so clock in with me and let’s get ready for a long day at the office.

Despite being no slouch in requisite bursts of speed and blasts, the overall vibe of Cogwheel is morose and plodding. The chords are foul, with the constant smashing of Primitive Man and a bone-crushingly heavy guitar tone that sounds like slowly being buried under liquid cement.1 It’s an album as gray as its cover, with cuts like “Wielder” offering up the methodicalness of Godflesh while drummer Phlegeton alternates between lightning assaults and drum-machine impressions. Look to “Future Wreck” for an industrial vibe, with mid-paced chords crashing together like factory gears, and Bassist Mikel Glez rumbling away under the noise. That theme of exhaustion and weariness is deeply embedded within the album’s DNA, as each cut beats you into submission over and over again.

Taken from the perspective of an average consumer of tunes, Cogwheel is a remarkably frustrating release. Songs are overly long, riffs are obnoxiously repetitive, and the drone elements are an annoyance in place of actual music. There’s an overreliance on quarter-note clanging, such as in “Not a Proper Burial”, (a gosh darn shame, as it also features one of the most devastating, and devastatingly short, riffs on the whole album), and “Peso Muerto” ends on completely atonal guitar scrapping in half notes for a full minute. There’s an unnecessary Sun 0))) tribute in all eight minutes of “1988” which does nothing for the album except being a track you regretfully recall existing. “Ichor” kicks off with nauseating strums and more half-note popping before evolving into a full-blown “Portal take you to your heaviest night at the opera” impression, with vocalist Javier going all in on vibrato-laced cleans which don’t quite suit the music underneath. And let’s not forget the three-minute ending of more string screeches, continuing the disquiet and the discontent.

And yet, when considered through the lens of what Altarage set out to accomplish, there’s an argument to be made that Cogwheel is an artistic joy.2 Every major criticism hurled at it suddenly becomes an important puzzle piece when viewed as the depiction of the overworked and spiritually malnourished industrial laborer. The riffs sound beaten and defeated, much like the broken factory employee. The few leads sound dismal, angry, and bitter, much like (presumably) that worker’s inner being. The songs are needlessly excessive in length, much like a shift, and the actual music repeatedly descends into mindless cacophony, much like the background noise emanating without remorse from the machines all around. Without pounding the metaphor to dust, Cogwheel offers up an auditory example of “commit to the bit”, taken to the most extreme maximalism. “Industrial Offering” could make a great soundtrack for the line of workers slowly trudging into another abysmal day, clocking in and disappearing under the factory smoke, leaving behind them their dreams and aspirations for another round of soul-crushing misery. Suddenly, all of Cogwheel’s points of agitation reveal themselves as purposeful and impassioned, carefully arranged for peak affect on the focused listener.

What then, is the honest reviewer to do? Cogwheel isn’t for casual listening; there are only a few riffs on here of any note, and there’s no reason for it to be seventy-five minutes long. And yet, major credit must be given for crafting such an album, where what would be extreme blemishes in the hands of another band turn into a well-thought-out artistic presentation. And so, we return to the original question of why we listen to death metal. Let the arbitrary score be a starting point for you, dear reader, to answer for yourself. If you’re seeking something engaging, violent, and immediate, deduct a full point and keep it moving, as there’s little for you here. If you appreciate music as a transcendental art piece, add a full point and stand in wonder at a thoughtful creation from a very forward-thinking band. For my part, I can’t find myself reaching back to this record much, particularly over The Approaching Roar, but I still must declare Altarage’s mission a resounding success.

Rating: 2.5/5.0
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Sentient Ruin Laboratories
Website: Official Album Bandcamp
Releases Worldwide: July 31st, 2026

What do you listen to death metal for? Are you a riff-centric fellow? Do you prioritize emotional catharsis? Do you like super artistic statements or are you here for a collection of banging songs? Spain’s Altarage have carved out quite a career for themselves over the last decade, beginning life as a much more predatory Portal before branching out into elements of drone and audible disease, but never wavering in their commitment to the savage and violent. Seventh album Cogwheel is rooted in the plight of the industrial worker, a major thematic shift for a typically ethereal band. I’ve had the misfortune of working in a manufacturing warehouse for a few years, and I was very curious to hear how a group rooted in cosmic horror would handle such a down-to-earth topic, so clock in with me and let’s get ready for a long day at the office.

Despite being no slouch in requisite bursts of speed and blasts, the overall vibe of Cogwheel is morose and plodding. The chords are foul, with the constant smashing of Primitive Man and a bone-crushingly heavy guitar tone that sounds like slowly being buried under liquid cement.1 It’s an album as gray as its cover, with cuts like “Wielder” offering up the methodicalness of Godflesh while drummer Phlegeton alternates between lightning assaults and drum-machine impressions. Look to “Future Wreck” for an industrial vibe, with mid-paced chords crashing together like factory gears, and Bassist Mikel Glez rumbling away under the noise. That theme of exhaustion and weariness is deeply embedded within the album’s DNA, as each cut beats you into submission over and over again.

Taken from the perspective of an average consumer of tunes, Cogwheel is a remarkably frustrating release. Songs are overly long, riffs are obnoxiously repetitive, and the drone elements are an annoyance in place of actual music. There’s an overreliance on quarter-note clanging, such as in “Not a Proper Burial”, (a gosh darn shame, as it also features one of the most devastating, and devastatingly short, riffs on the whole album), and “Peso Muerto” ends on completely atonal guitar scrapping in half notes for a full minute. There’s an unnecessary Sun 0))) tribute in all eight minutes of “1988” which does nothing for the album except being a track you regretfully recall existing. “Ichor” kicks off with nauseating strums and more half-note popping before evolving into a full-blown “Portal take you to your heaviest night at the opera” impression, with vocalist Javier going all in on vibrato-laced cleans which don’t quite suit the music underneath. And let’s not forget the three-minute ending of more string screeches, continuing the disquiet and the discontent.

And yet, when considered through the lens of what Altarage set out to accomplish, there’s an argument to be made that Cogwheel is an artistic joy.2 Every major criticism hurled at it suddenly becomes an important puzzle piece when viewed as the depiction of the overworked and spiritually malnourished industrial laborer. The riffs sound beaten and defeated, much like the broken factory employee. The few leads sound dismal, angry, and bitter, much like (presumably) that worker’s inner being. The songs are needlessly excessive in length, much like a shift, and the actual music repeatedly descends into mindless cacophony, much like the background noise emanating without remorse from the machines all around. Without pounding the metaphor to dust, Cogwheel offers up an auditory example of “commit to the bit”, taken to the most extreme maximalism. “Industrial Offering” could make a great soundtrack for the line of workers slowly trudging into another abysmal day, clocking in and disappearing under the factory smoke, leaving behind them their dreams and aspirations for another round of soul-crushing misery. Suddenly, all of Cogwheel’s points of agitation reveal themselves as purposeful and impassioned, carefully arranged for peak affect on the focused listener.

What then, is the honest reviewer to do? Cogwheel isn’t for casual listening; there are only a few riffs on here of any note, and there’s no reason for it to be seventy-five minutes long. And yet, major credit must be given for crafting such an album, where what would be extreme blemishes in the hands of another band turn into a well-thought-out artistic presentation. And so, we return to the original question of why we listen to death metal. Let the arbitrary score be a starting point for you, dear reader, to answer for yourself. If you’re seeking something engaging, violent, and immediate, deduct a full point and keep it moving, as there’s little for you here. If you appreciate music as a transcendental art piece, add a full point and stand in wonder at a thoughtful creation from a very forward-thinking band. For my part, I can’t find myself reaching back to this record much, particularly over The Approaching Roar, but I still must declare Altarage’s mission a resounding success.

Rating: 2.5/5.0
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Sentient Ruin Laboratories
Website: Official Album Bandcamp
Releases Worldwide: July 31st, 2026

What do you listen to death metal for? Are you a riff-centric fellow? Do you prioritize emotional catharsis? Do you like super artistic statements or are you here for a collection of banging songs? Spain’s Altarage have carved out quite a career for themselves over the last decade, beginning life as a much more predatory Portal before branching out into elements of drone and audible disease, but never wavering in their commitment to the savage and violent. Seventh album Cogwheel is rooted in the plight of the industrial worker, a major thematic shift for a typically ethereal band. I’ve had the misfortune of working in a manufacturing warehouse for a few years, and I was very curious to hear how a group rooted in cosmic horror would handle such a down-to-earth topic, so clock in with me and let’s get ready for a long day at the office.

Despite being no slouch in requisite bursts of speed and blasts, the overall vibe of Cogwheel is morose and plodding. The chords are foul, with the constant smashing of Primitive Man and a bone-crushingly heavy guitar tone that sounds like slowly being buried under liquid cement.1 It’s an album as gray as its cover, with cuts like “Wielder” offering up the methodicalness of Godflesh while drummer Phlegeton alternates between lightning assaults and drum-machine impressions. Look to “Future Wreck” for an industrial vibe, with mid-paced chords crashing together like factory gears, and Bassist Mikel Glez rumbling away under the noise. That theme of exhaustion and weariness is deeply embedded within the album’s DNA, as each cut beats you into submission over and over again.

Taken from the perspective of an average consumer of tunes, Cogwheel is a remarkably frustrating release. Songs are overly long, riffs are obnoxiously repetitive, and the drone elements are an annoyance in place of actual music. There’s an overreliance on quarter-note clanging, such as in “Not a Proper Burial”, (a gosh darn shame, as it also features one of the most devastating, and devastatingly short, riffs on the whole album), and “Peso Muerto” ends on completely atonal guitar scrapping in half notes for a full minute. There’s an unnecessary Sun 0))) tribute in all eight minutes of “1988” which does nothing for the album except being a track you regretfully recall existing. “Ichor” kicks off with nauseating strums and more half-note popping before evolving into a full-blown “Portal take you to your heaviest night at the opera” impression, with vocalist Javier going all in on vibrato-laced cleans which don’t quite suit the music underneath. And let’s not forget the three-minute ending of more string screeches, continuing the disquiet and the discontent.

And yet, when considered through the lens of what Altarage set out to accomplish, there’s an argument to be made that Cogwheel is an artistic joy.2 Every major criticism hurled at it suddenly becomes an important puzzle piece when viewed as the depiction of the overworked and spiritually malnourished industrial laborer. The riffs sound beaten and defeated, much like the broken factory employee. The few leads sound dismal, angry, and bitter, much like (presumably) that worker’s inner being. The songs are needlessly excessive in length, much like a shift, and the actual music repeatedly descends into mindless cacophony, much like the background noise emanating without remorse from the machines all around. Without pounding the metaphor to dust, Cogwheel offers up an auditory example of “commit to the bit”, taken to the most extreme maximalism. “Industrial Offering” could make a great soundtrack for the line of workers slowly trudging into another abysmal day, clocking in and disappearing under the factory smoke, leaving behind them their dreams and aspirations for another round of soul-crushing misery. Suddenly, all of Cogwheel’s points of agitation reveal themselves as purposeful and impassioned, carefully arranged for peak affect on the focused listener.

What then, is the honest reviewer to do? Cogwheel isn’t for casual listening; there are only a few riffs on here of any note, and there’s no reason for it to be seventy-five minutes long. And yet, major credit must be given for crafting such an album, where what would be extreme blemishes in the hands of another band turn into a well-thought-out artistic presentation. And so, we return to the original question of why we listen to death metal. Let the arbitrary score be a starting point for you, dear reader, to answer for yourself. If you’re seeking something engaging, violent, and immediate, deduct a full point and keep it moving, as there’s little for you here. If you appreciate music as a transcendental art piece, add a full point and stand in wonder at a thoughtful creation from a very forward-thinking band. For my part, I can’t find myself reaching back to this record much, particularly over The Approaching Roar, but I still must declare Altarage’s mission a resounding success.

Rating: 2.5/5.0
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Sentient Ruin Laboratories
Website: Official Album Bandcamp
Releases Worldwide: July 31st, 2026

What do you listen to death metal for? Are you a riff-centric fellow? Do you prioritize emotional catharsis? Do you like super artistic statements or are you here for a collection of banging songs? Spain’s Altarage have carved out quite a career for themselves over the last decade, beginning life as a much more predatory Portal before branching out into elements of drone and audible disease, but never wavering in their commitment to the savage and violent. Seventh album Cogwheel is rooted in the plight of the industrial worker, a major thematic shift for a typically ethereal band. I’ve had the misfortune of working in a manufacturing warehouse for a few years, and I was very curious to hear how a group rooted in cosmic horror would handle such a down-to-earth topic, so clock in with me and let’s get ready for a long day at the office.

Despite being no slouch in requisite bursts of speed and blasts, the overall vibe of Cogwheel is morose and plodding. The chords are foul, with the constant smashing of Primitive Man and a bone-crushingly heavy guitar tone that sounds like slowly being buried under liquid cement.1 It’s an album as gray as its cover, with cuts like “Wielder” offering up the methodicalness of Godflesh while drummer Phlegeton alternates between lightning assaults and drum-machine impressions. Look to “Future Wreck” for an industrial vibe, with mid-paced chords crashing together like factory gears, and Bassist Mikel Glez rumbling away under the noise. That theme of exhaustion and weariness is deeply embedded within the album’s DNA, as each cut beats you into submission over and over again.

Taken from the perspective of an average consumer of tunes, Cogwheel is a remarkably frustrating release. Songs are overly long, riffs are obnoxiously repetitive, and the drone elements are an annoyance in place of actual music. There’s an overreliance on quarter-note clanging, such as in “Not a Proper Burial”, (a gosh darn shame, as it also features one of the most devastating, and devastatingly short, riffs on the whole album), and “Peso Muerto” ends on completely atonal guitar scrapping in half notes for a full minute. There’s an unnecessary Sun 0))) tribute in all eight minutes of “1988” which does nothing for the album except being a track you regretfully recall existing. “Ichor” kicks off with nauseating strums and more half-note popping before evolving into a full-blown “Portal take you to your heaviest night at the opera” impression, with vocalist Javier going all in on vibrato-laced cleans which don’t quite suit the music underneath. And let’s not forget the three-minute ending of more string screeches, continuing the disquiet and the discontent.

And yet, when considered through the lens of what Altarage set out to accomplish, there’s an argument to be made that Cogwheel is an artistic joy.2 Every major criticism hurled at it suddenly becomes an important puzzle piece when viewed as the depiction of the overworked and spiritually malnourished industrial laborer. The riffs sound beaten and defeated, much like the broken factory employee. The few leads sound dismal, angry, and bitter, much like (presumably) that worker’s inner being. The songs are needlessly excessive in length, much like a shift, and the actual music repeatedly descends into mindless cacophony, much like the background noise emanating without remorse from the machines all around. Without pounding the metaphor to dust, Cogwheel offers up an auditory example of “commit to the bit”, taken to the most extreme maximalism. “Industrial Offering” could make a great soundtrack for the line of workers slowly trudging into another abysmal day, clocking in and disappearing under the factory smoke, leaving behind them their dreams and aspirations for another round of soul-crushing misery. Suddenly, all of Cogwheel’s points of agitation reveal themselves as purposeful and impassioned, carefully arranged for peak affect on the focused listener.

What then, is the honest reviewer to do? Cogwheel isn’t for casual listening; there are only a few riffs on here of any note, and there’s no reason for it to be seventy-five minutes long. And yet, major credit must be given for crafting such an album, where what would be extreme blemishes in the hands of another band turn into a well-thought-out artistic presentation. And so, we return to the original question of why we listen to death metal. Let the arbitrary score be a starting point for you, dear reader, to answer for yourself. If you’re seeking something engaging, violent, and immediate, deduct a full point and keep it moving, as there’s little for you here. If you appreciate music as a transcendental art piece, add a full point and stand in wonder at a thoughtful creation from a very forward-thinking band. For my part, I can’t find myself reaching back to this record much, particularly over The Approaching Roar, but I still must declare Altarage’s mission a resounding success.

Rating: 2.5/5.0
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Sentient Ruin Laboratories
Website: Official Album Bandcamp
Releases Worldwide: July 31st, 2026

“AMG’s Unsigned Band Rodeö” is a time-honored tradition to showcase the most underground of the underground—the unsigned and unpromoted. This collective review treatment continues to exist to unite our writers in boot or bolster of the bands who remind us that, for better or worse, the metal underground exists as an important part of the global metal scene. The Rodeö rides on.”

Flying well under the radar, Minneapolis-based psychedelic sludge/doom metal duo Beware of Gods would’ve released their third installment in their Upon Whom the Last Descends series, entitled Behead the Oracle in such complete obscurity that even Metallum doesn’t know about it yet. But thanks to our resident sludge expert Cherd, Behead the Oracle entered our consciousness just in time for an assortment of ne’er-do-wells to offer their entirely unearned judgment of its mettle. Little do the Gods know that when they enter the realm of dogs, there be risk of piles. Good luck out there, and may your souls be spared. –Kenstrosity

Beware of Gods // Upon Whom The Last Descends III: Behead The Oracle [July 10th, 2026]

Grin Reaper: Beware of Gods throws a lot of labels into their description of Upon Whom the Last Light Descends III: Behead the Oracle,1 all of which are apt. Cinematic, progressive, doom-laden metal toeing the line between sludge and post furnishes a rich backdrop where Beware of Gods details a dystopian narrative with elements like machine messiahs and the illusion of free will. Conceptually, this environment will feel familiar to fans of Fear Factory and The Matrix, but musically Behead the Oracle lands in an industrial-tinged sludge trudge that often reminds me of a doomy Nine Inch Nails (“Secondary Drowning,” “Disenchanted Enchanter”), even down to The Archetype’s Reznor-like croon. Instrumentally, Beware of Gods delivers convincing performances in service to Behead the Oracle’s story, where guitars and bass swell and groove in a deftly-mixed soundscape. Unfortunately, Behead the Oracle suffers a fatal flaw when it comes to length, compounded by a few tracks that can be challenging to listen to over repeated spins. “The Ghost of a One-Armed Comedian” draws my biggest complaint, as it’s a six-minute plod featuring a meandering voice-over that would be more effective if chopped in half or cut altogether. Meanwhile, closer “Starve My Eyes That I May See” drags an already overlong album on for another ten minutes. Ultimately, Beware of Gods delivers good ingredients undercut by an unsavory length and a few skippable tracks, but exhibits enough talent and intriguing ideas that I’ll check out whatever divine warning they offer next. Mixed.

Spicie Forrest: The concept album strikes again! Centered around protagonist I, Nomad, Beware of Gods’ third LP, Upon Whom the Light Descends III: Behead the Oracle travels through an industrial, post-collapse hellscape. The album’s cinematic trappings of remind me of IPs like Mad Max, Fallout, and Casshern Sins, making Descends III feel more like the soundtrack to an unwritten movie than a typical album. Primary creative force The Archetype weaves riotous, stimpak-fueled sludge (“Tectonic Boogie with the Grief Eater”), the hard-boiled spoken word of seedy, smoke-filled hideouts (“The Ghost of a One Armed Comedian”), and 90s nu-metal (“Behead the Oracle”) into a surprisingly singular vision. While there are a lot of styles on display here, they’re stitched together well, with theatrical threading embodying the irreverence necessary to survive such a hopeless world. And for such a range of metallic styles, The Archetype’s pipes rise to each occasion and complement the music suitably well. I particularly enjoyed my nerves patiently fraying at the atonal hammering of “Disenchanted Enchanter” and “Starve My Eyes That I May See,” but those two are the longest tracks on the album, and they—along with a couple others—struggle to support their own weight. And while I can understand the narrative demands of Beware of Gods’ vision, getting through Descends III in one sitting proved a struggle, largely due to having three interludes (“Conflict Code_Cursed Blessed,” “Dead Radio Daylight,” “Correction Code_Pre-emptive Strikes Against Prophecy”). Nevertheless, of 56 minutes, there’s about 40-45 minutes of solid material here. 2.5/5.0

Sentynel: I know it’s a cliché for this sort of stoner-psych music, but wow, Behead the Oracle has a problem with songs that don’t go anywhere. I was misled by Beware of Gods’ promise of “cinematic sci-fi doom/post-metal,” but make no mistake: under the Scooby-Doo mask is but a meandering stoner album with a slight industrial edge to its sound palette. It sounds like it wants to be Isis (“Conflict Code_Cursed Blessed”) by way of Mutoid Man (“Tectonic Boogie With the Grief Eater”), with a reference here or there to Kyuss/QotSA (“Dead Radio Daylight”). But we’ve hit the fourth track (“Ocean of Teeth”) before we get a song with any trajectory at all. And that’s only if you survive the six minute spoken word plod of third track “The Ghost of a One Armed Comedian,” which will certainly haunt me. The rest of the album serves up an interlude and a repetitive Monster Magnet offcut for every additional track with any interest at all (“Disenchanted Enchanter,” “Dethroning the Delusion”). There’s lots of things I should like here, and when I put this on in the background it was very easy to tune in occasionally and hear something vaguely interesting. Actually sitting down and listening to the whole record, on the other hand, was a slog. Bad.

Alekhines Gun – Utilizing a flair for concept and story telling usually found in post-hardcore, Beware of Gods has emerged with a djenty, doomy, ethereal release. Fusing slabs of Conan heft with post-metalisms and a fantastically varied vocal approach from “The Archetype”, Upon Whom the Last Light Descends III: Behead the Oracle is a real mixed bag of a listen. The vocals do a good job at selling the story, as our Archetype bounces from the expected howls and yowls to full on cleans and spoken-word passages, conveying a narrative to suit the ever-shifting soundscape. Upon Whom is definitely a journey, and an engaging one, though how gripping you find it depends entirely on what you’re looking for. It’s rather light on real riffs or songs of memorability, in the traditional sense, though some real might rears its head in the grin-inducingly titled “Tectonic Boogie with the Grief Eater”, and particularly in “Ocean of Teeth (Haunted by the Glimpse of a White Light)”, the highlight of the album. But what it might lack in the brutz it makes up for in sheer personality and charm, inviting one to listen in on the bizarre and inscrutable exploits of one armed comedians one minute, only to hear the bluesy laments of a “Disenchanted Enchanter” the next, with just enough curb stompage to keep boredom from setting in. Worth a few listens, but not casual ones; really lock in and let this light descend all around you. 3.0/5.0

Kenstrosity: I wasn’t sure what to expect from Beware of Gods when they were brought to my table. Despite a fair bit of lead time, it took a while for me to wrap my head around what Behead the Oracle meant to be, what it meant to achieve. An unexpectedly fluid mix of NIN-esque industrial with Mastodonic sludge and Psychonautic post-metal, slowed down to a doomed crawl and enriched with bouts of poetic spoken word, Behead the Oracle hypnotizes as often as it confuses. With hooky tracks like “Tectonic Boogie with the Grief Eater,” “Ocean of Teeth,” and “Secondary Drowning,” Beware of Gods makes a compelling showing in the style. Competent and varied vocals blend with trippy riffs and eerie melodies in these stronger cuts to create a kaleidoscopic, but dense and dark, bluesy shroud that envelops the senses. In other areas, like the spoken word “The Ghost of a One Armed Comedian” or the overlong “Disenchanted Enchanter” and meandering closer “Starve My Eyes That I May See,” Beware of Gods loses traction as muddy storytelling and abstract character development obfuscate the record’s message in flowery language, repetitive songwriting, and lack of propulsion. Over time, though, I found myself growing more curious to understand this enigmatic record, and found substantial enjoyment in the way it flows despite its lumbering pace and occasionally monotonous sequences. It’s possible that Behead the Oracle is a bit too smart or abstract for its own good, which makes connecting more deeply with its story a challenge. Nonetheless, it’s a curious and layered affair that deserves a spin or two even if it never finds permanent residence in your rotation. Mixed.

“AMG’s Unsigned Band Rodeö” is a time-honored tradition to showcase the most underground of the underground—the unsigned and unpromoted. This collective review treatment continues to exist to unite our writers in boot or bolster of the bands who remind us that, for better or worse, the metal underground exists as an important part of the global metal scene. The Rodeö rides on.”

Flying well under the radar, Minneapolis-based psychedelic sludge/doom metal duo Beware of Gods would’ve released their third installment in their Upon Whom the Last Descends series, entitled Behead the Oracle in such complete obscurity that even Metallum doesn’t know about it yet. But thanks to our resident sludge expert Cherd, Behead the Oracle entered our consciousness just in time for an assortment of ne’er-do-wells to offer their entirely unearned judgment of its mettle. Little do the Gods know that when they enter the realm of dogs, there be risk of piles. Good luck out there, and may your souls be spared. –Kenstrosity

Beware of Gods // Upon Whom The Last Descends III: Behead The Oracle [July 10th, 2026]

Grin Reaper: Beware of Gods throws a lot of labels into their description of Upon Whom the Last Light Descends III: Behead the Oracle,1 all of which are apt. Cinematic, progressive, doom-laden metal toeing the line between sludge and post furnishes a rich backdrop where Beware of Gods details a dystopian narrative with elements like machine messiahs and the illusion of free will. Conceptually, this environment will feel familiar to fans of Fear Factory and The Matrix, but musically Behead the Oracle lands in an industrial-tinged sludge trudge that often reminds me of a doomy Nine Inch Nails (“Secondary Drowning,” “Disenchanted Enchanter”), even down to The Archetype’s Reznor-like croon. Instrumentally, Beware of Gods delivers convincing performances in service to Behead the Oracle’s story, where guitars and bass swell and groove in a deftly-mixed soundscape. Unfortunately, Behead the Oracle suffers a fatal flaw when it comes to length, compounded by a few tracks that can be challenging to listen to over repeated spins. “The Ghost of a One-Armed Comedian” draws my biggest complaint, as it’s a six-minute plod featuring a meandering voice-over that would be more effective if chopped in half or cut altogether. Meanwhile, closer “Starve My Eyes That I May See” drags an already overlong album on for another ten minutes. Ultimately, Beware of Gods delivers good ingredients undercut by an unsavory length and a few skippable tracks, but exhibits enough talent and intriguing ideas that I’ll check out whatever divine warning they offer next. Mixed.

Spicie Forrest: The concept album strikes again! Centered around protagonist I, Nomad, Beware of Gods’ third LP, Upon Whom the Light Descends III: Behead the Oracle travels through an industrial, post-collapse hellscape. The album’s cinematic trappings of remind me of IPs like Mad Max, Fallout, and Casshern Sins, making Descends III feel more like the soundtrack to an unwritten movie than a typical album. Primary creative force The Archetype weaves riotous, stimpak-fueled sludge (“Tectonic Boogie with the Grief Eater”), the hard-boiled spoken word of seedy, smoke-filled hideouts (“The Ghost of a One Armed Comedian”), and 90s nu-metal (“Behead the Oracle”) into a surprisingly singular vision. While there are a lot of styles on display here, they’re stitched together well, with theatrical threading embodying the irreverence necessary to survive such a hopeless world. And for such a range of metallic styles, The Archetype’s pipes rise to each occasion and complement the music suitably well. I particularly enjoyed my nerves patiently fraying at the atonal hammering of “Disenchanted Enchanter” and “Starve My Eyes That I May See,” but those two are the longest tracks on the album, and they—along with a couple others—struggle to support their own weight. And while I can understand the narrative demands of Beware of Gods’ vision, getting through Descends III in one sitting proved a struggle, largely due to having three interludes (“Conflict Code_Cursed Blessed,” “Dead Radio Daylight,” “Correction Code_Pre-emptive Strikes Against Prophecy”). Nevertheless, of 56 minutes, there’s about 40-45 minutes of solid material here. 2.5/5.0

Sentynel: I know it’s a cliché for this sort of stoner-psych music, but wow, Behead the Oracle has a problem with songs that don’t go anywhere. I was misled by Beware of Gods’ promise of “cinematic sci-fi doom/post-metal,” but make no mistake: under the Scooby-Doo mask is but a meandering stoner album with a slight industrial edge to its sound palette. It sounds like it wants to be Isis (“Conflict Code_Cursed Blessed”) by way of Mutoid Man (“Tectonic Boogie With the Grief Eater”), with a reference here or there to Kyuss/QotSA (“Dead Radio Daylight”). But we’ve hit the fourth track (“Ocean of Teeth”) before we get a song with any trajectory at all. And that’s only if you survive the six minute spoken word plod of third track “The Ghost of a One Armed Comedian,” which will certainly haunt me. The rest of the album serves up an interlude and a repetitive Monster Magnet offcut for every additional track with any interest at all (“Disenchanted Enchanter,” “Dethroning the Delusion”). There’s lots of things I should like here, and when I put this on in the background it was very easy to tune in occasionally and hear something vaguely interesting. Actually sitting down and listening to the whole record, on the other hand, was a slog. Bad.

Alekhines Gun – Utilizing a flair for concept and story telling usually found in post-hardcore, Beware of Gods has emerged with a djenty, doomy, ethereal release. Fusing slabs of Conan heft with post-metalisms and a fantastically varied vocal approach from “The Archetype”, Upon Whom the Last Light Descends III: Behead the Oracle is a real mixed bag of a listen. The vocals do a good job at selling the story, as our Archetype bounces from the expected howls and yowls to full on cleans and spoken-word passages, conveying a narrative to suit the ever-shifting soundscape. Upon Whom is definitely a journey, and an engaging one, though how gripping you find it depends entirely on what you’re looking for. It’s rather light on real riffs or songs of memorability, in the traditional sense, though some real might rears its head in the grin-inducingly titled “Tectonic Boogie with the Grief Eater”, and particularly in “Ocean of Teeth (Haunted by the Glimpse of a White Light)”, the highlight of the album. But what it might lack in the brutz it makes up for in sheer personality and charm, inviting one to listen in on the bizarre and inscrutable exploits of one armed comedians one minute, only to hear the bluesy laments of a “Disenchanted Enchanter” the next, with just enough curb stompage to keep boredom from setting in. Worth a few listens, but not casual ones; really lock in and let this light descend all around you. 3.0/5.0

Kenstrosity: I wasn’t sure what to expect from Beware of Gods when they were brought to my table. Despite a fair bit of lead time, it took a while for me to wrap my head around what Behead the Oracle meant to be, what it meant to achieve. An unexpectedly fluid mix of NIN-esque industrial with Mastodonic sludge and Psychonautic post-metal, slowed down to a doomed crawl and enriched with bouts of poetic spoken word, Behead the Oracle hypnotizes as often as it confuses. With hooky tracks like “Tectonic Boogie with the Grief Eater,” “Ocean of Teeth,” and “Secondary Drowning,” Beware of Gods makes a compelling showing in the style. Competent and varied vocals blend with trippy riffs and eerie melodies in these stronger cuts to create a kaleidoscopic, but dense and dark, bluesy shroud that envelops the senses. In other areas, like the spoken word “The Ghost of a One Armed Comedian” or the overlong “Disenchanted Enchanter” and meandering closer “Starve My Eyes That I May See,” Beware of Gods loses traction as muddy storytelling and abstract character development obfuscate the record’s message in flowery language, repetitive songwriting, and lack of propulsion. Over time, though, I found myself growing more curious to understand this enigmatic record, and found substantial enjoyment in the way it flows despite its lumbering pace and occasionally monotonous sequences. It’s possible that Behead the Oracle is a bit too smart or abstract for its own good, which makes connecting more deeply with its story a challenge. Nonetheless, it’s a curious and layered affair that deserves a spin or two even if it never finds permanent residence in your rotation. Mixed.

“AMG’s Unsigned Band Rodeö” is a time-honored tradition to showcase the most underground of the underground—the unsigned and unpromoted. This collective review treatment continues to exist to unite our writers in boot or bolster of the bands who remind us that, for better or worse, the metal underground exists as an important part of the global metal scene. The Rodeö rides on.”

Flying well under the radar, Minneapolis-based psychedelic sludge/doom metal duo Beware of Gods would’ve released their third installment in their Upon Whom the Last Descends series, entitled Behead the Oracle in such complete obscurity that even Metallum doesn’t know about it yet. But thanks to our resident sludge expert Cherd, Behead the Oracle entered our consciousness just in time for an assortment of ne’er-do-wells to offer their entirely unearned judgment of its mettle. Little do the Gods know that when they enter the realm of dogs, there be risk of piles. Good luck out there, and may your souls be spared. –Kenstrosity

Beware of Gods // Upon Whom The Last Descends III: Behead The Oracle [July 10th, 2026]

Grin Reaper: Beware of Gods throws a lot of labels into their description of Upon Whom the Last Light Descends III: Behead the Oracle,1 all of which are apt. Cinematic, progressive, doom-laden metal toeing the line between sludge and post furnishes a rich backdrop where Beware of Gods details a dystopian narrative with elements like machine messiahs and the illusion of free will. Conceptually, this environment will feel familiar to fans of Fear Factory and The Matrix, but musically Behead the Oracle lands in an industrial-tinged sludge trudge that often reminds me of a doomy Nine Inch Nails (“Secondary Drowning,” “Disenchanted Enchanter”), even down to The Archetype’s Reznor-like croon. Instrumentally, Beware of Gods delivers convincing performances in service to Behead the Oracle’s story, where guitars and bass swell and groove in a deftly-mixed soundscape. Unfortunately, Behead the Oracle suffers a fatal flaw when it comes to length, compounded by a few tracks that can be challenging to listen to over repeated spins. “The Ghost of a One-Armed Comedian” draws my biggest complaint, as it’s a six-minute plod featuring a meandering voice-over that would be more effective if chopped in half or cut altogether. Meanwhile, closer “Starve My Eyes That I May See” drags an already overlong album on for another ten minutes. Ultimately, Beware of Gods delivers good ingredients undercut by an unsavory length and a few skippable tracks, but exhibits enough talent and intriguing ideas that I’ll check out whatever divine warning they offer next. Mixed.

Spicie Forrest: The concept album strikes again! Centered around protagonist I, Nomad, Beware of Gods’ third LP, Upon Whom the Light Descends III: Behead the Oracle travels through an industrial, post-collapse hellscape. The album’s cinematic trappings of remind me of IPs like Mad Max, Fallout, and Casshern Sins, making Descends III feel more like the soundtrack to an unwritten movie than a typical album. Primary creative force The Archetype weaves riotous, stimpak-fueled sludge (“Tectonic Boogie with the Grief Eater”), the hard-boiled spoken word of seedy, smoke-filled hideouts (“The Ghost of a One Armed Comedian”), and 90s nu-metal (“Behead the Oracle”) into a surprisingly singular vision. While there are a lot of styles on display here, they’re stitched together well, with theatrical threading embodying the irreverence necessary to survive such a hopeless world. And for such a range of metallic styles, The Archetype’s pipes rise to each occasion and complement the music suitably well. I particularly enjoyed my nerves patiently fraying at the atonal hammering of “Disenchanted Enchanter” and “Starve My Eyes That I May See,” but those two are the longest tracks on the album, and they—along with a couple others—struggle to support their own weight. And while I can understand the narrative demands of Beware of Gods’ vision, getting through Descends III in one sitting proved a struggle, largely due to having three interludes (“Conflict Code_Cursed Blessed,” “Dead Radio Daylight,” “Correction Code_Pre-emptive Strikes Against Prophecy”). Nevertheless, of 56 minutes, there’s about 40-45 minutes of solid material here. 2.5/5.0

Sentynel: I know it’s a cliché for this sort of stoner-psych music, but wow, Behead the Oracle has a problem with songs that don’t go anywhere. I was misled by Beware of Gods’ promise of “cinematic sci-fi doom/post-metal,” but make no mistake: under the Scooby-Doo mask is but a meandering stoner album with a slight industrial edge to its sound palette. It sounds like it wants to be Isis (“Conflict Code_Cursed Blessed”) by way of Mutoid Man (“Tectonic Boogie With the Grief Eater”), with a reference here or there to Kyuss/QotSA (“Dead Radio Daylight”). But we’ve hit the fourth track (“Ocean of Teeth”) before we get a song with any trajectory at all. And that’s only if you survive the six minute spoken word plod of third track “The Ghost of a One Armed Comedian,” which will certainly haunt me. The rest of the album serves up an interlude and a repetitive Monster Magnet offcut for every additional track with any interest at all (“Disenchanted Enchanter,” “Dethroning the Delusion”). There’s lots of things I should like here, and when I put this on in the background it was very easy to tune in occasionally and hear something vaguely interesting. Actually sitting down and listening to the whole record, on the other hand, was a slog. Bad.

Alekhines Gun – Utilizing a flair for concept and story telling usually found in post-hardcore, Beware of Gods has emerged with a djenty, doomy, ethereal release. Fusing slabs of Conan heft with post-metalisms and a fantastically varied vocal approach from “The Archetype”, Upon Whom the Last Light Descends III: Behead the Oracle is a real mixed bag of a listen. The vocals do a good job at selling the story, as our Archetype bounces from the expected howls and yowls to full on cleans and spoken-word passages, conveying a narrative to suit the ever-shifting soundscape. Upon Whom is definitely a journey, and an engaging one, though how gripping you find it depends entirely on what you’re looking for. It’s rather light on real riffs or songs of memorability, in the traditional sense, though some real might rears its head in the grin-inducingly titled “Tectonic Boogie with the Grief Eater”, and particularly in “Ocean of Teeth (Haunted by the Glimpse of a White Light)”, the highlight of the album. But what it might lack in the brutz it makes up for in sheer personality and charm, inviting one to listen in on the bizarre and inscrutable exploits of one armed comedians one minute, only to hear the bluesy laments of a “Disenchanted Enchanter” the next, with just enough curb stompage to keep boredom from setting in. Worth a few listens, but not casual ones; really lock in and let this light descend all around you. 3.0/5.0

Kenstrosity: I wasn’t sure what to expect from Beware of Gods when they were brought to my table. Despite a fair bit of lead time, it took a while for me to wrap my head around what Behead the Oracle meant to be, what it meant to achieve. An unexpectedly fluid mix of NIN-esque industrial with Mastodonic sludge and Psychonautic post-metal, slowed down to a doomed crawl and enriched with bouts of poetic spoken word, Behead the Oracle hypnotizes as often as it confuses. With hooky tracks like “Tectonic Boogie with the Grief Eater,” “Ocean of Teeth,” and “Secondary Drowning,” Beware of Gods makes a compelling showing in the style. Competent and varied vocals blend with trippy riffs and eerie melodies in these stronger cuts to create a kaleidoscopic, but dense and dark, bluesy shroud that envelops the senses. In other areas, like the spoken word “The Ghost of a One Armed Comedian” or the overlong “Disenchanted Enchanter” and meandering closer “Starve My Eyes That I May See,” Beware of Gods loses traction as muddy storytelling and abstract character development obfuscate the record’s message in flowery language, repetitive songwriting, and lack of propulsion. Over time, though, I found myself growing more curious to understand this enigmatic record, and found substantial enjoyment in the way it flows despite its lumbering pace and occasionally monotonous sequences. It’s possible that Behead the Oracle is a bit too smart or abstract for its own good, which makes connecting more deeply with its story a challenge. Nonetheless, it’s a curious and layered affair that deserves a spin or two even if it never finds permanent residence in your rotation. Mixed.

“AMG’s Unsigned Band Rodeö” is a time-honored tradition to showcase the most underground of the underground—the unsigned and unpromoted. This collective review treatment continues to exist to unite our writers in boot or bolster of the bands who remind us that, for better or worse, the metal underground exists as an important part of the global metal scene. The Rodeö rides on.”

Flying well under the radar, Minneapolis-based psychedelic sludge/doom metal duo Beware of Gods would’ve released their third installment in their Upon Whom the Last Descends series, entitled Behead the Oracle in such complete obscurity that even Metallum doesn’t know about it yet. But thanks to our resident sludge expert Cherd, Behead the Oracle entered our consciousness just in time for an assortment of ne’er-do-wells to offer their entirely unearned judgment of its mettle. Little do the Gods know that when they enter the realm of dogs, there be risk of piles. Good luck out there, and may your souls be spared. –Kenstrosity

Beware of Gods // Upon Whom The Last Descends III: Behead The Oracle [July 10th, 2026]

Grin Reaper: Beware of Gods throws a lot of labels into their description of Upon Whom the Last Light Descends III: Behead the Oracle,1 all of which are apt. Cinematic, progressive, doom-laden metal toeing the line between sludge and post furnishes a rich backdrop where Beware of Gods details a dystopian narrative with elements like machine messiahs and the illusion of free will. Conceptually, this environment will feel familiar to fans of Fear Factory and The Matrix, but musically Behead the Oracle lands in an industrial-tinged sludge trudge that often reminds me of a doomy Nine Inch Nails (“Secondary Drowning,” “Disenchanted Enchanter”), even down to The Archetype’s Reznor-like croon. Instrumentally, Beware of Gods delivers convincing performances in service to Behead the Oracle’s story, where guitars and bass swell and groove in a deftly-mixed soundscape. Unfortunately, Behead the Oracle suffers a fatal flaw when it comes to length, compounded by a few tracks that can be challenging to listen to over repeated spins. “The Ghost of a One-Armed Comedian” draws my biggest complaint, as it’s a six-minute plod featuring a meandering voice-over that would be more effective if chopped in half or cut altogether. Meanwhile, closer “Starve My Eyes That I May See” drags an already overlong album on for another ten minutes. Ultimately, Beware of Gods delivers good ingredients undercut by an unsavory length and a few skippable tracks, but exhibits enough talent and intriguing ideas that I’ll check out whatever divine warning they offer next. Mixed.

Spicie Forrest: The concept album strikes again! Centered around protagonist I, Nomad, Beware of Gods’ third LP, Upon Whom the Light Descends III: Behead the Oracle travels through an industrial, post-collapse hellscape. The album’s cinematic trappings of remind me of IPs like Mad Max, Fallout, and Casshern Sins, making Descends III feel more like the soundtrack to an unwritten movie than a typical album. Primary creative force The Archetype weaves riotous, stimpak-fueled sludge (“Tectonic Boogie with the Grief Eater”), the hard-boiled spoken word of seedy, smoke-filled hideouts (“The Ghost of a One Armed Comedian”), and 90s nu-metal (“Behead the Oracle”) into a surprisingly singular vision. While there are a lot of styles on display here, they’re stitched together well, with theatrical threading embodying the irreverence necessary to survive such a hopeless world. And for such a range of metallic styles, The Archetype’s pipes rise to each occasion and complement the music suitably well. I particularly enjoyed my nerves patiently fraying at the atonal hammering of “Disenchanted Enchanter” and “Starve My Eyes That I May See,” but those two are the longest tracks on the album, and they—along with a couple others—struggle to support their own weight. And while I can understand the narrative demands of Beware of Gods’ vision, getting through Descends III in one sitting proved a struggle, largely due to having three interludes (“Conflict Code_Cursed Blessed,” “Dead Radio Daylight,” “Correction Code_Pre-emptive Strikes Against Prophecy”). Nevertheless, of 56 minutes, there’s about 40-45 minutes of solid material here. 2.5/5.0

Sentynel: I know it’s a cliché for this sort of stoner-psych music, but wow, Behead the Oracle has a problem with songs that don’t go anywhere. I was misled by Beware of Gods’ promise of “cinematic sci-fi doom/post-metal,” but make no mistake: under the Scooby-Doo mask is but a meandering stoner album with a slight industrial edge to its sound palette. It sounds like it wants to be Isis (“Conflict Code_Cursed Blessed”) by way of Mutoid Man (“Tectonic Boogie With the Grief Eater”), with a reference here or there to Kyuss/QotSA (“Dead Radio Daylight”). But we’ve hit the fourth track (“Ocean of Teeth”) before we get a song with any trajectory at all. And that’s only if you survive the six minute spoken word plod of third track “The Ghost of a One Armed Comedian,” which will certainly haunt me. The rest of the album serves up an interlude and a repetitive Monster Magnet offcut for every additional track with any interest at all (“Disenchanted Enchanter,” “Dethroning the Delusion”). There’s lots of things I should like here, and when I put this on in the background it was very easy to tune in occasionally and hear something vaguely interesting. Actually sitting down and listening to the whole record, on the other hand, was a slog. Bad.

Alekhines Gun – Utilizing a flair for concept and story telling usually found in post-hardcore, Beware of Gods has emerged with a djenty, doomy, ethereal release. Fusing slabs of Conan heft with post-metalisms and a fantastically varied vocal approach from “The Archetype”, Upon Whom the Last Light Descends III: Behead the Oracle is a real mixed bag of a listen. The vocals do a good job at selling the story, as our Archetype bounces from the expected howls and yowls to full on cleans and spoken-word passages, conveying a narrative to suit the ever-shifting soundscape. Upon Whom is definitely a journey, and an engaging one, though how gripping you find it depends entirely on what you’re looking for. It’s rather light on real riffs or songs of memorability, in the traditional sense, though some real might rears its head in the grin-inducingly titled “Tectonic Boogie with the Grief Eater”, and particularly in “Ocean of Teeth (Haunted by the Glimpse of a White Light)”, the highlight of the album. But what it might lack in the brutz it makes up for in sheer personality and charm, inviting one to listen in on the bizarre and inscrutable exploits of one armed comedians one minute, only to hear the bluesy laments of a “Disenchanted Enchanter” the next, with just enough curb stompage to keep boredom from setting in. Worth a few listens, but not casual ones; really lock in and let this light descend all around you. 3.0/5.0

Kenstrosity: I wasn’t sure what to expect from Beware of Gods when they were brought to my table. Despite a fair bit of lead time, it took a while for me to wrap my head around what Behead the Oracle meant to be, what it meant to achieve. An unexpectedly fluid mix of NIN-esque industrial with Mastodonic sludge and Psychonautic post-metal, slowed down to a doomed crawl and enriched with bouts of poetic spoken word, Behead the Oracle hypnotizes as often as it confuses. With hooky tracks like “Tectonic Boogie with the Grief Eater,” “Ocean of Teeth,” and “Secondary Drowning,” Beware of Gods makes a compelling showing in the style. Competent and varied vocals blend with trippy riffs and eerie melodies in these stronger cuts to create a kaleidoscopic, but dense and dark, bluesy shroud that envelops the senses. In other areas, like the spoken word “The Ghost of a One Armed Comedian” or the overlong “Disenchanted Enchanter” and meandering closer “Starve My Eyes That I May See,” Beware of Gods loses traction as muddy storytelling and abstract character development obfuscate the record’s message in flowery language, repetitive songwriting, and lack of propulsion. Over time, though, I found myself growing more curious to understand this enigmatic record, and found substantial enjoyment in the way it flows despite its lumbering pace and occasionally monotonous sequences. It’s possible that Behead the Oracle is a bit too smart or abstract for its own good, which makes connecting more deeply with its story a challenge. Nonetheless, it’s a curious and layered affair that deserves a spin or two even if it never finds permanent residence in your rotation. Mixed.

“AMG’s Unsigned Band Rodeö” is a time-honored tradition to showcase the most underground of the underground—the unsigned and unpromoted. This collective review treatment continues to exist to unite our writers in boot or bolster of the bands who remind us that, for better or worse, the metal underground exists as an important part of the global metal scene. The Rodeö rides on.”

Flying well under the radar, Minneapolis-based psychedelic sludge/doom metal duo Beware of Gods would’ve released their third installment in their Upon Whom the Last Descends series, entitled Behead the Oracle in such complete obscurity that even Metallum doesn’t know about it yet. But thanks to our resident sludge expert Cherd, Behead the Oracle entered our consciousness just in time for an assortment of ne’er-do-wells to offer their entirely unearned judgment of its mettle. Little do the Gods know that when they enter the realm of dogs, there be risk of piles. Good luck out there, and may your souls be spared. –Kenstrosity

Beware of Gods // Upon Whom The Last Descends III: Behead The Oracle [July 10th, 2026]

Grin Reaper: Beware of Gods throws a lot of labels into their description of Upon Whom the Last Light Descends III: Behead the Oracle,1 all of which are apt. Cinematic, progressive, doom-laden metal toeing the line between sludge and post furnishes a rich backdrop where Beware of Gods details a dystopian narrative with elements like machine messiahs and the illusion of free will. Conceptually, this environment will feel familiar to fans of Fear Factory and The Matrix, but musically Behead the Oracle lands in an industrial-tinged sludge trudge that often reminds me of a doomy Nine Inch Nails (“Secondary Drowning,” “Disenchanted Enchanter”), even down to The Archetype’s Reznor-like croon. Instrumentally, Beware of Gods delivers convincing performances in service to Behead the Oracle’s story, where guitars and bass swell and groove in a deftly-mixed soundscape. Unfortunately, Behead the Oracle suffers a fatal flaw when it comes to length, compounded by a few tracks that can be challenging to listen to over repeated spins. “The Ghost of a One-Armed Comedian” draws my biggest complaint, as it’s a six-minute plod featuring a meandering voice-over that would be more effective if chopped in half or cut altogether. Meanwhile, closer “Starve My Eyes That I May See” drags an already overlong album on for another ten minutes. Ultimately, Beware of Gods delivers good ingredients undercut by an unsavory length and a few skippable tracks, but exhibits enough talent and intriguing ideas that I’ll check out whatever divine warning they offer next. Mixed.

Spicie Forrest: The concept album strikes again! Centered around protagonist I, Nomad, Beware of Gods’ third LP, Upon Whom the Light Descends III: Behead the Oracle travels through an industrial, post-collapse hellscape. The album’s cinematic trappings of remind me of IPs like Mad Max, Fallout, and Casshern Sins, making Descends III feel more like the soundtrack to an unwritten movie than a typical album. Primary creative force The Archetype weaves riotous, stimpak-fueled sludge (“Tectonic Boogie with the Grief Eater”), the hard-boiled spoken word of seedy, smoke-filled hideouts (“The Ghost of a One Armed Comedian”), and 90s nu-metal (“Behead the Oracle”) into a surprisingly singular vision. While there are a lot of styles on display here, they’re stitched together well, with theatrical threading embodying the irreverence necessary to survive such a hopeless world. And for such a range of metallic styles, The Archetype’s pipes rise to each occasion and complement the music suitably well. I particularly enjoyed my nerves patiently fraying at the atonal hammering of “Disenchanted Enchanter” and “Starve My Eyes That I May See,” but those two are the longest tracks on the album, and they—along with a couple others—struggle to support their own weight. And while I can understand the narrative demands of Beware of Gods’ vision, getting through Descends III in one sitting proved a struggle, largely due to having three interludes (“Conflict Code_Cursed Blessed,” “Dead Radio Daylight,” “Correction Code_Pre-emptive Strikes Against Prophecy”). Nevertheless, of 56 minutes, there’s about 40-45 minutes of solid material here. 2.5/5.0

Sentynel: I know it’s a cliché for this sort of stoner-psych music, but wow, Behead the Oracle has a problem with songs that don’t go anywhere. I was misled by Beware of Gods’ promise of “cinematic sci-fi doom/post-metal,” but make no mistake: under the Scooby-Doo mask is but a meandering stoner album with a slight industrial edge to its sound palette. It sounds like it wants to be Isis (“Conflict Code_Cursed Blessed”) by way of Mutoid Man (“Tectonic Boogie With the Grief Eater”), with a reference here or there to Kyuss/QotSA (“Dead Radio Daylight”). But we’ve hit the fourth track (“Ocean of Teeth”) before we get a song with any trajectory at all. And that’s only if you survive the six minute spoken word plod of third track “The Ghost of a One Armed Comedian,” which will certainly haunt me. The rest of the album serves up an interlude and a repetitive Monster Magnet offcut for every additional track with any interest at all (“Disenchanted Enchanter,” “Dethroning the Delusion”). There’s lots of things I should like here, and when I put this on in the background it was very easy to tune in occasionally and hear something vaguely interesting. Actually sitting down and listening to the whole record, on the other hand, was a slog. Bad.

Alekhines Gun – Utilizing a flair for concept and story telling usually found in post-hardcore, Beware of Gods has emerged with a djenty, doomy, ethereal release. Fusing slabs of Conan heft with post-metalisms and a fantastically varied vocal approach from “The Archetype”, Upon Whom the Last Light Descends III: Behead the Oracle is a real mixed bag of a listen. The vocals do a good job at selling the story, as our Archetype bounces from the expected howls and yowls to full on cleans and spoken-word passages, conveying a narrative to suit the ever-shifting soundscape. Upon Whom is definitely a journey, and an engaging one, though how gripping you find it depends entirely on what you’re looking for. It’s rather light on real riffs or songs of memorability, in the traditional sense, though some real might rears its head in the grin-inducingly titled “Tectonic Boogie with the Grief Eater”, and particularly in “Ocean of Teeth (Haunted by the Glimpse of a White Light)”, the highlight of the album. But what it might lack in the brutz it makes up for in sheer personality and charm, inviting one to listen in on the bizarre and inscrutable exploits of one armed comedians one minute, only to hear the bluesy laments of a “Disenchanted Enchanter” the next, with just enough curb stompage to keep boredom from setting in. Worth a few listens, but not casual ones; really lock in and let this light descend all around you. 3.0/5.0

Kenstrosity: I wasn’t sure what to expect from Beware of Gods when they were brought to my table. Despite a fair bit of lead time, it took a while for me to wrap my head around what Behead the Oracle meant to be, what it meant to achieve. An unexpectedly fluid mix of NIN-esque industrial with Mastodonic sludge and Psychonautic post-metal, slowed down to a doomed crawl and enriched with bouts of poetic spoken word, Behead the Oracle hypnotizes as often as it confuses. With hooky tracks like “Tectonic Boogie with the Grief Eater,” “Ocean of Teeth,” and “Secondary Drowning,” Beware of Gods makes a compelling showing in the style. Competent and varied vocals blend with trippy riffs and eerie melodies in these stronger cuts to create a kaleidoscopic, but dense and dark, bluesy shroud that envelops the senses. In other areas, like the spoken word “The Ghost of a One Armed Comedian” or the overlong “Disenchanted Enchanter” and meandering closer “Starve My Eyes That I May See,” Beware of Gods loses traction as muddy storytelling and abstract character development obfuscate the record’s message in flowery language, repetitive songwriting, and lack of propulsion. Over time, though, I found myself growing more curious to understand this enigmatic record, and found substantial enjoyment in the way it flows despite its lumbering pace and occasionally monotonous sequences. It’s possible that Behead the Oracle is a bit too smart or abstract for its own good, which makes connecting more deeply with its story a challenge. Nonetheless, it’s a curious and layered affair that deserves a spin or two even if it never finds permanent residence in your rotation. Mixed.

Viande – Monument aux morts Review

As I snatch their sophomore, Monument aux morts from the jaws of the dormant Shark, the irony of…
#NewsBeep #News #Music #2026 #3.0 #AtmosphericDeathMetal #BlackMetal #DeathMetal #DoomDeathMetal #DoomMetal #Entertainment #FrenchMetal #Incantation #Jul26 #Monumentauxmorts #PraisethePlague #review #Reviews #Thantifaxath #TranscendingObscurityRecords #UK #Ultha #UnitedKingdom #Viande
https://www.newsbeep.com/uk/722365/

Home to cuckoo clocks, namesake gateaux,1 and Bollenhüte, Germany’s Schwarzwald (Black Forest) has functioned as folklore fodder for centuries. Ever since dropping debut EP Wiege der Finsternis, Finsterforst has mined their homeland for inspiration, and after five albums they’re Still at it. Though only three years removed from 2023’s EP Jenseits, Still is Finsterforst’s first proper album in seven years.2 If this is your Finsterfirst time experiencing the band’s wares, Finsterforst revels in long-form folk compositions that conjure the stateliness and beauty of nature, and on Still these Germaniacs deliver another generous portion of real-deal, certified folk magic. After so much time walking through the woods, does Still forge a better path, or has Finsterforst lost their way?

Fans of Finsterforst’s recent work should be pleased with Still, as the distinctly Deutsch niche they’ve carved out persists with a twist of noble melancholy. To mein ears, Still plays like folk/black metal garnished with Neue Deutsche Härte accents as they merge seismic riffs and sustained synths with atmospheric textures, cinematic orchestrations, and a staggering tonal depth. Early Finsterforst leaned heavily into folksy fun, where jaunty accordion leads and spirited bass punches draw comparisons to Korpiklaani and Turisas. As Finsterforst evolved, song lengths ballooned, and they pushed further into realms of mood and emotional swells. While vestiges of their early sound remain, Finsterforst now hews much closer to the likes of Moonsorrow, although instead of basking in the wintry waters of Scandinavian paganism, this German septet reveres the temperate charms of an enchanted wood.

From its outset, Still conjures the ethereal beauty of nature and merges it with crushing might and overwhelming pathos. Opener “Obduktion” kicks off with an airy lead before dropping the hammer with meticulously crafted riffs and synth accents that remind me of Rammstein and Eisbrecher. Yet Still doesn’t dramatically shift Finsterforst’s songwriting towards Neue Deutsche Härte—this facet has been a part of their sound for years. Rather, Finsterforst adopts a less-is-moar philosophy that makes the parallels stand out more starkly. For instance, “Stille Nacht” begins with a riff that recalls Rammstein’s “Mein Teil,” driving momentum with thick ‘n’ beefy muscle. Both “Knie Nieder” and “Herbstwanderung” expertly blend the heavy with the tender, and “Fels” glistens with acoustic guitar underpinning vocalist Olli Berlin’s mesmerizing vocals. And it’s here that Finsterforst unfetters their most potent weapon. Berlin’s vocals give me goosebumps each playthrough, and his impassioned barks and sonorous cleans proffer varied deliveries throughout Still. Yet more than that, they supply the perfect counterpoint to Finsterforst’s soundscape as the outfit maneuvers between impassioned discharges and reverb-saturated refrains supported by gorgeous choral elements and brassy orchestrations. Still captures Finsterforst at their most subtle and stripped down, where laying their arrangements bare exposes naked splendor.

Despite the extreme runtime of Still, Finsterforst retools their approach to make it more accessible. In his review of Mach Dich Frei, El Cuervo identified the record’s length as cumbersome taken all at once, even if the individual tracks succeeded. On Still, the songs boast more palatable lengths than LPs past, and here only final original track, “Leere” overstays its welcome at twenty-four minutes.3 The two covers at the end, Immortal’s “Beyond the North Waves” and Pink Floyd’s “Another Brick in the Wall, Pt. II” commendably adapt versions of the songs to Finsterforst’s own style, yet push the runtime an extra fourteen minutes that otherwise would have delivered the band’s most succinct album to date. More positively, the production has improved since Mach Dich Frei and Zerfall, and even though the DR score only suggests a modest improvement, Still sounds better than any of the band’s other recent output.

In a month with few highlights, Finsterforst’s Still shines as a welcome bright spot. Dynamic songwriting, masterful command of tension, and inspired performances litter the album. Finsterforst addresses past offenses by adding depth to the mix and demonstrating more economical songwriting song-by-song, even though Still’s overall length perpetuates Finsterforst’s reputation for bloat. Regardless, I often find myself lost in Still’s woods without caring about how long the walk is, as the sights along the way are unequivocally worth the stroll.

Rating: Very Good
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: AOP Records
Websites: Website | Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: July 31st, 2026

Home to cuckoo clocks, namesake gateaux,1 and Bollenhüte, Germany’s Schwarzwald (Black Forest) has functioned as folklore fodder for centuries. Ever since dropping debut EP Wiege der Finsternis, Finsterforst has mined their homeland for inspiration, and after five albums they’re Still at it. Though only three years removed from 2023’s EP Jenseits, Still is Finsterforst’s first proper album in seven years.2 If this is your Finsterfirst time experiencing the band’s wares, Finsterforst revels in long-form folk compositions that conjure the stateliness and beauty of nature, and on Still these Germaniacs deliver another generous portion of real-deal, certified folk magic. After so much time walking through the woods, does Still forge a better path, or has Finsterforst lost their way?

Fans of Finsterforst’s recent work should be pleased with Still, as the distinctly Deutsch niche they’ve carved out persists with a twist of noble melancholy. To mein ears, Still plays like folk/black metal garnished with Neue Deutsche Härte accents as they merge seismic riffs and sustained synths with atmospheric textures, cinematic orchestrations, and a staggering tonal depth. Early Finsterforst leaned heavily into folksy fun, where jaunty accordion leads and spirited bass punches draw comparisons to Korpiklaani and Turisas. As Finsterforst evolved, song lengths ballooned, and they pushed further into realms of mood and emotional swells. While vestiges of their early sound remain, Finsterforst now hews much closer to the likes of Moonsorrow, although instead of basking in the wintry waters of Scandinavian paganism, this German septet reveres the temperate charms of an enchanted wood.

From its outset, Still conjures the ethereal beauty of nature and merges it with crushing might and overwhelming pathos. Opener “Obduktion” kicks off with an airy lead before dropping the hammer with meticulously crafted riffs and synth accents that remind me of Rammstein and Eisbrecher. Yet Still doesn’t dramatically shift Finsterforst’s songwriting towards Neue Deutsche Härte—this facet has been a part of their sound for years. Rather, Finsterforst adopts a less-is-moar philosophy that makes the parallels stand out more starkly. For instance, “Stille Nacht” begins with a riff that recalls Rammstein’s “Mein Teil,” driving momentum with thick ‘n’ beefy muscle. Both “Knie Nieder” and “Herbstwanderung” expertly blend the heavy with the tender, and “Fels” glistens with acoustic guitar underpinning vocalist Olli Berlin’s mesmerizing vocals. And it’s here that Finsterforst unfetters their most potent weapon. Berlin’s vocals give me goosebumps each playthrough, and his impassioned barks and sonorous cleans proffer varied deliveries throughout Still. Yet more than that, they supply the perfect counterpoint to Finsterforst’s soundscape as the outfit maneuvers between impassioned discharges and reverb-saturated refrains supported by gorgeous choral elements and brassy orchestrations. Still captures Finsterforst at their most subtle and stripped down, where laying their arrangements bare exposes naked splendor.

Despite the extreme runtime of Still, Finsterforst retools their approach to make it more accessible. In his review of Mach Dich Frei, El Cuervo identified the record’s length as cumbersome taken all at once, even if the individual tracks succeeded. On Still, the songs boast more palatable lengths than LPs past, and here only final original track, “Leere” overstays its welcome at twenty-four minutes.3 The two covers at the end, Immortal’s “Beyond the North Waves” and Pink Floyd’s “Another Brick in the Wall, Pt. II” commendably adapt versions of the songs to Finsterforst’s own style, yet push the runtime an extra fourteen minutes that otherwise would have delivered the band’s most succinct album to date. More positively, the production has improved since Mach Dich Frei and Zerfall, and even though the DR score only suggests a modest improvement, Still sounds better than any of the band’s other recent output.

In a month with few highlights, Finsterforst’s Still shines as a welcome bright spot. Dynamic songwriting, masterful command of tension, and inspired performances litter the album. Finsterforst addresses past offenses by adding depth to the mix and demonstrating more economical songwriting song-by-song, even though Still’s overall length perpetuates Finsterforst’s reputation for bloat. Regardless, I often find myself lost in Still’s woods without caring about how long the walk is, as the sights along the way are unequivocally worth the stroll.

Rating: Very Good
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: AOP Records
Websites: Website | Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: July 31st, 2026

Home to cuckoo clocks, namesake gateaux,1 and Bollenhüte, Germany’s Schwarzwald (Black Forest) has functioned as folklore fodder for centuries. Ever since dropping debut EP Wiege der Finsternis, Finsterforst has mined their homeland for inspiration, and after five albums they’re Still at it. Though only three years removed from 2023’s EP Jenseits, Still is Finsterforst’s first proper album in seven years.2 If this is your Finsterfirst time experiencing the band’s wares, Finsterforst revels in long-form folk compositions that conjure the stateliness and beauty of nature, and on Still these Germaniacs deliver another generous portion of real-deal, certified folk magic. After so much time walking through the woods, does Still forge a better path, or has Finsterforst lost their way?

Fans of Finsterforst’s recent work should be pleased with Still, as the distinctly Deutsch niche they’ve carved out persists with a twist of noble melancholy. To mein ears, Still plays like folk/black metal garnished with Neue Deutsche Härte accents as they merge seismic riffs and sustained synths with atmospheric textures, cinematic orchestrations, and a staggering tonal depth. Early Finsterforst leaned heavily into folksy fun, where jaunty accordion leads and spirited bass punches draw comparisons to Korpiklaani and Turisas. As Finsterforst evolved, song lengths ballooned, and they pushed further into realms of mood and emotional swells. While vestiges of their early sound remain, Finsterforst now hews much closer to the likes of Moonsorrow, although instead of basking in the wintry waters of Scandinavian paganism, this German septet reveres the temperate charms of an enchanted wood.

From its outset, Still conjures the ethereal beauty of nature and merges it with crushing might and overwhelming pathos. Opener “Obduktion” kicks off with an airy lead before dropping the hammer with meticulously crafted riffs and synth accents that remind me of Rammstein and Eisbrecher. Yet Still doesn’t dramatically shift Finsterforst’s songwriting towards Neue Deutsche Härte—this facet has been a part of their sound for years. Rather, Finsterforst adopts a less-is-moar philosophy that makes the parallels stand out more starkly. For instance, “Stille Nacht” begins with a riff that recalls Rammstein’s “Mein Teil,” driving momentum with thick ‘n’ beefy muscle. Both “Knie Nieder” and “Herbstwanderung” expertly blend the heavy with the tender, and “Fels” glistens with acoustic guitar underpinning vocalist Olli Berlin’s mesmerizing vocals. And it’s here that Finsterforst unfetters their most potent weapon. Berlin’s vocals give me goosebumps each playthrough, and his impassioned barks and sonorous cleans proffer varied deliveries throughout Still. Yet more than that, they supply the perfect counterpoint to Finsterforst’s soundscape as the outfit maneuvers between impassioned discharges and reverb-saturated refrains supported by gorgeous choral elements and brassy orchestrations. Still captures Finsterforst at their most subtle and stripped down, where laying their arrangements bare exposes naked splendor.

Despite the extreme runtime of Still, Finsterforst retools their approach to make it more accessible. In his review of Mach Dich Frei, El Cuervo identified the record’s length as cumbersome taken all at once, even if the individual tracks succeeded. On Still, the songs boast more palatable lengths than LPs past, and here only final original track, “Leere” overstays its welcome at twenty-four minutes.3 The two covers at the end, Immortal’s “Beyond the North Waves” and Pink Floyd’s “Another Brick in the Wall, Pt. II” commendably adapt versions of the songs to Finsterforst’s own style, yet push the runtime an extra fourteen minutes that otherwise would have delivered the band’s most succinct album to date. More positively, the production has improved since Mach Dich Frei and Zerfall, and even though the DR score only suggests a modest improvement, Still sounds better than any of the band’s other recent output.

In a month with few highlights, Finsterforst’s Still shines as a welcome bright spot. Dynamic songwriting, masterful command of tension, and inspired performances litter the album. Finsterforst addresses past offenses by adding depth to the mix and demonstrating more economical songwriting song-by-song, even though Still’s overall length perpetuates Finsterforst’s reputation for bloat. Regardless, I often find myself lost in Still’s woods without caring about how long the walk is, as the sights along the way are unequivocally worth the stroll.

Rating: Very Good
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: AOP Records
Websites: Website | Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: July 31st, 2026

Home to cuckoo clocks, namesake gateaux,1 and Bollenhüte, Germany’s Schwarzwald (Black Forest) has functioned as folklore fodder for centuries. Ever since dropping debut EP Wiege der Finsternis, Finsterforst has mined their homeland for inspiration, and after five albums they’re Still at it. Though only three years removed from 2023’s EP Jenseits, Still is Finsterforst’s first proper album in seven years.2 If this is your Finsterfirst time experiencing the band’s wares, Finsterforst revels in long-form folk compositions that conjure the stateliness and beauty of nature, and on Still these Germaniacs deliver another generous portion of real-deal, certified folk magic. After so much time walking through the woods, does Still forge a better path, or has Finsterforst lost their way?

Fans of Finsterforst’s recent work should be pleased with Still, as the distinctly Deutsch niche they’ve carved out persists with a twist of noble melancholy. To mein ears, Still plays like folk/black metal garnished with Neue Deutsche Härte accents as they merge seismic riffs and sustained synths with atmospheric textures, cinematic orchestrations, and a staggering tonal depth. Early Finsterforst leaned heavily into folksy fun, where jaunty accordion leads and spirited bass punches draw comparisons to Korpiklaani and Turisas. As Finsterforst evolved, song lengths ballooned, and they pushed further into realms of mood and emotional swells. While vestiges of their early sound remain, Finsterforst now hews much closer to the likes of Moonsorrow, although instead of basking in the wintry waters of Scandinavian paganism, this German septet reveres the temperate charms of an enchanted wood.

From its outset, Still conjures the ethereal beauty of nature and merges it with crushing might and overwhelming pathos. Opener “Obduktion” kicks off with an airy lead before dropping the hammer with meticulously crafted riffs and synth accents that remind me of Rammstein and Eisbrecher. Yet Still doesn’t dramatically shift Finsterforst’s songwriting towards Neue Deutsche Härte—this facet has been a part of their sound for years. Rather, Finsterforst adopts a less-is-moar philosophy that makes the parallels stand out more starkly. For instance, “Stille Nacht” begins with a riff that recalls Rammstein’s “Mein Teil,” driving momentum with thick ‘n’ beefy muscle. Both “Knie Nieder” and “Herbstwanderung” expertly blend the heavy with the tender, and “Fels” glistens with acoustic guitar underpinning vocalist Olli Berlin’s mesmerizing vocals. And it’s here that Finsterforst unfetters their most potent weapon. Berlin’s vocals give me goosebumps each playthrough, and his impassioned barks and sonorous cleans proffer varied deliveries throughout Still. Yet more than that, they supply the perfect counterpoint to Finsterforst’s soundscape as the outfit maneuvers between impassioned discharges and reverb-saturated refrains supported by gorgeous choral elements and brassy orchestrations. Still captures Finsterforst at their most subtle and stripped down, where laying their arrangements bare exposes naked splendor.

Despite the extreme runtime of Still, Finsterforst retools their approach to make it more accessible. In his review of Mach Dich Frei, El Cuervo identified the record’s length as cumbersome taken all at once, even if the individual tracks succeeded. On Still, the songs boast more palatable lengths than LPs past, and here only final original track, “Leere” overstays its welcome at twenty-four minutes.3 The two covers at the end, Immortal’s “Beyond the North Waves” and Pink Floyd’s “Another Brick in the Wall, Pt. II” commendably adapt versions of the songs to Finsterforst’s own style, yet push the runtime an extra fourteen minutes that otherwise would have delivered the band’s most succinct album to date. More positively, the production has improved since Mach Dich Frei and Zerfall, and even though the DR score only suggests a modest improvement, Still sounds better than any of the band’s other recent output.

In a month with few highlights, Finsterforst’s Still shines as a welcome bright spot. Dynamic songwriting, masterful command of tension, and inspired performances litter the album. Finsterforst addresses past offenses by adding depth to the mix and demonstrating more economical songwriting song-by-song, even though Still’s overall length perpetuates Finsterforst’s reputation for bloat. Regardless, I often find myself lost in Still’s woods without caring about how long the walk is, as the sights along the way are unequivocally worth the stroll.

Rating: Very Good
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: AOP Records
Websites: Website | Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: July 31st, 2026

Home to cuckoo clocks, namesake gateaux,1 and Bollenhüte, Germany’s Schwarzwald (Black Forest) has functioned as folklore fodder for centuries. Ever since dropping debut EP Wiege der Finsternis, Finsterforst has mined their homeland for inspiration, and after five albums they’re Still at it. Though only three years removed from 2023’s EP Jenseits, Still is Finsterforst’s first proper album in seven years.2 If this is your Finsterfirst time experiencing the band’s wares, Finsterforst revels in long-form folk compositions that conjure the stateliness and beauty of nature, and on Still these Germaniacs deliver another generous portion of real-deal, certified folk magic. After so much time walking through the woods, does Still forge a better path, or has Finsterforst lost their way?

Fans of Finsterforst’s recent work should be pleased with Still, as the distinctly Deutsch niche they’ve carved out persists with a twist of noble melancholy. To mein ears, Still plays like folk/black metal garnished with Neue Deutsche Härte accents as they merge seismic riffs and sustained synths with atmospheric textures, cinematic orchestrations, and a staggering tonal depth. Early Finsterforst leaned heavily into folksy fun, where jaunty accordion leads and spirited bass punches draw comparisons to Korpiklaani and Turisas. As Finsterforst evolved, song lengths ballooned, and they pushed further into realms of mood and emotional swells. While vestiges of their early sound remain, Finsterforst now hews much closer to the likes of Moonsorrow, although instead of basking in the wintry waters of Scandinavian paganism, this German septet reveres the temperate charms of an enchanted wood.

From its outset, Still conjures the ethereal beauty of nature and merges it with crushing might and overwhelming pathos. Opener “Obduktion” kicks off with an airy lead before dropping the hammer with meticulously crafted riffs and synth accents that remind me of Rammstein and Eisbrecher. Yet Still doesn’t dramatically shift Finsterforst’s songwriting towards Neue Deutsche Härte—this facet has been a part of their sound for years. Rather, Finsterforst adopts a less-is-moar philosophy that makes the parallels stand out more starkly. For instance, “Stille Nacht” begins with a riff that recalls Rammstein’s “Mein Teil,” driving momentum with thick ‘n’ beefy muscle. Both “Knie Nieder” and “Herbstwanderung” expertly blend the heavy with the tender, and “Fels” glistens with acoustic guitar underpinning vocalist Olli Berlin’s mesmerizing vocals. And it’s here that Finsterforst unfetters their most potent weapon. Berlin’s vocals give me goosebumps each playthrough, and his impassioned barks and sonorous cleans proffer varied deliveries throughout Still. Yet more than that, they supply the perfect counterpoint to Finsterforst’s soundscape as the outfit maneuvers between impassioned discharges and reverb-saturated refrains supported by gorgeous choral elements and brassy orchestrations. Still captures Finsterforst at their most subtle and stripped down, where laying their arrangements bare exposes naked splendor.

Despite the extreme runtime of Still, Finsterforst retools their approach to make it more accessible. In his review of Mach Dich Frei, El Cuervo identified the record’s length as cumbersome taken all at once, even if the individual tracks succeeded. On Still, the songs boast more palatable lengths than LPs past, and here only final original track, “Leere” overstays its welcome at twenty-four minutes.3 The two covers at the end, Immortal’s “Beyond the North Waves” and Pink Floyd’s “Another Brick in the Wall, Pt. II” commendably adapt versions of the songs to Finsterforst’s own style, yet push the runtime an extra fourteen minutes that otherwise would have delivered the band’s most succinct album to date. More positively, the production has improved since Mach Dich Frei and Zerfall, and even though the DR score only suggests a modest improvement, Still sounds better than any of the band’s other recent output.

In a month with few highlights, Finsterforst’s Still shines as a welcome bright spot. Dynamic songwriting, masterful command of tension, and inspired performances litter the album. Finsterforst addresses past offenses by adding depth to the mix and demonstrating more economical songwriting song-by-song, even though Still’s overall length perpetuates Finsterforst’s reputation for bloat. Regardless, I often find myself lost in Still’s woods without caring about how long the walk is, as the sights along the way are unequivocally worth the stroll.

Rating: Very Good
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: AOP Records
Websites: Website | Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: July 31st, 2026

As I snatch their sophomore, Monument aux morts from the jaws of the dormant Shark, the irony of reviewing an act called Viande1 as a vegan is not lost on me. Fortunately, the meat they’re serving is of the metaphorical kind—brutal, nasty, chewy. After L’Abime dévore les âmes saw all souls eaten, a Monument to the dead comes in comiseration castigation for the misstep into that abyss. At first blush, Monument aux morts seems to follow also in its predecessor’s grimy doom-death-black stylistic tracks; but there’s more to the descent this time. Coming four years since Viande first crawled out of the earth, can it strike the death blow its predecessor narrowly missed?

Monument aux morts changes little about Viande’s culinary style, continuing to draw heavily from the Incantation school of death metal, though now with more prominent disorienting flourishes that vividly recall Thantifaxath (“Sacrifice Ardent,” “L’homme Brasier”). The atmospheric side leans closer to that of Praise the Plague—grand and menacing—on the slower end (“Linceul Immense,” “Une cage d’os”), and Ultha on the faster—vocals excepted—(“Germes de mort”). Together, these create a darker and more dissonant offering which in turn makes the omnipresent echo and whines of feedback that bleed tracks together feel even more smothering. Dense and heavy at fast as well as moderated tempos, Monument aux morts succeeds in creating a persistent aura of horror even as it wavers before the threshold of total envelopment.

Viande’s ability to unsettle has improved, thanks to deeper, more nuanced compositions. Guitars snake ominously and twist themselves into ever more gut-wrenching patterns (“Sacrifice ardent,” “Germes de mort,” “L’homme brasier”), whilst tremolos also slip more often into an eerie shiver (“Linceul immense”). The pervasive atmosphere uses reverb intelligently, without detracting from each song’s momentum, and often pulls in the horrifying sounds of screams (“Sacrifice ardent”) and strange synthetic whines (“L’esprit cachot”). Malevolent minor melody bleeds in as a short-lived, swaying foothold in the mire (“Une cage d’os”) of churning scales or feedback. Amidst the chaos, oddly compelling grooves take hold (“Linceul Immense,” “Cercueil de vase”). The culmination of these aspects is a consistently frightening texture, which peaks when it all combines to form thrilling, even darkly beautiful, shapes that step outside of a clear (sub-)genre boundary. At these times, Monument aux morts ceases to be merely a punishing, dirt-choked slab of blackened death-doom,2, but a consuming miasma of discordant scales and impossible drums (“Sacrifice ardent,” “L’homme brasier”), or a rippling, oddly mesmerising chasm driven deeper through layers of rhythm and almost-melody (“Monolithe de chagrin,” “L’esprit cachot”).

And yet, Monument aux morts fails to maintain the vice grip on the listener it periodically holds. This is partly down to production that’s fittingly crushing and filth-encrusted for the album’s brutal death leanings, but thereby flattens the more prominent atmospheric side. Aside from above-noted highlights, and the odd sharp turns into the unusual, the majority of Monument aux morts’ eight movements progress along the same lines. The shared components—lurching from resonant tremolos into gallops, retreats to minimalistic whining and half-present drums, recurrent sludgy stomping—are effective in themselves. The issue comes with their repetition across a runtime that approaches an hour, where overlapping song transitions cause things to blur still further into an indistinct mass.

Viande are getting closer to the masterwork of horror they suggest they’re capable of. Despite being longer, Monument aux morts holds a more commanding presence than their debut and the germs of dark brilliance have grown to larger aspects that are truly gripping when they take over. All that remains is for Viande to stitch them together and give them the richer master their depths deserve.

Rating: Good
DR: 63 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Transcending Obscurity Records
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: July 31st, 2026

As I snatch their sophomore, Monument aux morts from the jaws of the dormant Shark, the irony of reviewing an act called Viande1 as a vegan is not lost on me. Fortunately, the meat they’re serving is of the metaphorical kind—brutal, nasty, chewy. After L’Abime dévore les âmes saw all souls eaten, a Monument to the dead comes in comiseration castigation for the misstep into that abyss. At first blush, Monument aux morts seems to follow also in its predecessor’s grimy doom-death-black stylistic tracks; but there’s more to the descent this time. Coming four years since Viande first crawled out of the earth, can it strike the death blow its predecessor narrowly missed?

Monument aux morts changes little about Viande’s culinary style, continuing to draw heavily from the Incantation school of death metal, though now with more prominent disorienting flourishes that vividly recall Thantifaxath (“Sacrifice Ardent,” “L’homme Brasier”). The atmospheric side leans closer to that of Praise the Plague—grand and menacing—on the slower end (“Linceul Immense,” “Une cage d’os”), and Ultha on the faster—vocals excepted—(“Germes de mort”). Together, these create a darker and more dissonant offering which in turn makes the omnipresent echo and whines of feedback that bleed tracks together feel even more smothering. Dense and heavy at fast as well as moderated tempos, Monument aux morts succeeds in creating a persistent aura of horror even as it wavers before the threshold of total envelopment.

Viande’s ability to unsettle has improved, thanks to deeper, more nuanced compositions. Guitars snake ominously and twist themselves into ever more gut-wrenching patterns (“Sacrifice ardent,” “Germes de mort,” “L’homme brasier”), whilst tremolos also slip more often into an eerie shiver (“Linceul immense”). The pervasive atmosphere uses reverb intelligently, without detracting from each song’s momentum, and often pulls in the horrifying sounds of screams (“Sacrifice ardent”) and strange synthetic whines (“L’esprit cachot”). Malevolent minor melody bleeds in as a short-lived, swaying foothold in the mire (“Une cage d’os”) of churning scales or feedback. Amidst the chaos, oddly compelling grooves take hold (“Linceul Immense,” “Cercueil de vase”). The culmination of these aspects is a consistently frightening texture, which peaks when it all combines to form thrilling, even darkly beautiful, shapes that step outside of a clear (sub-)genre boundary. At these times, Monument aux morts ceases to be merely a punishing, dirt-choked slab of blackened death-doom,2, but a consuming miasma of discordant scales and impossible drums (“Sacrifice ardent,” “L’homme brasier”), or a rippling, oddly mesmerising chasm driven deeper through layers of rhythm and almost-melody (“Monolithe de chagrin,” “L’esprit cachot”).

And yet, Monument aux morts fails to maintain the vice grip on the listener it periodically holds. This is partly down to production that’s fittingly crushing and filth-encrusted for the album’s brutal death leanings, but thereby flattens the more prominent atmospheric side. Aside from above-noted highlights, and the odd sharp turns into the unusual, the majority of Monument aux morts’ eight movements progress along the same lines. The shared components—lurching from resonant tremolos into gallops, retreats to minimalistic whining and half-present drums, recurrent sludgy stomping—are effective in themselves. The issue comes with their repetition across a runtime that approaches an hour, where overlapping song transitions cause things to blur still further into an indistinct mass.

Viande are getting closer to the masterwork of horror they suggest they’re capable of. Despite being longer, Monument aux morts holds a more commanding presence than their debut and the germs of dark brilliance have grown to larger aspects that are truly gripping when they take over. All that remains is for Viande to stitch them together and give them the richer master their depths deserve.

Rating: Good
DR: 63 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Transcending Obscurity Records
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: July 31st, 2026

As I snatch their sophomore, Monument aux morts from the jaws of the dormant Shark, the irony of reviewing an act called Viande1 as a vegan is not lost on me. Fortunately, the meat they’re serving is of the metaphorical kind—brutal, nasty, chewy. After L’Abime dévore les âmes saw all souls eaten, a Monument to the dead comes in comiseration castigation for the misstep into that abyss. At first blush, Monument aux morts seems to follow also in its predecessor’s grimy doom-death-black stylistic tracks; but there’s more to the descent this time. Coming four years since Viande first crawled out of the earth, can it strike the death blow its predecessor narrowly missed?

Monument aux morts changes little about Viande’s culinary style, continuing to draw heavily from the Incantation school of death metal, though now with more prominent disorienting flourishes that vividly recall Thantifaxath (“Sacrifice Ardent,” “L’homme Brasier”). The atmospheric side leans closer to that of Praise the Plague—grand and menacing—on the slower end (“Linceul Immense,” “Une cage d’os”), and Ultha on the faster—vocals excepted—(“Germes de mort”). Together, these create a darker and more dissonant offering which in turn makes the omnipresent echo and whines of feedback that bleed tracks together feel even more smothering. Dense and heavy at fast as well as moderated tempos, Monument aux morts succeeds in creating a persistent aura of horror even as it wavers before the threshold of total envelopment.

Viande’s ability to unsettle has improved, thanks to deeper, more nuanced compositions. Guitars snake ominously and twist themselves into ever more gut-wrenching patterns (“Sacrifice ardent,” “Germes de mort,” “L’homme brasier”), whilst tremolos also slip more often into an eerie shiver (“Linceul immense”). The pervasive atmosphere uses reverb intelligently, without detracting from each song’s momentum, and often pulls in the horrifying sounds of screams (“Sacrifice ardent”) and strange synthetic whines (“L’esprit cachot”). Malevolent minor melody bleeds in as a short-lived, swaying foothold in the mire (“Une cage d’os”) of churning scales or feedback. Amidst the chaos, oddly compelling grooves take hold (“Linceul Immense,” “Cercueil de vase”). The culmination of these aspects is a consistently frightening texture, which peaks when it all combines to form thrilling, even darkly beautiful, shapes that step outside of a clear (sub-)genre boundary. At these times, Monument aux morts ceases to be merely a punishing, dirt-choked slab of blackened death-doom,2, but a consuming miasma of discordant scales and impossible drums (“Sacrifice ardent,” “L’homme brasier”), or a rippling, oddly mesmerising chasm driven deeper through layers of rhythm and almost-melody (“Monolithe de chagrin,” “L’esprit cachot”).

And yet, Monument aux morts fails to maintain the vice grip on the listener it periodically holds. This is partly down to production that’s fittingly crushing and filth-encrusted for the album’s brutal death leanings, but thereby flattens the more prominent atmospheric side. Aside from above-noted highlights, and the odd sharp turns into the unusual, the majority of Monument aux morts’ eight movements progress along the same lines. The shared components—lurching from resonant tremolos into gallops, retreats to minimalistic whining and half-present drums, recurrent sludgy stomping—are effective in themselves. The issue comes with their repetition across a runtime that approaches an hour, where overlapping song transitions cause things to blur still further into an indistinct mass.

Viande are getting closer to the masterwork of horror they suggest they’re capable of. Despite being longer, Monument aux morts holds a more commanding presence than their debut and the germs of dark brilliance have grown to larger aspects that are truly gripping when they take over. All that remains is for Viande to stitch them together and give them the richer master their depths deserve.

Rating: Good
DR: 63 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Transcending Obscurity Records
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: July 31st, 2026

As I snatch their sophomore, Monument aux morts from the jaws of the dormant Shark, the irony of reviewing an act called Viande1 as a vegan is not lost on me. Fortunately, the meat they’re serving is of the metaphorical kind—brutal, nasty, chewy. After L’Abime dévore les âmes saw all souls eaten, a Monument to the dead comes in comiseration castigation for the misstep into that abyss. At first blush, Monument aux morts seems to follow also in its predecessor’s grimy doom-death-black stylistic tracks; but there’s more to the descent this time. Coming four years since Viande first crawled out of the earth, can it strike the death blow its predecessor narrowly missed?

Monument aux morts changes little about Viande’s culinary style, continuing to draw heavily from the Incantation school of death metal, though now with more prominent disorienting flourishes that vividly recall Thantifaxath (“Sacrifice Ardent,” “L’homme Brasier”). The atmospheric side leans closer to that of Praise the Plague—grand and menacing—on the slower end (“Linceul Immense,” “Une cage d’os”), and Ultha on the faster—vocals excepted—(“Germes de mort”). Together, these create a darker and more dissonant offering which in turn makes the omnipresent echo and whines of feedback that bleed tracks together feel even more smothering. Dense and heavy at fast as well as moderated tempos, Monument aux morts succeeds in creating a persistent aura of horror even as it wavers before the threshold of total envelopment.

Viande’s ability to unsettle has improved, thanks to deeper, more nuanced compositions. Guitars snake ominously and twist themselves into ever more gut-wrenching patterns (“Sacrifice ardent,” “Germes de mort,” “L’homme brasier”), whilst tremolos also slip more often into an eerie shiver (“Linceul immense”). The pervasive atmosphere uses reverb intelligently, without detracting from each song’s momentum, and often pulls in the horrifying sounds of screams (“Sacrifice ardent”) and strange synthetic whines (“L’esprit cachot”). Malevolent minor melody bleeds in as a short-lived, swaying foothold in the mire (“Une cage d’os”) of churning scales or feedback. Amidst the chaos, oddly compelling grooves take hold (“Linceul Immense,” “Cercueil de vase”). The culmination of these aspects is a consistently frightening texture, which peaks when it all combines to form thrilling, even darkly beautiful, shapes that step outside of a clear (sub-)genre boundary. At these times, Monument aux morts ceases to be merely a punishing, dirt-choked slab of blackened death-doom,2, but a consuming miasma of discordant scales and impossible drums (“Sacrifice ardent,” “L’homme brasier”), or a rippling, oddly mesmerising chasm driven deeper through layers of rhythm and almost-melody (“Monolithe de chagrin,” “L’esprit cachot”).

And yet, Monument aux morts fails to maintain the vice grip on the listener it periodically holds. This is partly down to production that’s fittingly crushing and filth-encrusted for the album’s brutal death leanings, but thereby flattens the more prominent atmospheric side. Aside from above-noted highlights, and the odd sharp turns into the unusual, the majority of Monument aux morts’ eight movements progress along the same lines. The shared components—lurching from resonant tremolos into gallops, retreats to minimalistic whining and half-present drums, recurrent sludgy stomping—are effective in themselves. The issue comes with their repetition across a runtime that approaches an hour, where overlapping song transitions cause things to blur still further into an indistinct mass.

Viande are getting closer to the masterwork of horror they suggest they’re capable of. Despite being longer, Monument aux morts holds a more commanding presence than their debut and the germs of dark brilliance have grown to larger aspects that are truly gripping when they take over. All that remains is for Viande to stitch them together and give them the richer master their depths deserve.

Rating: Good
DR: 63 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Transcending Obscurity Records
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: July 31st, 2026

As I snatch their sophomore, Monument aux morts from the jaws of the dormant Shark, the irony of reviewing an act called Viande1 as a vegan is not lost on me. Fortunately, the meat they’re serving is of the metaphorical kind—brutal, nasty, chewy. After L’Abime dévore les âmes saw all souls eaten, a Monument to the dead comes in comiseration castigation for the misstep into that abyss. At first blush, Monument aux morts seems to follow also in its predecessor’s grimy doom-death-black stylistic tracks; but there’s more to the descent this time. Coming four years since Viande first crawled out of the earth, can it strike the death blow its predecessor narrowly missed?

Monument aux morts changes little about Viande’s culinary style, continuing to draw heavily from the Incantation school of death metal, though now with more prominent disorienting flourishes that vividly recall Thantifaxath (“Sacrifice Ardent,” “L’homme Brasier”). The atmospheric side leans closer to that of Praise the Plague—grand and menacing—on the slower end (“Linceul Immense,” “Une cage d’os”), and Ultha on the faster—vocals excepted—(“Germes de mort”). Together, these create a darker and more dissonant offering which in turn makes the omnipresent echo and whines of feedback that bleed tracks together feel even more smothering. Dense and heavy at fast as well as moderated tempos, Monument aux morts succeeds in creating a persistent aura of horror even as it wavers before the threshold of total envelopment.

Viande’s ability to unsettle has improved, thanks to deeper, more nuanced compositions. Guitars snake ominously and twist themselves into ever more gut-wrenching patterns (“Sacrifice ardent,” “Germes de mort,” “L’homme brasier”), whilst tremolos also slip more often into an eerie shiver (“Linceul immense”). The pervasive atmosphere uses reverb intelligently, without detracting from each song’s momentum, and often pulls in the horrifying sounds of screams (“Sacrifice ardent”) and strange synthetic whines (“L’esprit cachot”). Malevolent minor melody bleeds in as a short-lived, swaying foothold in the mire (“Une cage d’os”) of churning scales or feedback. Amidst the chaos, oddly compelling grooves take hold (“Linceul Immense,” “Cercueil de vase”). The culmination of these aspects is a consistently frightening texture, which peaks when it all combines to form thrilling, even darkly beautiful, shapes that step outside of a clear (sub-)genre boundary. At these times, Monument aux morts ceases to be merely a punishing, dirt-choked slab of blackened death-doom,2, but a consuming miasma of discordant scales and impossible drums (“Sacrifice ardent,” “L’homme brasier”), or a rippling, oddly mesmerising chasm driven deeper through layers of rhythm and almost-melody (“Monolithe de chagrin,” “L’esprit cachot”).

And yet, Monument aux morts fails to maintain the vice grip on the listener it periodically holds. This is partly down to production that’s fittingly crushing and filth-encrusted for the album’s brutal death leanings, but thereby flattens the more prominent atmospheric side. Aside from above-noted highlights, and the odd sharp turns into the unusual, the majority of Monument aux morts’ eight movements progress along the same lines. The shared components—lurching from resonant tremolos into gallops, retreats to minimalistic whining and half-present drums, recurrent sludgy stomping—are effective in themselves. The issue comes with their repetition across a runtime that approaches an hour, where overlapping song transitions cause things to blur still further into an indistinct mass.

Viande are getting closer to the masterwork of horror they suggest they’re capable of. Despite being longer, Monument aux morts holds a more commanding presence than their debut and the germs of dark brilliance have grown to larger aspects that are truly gripping when they take over. All that remains is for Viande to stitch them together and give them the richer master their depths deserve.

Rating: Good
DR: 63 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Transcending Obscurity Records
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: July 31st, 2026

Rigor Sardonicous – Diatriba Deorum Review

Rigor Sardonicous is a two-man funeral doom project from my neck of the woods of Long Island, New…
#NewsBeep #News #Music #2.0 #2026 #DeathMetal #DiatribaDeorum #DoomMetal #Entertainment #FuneralDoom #Jul26 #MeuseMusicRecords #PraeparetBellum #review #Reviews #RigorSardonicous #UK #UnitedKingdom #warning
https://www.newsbeep.com/uk/720362/

Rigor Sardonicous is a two-man funeral doom project from my neck of the woods of Long Island, New York, featuring members of Teloch Vovin and Abhorrence. Despite their lurking in the scene since 1999, I didn’t hear of them until Thus Spoke reviewed their seventh album, 2023s Praeparet Bellum. How could a band like this exist right under my nose for so long without me catching a whiff? Well, as Thus summed up in her review, they aren’t exactly tearing a hole in the metalverse with their lo-fi, quasi-industrial style of funerary music. The material on Praeparet Bellum was one-dimensional, plodding, and devoid of the necessary tricks and treats to keep such slogging doom interesting and, well, listenable. I hoped Diatriba Deorum would see the duo elevate their game, and in some ways, I suppose they have. But will it be enough to take them from deep, dark obscurity into the sunlight?

In a word, no. While Diatriba Deorum is a step up from last time and shows some improvement in pacing, atmosphere, and overall execution, this is still an inky grey slab of slow-motion doom without much in the way of engagement. Things do open quite strongly on “With God’s Love,” which is a slightly more aggressive creature for Rigor, rocking a pseudo-industrial, lo-fi hum that feels ominous and eerie. Subteranean vocals belch and burp over simple, plodding riffs and a programmed drum clicks and thumps in the background (I’ll refer to the drummer as “Clanger” henceforth). What helps is that the song is only 2 minutes, and if it was pushed much past that, things would go off the rails. “Death Cult” is a classic funeral-death-doom track with an unmistakably Sabbathian lead riff winding endlessly through a colorless glade of dead spruce as Clanger thrums along lifelessly and Joseph J. Fogarazzo roars quietly down somewhere in the mulch of the lo-fi mix. It’s got a certain dark, hypnotic mood that works well enough to let the 6-plus minutes slip by without testing your resolve too aggressively.

There are more tracks here, however, that are all too happy to test your resolve and attention. “I Am” is 8-plus minutes of ugly plodery with very little in the way of change-ups or tempo shifts. It’s an aural experience akin to being slowly chased down a long yellow corridor by Pirate Clark from Backrooms. It starts to feel overlong before the halfway point, and that’s a problem. By the end, even Clanger sounds tired and uninterested. “Commandment” is the album’s bright spot, with riffs evoking a strong Warning flavor as things stagger and shamble around the corpse yard unhurried. Closer “Actus Tragicus” also manages to rise slightly above the standard drudgery heard across Diatriba Deorum, offering enough melody to keep things mildly interesting over 9-plus minutes. The weird thing with Rigor’s music is that any song taken in isolation works as a standard funeral doom piece. It’s when the whole album bum-rushes you that you realize how one-note and monotonous their style and approach can be. At 44:36, Diatriba Deorum feels about a week longer, and it’s nearly impossible to focus intently throughout. That said, I’ve had it on in the background as I worked, and it was almost meditative and somewhat soothing. Go figure. The production is super raw, unprofessional, and soupy, but it does help convey a cold, soullessly industrialized aura. The guitars lack enough raw force to deliver meaningful impact, and the vocals feel like they were recorded under several layers of wet concrete. Other than that, good job!

Joseph J. Fogarazzo handles vocals and guitar. His death groans and grunts are appropriately wet, sticky, and hideous, booming away in the hidden caverns below like some eldritch abomination. His guitar work can best be described as minimalist and simplistic. He’s definitely an adherent to the less is MOAR school, offering rudimentary leads that barely change or morph over long run times. If he offered more (or some) decorative, forlorn harmonies over the leads, we would be getting somewhere, but he’s largely content to slowly riff away as time crawls and fingernails grow. Glenn Hampton’s bass work is there but does nothing to stand out. It’s like he doesn’t want to draw attention away from the threadbare riffs or inelegant drumbeats. Basically, there’s not a lot going on here, even for just two people and a machine.

Though better than Praeparet Bellum, Diatriba Deorum plays out like one long repetitive death march into nothingness. Aside from a few vague bright spots, this is a never-ending morass of bargain-basement funeral doom. I want to love it, but it refused to let me. Instead, I’ll use it as a relaxation tool when the need arises. Rigor Sardonicous are obscure as fook even in their own neighborhood, and now I know why.

Rating: 2.0/5.0
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Meuse Music
Websites: rigorsardonicous1.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/rigorsardonicous.official
Releases Worldwide: July 31st, 2026

Rigor Sardonicous is a two-man funeral doom project from my neck of the woods of Long Island, New York, featuring members of Teloch Vovin and Abhorrence. Despite their lurking in the scene since 1999, I didn’t hear of them until Thus Spoke reviewed their seventh album, 2023s Praeparet Bellum. How could a band like this exist right under my nose for so long without me catching a whiff? Well, as Thus summed up in her review, they aren’t exactly tearing a hole in the metalverse with their lo-fi, quasi-industrial style of funerary music. The material on Praeparet Bellum was one-dimensional, plodding, and devoid of the necessary tricks and treats to keep such slogging doom interesting and, well, listenable. I hoped Diatriba Deorum would see the duo elevate their game, and in some ways, I suppose they have. But will it be enough to take them from deep, dark obscurity into the sunlight?

In a word, no. While Diatriba Deorum is a step up from last time and shows some improvement in pacing, atmosphere, and overall execution, this is still an inky grey slab of slow-motion doom without much in the way of engagement. Things do open quite strongly on “With God’s Love,” which is a slightly more aggressive creature for Rigor, rocking a pseudo-industrial, lo-fi hum that feels ominous and eerie. Subteranean vocals belch and burp over simple, plodding riffs and a programmed drum clicks and thumps in the background (I’ll refer to the drummer as “Clanger” henceforth). What helps is that the song is only 2 minutes, and if it was pushed much past that, things would go off the rails. “Death Cult” is a classic funeral-death-doom track with an unmistakably Sabbathian lead riff winding endlessly through a colorless glade of dead spruce as Clanger thrums along lifelessly and Joseph J. Fogarazzo roars quietly down somewhere in the mulch of the lo-fi mix. It’s got a certain dark, hypnotic mood that works well enough to let the 6-plus minutes slip by without testing your resolve too aggressively.

There are more tracks here, however, that are all too happy to test your resolve and attention. “I Am” is 8-plus minutes of ugly plodery with very little in the way of change-ups or tempo shifts. It’s an aural experience akin to being slowly chased down a long yellow corridor by Pirate Clark from Backrooms. It starts to feel overlong before the halfway point, and that’s a problem. By the end, even Clanger sounds tired and uninterested. “Commandment” is the album’s bright spot, with riffs evoking a strong Warning flavor as things stagger and shamble around the corpse yard unhurried. Closer “Actus Tragicus” also manages to rise slightly above the standard drudgery heard across Diatriba Deorum, offering enough melody to keep things mildly interesting over 9-plus minutes. The weird thing with Rigor’s music is that any song taken in isolation works as a standard funeral doom piece. It’s when the whole album bum-rushes you that you realize how one-note and monotonous their style and approach can be. At 44:36, Diatriba Deorum feels about a week longer, and it’s nearly impossible to focus intently throughout. That said, I’ve had it on in the background as I worked, and it was almost meditative and somewhat soothing. Go figure. The production is super raw, unprofessional, and soupy, but it does help convey a cold, soullessly industrialized aura. The guitars lack enough raw force to deliver meaningful impact, and the vocals feel like they were recorded under several layers of wet concrete. Other than that, good job!

Joseph J. Fogarazzo handles vocals and guitar. His death groans and grunts are appropriately wet, sticky, and hideous, booming away in the hidden caverns below like some eldritch abomination. His guitar work can best be described as minimalist and simplistic. He’s definitely an adherent to the less is MOAR school, offering rudimentary leads that barely change or morph over long run times. If he offered more (or some) decorative, forlorn harmonies over the leads, we would be getting somewhere, but he’s largely content to slowly riff away as time crawls and fingernails grow. Glenn Hampton’s bass work is there but does nothing to stand out. It’s like he doesn’t want to draw attention away from the threadbare riffs or inelegant drumbeats. Basically, there’s not a lot going on here, even for just two people and a machine.

Though better than Praeparet Bellum, Diatriba Deorum plays out like one long repetitive death march into nothingness. Aside from a few vague bright spots, this is a never-ending morass of bargain-basement funeral doom. I want to love it, but it refused to let me. Instead, I’ll use it as a relaxation tool when the need arises. Rigor Sardonicous are obscure as fook even in their own neighborhood, and now I know why.

Rating: 2.0/5.0
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Meuse Music
Websites: rigorsardonicous1.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/rigorsardonicous.official
Releases Worldwide: July 31st, 2026

Rigor Sardonicous is a two-man funeral doom project from my neck of the woods of Long Island, New York, featuring members of Teloch Vovin and Abhorrence. Despite their lurking in the scene since 1999, I didn’t hear of them until Thus Spoke reviewed their seventh album, 2023s Praeparet Bellum. How could a band like this exist right under my nose for so long without me catching a whiff? Well, as Thus summed up in her review, they aren’t exactly tearing a hole in the metalverse with their lo-fi, quasi-industrial style of funerary music. The material on Praeparet Bellum was one-dimensional, plodding, and devoid of the necessary tricks and treats to keep such slogging doom interesting and, well, listenable. I hoped Diatriba Deorum would see the duo elevate their game, and in some ways, I suppose they have. But will it be enough to take them from deep, dark obscurity into the sunlight?

In a word, no. While Diatriba Deorum is a step up from last time and shows some improvement in pacing, atmosphere, and overall execution, this is still an inky grey slab of slow-motion doom without much in the way of engagement. Things do open quite strongly on “With God’s Love,” which is a slightly more aggressive creature for Rigor, rocking a pseudo-industrial, lo-fi hum that feels ominous and eerie. Subteranean vocals belch and burp over simple, plodding riffs and a programmed drum clicks and thumps in the background (I’ll refer to the drummer as “Clanger” henceforth). What helps is that the song is only 2 minutes, and if it was pushed much past that, things would go off the rails. “Death Cult” is a classic funeral-death-doom track with an unmistakably Sabbathian lead riff winding endlessly through a colorless glade of dead spruce as Clanger thrums along lifelessly and Joseph J. Fogarazzo roars quietly down somewhere in the mulch of the lo-fi mix. It’s got a certain dark, hypnotic mood that works well enough to let the 6-plus minutes slip by without testing your resolve too aggressively.

There are more tracks here, however, that are all too happy to test your resolve and attention. “I Am” is 8-plus minutes of ugly plodery with very little in the way of change-ups or tempo shifts. It’s an aural experience akin to being slowly chased down a long yellow corridor by Pirate Clark from Backrooms. It starts to feel overlong before the halfway point, and that’s a problem. By the end, even Clanger sounds tired and uninterested. “Commandment” is the album’s bright spot, with riffs evoking a strong Warning flavor as things stagger and shamble around the corpse yard unhurried. Closer “Actus Tragicus” also manages to rise slightly above the standard drudgery heard across Diatriba Deorum, offering enough melody to keep things mildly interesting over 9-plus minutes. The weird thing with Rigor’s music is that any song taken in isolation works as a standard funeral doom piece. It’s when the whole album bum-rushes you that you realize how one-note and monotonous their style and approach can be. At 44:36, Diatriba Deorum feels about a week longer, and it’s nearly impossible to focus intently throughout. That said, I’ve had it on in the background as I worked, and it was almost meditative and somewhat soothing. Go figure. The production is super raw, unprofessional, and soupy, but it does help convey a cold, soullessly industrialized aura. The guitars lack enough raw force to deliver meaningful impact, and the vocals feel like they were recorded under several layers of wet concrete. Other than that, good job!

Joseph J. Fogarazzo handles vocals and guitar. His death groans and grunts are appropriately wet, sticky, and hideous, booming away in the hidden caverns below like some eldritch abomination. His guitar work can best be described as minimalist and simplistic. He’s definitely an adherent to the less is MOAR school, offering rudimentary leads that barely change or morph over long run times. If he offered more (or some) decorative, forlorn harmonies over the leads, we would be getting somewhere, but he’s largely content to slowly riff away as time crawls and fingernails grow. Glenn Hampton’s bass work is there but does nothing to stand out. It’s like he doesn’t want to draw attention away from the threadbare riffs or inelegant drumbeats. Basically, there’s not a lot going on here, even for just two people and a machine.

Though better than Praeparet Bellum, Diatriba Deorum plays out like one long repetitive death march into nothingness. Aside from a few vague bright spots, this is a never-ending morass of bargain-basement funeral doom. I want to love it, but it refused to let me. Instead, I’ll use it as a relaxation tool when the need arises. Rigor Sardonicous are obscure as fook even in their own neighborhood, and now I know why.

Rating: 2.0/5.0
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Meuse Music
Websites: rigorsardonicous1.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/rigorsardonicous.official
Releases Worldwide: July 31st, 2026

Rigor Sardonicous is a two-man funeral doom project from my neck of the woods of Long Island, New York, featuring members of Teloch Vovin and Abhorrence. Despite their lurking in the scene since 1999, I didn’t hear of them until Thus Spoke reviewed their seventh album, 2023s Praeparet Bellum. How could a band like this exist right under my nose for so long without me catching a whiff? Well, as Thus summed up in her review, they aren’t exactly tearing a hole in the metalverse with their lo-fi, quasi-industrial style of funerary music. The material on Praeparet Bellum was one-dimensional, plodding, and devoid of the necessary tricks and treats to keep such slogging doom interesting and, well, listenable. I hoped Diatriba Deorum would see the duo elevate their game, and in some ways, I suppose they have. But will it be enough to take them from deep, dark obscurity into the sunlight?

In a word, no. While Diatriba Deorum is a step up from last time and shows some improvement in pacing, atmosphere, and overall execution, this is still an inky grey slab of slow-motion doom without much in the way of engagement. Things do open quite strongly on “With God’s Love,” which is a slightly more aggressive creature for Rigor, rocking a pseudo-industrial, lo-fi hum that feels ominous and eerie. Subteranean vocals belch and burp over simple, plodding riffs and a programmed drum clicks and thumps in the background (I’ll refer to the drummer as “Clanger” henceforth). What helps is that the song is only 2 minutes, and if it was pushed much past that, things would go off the rails. “Death Cult” is a classic funeral-death-doom track with an unmistakably Sabbathian lead riff winding endlessly through a colorless glade of dead spruce as Clanger thrums along lifelessly and Joseph J. Fogarazzo roars quietly down somewhere in the mulch of the lo-fi mix. It’s got a certain dark, hypnotic mood that works well enough to let the 6-plus minutes slip by without testing your resolve too aggressively.

There are more tracks here, however, that are all too happy to test your resolve and attention. “I Am” is 8-plus minutes of ugly plodery with very little in the way of change-ups or tempo shifts. It’s an aural experience akin to being slowly chased down a long yellow corridor by Pirate Clark from Backrooms. It starts to feel overlong before the halfway point, and that’s a problem. By the end, even Clanger sounds tired and uninterested. “Commandment” is the album’s bright spot, with riffs evoking a strong Warning flavor as things stagger and shamble around the corpse yard unhurried. Closer “Actus Tragicus” also manages to rise slightly above the standard drudgery heard across Diatriba Deorum, offering enough melody to keep things mildly interesting over 9-plus minutes. The weird thing with Rigor’s music is that any song taken in isolation works as a standard funeral doom piece. It’s when the whole album bum-rushes you that you realize how one-note and monotonous their style and approach can be. At 44:36, Diatriba Deorum feels about a week longer, and it’s nearly impossible to focus intently throughout. That said, I’ve had it on in the background as I worked, and it was almost meditative and somewhat soothing. Go figure. The production is super raw, unprofessional, and soupy, but it does help convey a cold, soullessly industrialized aura. The guitars lack enough raw force to deliver meaningful impact, and the vocals feel like they were recorded under several layers of wet concrete. Other than that, good job!

Joseph J. Fogarazzo handles vocals and guitar. His death groans and grunts are appropriately wet, sticky, and hideous, booming away in the hidden caverns below like some eldritch abomination. His guitar work can best be described as minimalist and simplistic. He’s definitely an adherent to the less is MOAR school, offering rudimentary leads that barely change or morph over long run times. If he offered more (or some) decorative, forlorn harmonies over the leads, we would be getting somewhere, but he’s largely content to slowly riff away as time crawls and fingernails grow. Glenn Hampton’s bass work is there but does nothing to stand out. It’s like he doesn’t want to draw attention away from the threadbare riffs or inelegant drumbeats. Basically, there’s not a lot going on here, even for just two people and a machine.

Though better than Praeparet Bellum, Diatriba Deorum plays out like one long repetitive death march into nothingness. Aside from a few vague bright spots, this is a never-ending morass of bargain-basement funeral doom. I want to love it, but it refused to let me. Instead, I’ll use it as a relaxation tool when the need arises. Rigor Sardonicous are obscure as fook even in their own neighborhood, and now I know why.

Rating: 2.0/5.0
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Meuse Music
Websites: rigorsardonicous1.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/rigorsardonicous.official
Releases Worldwide: July 31st, 2026

Rigor Sardonicous is a two-man funeral doom project from my neck of the woods of Long Island, New York, featuring members of Teloch Vovin and Abhorrence. Despite their lurking in the scene since 1999, I didn’t hear of them until Thus Spoke reviewed their seventh album, 2023s Praeparet Bellum. How could a band like this exist right under my nose for so long without me catching a whiff? Well, as Thus summed up in her review, they aren’t exactly tearing a hole in the metalverse with their lo-fi, quasi-industrial style of funerary music. The material on Praeparet Bellum was one-dimensional, plodding, and devoid of the necessary tricks and treats to keep such slogging doom interesting and, well, listenable. I hoped Diatriba Deorum would see the duo elevate their game, and in some ways, I suppose they have. But will it be enough to take them from deep, dark obscurity into the sunlight?

In a word, no. While Diatriba Deorum is a step up from last time and shows some improvement in pacing, atmosphere, and overall execution, this is still an inky grey slab of slow-motion doom without much in the way of engagement. Things do open quite strongly on “With God’s Love,” which is a slightly more aggressive creature for Rigor, rocking a pseudo-industrial, lo-fi hum that feels ominous and eerie. Subteranean vocals belch and burp over simple, plodding riffs and a programmed drum clicks and thumps in the background (I’ll refer to the drummer as “Clanger” henceforth). What helps is that the song is only 2 minutes, and if it was pushed much past that, things would go off the rails. “Death Cult” is a classic funeral-death-doom track with an unmistakably Sabbathian lead riff winding endlessly through a colorless glade of dead spruce as Clanger thrums along lifelessly and Joseph J. Fogarazzo roars quietly down somewhere in the mulch of the lo-fi mix. It’s got a certain dark, hypnotic mood that works well enough to let the 6-plus minutes slip by without testing your resolve too aggressively.

There are more tracks here, however, that are all too happy to test your resolve and attention. “I Am” is 8-plus minutes of ugly plodery with very little in the way of change-ups or tempo shifts. It’s an aural experience akin to being slowly chased down a long yellow corridor by Pirate Clark from Backrooms. It starts to feel overlong before the halfway point, and that’s a problem. By the end, even Clanger sounds tired and uninterested. “Commandment” is the album’s bright spot, with riffs evoking a strong Warning flavor as things stagger and shamble around the corpse yard unhurried. Closer “Actus Tragicus” also manages to rise slightly above the standard drudgery heard across Diatriba Deorum, offering enough melody to keep things mildly interesting over 9-plus minutes. The weird thing with Rigor’s music is that any song taken in isolation works as a standard funeral doom piece. It’s when the whole album bum-rushes you that you realize how one-note and monotonous their style and approach can be. At 44:36, Diatriba Deorum feels about a week longer, and it’s nearly impossible to focus intently throughout. That said, I’ve had it on in the background as I worked, and it was almost meditative and somewhat soothing. Go figure. The production is super raw, unprofessional, and soupy, but it does help convey a cold, soullessly industrialized aura. The guitars lack enough raw force to deliver meaningful impact, and the vocals feel like they were recorded under several layers of wet concrete. Other than that, good job!

Joseph J. Fogarazzo handles vocals and guitar. His death groans and grunts are appropriately wet, sticky, and hideous, booming away in the hidden caverns below like some eldritch abomination. His guitar work can best be described as minimalist and simplistic. He’s definitely an adherent to the less is MOAR school, offering rudimentary leads that barely change or morph over long run times. If he offered more (or some) decorative, forlorn harmonies over the leads, we would be getting somewhere, but he’s largely content to slowly riff away as time crawls and fingernails grow. Glenn Hampton’s bass work is there but does nothing to stand out. It’s like he doesn’t want to draw attention away from the threadbare riffs or inelegant drumbeats. Basically, there’s not a lot going on here, even for just two people and a machine.

Though better than Praeparet Bellum, Diatriba Deorum plays out like one long repetitive death march into nothingness. Aside from a few vague bright spots, this is a never-ending morass of bargain-basement funeral doom. I want to love it, but it refused to let me. Instead, I’ll use it as a relaxation tool when the need arises. Rigor Sardonicous are obscure as fook even in their own neighborhood, and now I know why.

Rating: 2.0/5.0
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Meuse Music
Websites: rigorsardonicous1.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/rigorsardonicous.official
Releases Worldwide: July 31st, 2026

In his quest to write some unique doom metal, Jamie Kobić dug deep into his own Bosnian heritage to draw on the traditional folk music called Sevdah. This musical tradition, with its slower tempo and melancholic tone, fits in perfectly with doom. Often, songs contain lyrical content about love and longing. My own research into Sevdah, including watching performances on YouTube, suggests it’s a more vocal-centric style. However, it allows for a mix of instruments, and Kobić cites Sevdah’s “expressive chord progressions” as one of his desires to incorporate the style into his compositions. Having only a 2024 split with his other band, Gavran, to its credit, Kobić releases The Forever Silent as the debut album for his new vision for doom, Svjetlost. Does the mix of Sevdah with the heavy reverb of stoner doom succeed?

Opener “Above the Mountains” lays down the foundation with thick stoner riffs and a near-funeral pace, giving the impression this will be an epic á la Sleep’s Dopesmoker. Yet Svjetlost aren’t just stoner doom, also incorporating Neurosis-style flourishes including arpeggios and feedback to layer on the atmosphere. On rare occasions, Kobić jumps into the higher-energy stoner riffs of High on Fire (“Between the Peaks”), but for the most part this is a slow, mellow record. The stoner riffs don’t really sound all that distinct from those of your typical stoner metal outfits, but there’s a satisfaction in the contrast between the louder, reverb-laden portions and the gentler sections. “The Golden Lilies” illustrates this, with some melancholic melodies strummed softly for a few minutes before Svjetlost breaks into the fuzzier, heavier side in a satisfying transition.

Kobić’s mellow approach to the vocals often means they play second fiddle to the instruments, and often he’s so quiet that he’s barely distinguishable from background noises. His gentle voice fits the style well, and he hits melancholic notes that seem in line with the Sevdah tradition. His melodic lilt serves as the emotional core, especially during passages on “The Golden Lilies” and “Between the Peaks.” Other times his voice rises barely above a whisper, and others yet he takes on a hypnotic chanting cadence. “Between the Peaks” is the only time he swaps out the cleans for something harsher, the agonized shouts of someone who can no longer contain his sorrows. Kobić’s voice is distinctive, yet it’s hardly dominant. Lengthy passages go by without hearing him, and when we do, he’s often reluctant to cede ground to his instruments, instead becoming one with the music.

Svjetlost sometimes feels adrift without any sense of direction. Sure, the switches in direction, tone, and tempo help alleviate the song lengths—each ranging from 13 to 16 minutes—yet the problem is that passages ramble on far longer than necessary without much variation in riffs or progressions. Kobić does demonstrate the ability to write compelling passages of music. “Above the Mountain” starts off strong, while “The Golden Lilies” contains moments of poignancy, and “Between the Peaks” mixes things up with its energetic and fun start. Yet as good as some of these individual passages are, the problem is that the length of each song demands more compelling material in the moments between, and The Forever Silent doesn’t always deliver, often lingering on repetitive passages that feel like they last, well, forever. Even worse, Svjetlost includes occasional moments of a high-pitched, whiny screech of feedback to snap your wandering attention back to the music—only to make you want to turn it off.

While the mix of Sevdah and stoner doom isn’t bad by any stretch, it’s also not particularly distinctive. Perhaps you can hear it in the vocals or maybe in those oft-repeated chord progressions, but for those unaware of this influence, The Forever Silent doesn’t sound all that different from your usual sludge/stoner doom outfit. Yet there’s no denying Svjetlost effectively weave a gentle melancholy into the music, heard in Kobić’s plaintive singing, in the arpeggios and the soft tempo. There’s a pleasure to be had in spending time with The Forever Silent for those who enjoy mellower stoner doom. Spending 55 minutes with this behemoth may be a tougher sell for anyone else.

Rating: 2.5/5.0
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Shadow of Sorrow Records
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: July 24th 2026

In his quest to write some unique doom metal, Jamie Kobić dug deep into his own Bosnian heritage to draw on the traditional folk music called Sevdah. This musical tradition, with its slower tempo and melancholic tone, fits in perfectly with doom. Often, songs contain lyrical content about love and longing. My own research into Sevdah, including watching performances on YouTube, suggests it’s a more vocal-centric style. However, it allows for a mix of instruments, and Kobić cites Sevdah’s “expressive chord progressions” as one of his desires to incorporate the style into his compositions. Having only a 2024 split with his other band, Gavran, to its credit, Kobić releases The Forever Silent as the debut album for his new vision for doom, Svjetlost. Does the mix of Sevdah with the heavy reverb of stoner doom succeed?

Opener “Above the Mountains” lays down the foundation with thick stoner riffs and a near-funeral pace, giving the impression this will be an epic á la Sleep’s Dopesmoker. Yet Svjetlost aren’t just stoner doom, also incorporating Neurosis-style flourishes including arpeggios and feedback to layer on the atmosphere. On rare occasions, Kobić jumps into the higher-energy stoner riffs of High on Fire (“Between the Peaks”), but for the most part this is a slow, mellow record. The stoner riffs don’t really sound all that distinct from those of your typical stoner metal outfits, but there’s a satisfaction in the contrast between the louder, reverb-laden portions and the gentler sections. “The Golden Lilies” illustrates this, with some melancholic melodies strummed softly for a few minutes before Svjetlost breaks into the fuzzier, heavier side in a satisfying transition.

Kobić’s mellow approach to the vocals often means they play second fiddle to the instruments, and often he’s so quiet that he’s barely distinguishable from background noises. His gentle voice fits the style well, and he hits melancholic notes that seem in line with the Sevdah tradition. His melodic lilt serves as the emotional core, especially during passages on “The Golden Lilies” and “Between the Peaks.” Other times his voice rises barely above a whisper, and others yet he takes on a hypnotic chanting cadence. “Between the Peaks” is the only time he swaps out the cleans for something harsher, the agonized shouts of someone who can no longer contain his sorrows. Kobić’s voice is distinctive, yet it’s hardly dominant. Lengthy passages go by without hearing him, and when we do, he’s often reluctant to cede ground to his instruments, instead becoming one with the music.

Svjetlost sometimes feels adrift without any sense of direction. Sure, the switches in direction, tone, and tempo help alleviate the song lengths—each ranging from 13 to 16 minutes—yet the problem is that passages ramble on far longer than necessary without much variation in riffs or progressions. Kobić does demonstrate the ability to write compelling passages of music. “Above the Mountain” starts off strong, while “The Golden Lilies” contains moments of poignancy, and “Between the Peaks” mixes things up with its energetic and fun start. Yet as good as some of these individual passages are, the problem is that the length of each song demands more compelling material in the moments between, and The Forever Silent doesn’t always deliver, often lingering on repetitive passages that feel like they last, well, forever. Even worse, Svjetlost includes occasional moments of a high-pitched, whiny screech of feedback to snap your wandering attention back to the music—only to make you want to turn it off.

While the mix of Sevdah and stoner doom isn’t bad by any stretch, it’s also not particularly distinctive. Perhaps you can hear it in the vocals or maybe in those oft-repeated chord progressions, but for those unaware of this influence, The Forever Silent doesn’t sound all that different from your usual sludge/stoner doom outfit. Yet there’s no denying Svjetlost effectively weave a gentle melancholy into the music, heard in Kobić’s plaintive singing, in the arpeggios and the soft tempo. There’s a pleasure to be had in spending time with The Forever Silent for those who enjoy mellower stoner doom. Spending 55 minutes with this behemoth may be a tougher sell for anyone else.

Rating: 2.5/5.0
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Shadow of Sorrow Records
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: July 24th 2026

In his quest to write some unique doom metal, Jamie Kobić dug deep into his own Bosnian heritage to draw on the traditional folk music called Sevdah. This musical tradition, with its slower tempo and melancholic tone, fits in perfectly with doom. Often, songs contain lyrical content about love and longing. My own research into Sevdah, including watching performances on YouTube, suggests it’s a more vocal-centric style. However, it allows for a mix of instruments, and Kobić cites Sevdah’s “expressive chord progressions” as one of his desires to incorporate the style into his compositions. Having only a 2024 split with his other band, Gavran, to its credit, Kobić releases The Forever Silent as the debut album for his new vision for doom, Svjetlost. Does the mix of Sevdah with the heavy reverb of stoner doom succeed?

Opener “Above the Mountains” lays down the foundation with thick stoner riffs and a near-funeral pace, giving the impression this will be an epic á la Sleep’s Dopesmoker. Yet Svjetlost aren’t just stoner doom, also incorporating Neurosis-style flourishes including arpeggios and feedback to layer on the atmosphere. On rare occasions, Kobić jumps into the higher-energy stoner riffs of High on Fire (“Between the Peaks”), but for the most part this is a slow, mellow record. The stoner riffs don’t really sound all that distinct from those of your typical stoner metal outfits, but there’s a satisfaction in the contrast between the louder, reverb-laden portions and the gentler sections. “The Golden Lilies” illustrates this, with some melancholic melodies strummed softly for a few minutes before Svjetlost breaks into the fuzzier, heavier side in a satisfying transition.

Kobić’s mellow approach to the vocals often means they play second fiddle to the instruments, and often he’s so quiet that he’s barely distinguishable from background noises. His gentle voice fits the style well, and he hits melancholic notes that seem in line with the Sevdah tradition. His melodic lilt serves as the emotional core, especially during passages on “The Golden Lilies” and “Between the Peaks.” Other times his voice rises barely above a whisper, and others yet he takes on a hypnotic chanting cadence. “Between the Peaks” is the only time he swaps out the cleans for something harsher, the agonized shouts of someone who can no longer contain his sorrows. Kobić’s voice is distinctive, yet it’s hardly dominant. Lengthy passages go by without hearing him, and when we do, he’s often reluctant to cede ground to his instruments, instead becoming one with the music.

Svjetlost sometimes feels adrift without any sense of direction. Sure, the switches in direction, tone, and tempo help alleviate the song lengths—each ranging from 13 to 16 minutes—yet the problem is that passages ramble on far longer than necessary without much variation in riffs or progressions. Kobić does demonstrate the ability to write compelling passages of music. “Above the Mountain” starts off strong, while “The Golden Lilies” contains moments of poignancy, and “Between the Peaks” mixes things up with its energetic and fun start. Yet as good as some of these individual passages are, the problem is that the length of each song demands more compelling material in the moments between, and The Forever Silent doesn’t always deliver, often lingering on repetitive passages that feel like they last, well, forever. Even worse, Svjetlost includes occasional moments of a high-pitched, whiny screech of feedback to snap your wandering attention back to the music—only to make you want to turn it off.

While the mix of Sevdah and stoner doom isn’t bad by any stretch, it’s also not particularly distinctive. Perhaps you can hear it in the vocals or maybe in those oft-repeated chord progressions, but for those unaware of this influence, The Forever Silent doesn’t sound all that different from your usual sludge/stoner doom outfit. Yet there’s no denying Svjetlost effectively weave a gentle melancholy into the music, heard in Kobić’s plaintive singing, in the arpeggios and the soft tempo. There’s a pleasure to be had in spending time with The Forever Silent for those who enjoy mellower stoner doom. Spending 55 minutes with this behemoth may be a tougher sell for anyone else.

Rating: 2.5/5.0
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Shadow of Sorrow Records
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: July 24th 2026

In his quest to write some unique doom metal, Jamie Kobić dug deep into his own Bosnian heritage to draw on the traditional folk music called Sevdah. This musical tradition, with its slower tempo and melancholic tone, fits in perfectly with doom. Often, songs contain lyrical content about love and longing. My own research into Sevdah, including watching performances on YouTube, suggests it’s a more vocal-centric style. However, it allows for a mix of instruments, and Kobić cites Sevdah’s “expressive chord progressions” as one of his desires to incorporate the style into his compositions. Having only a 2024 split with his other band, Gavran, to its credit, Kobić releases The Forever Silent as the debut album for his new vision for doom, Svjetlost. Does the mix of Sevdah with the heavy reverb of stoner doom succeed?

Opener “Above the Mountains” lays down the foundation with thick stoner riffs and a near-funeral pace, giving the impression this will be an epic á la Sleep’s Dopesmoker. Yet Svjetlost aren’t just stoner doom, also incorporating Neurosis-style flourishes including arpeggios and feedback to layer on the atmosphere. On rare occasions, Kobić jumps into the higher-energy stoner riffs of High on Fire (“Between the Peaks”), but for the most part this is a slow, mellow record. The stoner riffs don’t really sound all that distinct from those of your typical stoner metal outfits, but there’s a satisfaction in the contrast between the louder, reverb-laden portions and the gentler sections. “The Golden Lilies” illustrates this, with some melancholic melodies strummed softly for a few minutes before Svjetlost breaks into the fuzzier, heavier side in a satisfying transition.

Kobić’s mellow approach to the vocals often means they play second fiddle to the instruments, and often he’s so quiet that he’s barely distinguishable from background noises. His gentle voice fits the style well, and he hits melancholic notes that seem in line with the Sevdah tradition. His melodic lilt serves as the emotional core, especially during passages on “The Golden Lilies” and “Between the Peaks.” Other times his voice rises barely above a whisper, and others yet he takes on a hypnotic chanting cadence. “Between the Peaks” is the only time he swaps out the cleans for something harsher, the agonized shouts of someone who can no longer contain his sorrows. Kobić’s voice is distinctive, yet it’s hardly dominant. Lengthy passages go by without hearing him, and when we do, he’s often reluctant to cede ground to his instruments, instead becoming one with the music.

Svjetlost sometimes feels adrift without any sense of direction. Sure, the switches in direction, tone, and tempo help alleviate the song lengths—each ranging from 13 to 16 minutes—yet the problem is that passages ramble on far longer than necessary without much variation in riffs or progressions. Kobić does demonstrate the ability to write compelling passages of music. “Above the Mountain” starts off strong, while “The Golden Lilies” contains moments of poignancy, and “Between the Peaks” mixes things up with its energetic and fun start. Yet as good as some of these individual passages are, the problem is that the length of each song demands more compelling material in the moments between, and The Forever Silent doesn’t always deliver, often lingering on repetitive passages that feel like they last, well, forever. Even worse, Svjetlost includes occasional moments of a high-pitched, whiny screech of feedback to snap your wandering attention back to the music—only to make you want to turn it off.

While the mix of Sevdah and stoner doom isn’t bad by any stretch, it’s also not particularly distinctive. Perhaps you can hear it in the vocals or maybe in those oft-repeated chord progressions, but for those unaware of this influence, The Forever Silent doesn’t sound all that different from your usual sludge/stoner doom outfit. Yet there’s no denying Svjetlost effectively weave a gentle melancholy into the music, heard in Kobić’s plaintive singing, in the arpeggios and the soft tempo. There’s a pleasure to be had in spending time with The Forever Silent for those who enjoy mellower stoner doom. Spending 55 minutes with this behemoth may be a tougher sell for anyone else.

Rating: 2.5/5.0
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Shadow of Sorrow Records
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: July 24th 2026

In his quest to write some unique doom metal, Jamie Kobić dug deep into his own Bosnian heritage to draw on the traditional folk music called Sevdah. This musical tradition, with its slower tempo and melancholic tone, fits in perfectly with doom. Often, songs contain lyrical content about love and longing. My own research into Sevdah, including watching performances on YouTube, suggests it’s a more vocal-centric style. However, it allows for a mix of instruments, and Kobić cites Sevdah’s “expressive chord progressions” as one of his desires to incorporate the style into his compositions. Having only a 2024 split with his other band, Gavran, to its credit, Kobić releases The Forever Silent as the debut album for his new vision for doom, Svjetlost. Does the mix of Sevdah with the heavy reverb of stoner doom succeed?

Opener “Above the Mountains” lays down the foundation with thick stoner riffs and a near-funeral pace, giving the impression this will be an epic á la Sleep’s Dopesmoker. Yet Svjetlost aren’t just stoner doom, also incorporating Neurosis-style flourishes including arpeggios and feedback to layer on the atmosphere. On rare occasions, Kobić jumps into the higher-energy stoner riffs of High on Fire (“Between the Peaks”), but for the most part this is a slow, mellow record. The stoner riffs don’t really sound all that distinct from those of your typical stoner metal outfits, but there’s a satisfaction in the contrast between the louder, reverb-laden portions and the gentler sections. “The Golden Lilies” illustrates this, with some melancholic melodies strummed softly for a few minutes before Svjetlost breaks into the fuzzier, heavier side in a satisfying transition.

Kobić’s mellow approach to the vocals often means they play second fiddle to the instruments, and often he’s so quiet that he’s barely distinguishable from background noises. His gentle voice fits the style well, and he hits melancholic notes that seem in line with the Sevdah tradition. His melodic lilt serves as the emotional core, especially during passages on “The Golden Lilies” and “Between the Peaks.” Other times his voice rises barely above a whisper, and others yet he takes on a hypnotic chanting cadence. “Between the Peaks” is the only time he swaps out the cleans for something harsher, the agonized shouts of someone who can no longer contain his sorrows. Kobić’s voice is distinctive, yet it’s hardly dominant. Lengthy passages go by without hearing him, and when we do, he’s often reluctant to cede ground to his instruments, instead becoming one with the music.

Svjetlost sometimes feels adrift without any sense of direction. Sure, the switches in direction, tone, and tempo help alleviate the song lengths—each ranging from 13 to 16 minutes—yet the problem is that passages ramble on far longer than necessary without much variation in riffs or progressions. Kobić does demonstrate the ability to write compelling passages of music. “Above the Mountain” starts off strong, while “The Golden Lilies” contains moments of poignancy, and “Between the Peaks” mixes things up with its energetic and fun start. Yet as good as some of these individual passages are, the problem is that the length of each song demands more compelling material in the moments between, and The Forever Silent doesn’t always deliver, often lingering on repetitive passages that feel like they last, well, forever. Even worse, Svjetlost includes occasional moments of a high-pitched, whiny screech of feedback to snap your wandering attention back to the music—only to make you want to turn it off.

While the mix of Sevdah and stoner doom isn’t bad by any stretch, it’s also not particularly distinctive. Perhaps you can hear it in the vocals or maybe in those oft-repeated chord progressions, but for those unaware of this influence, The Forever Silent doesn’t sound all that different from your usual sludge/stoner doom outfit. Yet there’s no denying Svjetlost effectively weave a gentle melancholy into the music, heard in Kobić’s plaintive singing, in the arpeggios and the soft tempo. There’s a pleasure to be had in spending time with The Forever Silent for those who enjoy mellower stoner doom. Spending 55 minutes with this behemoth may be a tougher sell for anyone else.

Rating: 2.5/5.0
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Shadow of Sorrow Records
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: July 24th 2026

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Do I like metalcore? I’ve always struggled a bit with this question. That’s a terrible way to start a review of any variety, but it’s a question I’ve kept coming back to since discovering Tyraels Ascension, a metalcore group from the United States, and their sophomore full-length, Grave Seeker. Metalcore has so much energy to it, all mixed up with frustration, anger, sadness, joy—on paper, very much my cup of tea. So every once in a while, I’m happy to sit down, grab whatever -core the cool kids are talking about these days, and see what happens. Grave Seeker has all of the above qualities and more, so what happens when we put it all together?

Liveliness is what happens—you get a lively record. Grave Seeker shows Tyraels Ascension at excitable peaks, with bombastic energy flying at your face from minute one. “No End in Sight” gives you a good idea of what to expect quickly, with duelling guitars, raspy shouts backed with growls, and a ton of excess energy. “The Summoning” shows Tyraels Ascension riffing with sleekness in their souls, while “Darkened Soul” shows off a burlier, more in-your-face side to the band. Occasionally some clean singing pokes through (“No End in Sight,” “The Summoning”) and there’s the odd piano (“Tears,” “Bittersweet”), but for the most part the songs are brief (3-5 minutes), guitar-driven, riff-tastic constructions.

That’s the primary strength of Grave Seeker, really: guitarists Sean Searls and Kevin McNeil, supported by Adam Bodkin’s bass, are mighty forces for Tyraels Ascension. Their mournful leads make “Bittersweet” a song that lives up to its title and “Impossible Decisions” an adventure. By contrast, vocalist Alex Theesen has a tougher challenge; his style of rasping shouts confine him to a certain range of emotive performance that the duelling guitars help round out. In the aforementioned “Impossible Decisions,” for example, the guitars get the song off to a roaring start, fast-paced and very strong. Drummer Brandon Dorman sets a great pace, and everyone’s keeping up. When the chorus hits, Theesen shouts with all he’s got, but it feels like he wants to hit a more melodic feel than his style allows for. The guitars adopt a more mellow, melodeath-esque melody that gives the moment the added weight and catharsis to make it all work.

What’s interesting about Tyraels Ascension is that they feel, at times, like they’re reaching across that blurry line that separates metalcore and melodeath. Theesen’s style is unmistakably -core, and the vocals all but cement the subgenre by themselves. But take the vocals away—as happens in the comparatively epic “Tyraels Curse”1—and the feel changes completely. Similarly, Grave Seeker features a handful of quiet, more emotional moments that Theesen’s approach is just too burly for (the interlude in “No End in Sight” is a perfect example; he can only really narrate-sing-growl these moments and it just doesn’t work, despite the beautiful guitar lead). This friction between multidimensional instrumentals that breathe ranges of emotion and a vocalist whose primary focus is power holds Grave Seeker back—though which way is preferable will, of course, be up to the individual listener.

Grave Seeker is an adventurous album with some really good songs, a host of impressive guitar work, and a recognizable concept that I’ve come to really enjoy. With that said, I do have some mixed feelings about the full fifty-three-minute experience. For my part, it sounds like Tyraels Ascension are still working towards exactly what their sound is. But Grave Seeker is confident, fun, and enjoyable enough that I’m looking forward to seeing what they’ll come up with next.

Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: 5 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3
Label: Rotweiller Records
Websites: tyraelsascension.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/TyraelsAscension
Releases Worldwide: July 24th, 2026

Do I like metalcore? I’ve always struggled a bit with this question. That’s a terrible way to start a review of any variety, but it’s a question I’ve kept coming back to since discovering Tyraels Ascension, a metalcore group from the United States, and their sophomore full-length, Grave Seeker. Metalcore has so much energy to it, all mixed up with frustration, anger, sadness, joy—on paper, very much my cup of tea. So every once in a while, I’m happy to sit down, grab whatever -core the cool kids are talking about these days, and see what happens. Grave Seeker has all of the above qualities and more, so what happens when we put it all together?

Liveliness is what happens—you get a lively record. Grave Seeker shows Tyraels Ascension at excitable peaks, with bombastic energy flying at your face from minute one. “No End in Sight” gives you a good idea of what to expect quickly, with duelling guitars, raspy shouts backed with growls, and a ton of excess energy. “The Summoning” shows Tyraels Ascension riffing with sleekness in their souls, while “Darkened Soul” shows off a burlier, more in-your-face side to the band. Occasionally some clean singing pokes through (“No End in Sight,” “The Summoning”) and there’s the odd piano (“Tears,” “Bittersweet”), but for the most part the songs are brief (3-5 minutes), guitar-driven, riff-tastic constructions.

That’s the primary strength of Grave Seeker, really: guitarists Sean Searls and Kevin McNeil, supported by Adam Bodkin’s bass, are mighty forces for Tyraels Ascension. Their mournful leads make “Bittersweet” a song that lives up to its title and “Impossible Decisions” an adventure. By contrast, vocalist Alex Theesen has a tougher challenge; his style of rasping shouts confine him to a certain range of emotive performance that the duelling guitars help round out. In the aforementioned “Impossible Decisions,” for example, the guitars get the song off to a roaring start, fast-paced and very strong. Drummer Brandon Dorman sets a great pace, and everyone’s keeping up. When the chorus hits, Theesen shouts with all he’s got, but it feels like he wants to hit a more melodic feel than his style allows for. The guitars adopt a more mellow, melodeath-esque melody that gives the moment the added weight and catharsis to make it all work.

What’s interesting about Tyraels Ascension is that they feel, at times, like they’re reaching across that blurry line that separates metalcore and melodeath. Theesen’s style is unmistakably -core, and the vocals all but cement the subgenre by themselves. But take the vocals away—as happens in the comparatively epic “Tyraels Curse”1—and the feel changes completely. Similarly, Grave Seeker features a handful of quiet, more emotional moments that Theesen’s approach is just too burly for (the interlude in “No End in Sight” is a perfect example; he can only really narrate-sing-growl these moments and it just doesn’t work, despite the beautiful guitar lead). This friction between multidimensional instrumentals that breathe ranges of emotion and a vocalist whose primary focus is power holds Grave Seeker back—though which way is preferable will, of course, be up to the individual listener.

Grave Seeker is an adventurous album with some really good songs, a host of impressive guitar work, and a recognizable concept that I’ve come to really enjoy. With that said, I do have some mixed feelings about the full fifty-three-minute experience. For my part, it sounds like Tyraels Ascension are still working towards exactly what their sound is. But Grave Seeker is confident, fun, and enjoyable enough that I’m looking forward to seeing what they’ll come up with next.

Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: 5 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3
Label: Rotweiller Records
Websites: tyraelsascension.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/TyraelsAscension
Releases Worldwide: July 24th, 2026

Do I like metalcore? I’ve always struggled a bit with this question. That’s a terrible way to start a review of any variety, but it’s a question I’ve kept coming back to since discovering Tyraels Ascension, a metalcore group from the United States, and their sophomore full-length, Grave Seeker. Metalcore has so much energy to it, all mixed up with frustration, anger, sadness, joy—on paper, very much my cup of tea. So every once in a while, I’m happy to sit down, grab whatever -core the cool kids are talking about these days, and see what happens. Grave Seeker has all of the above qualities and more, so what happens when we put it all together?

Liveliness is what happens—you get a lively record. Grave Seeker shows Tyraels Ascension at excitable peaks, with bombastic energy flying at your face from minute one. “No End in Sight” gives you a good idea of what to expect quickly, with duelling guitars, raspy shouts backed with growls, and a ton of excess energy. “The Summoning” shows Tyraels Ascension riffing with sleekness in their souls, while “Darkened Soul” shows off a burlier, more in-your-face side to the band. Occasionally some clean singing pokes through (“No End in Sight,” “The Summoning”) and there’s the odd piano (“Tears,” “Bittersweet”), but for the most part the songs are brief (3-5 minutes), guitar-driven, riff-tastic constructions.

That’s the primary strength of Grave Seeker, really: guitarists Sean Searls and Kevin McNeil, supported by Adam Bodkin’s bass, are mighty forces for Tyraels Ascension. Their mournful leads make “Bittersweet” a song that lives up to its title and “Impossible Decisions” an adventure. By contrast, vocalist Alex Theesen has a tougher challenge; his style of rasping shouts confine him to a certain range of emotive performance that the duelling guitars help round out. In the aforementioned “Impossible Decisions,” for example, the guitars get the song off to a roaring start, fast-paced and very strong. Drummer Brandon Dorman sets a great pace, and everyone’s keeping up. When the chorus hits, Theesen shouts with all he’s got, but it feels like he wants to hit a more melodic feel than his style allows for. The guitars adopt a more mellow, melodeath-esque melody that gives the moment the added weight and catharsis to make it all work.

What’s interesting about Tyraels Ascension is that they feel, at times, like they’re reaching across that blurry line that separates metalcore and melodeath. Theesen’s style is unmistakably -core, and the vocals all but cement the subgenre by themselves. But take the vocals away—as happens in the comparatively epic “Tyraels Curse”1—and the feel changes completely. Similarly, Grave Seeker features a handful of quiet, more emotional moments that Theesen’s approach is just too burly for (the interlude in “No End in Sight” is a perfect example; he can only really narrate-sing-growl these moments and it just doesn’t work, despite the beautiful guitar lead). This friction between multidimensional instrumentals that breathe ranges of emotion and a vocalist whose primary focus is power holds Grave Seeker back—though which way is preferable will, of course, be up to the individual listener.

Grave Seeker is an adventurous album with some really good songs, a host of impressive guitar work, and a recognizable concept that I’ve come to really enjoy. With that said, I do have some mixed feelings about the full fifty-three-minute experience. For my part, it sounds like Tyraels Ascension are still working towards exactly what their sound is. But Grave Seeker is confident, fun, and enjoyable enough that I’m looking forward to seeing what they’ll come up with next.

Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: 5 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3
Label: Rotweiller Records
Websites: tyraelsascension.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/TyraelsAscension
Releases Worldwide: July 24th, 2026

Do I like metalcore? I’ve always struggled a bit with this question. That’s a terrible way to start a review of any variety, but it’s a question I’ve kept coming back to since discovering Tyraels Ascension, a metalcore group from the United States, and their sophomore full-length, Grave Seeker. Metalcore has so much energy to it, all mixed up with frustration, anger, sadness, joy—on paper, very much my cup of tea. So every once in a while, I’m happy to sit down, grab whatever -core the cool kids are talking about these days, and see what happens. Grave Seeker has all of the above qualities and more, so what happens when we put it all together?

Liveliness is what happens—you get a lively record. Grave Seeker shows Tyraels Ascension at excitable peaks, with bombastic energy flying at your face from minute one. “No End in Sight” gives you a good idea of what to expect quickly, with duelling guitars, raspy shouts backed with growls, and a ton of excess energy. “The Summoning” shows Tyraels Ascension riffing with sleekness in their souls, while “Darkened Soul” shows off a burlier, more in-your-face side to the band. Occasionally some clean singing pokes through (“No End in Sight,” “The Summoning”) and there’s the odd piano (“Tears,” “Bittersweet”), but for the most part the songs are brief (3-5 minutes), guitar-driven, riff-tastic constructions.

That’s the primary strength of Grave Seeker, really: guitarists Sean Searls and Kevin McNeil, supported by Adam Bodkin’s bass, are mighty forces for Tyraels Ascension. Their mournful leads make “Bittersweet” a song that lives up to its title and “Impossible Decisions” an adventure. By contrast, vocalist Alex Theesen has a tougher challenge; his style of rasping shouts confine him to a certain range of emotive performance that the duelling guitars help round out. In the aforementioned “Impossible Decisions,” for example, the guitars get the song off to a roaring start, fast-paced and very strong. Drummer Brandon Dorman sets a great pace, and everyone’s keeping up. When the chorus hits, Theesen shouts with all he’s got, but it feels like he wants to hit a more melodic feel than his style allows for. The guitars adopt a more mellow, melodeath-esque melody that gives the moment the added weight and catharsis to make it all work.

What’s interesting about Tyraels Ascension is that they feel, at times, like they’re reaching across that blurry line that separates metalcore and melodeath. Theesen’s style is unmistakably -core, and the vocals all but cement the subgenre by themselves. But take the vocals away—as happens in the comparatively epic “Tyraels Curse”1—and the feel changes completely. Similarly, Grave Seeker features a handful of quiet, more emotional moments that Theesen’s approach is just too burly for (the interlude in “No End in Sight” is a perfect example; he can only really narrate-sing-growl these moments and it just doesn’t work, despite the beautiful guitar lead). This friction between multidimensional instrumentals that breathe ranges of emotion and a vocalist whose primary focus is power holds Grave Seeker back—though which way is preferable will, of course, be up to the individual listener.

Grave Seeker is an adventurous album with some really good songs, a host of impressive guitar work, and a recognizable concept that I’ve come to really enjoy. With that said, I do have some mixed feelings about the full fifty-three-minute experience. For my part, it sounds like Tyraels Ascension are still working towards exactly what their sound is. But Grave Seeker is confident, fun, and enjoyable enough that I’m looking forward to seeing what they’ll come up with next.

Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: 5 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3
Label: Rotweiller Records
Websites: tyraelsascension.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/TyraelsAscension
Releases Worldwide: July 24th, 2026

Do I like metalcore? I’ve always struggled a bit with this question. That’s a terrible way to start a review of any variety, but it’s a question I’ve kept coming back to since discovering Tyraels Ascension, a metalcore group from the United States, and their sophomore full-length, Grave Seeker. Metalcore has so much energy to it, all mixed up with frustration, anger, sadness, joy—on paper, very much my cup of tea. So every once in a while, I’m happy to sit down, grab whatever -core the cool kids are talking about these days, and see what happens. Grave Seeker has all of the above qualities and more, so what happens when we put it all together?

Liveliness is what happens—you get a lively record. Grave Seeker shows Tyraels Ascension at excitable peaks, with bombastic energy flying at your face from minute one. “No End in Sight” gives you a good idea of what to expect quickly, with duelling guitars, raspy shouts backed with growls, and a ton of excess energy. “The Summoning” shows Tyraels Ascension riffing with sleekness in their souls, while “Darkened Soul” shows off a burlier, more in-your-face side to the band. Occasionally some clean singing pokes through (“No End in Sight,” “The Summoning”) and there’s the odd piano (“Tears,” “Bittersweet”), but for the most part the songs are brief (3-5 minutes), guitar-driven, riff-tastic constructions.

That’s the primary strength of Grave Seeker, really: guitarists Sean Searls and Kevin McNeil, supported by Adam Bodkin’s bass, are mighty forces for Tyraels Ascension. Their mournful leads make “Bittersweet” a song that lives up to its title and “Impossible Decisions” an adventure. By contrast, vocalist Alex Theesen has a tougher challenge; his style of rasping shouts confine him to a certain range of emotive performance that the duelling guitars help round out. In the aforementioned “Impossible Decisions,” for example, the guitars get the song off to a roaring start, fast-paced and very strong. Drummer Brandon Dorman sets a great pace, and everyone’s keeping up. When the chorus hits, Theesen shouts with all he’s got, but it feels like he wants to hit a more melodic feel than his style allows for. The guitars adopt a more mellow, melodeath-esque melody that gives the moment the added weight and catharsis to make it all work.

What’s interesting about Tyraels Ascension is that they feel, at times, like they’re reaching across that blurry line that separates metalcore and melodeath. Theesen’s style is unmistakably -core, and the vocals all but cement the subgenre by themselves. But take the vocals away—as happens in the comparatively epic “Tyraels Curse”1—and the feel changes completely. Similarly, Grave Seeker features a handful of quiet, more emotional moments that Theesen’s approach is just too burly for (the interlude in “No End in Sight” is a perfect example; he can only really narrate-sing-growl these moments and it just doesn’t work, despite the beautiful guitar lead). This friction between multidimensional instrumentals that breathe ranges of emotion and a vocalist whose primary focus is power holds Grave Seeker back—though which way is preferable will, of course, be up to the individual listener.

Grave Seeker is an adventurous album with some really good songs, a host of impressive guitar work, and a recognizable concept that I’ve come to really enjoy. With that said, I do have some mixed feelings about the full fifty-three-minute experience. For my part, it sounds like Tyraels Ascension are still working towards exactly what their sound is. But Grave Seeker is confident, fun, and enjoyable enough that I’m looking forward to seeing what they’ll come up with next.

Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: 5 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3
Label: Rotweiller Records
Websites: tyraelsascension.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/TyraelsAscension
Releases Worldwide: July 24th, 2026

Erftradweg Horrem bis Bedburg: Pegelstände, Messstellen & Erftverband

Radtour von Horrem nach Bedburg am Erftradweg. Wie erkennt man Pegelmessstellen vor Ort und wie steht es um die Erft in Glesch und Bergheim nach der Trockenheit?

Pegelstationen erkennen & verstehen! 📊 🚲 Heute im Blog: Erftradweg-Tour & Messwert-Recherche.
#warumichradfahre #lifestyle65 #jul26 #warumichradfahreblog #HeimatEntdecker

Erftradweg Horrem bis Bedburg: Pegelstände, Messstellen & Erftverband

Radtour von Horrem nach Bedburg am Erftradweg. Wie erkennt man Pegelmessstellen vor Ort und wie steht es um die Erft in Glesch und Bergheim nach der Trockenheit?

Pegelstationen erkennen & verstehen! 📊 🚲 Heute im Blog: Erftradweg-Tour & Messwert-Recherche.
#warumichradfahre #lifestyle65 #jul26 #warumichradfahreblog #HeimatEntdecker

After weeks of hacking through uncharted wilderness, you break through the brush and into a large clearing. Ruins of long-abandoned homes and shops line the main drag. You walk down what was once a bustling Main Street, which eventually leads to a large and overgrown village green. In the center stands a modest and surprisingly intact…church? Sepulcher? Town hall? You’re unsure, but at least you know you didn’t pay for a wild goose chase. A suspiciously knowledgeable drunk in a nameless bar told you about a building in a long-forgotten town in what would—in a different universe—become Warsaw, Poland. Built by the trio Torpor, the halls beneath this temple promise mystery, danger, ancient power, and above all, treasure. So, intrepid adventurer, do you have what it takes to brave this Đungeon Đescent?

As you cross the threshold and make your “Entrance,” the atmosphere is transient and expeditious, the lilting melody worthy of adventure. It’s not long before you find the hidden staircase and descend, “Trespassing the Sanctuary” proper. Initial impressions of Mike Magister IV’s lo-fi tremolos and Bloodhammer’s blast beats would indicate a largely blackened structure, but Torpor is not so one-note. Franciszek Archont’s clear and clean pipes echo along the walls and reveal Đungeon Đescent to truly be trad/heavy metal by way of Bathory. Even as you square off with an “Armoured Skeleton,” you can’t help but appreciate how the punky tilt of its percussive attacks matches flawlessly with its searing axe work. Wandering through these underground halls, the seamless mix of early black metal’s intensity and grit with sword and sorcery atmosphere makes this a unique yet familiar Đungeon Đescent.

On, the dungeon descends. Like a bard or a storyteller in a tavern, Archont narrates your journey, evoking Blind Guardian’s iconic Hansi Kürsch. He shies from naught, even as the “Đungeon Đwellers” squeal their alarm on ancient, echoing strings and begin to hunt you down, the first trespasser they’ve known in ages. Harried further into the tunnels, you eventually lose your pursuers, marked by the slick bass solo rumbling and bouncing further into the distance. In the chase, though, you’ve lost your way! Wandering aimlessly, your hopes rise as you enter a chamber whose blast beats and acoustic flourishes recall the “…Sanctuary” above. Alas, the exit this is not! A monstrous creature stands at the far end of the chamber, manning a terrifying, nigh mythical machine: the “Polybolos.”1 Steel-tipped bolts fly toward you with a triumphant, glorious rhythm, echoing the machine’s name as they miss and clang on the wall behind you.

After all the dangers you’ve faced on this Đungeon Đescent, the “Polybolos” was the breaking point, and you’ve never wanted to “Return to the Surface” more. The walls listen maliciously as your panic skyrockets with Bloodhammer’s methodically increasing tempo. In this mad dash for safety, a moment of clarity stops you dead in your tracks. You will never leave this place. You will die here. With this realization, Magister IV’s acoustic musings transform into a frantic and gritty solo, his strings’ screams matching your own. As you tire and accept this death sentence, you decide it will be far better to pass away in a daydream than to remain rooted in this hell of Torpor’s creation. And so, you drift off. Lo-fi scalar riffs and medieval strings color the scenes of your memories. One “Scythian Chase” among many, you lead hordes of horse like thunderous double bass down the planes to torture and scalp your enemies for the queen. Here at the end, as you remember with advantage what feats you did that day, a thrumming bassline and nostalgically raw solo gently shepherd you into the great silence.

Not every D&D session ends happily, but as your DM rips up your character sheet, you realize Torpor’s Đungeon Đescent was a hell of a ride. It’s fairly short, clocking in at 32 minutes, but that half hour is filled to the brim with athletic and acrobatic songcraft. The mix, which is spacious and gritty, only amplifies the impressive performances across the board—especially Archont, whose vocals are undeniably the star of the show. A unique reconstruction of known touchpoints, Torpor’s debut is accessible, nostalgic, and instantly enjoyable. Your character may not have found the treasure, but in checking out Đungeon Đescent in the first place, you sure did.

Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: 10 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Dying Victims Productions
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: July 24th, 2026

After weeks of hacking through uncharted wilderness, you break through the brush and into a large clearing. Ruins of long-abandoned homes and shops line the main drag. You walk down what was once a bustling Main Street, which eventually leads to a large and overgrown village green. In the center stands a modest and surprisingly intact…church? Sepulcher? Town hall? You’re unsure, but at least you know you didn’t pay for a wild goose chase. A suspiciously knowledgeable drunk in a nameless bar told you about a building in a long-forgotten town in what would—in a different universe—become Warsaw, Poland. Built by the trio Torpor, the halls beneath this temple promise mystery, danger, ancient power, and above all, treasure. So, intrepid adventurer, do you have what it takes to brave this Đungeon Đescent?

As you cross the threshold and make your “Entrance,” the atmosphere is transient and expeditious, the lilting melody worthy of adventure. It’s not long before you find the hidden staircase and descend, “Trespassing the Sanctuary” proper. Initial impressions of Mike Magister IV’s lo-fi tremolos and Bloodhammer’s blast beats would indicate a largely blackened structure, but Torpor is not so one-note. Franciszek Archont’s clear and clean pipes echo along the walls and reveal Đungeon Đescent to truly be trad/heavy metal by way of Bathory. Even as you square off with an “Armoured Skeleton,” you can’t help but appreciate how the punky tilt of its percussive attacks matches flawlessly with its searing axe work. Wandering through these underground halls, the seamless mix of early black metal’s intensity and grit with sword and sorcery atmosphere makes this a unique yet familiar Đungeon Đescent.

On, the dungeon descends. Like a bard or a storyteller in a tavern, Archont narrates your journey, evoking Blind Guardian’s iconic Hansi Kürsch. He shies from naught, even as the “Đungeon Đwellers” squeal their alarm on ancient, echoing strings and begin to hunt you down, the first trespasser they’ve known in ages. Harried further into the tunnels, you eventually lose your pursuers, marked by the slick bass solo rumbling and bouncing further into the distance. In the chase, though, you’ve lost your way! Wandering aimlessly, your hopes rise as you enter a chamber whose blast beats and acoustic flourishes recall the “…Sanctuary” above. Alas, the exit this is not! A monstrous creature stands at the far end of the chamber, manning a terrifying, nigh mythical machine: the “Polybolos.”1 Steel-tipped bolts fly toward you with a triumphant, glorious rhythm, echoing the machine’s name as they miss and clang on the wall behind you.

After all the dangers you’ve faced on this Đungeon Đescent, the “Polybolos” was the breaking point, and you’ve never wanted to “Return to the Surface” more. The walls listen maliciously as your panic skyrockets with Bloodhammer’s methodically increasing tempo. In this mad dash for safety, a moment of clarity stops you dead in your tracks. You will never leave this place. You will die here. With this realization, Magister IV’s acoustic musings transform into a frantic and gritty solo, his strings’ screams matching your own. As you tire and accept this death sentence, you decide it will be far better to pass away in a daydream than to remain rooted in this hell of Torpor’s creation. And so, you drift off. Lo-fi scalar riffs and medieval strings color the scenes of your memories. One “Scythian Chase” among many, you lead hordes of horse like thunderous double bass down the planes to torture and scalp your enemies for the queen. Here at the end, as you remember with advantage what feats you did that day, a thrumming bassline and nostalgically raw solo gently shepherd you into the great silence.

Not every D&D session ends happily, but as your DM rips up your character sheet, you realize Torpor’s Đungeon Đescent was a hell of a ride. It’s fairly short, clocking in at 32 minutes, but that half hour is filled to the brim with athletic and acrobatic songcraft. The mix, which is spacious and gritty, only amplifies the impressive performances across the board—especially Archont, whose vocals are undeniably the star of the show. A unique reconstruction of known touchpoints, Torpor’s debut is accessible, nostalgic, and instantly enjoyable. Your character may not have found the treasure, but in checking out Đungeon Đescent in the first place, you sure did.

Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: 10 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Dying Victims Productions
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: July 24th, 2026

After weeks of hacking through uncharted wilderness, you break through the brush and into a large clearing. Ruins of long-abandoned homes and shops line the main drag. You walk down what was once a bustling Main Street, which eventually leads to a large and overgrown village green. In the center stands a modest and surprisingly intact…church? Sepulcher? Town hall? You’re unsure, but at least you know you didn’t pay for a wild goose chase. A suspiciously knowledgeable drunk in a nameless bar told you about a building in a long-forgotten town in what would—in a different universe—become Warsaw, Poland. Built by the trio Torpor, the halls beneath this temple promise mystery, danger, ancient power, and above all, treasure. So, intrepid adventurer, do you have what it takes to brave this Đungeon Đescent?

As you cross the threshold and make your “Entrance,” the atmosphere is transient and expeditious, the lilting melody worthy of adventure. It’s not long before you find the hidden staircase and descend, “Trespassing the Sanctuary” proper. Initial impressions of Mike Magister IV’s lo-fi tremolos and Bloodhammer’s blast beats would indicate a largely blackened structure, but Torpor is not so one-note. Franciszek Archont’s clear and clean pipes echo along the walls and reveal Đungeon Đescent to truly be trad/heavy metal by way of Bathory. Even as you square off with an “Armoured Skeleton,” you can’t help but appreciate how the punky tilt of its percussive attacks matches flawlessly with its searing axe work. Wandering through these underground halls, the seamless mix of early black metal’s intensity and grit with sword and sorcery atmosphere makes this a unique yet familiar Đungeon Đescent.

On, the dungeon descends. Like a bard or a storyteller in a tavern, Archont narrates your journey, evoking Blind Guardian’s iconic Hansi Kürsch. He shies from naught, even as the “Đungeon Đwellers” squeal their alarm on ancient, echoing strings and begin to hunt you down, the first trespasser they’ve known in ages. Harried further into the tunnels, you eventually lose your pursuers, marked by the slick bass solo rumbling and bouncing further into the distance. In the chase, though, you’ve lost your way! Wandering aimlessly, your hopes rise as you enter a chamber whose blast beats and acoustic flourishes recall the “…Sanctuary” above. Alas, the exit this is not! A monstrous creature stands at the far end of the chamber, manning a terrifying, nigh mythical machine: the “Polybolos.”1 Steel-tipped bolts fly toward you with a triumphant, glorious rhythm, echoing the machine’s name as they miss and clang on the wall behind you.

After all the dangers you’ve faced on this Đungeon Đescent, the “Polybolos” was the breaking point, and you’ve never wanted to “Return to the Surface” more. The walls listen maliciously as your panic skyrockets with Bloodhammer’s methodically increasing tempo. In this mad dash for safety, a moment of clarity stops you dead in your tracks. You will never leave this place. You will die here. With this realization, Magister IV’s acoustic musings transform into a frantic and gritty solo, his strings’ screams matching your own. As you tire and accept this death sentence, you decide it will be far better to pass away in a daydream than to remain rooted in this hell of Torpor’s creation. And so, you drift off. Lo-fi scalar riffs and medieval strings color the scenes of your memories. One “Scythian Chase” among many, you lead hordes of horse like thunderous double bass down the planes to torture and scalp your enemies for the queen. Here at the end, as you remember with advantage what feats you did that day, a thrumming bassline and nostalgically raw solo gently shepherd you into the great silence.

Not every D&D session ends happily, but as your DM rips up your character sheet, you realize Torpor’s Đungeon Đescent was a hell of a ride. It’s fairly short, clocking in at 32 minutes, but that half hour is filled to the brim with athletic and acrobatic songcraft. The mix, which is spacious and gritty, only amplifies the impressive performances across the board—especially Archont, whose vocals are undeniably the star of the show. A unique reconstruction of known touchpoints, Torpor’s debut is accessible, nostalgic, and instantly enjoyable. Your character may not have found the treasure, but in checking out Đungeon Đescent in the first place, you sure did.

Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: 10 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Dying Victims Productions
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: July 24th, 2026

After weeks of hacking through uncharted wilderness, you break through the brush and into a large clearing. Ruins of long-abandoned homes and shops line the main drag. You walk down what was once a bustling Main Street, which eventually leads to a large and overgrown village green. In the center stands a modest and surprisingly intact…church? Sepulcher? Town hall? You’re unsure, but at least you know you didn’t pay for a wild goose chase. A suspiciously knowledgeable drunk in a nameless bar told you about a building in a long-forgotten town in what would—in a different universe—become Warsaw, Poland. Built by the trio Torpor, the halls beneath this temple promise mystery, danger, ancient power, and above all, treasure. So, intrepid adventurer, do you have what it takes to brave this Đungeon Đescent?

As you cross the threshold and make your “Entrance,” the atmosphere is transient and expeditious, the lilting melody worthy of adventure. It’s not long before you find the hidden staircase and descend, “Trespassing the Sanctuary” proper. Initial impressions of Mike Magister IV’s lo-fi tremolos and Bloodhammer’s blast beats would indicate a largely blackened structure, but Torpor is not so one-note. Franciszek Archont’s clear and clean pipes echo along the walls and reveal Đungeon Đescent to truly be trad/heavy metal by way of Bathory. Even as you square off with an “Armoured Skeleton,” you can’t help but appreciate how the punky tilt of its percussive attacks matches flawlessly with its searing axe work. Wandering through these underground halls, the seamless mix of early black metal’s intensity and grit with sword and sorcery atmosphere makes this a unique yet familiar Đungeon Đescent.

On, the dungeon descends. Like a bard or a storyteller in a tavern, Archont narrates your journey, evoking Blind Guardian’s iconic Hansi Kürsch. He shies from naught, even as the “Đungeon Đwellers” squeal their alarm on ancient, echoing strings and begin to hunt you down, the first trespasser they’ve known in ages. Harried further into the tunnels, you eventually lose your pursuers, marked by the slick bass solo rumbling and bouncing further into the distance. In the chase, though, you’ve lost your way! Wandering aimlessly, your hopes rise as you enter a chamber whose blast beats and acoustic flourishes recall the “…Sanctuary” above. Alas, the exit this is not! A monstrous creature stands at the far end of the chamber, manning a terrifying, nigh mythical machine: the “Polybolos.”1 Steel-tipped bolts fly toward you with a triumphant, glorious rhythm, echoing the machine’s name as they miss and clang on the wall behind you.

After all the dangers you’ve faced on this Đungeon Đescent, the “Polybolos” was the breaking point, and you’ve never wanted to “Return to the Surface” more. The walls listen maliciously as your panic skyrockets with Bloodhammer’s methodically increasing tempo. In this mad dash for safety, a moment of clarity stops you dead in your tracks. You will never leave this place. You will die here. With this realization, Magister IV’s acoustic musings transform into a frantic and gritty solo, his strings’ screams matching your own. As you tire and accept this death sentence, you decide it will be far better to pass away in a daydream than to remain rooted in this hell of Torpor’s creation. And so, you drift off. Lo-fi scalar riffs and medieval strings color the scenes of your memories. One “Scythian Chase” among many, you lead hordes of horse like thunderous double bass down the planes to torture and scalp your enemies for the queen. Here at the end, as you remember with advantage what feats you did that day, a thrumming bassline and nostalgically raw solo gently shepherd you into the great silence.

Not every D&D session ends happily, but as your DM rips up your character sheet, you realize Torpor’s Đungeon Đescent was a hell of a ride. It’s fairly short, clocking in at 32 minutes, but that half hour is filled to the brim with athletic and acrobatic songcraft. The mix, which is spacious and gritty, only amplifies the impressive performances across the board—especially Archont, whose vocals are undeniably the star of the show. A unique reconstruction of known touchpoints, Torpor’s debut is accessible, nostalgic, and instantly enjoyable. Your character may not have found the treasure, but in checking out Đungeon Đescent in the first place, you sure did.

Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: 10 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Dying Victims Productions
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: July 24th, 2026

After weeks of hacking through uncharted wilderness, you break through the brush and into a large clearing. Ruins of long-abandoned homes and shops line the main drag. You walk down what was once a bustling Main Street, which eventually leads to a large and overgrown village green. In the center stands a modest and surprisingly intact…church? Sepulcher? Town hall? You’re unsure, but at least you know you didn’t pay for a wild goose chase. A suspiciously knowledgeable drunk in a nameless bar told you about a building in a long-forgotten town in what would—in a different universe—become Warsaw, Poland. Built by the trio Torpor, the halls beneath this temple promise mystery, danger, ancient power, and above all, treasure. So, intrepid adventurer, do you have what it takes to brave this Đungeon Đescent?

As you cross the threshold and make your “Entrance,” the atmosphere is transient and expeditious, the lilting melody worthy of adventure. It’s not long before you find the hidden staircase and descend, “Trespassing the Sanctuary” proper. Initial impressions of Mike Magister IV’s lo-fi tremolos and Bloodhammer’s blast beats would indicate a largely blackened structure, but Torpor is not so one-note. Franciszek Archont’s clear and clean pipes echo along the walls and reveal Đungeon Đescent to truly be trad/heavy metal by way of Bathory. Even as you square off with an “Armoured Skeleton,” you can’t help but appreciate how the punky tilt of its percussive attacks matches flawlessly with its searing axe work. Wandering through these underground halls, the seamless mix of early black metal’s intensity and grit with sword and sorcery atmosphere makes this a unique yet familiar Đungeon Đescent.

On, the dungeon descends. Like a bard or a storyteller in a tavern, Archont narrates your journey, evoking Blind Guardian’s iconic Hansi Kürsch. He shies from naught, even as the “Đungeon Đwellers” squeal their alarm on ancient, echoing strings and begin to hunt you down, the first trespasser they’ve known in ages. Harried further into the tunnels, you eventually lose your pursuers, marked by the slick bass solo rumbling and bouncing further into the distance. In the chase, though, you’ve lost your way! Wandering aimlessly, your hopes rise as you enter a chamber whose blast beats and acoustic flourishes recall the “…Sanctuary” above. Alas, the exit this is not! A monstrous creature stands at the far end of the chamber, manning a terrifying, nigh mythical machine: the “Polybolos.”1 Steel-tipped bolts fly toward you with a triumphant, glorious rhythm, echoing the machine’s name as they miss and clang on the wall behind you.

After all the dangers you’ve faced on this Đungeon Đescent, the “Polybolos” was the breaking point, and you’ve never wanted to “Return to the Surface” more. The walls listen maliciously as your panic skyrockets with Bloodhammer’s methodically increasing tempo. In this mad dash for safety, a moment of clarity stops you dead in your tracks. You will never leave this place. You will die here. With this realization, Magister IV’s acoustic musings transform into a frantic and gritty solo, his strings’ screams matching your own. As you tire and accept this death sentence, you decide it will be far better to pass away in a daydream than to remain rooted in this hell of Torpor’s creation. And so, you drift off. Lo-fi scalar riffs and medieval strings color the scenes of your memories. One “Scythian Chase” among many, you lead hordes of horse like thunderous double bass down the planes to torture and scalp your enemies for the queen. Here at the end, as you remember with advantage what feats you did that day, a thrumming bassline and nostalgically raw solo gently shepherd you into the great silence.

Not every D&D session ends happily, but as your DM rips up your character sheet, you realize Torpor’s Đungeon Đescent was a hell of a ride. It’s fairly short, clocking in at 32 minutes, but that half hour is filled to the brim with athletic and acrobatic songcraft. The mix, which is spacious and gritty, only amplifies the impressive performances across the board—especially Archont, whose vocals are undeniably the star of the show. A unique reconstruction of known touchpoints, Torpor’s debut is accessible, nostalgic, and instantly enjoyable. Your character may not have found the treasure, but in checking out Đungeon Đescent in the first place, you sure did.

Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: 10 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Dying Victims Productions
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: July 24th, 2026

I’ve wrestled with this intro more than I typically do. There’s a joke in here somewhere about how the title, The Violence of Time could only be charitably described as “unfortunate.” I’ve had flashbacks to mandatory HR meetings, to that brief time I worked for a house painting company, and that one day a relative wanted to give me a long and detailed story about health issues involving sores on her bum. But no amount of witticisms and anecdotes can properly convey the fact that this album, for its strengths (such as they are), is boring. Ghastly, appallingly boring. Eternal Drak have descended from Canada with their fourth album, a blueprint of all the ways blackened thrash ought not to be executed.

So what’s the good news? He used a blade Eternal Drak at least have some peak production, with the drumming from Ben1 arriving with some amphitheater-style thunk and reverb. As a whole, The Violence of Time sounds mixed with old school heavy metal ethos and has echoes of classic rock in the spaciousness of sound. The lush DR confirms this, with the uncredited bass lines pulsing away under dueling guitars. Everything is open, letting the occasional air-guitar-inducing leads like in “The Unborn Paths Rot” cut through the mix with a semblance of energy before collapsing into straight-ahead chugs. The few bits of double bass and blast beats in moments like “Across the Watching Veils” never drown out the licks and riffs, while vocalist Drakar howls with a screech that echoes over the proceedings. The production is of genuine quality, and it’s a good template for this style.

The bad news is The Violence of Time is amongst the most drab, listless, flaccid releases I’ve ever heard. It’s astounding how Eternal Drak have managed to take a genre known for its vim and vigor and cranked out an album devoid of true highlights, energy, or memorability. The few leads sound almost cliched in their approach, like the worlds safest imitation of what good thrash shredding is supposed to sound like, and are gone as quickly as they start. The vast majority of the songs operate in mid-gear, with the occasional spurts of speed collapsing back into monotonous mid-paced chugging. “The Cosmos Rejects You” really tries to sell its main chorus as a violent, mountain-crushing moment with Ben blasting his heart out, but repeatedly returns to verses which try to be atmospheric but only serve to be anticlimactic. “No Direction Total War” falters as an album climax with a short chorus repeated to the point of obnoxiousness, and opening track “We Force It to Speak” aspires to be a dramatic curtain-raising kickoff, but its monotonous repetition and lethargic lead style only serve to be an accurate warning to the listener for what lies within.

Experiments, adventurousness, and memorable moments are so minuscule as to be almost nonexistent. The biggest curveball comes by way of “The Blasphemy of Time” with a blast-beat suddenly introducing uncredited lady vocals for a chorus. She sounds swell, but her sudden arrival is jarring, used for isolated lines rather than anything approaching texture or layering. Eternal Drak try their own hand at cleans with “Breathing Once Again”, a completely unnecessary power ballad in the middle of an already sluggish album, with Drakar doing his best Godsmack impression without the hefty chords to back him up. In point of fact, these two flirtations with clean vocals are the only memorable element of The Violence of Time, for better and worse. I’ve rarely heard an album that objectively has high BPM and still manages to sound this slow. The leads are boring. The riffs are boring. The incessant abuse of chugging is boring. The constant waltz time signatures over what should be atmospheric and menacing scales are boring. This album isn’t blackened as much as dimmed, and doesn’t thrash as much as wriggle, and given the potency of the genre, that’s a real shame.

Eternal Drak have dropped the safest album I’ve heard all year, carefully engineered to be as inoffensive and bland as possible. Amnesia-inducing, insomnia-conquering, and performed with the conviction that surely everything played is friggin’ awesome, The Violence of Time is as memorable as your college statistics class, as delightful as your grocery store having a sale on lint brushes, and as intense as toddlers pillowfighting. It’s genuinely disappointing, as the production really is fantastic, and I’d kill to hear some actually worthwhile songs presented in this soundscape. I’d say I look forward to forgetting this album, but it does an excellent job erasing itself from your memory on its own as soon as each playthrough concludes. For audiophiles and genre diehards only; I’m off to go find another album which will be less violent with my time.

Rating: 1.5/5.0
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: FirstWave Studio
Website: Album Bandcamp2
Releases Worldwide: July 17th, 2026