#jun26 — Public Fediverse posts

Formed in 2014 in the wake of the success of Arch Enemy, Spain’s Bloodhunter joined the ranks of melodeath bands featuring attractive leading ladies who snarl and growl rather than sing like Disney princesses. Lokasenna favorably reviewed their sophomore record, The End of Faith, writing that while it wasn’t particularly innovative, Bloodhunter sounded promising enough to give them a potentially bright future. The nine years since have sown significant changes, with a new bassist and drummer, as well as an additional guitarist; founding guitarist Dani Arcos and vocalist Diva Satanica serve as the only common links between these two albums. Sons of the Abandoned, their fourth, seeks to live up to the bright future Lokasenna prophesied.

Sons of the Abandoned proves a highly energetic affair, having a melodic bent in the vein of At the Gates or In Flames. Tracks waver between high octane (“The Devils Own,” “Human Insecticide”) and mid-tempo (“The Outspoken,” “Ephemeral Youth”). While plenty heavy, Bloodhunter fall just shy of brutal, with a much lighter intensity than the comps listed above, though they do occasionally ramp things up. “The Devils Own” gets the album off to a nice start, with its gentle melodic lead jumping into some of the record’s most brutal cuts. It’s a really good song that reveals a melodic side underneath that tough exterior. From there, tunes largely shed the brutality and drop to a slightly slower tempo before ending on another fast and brutal high note on the thrashy Annihilator cover, “Human Insecticide.” The mid-tempo stuff allows Bloodhunter to dive more deeply into their melodic side, though with mixed results.

Lokasenna’s critique about a lack of innovation still applies, as Bloodhunter stick to pretty standard riffs, but they do flash some impressive melodies here and there. Bloodhunter save their most memorable melodies for the choruses. The best comes from “Sons of the Abandoned,” transforming a pretty standard song into something more rewarding thanks to a lead I find myself frequently whistling. Not all leads successfully push the bar, however. “Ephemeral Youth” similarly features a pretty good lead, but the tune ultimately grows a bit tiresome thanks to too much repetition. Sadly, the mid-album tracks lack the hooks to stir any interest. Even a rather elaborate solo on “No One Beats Death” does very little to resuscitate the record’s earlier vitality. Bloodhunter invite Laura Guldemond (Burning Witches) to handle cleans for a rather disappointing chorus on “The Path that Never Ends” in yet another unsuccessful bid to spruce up this stretch of songs.

Sons of the Abandoned sounds really good, thanks to some great production values and solid performances. While the guitar parts don’t always wow, the addition of guitarist Guillermo Starless opens up space for a heftier, more interesting guitar presence. It’s true that Arcos and Starless could inject a little more creativity into their riffs, but they still have plenty of really good stuff. There’s a lead on “Masters of Deceive” that has a smooth jazz vibe that displays their ability to get creative, and an instrumental interlude has some lovely arpeggios that I can’t help but think could have gone to more use throughout Sons of the Abandoned. The mix also allows Fabian Tejeda’s bass to breathe, with some gentleness on the quieter interlude and then some hectic noodling on “Human Insecticide.” Finally, Diva Satanica serves the record well as frontwoman. She has some capable growls, switching to Trevor Strnad-like snarls now and then, even if she lacks the brutality of some of her contemporaries.

While Sons of the Abandoned does scratch that melodic itch here and there, it also gives me a better appreciation of the creative riffs that At the Gates recently displayed. I’m a sucker for a good melodic lead, so I’m willing to overlook some shortcomings if the record has enough of them. Bloodhunter meet this criteria a little more than half the time. There are plenty of songs I’d be happy to put into a playlist, but unfortunately, too many are forgettable. While LP number four hasn’t yet delivered on Lokasenna’s hope for a bright future, Bloodhunter certainly has it in them to deliver a killer record.

Rating: 2.5/5.0
DR: 10 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: ROAR! Rock of Angels Records
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Site
Releases Worldwide: June 12th, 2026

Formed in 2014 in the wake of the success of Arch Enemy, Spain’s Bloodhunter joined the ranks of melodeath bands featuring attractive leading ladies who snarl and growl rather than sing like Disney princesses. Lokasenna favorably reviewed their sophomore record, The End of Faith, writing that while it wasn’t particularly innovative, Bloodhunter sounded promising enough to give them a potentially bright future. The nine years since have sown significant changes, with a new bassist and drummer, as well as an additional guitarist; founding guitarist Dani Arcos and vocalist Diva Satanica serve as the only common links between these two albums. Sons of the Abandoned, their fourth, seeks to live up to the bright future Lokasenna prophesied.

Sons of the Abandoned proves a highly energetic affair, having a melodic bent in the vein of At the Gates or In Flames. Tracks waver between high octane (“The Devils Own,” “Human Insecticide”) and mid-tempo (“The Outspoken,” “Ephemeral Youth”). While plenty heavy, Bloodhunter fall just shy of brutal, with a much lighter intensity than the comps listed above, though they do occasionally ramp things up. “The Devils Own” gets the album off to a nice start, with its gentle melodic lead jumping into some of the record’s most brutal cuts. It’s a really good song that reveals a melodic side underneath that tough exterior. From there, tunes largely shed the brutality and drop to a slightly slower tempo before ending on another fast and brutal high note on the thrashy Annihilator cover, “Human Insecticide.” The mid-tempo stuff allows Bloodhunter to dive more deeply into their melodic side, though with mixed results.

Lokasenna’s critique about a lack of innovation still applies, as Bloodhunter stick to pretty standard riffs, but they do flash some impressive melodies here and there. Bloodhunter save their most memorable melodies for the choruses. The best comes from “Sons of the Abandoned,” transforming a pretty standard song into something more rewarding thanks to a lead I find myself frequently whistling. Not all leads successfully push the bar, however. “Ephemeral Youth” similarly features a pretty good lead, but the tune ultimately grows a bit tiresome thanks to too much repetition. Sadly, the mid-album tracks lack the hooks to stir any interest. Even a rather elaborate solo on “No One Beats Death” does very little to resuscitate the record’s earlier vitality. Bloodhunter invite Laura Guldemond (Burning Witches) to handle cleans for a rather disappointing chorus on “The Path that Never Ends” in yet another unsuccessful bid to spruce up this stretch of songs.

Sons of the Abandoned sounds really good, thanks to some great production values and solid performances. While the guitar parts don’t always wow, the addition of guitarist Guillermo Starless opens up space for a heftier, more interesting guitar presence. It’s true that Arcos and Starless could inject a little more creativity into their riffs, but they still have plenty of really good stuff. There’s a lead on “Masters of Deceive” that has a smooth jazz vibe that displays their ability to get creative, and an instrumental interlude has some lovely arpeggios that I can’t help but think could have gone to more use throughout Sons of the Abandoned. The mix also allows Fabian Tejeda’s bass to breathe, with some gentleness on the quieter interlude and then some hectic noodling on “Human Insecticide.” Finally, Diva Satanica serves the record well as frontwoman. She has some capable growls, switching to Trevor Strnad-like snarls now and then, even if she lacks the brutality of some of her contemporaries.

While Sons of the Abandoned does scratch that melodic itch here and there, it also gives me a better appreciation of the creative riffs that At the Gates recently displayed. I’m a sucker for a good melodic lead, so I’m willing to overlook some shortcomings if the record has enough of them. Bloodhunter meet this criteria a little more than half the time. There are plenty of songs I’d be happy to put into a playlist, but unfortunately, too many are forgettable. While LP number four hasn’t yet delivered on Lokasenna’s hope for a bright future, Bloodhunter certainly has it in them to deliver a killer record.

Rating: 2.5/5.0
DR: 10 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: ROAR! Rock of Angels Records
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Site
Releases Worldwide: June 12th, 2026

Many bands don’t make it past the first album (many more don’t make it there at all). Maybe that’s why we’re so big on sophomore releases here? It takes a lot to release your debut, to go through that harrowing process, to inevitably be told by some guy on the Internet that your music sucks, and then go off and do it again. So, before we even get to the review, kudos to Artificial Silence, a progressive metal band and the subject of today’s article. Having released their debut, Negative Space, way back in 2018, the U.S. trio is back with an album that promises to be both proggier and newer than the last. But kudos do not translate into rating ’round these parts. How does the actual music sound?

Artificial Silence are a progressive metal band. I know I said that already, but I need to emphasize that Hollow Drift is all kinds of proggy—it’s got a reasonable level of heaviness, but it also features moments of cappella singing (“The Shadow”), a sudden violin solo (“Paradise”), and one song that inexplicably makes up half the runtime of the album (“Hollow Drift”). It also makes excellent use of a piano, which happens to be one of my favorite things in metal. Yes, there is a whole lot of prog happening on Hollow Drift, reminding me at times of Ayreon and Southern Empire—an album that succeeds or fails by its ideas and the grace with which it executes them. A headbanger this is not, but the scope of what Artificial Silence have made here is impressive. It helps that it sounds great; I really can’t remember the last time I’ve heard bass sound so good in a new release.

Unsurprisingly, then, there is more than enough variety across Hollow Drift for it to be engaging and enjoyable. “Tidal Lock” is unquestionably the heart of the album, a gorgeous, melancholy epic with a supremely emotional core that makes great use of the singers, piano, and keys. It swells to a simple yet lovely tremolo riff towards the end that encapsulates what Artificial Silence do best: simple, straightforward ideas executed with conviction and layered on top of each other to make great music. “Paradise” also does this well; for the most part, it’s a straightforward number that really comes alive in its final third—the piano and bass go wild, competing for speed and space, a violin joins the fray, and the Karevik-esque singing (Kamelot) becomes grander, more sweeping—it suddenly feels like an epic that ends too soon.

Of course, I have to mention the title track; in the forty-eight-minute album, “Hollow Drift” is twenty-four of them, and it contains some of Hollow Drift’s best moments and its one weakness. First, the good: over the first ten minutes or so, “Hollow Drift” establishes a serious, brooding atmosphere that feels great after the lighter and melancholic tracks that precede it. It blends expertly in and out of a cabaret-esque routine, the kind of silly-but-also-serious move I would expect from Diablo Swing Orchestra. It also features some of the heaviest moments on Hollow Drift. Unfortunately, it is simply too long. The last ten minutes grasp at ideas but never really take hold of one long enough to build the thread. There are two false stops that both feel like they “should” be the end, and despite many listens, I can’t quite remember exactly how this strong album closes. It feels like Artificial Silence were going for a grand finish from a story perspective, but I just don’t find the music holds up. This is a shame, especially because when it holds up, it really holds up! “Hollow Drift” features grandiose, epic, and fun music that recommends it highly anyway.

I could—and would really like to—go on. There’s so much to say about Hollow Drift and Artificial Silence that just doesn’t fit into the word count. For example, the vocal lines in “Fear and Retribution” are upbeat enough to evoke early aughts US pop rock—I can’t help but think Panic! At the Disco when I hear it. There’s so much going on here, and while I wish the title track had just a bit less in it, I love the myriad other ideas that make up Hollow Drift. It is a very enjoyable listen, one I plan to return to many more times.

Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: ~260 kbps VBR mp3
Label: Self-Release
Websites: artificialsilence.bandcamp.com | artificialsilence.com | facebook.com/artificialsilenceband
Releases Worldwide: June 12th, 2026

Many bands don’t make it past the first album (many more don’t make it there at all). Maybe that’s why we’re so big on sophomore releases here? It takes a lot to release your debut, to go through that harrowing process, to inevitably be told by some guy on the Internet that your music sucks, and then go off and do it again. So, before we even get to the review, kudos to Artificial Silence, a progressive metal band and the subject of today’s article. Having released their debut, Negative Space, way back in 2018, the U.S. trio is back with an album that promises to be both proggier and newer than the last. But kudos do not translate into rating ’round these parts. How does the actual music sound?

Artificial Silence are a progressive metal band. I know I said that already, but I need to emphasize that Hollow Drift is all kinds of proggy—it’s got a reasonable level of heaviness, but it also features moments of cappella singing (“The Shadow”), a sudden violin solo (“Paradise”), and one song that inexplicably makes up half the runtime of the album (“Hollow Drift”). It also makes excellent use of a piano, which happens to be one of my favorite things in metal. Yes, there is a whole lot of prog happening on Hollow Drift, reminding me at times of Ayreon and Southern Empire—an album that succeeds or fails by its ideas and the grace with which it executes them. A headbanger this is not, but the scope of what Artificial Silence have made here is impressive. It helps that it sounds great; I really can’t remember the last time I’ve heard bass sound so good in a new release.

Unsurprisingly, then, there is more than enough variety across Hollow Drift for it to be engaging and enjoyable. “Tidal Lock” is unquestionably the heart of the album, a gorgeous, melancholy epic with a supremely emotional core that makes great use of the singers, piano, and keys. It swells to a simple yet lovely tremolo riff towards the end that encapsulates what Artificial Silence do best: simple, straightforward ideas executed with conviction and layered on top of each other to make great music. “Paradise” also does this well; for the most part, it’s a straightforward number that really comes alive in its final third—the piano and bass go wild, competing for speed and space, a violin joins the fray, and the Karevik-esque singing (Kamelot) becomes grander, more sweeping—it suddenly feels like an epic that ends too soon.

Of course, I have to mention the title track; in the forty-eight-minute album, “Hollow Drift” is twenty-four of them, and it contains some of Hollow Drift’s best moments and its one weakness. First, the good: over the first ten minutes or so, “Hollow Drift” establishes a serious, brooding atmosphere that feels great after the lighter and melancholic tracks that precede it. It blends expertly in and out of a cabaret-esque routine, the kind of silly-but-also-serious move I would expect from Diablo Swing Orchestra. It also features some of the heaviest moments on Hollow Drift. Unfortunately, it is simply too long. The last ten minutes grasp at ideas but never really take hold of one long enough to build the thread. There are two false stops that both feel like they “should” be the end, and despite many listens, I can’t quite remember exactly how this strong album closes. It feels like Artificial Silence were going for a grand finish from a story perspective, but I just don’t find the music holds up. This is a shame, especially because when it holds up, it really holds up! “Hollow Drift” features grandiose, epic, and fun music that recommends it highly anyway.

I could—and would really like to—go on. There’s so much to say about Hollow Drift and Artificial Silence that just doesn’t fit into the word count. For example, the vocal lines in “Fear and Retribution” are upbeat enough to evoke early aughts US pop rock—I can’t help but think Panic! At the Disco when I hear it. There’s so much going on here, and while I wish the title track had just a bit less in it, I love the myriad other ideas that make up Hollow Drift. It is a very enjoyable listen, one I plan to return to many more times.

Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: ~260 kbps VBR mp3
Label: Self-Release
Websites: artificialsilence.bandcamp.com | artificialsilence.com | facebook.com/artificialsilenceband
Releases Worldwide: June 12th, 2026

Back in 2015, an unknown band from Denver called Khemmis came out of nowhere and clobbered me with their massive Absolution debut. It was a shrewd and crafty mixture of classic doom, stoner, and sludge idioms, and I ate it up greedily. They came back the following year with an even bigger, better opus called Hunted, and it looked to all the world as if Khemmis would be joining acts like Pallbearer and Crypt Sermon as the vanguard of an American doom revival. 2018s Desolation saw the band inject loads of epic and trve metal into the sound, and it worked, but felt less stellar overall. 2021s Deceiver pushed this concept even further, loading down their long compositions with 80s metal influences, losing more of the doom cred they’d developed over their crucial early releases. It felt as if Khemmis were drifting away from what made them so thrilling, much as Pallbearer did, and they too would end up lost at sea if things continued this way. With this negative trending in mind, I approached their eponymously titled fifth album with a gnawing sense of dread. Would this signify surrender to the forces of diminishing recordings, or would they make a push to reclaim the lofty heights of Absolution and Hunted? With teeth clenched, I pressed play and prayed for Mojo.

It turns out, Khemmis is a partial return to what we heard on Desolation, but with some crucial differences. Firstly, the songs are all much shorter and tighter, with only one cracking the 6-minute mark. Secondly, their blending of classic and epic doom with trve and traditional heavy metal and blackened influences feels more carefully thought out, and it flows better than it did on Deceiver. The songsmithing is also vastly superior this time. Most importantly, they haven’t lost sight of the fact that they’re a doom band at heart, despite this being a more “accessible” sound for them. Opener “Invocation of the Dreamer” runs from black metal aggression into classic heavy metal and onward into doom without becoming disorienting. It’s an engaging, entertaining song from start to finish, and it will remind you of roughly 20 other acts as it shifts tempos and genres in smart, interesting ways. There are even hints of Archspire in some of the neo-classic guitar noodling. “Corpsebloom Garden” is a dead ringer for Crypt Sermon, and it works as an epic doom sonnet despite the occasional death vocals, which add a nice edge to the otherwise forlorn clean singing. “Grief’s Reverie” keeps the epic doom coming with an uptick of trve badassery, and the death vox shares space with a kind of radio-ready vocal style from Phil that’s unexpected but cool.

The best stuff comes later on, with my personal favorite being “Beneath the Scythe.” This is doom for those who want the classic style married to the trve in never-ending holy headlock. It adroitly conjoins classic doom and heavy metal with just enough chest-thumping badassery to win me over. It’s a legitimately great song and one of the band’s best. “Carrion King” starts with scathing, blasting black metal before settling down into a sort of mellow doom with upbeat clean vocals, only to mutate into absolutely crushing death-doom. There are some harsh, gruesome moments here that reek of Triptykon, re-establishing the band’s doom bona vides. Closer “Benediction Tones” is classic doom with moments of upbeat, poppy vocals that could be on a YES album, and it shouldn’t work, but it definitely does. At a trim, muscular 42 minutes, Khemmis glides by effortlessly and demands replays.

As ever, the Khemmis formula depends on Ben Hutcherson and Phil Pendergast successfully beguiling us with killer riffs and memorable vocal exchanges. Phil improves as a singer with every release, and some of his most gripping, poignant moments occur here. He drifts from wounded sadboi to burly trve metal and hits into AOR at key moments, all effectively rendered. Ben provides nasty death roars and guttural spewings and plays the rampaging beast to Phil’s morose beauty. Guitar-wise, they deliver a lot of killer moments too, with somber, melancholic leads and harmonies rubbing against blackened mania and death-doom when they aren’t engaged in 80s metal gallops and NWoBHM noodling. It’s a heady mix, and it all hangs together because the writing is sound and focused.

While Khemmis doesn’t bring the band back to the glory days of Hunted, it does find them righting the ship and sailing in the right direction. In fact, the album glides right between the Very Good and the Great with no song feeling like a letdown. I’m very relieved to see Khemmis back in the black with a release I enjoy from start to finish, and this will be getting mucho airtime over the next few months. Mojo listens to his faithful apes!

Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: 5 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Nuclear Blast
Websites: khemmis.bandcamp.com | khemmisdoom.com | facebook.com/khemmisdoom | instagram.com/khemmisdoom
Releases Worldwide: June 12th, 2026

Lavender Larcenist

Over a decade ago, I made a concerted effort to get into doom metal. Like many of my fellow writers, sitting down to delve into new genres or artists is a favorite pastime. So, I bought myself a copy of Decibel Magazine’s special edition issue that focused on their top 100 doom metal albums and dove right in. Needless to say, I fell in love, and one of my favorites to this day is Khemmis. The band’s brand of doom was immediately captivating, with Phil Pendergast’s echoing, enveloping vocals and sword-and-sorcery-as-metaphor lyrics. They remain a staple in my household to this day, and their 2016 magnum opus Hunted is one of my all-time favorite records. Now they are back after a five-year gap with their eponymous album, Khemmis. Typically, a self-titled release signals a change in direction or the solidification of a trademark sound, but is this record a new lease on life for Khemmis or a creative stumble for an incredibly consistent doom metal staple?

Contrary to our Simian Sovereign (lashings forthcoming for this difference in opinion), I found Deciever to be one of Khemmis’ best records, and their trademark sound was still as affecting and pervasive as ever. The last thing I expected was a reevaluation of their endeavors, but as an artist myself, the war against creative stagnation never ends. I fully understand why the band would want to branch out, and while Khemmis isn’t a sea change in the way some acts completely reinvent themselves, it feels markedly different than anything they have previously done. The doom is toned down significantly, and the heavy metal is dialed up, while a not-insignificant number of death and borderline power metal influences have seeped in. Big choruses anchor each, while the roaming guitars and drawn-out tones of previous records are all but missing. There are no thirteen-minute epics, and the majority of the tracks follow the lines of songs that were previously one-off pace-breakers, such as the indomitable “Three Gates” or the bouncing “Isolation”.

Khemmis is straightforward as far as the band’s previous records go. The album bleeds together on the first few listens, and songs tend to follow the same flow and general pacing. It falls into the trap of being stuffed with mid-paced rockers, making it hard to differentiate between listens without really digging in. While not immediately grabbing, Khemmis begins to show its strengths with repeated spins. Tracks may all be mid-paced and conceptually repetitive, but every one is incredibly solid to downright great. Only one chorus stuck out to me as grating; “Gilded Chambers” is an all-around solid song with a ripping opening riff and great melodies, but the chorus reminds me of power metal or even something like Boston, ripped straight from the annals of classic rock. Ultimately, it is campy, and the backing harmonic vocals send it into the stratosphere of cheese. The track isn’t bad, but just not to my taste, especially for Khemmis.

Longtime fans like myself may be left wanting for the doom epics of olde, but there is no shortage of great music on this record. Outside of the album’s repetitive pacing and some odd stylistic choices, there is very little to complain about. “Invocation of the Dreamer” is classic Khemmis and an immediately gripping song that features incredible work on the low end instrumentally and vocally from Ben Hutcherson. Production throughout is solid if a little safe; everything has its place, and the bass is a highlight, but there is little range from song to song. For a self-titled record, I was hoping for more creativity and bombast from a band that has so many great records under its belt. Khemmis, like the production, is very safe. While not breaking the mold, it does stand as a testament to the band’s ability to write catchy, melodic death doom. “Grief’s Reverie,” “Beneath the Scythe,” and album closer “Benediction Tones” are highlights outside of the aformented opening track.

While Khemmis slightly disappointed me as a superfan, I was able to move beyond what I wanted from the record and fully appreciate its more focused approach. Khemmis doesn’t reach the heights of previous releases, but it is still a very solid album that straddles the line between heavy metal and death doom, making for a listen that is immediately more approachable than their previous records but less rewarding as a result. It seems like Khemmis wants to move away from their traditional doom metal trappings and lean into more arena-driven, heavy metal tracks, and for a band with their talent, the sky is the limit.

Rating: Very Good

Back in 2015, an unknown band from Denver called Khemmis came out of nowhere and clobbered me with their massive Absolution debut. It was a shrewd and crafty mixture of classic doom, stoner, and sludge idioms, and I ate it up greedily. They came back the following year with an even bigger, better opus called Hunted, and it looked to all the world as if Khemmis would be joining acts like Pallbearer and Crypt Sermon as the vanguard of an American doom revival. 2018s Desolation saw the band inject loads of epic and trve metal into the sound, and it worked, but felt less stellar overall. 2021s Deceiver pushed this concept even further, loading down their long compositions with 80s metal influences, losing more of the doom cred they’d developed over their crucial early releases. It felt as if Khemmis were drifting away from what made them so thrilling, much as Pallbearer did, and they too would end up lost at sea if things continued this way. With this negative trending in mind, I approached their eponymously titled fifth album with a gnawing sense of dread. Would this signify surrender to the forces of diminishing recordings, or would they make a push to reclaim the lofty heights of Absolution and Hunted? With teeth clenched, I pressed play and prayed for Mojo.

It turns out, Khemmis is a partial return to what we heard on Desolation, but with some crucial differences. Firstly, the songs are all much shorter and tighter, with only one cracking the 6-minute mark. Secondly, their blending of classic and epic doom with trve and traditional heavy metal and blackened influences feels more carefully thought out, and it flows better than it did on Deceiver. The songsmithing is also vastly superior this time. Most importantly, they haven’t lost sight of the fact that they’re a doom band at heart, despite this being a more “accessible” sound for them. Opener “Invocation of the Dreamer” runs from black metal aggression into classic heavy metal and onward into doom without becoming disorienting. It’s an engaging, entertaining song from start to finish, and it will remind you of roughly 20 other acts as it shifts tempos and genres in smart, interesting ways. There are even hints of Archspire in some of the neo-classic guitar noodling. “Corpsebloom Garden” is a dead ringer for Crypt Sermon, and it works as an epic doom sonnet despite the occasional death vocals, which add a nice edge to the otherwise forlorn clean singing. “Grief’s Reverie” keeps the epic doom coming with an uptick of trve badassery, and the death vox shares space with a kind of radio-ready vocal style from Phil that’s unexpected but cool.

The best stuff comes later on, with my personal favorite being “Beneath the Scythe.” This is doom for those who want the classic style married to the trve in never-ending holy headlock. It adroitly conjoins classic doom and heavy metal with just enough chest-thumping badassery to win me over. It’s a legitimately great song and one of the band’s best. “Carrion King” starts with scathing, blasting black metal before settling down into a sort of mellow doom with upbeat clean vocals, only to mutate into absolutely crushing death-doom. There are some harsh, gruesome moments here that reek of Triptykon, re-establishing the band’s doom bona vides. Closer “Benediction Tones” is classic doom with moments of upbeat, poppy vocals that could be on a YES album, and it shouldn’t work, but it definitely does. At a trim, muscular 42 minutes, Khemmis glides by effortlessly and demands replays.

As ever, the Khemmis formula depends on Ben Hutcherson and Phil Pendergast successfully beguiling us with killer riffs and memorable vocal exchanges. Phil improves as a singer with every release, and some of his most gripping, poignant moments occur here. He drifts from wounded sadboi to burly trve metal and hits into AOR at key moments, all effectively rendered. Ben provides nasty death roars and guttural spewings and plays the rampaging beast to Phil’s morose beauty. Guitar-wise, they deliver a lot of killer moments too, with somber, melancholic leads and harmonies rubbing against blackened mania and death-doom when they aren’t engaged in 80s metal gallops and NWoBHM noodling. It’s a heady mix, and it all hangs together because the writing is sound and focused.

While Khemmis doesn’t bring the band back to the glory days of Hunted, it does find them righting the ship and sailing in the right direction. In fact, the album glides right between the Very Good and the Great with no song feeling like a letdown. I’m very relieved to see Khemmis back in the black with a release I enjoy from start to finish, and this will be getting mucho airtime over the next few months. Mojo listens to his faithful apes!

Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: 5 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Nuclear Blast
Websites: khemmis.bandcamp.com | khemmisdoom.com | facebook.com/khemmisdoom | instagram.com/khemmisdoom
Releases Worldwide: June 12th, 2026

Lavender Larcenist

Over a decade ago, I made a concerted effort to get into doom metal. Like many of my fellow writers, sitting down to delve into new genres or artists is a favorite pastime. So, I bought myself a copy of Decibel Magazine’s special edition issue that focused on their top 100 doom metal albums and dove right in. Needless to say, I fell in love, and one of my favorites to this day is Khemmis. The band’s brand of doom was immediately captivating, with Phil Pendergast’s echoing, enveloping vocals and sword-and-sorcery-as-metaphor lyrics. They remain a staple in my household to this day, and their 2016 magnum opus Hunted is one of my all-time favorite records. Now they are back after a five-year gap with their eponymous album, Khemmis. Typically, a self-titled release signals a change in direction or the solidification of a trademark sound, but is this record a new lease on life for Khemmis or a creative stumble for an incredibly consistent doom metal staple?

Contrary to our Simian Sovereign (lashings forthcoming for this difference in opinion), I found Deciever to be one of Khemmis’ best records, and their trademark sound was still as affecting and pervasive as ever. The last thing I expected was a reevaluation of their endeavors, but as an artist myself, the war against creative stagnation never ends. I fully understand why the band would want to branch out, and while Khemmis isn’t a sea change in the way some acts completely reinvent themselves, it feels markedly different than anything they have previously done. The doom is toned down significantly, and the heavy metal is dialed up, while a not-insignificant number of death and borderline power metal influences have seeped in. Big choruses anchor each, while the roaming guitars and drawn-out tones of previous records are all but missing. There are no thirteen-minute epics, and the majority of the tracks follow the lines of songs that were previously one-off pace-breakers, such as the indomitable “Three Gates” or the bouncing “Isolation”.

Khemmis is straightforward as far as the band’s previous records go. The album bleeds together on the first few listens, and songs tend to follow the same flow and general pacing. It falls into the trap of being stuffed with mid-paced rockers, making it hard to differentiate between listens without really digging in. While not immediately grabbing, Khemmis begins to show its strengths with repeated spins. Tracks may all be mid-paced and conceptually repetitive, but every one is incredibly solid to downright great. Only one chorus stuck out to me as grating; “Gilded Chambers” is an all-around solid song with a ripping opening riff and great melodies, but the chorus reminds me of power metal or even something like Boston, ripped straight from the annals of classic rock. Ultimately, it is campy, and the backing harmonic vocals send it into the stratosphere of cheese. The track isn’t bad, but just not to my taste, especially for Khemmis.

Longtime fans like myself may be left wanting for the doom epics of olde, but there is no shortage of great music on this record. Outside of the album’s repetitive pacing and some odd stylistic choices, there is very little to complain about. “Invocation of the Dreamer” is classic Khemmis and an immediately gripping song that features incredible work on the low end instrumentally and vocally from Ben Hutcherson. Production throughout is solid if a little safe; everything has its place, and the bass is a highlight, but there is little range from song to song. For a self-titled record, I was hoping for more creativity and bombast from a band that has so many great records under its belt. Khemmis, like the production, is very safe. While not breaking the mold, it does stand as a testament to the band’s ability to write catchy, melodic death doom. “Grief’s Reverie,” “Beneath the Scythe,” and album closer “Benediction Tones” are highlights outside of the aformented opening track.

While Khemmis slightly disappointed me as a superfan, I was able to move beyond what I wanted from the record and fully appreciate its more focused approach. Khemmis doesn’t reach the heights of previous releases, but it is still a very solid album that straddles the line between heavy metal and death doom, making for a listen that is immediately more approachable than their previous records but less rewarding as a result. It seems like Khemmis wants to move away from their traditional doom metal trappings and lean into more arena-driven, heavy metal tracks, and for a band with their talent, the sky is the limit.

Rating: Very Good

Not many bands can craft as characteristic an aura as Fires in the Distance. Their dreamy melodicism yet grounded weight lend their music an instantly recognizable and powerfully uplifting tone. Debut Echoes from Deep November already shimmered with the promise of something special, and 2023 sophomore Air Not Meant for Us more than made good on this promise, gliding effortlessly into my top 5 for that year. At this point in a band’s career, one might start to fear a slip in quality—a complacent settling into an easy and familiar groove—where the magic fades a little. One might, but in my case, this was somewhat eclipsed by the glittering stars that filled my eyes when Circadian Promise appeared on the horizon. Returning to the paradigm of mental health, rendered through the imagery of flight and freedom, Fires in the Distance console even the most timorous of hearts and deliver once again.

Everything uniquely great about Fires in the Distance is back on full display in Circadian Promise, and more besides. The sparkling arias of keyboards gain strength on the backs of soaring lead guitars and the steadfast heft of bass and drum. Synths subtly decorate the soundscape with just a touch of drama. Dynamic, steady tempos propel you forward. But Fires in the Distance don’t rest in the surety of this admittedly winning formula. New vocalist Brendan Hayter1 uses his savage screams to inject a new intensity to the heaviness and amplifies already stirring passages with hearty cleans—first of their kind for the band. The keyboards also see a renaissance of sorts with extended moments in the spotlight (“Lightless Days of a Songless Bird,” “Once the Silence Takes Your Place”), and solos stretch further towards the epic (“By this Time Tomorrow”). This evolution remains entirely natural. Whatever fierceness seizes the percussion or harsh vocals, the music remains easily compelling and distinctively rousing. Similarly, the singing never pushes songs even close to the saccharine boundary; their emotionality is perfectly pitched.

Fires in the Distance set a high bar with their previous work, but somehow Circadian Promise clears it. The music demonstrates a mature exploration of tension and contrast, shifting slightly away from doom and back towards melodeath, playing with the duality of clean and harsh vocals, folding the fragile and the fierce into potent progressions. Songs might use an ardently sung bridge to allow a melancholic theme to provide tangible closure (“Of Radiance and Levitation,” “To You, the Author of my Fade”), or show vulnerability beside a heavier counterpart to the rhythm and melody (“Once the Silence…”). Just as much emotion comes from the ardent screams that ring over turbulent drums (“Once the Silence…”) or rise in tandem with tremolo-picked or swiftly arpeggio-ing riffs (“Lightless Days…,” “Agonal Dreaming”). Every refrain is just as deceptively simple, memorable, and lovely as ever, but with the increased dynamism, they shine still brighter. Layered transitions through synths and piano (“Lightless Days…,” “By This Time Tomorrow,” “Once the Silence…”) seamlessly weave movements together. Fluid, energetic drumming shapes the soundscape with bolstering fills and assertive rolls into steady, sweeping ascents (“Of Radiance…,” ), rocky climbs (“Once the Silence…” “Agonal Dreaming”), and endless onward glides (“By this Time Tomorrow”), metaphorically embodying their themes. As a result, they hit harder and stick longer.

Circadian Promise is also made more compelling by its structure. Almost the same length to the second as Air Not Meant for Us, it uses its time better, eschewing instrumental interludes and long intros and crafting long songs with assured builds (“Of Radiance…”, “Lightless Days…”), moving reprises (“To You,…” “Agonal Dreaming”), and thrillingly layered evolutions (“To You…,” “Once the Silence…”).2 “Lightless Days…” is possibly the only candidate for a trim, weakened slightly by its itineracy. Whilst being in many ways more dramatic and heavy than prior releases, it’s simultaneously more reflective thanks to a slight lilt in the tunes and openness in the cleans, and some fantastic keyboard-centred passages, integrated beautifully into the metal (“Of Radiance…,” “By this Time Tomorrow”). This heightened reflectiveness also shows up through Fires in the Distance’s substitution for pithy Christopher Hitchens with the rather more introspective Alan Watts (“By this Time Tomorrow”) in the role of sampled British intellectual.

To those who previously felt Fires in the Distance’s brand of melodeath too airy to be impactful, Circadian Promise may be the album that shows you the light. Bolstered and tempered with a more striking heaviness and passionate cleans, the characteristically stirring beauty of the melodies sings louder and warmer than before. Circadian Promise fully becomes its concept as its powerful pieces coalesce into a fortifying tonic you surely can’t resist, lifting your spirits, and Fire in the Distance themselves, up into the stratosphere.

Rating: Excellent
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Prosthetic Records
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: June 12th, 2026

#2026 #45 #AmericanMetal #CircadianPromise #DeathMetal #DoomMetal #FiresInTheDistance #Jun26 #MelodicDeathMetal #ProgressiveDeathMetal #ProstheticRecords #Review #Reviews

Not many bands can craft as characteristic an aura as Fires in the Distance. Their dreamy melodicism yet grounded weight lend their music an instantly recognizable and powerfully uplifting tone. Debut Echoes from Deep November already shimmered with the promise of something special, and 2023 sophomore Air Not Meant for Us more than made good on this promise, gliding effortlessly into my top 5 for that year. At this point in a band’s career, one might start to fear a slip in quality—a complacent settling into an easy and familiar groove—where the magic fades a little. One might, but in my case, this was somewhat eclipsed by the glittering stars that filled my eyes when Circadian Promise appeared on the horizon. Returning to the paradigm of mental health, rendered through the imagery of flight and freedom, Fires in the Distance console even the most timorous of hearts and deliver once again.

Everything uniquely great about Fires in the Distance is back on full display in Circadian Promise, and more besides. The sparkling arias of keyboards gain strength on the backs of soaring lead guitars and the steadfast heft of bass and drum. Synths subtly decorate the soundscape with just a touch of drama. Dynamic, steady tempos propel you forward. But Fires in the Distance don’t rest in the surety of this admittedly winning formula. New vocalist Brendan Hayter1 uses his savage screams to inject a new intensity to the heaviness and amplifies already stirring passages with hearty cleans—first of their kind for the band. The keyboards also see a renaissance of sorts with extended moments in the spotlight (“Lightless Days of a Songless Bird,” “Once the Silence Takes Your Place”), and solos stretch further towards the epic (“By this Time Tomorrow”). This evolution remains entirely natural. Whatever fierceness seizes the percussion or harsh vocals, the music remains easily compelling and distinctively rousing. Similarly, the singing never pushes songs even close to the saccharine boundary; their emotionality is perfectly pitched.

Fires in the Distance set a high bar with their previous work, but somehow Circadian Promise clears it. The music demonstrates a mature exploration of tension and contrast, shifting slightly away from doom and back towards melodeath, playing with the duality of clean and harsh vocals, folding the fragile and the fierce into potent progressions. Songs might use an ardently sung bridge to allow a melancholic theme to provide tangible closure (“Of Radiance and Levitation,” “To You, the Author of my Fade”), or show vulnerability beside a heavier counterpart to the rhythm and melody (“Once the Silence…”). Just as much emotion comes from the ardent screams that ring over turbulent drums (“Once the Silence…”) or rise in tandem with tremolo-picked or swiftly arpeggio-ing riffs (“Lightless Days…,” “Agonal Dreaming”). Every refrain is just as deceptively simple, memorable, and lovely as ever, but with the increased dynamism, they shine still brighter. Layered transitions through synths and piano (“Lightless Days…,” “By This Time Tomorrow,” “Once the Silence…”) seamlessly weave movements together. Fluid, energetic drumming shapes the soundscape with bolstering fills and assertive rolls into steady, sweeping ascents (“Of Radiance…,” ), rocky climbs (“Once the Silence…” “Agonal Dreaming”), and endless onward glides (“By this Time Tomorrow”), metaphorically embodying their themes. As a result, they hit harder and stick longer.

Circadian Promise is also made more compelling by its structure. Almost the same length to the second as Air Not Meant for Us, it uses its time better, eschewing instrumental interludes and long intros and crafting long songs with assured builds (“Of Radiance…”, “Lightless Days…”), moving reprises (“To You,…” “Agonal Dreaming”), and thrillingly layered evolutions (“To You…,” “Once the Silence…”).2 “Lightless Days…” is possibly the only candidate for a trim, weakened slightly by its itineracy. Whilst being in many ways more dramatic and heavy than prior releases, it’s simultaneously more reflective thanks to a slight lilt in the tunes and openness in the cleans, and some fantastic keyboard-centred passages, integrated beautifully into the metal (“Of Radiance…,” “By this Time Tomorrow”). This heightened reflectiveness also shows up through Fires in the Distance’s substitution for pithy Christopher Hitchens with the rather more introspective Alan Watts (“By this Time Tomorrow”) in the role of sampled British intellectual.

To those who previously felt Fires in the Distance’s brand of melodeath too airy to be impactful, Circadian Promise may be the album that shows you the light. Bolstered and tempered with a more striking heaviness and passionate cleans, the characteristically stirring beauty of the melodies sings louder and warmer than before. Circadian Promise fully becomes its concept as its powerful pieces coalesce into a fortifying tonic you surely can’t resist, lifting your spirits, and Fire in the Distance themselves, up into the stratosphere.

Rating: Excellent
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Prosthetic Records
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: June 12th, 2026

#2026 #45 #AmericanMetal #CircadianPromise #DeathMetal #DoomMetal #FiresInTheDistance #Jun26 #MelodicDeathMetal #ProgressiveDeathMetal #ProstheticRecords #Review #Reviews

Quite like its illustrious barbecue, North Carolina’s sludge offers a variety of flavors. Raleigh’s own COC serves the slow-smoked standard, Wilmington’s Weedeater plate a vinegary take on the subgenre, and even Asheville’s Bask season their heavy Americana with sludge. To stand out in this vibrant culinary scene, MAKE brand theirs as ‘thematic psychedelic noise-sludge.’ Formed in Raleigh in 2008 by Scott Endres (guitar, vocals) and Spencer Lee (bass, guitar, vocals), MAKE made waves in 2016 when they aligned with Accident Prone Records for their Pilgrimage of Loathing. Joining Endres and Lee for Exegesis at the End of Time, the band’s fourth full-length (and first in a decade), are drummer John Crouch and bassist/vocalist/synthesizer-ist Aaron Smithers.1 MAKE’s self-description suggests a whole-hog approach2 to extreme metal/rock, but branding is not execution—these ingredients must coalesce into a delicious, satisfying tray.

Exegesis at the End of Time amiably shares a table with formative noise-sludge outfits. Not just because their names rhyme, MAKE reminds me most of Rwake, insofar as a panoply of extreme vocal stylings—gutturals, anguished shrieks, shout-singing—dresses longish songs with a Southern flair (“The End of the Night”). The paradigmatic dynamism of Neurosis also makes appearances, with quiet, bass-driven incantations giving way to harsh punctuations of razor-wire riffing (“Forking Paths”). The frequent centrality of the bass also recalls Isis; MAKE similarly thrives when the low end establishes a melodic groove that opens the door to crushing dirges (“The Augur”). Though its production isn’t as thick n’ rich as I would like for a sludge record, Exegesis skillfully balances its ingredients, ensuring that riffs never get lost in the sauce.

Despite its branding, Exegesis at the End of Time doesn’t strike me as particularly ‘psychedelic.’ I think of psychedelic music as requiring acquiescence to agents of transcendence from below, so as to ascend to the noumenon. MAKE does make the effort to put listeners into a meditative headspace. “The End of the Night” opens the album with three minutes of rhythmless synth/guitar shimmering before a simple, bluesy bass line emerges. Mid-album track “Forking Path” and closer “The Augur” make similar moves: ritualistic bass sets a droning tone, an abrasive sludge-hammer responds. It is in moments like these that MAKE falters a bit as a purportedly ‘psychedelic’ act. The heavy responses frequently pulverize, but they don’t uplift to a new plane of existence. “Chimera,” one of the most straightforward songs on Exegesis, stands as something of an exception. Its chaotic ending, layering heavily-effected, high-register guitar noise over a stank-faced head-bobber, does induce a degree of transcendence.

On the ‘thematic’ side of its branding, Exegesis at the End of Time grows in enjoyment with knowledge of its lyrics, even as it feels thematically divided. In their promo materials, MAKE speaks of a singular ‘concept’: ‘[T]he order that rules our world represents a cosmic violence that will destroy us if we don’t conquer it.’3 The distorted, dissonant chords punctuating the chill spaciness of opener “The End of the Night” sonically establish earthly violence impinging upon a serene cosmos. But despite their singular concept, MAKE also outlines multiple literary influences: McCarthy, Pynchon, DeBord. The labyrinth adorning the cover suggests that “Forking Paths,” a song dramatizing the disorienting temporality of the Borgesian labyrinth, connects the album’s overarching concept to its particular literary allusions. As a retelling of “The Garden of Forking Paths,” though, the song removes [SPOILER ALERT] the climactic gunshot [END SPOILER ALERT]. In my deeper dive, the album felt like it forked between paths puzzling over possible futures (“The End of the Night”) and those explicating our destructive present (“Chimera,” “The Spectacle”). Still, the lyrics almost always enhance the tracks—the seemingly-endless tension chord in the middle of “The Augur,” for one, excellently captures Sisyphus futilely pushing the boulder up the hill.

More a conceptual record than a concept record, Exegesis at the End of Time nevertheless comprises a worthy tray. ‘Exegesis’ usually connotes long-windedness, but MAKE’s fourth album is relatively concise at 41 minutes, leaving me full but not overstuffed. It may imply a scope it doesn’t realize, but Exegesis delivers a well-sequenced smattering of thinking-man’s sludge brimming with potential. It’s not a spot to necessarily frequent, but it’s a spot that satisfies all the same.

Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: 5 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Accident Prone Records
Websites: Instagram
Releases Worldwide: June 12th, 2026

Quite like its illustrious barbecue, North Carolina’s sludge offers a variety of flavors. Raleigh’s own COC serves the slow-smoked standard, Wilmington’s Weedeater plate a vinegary take on the subgenre, and even Asheville’s Bask season their heavy Americana with sludge. To stand out in this vibrant culinary scene, MAKE brand theirs as ‘thematic psychedelic noise-sludge.’ Formed in Raleigh in 2008 by Scott Endres (guitar, vocals) and Spencer Lee (bass, guitar, vocals), MAKE made waves in 2016 when they aligned with Accident Prone Records for their Pilgrimage of Loathing. Joining Endres and Lee for Exegesis at the End of Time, the band’s fourth full-length (and first in a decade), are drummer John Crouch and bassist/vocalist/synthesizer-ist Aaron Smithers.1 MAKE’s self-description suggests a whole-hog approach2 to extreme metal/rock, but branding is not execution—these ingredients must coalesce into a delicious, satisfying tray.

Exegesis at the End of Time amiably shares a table with formative noise-sludge outfits. Not just because their names rhyme, MAKE reminds me most of Rwake, insofar as a panoply of extreme vocal stylings—gutturals, anguished shrieks, shout-singing—dresses longish songs with a Southern flair (“The End of the Night”). The paradigmatic dynamism of Neurosis also makes appearances, with quiet, bass-driven incantations giving way to harsh punctuations of razor-wire riffing (“Forking Paths”). The frequent centrality of the bass also recalls Isis; MAKE similarly thrives when the low end establishes a melodic groove that opens the door to crushing dirges (“The Augur”). Though its production isn’t as thick n’ rich as I would like for a sludge record, Exegesis skillfully balances its ingredients, ensuring that riffs never get lost in the sauce.

Despite its branding, Exegesis at the End of Time doesn’t strike me as particularly ‘psychedelic.’ I think of psychedelic music as requiring acquiescence to agents of transcendence from below, so as to ascend to the noumenon. MAKE does make the effort to put listeners into a meditative headspace. “The End of the Night” opens the album with three minutes of rhythmless synth/guitar shimmering before a simple, bluesy bass line emerges. Mid-album track “Forking Path” and closer “The Augur” make similar moves: ritualistic bass sets a droning tone, an abrasive sludge-hammer responds. It is in moments like these that MAKE falters a bit as a purportedly ‘psychedelic’ act. The heavy responses frequently pulverize, but they don’t uplift to a new plane of existence. “Chimera,” one of the most straightforward songs on Exegesis, stands as something of an exception. Its chaotic ending, layering heavily-effected, high-register guitar noise over a stank-faced head-bobber, does induce a degree of transcendence.

On the ‘thematic’ side of its branding, Exegesis at the End of Time grows in enjoyment with knowledge of its lyrics, even as it feels thematically divided. In their promo materials, MAKE speaks of a singular ‘concept’: ‘[T]he order that rules our world represents a cosmic violence that will destroy us if we don’t conquer it.’3 The distorted, dissonant chords punctuating the chill spaciness of opener “The End of the Night” sonically establish earthly violence impinging upon a serene cosmos. But despite their singular concept, MAKE also outlines multiple literary influences: McCarthy, Pynchon, DeBord. The labyrinth adorning the cover suggests that “Forking Paths,” a song dramatizing the disorienting temporality of the Borgesian labyrinth, connects the album’s overarching concept to its particular literary allusions. As a retelling of “The Garden of Forking Paths,” though, the song removes [SPOILER ALERT] the climactic gunshot [END SPOILER ALERT]. In my deeper dive, the album felt like it forked between paths puzzling over possible futures (“The End of the Night”) and those explicating our destructive present (“Chimera,” “The Spectacle”). Still, the lyrics almost always enhance the tracks—the seemingly-endless tension chord in the middle of “The Augur,” for one, excellently captures Sisyphus futilely pushing the boulder up the hill.

More a conceptual record than a concept record, Exegesis at the End of Time nevertheless comprises a worthy tray. ‘Exegesis’ usually connotes long-windedness, but MAKE’s fourth album is relatively concise at 41 minutes, leaving me full but not overstuffed. It may imply a scope it doesn’t realize, but Exegesis delivers a well-sequenced smattering of thinking-man’s sludge brimming with potential. It’s not a spot to necessarily frequent, but it’s a spot that satisfies all the same.

Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: 5 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Accident Prone Records
Websites: Instagram
Releases Worldwide: June 12th, 2026

Show 3 footnotes

1. Yes, the band seems to have two bassists. ↩
2. Eastern style FTW. ↩
3. Lyrically, the album doesn’t really focus on the ‘if we don’t conquer it’ part of that statement. MAKE offers, however, wise advice in their liner notes worth sharing: ‘Get involved with your local community and remember you are not alone.’ ↩

Now—as summer blasts the Earth into a fly-ridden heath—is when I long most for fall. So I get why Patrik Andersson Winberg’s (Dun Ringill, Doomdogs) new solo project Mirror of My Soul would debut this June with October Is Rising.1 A folk project empowered with hard rock muscle and gothic gravitas, Mirror of My Soul aims for atmospheric storytelling and organic song structuring. Joined by drummers Pete Campbell (Axe Dragger, ex-Pentagram) and Tobbe Strandvik, keyboardist Per Wiberg (Tiamat, ex-Opeth), guitarist Patric Grammann (Dun Ringill) and a whole host of vocalists,2 October Is Rising is poised to be an introspective, moody, and engrossing trek through rustic moods and colder temps. But is this album autumn’s light at the end of the tunnel, or is there no relief from summer to be found here?

October Is Rising is a clinic on complementary musicianship. Working within gothic country, folk, and blues rock, October Is Rising lives in slow, sparse compositions that won’t wow listeners with panache. Songs like “A Good Day to Die” and “The Owl” use simple guitar and banjo parts, respectively, to set the stage for spirited vocal performances, while “October Is Rising” and “Grandpa” utilize particularly minimal instrumentation to highlight their singers’ stories. Mirror of My Soul can rip it when necessary, as heard on the Jethro Tullesque flute riffing on “Mina Fotavtryck” and the slick hi-hat work on “Dancing Slowly on the Porch,” but October Is Rising’s musical prowess lies less in individual performance and more in band dynamics. “Lost in the Red Wine” and “The One Who Sings the Songs” pulse in ways that sneakily build and bounce off their individual parts to sound a lot bigger than their thin instrumentation would imply. Mirror of My Soul is composed of industry veterans, and it sounds like it; these guys bring out the best in each other.

Setting rich moods and storytelling are Mirror of My Soul’s game. They’re pros at it. October Is Rising is a pensive autumnal stroll through gloom with the sort of eerie coziness that at varying times reminded me of Fields of the Nephilim, Current 93, and the Over the Garden Wall soundtrack.3 Soundscapes of pale light and fresh darkness bestow tracks like “The Painter,” “Grandpa,” and “Tree on that Hill” a deeply affecting and melancholic quality, shaped by the aforementioned stark instrumentation and poignant vocals. October Is Rising is littered with pathos-imbued bars delivered with conviction, where phrases as obtuse as “The bad news was a feather from a dead bird” (“The Letter”) hit with the sensitivity of straightforward heart-wrenchers like “The trees showed me how to make it all last. There is no future without a vivid past” (“Tree on that Hill”). Mirror of My Soul bring everything you’d want from a singer-songwriter project musically: bittersweet strolls down memory lane, deep into introspection.

October Is Rising listens like a work of singular vision, but not of one voice. There are no bad singers on October Is Rising, mind you, and the diverse cast can be a boon. There aren’t many records out there that can, in one moment, recall Alice in Chains (“Coyote”) and Peter Gabriel the next (“Tree on that Hill”),4 Lou Reed one minute (“Carry Your Soul”) and Johnny Cash another (“A Good Day to Die”). But this committee approach also deprives October Is Rising of singer-songwriter music’s strongest aspect: the intimate conversation between artist and audience. It’s hard to think of Mirror of My Soul as Winberg’s personal exploration of a gloaming Earth when you have to adjust to a new singer every song. October Is Rising still feels cohesive thanks to Winberg’s consistent and compelling songwriting, but I believe one or two good singers would’ve made the record connect that much better.

Mirror of My Soul bring the wistfulness of autumn on October Is Rising. Tight musicianship and smart songwriting carry the listener through Winberg’s stories, sometimes outlandish and always engaging. Though I think one singer would’ve made Mirror of My Soul a more focused entity—or perhaps one singer across every song à la Tobias Sammet of Avantastia—October Is Rising is nevertheless a greatly enjoyable work that I could confidently recommend to anyone interested in gothic rock/country/folk. At the very least, when the upcoming months get hot as balls, it’ll be a good reminder that, in the near future, October Is Rising indeed.

Rating: Very Good
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: WAV
Label: Majestic Mountain Records
Websites: mirrorofmysoul.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/mirrorofmysoul
Releases Worldwide: June 12, 2026

Now—as summer blasts the Earth into a fly-ridden heath—is when I long most for fall. So I get why Patrik Andersson Winberg’s (Dun Ringill, Doomdogs) new solo project Mirror of My Soul would debut this June with October Is Rising.1 A folk project empowered with hard rock muscle and gothic gravitas, Mirror of My Soul aims for atmospheric storytelling and organic song structuring. Joined by drummers Pete Campbell (Axe Dragger, ex-Pentagram) and Tobbe Strandvik, keyboardist Per Wiberg (Tiamat, ex-Opeth), guitarist Patric Grammann (Dun Ringill) and a whole host of vocalists,2 October Is Rising is poised to be an introspective, moody, and engrossing trek through rustic moods and colder temps. But is this album autumn’s light at the end of the tunnel, or is there no relief from summer to be found here?

October Is Rising is a clinic on complementary musicianship. Working within gothic country, folk, and blues rock, October Is Rising lives in slow, sparse compositions that won’t wow listeners with panache. Songs like “A Good Day to Die” and “The Owl” use simple guitar and banjo parts, respectively, to set the stage for spirited vocal performances, while “October Is Rising” and “Grandpa” utilize particularly minimal instrumentation to highlight their singers’ stories. Mirror of My Soul can rip it when necessary, as heard on the Jethro Tullesque flute riffing on “Mina Fotavtryck” and the slick hi-hat work on “Dancing Slowly on the Porch,” but October Is Rising’s musical prowess lies less in individual performance and more in band dynamics. “Lost in the Red Wine” and “The One Who Sings the Songs” pulse in ways that sneakily build and bounce off their individual parts to sound a lot bigger than their thin instrumentation would imply. Mirror of My Soul is composed of industry veterans, and it sounds like it; these guys bring out the best in each other.

Setting rich moods and storytelling are Mirror of My Soul’s game. They’re pros at it. October Is Rising is a pensive autumnal stroll through gloom with the sort of eerie coziness that at varying times reminded me of Fields of the Nephilim, Current 93, and the Over the Garden Wall soundtrack.3 Soundscapes of pale light and fresh darkness bestow tracks like “The Painter,” “Grandpa,” and “Tree on that Hill” a deeply affecting and melancholic quality, shaped by the aforementioned stark instrumentation and poignant vocals. October Is Rising is littered with pathos-imbued bars delivered with conviction, where phrases as obtuse as “The bad news was a feather from a dead bird” (“The Letter”) hit with the sensitivity of straightforward heart-wrenchers like “The trees showed me how to make it all last. There is no future without a vivid past” (“Tree on that Hill”). Mirror of My Soul bring everything you’d want from a singer-songwriter project musically: bittersweet strolls down memory lane, deep into introspection.

October Is Rising listens like a work of singular vision, but not of one voice. There are no bad singers on October Is Rising, mind you, and the diverse cast can be a boon. There aren’t many records out there that can, in one moment, recall Alice in Chains (“Coyote”) and Peter Gabriel the next (“Tree on that Hill”),4 Lou Reed one minute (“Carry Your Soul”) and Johnny Cash another (“A Good Day to Die”). But this committee approach also deprives October Is Rising of singer-songwriter music’s strongest aspect: the intimate conversation between artist and audience. It’s hard to think of Mirror of My Soul as Winberg’s personal exploration of a gloaming Earth when you have to adjust to a new singer every song. October Is Rising still feels cohesive thanks to Winberg’s consistent and compelling songwriting, but I believe one or two good singers would’ve made the record connect that much better.

Mirror of My Soul bring the wistfulness of autumn on October Is Rising. Tight musicianship and smart songwriting carry the listener through Winberg’s stories, sometimes outlandish and always engaging. Though I think one singer would’ve made Mirror of My Soul a more focused entity—or perhaps one singer across every song à la Tobias Sammet of Avantastia—October Is Rising is nevertheless a greatly enjoyable work that I could confidently recommend to anyone interested in gothic rock/country/folk. At the very least, when the upcoming months get hot as balls, it’ll be a good reminder that, in the near future, October Is Rising indeed.

Rating: Very Good
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: WAV
Label: Majestic Mountain Records
Websites: mirrorofmysoul.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/mirrorofmysoul
Releases Worldwide: June 12, 2026

Some things are acquired tastes—coffee, vegetables, Mrs. Forrest,1 to name a few. While some of us instantly and innately connect with metal, its loud and aggressive nature can make it tough for the initiate to effortlessly enjoy. Even for lifelong fans like myself, some bands still push the envelope. One such band is Apostle, a three-piece from Atlanta, Georgia, founded in 2017. They’ve always been a nasty, noisy group—if 2019 debut Sufferer is any indication—but 2021 saw the band undergo a significant lineup change. Evan Price continued to man the kit, but their founding vocalist departed, Murice White assumed vocal and guitar duties, and Michael Thomas moved over to bass. This shift spurred Apostle in an even more abrasive and emotive direction.

A Splinter in the Infinite Noumenon continues to explore what was first introduced on 2023 EP Liminal. Apostle maintains, from their early days, a harsh mix of grind and hardcore with occasional post-blackened flourishes, but 2026 sees them venture further into blackened territory, as well as explore ambient and post-rock elements. Opening salvo “Exiting the God Hologram” acts as a microcosm of all Apostle has to offer. A sample of a train gives way to full and vibrant percussion before atonal guitars grace your ears like a lead pipe graces a jaw. White’s deranged shrieks have a tenuous relationship with tempo, but always manage to link up with his bandmates on the downbeat. It’s a harrowing, unfettered style well-suited to Apostle’s sound. This cacophony eventually coalesces into an aching post-black fury in the last third, where Thomas’s throatier shouts augment the sound. “Exiting…” ends by unceremoniously silencing a gritty guitar solo flitting on broken wings—fitting for the rage and intentional inaccessibility on display here.

Those willing to brave Apostle’s chaos will find gorgeous flourishes through A Splinter in the Infinite Noumenon. Bright, descending, posty licks weave through “Illusion of Loss,” mirroring murky ascending counterparts. Violent plucking in “Swine” evokes Gorrch’s pitch-black dissonance, and its spiraling crescendo feels like something out of Imperial Triumphant’s playbook. True to its name, “Oscillating Polarities” swings wildly between discordant, hammering heaps and aching, blackened melodies. That ache is particularly exceptional on album closer “At Ease,” which opens with the same soulful lick that closes “Exiting the God Hologram.” With all this said, it did take several spins for me to start parsing out the subtleties and delicate decorations beneath Apostle’s torrent of aural catharsis. If I were casually spinning Splinter, rather than formally reviewing it, I’m not sure I would have stuck around long enough to find them.

Apostle’s claustrophobic, maximalist style is admittedly rad, but I do occasionally wish that the knobs weren’t all always snapped off at 11. Some of the moments above could have shone brighter, had the mix breathed a little easier and the spotlight been shared rather than functionally fought over. Even at an incredibly short 27 minutes, the sheer harshness and atonality of Splinter—especially on the front half—can be a lot to handle. There are some breaks, like the E.E. Cummings sample that opens “Distortions of Light” and the shoegazing that closes it, as well as the last few noir-shaded minutes of the album. I’m enough of a literature nerd to appreciate the poet’s cameo, even 70 seconds of it, but others may find it disruptive or unnecessary. Similarly, Thomas’s delightful bass riff anchors some beautifully moving swells in “At Ease,” but the same five notes for three minutes can get repetitive.

While preparing for this review, I listened to Apostle’s back catalog, and I can definitively say A Splinter in the Infinite Noumenon is a step above their earlier material. This new direction, while certainly harsher and more abrasive, has been a risk well taken. White’s unrestrained screams, as well as the band’s commitment to post-black trappings and interpretation of softer styles, tap into a wellspring of raw passion. It’s not the easiest to engage with, but Apostle has a clear and exciting vision that rewards commitment and repeat visits. Could druthers be had, I’d like to see their indiscriminate cacophony tempered and honed, but whatever they do next, I’ll be listening.

Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 256 kbps mp3
Label: Terminus Hate City
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook | Instagram
Releases Worldwide: June 6th, 2026

Some things are acquired tastes—coffee, vegetables, Mrs. Forrest,1 to name a few. While some of us instantly and innately connect with metal, its loud and aggressive nature can make it tough for the initiate to effortlessly enjoy. Even for lifelong fans like myself, some bands still push the envelope. One such band is Apostle, a three-piece from Atlanta, Georgia, founded in 2017. They’ve always been a nasty, noisy group—if 2019 debut Sufferer is any indication—but 2021 saw the band undergo a significant lineup change. Evan Price continued to man the kit, but their founding vocalist departed, Murice White assumed vocal and guitar duties, and Michael Thomas moved over to bass. This shift spurred Apostle in an even more abrasive and emotive direction.

A Splinter in the Infinite Noumenon continues to explore what was first introduced on 2023 EP Liminal. Apostle maintains, from their early days, a harsh mix of grind and hardcore with occasional post-blackened flourishes, but 2026 sees them venture further into blackened territory, as well as explore ambient and post-rock elements. Opening salvo “Exiting the God Hologram” acts as a microcosm of all Apostle has to offer. A sample of a train gives way to full and vibrant percussion before atonal guitars grace your ears like a lead pipe graces a jaw. White’s deranged shrieks have a tenuous relationship with tempo, but always manage to link up with his bandmates on the downbeat. It’s a harrowing, unfettered style well-suited to Apostle’s sound. This cacophony eventually coalesces into an aching post-black fury in the last third, where Thomas’s throatier shouts augment the sound. “Exiting…” ends by unceremoniously silencing a gritty guitar solo flitting on broken wings—fitting for the rage and intentional inaccessibility on display here.

Those willing to brave Apostle’s chaos will find gorgeous flourishes through A Splinter in the Infinite Noumenon. Bright, descending, posty licks weave through “Illusion of Loss,” mirroring murky ascending counterparts. Violent plucking in “Swine” evokes Gorrch’s pitch-black dissonance, and its spiraling crescendo feels like something out of Imperial Triumphant’s playbook. True to its name, “Oscillating Polarities” swings wildly between discordant, hammering heaps and aching, blackened melodies. That ache is particularly exceptional on album closer “At Ease,” which opens with the same soulful lick that closes “Exiting the God Hologram.” With all this said, it did take several spins for me to start parsing out the subtleties and delicate decorations beneath Apostle’s torrent of aural catharsis. If I were casually spinning Splinter, rather than formally reviewing it, I’m not sure I would have stuck around long enough to find them.

Apostle’s claustrophobic, maximalist style is admittedly rad, but I do occasionally wish that the knobs weren’t all always snapped off at 11. Some of the moments above could have shone brighter, had the mix breathed a little easier and the spotlight been shared rather than functionally fought over. Even at an incredibly short 27 minutes, the sheer harshness and atonality of Splinter—especially on the front half—can be a lot to handle. There are some breaks, like the E.E. Cummings sample that opens “Distortions of Light” and the shoegazing that closes it, as well as the last few noir-shaded minutes of the album. I’m enough of a literature nerd to appreciate the poet’s cameo, even 70 seconds of it, but others may find it disruptive or unnecessary. Similarly, Thomas’s delightful bass riff anchors some beautifully moving swells in “At Ease,” but the same five notes for three minutes can get repetitive.

While preparing for this review, I listened to Apostle’s back catalog, and I can definitively say A Splinter in the Infinite Noumenon is a step above their earlier material. This new direction, while certainly harsher and more abrasive, has been a risk well taken. White’s unrestrained screams, as well as the band’s commitment to post-black trappings and interpretation of softer styles, tap into a wellspring of raw passion. It’s not the easiest to engage with, but Apostle has a clear and exciting vision that rewards commitment and repeat visits. Could druthers be had, I’d like to see their indiscriminate cacophony tempered and honed, but whatever they do next, I’ll be listening.

Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 256 kbps mp3
Label: Terminus Hate City
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook | Instagram
Releases Worldwide: June 6th, 2026

🏁 Zieleinfahrt! Nach einer Woche und 680 km auf meinem treuen #GSpot bin ich am Brandenburger Tor angekommen! Jetzt erst mal Kaffee & Kuchen im „Lebensart“. Außerdem im finalen Ticker: Die Auflösung meiner gestrigen Geheimmission an der Spitze! 🍰☕
#warumichradfahre #lifestyle65 #jun26 #warumichradfahreblog #HeimatEntdecker
https://warumichradfahre.blog/2026/06/07/📡-🚴♂%EF%B8%8F-liveticker-tag-8-sternfahrt-berlin/

🏁 Zieleinfahrt! Nach einer Woche und 680 km auf meinem treuen #GSpot bin ich am Brandenburger Tor angekommen! Jetzt erst mal Kaffee & Kuchen im „Lebensart“. Außerdem im finalen Ticker: Die Auflösung meiner gestrigen Geheimmission an der Spitze! 🍰☕
#warumichradfahre #lifestyle65 #jun26 #warumichradfahreblog #HeimatEntdecker
https://warumichradfahre.blog/2026/06/07/📡-🚴♂%EF%B8%8F-liveticker-tag-8-sternfahrt-berlin/

Seven Metal Sins are a new act from France dedicated to the classic 80s heavy metal sound made famous by Accept and Gravedigger. On their Legacy of Chaos debut, they bring a ton of retro enthusiasm to the table, trying their level best to cobble together an album’s worth of headbanging, fist-pumping metal with loads of macho machismo and every traditional metal trope imaginable. The closest comparison is Gravedigger, as Seven Metal Sins base their sound around big, beefy riffs and warbling, semi-harsh vocals. This makes the material on Legacy of Chaos sit somewhere between Gravedigger classics like Excalibur and especially Rheingold. That’s a fine place to aim for, but unfortunately, it’s not so easy to stick the landing and come up equal to those particular platters. It also leaves those who attempt it exposed to sounding like an earnest but watered-down copy of the original. And in the worst-case scenario, a mere copy of a copy. Can Seven Metal Sins avoid these lethal pitfalls?

There’s no shortage of meatheaded metal exuberance on opening proper cut “Scars of Injustice.” It’s got everything someone who grew up in the 80s blasting Teutonic metal could want. Frontman Clovis Gay sounds a whole lot like Gravedigger’s Chris Boltendahl crossbred with Rebellion’s Michael Seifert, and he gleefully goes WAY over the top with a hoarse squeal and roar. As Clovis does his thing, Antton Iriat and Frédéric Auclerc flatten resistance with road-grading, burly riffs, and entertaining harmonies designed to bring out your inner ape. There’s a big whiff of Rheingold here, and I can’t huff enough of that Germanic wonderdust. The template thus set, Seven Metal Sins set out to build on it whilst beating your ass from chimpanz-A to pimpanzeE. Cuts like “Hypocrisy” eschew nuance in favor of head-on, full-speed collision dynamics, using riffacades and raw aggression to drive the point home, and it works for them in the same way it worked for Gravedigger on their best albums. Album highlight “Feel the Steel” takes this formula and runs with it for 4 minutes of brain-shaking classic metal fury that gets even an elder primate like me up and throwing heavy objects. It’s a warhammer of a tune, and it reminds me a lot of the better Rebellion material, including their mighty paean, “Taste of Steel.”

Legacy of Chaos is the rare album that improves as it rolls along, gathering momentum and crucial energy, and the songwriting becomes more and more memorable too. Later tracks like “Wolves of the Last Dawn” and “Sun Eaters” are old-timey heavy metal burners, high on energy, low on subtlety, and they’re great for a tough cardio session. “Rise of the Phoenix” has one of the best choruses, and even the closing power ballad “King of Sorrow” works, both as a change of pace and a suitably epic finale. At just under 47 minutes, Legacy of Chaos is a fast-moving, jacked-up spin through the glory days of heavy metal, and no song outstays its welcome or bogs down the meat parade.

Clovis Gay has the kind of voice that was made for metal. He can sing, but often opts to roar, shout, warble, and caterwaul, and that’s the golden ticket for this kind of fare. Like Chris Boltendahl, he will be a love or hate proposition for some, but I dig his rough ‘n’ ready style and his silent film era villain moustache. That said, it’s Antton Iriat and Frédéric Auclerc who really anchor the sound with their mighty riffs and the way they use them to hammer at you until you give in and enjoy the ride. This is a tried-and-true formula, and it works in 2026 as it did in 1985.

When I first started spinning Legacy of Chaos, I felt like Seven Metal Sins were like Gravedigger from Temu or a “we have Gravedigger at home” situation. Both are somewhat true, but the band is stout enough to deliver an entertaining platter of metal nonetheless. There’s nothing here you haven’t heard a million times before, and no one will put this on end-of-year lists, but it’s a fun, brainless release with enough nut wattage to warm the cockles of the 80s metal fan. Now let’s commence to metal sinning.1

Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: 5 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Rockshots
Websites: facebook.com/sevenmetalsins | instagram.com/seven_metal_sins.official
Releases Worldwide: June 5th, 2026

Seven Metal Sins are a new act from France dedicated to the classic 80s heavy metal sound made famous by Accept and Gravedigger. On their Legacy of Chaos debut, they bring a ton of retro enthusiasm to the table, trying their level best to cobble together an album’s worth of headbanging, fist-pumping metal with loads of macho machismo and every traditional metal trope imaginable. The closest comparison is Gravedigger, as Seven Metal Sins base their sound around big, beefy riffs and warbling, semi-harsh vocals. This makes the material on Legacy of Chaos sit somewhere between Gravedigger classics like Excalibur and especially Rheingold. That’s a fine place to aim for, but unfortunately, it’s not so easy to stick the landing and come up equal to those particular platters. It also leaves those who attempt it exposed to sounding like an earnest but watered-down copy of the original. And in the worst-case scenario, a mere copy of a copy. Can Seven Metal Sins avoid these lethal pitfalls?

There’s no shortage of meatheaded metal exuberance on opening proper cut “Scars of Injustice.” It’s got everything someone who grew up in the 80s blasting Teutonic metal could want. Frontman Clovis Gay sounds a whole lot like Gravedigger’s Chris Boltendahl crossbred with Rebellion’s Michael Seifert, and he gleefully goes WAY over the top with a hoarse squeal and roar. As Clovis does his thing, Antton Iriat and Frédéric Auclerc flatten resistance with road-grading, burly riffs, and entertaining harmonies designed to bring out your inner ape. There’s a big whiff of Rheingold here, and I can’t huff enough of that Germanic wonderdust. The template thus set, Seven Metal Sins set out to build on it whilst beating your ass from chimpanz-A to pimpanzeE. Cuts like “Hypocrisy” eschew nuance in favor of head-on, full-speed collision dynamics, using riffacades and raw aggression to drive the point home, and it works for them in the same way it worked for Gravedigger on their best albums. Album highlight “Feel the Steel” takes this formula and runs with it for 4 minutes of brain-shaking classic metal fury that gets even an elder primate like me up and throwing heavy objects. It’s a warhammer of a tune, and it reminds me a lot of the better Rebellion material, including their mighty paean, “Taste of Steel.”

Legacy of Chaos is the rare album that improves as it rolls along, gathering momentum and crucial energy, and the songwriting becomes more and more memorable too. Later tracks like “Wolves of the Last Dawn” and “Sun Eaters” are old-timey heavy metal burners, high on energy, low on subtlety, and they’re great for a tough cardio session. “Rise of the Phoenix” has one of the best choruses, and even the closing power ballad “King of Sorrow” works, both as a change of pace and a suitably epic finale. At just under 47 minutes, Legacy of Chaos is a fast-moving, jacked-up spin through the glory days of heavy metal, and no song outstays its welcome or bogs down the meat parade.

Clovis Gay has the kind of voice that was made for metal. He can sing, but often opts to roar, shout, warble, and caterwaul, and that’s the golden ticket for this kind of fare. Like Chris Boltendahl, he will be a love or hate proposition for some, but I dig his rough ‘n’ ready style and his silent film era villain moustache. That said, it’s Antton Iriat and Frédéric Auclerc who really anchor the sound with their mighty riffs and the way they use them to hammer at you until you give in and enjoy the ride. This is a tried-and-true formula, and it works in 2026 as it did in 1985.

When I first started spinning Legacy of Chaos, I felt like Seven Metal Sins were like Gravedigger from Temu or a “we have Gravedigger at home” situation. Both are somewhat true, but the band is stout enough to deliver an entertaining platter of metal nonetheless. There’s nothing here you haven’t heard a million times before, and no one will put this on end-of-year lists, but it’s a fun, brainless release with enough nut wattage to warm the cockles of the 80s metal fan. Now let’s commence to metal sinning.1

Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: 5 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Rockshots
Websites: facebook.com/sevenmetalsins | instagram.com/seven_metal_sins.official
Releases Worldwide: June 5th, 2026

When last we visited the Iron Kingdom, the frigid temps forced Holdeneye to don his special Arctic Wolf Fur Armor (providing +50% cold resistance). With the changing seasons, the climate has transformed into a desert under a scorching hot sun. These Canucks have been putting out classic-style heavy metal since 2011, though founders Chris Osterman and Leighton Holmes originally started the band under the moniker Twisted in 2004. Despite all that history, Shadows and Dust, their sixth album, will be just the second time they’ve graced these halls, following Holdeneye’s review of 2019’s On the Hunt. As prepared as Holdeneye was for the frigid setting of On the Hunt, his Arctic armor unfortunately could not handle the sudden increase in temperature. So I have come in his stead, donning my Hooded Cloak of the Dragon (+50% heat resistance) to travel the Iron Kingdom and report my findings.

On Shadows and Dust, Iron Kingdom remain defenders of the NWOTHM brand. With their instruments and voices, Iron Kingdom summon classic Judas Priest, Iron Maiden, and Helloween. Much of what they offer is mid-tempo bruisers featuring energetic riffs and kit work. Opener “Defenders” proves to be the standard bearer for the mid-tempo stuff, with solid instrumentation and the catchiest chorus on the record. Iron Kingdom occasionally reach for Painkiller levels of thrash as well. The high-energy “Eternal Emperor” features some killer riffs and is so much fun it competes with the best in the genre. Only two songs fall below the four-minute mark (“Line of Fire,” “Dark Demands”), and these prove lean, mean thrash machines that inject the album with energy and momentum. Not that I frown upon the longer tracks. Iron Kingdom employs plenty of tricks to keep the music engaging, particularly energetic dueling solos from Osterman and Megan Merrick that are simply a blast.

The crew comprising this Kingdom prove themselves more than capable musicians. Osterman takes the traditional part of NWOTHM literally with a lively performance that mixes Bruce Dickinson and Michael Kiske. He hits the high notes, but has a light gruffness to keep songs from growing treacly sweet. Holmes provides occasional backup duty on some call-and-response portions. When he shouts “Fight or die!” in response to Osterman on “Line of Fire,” it’s just pure fun. Holmes also excels at the bass. This chosen weapon proves omnipresent thanks to the strong mixing, adding meat and groove to the underlying riffs. His terrific bass part on “Blood and Steel” turns that into a track highlight. Merrick and Osterman show off their stuff on the guitars, injecting the standard rhythm sections with some acrobatic fretwork that’s reminiscent of last year’s Helms Deep. Max Friesen handles kit duties with aplomb. His mid-tempo work keeps up a constant near-thrash level of energy to prime listeners for when songs do go to the next level.

Shadows and Dust shows a pretty significant creep in length compared to Iron Kingdom’s prior few albums. I believe this is the result of some slightly better song compositions, but also a little bloat. For the most part, these tunes don’t feel their length, but a few less memorable cuts do cause the record to sag. “Deadhouse Gates” threatens to kill the momentum mid-record as it becomes too repetitive in its final minute. Fortunately, “Line of Fire” comes to the rescue with a crucial momentum boost. Finale “Sacred Fire,” an epic in the vein of classic Maiden, also runs a touch too long, but manages to entertain for most of its seven-minute runtime. While Iron Kingdom don’t tread any new ground, Shadows and Dust nonetheless offers plenty of fun without any major missteps.

The Iron Kingdom has proved to be a worthy and fun place to visit. It’s far less expensive than the budget-breaking Magic Kingdom and far less brutal than the Steel Kingdom.1 Sure you can go back and spin classics like Keeper of the Seven Keys a whole bunch, but it’s also fun to hear some fresh songs in the genre from newer bands who know how to write a good lick or two. While the summer is so far shaping up to be another hot one, Shadows and Dust provides the perfect soundtrack to beat the heat. It’s that cool.

Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Self-Released (NA) / Steel Shark Records (EU)
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Site
Releases Worldwide: June 5th, 2026

When last we visited the Iron Kingdom, the frigid temps forced Holdeneye to don his special Arctic Wolf Fur Armor (providing +50% cold resistance). With the changing seasons, the climate has transformed into a desert under a scorching hot sun. These Canucks have been putting out classic-style heavy metal since 2011, though founders Chris Osterman and Leighton Holmes originally started the band under the moniker Twisted in 2004. Despite all that history, Shadows and Dust, their sixth album, will be just the second time they’ve graced these halls, following Holdeneye’s review of 2019’s On the Hunt. As prepared as Holdeneye was for the frigid setting of On the Hunt, his Arctic armor unfortunately could not handle the sudden increase in temperature. So I have come in his stead, donning my Hooded Cloak of the Dragon (+50% heat resistance) to travel the Iron Kingdom and report my findings.

On Shadows and Dust, Iron Kingdom remain defenders of the NWOTHM brand. With their instruments and voices, Iron Kingdom summon classic Judas Priest, Iron Maiden, and Helloween. Much of what they offer is mid-tempo bruisers featuring energetic riffs and kit work. Opener “Defenders” proves to be the standard bearer for the mid-tempo stuff, with solid instrumentation and the catchiest chorus on the record. Iron Kingdom occasionally reach for Painkiller levels of thrash as well. The high-energy “Eternal Emperor” features some killer riffs and is so much fun it competes with the best in the genre. Only two songs fall below the four-minute mark (“Line of Fire,” “Dark Demands”), and these prove lean, mean thrash machines that inject the album with energy and momentum. Not that I frown upon the longer tracks. Iron Kingdom employs plenty of tricks to keep the music engaging, particularly energetic dueling solos from Osterman and Megan Merrick that are simply a blast.

The crew comprising this Kingdom prove themselves more than capable musicians. Osterman takes the traditional part of NWOTHM literally with a lively performance that mixes Bruce Dickinson and Michael Kiske. He hits the high notes, but has a light gruffness to keep songs from growing treacly sweet. Holmes provides occasional backup duty on some call-and-response portions. When he shouts “Fight or die!” in response to Osterman on “Line of Fire,” it’s just pure fun. Holmes also excels at the bass. This chosen weapon proves omnipresent thanks to the strong mixing, adding meat and groove to the underlying riffs. His terrific bass part on “Blood and Steel” turns that into a track highlight. Merrick and Osterman show off their stuff on the guitars, injecting the standard rhythm sections with some acrobatic fretwork that’s reminiscent of last year’s Helms Deep. Max Friesen handles kit duties with aplomb. His mid-tempo work keeps up a constant near-thrash level of energy to prime listeners for when songs do go to the next level.

Shadows and Dust shows a pretty significant creep in length compared to Iron Kingdom’s prior few albums. I believe this is the result of some slightly better song compositions, but also a little bloat. For the most part, these tunes don’t feel their length, but a few less memorable cuts do cause the record to sag. “Deadhouse Gates” threatens to kill the momentum mid-record as it becomes too repetitive in its final minute. Fortunately, “Line of Fire” comes to the rescue with a crucial momentum boost. Finale “Sacred Fire,” an epic in the vein of classic Maiden, also runs a touch too long, but manages to entertain for most of its seven-minute runtime. While Iron Kingdom don’t tread any new ground, Shadows and Dust nonetheless offers plenty of fun without any major missteps.

The Iron Kingdom has proved to be a worthy and fun place to visit. It’s far less expensive than the budget-breaking Magic Kingdom and far less brutal than the Steel Kingdom.1 Sure you can go back and spin classics like Keeper of the Seven Keys a whole bunch, but it’s also fun to hear some fresh songs in the genre from newer bands who know how to write a good lick or two. While the summer is so far shaping up to be another hot one, Shadows and Dust provides the perfect soundtrack to beat the heat. It’s that cool.

Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Self-Released (NA) / Steel Shark Records (EU)
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Site
Releases Worldwide: June 5th, 2026

One of the paradoxes of living in a large city is the tendency of its inhabitants to feel isolated despite being surrounded by millions of people. Something of a “water, water, everywhere but not a drop to drink” phenomenon. It seems—at least to me—that this theme frequently surfaces within the post-black metal subgenre. Callous Faulter was founded by J. Angus in Melbourne, Australia, in order to give sonic form to urban loneliness. Their mission statement is succinct and straightforward: “Modern life is hell and Callous Faulter provide the soundtrack.” And considering that this is a debut record, Callous Faulter is quite a potent soundtrack indeed.

If the weather where you live has become uncomfortably hot and sunny, Callous Faulter is more than willing to conjure dour moods and dismal days. This flavor of downcast post-black bears a passing resemblance to that of White Ward, but whereas White Ward tempers their bleak outlook with pensive, jazzy sections, Callous Faulter presents an unflinching and unrelenting emotional assault.1 Another way to contextualize Callous Faulter would be to hollow out Cave Sermon’s2 melodic textures and fill them in with Aversio Humanitatis’s dissonance and Altar of Plagues’s sinister, oppressive atmosphere. The structure of Callous Faulter comprises only two tracks (“The Isolationist” and “Ocean Views”), which are between 16 and 18 minutes each for a total runtime of 35 minutes.

Callous Faulter employs an extraordinary array of tools to kindle unease in the listener. Sometimes torpid, discordant guitar notes meld with slow, syncopated drum rhythms. Other times the guitars buzz and drone like an angry swarm of wasps, or clanging chords twist together with tremolos to form a grotesque melodic bouquet. All the while, blast beats intermittently pound away like a jackhammer to the nervous system. Speaking of drums, R. Stone’s performance is incredible. The contrast between the intensely complex rhythms and the minimal post-metal guitars and howled vocals does much to keep the compositions from fading into background noise. It’s particularly powerful when the drumming steadily ramps up in intensity towards the end of “The Isolationist” amidst a few stray screams like the last gasps of a drowning person before the song cuts off with a decisive snare hit.

However, Callous Faulter doesn’t always make the most of its lean runtime, particularly during the second track. “Ocean Views” begins promisingly with an energetic intro reminiscent of Dawn of Ouroboros, but towards the midpoint, it slips into a languid and repetitive loop that lasts far too long. In contrast, Callous Faulter utilizes repetition better in “The Isolationist” by breaking the ruminative reprieve before tedium can set in. Things do eventually liven up again in the final few minutes of “Ocean Views,” but not in a way that makes the listless stretch make sense in retrospect. Even so, this could be an instance of a record that might have been stronger if longer, since having so few minutes means that each one matters that much more to make an impression.

As bleak as Callous Faulter is, I can’t deny that it holds a kind of enigmatic allure, its desolate setting calling me back again and again. The first track “The Isolationist,” is a great proof of concept, while “Ocean Views” doesn’t quite hit the mark. As a whole, it doesn’t feel like Callous Faulter has enough time to thoroughly articulate what it wants to say, though there are certainly worse criticisms than wishing for more of it. There is plenty of potential here, and I will be keenly interested to hear Callous Faulter further expound upon this established style in the future. In the meantime, know that if you ever feel bereft of companionship where you live, you can at least count on this collective of misfits within the online community at Angry Metal Guy for support.

Rating: 2.5/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 192 kbps mp3
Label: Gutter Prince Cabal
Websites: callousfaulter.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/people/Callous-Faulter
Releases Worldwide: June 1st, 2026

One of the paradoxes of living in a large city is the tendency of its inhabitants to feel isolated despite being surrounded by millions of people. Something of a “water, water, everywhere but not a drop to drink” phenomenon. It seems—at least to me—that this theme frequently surfaces within the post-black metal subgenre. Callous Faulter was founded by J. Angus in Melbourne, Australia, in order to give sonic form to urban loneliness. Their mission statement is succinct and straightforward: “Modern life is hell and Callous Faulter provide the soundtrack.” And considering that this is a debut record, Callous Faulter is quite a potent soundtrack indeed.

If the weather where you live has become uncomfortably hot and sunny, Callous Faulter is more than willing to conjure dour moods and dismal days. This flavor of downcast post-black bears a passing resemblance to that of White Ward, but whereas White Ward tempers their bleak outlook with pensive, jazzy sections, Callous Faulter presents an unflinching and unrelenting emotional assault.1 Another way to contextualize Callous Faulter would be to hollow out Cave Sermon’s2 melodic textures and fill them in with Aversio Humanitatis’s dissonance and Altar of Plagues’s sinister, oppressive atmosphere. The structure of Callous Faulter comprises only two tracks (“The Isolationist” and “Ocean Views”), which are between 16 and 18 minutes each for a total runtime of 35 minutes.

Callous Faulter employs an extraordinary array of tools to kindle unease in the listener. Sometimes torpid, discordant guitar notes meld with slow, syncopated drum rhythms. Other times the guitars buzz and drone like an angry swarm of wasps, or clanging chords twist together with tremolos to form a grotesque melodic bouquet. All the while, blast beats intermittently pound away like a jackhammer to the nervous system. Speaking of drums, R. Stone’s performance is incredible. The contrast between the intensely complex rhythms and the minimal post-metal guitars and howled vocals does much to keep the compositions from fading into background noise. It’s particularly powerful when the drumming steadily ramps up in intensity towards the end of “The Isolationist” amidst a few stray screams like the last gasps of a drowning person before the song cuts off with a decisive snare hit.

However, Callous Faulter doesn’t always make the most of its lean runtime, particularly during the second track. “Ocean Views” begins promisingly with an energetic intro reminiscent of Dawn of Ouroboros, but towards the midpoint, it slips into a languid and repetitive loop that lasts far too long. In contrast, Callous Faulter utilizes repetition better in “The Isolationist” by breaking the ruminative reprieve before tedium can set in. Things do eventually liven up again in the final few minutes of “Ocean Views,” but not in a way that makes the listless stretch make sense in retrospect. Even so, this could be an instance of a record that might have been stronger if longer, since having so few minutes means that each one matters that much more to make an impression.

As bleak as Callous Faulter is, I can’t deny that it holds a kind of enigmatic allure, its desolate setting calling me back again and again. The first track “The Isolationist,” is a great proof of concept, while “Ocean Views” doesn’t quite hit the mark. As a whole, it doesn’t feel like Callous Faulter has enough time to thoroughly articulate what it wants to say, though there are certainly worse criticisms than wishing for more of it. There is plenty of potential here, and I will be keenly interested to hear Callous Faulter further expound upon this established style in the future. In the meantime, know that if you ever feel bereft of companionship where you live, you can at least count on this collective of misfits within the online community at Angry Metal Guy for support.

Rating: 2.5/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 192 kbps mp3
Label: Gutter Prince Cabal
Websites: callousfaulter.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/people/Callous-Faulter
Releases Worldwide: June 1st, 2026

Since opining on thrash metal’s 2026 resurgence in Nukem’s The Grave Remains review, a steady stream of thrash clans have continued to trickle into the promo sump. Next up is Vancouver power trio W.M.D.,1 short for When Minds Develop. Formed in 2015, W.M.D. unleashed debut Lethal Revenge in 2018 before losing all but one of their founding members—guitarist and vocalist Skyler Mills. After recruiting bassist Jon Power and drummer Ryan Idris in 2023, this wrecking crew set to write and record their sophomore opus Against All Warnings. Eight years is a long time between albums, and turning over nearly the entire band can radically shift its dynamics. Has W.M.D. cleared these hurdles and incubated weapons of thrash destruction, or do they deliver a new album Against All Warnings?

W.M.D. plays thrash the way the old school intended—breakneck and direct. Against All Warnings mostly reminds me of East Coast acts, specifically Overkill and Anthrax, due to the in-your-face attitude, low-frills precision, and spirited bass spunk. Although these benchmarks are most immediate, subtler influences surface by way of Megadethian technicality and razor-sharp riffing à la classic Exodus. I’d also be remiss not to mention Hyperia, which currently features Mills and Power while hosting Idris as their live drummer. Regardless, W.M.D. absorbs the thrash that came before and forges it into a sound all their own—and it rips.

Taking crossover’s blistering speeds and supercharging them with riveting performances, Against All Warnings rams oodles of riffs, grooves, and rolls into forty engrossing minutes. I’m a sucker for bass presence, and W.M.D. packs enough beef to induce a weeklong case of the meat sweats. Jon Power discharges his burly low-end throughout Against All Warnings, bouncing and clanging with the vim and vigor of Verni or DiGiorgio (“Kleptomania,” “The Thin Red Line”). Idris rounds out the rhythm section, nimbly whipsawing across the kit as he maneuvers through full-throttle barrages (“Against All Warnings,” “Painful Vengeance”), half-time chugs (“The Thin Red Line,” “Already Dead”), and herky-jerky stutter stops (“Post Human Predator”). Mills takes on the rest, laying down barbed hooks (“The Black Expanse”) and snotty vocals that recall Lich King and Havok. As the cherry on top, guests Casey Trask (“Post Human Predator,” “Painful Vengeance”) and Kai Sakaguchi (“Against All Warnings”) contribute scorching solos, ensuring there’s never a dearth of pyrotechnics. In all, there’s no weak link in the chain, and Against All Warnings bristles with thrashy vitality.

Nearly as impressive as W.M.D.’s onslaught is their elusion of critical flaws. Against All Warnings sidesteps major pitfalls as W.M.D. navigates the treacherous channels of thrash, dancing along the knife’s edge between the genre’s primary criticisms: unoriginal and retreaded compositions and unserious stylings. Rather, the trio plays infectiously vibrant metal with utter conviction, and I’m here for every second of it. This doesn’t mean the album is perfect, however, and some fine-tuning would elevate Against All Warnings even higher. First, penultimate track “Already Dead” lingers at the end, which would be more palatable if it were the finale. Instead, after a slightly prolonged fade of thunder, we’re given “Painful Vengeance.” Switching the order of these tracks or pushing “Painful Vengeance” even earlier would work better. Also, while the production is warm and organic, the album plays a little too quietly. It’s not an issue if I’m only listening to Against All Warnings, but its songs are noticeably muted when thrown into a playlist with other material. Still, these complaints prove minor quibbles compared to the indisputable boom W.M.D. unleashes.

Thrash detractors may not be convinced by Against All Warnings, but they should be. It’s impossible to deny the energy and conviction coursing through W.M.D.’s balls-out blitz, where relentless speeds, head-banging hooks, and rousing choruses embody W.M.D.’s full-tilt bonanza. Against All Warnings ensconces itself as the best thrash album I’ve heard so far in 2026,2 and sets a high bar for the rest of the year. Somebody ought to sign these Canucks, because they’re peddling a potent brew that’s guaranteed to please, Warnings be damned.

Rating: Great
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Self-Release
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: June 5th, 2026

Since opining on thrash metal’s 2026 resurgence in Nukem’s The Grave Remains review, a steady stream of thrash clans have continued to trickle into the promo sump. Next up is Vancouver power trio W.M.D.,1 short for When Minds Develop. Formed in 2015, W.M.D. unleashed debut Lethal Revenge in 2018 before losing all but one of their founding members—guitarist and vocalist Skyler Mills. After recruiting bassist Jon Power and drummer Ryan Idris in 2023, this wrecking crew set to write and record their sophomore opus Against All Warnings. Eight years is a long time between albums, and turning over nearly the entire band can radically shift its dynamics. Has W.M.D. cleared these hurdles and incubated weapons of thrash destruction, or do they deliver a new album Against All Warnings?

W.M.D. plays thrash the way the old school intended—breakneck and direct. Against All Warnings mostly reminds me of East Coast acts, specifically Overkill and Anthrax, due to the in-your-face attitude, low-frills precision, and spirited bass spunk. Although these benchmarks are most immediate, subtler influences surface by way of Megadethian technicality and razor-sharp riffing à la classic Exodus. I’d also be remiss not to mention Hyperia, which currently features Mills and Power while hosting Idris as their live drummer. Regardless, W.M.D. absorbs the thrash that came before and forges it into a sound all their own—and it rips.

Taking crossover’s blistering speeds and supercharging them with riveting performances, Against All Warnings rams oodles of riffs, grooves, and rolls into forty engrossing minutes. I’m a sucker for bass presence, and W.M.D. packs enough beef to induce a weeklong case of the meat sweats. Jon Power discharges his burly low-end throughout Against All Warnings, bouncing and clanging with the vim and vigor of Verni or DiGiorgio (“Kleptomania,” “The Thin Red Line”). Idris rounds out the rhythm section, nimbly whipsawing across the kit as he maneuvers through full-throttle barrages (“Against All Warnings,” “Painful Vengeance”), half-time chugs (“The Thin Red Line,” “Already Dead”), and herky-jerky stutter stops (“Post Human Predator”). Mills takes on the rest, laying down barbed hooks (“The Black Expanse”) and snotty vocals that recall Lich King and Havok. As the cherry on top, guests Casey Trask (“Post Human Predator,” “Painful Vengeance”) and Kai Sakaguchi (“Against All Warnings”) contribute scorching solos, ensuring there’s never a dearth of pyrotechnics. In all, there’s no weak link in the chain, and Against All Warnings bristles with thrashy vitality.

Nearly as impressive as W.M.D.’s onslaught is their elusion of critical flaws. Against All Warnings sidesteps major pitfalls as W.M.D. navigates the treacherous channels of thrash, dancing along the knife’s edge between the genre’s primary criticisms: unoriginal and retreaded compositions and unserious stylings. Rather, the trio plays infectiously vibrant metal with utter conviction, and I’m here for every second of it. This doesn’t mean the album is perfect, however, and some fine-tuning would elevate Against All Warnings even higher. First, penultimate track “Already Dead” lingers at the end, which would be more palatable if it were the finale. Instead, after a slightly prolonged fade of thunder, we’re given “Painful Vengeance.” Switching the order of these tracks or pushing “Painful Vengeance” even earlier would work better. Also, while the production is warm and organic, the album plays a little too quietly. It’s not an issue if I’m only listening to Against All Warnings, but its songs are noticeably muted when thrown into a playlist with other material. Still, these complaints prove minor quibbles compared to the indisputable boom W.M.D. unleashes.

Thrash detractors may not be convinced by Against All Warnings, but they should be. It’s impossible to deny the energy and conviction coursing through W.M.D.’s balls-out blitz, where relentless speeds, head-banging hooks, and rousing choruses embody W.M.D.’s full-tilt bonanza. Against All Warnings ensconces itself as the best thrash album I’ve heard so far in 2026,2 and sets a high bar for the rest of the year. Somebody ought to sign these Canucks, because they’re peddling a potent brew that’s guaranteed to please, Warnings be damned.

Rating: Great
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Self-Release
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: June 5th, 2026

In a time where one side-eyes many an image or video online for fear of its having been created with generative AI, it’s bemusing when an artist actively markets themselves as robotic. Calling themselves a “real-fiction metal band,” centering the project on the transmissions of powerful, hyper-intelligent cyborgs, and initially appearing to have zero discoverable human presence on the internet, Polish act Eutanor might have gone a little too far with the gimmick. They are, as it turns out, so extremely far underground that neither Metal Archives, nor Bandcamp, nor any streaming service will offer you their music.1 It was only once I started pasting Google-translated Polish into my search engine that I happened upon reviews and YouTube playlists of the band’s debut, Assembling Tomorrow. The mechanical concept explicitly informs the music’s sound—a self-described “funeral djent”—that every source emphasized being difficult to absorb. But is there more man or machine in Automatocrat?

Sources were not wrong: Automatocrat is no easy listening. Even the track titles are hard to process, being an ordinal series of numbers in rough magnitude of 1.7-1.85Bn. If funeral djent is intended to invoke a blend of syncopated, drop-tuned chugs and erratic rhythms with low, slow riffs and a morose vibe, then it’s somewhat apt since the prevailing pace is slow even as the structures are fickle. But Eutanor take cues from a spectrum of subgenres besides, leaning heavily at uneven intervals towards black metal (“1804068394”), sludge (“1731543705”), stoner (“1771078223”), electronica, brutal death, and grind (“1800748752”)2. Whilst the rhythms and guitar patterns fluctuate a little in turn, the vocals sit almost entirely in some liminal space between what would be appropriate for any of these styles: a gravelly, drawn-out kind of rasp. Really, the main thing Automatocrat shares with the funereal is reverb, and with djent an experimental approach to groove. “Experimental” is probably the best descriptor for the music in general, but while innovation and complexity can make for fantastic metal, in Eutanor’s case, “experimental” is a euphemism.3

Automatocrat is mechanical only in its obstinacy in sounding as bad as possible. Well, that and the computer-generated female voice that appears at some point on every song to read out the number that names it.4 The latter would be funny if the surrounding music weren’t steadily sapping your will to live through a combination of muddled movements, messy execution, and migraine-inducing mixing. At its least offensive, the music could be considered monotonous, with flattened tremolo picking (“1804068394”), trudging doom-death (“1731543705”) or stoner-coded (“1771078223”) riffs accompanied by a basic beat. Even here, you can’t escape from the vocals, croaking—and sometimes, horrifyingly shout-speaking (“1731543705,” “1804068394”)—that scrape the insides of your skull like a rusty spoon. The reverb, which spares no expense in muddying the vocals, guitars, and cymbals alike, mocks you (“1735064161,” “1771078223”, “1804068394”). When you think it can’t get worse, Eutanor put down their metronome for a token exploration so uncoordinated and lacking in imagination it would be generous to call it a jam. Random snippets of electronica are chucked about for all of a second (“1735064161,” “1800748752”), drums have intermittent fits of failed syncopation (“1713721976,” “1804068394”), and guitar lines materialise disconnectedly only to be choked by their mediocre riff peers and endless resonance (“1731543705,” “1771078223”), or simply feint away from development (“1846444894”).

But the hardest thing to digest about Automatocrat may not be its confusing nature or meaningless attempts at experimentation, but how awful it sounds in general. The production is so bad it actually made me angry, because it suggests that Eutanor simply didn’t put much effort in. Just like the lifeless chaos that defines the music’s composition, the relentless forward crush of everything—except of course, the parts that might actually be interesting—and the fuzzy muck smothering the rise of layered guitars while sharpening vocals beyond potency implies a lack of care. There are some good ideas—a cool riff here (“1731543705”), a piece of rhythmic weirdness that works there (“1800748752”)—but they need to be properly audible, and given the room and the treatment to shine. Yes, Eutanor are small and probably low-budget, but this album sounds worse than low-fi and only compounds the structural and aesthetic problems with the music itself.

After my time with Automatocrat, I still can’t decipher the artistic intent behind it, let alone the person or persons responsible. Too boring to earn the label of “avant-garde,” too ugly and messy to be enjoyable, and too bad to feel like a sincere statement, I struggle to see an audience who would appreciate it. The lack of personality and imagination in Euatnor’s grating pretences to music is fitting for inhuman machinery, but its sloppiness feels all too human.

Rating: Unlistenable
DR: 5 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Self-Release
Websites: Bandcamp | Official
Releases Worldwide: June 5th, 2026

In a time where one side-eyes many an image or video online for fear of its having been created with generative AI, it’s bemusing when an artist actively markets themselves as robotic. Calling themselves a “real-fiction metal band,” centering the project on the transmissions of powerful, hyper-intelligent cyborgs, and initially appearing to have zero discoverable human presence on the internet, Polish act Eutanor might have gone a little too far with the gimmick. They are, as it turns out, so extremely far underground that neither Metal Archives, nor Bandcamp, nor any streaming service will offer you their music.1 It was only once I started pasting Google-translated Polish into my search engine that I happened upon reviews and YouTube playlists of the band’s debut, Assembling Tomorrow. The mechanical concept explicitly informs the music’s sound—a self-described “funeral djent”—that every source emphasized being difficult to absorb. But is there more man or machine in Automatocrat?

Sources were not wrong: Automatocrat is no easy listening. Even the track titles are hard to process, being an ordinal series of numbers in rough magnitude of 1.7-1.85Bn. If funeral djent is intended to invoke a blend of syncopated, drop-tuned chugs and erratic rhythms with low, slow riffs and a morose vibe, then it’s somewhat apt since the prevailing pace is slow even as the structures are fickle. But Eutanor take cues from a spectrum of subgenres besides, leaning heavily at uneven intervals towards black metal (“1804068394”), sludge (“1731543705”), stoner (“1771078223”), electronica, brutal death, and grind (“1800748752”)2. Whilst the rhythms and guitar patterns fluctuate a little in turn, the vocals sit almost entirely in some liminal space between what would be appropriate for any of these styles: a gravelly, drawn-out kind of rasp. Really, the main thing Automatocrat shares with the funereal is reverb, and with djent an experimental approach to groove. “Experimental” is probably the best descriptor for the music in general, but while innovation and complexity can make for fantastic metal, in Eutanor’s case, “experimental” is a euphemism.3

Automatocrat is mechanical only in its obstinacy in sounding as bad as possible. Well, that and the computer-generated female voice that appears at some point on every song to read out the number that names it.4 The latter would be funny if the surrounding music weren’t steadily sapping your will to live through a combination of muddled movements, messy execution, and migraine-inducing mixing. At its least offensive, the music could be considered monotonous, with flattened tremolo picking (“1804068394”), trudging doom-death (“1731543705”) or stoner-coded (“1771078223”) riffs accompanied by a basic beat. Even here, you can’t escape from the vocals, croaking—and sometimes, horrifyingly shout-speaking (“1731543705,” “1804068394”)—that scrape the insides of your skull like a rusty spoon. The reverb, which spares no expense in muddying the vocals, guitars, and cymbals alike, mocks you (“1735064161,” “1771078223”, “1804068394”). When you think it can’t get worse, Eutanor put down their metronome for a token exploration so uncoordinated and lacking in imagination it would be generous to call it a jam. Random snippets of electronica are chucked about for all of a second (“1735064161,” “1800748752”), drums have intermittent fits of failed syncopation (“1713721976,” “1804068394”), and guitar lines materialise disconnectedly only to be choked by their mediocre riff peers and endless resonance (“1731543705,” “1771078223”), or simply feint away from development (“1846444894”).

But the hardest thing to digest about Automatocrat may not be its confusing nature or meaningless attempts at experimentation, but how awful it sounds in general. The production is so bad it actually made me angry, because it suggests that Eutanor simply didn’t put much effort in. Just like the lifeless chaos that defines the music’s composition, the relentless forward crush of everything—except of course, the parts that might actually be interesting—and the fuzzy muck smothering the rise of layered guitars while sharpening vocals beyond potency implies a lack of care. There are some good ideas—a cool riff here (“1731543705”), a piece of rhythmic weirdness that works there (“1800748752”)—but they need to be properly audible, and given the room and the treatment to shine. Yes, Eutanor are small and probably low-budget, but this album sounds worse than low-fi and only compounds the structural and aesthetic problems with the music itself.

After my time with Automatocrat, I still can’t decipher the artistic intent behind it, let alone the person or persons responsible. Too boring to earn the label of “avant-garde,” too ugly and messy to be enjoyable, and too bad to feel like a sincere statement, I struggle to see an audience who would appreciate it. The lack of personality and imagination in Euatnor’s grating pretences to music is fitting for inhuman machinery, but its sloppiness feels all too human.

Rating: Unlistenable
DR: 5 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Self-Release
Websites: Bandcamp | Official
Releases Worldwide: June 5th, 2026