#jun26 — Public Fediverse posts

Being the manager of a large arcade, you’d correctly imagine that summer has been kicking my keister. Consequently, this review is late, and not in a “I had it written, and Steel took his sweet time getting its glory to the masses” way.1 This one is my fault altogether, such that I almost let it slip through the cracks and gave it the TYMHM treatment. And yet, I cannot. International outfit (by way of Sweden and Italy) Feralia have quietly come out with a release which has enticed and enthralled me, warts and all, til I felt spiritually obligated to make sure I spoke of its darkness in a semi-timely manner. Third album Ultima Requies has been released, and while ostensibly black metal, it draws from so many colors within its palette that it makes for a quality and engaging listen.

In a stunning, fist-shaking gesture of defiance to AMG HQ procedures appropriate for my country celebrating the 4th of July, I’m gonna knock the whining out of the way up front. Ultima Requies has a lot of clean vocals, and not all of them stick the landing. Opening track “Ballata Avernale” is the worst offender, where the vocals don’t so much transition as much as startle with an effort at a baritone reminiscent of modern Mayhem but with a much more jarring, disjointed presentation. They do get smoother as the album unfolds; “Defigere” in particular manages to hit a particularly mournful tone about halfway through which fits quite well. Nevertheless, they’re easily the part that takes the longest to warm up to, and Feralia needs to improve their ability to mesh this element in with their overall sound.

The good news is Feralia has such a masterful command of textures that you shouldn’t let this get in the way of your enjoyment. Ultima Requies utilizes an excessive breadth of extra instrumentation ranging from organs (“Ballata Avernale”) to synthy choirs to acoustic guitars to a full-blown Beard-bait-dudgeon-synth-adjacent interlude (“Emperio”), and not one of them feels forced or uncalled for. While there aren’t any riffs here that could be classified as life-changing, the band exercise a mastery of flow from requisite crushing power to melancholic, introspective calm without missing a step. Ultima Requies is an excellent example of an album with a journey, escorting the listener across brief dollops of straightforward Havukruunu charge, and occasional Fell Omen riffs by way of mid-era Immortal tones, assembled between and around calmer moments of introspective peace with the arrangement skill of Nechochwen. Listeners should not come in expecting hellfire and suffering, but also not a lovely waltz through the woods; here there be thunderstorms and toppled statues as much as peace and serenity.

This defiance of easy classification is the most enticing thing about Ultima Requies. It isn’t so overtly assaulting as to be called a blackened slab of violence; nor does it rely on its interludes and peaceful moments enough to properly be classified as atmospheric. It has some whiffs of dissonance, trying to channel the most Omega of Deathspells (“Ver Sacrum”), but these moments collapse into bass-led melody as quick as they appear. Said bass, courtesy of member Krhura is given a lot of spotlight, with the guitars sometimes turned down for him to take complete sonic command in the stylings of more modern Krallice. Occasional leads pop up in the spirit of less flashy Aran Angmar but always with a focus on raw atmosphere and emotion rather than the slaughter of one’s enemies. Despite this constant carousel of mood and tone, Feralia have offered up a cohesive, well-assembled work which refuses to be limited by its genre labels despite working well within its established ideas.

Ultima Requies is a confusing album in the best possible sense. Not content to merely make you headbang, but also not trying to drag you into depression; not so evil as to make you throw horns but hardly giving in to anything that could be considered light and joy, it is a kaleidoscope of sound under a black metal umbrella. Driving home at two in the morning, exhausted from ten hours of exposure to the cacophony of screaming children, it hits different. Feralia have offered a great encapsulation of power spent, of the peace after the storm, with enough sparks of remaining spirit and might to invigorate as much as soothe and relax. That’s a rare treat in the realm of black metal, and in this abominable heat and exhausting season, it’s worthy of your time.

Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: Lost to time | Format Reviewed: Bandcamp stream
Label: Aeternitas Tenebrarum Musicae Fundamentum
Website: Album Bandcamp
Releases Worldwide: June 26th, 2026

I’ve been on a bit of a thrash bender in June, and Ruyned will conclude this month’s kick for ol’ Grin. The Romanian trio sends me deep into the heart of July with turbocharged, high-octane riffing and a moderate case of whiplash. Profanum Sacrificium, Ruyned’s sophomore LP, plays thrash the way the olde school intended—at furious speeds with the subtlety of an uppercut to the jawbone. My elevator pitch for Ruyned is, ‘Midnight but faster,’ yet the crew also channels Kill ‘Em All-era Metallica and a stripped-down Hellripper. With blistering paces in all the right places, does Profanum Sacrificium satisfy listeners’ need for speed?

Profanum Sacrificium is a tale of two halves, covering a pair of narrative arcs that relate accounts of violence and death. The front-end scorches with instantaneous shots of adrenaline and describes the heinous depravity of the Vampire of Düsseldorf. “Speedchain” and “Sex’n Speed” reek of OG Metallica, where “Hit the Lights” seems a major inspiration for both “Speedchain”‘s thunderous opening as well as the primary hook in “Sex’n Speed.” “Sex Commander 666” sprints into Motörhead territory, opening with a solo that Fast Eddie Clark would approve of before slinking into a funky swagger that reminds me of “Love Me Like a Reptile.” Where Ruyned plays a touch too close to influence on the first two, “Sex Commander 666” exudes a freshness that hints at touchstones without plaguing me with questions of where I’ve heard a riff before. Meanwhile, “Orgasm Through Death” slows proceedings down appreciably, with Bogdan Mateescu’s tortured, blackened rasps guiding listeners through a plodding march that amplifies the drama.

The second half of Profanum Sacrificium shifts to a separate narrative, describing centuries-long witch hunts from post-medieval Europe steeped in folklore and flames. Musically, this pulls Ruyned away from the straightforward ragers that define Profanum Sacrificium’s first half and into darker, more novel waters. The most immediate difference is that more time gets dedicated to instrumentation on the back half, with two instrumentals and less vocal focus towards the ends of tracks “Malleus Maleficarum” and “Witches Gallöw.” Originality flares here as well, where the instrumentation is reminiscent of bands like Bütcher and Toxic Holocaust, but the songs don’t blur with comparisons. “Profanum Sacrificium,” “Malleus Maleficarum,” and “Witches Gallöw” could pass for decade-old Kreator B-sides sung by Tapping the Vein-era Tom Angelripper, boasting snappy melodic riffing supported by Mihai Marinescu’s machine-gun blast drums and Tiberiu Olescher’s mid-range bass attack.

In all, Ruyned zips through half an hour of breakneck thrash with enough energy and grit that it’s unerringly easy to enjoy despite some bumps along the way. Even before I discovered Profanum Sacrificium’s two narrative arcs, the musical split between them stood out. While each half succeeds on its own, together they present a whole too disjointed to flourish without an interceding mixer. Ruyned’s instrumentals also undercut Profanum Sacrificium’s potential, where the three of them total four-and-a-half minutes of fluff. The remainder of Profanum Sacrificium barely contains enough meat to qualify for LP status, leaving the album longing for another well-developed song or two rather than three throwaway tracks.1 Still, the rest of the album supplies plenty of good thrashing, and with a little more consideration to songwriting cohesion, Ruyned possesses the pizzazz to set barns ablaze their next time out.

After several listens through Profanum Sacrificium, I’m convinced Ruyned can write first-class thrash. Rapidfire riffs and blackened edges give Ruyned a sense of familiarity, and if they can take care to push further away from genre greats and commit to more unified songwriting, they’ll menace listeners with an all-killer fusillade next time. Until then, Profanum Sacrificium serves as a fun diversion when time doesn’t allow for a longer dive, but it ultimately doesn’t threaten what other acts have done in the space this year.

Rating: Good
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Osmose Productions
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: June 26th, 2026

I’ve been on a bit of a thrash bender in June, and Ruyned will conclude this month’s kick for ol’ Grin. The Romanian trio sends me deep into the heart of July with turbocharged, high-octane riffing and a moderate case of whiplash. Profanum Sacrificium, Ruyned’s sophomore LP, plays thrash the way the olde school intended—at furious speeds with the subtlety of an uppercut to the jawbone. My elevator pitch for Ruyned is, ‘Midnight but faster,’ yet the crew also channels Kill ‘Em All-era Metallica and a stripped-down Hellripper. With blistering paces in all the right places, does Profanum Sacrificium satisfy listeners’ need for speed?

Profanum Sacrificium is a tale of two halves, covering a pair of narrative arcs that relate accounts of violence and death. The front-end scorches with instantaneous shots of adrenaline and describes the heinous depravity of the Vampire of Düsseldorf. “Speedchain” and “Sex’n Speed” reek of OG Metallica, where “Hit the Lights” seems a major inspiration for both “Speedchain”‘s thunderous opening as well as the primary hook in “Sex’n Speed.” “Sex Commander 666” sprints into Motörhead territory, opening with a solo that Fast Eddie Clark would approve of before slinking into a funky swagger that reminds me of “Love Me Like a Reptile.” Where Ruyned plays a touch too close to influence on the first two, “Sex Commander 666” exudes a freshness that hints at touchstones without plaguing me with questions of where I’ve heard a riff before. Meanwhile, “Orgasm Through Death” slows proceedings down appreciably, with Bogdan Mateescu’s tortured, blackened rasps guiding listeners through a plodding march that amplifies the drama.

The second half of Profanum Sacrificium shifts to a separate narrative, describing centuries-long witch hunts from post-medieval Europe steeped in folklore and flames. Musically, this pulls Ruyned away from the straightforward ragers that define Profanum Sacrificium’s first half and into darker, more novel waters. The most immediate difference is that more time gets dedicated to instrumentation on the back half, with two instrumentals and less vocal focus towards the ends of tracks “Malleus Maleficarum” and “Witches Gallöw.” Originality flares here as well, where the instrumentation is reminiscent of bands like Bütcher and Toxic Holocaust, but the songs don’t blur with comparisons. “Profanum Sacrificium,” “Malleus Maleficarum,” and “Witches Gallöw” could pass for decade-old Kreator B-sides sung by Tapping the Vein-era Tom Angelripper, boasting snappy melodic riffing supported by Mihai Marinescu’s machine-gun blast drums and Tiberiu Olescher’s mid-range bass attack.

In all, Ruyned zips through half an hour of breakneck thrash with enough energy and grit that it’s unerringly easy to enjoy despite some bumps along the way. Even before I discovered Profanum Sacrificium’s two narrative arcs, the musical split between them stood out. While each half succeeds on its own, together they present a whole too disjointed to flourish without an interceding mixer. Ruyned’s instrumentals also undercut Profanum Sacrificium’s potential, where the three of them total four-and-a-half minutes of fluff. The remainder of Profanum Sacrificium barely contains enough meat to qualify for LP status, leaving the album longing for another well-developed song or two rather than three throwaway tracks.1 Still, the rest of the album supplies plenty of good thrashing, and with a little more consideration to songwriting cohesion, Ruyned possesses the pizzazz to set barns ablaze their next time out.

After several listens through Profanum Sacrificium, I’m convinced Ruyned can write first-class thrash. Rapidfire riffs and blackened edges give Ruyned a sense of familiarity, and if they can take care to push further away from genre greats and commit to more unified songwriting, they’ll menace listeners with an all-killer fusillade next time. Until then, Profanum Sacrificium serves as a fun diversion when time doesn’t allow for a longer dive, but it ultimately doesn’t threaten what other acts have done in the space this year.

Rating: Good
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Osmose Productions
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: June 26th, 2026

I’ve been on a bit of a thrash bender in June, and Ruyned will conclude this month’s kick for ol’ Grin. The Romanian trio sends me deep into the heart of July with turbocharged, high-octane riffing and a moderate case of whiplash. Profanum Sacrificium, Ruyned’s sophomore LP, plays thrash the way the olde school intended—at furious speeds with the subtlety of an uppercut to the jawbone. My elevator pitch for Ruyned is, ‘Midnight but faster,’ yet the crew also channels Kill ‘Em All-era Metallica and a stripped-down Hellripper. With blistering paces in all the right places, does Profanum Sacrificium satisfy listeners’ need for speed?

Profanum Sacrificium is a tale of two halves, covering a pair of narrative arcs that relate accounts of violence and death. The front-end scorches with instantaneous shots of adrenaline and describes the heinous depravity of the Vampire of Düsseldorf. “Speedchain” and “Sex’n Speed” reek of OG Metallica, where “Hit the Lights” seems a major inspiration for both “Speedchain”‘s thunderous opening as well as the primary hook in “Sex’n Speed.” “Sex Commander 666” sprints into Motörhead territory, opening with a solo that Fast Eddie Clark would approve of before slinking into a funky swagger that reminds me of “Love Me Like a Reptile.” Where Ruyned plays a touch too close to influence on the first two, “Sex Commander 666” exudes a freshness that hints at touchstones without plaguing me with questions of where I’ve heard a riff before. Meanwhile, “Orgasm Through Death” slows proceedings down appreciably, with Bogdan Mateescu’s tortured, blackened rasps guiding listeners through a plodding march that amplifies the drama.

The second half of Profanum Sacrificium shifts to a separate narrative, describing centuries-long witch hunts from post-medieval Europe steeped in folklore and flames. Musically, this pulls Ruyned away from the straightforward ragers that define Profanum Sacrificium’s first half and into darker, more novel waters. The most immediate difference is that more time gets dedicated to instrumentation on the back half, with two instrumentals and less vocal focus towards the ends of tracks “Malleus Maleficarum” and “Witches Gallöw.” Originality flares here as well, where the instrumentation is reminiscent of bands like Bütcher and Toxic Holocaust, but the songs don’t blur with comparisons. “Profanum Sacrificium,” “Malleus Maleficarum,” and “Witches Gallöw” could pass for decade-old Kreator B-sides sung by Tapping the Vein-era Tom Angelripper, boasting snappy melodic riffing supported by Mihai Marinescu’s machine-gun blast drums and Tiberiu Olescher’s mid-range bass attack.

In all, Ruyned zips through half an hour of breakneck thrash with enough energy and grit that it’s unerringly easy to enjoy despite some bumps along the way. Even before I discovered Profanum Sacrificium’s two narrative arcs, the musical split between them stood out. While each half succeeds on its own, together they present a whole too disjointed to flourish without an interceding mixer. Ruyned’s instrumentals also undercut Profanum Sacrificium’s potential, where the three of them total four-and-a-half minutes of fluff. The remainder of Profanum Sacrificium barely contains enough meat to qualify for LP status, leaving the album longing for another well-developed song or two rather than three throwaway tracks.1 Still, the rest of the album supplies plenty of good thrashing, and with a little more consideration to songwriting cohesion, Ruyned possesses the pizzazz to set barns ablaze their next time out.

After several listens through Profanum Sacrificium, I’m convinced Ruyned can write first-class thrash. Rapidfire riffs and blackened edges give Ruyned a sense of familiarity, and if they can take care to push further away from genre greats and commit to more unified songwriting, they’ll menace listeners with an all-killer fusillade next time. Until then, Profanum Sacrificium serves as a fun diversion when time doesn’t allow for a longer dive, but it ultimately doesn’t threaten what other acts have done in the space this year.

Rating: Good
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Osmose Productions
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: June 26th, 2026

I’ve been on a bit of a thrash bender in June, and Ruyned will conclude this month’s kick for ol’ Grin. The Romanian trio sends me deep into the heart of July with turbocharged, high-octane riffing and a moderate case of whiplash. Profanum Sacrificium, Ruyned’s sophomore LP, plays thrash the way the olde school intended—at furious speeds with the subtlety of an uppercut to the jawbone. My elevator pitch for Ruyned is, ‘Midnight but faster,’ yet the crew also channels Kill ‘Em All-era Metallica and a stripped-down Hellripper. With blistering paces in all the right places, does Profanum Sacrificium satisfy listeners’ need for speed?

Profanum Sacrificium is a tale of two halves, covering a pair of narrative arcs that relate accounts of violence and death. The front-end scorches with instantaneous shots of adrenaline and describes the heinous depravity of the Vampire of Düsseldorf. “Speedchain” and “Sex’n Speed” reek of OG Metallica, where “Hit the Lights” seems a major inspiration for both “Speedchain”‘s thunderous opening as well as the primary hook in “Sex’n Speed.” “Sex Commander 666” sprints into Motörhead territory, opening with a solo that Fast Eddie Clark would approve of before slinking into a funky swagger that reminds me of “Love Me Like a Reptile.” Where Ruyned plays a touch too close to influence on the first two, “Sex Commander 666” exudes a freshness that hints at touchstones without plaguing me with questions of where I’ve heard a riff before. Meanwhile, “Orgasm Through Death” slows proceedings down appreciably, with Bogdan Mateescu’s tortured, blackened rasps guiding listeners through a plodding march that amplifies the drama.

The second half of Profanum Sacrificium shifts to a separate narrative, describing centuries-long witch hunts from post-medieval Europe steeped in folklore and flames. Musically, this pulls Ruyned away from the straightforward ragers that define Profanum Sacrificium’s first half and into darker, more novel waters. The most immediate difference is that more time gets dedicated to instrumentation on the back half, with two instrumentals and less vocal focus towards the ends of tracks “Malleus Maleficarum” and “Witches Gallöw.” Originality flares here as well, where the instrumentation is reminiscent of bands like Bütcher and Toxic Holocaust, but the songs don’t blur with comparisons. “Profanum Sacrificium,” “Malleus Maleficarum,” and “Witches Gallöw” could pass for decade-old Kreator B-sides sung by Tapping the Vein-era Tom Angelripper, boasting snappy melodic riffing supported by Mihai Marinescu’s machine-gun blast drums and Tiberiu Olescher’s mid-range bass attack.

In all, Ruyned zips through half an hour of breakneck thrash with enough energy and grit that it’s unerringly easy to enjoy despite some bumps along the way. Even before I discovered Profanum Sacrificium’s two narrative arcs, the musical split between them stood out. While each half succeeds on its own, together they present a whole too disjointed to flourish without an interceding mixer. Ruyned’s instrumentals also undercut Profanum Sacrificium’s potential, where the three of them total four-and-a-half minutes of fluff. The remainder of Profanum Sacrificium barely contains enough meat to qualify for LP status, leaving the album longing for another well-developed song or two rather than three throwaway tracks.1 Still, the rest of the album supplies plenty of good thrashing, and with a little more consideration to songwriting cohesion, Ruyned possesses the pizzazz to set barns ablaze their next time out.

After several listens through Profanum Sacrificium, I’m convinced Ruyned can write first-class thrash. Rapidfire riffs and blackened edges give Ruyned a sense of familiarity, and if they can take care to push further away from genre greats and commit to more unified songwriting, they’ll menace listeners with an all-killer fusillade next time. Until then, Profanum Sacrificium serves as a fun diversion when time doesn’t allow for a longer dive, but it ultimately doesn’t threaten what other acts have done in the space this year.

Rating: Good
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Osmose Productions
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: June 26th, 2026

I’ve been on a bit of a thrash bender in June, and Ruyned will conclude this month’s kick for ol’ Grin. The Romanian trio sends me deep into the heart of July with turbocharged, high-octane riffing and a moderate case of whiplash. Profanum Sacrificium, Ruyned’s sophomore LP, plays thrash the way the olde school intended—at furious speeds with the subtlety of an uppercut to the jawbone. My elevator pitch for Ruyned is, ‘Midnight but faster,’ yet the crew also channels Kill ‘Em All-era Metallica and a stripped-down Hellripper. With blistering paces in all the right places, does Profanum Sacrificium satisfy listeners’ need for speed?

Profanum Sacrificium is a tale of two halves, covering a pair of narrative arcs that relate accounts of violence and death. The front-end scorches with instantaneous shots of adrenaline and describes the heinous depravity of the Vampire of Düsseldorf. “Speedchain” and “Sex’n Speed” reek of OG Metallica, where “Hit the Lights” seems a major inspiration for both “Speedchain”‘s thunderous opening as well as the primary hook in “Sex’n Speed.” “Sex Commander 666” sprints into Motörhead territory, opening with a solo that Fast Eddie Clark would approve of before slinking into a funky swagger that reminds me of “Love Me Like a Reptile.” Where Ruyned plays a touch too close to influence on the first two, “Sex Commander 666” exudes a freshness that hints at touchstones without plaguing me with questions of where I’ve heard a riff before. Meanwhile, “Orgasm Through Death” slows proceedings down appreciably, with Bogdan Mateescu’s tortured, blackened rasps guiding listeners through a plodding march that amplifies the drama.

The second half of Profanum Sacrificium shifts to a separate narrative, describing centuries-long witch hunts from post-medieval Europe steeped in folklore and flames. Musically, this pulls Ruyned away from the straightforward ragers that define Profanum Sacrificium’s first half and into darker, more novel waters. The most immediate difference is that more time gets dedicated to instrumentation on the back half, with two instrumentals and less vocal focus towards the ends of tracks “Malleus Maleficarum” and “Witches Gallöw.” Originality flares here as well, where the instrumentation is reminiscent of bands like Bütcher and Toxic Holocaust, but the songs don’t blur with comparisons. “Profanum Sacrificium,” “Malleus Maleficarum,” and “Witches Gallöw” could pass for decade-old Kreator B-sides sung by Tapping the Vein-era Tom Angelripper, boasting snappy melodic riffing supported by Mihai Marinescu’s machine-gun blast drums and Tiberiu Olescher’s mid-range bass attack.

In all, Ruyned zips through half an hour of breakneck thrash with enough energy and grit that it’s unerringly easy to enjoy despite some bumps along the way. Even before I discovered Profanum Sacrificium’s two narrative arcs, the musical split between them stood out. While each half succeeds on its own, together they present a whole too disjointed to flourish without an interceding mixer. Ruyned’s instrumentals also undercut Profanum Sacrificium’s potential, where the three of them total four-and-a-half minutes of fluff. The remainder of Profanum Sacrificium barely contains enough meat to qualify for LP status, leaving the album longing for another well-developed song or two rather than three throwaway tracks.1 Still, the rest of the album supplies plenty of good thrashing, and with a little more consideration to songwriting cohesion, Ruyned possesses the pizzazz to set barns ablaze their next time out.

After several listens through Profanum Sacrificium, I’m convinced Ruyned can write first-class thrash. Rapidfire riffs and blackened edges give Ruyned a sense of familiarity, and if they can take care to push further away from genre greats and commit to more unified songwriting, they’ll menace listeners with an all-killer fusillade next time. Until then, Profanum Sacrificium serves as a fun diversion when time doesn’t allow for a longer dive, but it ultimately doesn’t threaten what other acts have done in the space this year.

Rating: Good
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Osmose Productions
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: June 26th, 2026

Walg appeared out of nowhere in 2021 with a debut filled with tenacious riffs, creative melodies, and impassioned performances. They have attained a sort of cult status in the years since—not quite widely known, but fiercely beloved by their fans. Their energetic fervor has swept up a few writers here at AMG, including Gardenstale, Grin Reaper, and me.1 Walg have been prolific since their debut, releasing one album per year—sometimes there’s just no stopping the creative juices from flowing. On the flip side, such a prolific release schedule risks snuffing out the candle of passion by falling into the trap of formulaic songwriting. Walg continue to conjure that amazing, infectious energy, but once you’ve heard it 3 or 4 or 5 times, it’s difficult to create that original magic. So what will it be for this sixth go-around? Will the bellows continue to feed the flames of passion, or have the flames dwindled to mere embers?

On VI, Walg still tenaciously cling to the passion that drove them on their debut. “Nevel” starts things off with your typical Walg guitar lead—energetic and catchy as hell. Subtle symphonics enhance the music and bring their style of meloblack closer to the likes of Dimmu Borgir, Old Man’s Child, and …And Oceans. Yet Walg also sound fiercely like their own beast. VI does have a slightly different vibe compared to the earlier records; it’s missing those spontaneous moments of sudden passionate melodicism that surprised and delighted on prior records. The tunes here feel more deliberately crafted and controlled. A tenacity on past works has given way to a little more restraint. Of course, they still play with hunger and deliver many exceptional melodies. They also pause more frequently for moments of quieter beauty, as on “1597” when Robert Koning sings his plaintive cleans amidst some gentle tremolos.

That Walg wildness still remains, though, and it largely comes out in the vocal performance of Yorick Keijzer. He snarls and rasps like a wounded animal. While his deranged delivery gives the impression of a record careening out of control, there’s a method to his madness. His cadence sometimes brings to mind that of Maurice Wilson (Antrisch), and it adds a distinctive character to the heart and soul of the music. While the songs themselves have more constrained structures to offset Yorick’s wildness, there is one exception. The six-minute “De Eenlonkster” is an uncaged beast that is among Walg’s most creative. From arpeggios and riffs with a country twang, to a gently sung portion accompanied by the sound of lapping waves, to a brief moment when it nearly dives into death-doom territory, “De Eenlonkster” kicks and bucks, leaving you with whiplash and a purple bruise around your eye, but you’ll be grinning, missing teeth and all, when the tune rolls to its end.

Having written dozens of songs in the six years of their existence, it’s safe to wonder if Walg are running out of ideas, especially when they deliver, at 34 minutes and 8 songs, their shortest album to date. And yet they have meticulously crafted something fabulous, still full of the Walg zeal and spark. It’s true, though, as Gardenstale pointed out in his review of V, that the veneer of their formula is starting to wear thin. There’s a sense of déjà vu when a band releases material so frequently and consistently. On VI’s weaker tracks on the back half of the record, “Stil Geboren” and “De Nacht Behoort On Allen Toes” (which are still plenty fun), the repetition is more obvious than on other tracks. The back half does have a couple of winners, however. “Het Klooster Van Ter Apel” has some creative percussion work along with a sweet riff line, while “Erfvloek” takes a more subdued route with a beautiful trem melody that provides VI a rather lovely conclusion.

My journey with VI contained moments of ups and downs. Admittedly, my initial spins left it wanting—something felt different that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Eventually, however, it clicked, and I began to again appreciate Walg’s songwriting magic. There’s a duet here between a gentle beauty and repellent wildness. Walg still sound like Walg, yet there’s a subtle evolution. They have managed to craft a very enjoyable record, and this brief package shows that Walg remain a wrecking ball force of nature in the realm of melodic black metal. However, one can hope they’re able to take a further step in their evolution on the follow-up to VI—VII.

Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: N/A | Format Reviewed: Stream
Label: Self-Released
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: June 26th, 2026

Add Autumnblaze to the list of long-standing bands you’ve likely never heard of. Formed in 1996, this German duo found inspiration in early Katatonia, though their vision has changed throughout the years. Glut will be their ninth full-length album,1 and their third with Argonauta Records. In the years before signing with Argonauta, when they were with Prophecy Productions, they added a few tricks to their bag from fellow labelmates, Empyrium, and still view them as an important influence today. Their last two releases reflect the diversity in their approach, from the acoustic and gentle Welkin Shores Burning (2020) to the light gothic rock of Auf Zerfetzten Schwingen (2024). What drew my attention to Autumnblaze was the mentions of The Vision Bleak and Paradise Lost, along with Katatonia, in their promo materials. At 13 songs, is Glut too much of a good thing, or will it have you happily gorging on their vision of sadboi gothic metal?

Glut trends much heavier and more metal than anything they’ve released for Argonauta. While harsh vocals were present very rarely on their 2024 release, here they are a prominent feature. Vocalist Eldron slips back and forth between cleans and growls, which serve as effective foils for the harsh/gentle dynamic on the record. His growls, more raspy than deep-throated, lend a violent darkness, while the melodic tilt of his cleans brings a tender melancholy. The catchy chorus on “Kerkersonne” will have you singing along and seeking to brush up on your German to better understand the words tugging at your heartstrings.2 The guitar tone is also louder and heavier than on prior releases, and Arisjel sets an energetic, brisk pace on the drums that keeps things from growing too dark or saccharine. Autumblaze mix the gothic melodicism of Katatonia and The Vision Bleak with a more blackened, almost shoegaze-y edge on the guitars and vocals to create an impassioned record that is simultaneously joyful, angry, and sad.

Unlike the prog of Katatonia or the more unpredictable nature of Weird Tales, Autumnblaze favor a much more formulaic structure that proves both a boon and a bane. “Licht Aus” sets the general template for most songs, beginning harsh and heavy before Eldron’s cleans soften the tone for a more palatable chorus. This formula is a comfort, as Eldron’s cleans prove a balm to soothe the harshness of his growls—whether intentional or not, there is a sort of harm/heal dynamic to the music. Of course, where the formula proves a comfort, it also grows a touch repetitive. Glut is an incredibly pleasurable listening experience, yet hearing the same formula across 13 tracks becomes tiresome. It also doesn’t help that Autumnblaze write largely standard rock riffs without any melodic leads to help songs stand apart from one another.

When Autumnblaze mixes up their formula, it also comes with mixed results. “Glut” features some arpeggios that are a nice change of pace, while “Mondmann” forgoes the growls in favor of a pleasantly poppy, but still heavy, metal song. In other ways, their nuanced alterations to the formula prove nuisances. There’s an unfortunate focus on spoken word elements, with “Heilung,” “Glut,” and “Geisteskind” all using them in place of the growls. On top of that, instrumentally, the music is weakest during the spoken segments. “Heilung” and “Geisteskind” both opt for low-energy, uninteresting instrumentals during these moments, but they grow more enjoyable when the cleans kick in. “Heilung” in particular wastes a pretty terrific performance from Arjon by splitting half the song with the tedious spoken parts. Despite these issues, Glut’s strengths weigh favorably enough to make it more enjoyable than not.

Glut truly is a pleasant listening experience that effectively touches on a range of impassioned feelings. Autumnblaze have honed in on a successful formula that works for most of Glut’s 42-minute runtime, even if it starts to bow under the weight of its 13 songs. Having revisited their past stuff, I feel that Glut is the best they’ve ever sounded, both from a production and songwriting perspective. While it’s true they may have injected a little more variety in the past, their earlier stuff didn’t really stick as Glut does. So, sure, there are a few issues to work out, but if 30 years later you sound this fresh, that’s a win.

Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Argonauta Records
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: June 26th, 2026

I want to apologize in advance for delaying the biggest review of the summer that we all have been waiting for. While I know everyone here is chomping at the bit for more Christian-adjacent metalcore, you need to wait patiently for another moment so I can introduce the legendary August Burns Red. Jokes aside, the veteran genre stalwarts have released their tenth record, Season of Surrender, and to my surprise, as a longtime fan of the act despite their religious inception, S.O.S. is one of their most brutal albums to date. August Burns Red turns to the past to inspire its sound for the future, but is this shallow nostalgia-bait or an evolution of the band’s most refined records?

August Burns Red is the type of band that will sour metalheads on site. Formed in the heyday of Christian metalcore, the band has been chugging along for decades with its trademark sound. As someone who found them after already cutting my teeth on acts like Mastodon, Gojira, High on Fire, and many more, their undeniable technical skill, blistering breakdowns, and heartfelt execution caught my ear. Their 2009 record, Constellations, remains as affecting as ever and serves as a north star for the band to this day. Now, with Season of Surrender, they have finally moved out of the era of genre-switchups and downright inspired musical interludes into something more efficient, heavy, and pointed. Matt Greiner remains the highlight of a band loaded with talent. His rhythm, force, and pure technical skill without resorting to metal cliches is the nucleus of a band that has written music together for two decades. August Burns Red has featured the same members since 2006, with nine of its ten records sporting the same lineup. This consistently carries over to the music, and everything about Season of Surrender feels effortless. Guitarists JB Brubaker and Brent Rambler have remained underrated throughout their career due to the Christian-metalcore label, but Season of Surrender is full of brutal breakdowns that would make even the heaviest deathcore bands blush, while retaining the rhythm and pacing that lets them truly hit hard.

Season of Surrender contains some of August Burns Red’s heaviest material to date, clearly harkening back to The Messengers’ days. While its Christian trappings have become basically agnostic (only a few members of the band are still self-identified believers), Season of Surrender still contains the band’s trademark positivity. This trope doesn’t always serve the songs, and the lyrics on “Cerebral Malfunction” feel particularly tone-deaf, seemingly poking fun at therapy. “Sonic Salvation” revives a classic cliché by using music as an escape from life and stress. The song itself is solid, but I cannot help but cringe at some of the refrains. Despite these stumbles, Jake Luhrs seems to only get better and better as a vocalist with each record, and Season of Surrender shows his widest range while hitting the heaviest lows in his career, like on the ending of “Legions”.

Season of Surrender is one of their most consistent and heavy records since their best releases, and while the band has rarely, if ever, stumbled, this record is stuffed with brutality. “Forged by Failure” features an opening riff that is so groovy and simultaneously heavy that it will surely end up as a concert finale. “Den of Thieves” is one of the best tracks the band has penned in its career, and “Behemoth” is an absolute crusher. Outside of a few lyrical stutters, Season of Surrender is mostly unblemished. The album is slim and trim for a band that usually lets things get a little bloated, and at nine tracks and one musical interlude, the album breezes by.

Season of Surrender is a perfect example of August Burns Red at its tightest and most driven. Despite the genre label, the band continues to challenge the technical skill and sheer brutality of most modern core acts while showcasing a dedication to rhythm and emotion. Season of Surrender won’t likely change the minds of those who have written the act off, but it’s a great starting point with its parallels to early records. Season of Surrender is a solid metalcore record that will likely be a favorite of longtime fans, and if you can brush off the lingering scent of Jesus, it may just be a metalcore record worth your time.

Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: 4| Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Fearless Records
Websites: Bandcamp | Official Site
Releases Worldwide: June 5th, 2026

Each writer here in the Hall has their own ritual for fishing new promo from the sump. Some utter incantations to eldritch gods. Some engage in druidic rites under the full moon. Some offer blood sacrifices to our Ape Overlord and heed the direction of the splatters. While my own ritual is a closely guarded secret, I can tell you that Verdun’s genre tag, “blackened dissonant sludge,” bypassed all ritual requirements. I swiped the French four-piece’s third LP so fucking fast I got dizzy. Of course, the genre tags we glean from labels’ promo language have no objective connection to quality or reality. Does Abyssal Womb deliver the promised goods, or is it just another case of hollow hyperbole?

Abyssal Womb marks a substantial departure from Verdun’s earlier work. 2014 debut The Eternal Drift’s Canticles used the same crushing, long-form structures as Cough or Warhorse. In 2019, sophomore effort Astral Sabbath saw the band experiment more heavily with abrasive and blackened textures, but it would take seven years for those elements to be fully realized. On Abyssal Womb, Verdun is still fundamentally a sludge band—and has the groove to prove it—but they’ve dispensed with much of the atmospherics and psychedelia of previous releases in favor of a darker and more direct sound. Roughly 15 minutes shorter than its predecessors, Abyssal Womb gets in, delivers grit, groove, and unease in equal measures, then makes like a tree and fucking leaves.

Where blackened dissonance served as a decoration on Astral Sabbath, it suffuses nearly every second of Abyssal Womb. Whether vocalist David Sadok rasps in French (“La Lame et la Chair,”1 “Les Noces du Néant”2) or in English, he’s malevolently caustic. What surprised me most was how much more terrifying he is in French. The rhythm section often sways between exhausted, blackened plodding (“Silent Witness”), macabre processions (“Funeral of the Cosmic Knight,” “Rise of the Atomic Ghouls”), and sludgy grooves (“He Who Killed the Devil”), but Jay Pinelli’s strident leads curdle blood at every opportunity. Even when I know it’s coming, his dreadful solo in “Funeral of the Cosmic Knight” sends shivers down my spine, reminding me of the primal fear in Primitive Man’s Observance. This is one of my favorite moments on the album, along with the imperious march on the back half of “Rise of the Atomic Ghouls.” Drummer Geraud Jonquet violently punctuates Pinelli’s stomping, palm-muted chugs in a way that feels like I’m ascending the steps to the gallows.

There’s plenty to praise on Abyssal Womb. Unsettling blackened plucking opens “Silent Witness.” Florian Celdran’s bass cleverly caresses the gaps between sustained chords in “La Lame et la Chair,” and Verdun weaves a few surprisingly emotive passages through the album (“Funeral of the Cosmic Knight,” “The Man Behind My Eyes”). “Les Noces du Néant” opens on a powerful sadboi doom riff that resurfaces throughout, and the track serves as a great closer, leaving me suitably unsettled, anxious, and unsafe. There’s less to critique, but there is some. “The Man Behind My Eyes” feels like a low point, failing to coalesce as well as the rest of Abyssal Womb. There’s a bafflingly non-sequitous noir-shaded bass solo in “He Who Killed the Devil,” and several tracks shoot past ideal endings in favor of dedicated outros or reprisals (“Silent Witness,” “He Who Killed the Devil,” “The Man Behind My Eyes”). None of these are dealbreakers—or even close—but they can briefly shake me out of Abyssal Womb’s immersion.

I rolled the dice on Verdun, declining to listen to advance tracks or previous output and trusting in the genre tag alone. This strategy doesn’t normally yield the best results, but it certainly paid off here. Abyssal Womb sees Verdun venturing deep into unknown waters and dredging up something dark and grisly, something that sets the teeth on edge. Abyssal Womb isn’t without its faults, but they’re not calamitous, nor do they overly detract from the band’s exciting new direction. If Verdun’s trajectory is any indication—and I hope it is—Abyssal Womb could be the first few steps toward something buried even deeper in the lightless abyss.

Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: 5 | Format Reviewed: 320kbps mp3
Label: Transcending Obscurity Records
Websites: Official | Bandcamp | Facebook | Instagram
Releases Worldwide: June 26th, 2026

Crying Steel can arguably claim to be one of Italy’s first heavy metal bands, with roots running all the way back to 1982. They didn’t drop their first album until 1987, and it took them until 2007 to release a follow-up, but true steel never rusts. I became aware of them when I reviewed 2018s Stay Steel, and I was entertained by their 80s-centric metal sound. It’s taken them a lot of time to unleash the next beast, but fifth album, Agent Steel, is finally ready to rumble. Since their last outing, well-traveled vocalist Tony Mills (T.N.T., Siam) sadly passed away, and now Tiziano “Hammerhead” Sbaragli assumes mic duties. Guitarist JJ Frati is also absent, so there’s a lot of change in the air at Camp Steel. You know what hasn’t changed? Their love for the color purple and crap-tastical album art, and their commitment to creating hard-rocking 80s metal that sits somewhere between vintage Saxon and Krokus, with a splash of hair metal for bonus flair points. That should make for a spicy metal meatball, right?

The Crying Steel formula is a simple and time-honored one. Write a few burly riffs and base an anthemic 80s-style metal/hard rock tune around them with over-the-top vocals as the exclamation point. Opener “The Arrival” sets the stage nicely via meaty riffs with Hammerhead soaring over the top like a young Biff Byford with a slight Ripper Owens infection. The man has pipes and an enormous Italian accent, and luckily, he knows how to avoid chronically oversinging and stepping on every moment. It also helps that the band peppers the lyrics with steel this, steel that in true Manowar fashion. As Agent Steel unfolds, you get variations on this theme with a big dose of hard rock undergirding the writing, along with a decent ear for hooks. “You Got the Look”1 is rowdy and pretty silly, and I love how Hammerhead makes the chorus sound like “You got the LUKE!” “Under Cover” sounds like early 80s Saxon with a glossy makeover, “To Remember” is a balls-to-the-walls rocker with relentless Grave Digger-style riffs paired with a hair metal ethos, and “Coming Home” feels heavier and just cooler with added oomph in the riffs/vocals and a memorable chorus to boot.

The album wraps with Crying Steel trying their hand at a Primal Fear-style Euro-power burner on “No One’s Crying,” and to get the point across, they bring Ralph Scheepers himself in to do guest vocals. It’s the most aggressive song on the album, and Ralph completely steals the show. It makes you wish the band would dial things up like this more often. Not everything works so well, though. ESL mega-disaster “My Heart Steel Rocks” is a hugely awkward attempt at stadium metal that veers close to Manowar-levels of macho self-aggrandization. It’s entertaining but also awful. Another ESL faceplant hits with “Queen of Grinder,” and I don’t know what it’s really about, but it leaves lots of room for hilarious interpretations. The song itself is just okay. At a trim 41 minutes with all tracks in the 3-4 minute frame, the writing is tight, and hooks are plentiful across Agent Steel. It’s an easy listen, even if the overall style can feel very dated, and at times, corny.

Franco Nipoti and new axe Paolo Nocchi are the lifeblood of the Crying Steel sound, pumping out an endless string of 80s-centric riffs to anchor the songs and keep your head bobbing. I appreciate that they keep enough heft in the guitar sound to give things a decent edge, and they know how to write good leads and shred when needed. They paint with every color of the 80s and induce nostalgia at every turn. Tiziano “Hammerhead” Sbaragli does a fine job rocking a high-pitched nasally delivery that could become really annoying, yet he manages not to grate on the nerves much, and his performance adds an extra jolt of energy to the material. The biggest weapon in the band’s weapon kit is the ability to write memorable retro metal tunes that get by on excess when they can’t with mere nuance. This stuff is just too fun to resist, even when things get a bit too cheese-heavy.

Agent Steel is another successful journey into the past by a crew of metal lifers who keep going regardless of the scant recognition they receive. I hope Crying Steel are well-regarded back home, because they bring the cheddar surplus while defending the faith in all things olde and metallic. I admire that. Keep those iron tears falling like purple rain, boyos!

Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Pride & Joy
Websites: cryingsteel.com | facebook.com/cryingsteel | instagram.com/cryingsteelband
Releases Worldwide: June 26th, 2026

Detective Fairway pushes through his office door, dragging the cold, rain‑soaked night with him. He drops his coat and hat, slumps into his chair and pours a drink, wishing he were anywhere but stuck on this dead-end case. Lighting a cigarette, he watches the smoke rise as he exhales while rain taps the window. It’s the only sound cutting through his thoughts. Needing a spark, he finally turns to the dusty turntable, hoping music might offer a temporary escape. Placing the needle on Gold Spire’s Steps into Shadow, the sweet sound of dark jazz melodies begins to fill the room. He pours another drink and leans back in his chair, ready to let the music take hold. Now why did I regale you with a horribly stereotypical—and frankly shitty—blurb from an ’80s detective flick? Because it’s all I picture when listening to Gold Spire’s sophomore record and I’m totally here for it.

While Steps into Shadow can evoke a doomy, dark jazz take on the Lethal Weapon soundtrack, its premise is far more somber. As guitarist Påhl Sundström (ex-Usurpress) explained in an interview, Steps into Shadow draws on the 1931 events in Ådalen, Sweden, when Swedish troops opened fire on striking workers, grounding it in themes of labor struggles and societal decline. This weighty backdrop aligns with the record’s outright brooding and haunting moods, where tracks like “Liberation at Dawn” and the title track blend post-metal and black metal elements with Gold Spire’s half doom, half Kenny G convention. Magnus Kjellstrand’s saxophone once again assumes center stage on cuts like “The Mire”, “Starvation,” and “Truth is an Empty Fortress,” while Erik Sundström’s sauntering rhythms and brother Påhl Sundström’s mechanical guitar flourishes, crystalline arpeggios and harmonic leads swirl and churn around the brass, creating a layered and immersive sound.

Where Gold Spire’s self-titled debut felt more disjointed and meandering, Steps into Shadow shows a much stronger sense of flow and cohesion. Meant to be experienced as a whole while still allowing each track to stand on its own,1 Steps into Shadow features more purposeful songwriting that feels like it’s actually leading somewhere. The record opens on a mellow, evocative note, with Sundström’s gently picked guitar and Petter Broman’s prominent bass complemented by Kjellstrand’s sax and flute on “Starvation.” “Liberation at Dawn” brings tension and dissonance, underpinned by uneasy melodies and off-beat flourishes, before “The Mire” shifts again into more subdued post-rock textures that provide contrast while maintaining the album’s gradual build. This song tends to meander more than I’d like—a characteristic also shared by “A Clarion Call” later—but it’s a flaw that the Swedish quintet has otherwise addressed since their debut. “Crown of Disfigurement” increases the intensity with chunky riffs and driving double-bass grooves, fusing a plodding death metal feel with layered atmospherics. It’s a worthy payoff that sets the tone for Step into Shadow’s back half, crescendoing with the cascading rhythms of “Drag Us Under,” and the suspenseful and crestfallen closer “Truth is an Empty Fortress.”

Taking over vocal duties is Arvid Sjödin of Floating, replacing Heval Bozarslan (Third Storm) after his departure. Sjödin brings a fresh, blackened edge to Gold Spire’s sound, centering on a deep, bellowing growl with a gravelly timbre that carries plenty of menace while remaining clear enough for the lyrics to stay audible. He adds tension during the album’s more dissonant moments, and he maintains a consistent presence, layering in higher rasps and the occasional gang roars. While his approach can feel somewhat repetitive over time, his evil-sounding delivery more than compensates, elevating Steps into Shadow above its predecessor in yet another material way.

Steps into Shadow takes the product Gold Spire foreshadowed on their debut and buffs it into something far more polished. Where the self-titled record often meandered and felt clunky, Steps into Shadow is a clear step forward. It’s more cohesive, more confident, and more mature. I’ll be the first to admit that the use of sax in metal has been well overplayed by now, but there’s no denying that Gold Spire make it work in their own unique way. What they’re doing here is genuinely cool as hell, and if they tighten a few loose ends and stay on this trajectory, then greatness is right on the horizon.

Rating: Very Good
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3
Label: Awakening Records
Websites: awakeningrecordscn.bandcamp.com/album/steps-into-shadow | facebook.com/goldspire.ua
Releases Worldwide: June 19th, 2026

Earlier in June, a post-rock album delightfully surprised this middle-aged metalhead. I tend to approach post-anything with caution these days, but And the Dead Tree Gives No Shelter from Sweden’s Oh Hiroshima proved a cohesive, moving experience under scrutiny. Hence, I figured I’d try my luck with another post-rock album on the same label from a band named after a beleaguered city it doesn’t call home. Thus, I approach We’re All Going to Be Fine—on Pelagic Records—by Lost in Kyiv1—from Paris—with cautious enthusiasm. Unlike their labelmates, Lost in Kyiv specialize in a (mostly) instrumental version of post-rock, occasionally adding voices that narrate, soliloquize, live inside sound clips, and even sing. Hopefully, losing myself in this Parisian quartet’s fifth album won’t have me uttering wistful interjections.

Post-rock remains an apt descriptor for Lost in Kyiv, but the band shares heritage with its heavier cousin. As with any (mostly) instrumental post-rockers influenced by Mogwai, electronics play a crucial role in crafting a cinematic experience. On We’re All Going to Be Fine, synths supply melodic hooks (“Burst,” “Euphoria”), set pulsating tones (“Eclipse”), and create mid-song drama (“Mantra”). But when the baritone guitars of Dimitri Denat and Maxime Ingrand lock into a heavy groove with bassist Jean-Christophe Condette and drummer Jérémie Legrand,2 a band like Russian Circles comes to mind. Animals as Leaders also prowl (if they were less technical), on account of Denat and Ingrand’s djent-adjacent tones and playing. For much of its 41-minute runtime, We’re All Going to Be Fine reads like a post-metal album, and a particularly lush, well-produced one at that. While the heavy riffs do lean towards the generic, I can’t deny that they frequently slap.

As a (mostly) instrumental album, We’re All Going to Be Fine mostly slips due to its ‘non-instrumental’ feature: vocals.3 One recurring way Lost in Kyiv adds voices is by threading narrations/soliloquies throughout Fine. Sometimes, these voiceovers work; “Enlightened” segues into the propulsive groove of “Burst” by echoing its title, setting up the song’s rumination on ‘masks’ as a metaphor for social alienation/performativity. But other times, the voiceovers are frustratingly inaudible (“Mantra”), or awkwardly akin to guided meditations (“Euphoria”). As for singing, it makes one and only one appearance. “Becoming” is a perfectly lovely song, powered by the gorgeous melodies and harmonies of Rebecca Need-Menear, but its verse-chorus traditionalism strays far from home on this otherwise impressionistic album. Vocals seem central to the themes Lost in Kyiv claim to explore on We’re All Going to Be Fine: ‘the tension between hope and inner collapse,’ how ‘modern life can disconnect us from ourselves and each other,’ ‘the fragility of mental health and the human psyche.’ As a lecture by Carl Jung closes out the album (“Liminality”), however, I’m left feeling that Fine becomes less coherent when reading its voices closely.

Fortunately, these vocals don’t prohibitively hamper the overall experience. Whether listened to passively or semi-actively, We’re All Going to Be Fine (mostly) progresses as a seamless display of haunting beauty. The first half plays more like post-metal, containing the heaviest riffing on offer. “Eclipse” is a highlight, setting a somber mood that’s popped by an infectious single-string figure and a robust brass section: trumpet, trombone, tuba. From here, Fine mixes things up, exploring multi-layered electronica (“Euphoria”) and hammer-on heroism with d-beat sprinklings (“Liminality”). “Becoming” is always the curveball. Again, it’s not a bad song by any means, but it’s unclear why Lost in Kyiv dropped one singular radio-rock song in the middle of the album. It doesn’t feel like the work of a different band per se, but it definitely feels like a work on a different kind of album.

Oh, Lost in Kyiv, how I wanted to rate your fifth outing just a bit higher. We’re All Going to Be Fine allures with its cinematic soundscapes and hits with its bouncy riffs. Alas, your vocals of various sorts make me think I’m missing the point towards which you drive. But when I play down the voices, letting its luxuriousness wash over me, Fine becomes more than fine—it becomes a (mostly) absorbing arrangement of metallic post-rock.

Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Pelagic Records
Websites: Facebook | Instagram
Releases Worldwide: June 19th, 2026

T.S. Eliot’s The Waste Land brims with quotable quotes, no section more than I: The Burial of the Dead. There, we learn that ‘April is the cruellest month,’ see ‘fear in a handful of dust,’1 and drift through the ‘Unreal City’ (1, 30, 60). For the title of their sixth album, Swedish post-rock duo Oh Hiroshima digs into the opening gambit of Eliot’s modernist epic for a deeper cut: ‘Son of man, / You cannot say, or guess, for you know only / A heap of broken images, where the sun beats, / And the dead tree gives no shelter” (20–23, emphasis mine).2 The ‘dead tree,’ the band explains in their promo materials, serves as a fitting metaphor for ‘ways of living that drain the world of meaning and offer no real way of navigating the hardships of life.’ Cloistering oneself from an increasingly dystopian world breeds cynicism and apathy, making it impossible to overcome the despair caused by this world.3 Musically, And the Dead Tree Gives No Shelter attempts to ‘paint something meaningful and hopeful’ that can help us ‘leave the shelterless dead trees of our lives behind.’ For Oh Hiroshima to achieve such lofty ambitions, the tracks populating Dead Tree must avoid resembling a heap of broken images, instead cohering into a compendium of vulnerable yet powerful songs.

On And the Dead Tree Gives No Shelter, Oh Hiroshima continue diversifying their cathartic take on post-rock. Since 2022’s Myriad, Jakob Hemström (guitar, bass, vocals) and Oskar Nilsson (drums, percussion) have been adding progressive rock elements into their repertoire.4 Dead Tree recalls the textured guitar work of Mogwai, the nuanced rhythms of Tortoise, and the driving immediacy of latter-day Thrice. Subtly, the compositions are often non-traditional, gradually layering sparkling guitars over odd-time drum n’ bass and crescendoing into heavier riffing (“Meridian”). Adding to the adventurous compositions is orchestral instrumentation, with delicate piano twinkles and soaring strings swirling around the rock-band core (“Tree of Life”). Sometimes, Dead Tree releases tension through driving energy; other times, it bottles up the tension, creating a sense of longing.

And the Dead Tree Gives No Shelter also continues the band’s growing emphasis on vocals. When present in post-rock, vocals can be a bit too atmospheric and mumbly for my liking. Oh Hiroshima does occasionally write passages where Hemström’s voice unclearly contributes to sonic depth (“Servant of All,” “Meridian”). But for the most part, Dead Tree gives its vocals prominence without feeding into cliché rock-song structures. “Broken Sunlight,” for example, bookends a circuitous guitar melody, powered by a stop-start groove, with a robust, titular-line ‘chorus.’ On the more vulnerable side of the spectrum, “Angelos” comes closest to predictability, but the haunting, piano-led bridge that sprouts from the beautifully harmonized verse-chorus cycle is anything but. While not the norm on Dead Tree, these vocal-driven songs, hewing closer to traditional structures, become the glimmers that—oddly—keep the album fresh.

At 8 tracks totaling 47 minutes, And the Dead Tree Gives No Shelter coheres into a satisfying experience, with only a cracked image or two. “Servant of All” aptly introduces Oh Hiroshima’s arsenal, while “Meridian” emphasizes rhythm and “Angelos” spotlights melody. After this opening trio, “Skeleton Key” flirts with filler—while not a bad song, its mid-song jolt doesn’t develop into something terribly interesting. Fortunately, side B revamps with the ornate melancholy of “Tree of Life” and the straight-ahead drive of “Broken Sunlight.” “Ivory Town” is quite beautiful, though it doesn’t exactly stand on its own, feeling like a minimalist setup for the closer. Like a flock of Red Sparrowes, “Exit Cloud” escalates, overlaying strings and horns into a cinematic concoction, picking up the pace halfway before an intense conclusion. Perhaps the album’s strongest song, it’s a dynamite ending to Dead Tree.

Oh Hiroshima has certainly succeeded at producing an album that feels ‘meaningful.’ And the Dead Tree Gives No Shelter sounds beautiful, if perhaps humdrum, on a first listen or two. Repeat engagements, however, reveal compositional and instrumental depth, cementing the emotional staying power of its songs (with an exception or two). Son of Angry Metal Guy: if you know only a heap of breakneck metal, Dead Tree likely isn’t for you. If, however, you don’t mind post-ing your metal, or can get down with its gentler cousin, Dead Tree might supply the shantih you’ve been seeking.

Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Pelagic Records
Websites: Instagram | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: June 5th, 2026

After releasing debut LP Prodigy of the Grotesque in 2020, Canada’s Goreworm re-emerges from their burrow with follow-up full-length Miasmic Solitude. Prodigy of the Grotesque enchanted me when I ran across it a few years ago—sweeping guitars, slick bass grooves, and a deliciously vigorous percussive cannonade made for a tasty tech death treat. Now six years later, Goreworm has metamorphosed from the band that dropped Prodigy. Vocalist Jesse Suess and founding members drummer Sean Bruce and bassist Derek Gibbs bid adieu, leaving guitarists Jordan Estrela and Brent Moerschfelder to carry the torch. For Miasmic Solitude, Goreworm rounds out the ensemble with session drummer Robin Stone (Ashen Horde, Chestcrush), who flayed the skins on 2021 EP Plague of Shadows, and vocalist Robert Miller (Antheraea). With a revitalized crew and a fresh batch of jams in hand, can Miasmic Solitude worm its way into your heart?

Technical death metal can be a tough genre to craft thoughtful songs within. The most immediate hurdle is technical chops—if you can’t muster the dexterity to pull off instrumental mayhem, you’re sunk. Yet the ability to play at blistering speeds with robotic fidelity isn’t enough on its own; it’s merely the price of admission. To transcend in the genre as the best from Necrophagist, Obscura, and Archspire have, you need crystalline mechanics embedded within engrossing and memorable compositions. Goreworm’s brand of death metal lands amidst the likes of The Black Dahlia Murder, Vale of Pnath and Abysmal Dawn, sporting burly riffs played at head-spinning velocity with occasional splashes of neoclassical color. This, at least, ensures the price of admission has been paid in full.

Goreworm members old and new unleash the razzle-dazzle on Miasmic Solitude as they pump gallons of adrenalized ear candy into its compositions. Estrela and Moerschfelder beget a sinewy string section, uncorking spidery leads that dash along fretboards with muscle and venom (“Monuments to Murdering,” “Miasmic Solitude”). Moerschfelder pulls double duty on the low-end, too, clanging and banging with satisfying heft. I only wish he broke away more from playing under the guitars and locking into root notes. To be clear, this is a nitpick on style and not a comment on his ability to bring the thunder. It’s just that compared to Gibbs’ bass on Prodigy of the Grotesque, Miasmic Solitude loses a dimension that helped set Goreworm’s debut apart. Meanwhile, Stone supplies a magnificent performance behind the kit, unfettering smooth rolls à la Chris Adler (“Amor Vincit Omnia”) and hammer-smashing cavalcades that recall the ferocity of Cannibal Corpse’s Paul Marzurkiewicz fused with the grace of Dirk Verbeuren (“No Reprieve”). Robert Miller proves a capable vocalist, and though his performance isn’t particularly dynamic, he supports the music well and sounds credibly savage throughout.

Goreworm crackles with vitality throughout Miasmic Solitude, yet the entirety falls short of the promise of its performances. The production proves a mixed bag, allowing the guitars and vocals to shine at the expense of the drums, which sometimes cut through but often become muddled during furious blasts, obscuring the pop of robust drum tones I loved on the debut. Perhaps the intent was to thematically embrace what a cloudy, claustrophobic atmosphere achieves, shining the spotlight on a single focus at a time. If so, I can appreciate the attempt, but it fails to properly incorporate all the ingredients into what Goreworm is cooking. Besides the mix, the songwriting highlights Goreworm’s technical acumen without sharpening their hooks enough to reel me back in once the music fades. To be fair, Miasmic Solitude rips throughout its runtime and is a qualified neck-wrecker—I just don’t feel compelled to revisit it afterwards.

Ultimately, Goreworm exhibits a myriad of traits I love to hear in technical death metal. With a more well-rounded production and carefully honed compositions that transcend being platforms for flexing technical mastery, Goreworm bears all the potential to annihilate expectations. As it stands, after several listens through Miasmic Solitude, there’s no doubt that Goreworm possesses the prowess necessary to deliver on the technical front. I’m just unconvinced of the magnetism their material yields to keep me coming back past the pyrotechnics.

Rating: Mixed
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Transcending Obscurity Records
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: June 12th, 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

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