#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

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

40 years, 34 past and present members, over 230 releases credited in the archives, and one migration from Pennsylvania—this is the rap sheet for Cleveland, Ohio’s Nunslaughter, who have been jousting Jesus since 1987. Some 5 years1 further down the left-hand path from 2021’s Red Is the Color of Ripping Death, which our own El Cuervo described as “an enjoyable experience that’s frayed around the edges,” Nunslaughter return in fine form to bless the black masses and kick Christian asses with sixth long-player, and BLKIIBLK Records debut, Satanic Chaos Legions. Such prolific proselytization on Satan’s behalf requires a certain type of longevity and focus, of which the sole remaining founder and vocalist, Don of the Dead, seems to have in droves, as Nunslaughter returns two-thirds of their Ripping Death lineup (intact since 2016) but for bassist Detonate, who was replaced by Malum in 2022. My only question: is this the Nunslaughter worth bringing your daughter to?

Nunslaughter play attention-deficit death metal—Satanic Chaos Legions’ 14-track, 34-minute runtime replicating the Ripping Death blueprint to a tee. Tormentor’s riffs, of which there are legion, buzz just short of HM2 worship, but crackle with a thrashy electricity that slices through flesh with surgical, tremolodic speed (“Unsacrament”), chugs along with Deicide-ic groove (“Cathedral of Stench”), and pummels doomily like hell’s hammer (“Heavenless”), all evidence of a practitioner in full control of his dark art. Don of the Dead’s vocals are as viscerally vehement as ever—I love this dude’s voice—his death growls and howls amping up the evil with distinct lyrical clarity. And while Nunslaughter’s base devil metal approach hasn’t really changed over the past two score years, Satanic Chaos Legions stands as a high point in the discography, triumphantly marrying their knack for writing uniquely catchy bite-sized brutality with a newfound talent for pacing, producing an album perfectly assembled for maximum damage.

If the boots-marching intro to the opening title track serves as the warning of Nunslaughter’s coming, then it’s track two that has them kicking in your fucking door. A visceral indictment of Catholicism and priestly pedophilia, “Jesus Fucking Dies” is a vicious, 1:20 speed fest that will leave you more breathless than a polar plunge. Moments like these have always worked in Nunslaughter’s favor, their bread and black butter, and with an average track length of 2:30, Legions suffers no dearth of these minute malignancies (“Listen To the Lies,” “Infernal Reign”). And while I enjoy the raw energy and brevity, I find myself more drawn to Nunslaughter’s slower, slightly drawn-out side. Lumbering, sludgy bass lines and some distorted spoken words welcome us to the inverted communion of the apex track, “Peukharist,” which further probes “Casket Lid Creaks” territory. Slow and dripping with heavy, sustained death chords, the track features some of Don Of the Dead’s most vile, hateful spitting, and with the clever sans-cringe song title, grabs my top spot as album highlight. In this, Satanic Chaos Legions eludes the curse of swirling similitude that could have easily cast a pall over the proceedings of a non-stop speed penned by lesser songwriters.

Engineered, mastered, and mixed by Noah “Tormentor” Buchanan at his own Mercinary Studios in Cleveland, Satanic Chaos Legions benefits greatly from this backyard setup. A far cry from the early albums, Legions’ production surpasses that of its predecessor in terms of death metal heaviness, the slick mix highlighting all of Nunslaughter’s talent without sacrificing any of the raw edge the group’s become known for. Malum’s bass lines thrum, Wrath’s drums pulse with profane putridity, and all those god-forsaken riffs land like so many one-two punches to the solar plexus, making Satanic Chaos Legions one of, if not the, best-sounding Nunslaughter records in the discog. In nearly every respect, Satanic Chaos Legions improves upon the Ripping Death template, perhaps taking cues in some part from El Cuervo’s critique, and in so doing leaving me with little to fuss over. Aside perhaps from a couple of song titles that had me chucklingly eye-rolling (“Die Your Own Death,” “In the Flames of Inferno”), I had a blast with Nunslaughter this time out.

For a band that’s been around for as long as Nunslaughter has, I’m often surprised by how little notoriety they receive. Is it the moniker, the subject matter, the gob-stopping depth of the discography? I’m not sure, but I will say if you’re looking for an entry point into Nunslaughter’s canon, look no further than Satanic Chaos Legions, and for those pre-ordained fanatics, buckle up; you’re in for a fun ride.

Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: NA | Format Reviewed: Fookin’ Stream
Label: BLKIIBLK Records
Websites: Facebook | Instagram

40 years, 34 past and present members, over 230 releases credited in the archives, and one migration from Pennsylvania—this is the rap sheet for Cleveland, Ohio’s Nunslaughter, who have been jousting Jesus since 1987. Some 5 years1 further down the left-hand path from 2021’s Red Is the Color of Ripping Death, which our own El Cuervo described as “an enjoyable experience that’s frayed around the edges,” Nunslaughter return in fine form to bless the black masses and kick Christian asses with sixth long-player, and BLKIIBLK Records debut, Satanic Chaos Legions. Such prolific proselytization on Satan’s behalf requires a certain type of longevity and focus, of which the sole remaining founder and vocalist, Don of the Dead, seems to have in droves, as Nunslaughter returns two-thirds of their Ripping Death lineup (intact since 2016) but for bassist Detonate, who was replaced by Malum in 2022. My only question: is this the Nunslaughter worth bringing your daughter to?

Nunslaughter play attention-deficit death metal—Satanic Chaos Legions’ 14-track, 34-minute runtime replicating the Ripping Death blueprint to a tee. Tormentor’s riffs, of which there are legion, buzz just short of HM2 worship, but crackle with a thrashy electricity that slices through flesh with surgical, tremolodic speed (“Unsacrament”), chugs along with Deicide-ic groove (“Cathedral of Stench”), and pummels doomily like hell’s hammer (“Heavenless”), all evidence of a practitioner in full control of his dark art. Don of the Dead’s vocals are as viscerally vehement as ever—I love this dude’s voice—his death growls and howls amping up the evil with distinct lyrical clarity. And while Nunslaughter’s base devil metal approach hasn’t really changed over the past two score years, Satanic Chaos Legions stands as a high point in the discography, triumphantly marrying their knack for writing uniquely catchy bite-sized brutality with a newfound talent for pacing, producing an album perfectly assembled for maximum damage.

If the boots-marching intro to the opening title track serves as the warning of Nunslaughter’s coming, then it’s track two that has them kicking in your fucking door. A visceral indictment of Catholicism and priestly pedophilia, “Jesus Fucking Dies” is a vicious, 1:20 speed fest that will leave you more breathless than a polar plunge. Moments like these have always worked in Nunslaughter’s favor, their bread and black butter, and with an average track length of 2:30, Legions suffers no dearth of these minute malignancies (“Listen To the Lies,” “Infernal Reign”). And while I enjoy the raw energy and brevity, I find myself more drawn to Nunslaughter’s slower, slightly drawn-out side. Lumbering, sludgy bass lines and some distorted spoken words welcome us to the inverted communion of the apex track, “Peukharist,” which further probes “Casket Lid Creaks” territory. Slow and dripping with heavy, sustained death chords, the track features some of Don Of the Dead’s most vile, hateful spitting, and with the clever sans-cringe song title, grabs my top spot as album highlight. In this, Satanic Chaos Legions eludes the curse of swirling similitude that could have easily cast a pall over the proceedings of a non-stop speed penned by lesser songwriters.

Engineered, mastered, and mixed by Noah “Tormentor” Buchanan at his own Mercinary Studios in Cleveland, Satanic Chaos Legions benefits greatly from this backyard setup. A far cry from the early albums, Legions’ production surpasses that of its predecessor in terms of death metal heaviness, the slick mix highlighting all of Nunslaughter’s talent without sacrificing any of the raw edge the group’s become known for. Malum’s bass lines thrum, Wrath’s drums pulse with profane putridity, and all those god-forsaken riffs land like so many one-two punches to the solar plexus, making Satanic Chaos Legions one of, if not the, best-sounding Nunslaughter records in the discog. In nearly every respect, Satanic Chaos Legions improves upon the Ripping Death template, perhaps taking cues in some part from El Cuervo’s critique, and in so doing leaving me with little to fuss over. Aside perhaps from a couple of song titles that had me chucklingly eye-rolling (“Die Your Own Death,” “In the Flames of Inferno”), I had a blast with Nunslaughter this time out.

For a band that’s been around for as long as Nunslaughter has, I’m often surprised by how little notoriety they receive. Is it the moniker, the subject matter, the gob-stopping depth of the discography? I’m not sure, but I will say if you’re looking for an entry point into Nunslaughter’s canon, look no further than Satanic Chaos Legions, and for those pre-ordained fanatics, buckle up; you’re in for a fun ride.

Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: NA | Format Reviewed: Fookin’ Stream
Label: BLKIIBLK Records
Websites: Facebook | Instagram

Saidan’s Fangdriller: Scars Beneath Memory’s Wrist wasn’t an album I’d initially planned to review, but when my Dear Friend said he wasn’t able to make the time, I carved some out. Brainchild of vocalist/guitarist/bassist Splatterpvnk, Nashville, Tennessee’s Saidan plays black metal at once scathing and ultra-melodic. Visual Kill, and specifically Dear Hollow’s blurb about it, introduced me to Saidan’s charms. Since then, I’ve kept Visual Kill in regular rotation and hotly anticipated their next release. That time is now upon us, and I’ve prepared my body and eardrums for Saidan’s raw, blackened stylings steeped in tunefulness so seductive that I’m left in sonic subjugation. The only task left to us, then, is to explore how deep Fangdriller’s Scars go.

Tangentially or directly, one topic that garners a fair bit of discussion in our beloved blog’s reviews is originality. Considering how clustered some corners of the metalsphere have become,1 singular identities stand out like a white-hot beacon in the dead of night, and Saidan doubtlessly brings this galvanizing vitality to their music. Conceptually, Fangdriller adds another chapter to Saidan’s narrative conceit, acting as a precursor to Visual Kill and detailing the crippling exile of loneliness that breeds ideal targets for abuse and manipulation. Musically, Fangdriller skews more morose and wistful than the wrath-wrought frenzy of Visual Kill.2 While Moonlight Sorcery’s eldritch mystique and Sacramentum’s furious riffstorming ably serve as points of comparison, Stormkeep’s subdued grandeur and 葬火’s3 seething angst whet Fangdriller’s emotional impact to a finer point than its predecessor.

Compared to previous outings, Fangdriller eases off some of the experimental diversity and instead focuses on delivering first-rate compositional cohesion. Saidan’s melodic sensibilities permeate Fangdriller’s runtime, from opening track “Razorblade Temptation” onwards. Trem-picked guitar leads dance across the fretboard as breakcore drum beats and sparkling synth injections swirl within the mix (“Rapture (I’ll Wait for You),” “Kara No Bara”). Where Visual Kill luxuriates in flamboyance, reminding me of Sallow Moth’s Mossbane Lantern, Fangdriller affixes to mood and songwriting. The tension within “Kara No Bara” and “Womb of Hatred” simmers with bombastic builds that explode with the culmination of inexorable pressure, guided by the frantic rhythms of drummer (and only other band member) Hundosai. Each song on Fangdriller sways with relentless tensity and release, but it’s quasi-title track “Stained Glass Sin – Fang Driller” that achieves the supreme compositional masterstroke. Beginning with a slow, ramping maelstrom, the give and take on “Stained Glass Sin…” propel it to the cusp of melodic nirvana, which is when the transcendent solo bushwhacks with full force. Though impressive on their own, the individual components of the song aren’t what shatters expectations4—it’s the perfect sequencing to release. And more than any other element Saidan presents, these calculated moments and transitions maximize Fangdriller’s impact throughout.

Along with the expert compositions and performances, Saidan sounds amazing on Fangdriller. While maintaining the typical raw stylings, Splatterpvnk’s every note remains delectably audible despite the background fuzz and hiss. The downside to this production style is that the bottom end is a tad thin, but this hardly registers given that Saidan’s songwriting doesn’t hinge on it. The crude aesthetic is especially evident on final track “Mortuary,” which applies the same treatment as Visual Kill’s somber closer “Suffer” by way of melancholic guitar strumming supporting emo cleans. It makes for a satisfying denouement, and even though “Mortuary” double-dips with this trick, conceptually it tethers the albums to an even greater degree.

Upon listening to Fangdriller as a fan, the potency of Saidan’s refined melodicism immediately stood out. Further treasures revealed themselves after spending even more time with it for my review. Nearly two dozen spins later, I never find my interest waning throughout Fangdriller’s forty-seven minutes. Quite the opposite, as each time “Mortuary” fades, I either restart the album or desire to. Though slightly less gung-ho than its predecessor, what Fangdriller forfeits in balls-out blitzing Saidan recoups in songwriting sophistication. If you haven’t listened to this one yet, you should. Though I liked Fangdriller from the outset, each subsequent spin has solidified my love for it. For anyone skeptical of Saidan’s latest, I encourage a dedicated, active listen—there’s a beautifully constructed album waiting to share its dark secrets with you if you’re brave enough to let it.

Rating: Great!
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Avantgarde Music
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook | Instagram
Releases Worldwide: June 19th, 2026

Saidan’s Fangdriller: Scars Beneath Memory’s Wrist wasn’t an album I’d initially planned to review, but when my Dear Friend said he wasn’t able to make the time, I carved some out. Brainchild of vocalist/guitarist/bassist Splatterpvnk, Nashville, Tennessee’s Saidan plays black metal at once scathing and ultra-melodic. Visual Kill, and specifically Dear Hollow’s blurb about it, introduced me to Saidan’s charms. Since then, I’ve kept Visual Kill in regular rotation and hotly anticipated their next release. That time is now upon us, and I’ve prepared my body and eardrums for Saidan’s raw, blackened stylings steeped in tunefulness so seductive that I’m left in sonic subjugation. The only task left to us, then, is to explore how deep Fangdriller’s Scars go.

Tangentially or directly, one topic that garners a fair bit of discussion in our beloved blog’s reviews is originality. Considering how clustered some corners of the metalsphere have become,1 singular identities stand out like a white-hot beacon in the dead of night, and Saidan doubtlessly brings this galvanizing vitality to their music. Conceptually, Fangdriller adds another chapter to Saidan’s narrative conceit, acting as a precursor to Visual Kill and detailing the crippling exile of loneliness that breeds ideal targets for abuse and manipulation. Musically, Fangdriller skews more morose and wistful than the wrath-wrought frenzy of Visual Kill.2 While Moonlight Sorcery’s eldritch mystique and Sacramentum’s furious riffstorming ably serve as points of comparison, Stormkeep’s subdued grandeur and 葬火’s3 seething angst whet Fangdriller’s emotional impact to a finer point than its predecessor.

Compared to previous outings, Fangdriller eases off some of the experimental diversity and instead focuses on delivering first-rate compositional cohesion. Saidan’s melodic sensibilities permeate Fangdriller’s runtime, from opening track “Razorblade Temptation” onwards. Trem-picked guitar leads dance across the fretboard as breakcore drum beats and sparkling synth injections swirl within the mix (“Rapture (I’ll Wait for You),” “Kara No Bara”). Where Visual Kill luxuriates in flamboyance, reminding me of Sallow Moth’s Mossbane Lantern, Fangdriller affixes to mood and songwriting. The tension within “Kara No Bara” and “Womb of Hatred” simmers with bombastic builds that explode with the culmination of inexorable pressure, guided by the frantic rhythms of drummer (and only other band member) Hundosai. Each song on Fangdriller sways with relentless tensity and release, but it’s quasi-title track “Stained Glass Sin – Fang Driller” that achieves the supreme compositional masterstroke. Beginning with a slow, ramping maelstrom, the give and take on “Stained Glass Sin…” propel it to the cusp of melodic nirvana, which is when the transcendent solo bushwhacks with full force. Though impressive on their own, the individual components of the song aren’t what shatters expectations4—it’s the perfect sequencing to release. And more than any other element Saidan presents, these calculated moments and transitions maximize Fangdriller’s impact throughout.

Along with the expert compositions and performances, Saidan sounds amazing on Fangdriller. While maintaining the typical raw stylings, Splatterpvnk’s every note remains delectably audible despite the background fuzz and hiss. The downside to this production style is that the bottom end is a tad thin, but this hardly registers given that Saidan’s songwriting doesn’t hinge on it. The crude aesthetic is especially evident on final track “Mortuary,” which applies the same treatment as Visual Kill’s somber closer “Suffer” by way of melancholic guitar strumming supporting emo cleans. It makes for a satisfying denouement, and even though “Mortuary” double-dips with this trick, conceptually it tethers the albums to an even greater degree.

Upon listening to Fangdriller as a fan, the potency of Saidan’s refined melodicism immediately stood out. Further treasures revealed themselves after spending even more time with it for my review. Nearly two dozen spins later, I never find my interest waning throughout Fangdriller’s forty-seven minutes. Quite the opposite, as each time “Mortuary” fades, I either restart the album or desire to. Though slightly less gung-ho than its predecessor, what Fangdriller forfeits in balls-out blitzing Saidan recoups in songwriting sophistication. If you haven’t listened to this one yet, you should. Though I liked Fangdriller from the outset, each subsequent spin has solidified my love for it. For anyone skeptical of Saidan’s latest, I encourage a dedicated, active listen—there’s a beautifully constructed album waiting to share its dark secrets with you if you’re brave enough to let it.

Rating: Great!
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Avantgarde Music
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook | Instagram
Releases Worldwide: June 19th, 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

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

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

Four-and-a-half years after releasing debut T.S.N.R.I. – Impermanenza, Italian atmospheric folk/black outfit Duir returns with sophomore full-length Catarsi. Drawing similarities to Saor, Autrest, and Mossgiver, Duir plays a blend of black and folk metal rooted in evocative instrumentation—specifically the Irish flute, hurdy-gurdy, and bagpipes. Italian for ‘Catharsis,’ Catarsi tells the story of a World War I soldier caught at a crossroads of emotional turmoil and relays the narrative through six tracks totaling forty-seven minutes. Without a lyrics sheet or story details, I can’t comment on the tale itself, yet I admit it establishes a poignant backdrop for atmospheric metal. It’s evident that Duir possesses the skills and imagination to pull it off, but does Catarsi succeed in doing so.

What I enjoy best about Catarsi is Duir’s ability to construct rich layers of music overflowing with vivid textures. Their soundstage feels inhabited and natural, with folk instruments complementing the traditional juncture of guitars and drums. The resulting fusion entices with an understated beauty I heavily associate with folk-informed metal, allowing Duir to forge a path parallel to black metal while developing distinct aural tones besides. Compared to Impermanenza, Catarsi experiments with fewer components, focusing on a narrower scope of sounds and tempos. This allows Duir to fully explore their chosen milieu for the story they’re telling, though it also limits the paths Catarsi can take.

While the instrumentation skews Gaelic and Duir hails from Italy, Catarsi predominantly sounds regionally agnostic,1 imparting an ambiguous rustic charm to the music. Catarsi swells with sumptuous folds as TZ supplies Irish flute and hurdy-gurdy, instilling wonderfully welcome supplements to the tremolos and mournful keening (“Della notte”) of guitarists MK and Skryer. Ever propelling the action forward, drummer P wields a deft touch as he unleashes fierce rolls (“Di nessuno”) and restrained timekeeping (“Manifesto”) in equal measure. Vocalist Vox in Umbra delivers a vicious performance as well, scouring eardrums with his heart-rending rasps (“Manifesto,” “Oltre l’alba”). And though I’m a sucker for punchy bass performances, Duir neither has nor needs any on Catarsi.2 In all, the folk instruments supply ample counterpoints that engender the variety and depth that well-written bass lines typically apply to augment guitars and drums, begetting a well-balanced sonic spread on Catarsi.

I can’t deny that Duir’s performances here are genuinely stunning, yet as a whole, it leaves little impression once concluded. Most of this I attribute to the pervasive homogeneity across the album. Songs are winsome from moment to moment, but leave me with few anchor points to differentiate them. The guitars mostly trem-pick in steady rhythms or drop into passive, melancholic refrains, limiting Duir to only a couple modes of play. And although the flute and hurdy-gurdy bring an extra dimension to proceedings, making them more of a melodic centerpiece would have gone further than utilizing them as accents and flourishes. To be fair, I suspect I’m missing a key component by knowing there’s a story to Catarsi while being ignorant of the details, yet I wish Duir employed more obvious contrasts between the tracks. T.S.N.R.I. – Impermanenza better separated themes and motifs, and while Catarsi’s compositions are more mature, stronger song identities could have reduced the perception of uniformity. Still, Duir prevails on other fronts. The DR score of 8 strongly supports the complexity of their arrangements, and L.G.’s3 guest vocals on “Impeto” yield a clever change-of-pace midway through the album.

Though some flaws hold Catarsi back, Duir can clearly craft absorbing metal. It’s impossible to deny the allure of their music, and any song in isolation sells the vision of Duir’s niche in black metal. All told, though, I struggle to discern the nuances within Catarsi’s design, and without mile markers to segregate passages, its songs can easily slip into the background rather than demanding attention. Even so, Catarsi offers plenty of redeeming moments, and I expect other fans of this style may find more to love than I did.

Rating: Mixed
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: AOP Records
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook | Instagram
Releases Worldwide: June 26th, 2026

Four-and-a-half years after releasing debut T.S.N.R.I. – Impermanenza, Italian atmospheric folk/black outfit Duir returns with sophomore full-length Catarsi. Drawing similarities to Saor, Autrest, and Mossgiver, Duir plays a blend of black and folk metal rooted in evocative instrumentation—specifically the Irish flute, hurdy-gurdy, and bagpipes. Italian for ‘Catharsis,’ Catarsi tells the story of a World War I soldier caught at a crossroads of emotional turmoil and relays the narrative through six tracks totaling forty-seven minutes. Without a lyrics sheet or story details, I can’t comment on the tale itself, yet I admit it establishes a poignant backdrop for atmospheric metal. It’s evident that Duir possesses the skills and imagination to pull it off, but does Catarsi succeed in doing so.

What I enjoy best about Catarsi is Duir’s ability to construct rich layers of music overflowing with vivid textures. Their soundstage feels inhabited and natural, with folk instruments complementing the traditional juncture of guitars and drums. The resulting fusion entices with an understated beauty I heavily associate with folk-informed metal, allowing Duir to forge a path parallel to black metal while developing distinct aural tones besides. Compared to Impermanenza, Catarsi experiments with fewer components, focusing on a narrower scope of sounds and tempos. This allows Duir to fully explore their chosen milieu for the story they’re telling, though it also limits the paths Catarsi can take.

While the instrumentation skews Gaelic and Duir hails from Italy, Catarsi predominantly sounds regionally agnostic,1 imparting an ambiguous rustic charm to the music. Catarsi swells with sumptuous folds as TZ supplies Irish flute and hurdy-gurdy, instilling wonderfully welcome supplements to the tremolos and mournful keening (“Della notte”) of guitarists MK and Skryer. Ever propelling the action forward, drummer P wields a deft touch as he unleashes fierce rolls (“Di nessuno”) and restrained timekeeping (“Manifesto”) in equal measure. Vocalist Vox in Umbra delivers a vicious performance as well, scouring eardrums with his heart-rending rasps (“Manifesto,” “Oltre l’alba”). And though I’m a sucker for punchy bass performances, Duir neither has nor needs any on Catarsi.2 In all, the folk instruments supply ample counterpoints that engender the variety and depth that well-written bass lines typically apply to augment guitars and drums, begetting a well-balanced sonic spread on Catarsi.

I can’t deny that Duir’s performances here are genuinely stunning, yet as a whole, it leaves little impression once concluded. Most of this I attribute to the pervasive homogeneity across the album. Songs are winsome from moment to moment, but leave me with few anchor points to differentiate them. The guitars mostly trem-pick in steady rhythms or drop into passive, melancholic refrains, limiting Duir to only a couple modes of play. And although the flute and hurdy-gurdy bring an extra dimension to proceedings, making them more of a melodic centerpiece would have gone further than utilizing them as accents and flourishes. To be fair, I suspect I’m missing a key component by knowing there’s a story to Catarsi while being ignorant of the details, yet I wish Duir employed more obvious contrasts between the tracks. T.S.N.R.I. – Impermanenza better separated themes and motifs, and while Catarsi’s compositions are more mature, stronger song identities could have reduced the perception of uniformity. Still, Duir prevails on other fronts. The DR score of 8 strongly supports the complexity of their arrangements, and L.G.’s3 guest vocals on “Impeto” yield a clever change-of-pace midway through the album.

Though some flaws hold Catarsi back, Duir can clearly craft absorbing metal. It’s impossible to deny the allure of their music, and any song in isolation sells the vision of Duir’s niche in black metal. All told, though, I struggle to discern the nuances within Catarsi’s design, and without mile markers to segregate passages, its songs can easily slip into the background rather than demanding attention. Even so, Catarsi offers plenty of redeeming moments, and I expect other fans of this style may find more to love than I did.

Rating: Mixed
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: AOP Records
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook | Instagram
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

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

When it comes to discerning the difference between doom and stoner metal, I subscribe to the Ned Flanders school of thought. While doom tends towards darker atmospheres at a slower pace, stoner metal generally grooves with a chiller vibe. Now, there are (at least two) exceptions, and it gets kind of tricky, one of which is the compound stoner-doom genre. This label nicely fits Druidess, who have become a staple of the UK doom and stoner scenes since the release of their 2024 EP, Hermits and Mandrakes. Two years later, this Newcastle upon Tyne quartet has finally dropped its independently-released debut LP, Trip Meadow. Whether a British stoner-doom scenester or a newcomer, you’re surely wondering whether Druidess’s musical trip feels like strolling through a meadow or slogging through a jungle.

Druidess travel through the crevices of Mount Doom and the streets of Stonerville, but they also haunt the alleys of Psychedelphia. Guitarist Daniel Downing powers this English engine, doling out an array of Sabbathian riffs that brood, gallop, and descend, often in the same song (“A Forest Witch’s Daughter”). Beneath Downing is drummer Sam Armstrong, who hits hard but sprinkles in peppery jazz accents, keeping things rhythmically dynamic (“Descended from Giants”). The highlight, however, is vocalist Shonagh Brown, who knows how to hold a straightforward verse and develop a sticky chorus (“Knightingales”). Brown claims Joan Jett (The Runaways) as a major influence, but I also hear Laura Donnelly (King Witch) in her penchant for effortless power.1 Draping Druidess’s stoner-doom core in a psychedelic haze is keyboardist James Hill, whose organ plinks owe a debt of gratitude to The Doors while recalling a contemporary band like Green Lung. If the presence of organ sounds insufficiently psychedelic, then you’ll be glad to hear that a saxophone occasionally moans melancholic melodies2 (“Trip Meadow,” “A Witches’ Sabbath”). Aesthetically and performance-wise, Trip Meadow brings home the goods.

The songwriting, however, sometimes sails the Inconsistent Sea. The songs hovering around 4 minutes deliver memorable jolts of Iommian riffs and Jettian choruses (“Mandragora,” “The Hermit of Druid’s Temple”). Even when Druidess expand to the 6–7 minute range, they usually do a good job balancing subdued excursions and tempo shifts with solid songcraft (“The Forest Witch’s Daughter,” “A Witches’ Sabbath”). A few tracks, however, could’ve definitely been pared down, the major example being the 10-minute title track. “Trip Meadow” opens with a sultry saxophone groove before reducing to an ominous organ line obliterated by a crushing doom riff. From there, it takes too long for the song to get to its good (not great) chorus. At around the 8-minute mark, however, Druidess goes off on gothic riff variations, variations that would’ve hit even harder were they to have come sooner.

I must also mention that Trip Meadow shares much in common with Druidess’s previous jaunt. Five of the album’s seven songs, in fact, appear on the Hermits and Mandrakes EP. Druidess does sonically improve these cuts for Trip Meadow, especially the vocal mix. Whereas Brown sits awkwardly atop the band on the EP, her voice feels prominent but porous on the LP, commingling with the fuzzy guitar tones while still carrying the tunes. It is disappointing, however, that roughly 70 percent of the material here exists on another release. The two new songs, though quite good, are not the strongest material on display. As discussed, “Trip Meadow” embodies enormous potential only partly realized. Meanwhile, “Descended from Giants” contains mighty fine bass-work, a neat pseudo-breakdown, and killer concluding wails, but it also retreads ground already covered.

Trip Meadow trips in a few ways, but ultimately, it’s a trip worth taking. If you’re already familiar with the Hermits and Mandrakes EP, the debut LP will probably feel like a tedious (albeit sonically improved) trek through well-worn terrain. If you’re like I was, however, ignorant of the EP and desiring of quality stoner-doom, then you should definitely take a stroll through Druidess’s comforting meadow of fuzzed-out riffs and fantastic vocals. At 41 minutes, Trip Meadow gets away with its redundancies because it sounds so good. If subsequent musical adventures tighten the songwriting while exploring experimentation under a cozy psych aesthetic, Druidess may find Greatness as a future destination.

Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Self-Release
Websites: Instagram | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: June 26th, 2026

When it comes to discerning the difference between doom and stoner metal, I subscribe to the Ned Flanders school of thought. While doom tends towards darker atmospheres at a slower pace, stoner metal generally grooves with a chiller vibe. Now, there are (at least two) exceptions, and it gets kind of tricky, one of which is the compound stoner-doom genre. This label nicely fits Druidess, who have become a staple of the UK doom and stoner scenes since the release of their 2024 EP, Hermits and Mandrakes. Two years later, this Newcastle upon Tyne quartet has finally dropped its independently-released debut LP, Trip Meadow. Whether a British stoner-doom scenester or a newcomer, you’re surely wondering whether Druidess’s musical trip feels like strolling through a meadow or slogging through a jungle.

Druidess travel through the crevices of Mount Doom and the streets of Stonerville, but they also haunt the alleys of Psychedelphia. Guitarist Daniel Downing powers this English engine, doling out an array of Sabbathian riffs that brood, gallop, and descend, often in the same song (“A Forest Witch’s Daughter”). Beneath Downing is drummer Sam Armstrong, who hits hard but sprinkles in peppery jazz accents, keeping things rhythmically dynamic (“Descended from Giants”). The highlight, however, is vocalist Shonagh Brown, who knows how to hold a straightforward verse and develop a sticky chorus (“Knightingales”). Brown claims Joan Jett (The Runaways) as a major influence, but I also hear Laura Donnelly (King Witch) in her penchant for effortless power.1 Draping Druidess’s stoner-doom core in a psychedelic haze is keyboardist James Hill, whose organ plinks owe a debt of gratitude to The Doors while recalling a contemporary band like Green Lung. If the presence of organ sounds insufficiently psychedelic, then you’ll be glad to hear that a saxophone occasionally moans melancholic melodies2 (“Trip Meadow,” “A Witches’ Sabbath”). Aesthetically and performance-wise, Trip Meadow brings home the goods.

The songwriting, however, sometimes sails the Inconsistent Sea. The songs hovering around 4 minutes deliver memorable jolts of Iommian riffs and Jettian choruses (“Mandragora,” “The Hermit of Druid’s Temple”). Even when Druidess expand to the 6–7 minute range, they usually do a good job balancing subdued excursions and tempo shifts with solid songcraft (“The Forest Witch’s Daughter,” “A Witches’ Sabbath”). A few tracks, however, could’ve definitely been pared down, the major example being the 10-minute title track. “Trip Meadow” opens with a sultry saxophone groove before reducing to an ominous organ line obliterated by a crushing doom riff. From there, it takes too long for the song to get to its good (not great) chorus. At around the 8-minute mark, however, Druidess goes off on gothic riff variations, variations that would’ve hit even harder were they to have come sooner.

I must also mention that Trip Meadow shares much in common with Druidess’s previous jaunt. Five of the album’s seven songs, in fact, appear on the Hermits and Mandrakes EP. Druidess does sonically improve these cuts for Trip Meadow, especially the vocal mix. Whereas Brown sits awkwardly atop the band on the EP, her voice feels prominent but porous on the LP, commingling with the fuzzy guitar tones while still carrying the tunes. It is disappointing, however, that roughly 70 percent of the material here exists on another release. The two new songs, though quite good, are not the strongest material on display. As discussed, “Trip Meadow” embodies enormous potential only partly realized. Meanwhile, “Descended from Giants” contains mighty fine bass-work, a neat pseudo-breakdown, and killer concluding wails, but it also retreads ground already covered.

Trip Meadow trips in a few ways, but ultimately, it’s a trip worth taking. If you’re already familiar with the Hermits and Mandrakes EP, the debut LP will probably feel like a tedious (albeit sonically improved) trek through well-worn terrain. If you’re like I was, however, ignorant of the EP and desiring of quality stoner-doom, then you should definitely take a stroll through Druidess’s comforting meadow of fuzzed-out riffs and fantastic vocals. At 41 minutes, Trip Meadow gets away with its redundancies because it sounds so good. If subsequent musical adventures tighten the songwriting while exploring experimentation under a cozy psych aesthetic, Druidess may find Greatness as a future destination.

Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Self-Release
Websites: Instagram | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: June 26th, 2026

Vom Sternfahrt-Trubel in Berlin bis zur Hitzewelle daheim im Revier: Mein Juni 2026! ☀️🌧️ #radfahren #brompton
#warumichradfahre #lifestyle65 #jun26 #warumichradfahreblog #HeimatEntdecker

Vom Sternfahrt-Trubel in Berlin bis zur Hitzewelle daheim im Revier: Mein Juni 2026! ☀️🌧️ #radfahren #brompton
#warumichradfahre #lifestyle65 #jun26 #warumichradfahreblog #HeimatEntdecker

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

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

When I happened upon New York brutal tech troupe Thætas back in 2020, I likened their particular brand of brutalist, sprawling death metal to an alternate universe where Afterbirth were raised in a Brooklyn gutter. It was a sound I didn’t realize would resonate as strongly with me as it did, but it seemed as time passed that I wasn’t going to get another hit. Then, out of nowhere, an announcement for The Irredeemable Age graced me with a seedy cover and a nasty single to hook me in once more. Armed with one fewer member and enough angular songwriting to make AMG Himself spontaneously explode, can Thætas build an even grander structure atop their Shrines to Absurdity?

Thætas still makes a great gritty companion to the more spiritually inclined Afterbirth, but The Irredeemable Age further develops and diversifies that sound. Boasting new twangs and bends that heavily recall Veilburner (“Daytime Lantern”) and a city-dwelling skew that echoes Imperial Triumphant (“Digital Locusts”)—working in concert with familiar gnarled twists that puts them in a similar space as Defeated Sanity—Thætas subverts my penchant for accessibility and lures me ‘neath the sewer grate. At one with the slime that writhes underfoot, The Irredeemable Age is a monstrous creature composed of ugly riffs, screeching scrapes and pinches, and enough stomping rhythms to level a mountain. It brooks no quarter as it tosses me through concrete walls, with very little in the way of telegraphing or transition in between pummels (“DHUKHA,” “Summers of Hate”). With such rapid shifting and relentless violence, I’d expect the experience to feel disjointed and scattered. Thætas are smarter songwriters than that. Somehow, they crafted these 31 minutes with such intricate and intentional technicality that no piece or portion can be excised from the whole without causing a major disruption to its form and flow.

Despite its mangled anatomy, The Irredeemable Age is effortlessly enjoyable. This is in no small part due to its warm, natural, and full-bodied engineering, but its deceptively hooky songwriting too makes an airtight case. High-energy romps “Summers of Hate,” “The End of History,” and “For the Hope Devoid” invigorate The Irredeemable Age’s first half, moving with a springy agility that belies their brutal musculature. Those Veilburner twangs come in clutch at the center of the record—evoking imagery of skulls bashed against I-beams under the train tracks—and imbue stomping slams like “The Irredeemable Age” with huge personality. A delightfully clanky bass tone deepens this robust character as the record progresses, too. Additional nuance and texture develops in this meaty core before late album bangers “Stretched Paradox” and “Pillars of Fault” dress me down once more. None of that prepares for the white-hot branding that awaits with stunning closer “Digital Locusts.” A vast improvement in editing compared to Shrines’ closing track, this five-minute send off embodies all of the skills displayed up to that point and coagulates them into one final tear that makes it impossible to deny the replay button’s allure.

That replay button turned out to be a critical piece of The Irredeemable Age’s success. Despite its more aggressive and propulsive attack, The Irredeemable Age is in some ways less immediate than Shrines. Shrines to Absurdity was so weird, darkly whimsical, and tricky that it made an instant impression. Here, however, I find refinement, sophistication, and maturity. A method informs madness. The whimsical aspects of Thætas’ sound acclimate better to their surroundings, and the unhinged nature of their songwriting settles into a smoother groove. Opening track “DUKHKA” is the only exception, posing a small introductory speed bump in pacing with its staggered slams. On the other hand, it tempers expectations just enough to make the subsequent obliteration all that much more impactful. All in all, though, The Irredeemable Age houses a greater density of details and ideas that reveal themselves with multiple spins, which in turn creates deeper memorability. But it comes at a price. Listeners must invest a small measure more time with The Irredeemable Age to see its magic unfurl.

Unfurl The Irredeemable Age inevitably does. Thætas found a striking balance of memorability, technical precision, and filth that makes The Irredeemable Age an absolute joy of grotesque sounds. And thanks to tightened editing, diversified sonic elements, and refined songwriting, it only gets better the more often you spin it. So the next time you wander into sketchy back alleys sniffing for prime brutal tech death, ask for Thætas.

Rating: Great!
DR: 9 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3
Label: Profound Lore Records
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: June 26th, 2026

When I happened upon New York brutal tech troupe Thætas back in 2020, I likened their particular brand of brutalist, sprawling death metal to an alternate universe where Afterbirth were raised in a Brooklyn gutter. It was a sound I didn’t realize would resonate as strongly with me as it did, but it seemed as time passed that I wasn’t going to get another hit. Then, out of nowhere, an announcement for The Irredeemable Age graced me with a seedy cover and a nasty single to hook me in once more. Armed with one fewer member and enough angular songwriting to make AMG Himself spontaneously explode, can Thætas build an even grander structure atop their Shrines to Absurdity?

Thætas still makes a great gritty companion to the more spiritually inclined Afterbirth, but The Irredeemable Age further develops and diversifies that sound. Boasting new twangs and bends that heavily recall Veilburner (“Daytime Lantern”) and a city-dwelling skew that echoes Imperial Triumphant (“Digital Locusts”)—working in concert with familiar gnarled twists that puts them in a similar space as Defeated Sanity—Thætas subverts my penchant for accessibility and lures me ‘neath the sewer grate. At one with the slime that writhes underfoot, The Irredeemable Age is a monstrous creature composed of ugly riffs, screeching scrapes and pinches, and enough stomping rhythms to level a mountain. It brooks no quarter as it tosses me through concrete walls, with very little in the way of telegraphing or transition in between pummels (“DHUKHA,” “Summers of Hate”). With such rapid shifting and relentless violence, I’d expect the experience to feel disjointed and scattered. Thætas are smarter songwriters than that. Somehow, they crafted these 31 minutes with such intricate and intentional technicality that no piece or portion can be excised from the whole without causing a major disruption to its form and flow.

Despite its mangled anatomy, The Irredeemable Age is effortlessly enjoyable. This is in no small part due to its warm, natural, and full-bodied engineering, but its deceptively hooky songwriting too makes an airtight case. High-energy romps “Summers of Hate,” “The End of History,” and “For the Hope Devoid” invigorate The Irredeemable Age’s first half, moving with a springy agility that belies their brutal musculature. Those Veilburner twangs come in clutch at the center of the record—evoking imagery of skulls bashed against I-beams under the train tracks—and imbue stomping slams like “The Irredeemable Age” with huge personality. A delightfully clanky bass tone deepens this robust character as the record progresses, too. Additional nuance and texture develops in this meaty core before late album bangers “Stretched Paradox” and “Pillars of Fault” dress me down once more. None of that prepares for the white-hot branding that awaits with stunning closer “Digital Locusts.” A vast improvement in editing compared to Shrines’ closing track, this five-minute send off embodies all of the skills displayed up to that point and coagulates them into one final tear that makes it impossible to deny the replay button’s allure.

That replay button turned out to be a critical piece of The Irredeemable Age’s success. Despite its more aggressive and propulsive attack, The Irredeemable Age is in some ways less immediate than Shrines. Shrines to Absurdity was so weird, darkly whimsical, and tricky that it made an instant impression. Here, however, I find refinement, sophistication, and maturity. A method informs madness. The whimsical aspects of Thætas’ sound acclimate better to their surroundings, and the unhinged nature of their songwriting settles into a smoother groove. Opening track “DUKHKA” is the only exception, posing a small introductory speed bump in pacing with its staggered slams. On the other hand, it tempers expectations just enough to make the subsequent obliteration all that much more impactful. All in all, though, The Irredeemable Age houses a greater density of details and ideas that reveal themselves with multiple spins, which in turn creates deeper memorability. But it comes at a price. Listeners must invest a small measure more time with The Irredeemable Age to see its magic unfurl.

Unfurl The Irredeemable Age inevitably does. Thætas found a striking balance of memorability, technical precision, and filth that makes The Irredeemable Age an absolute joy of grotesque sounds. And thanks to tightened editing, diversified sonic elements, and refined songwriting, it only gets better the more often you spin it. So the next time you wander into sketchy back alleys sniffing for prime brutal tech death, ask for Thætas.

Rating: Great!
DR: 9 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3
Label: Profound Lore Records
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: June 26th, 2026

After 18 years and five full-length albums as frontman to The Lion’s Daughter, Rick Giordano decided “the daughter had to die so that the mother could live.” If that sounds morbid, it’s on purpose, as Giordano’s new project, Blood Mother,1 offers itself as a “score to your own personal horror film.” In forming this new project, Giordano further forges his musical independence, having previously divorced his music from the confines of a label (Season of Mist) for 2023’s Bath House. This allows him to create music that doesn’t fit neatly into any one category, and it makes sense that Blood Mother play an unconventional genre: post-metal. The question looms on Blood Mother’s self-titled debut whether Giordano is able to achieve success on his own terms.

Blood Mother hits plenty of experimental beats, blending atmospheric elements with bouts of impressive riffs. An early guitar riff on “Bonecanter” scratches the Kyuss itch, and his simple yet catchy approach to riffcraft shows up time and again throughout the record. Blood Mother keeps the songwriting simple, but it’s far from boring. Some of the riff-heavy portions sound reminiscent of The Lion’s Daughter, but Blood Mother is less heavy and less industrial. Giordano plays with guitar tones, mixing up sleek riffs, acoustic arpeggios (“Trail of Screaming Dead”), and plenty of heavy reverb à la Cult of Luna (“The Night Fires,” “The Wound of Heaven”). It’s not all about riffs, however. Blood Mother incorporate plenty of atmospheric techniques, including synths, to set up eerie, sometimes sinister moods—”The Night Fires” perfectly encapsulates this approach, beginning with unsettling synths before easing into an energetic pace. Natural sounds also make their way into the music, with crickets chirping at the start and end of “The Night Fires,” and birds and monkeys calling out on “The Wound of Heaven.” These flourishes add subtle touches to the sense of unease bubbling beneath the surface.

Giordano proves an adept songwriter, composing music that patiently builds up to a climax and tells a story. Blood Mother masterfully set the mood, be that the eeriness of “The Night Fires” or the Western, Wayfarer-esque feel of “Lost in Thunder.” But he also realizes mood isn’t enough, and that’s where the riff comes in, not to mention some impressive drumming from Ramsier. On the masterful “Trail of Screaming Dead,” Blood Mother methodically builds upon itself, beginning with organs, then jumping into lively drums and riffs, slowly adding new elements until some memorable tremolos bring the song to a conclusion. The music feels like gritty poetry, and the lyrics reflect this, written in poetic form and performed artistically in Giordano’s husky growls.

At just over 30 minutes, Blood Mother is a morsel rather than a full feast, and its conclusion leaves it somewhat wanting. Of the six songs that comprise that runtime, five of them are terrific pieces that eschew traditional structures, filling up spaces with music that can be thoughtful, deliberate, and sometimes exciting. On occasion, Blood Mother make some odd choices, such as synths in the final minute of “The Night Fires” that are deliberately jarring as they switch from one speaker to the other. Yet it’s the record’s finale, “Pulled Apart,” that doesn’t quite hold a light to the tracks that precede it. It still contains great ideas, including some nifty riffs and kitwork, but also some noises that just don’t blend into the music very well. It’s the one tune that doesn’t quite hit as hard as the others, and the concluding fade-out ends Blood Mother on an anticlimactic disappearing act.

For me, this was the perfect promo to match my mood. I wanted something that entertained without being formulaic. I wanted something that didn’t hit the usual beats, but wasn’t too weird. Blood Mother checks all those boxes. Sure, Giordano may have a few kinks to work out, but for a first-time striking it out (mostly) on his own, this is a pretty remarkable record, one that’s full of surprises and nuances that make for rewarding repeat listens.

Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Self-Released
Website: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: June 19th, 2026

After 18 years and five full-length albums as frontman to The Lion’s Daughter, Rick Giordano decided “the daughter had to die so that the mother could live.” If that sounds morbid, it’s on purpose, as Giordano’s new project, Blood Mother,1 offers itself as a “score to your own personal horror film.” In forming this new project, Giordano further forges his musical independence, having previously divorced his music from the confines of a label (Season of Mist) for 2023’s Bath House. This allows him to create music that doesn’t fit neatly into any one category, and it makes sense that Blood Mother play an unconventional genre: post-metal. The question looms on Blood Mother’s self-titled debut whether Giordano is able to achieve success on his own terms.

Blood Mother hits plenty of experimental beats, blending atmospheric elements with bouts of impressive riffs. An early guitar riff on “Bonecanter” scratches the Kyuss itch, and his simple yet catchy approach to riffcraft shows up time and again throughout the record. Blood Mother keeps the songwriting simple, but it’s far from boring. Some of the riff-heavy portions sound reminiscent of The Lion’s Daughter, but Blood Mother is less heavy and less industrial. Giordano plays with guitar tones, mixing up sleek riffs, acoustic arpeggios (“Trail of Screaming Dead”), and plenty of heavy reverb à la Cult of Luna (“The Night Fires,” “The Wound of Heaven”). It’s not all about riffs, however. Blood Mother incorporate plenty of atmospheric techniques, including synths, to set up eerie, sometimes sinister moods—”The Night Fires” perfectly encapsulates this approach, beginning with unsettling synths before easing into an energetic pace. Natural sounds also make their way into the music, with crickets chirping at the start and end of “The Night Fires,” and birds and monkeys calling out on “The Wound of Heaven.” These flourishes add subtle touches to the sense of unease bubbling beneath the surface.

Giordano proves an adept songwriter, composing music that patiently builds up to a climax and tells a story. Blood Mother masterfully set the mood, be that the eeriness of “The Night Fires” or the Western, Wayfarer-esque feel of “Lost in Thunder.” But he also realizes mood isn’t enough, and that’s where the riff comes in, not to mention some impressive drumming from Ramsier. On the masterful “Trail of Screaming Dead,” Blood Mother methodically builds upon itself, beginning with organs, then jumping into lively drums and riffs, slowly adding new elements until some memorable tremolos bring the song to a conclusion. The music feels like gritty poetry, and the lyrics reflect this, written in poetic form and performed artistically in Giordano’s husky growls.

At just over 30 minutes, Blood Mother is a morsel rather than a full feast, and its conclusion leaves it somewhat wanting. Of the six songs that comprise that runtime, five of them are terrific pieces that eschew traditional structures, filling up spaces with music that can be thoughtful, deliberate, and sometimes exciting. On occasion, Blood Mother make some odd choices, such as synths in the final minute of “The Night Fires” that are deliberately jarring as they switch from one speaker to the other. Yet it’s the record’s finale, “Pulled Apart,” that doesn’t quite hold a light to the tracks that precede it. It still contains great ideas, including some nifty riffs and kitwork, but also some noises that just don’t blend into the music very well. It’s the one tune that doesn’t quite hit as hard as the others, and the concluding fade-out ends Blood Mother on an anticlimactic disappearing act.

For me, this was the perfect promo to match my mood. I wanted something that entertained without being formulaic. I wanted something that didn’t hit the usual beats, but wasn’t too weird. Blood Mother checks all those boxes. Sure, Giordano may have a few kinks to work out, but for a first-time striking it out (mostly) on his own, this is a pretty remarkable record, one that’s full of surprises and nuances that make for rewarding repeat listens.

Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Self-Released
Website: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: June 19th, 2026

One of metal’s most universal and recognizable traits is loudness. But, as obvious as this statement is, it’s the way that this loudness is utilized that differentiates individual artists from one another. In the promo sheet for Sotera, Joseph E. Martinez describes Junius as “heavy music that prioritizes movement and melody over aggression for its own sake,” a mission statement that aligns perfectly with what I prize in any metal subgenre that I listen to. It’s been nine years since 2017’s Eternal Rituals for the Accretion of Light, the final installment in a previous trilogy of albums. On Sotera, these Bostonians have settled on a looser concept revolving around an assortment of feminine divine figures. All that remains to be seen is how strong a celestial connection Junius will forge with longtime and prospective fans.

The passage of time has wrought a few changes to Junius’s sound. Their post-metal core is still largely intact, but it is now laced with considerable shoegaze influence. The resulting effect is an augmentation of the wall-of-sound techniques upon which both genres rely. This hazy combination frequently reminds me of Holy Fawn’s ebb and flow between ethereal and enraged. Sotera is slightly punchier than its predecessors as well. This is not exactly in a poppy way, although Martinez’s singing often adopts a dark, brooding tone like that of Depeche Mode. Also, at times, the guitar riffs are meaner, and the growls are fiercer. The culmination of these alterations causes Sotera to exude a larger-than-life sensation, which I imagine is even better experienced via concert speakers than in a recorded setting.

Sotera unfolds like a ritualistic energy transfer. The opening songs (“Disciple” and “The Oracle”) are characterized by radiant singing atop a swirling undercurrent of guitars, which periodically take on a harsher edge. But, as the album advances, most of this melodic power transitions from the vocals to the guitars. The leads that open “Serpent” uncoil and slither to expose subtle intricacies as the vocals become a low, gravelly incantation. Ultimately, “Scythian” arrives like a resplendent rebirth with catchy guitar riffs and the drumming briefly dipping into blast beats for the first and only time. “Initiatrix,” placed squarely in the middle of Sotera, is the intersection of these melodic entities as they produce the highlight of the record.

In other ways, Sotera’s sense of progression is less than cohesive. The most conspicuous example is “Lucifera,” a wistful dream pop-tinged number which doesn’t fit in as well stylistically, but probably would have worked better if it were only 3 minutes long instead of nearly 6. Overall, though, Junius remains very good at self-editing—no track on Sotera exceeds 7 minutes, and the entire runtime is a modest 40. Additionally, a few of the transitions (“Scythian,” “Darkwater”) and conclusions (“Initiatrix,” “Serpent”) within certain songs are abrupt, creating a momentarily jerky flow. That said, when I mentally lean back and let the mood envelope me, I don’t notice it much. I would believe it if someone told me that these are minor scars from many revisions over a long writing period.

Like an onion, Sotera may not appear auspicious on the surface, but repeated dissection uncovers many layers. Depending on your emotional frame of mind, it might even cause you to tear up a bit at times. Junius has crafted some of their most engaging soundscapes to date, possibly as a result of focusing more on individual songs. Although a few of these end before (“Initiatrix”) and after (“Lucifera”), I would like all of Sotera’s melodic elements to join together in fascinating ways. Whatever one’s preferred form of spirituality may be, Junius offers food for thought as well as the soul.

Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Prosthetic Records
Websites: junius.bandcamp.com | juniusmusic.com | facebook.com/juniusmusic
Releases Worldwide: June 26th, 2026

One of metal’s most universal and recognizable traits is loudness. But, as obvious as this statement is, it’s the way that this loudness is utilized that differentiates individual artists from one another. In the promo sheet for Sotera, Joseph E. Martinez describes Junius as “heavy music that prioritizes movement and melody over aggression for its own sake,” a mission statement that aligns perfectly with what I prize in any metal subgenre that I listen to. It’s been nine years since 2017’s Eternal Rituals for the Accretion of Light, the final installment in a previous trilogy of albums. On Sotera, these Bostonians have settled on a looser concept revolving around an assortment of feminine divine figures. All that remains to be seen is how strong a celestial connection Junius will forge with longtime and prospective fans.

The passage of time has wrought a few changes to Junius’s sound. Their post-metal core is still largely intact, but it is now laced with considerable shoegaze influence. The resulting effect is an augmentation of the wall-of-sound techniques upon which both genres rely. This hazy combination frequently reminds me of Holy Fawn’s ebb and flow between ethereal and enraged. Sotera is slightly punchier than its predecessors as well. This is not exactly in a poppy way, although Martinez’s singing often adopts a dark, brooding tone like that of Depeche Mode. Also, at times, the guitar riffs are meaner, and the growls are fiercer. The culmination of these alterations causes Sotera to exude a larger-than-life sensation, which I imagine is even better experienced via concert speakers than in a recorded setting.

Sotera unfolds like a ritualistic energy transfer. The opening songs (“Disciple” and “The Oracle”) are characterized by radiant singing atop a swirling undercurrent of guitars, which periodically take on a harsher edge. But, as the album advances, most of this melodic power transitions from the vocals to the guitars. The leads that open “Serpent” uncoil and slither to expose subtle intricacies as the vocals become a low, gravelly incantation. Ultimately, “Scythian” arrives like a resplendent rebirth with catchy guitar riffs and the drumming briefly dipping into blast beats for the first and only time. “Initiatrix,” placed squarely in the middle of Sotera, is the intersection of these melodic entities as they produce the highlight of the record.

In other ways, Sotera’s sense of progression is less than cohesive. The most conspicuous example is “Lucifera,” a wistful dream pop-tinged number which doesn’t fit in as well stylistically, but probably would have worked better if it were only 3 minutes long instead of nearly 6. Overall, though, Junius remains very good at self-editing—no track on Sotera exceeds 7 minutes, and the entire runtime is a modest 40. Additionally, a few of the transitions (“Scythian,” “Darkwater”) and conclusions (“Initiatrix,” “Serpent”) within certain songs are abrupt, creating a momentarily jerky flow. That said, when I mentally lean back and let the mood envelope me, I don’t notice it much. I would believe it if someone told me that these are minor scars from many revisions over a long writing period.

Like an onion, Sotera may not appear auspicious on the surface, but repeated dissection uncovers many layers. Depending on your emotional frame of mind, it might even cause you to tear up a bit at times. Junius has crafted some of their most engaging soundscapes to date, possibly as a result of focusing more on individual songs. Although a few of these end before (“Initiatrix”) and after (“Lucifera”), I would like all of Sotera’s melodic elements to join together in fascinating ways. Whatever one’s preferred form of spirituality may be, Junius offers food for thought as well as the soul.

Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Prosthetic Records
Websites: junius.bandcamp.com | juniusmusic.com | facebook.com/juniusmusic
Releases Worldwide: June 26th, 2026

Mortiis has cut a swath through Norway’s music scene since 1992, beginning as the inaugural bassist for black metal pioneers Emperor. When Håvard “Mortiis” Ellefsen realized the blackened arts weren’t for him, he swapped his bass guitar for a keyboard and embarked on a journey that, six years and six full-length albums later, left him a progenitor and “Godfather” of dungeon synth. Over the following vicennial, Mortiis explored other musical outlets, from darkened synth-pop to industrial rock and murky ambient before returning to his dungeon synth roots with 2020’s Spirit of Rebellion. After revisiting the genre he helped found, Mortiis releases his 11th full-length album, Ghosts of Europa—in part shaped by a subsequently abandoned collaboration with Stephan Groth (Apoptygma Berzerk)—to pay homage to old German electronica, especially Tangerine Dream and Klaus Schulze. Mortiis took those early recordings and embarked on a six-year journey to transform them into Ghosts of Europa. Will Ghosts serve as the harbinger of Mortiis’s greatness, or be cursed to haunt the darkened shadows of Norwegian mediocrity?

Ghosts of Europa is sexy, spacy, and cinematic—a synth-forward record that draws from each of Mortiis’s electronic eras—moving from dungeon scenes to movie screens. Those familiar with Tangerine Dream’s ’80s “soundtrack” era,1 will feel that theatrical presence, in addition to early Enigma, Pink Floyd, and Dead Can Dance, in the windswept, dystopian synthscapes and expansive, Gregorian chant-inspired, Middle Eastern-influenced female wails of Ghosts’ more ambient moments (“Return to the Old Fields,” “Transcending Morpheus,” “Tribes of Dystopia”). When Ghosts of Europa shifts to straightforward, beat-driven electronics (“Ghosts of Europa,” 2 “Violent Silence”) it taps a Depeche Mode and Kraftwerk vein. Still, other Mortiis Era II specters haunt Ghosts’ halls on tracks like “Tundra, Heart of Hell,” an electro-rocker that channels She Wants Revenge and The Cult, just as “Farewell Romero” has a distinct Marilyn Manson feel to its slow, painful burn. Mortiis has reached the peak of his musical prowess, wielding a conductor’s control over his collaborators and delivering one of his most emotive albums.

Heaving with atmosphere, Ghosts of Europa punctuates its vast, sweeping sonicscapes with rich vocal textures and introspective lyrics. From the repetitive refrain “When we all fall down” that dominates the opening title track to the chorus on “The Faith That Fades Away” requesting “Leave me with my sins, leave me with my thoughts,” and on through “Farewell Romero”‘s painful admission “I found a way to kill some of the pain, like a warm and cleansing summer rain,” Ghosts’ lyrics serve as an apology to the relationships Mortiis admittedly damaged along the way.3 And to further execute his no-boundaries vision, Mortiis focused on vocal arrangements in a way he hasn’t on previous efforts, partnering with a cast ranging from Sarah Jezebel Deva (Cradle of Filth) and Illiana Tsakirake (Septicflesh) to Christopher Rakkestad (Elvarhøi, Bolverk) and Skinny Puppy’s Matthew Setzer,4 who join him and, along with a vocoder and some autotune modulation, cement completely the otherworldly experience Ghosts of Europa provides.

Effortlessly flowing and expertly paced, Ghosts of Europa is permeated with a laid-back melancholy, allowing Mortiis to undulate easily between extended ambient moments and more traditional synth-pop. This ebb and flow effectively renders Ghosts of Europa’s fifty-plus-minute runtime into something that feels much shorter. As with any great film, Ghosts of Europa begs to be heard in its linear totality, rather than having any of its constituent parts relegated to a cannibalized playlist, despite some of its more traditional moments being ripe for such compartmentalization. Mortiis has provided an experience akin to getting lost in any of his early, Era I dungeon albums, if that sparks you, but with dialogue and an impactfully matured, image-conjuring vivacity. I repeatedly found myself easily lost in the Neverending Story-like feel of Mortiis’s conjuration, enamored with every moment. My one critique is reserved for the album’s editing, which could easily be attributed to the product of the promo, but rests with the abrupt and awkward resolution of some of the tracks (“The Faith That Fades Away,” “Tundra, Heart of Hell,” and “Farewell, Romero”). Not nearly enough to ruin the experience, but worth mentioning.

I have never felt FOMO for missing out on Mortiis’s back catalog. I’m not particularly fond of dungeon synth as a genre, and took minuscule note of Mortiis’s shift into more traditional territory nearly 26 years ago. I was very drawn, however, to the stark cover art of Ghosts of Europa and the soul-syncing feel of the album’s title track. The door I walked through after listening to the whole thing converted me. Ghosts of Europa has earned my highest rating this year to date, and I can only recommend that you all give it a chance as well.

Rating: 4.0/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Prophecy Productions
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook | Webstore
Releases Worldwide: June 26th, 2026

Mortiis has cut a swath through Norway’s music scene since 1992, beginning as the inaugural bassist for black metal pioneers Emperor. When Håvard “Mortiis” Ellefsen realized the blackened arts weren’t for him, he swapped his bass guitar for a keyboard and embarked on a journey that, six years and six full-length albums later, left him a progenitor and “Godfather” of dungeon synth. Over the following vicennial, Mortiis explored other musical outlets, from darkened synth-pop to industrial rock and murky ambient before returning to his dungeon synth roots with 2020’s Spirit of Rebellion. After revisiting the genre he helped found, Mortiis releases his 11th full-length album, Ghosts of Europa—in part shaped by a subsequently abandoned collaboration with Stephan Groth (Apoptygma Berzerk)—to pay homage to old German electronica, especially Tangerine Dream and Klaus Schulze. Mortiis took those early recordings and embarked on a six-year journey to transform them into Ghosts of Europa. Will Ghosts serve as the harbinger of Mortiis’s greatness, or be cursed to haunt the darkened shadows of Norwegian mediocrity?

Ghosts of Europa is sexy, spacy, and cinematic—a synth-forward record that draws from each of Mortiis’s electronic eras—moving from dungeon scenes to movie screens. Those familiar with Tangerine Dream’s ’80s “soundtrack” era,1 will feel that theatrical presence, in addition to early Enigma, Pink Floyd, and Dead Can Dance, in the windswept, dystopian synthscapes and expansive, Gregorian chant-inspired, Middle Eastern-influenced female wails of Ghosts’ more ambient moments (“Return to the Old Fields,” “Transcending Morpheus,” “Tribes of Dystopia”). When Ghosts of Europa shifts to straightforward, beat-driven electronics (“Ghosts of Europa,” 2 “Violent Silence”) it taps a Depeche Mode and Kraftwerk vein. Still, other Mortiis Era II specters haunt Ghosts’ halls on tracks like “Tundra, Heart of Hell,” an electro-rocker that channels She Wants Revenge and The Cult, just as “Farewell Romero” has a distinct Marilyn Manson feel to its slow, painful burn. Mortiis has reached the peak of his musical prowess, wielding a conductor’s control over his collaborators and delivering one of his most emotive albums.

Heaving with atmosphere, Ghosts of Europa punctuates its vast, sweeping sonicscapes with rich vocal textures and introspective lyrics. From the repetitive refrain “When we all fall down” that dominates the opening title track to the chorus on “The Faith That Fades Away” requesting “Leave me with my sins, leave me with my thoughts,” and on through “Farewell Romero”‘s painful admission “I found a way to kill some of the pain, like a warm and cleansing summer rain,” Ghosts’ lyrics serve as an apology to the relationships Mortiis admittedly damaged along the way.3 And to further execute his no-boundaries vision, Mortiis focused on vocal arrangements in a way he hasn’t on previous efforts, partnering with a cast ranging from Sarah Jezebel Deva (Cradle of Filth) and Illiana Tsakirake (Septicflesh) to Christopher Rakkestad (Elvarhøi, Bolverk) and Skinny Puppy’s Matthew Setzer,4 who join him and, along with a vocoder and some autotune modulation, cement completely the otherworldly experience Ghosts of Europa provides.

Effortlessly flowing and expertly paced, Ghosts of Europa is permeated with a laid-back melancholy, allowing Mortiis to undulate easily between extended ambient moments and more traditional synth-pop. This ebb and flow effectively renders Ghosts of Europa’s fifty-plus-minute runtime into something that feels much shorter. As with any great film, Ghosts of Europa begs to be heard in its linear totality, rather than having any of its constituent parts relegated to a cannibalized playlist, despite some of its more traditional moments being ripe for such compartmentalization. Mortiis has provided an experience akin to getting lost in any of his early, Era I dungeon albums, if that sparks you, but with dialogue and an impactfully matured, image-conjuring vivacity. I repeatedly found myself easily lost in the Neverending Story-like feel of Mortiis’s conjuration, enamored with every moment. My one critique is reserved for the album’s editing, which could easily be attributed to the product of the promo, but rests with the abrupt and awkward resolution of some of the tracks (“The Faith That Fades Away,” “Tundra, Heart of Hell,” and “Farewell, Romero”). Not nearly enough to ruin the experience, but worth mentioning.

I have never felt FOMO for missing out on Mortiis’s back catalog. I’m not particularly fond of dungeon synth as a genre, and took minuscule note of Mortiis’s shift into more traditional territory nearly 26 years ago. I was very drawn, however, to the stark cover art of Ghosts of Europa and the soul-syncing feel of the album’s title track. The door I walked through after listening to the whole thing converted me. Ghosts of Europa has earned my highest rating this year to date, and I can only recommend that you all give it a chance as well.

Rating: 4.0/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Prophecy Productions
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook | Webstore
Releases Worldwide: June 26th, 2026

“Scordatura” is an Italian word that means “mistuning.” This is a technique used for stringed instruments to allow for bizarre chords, or to simplify progressions that would require a lot of tendon mutilation to achieve in normal tunings. It’s a dope name, a cool concept, and an example of metal’s infinite ability to make badass monikers out of otherwise clinical, innocent terminology. Hailing from Scotland, rather than the land of leaning towers and opera, Scordatura have arrived with their 4th opus, Led Into Oblivion. Between their choice of title and their selection of album name, what sort of hellish soundscape awaits within?

With a name rooted in deep music theory, you’d expect an assault in the vein of Replicant or modern Pestilence. This is not the case. Scordatura lay their foundations off a respectable set of giant shoulders, featuring a high octane assault flavored primarily with the self-titled era of Cryptopsy. Drums are blasted, guitar strings are shredded, and the tempo maintains a consistently blurry pace. “Retali(H)ate” and “Led Into Oblivion” feature start-stop riffing with vocalist Daryl Boyce sounding like the lost brother of Matt McGachy in his earlier days, with the occasional sustained chord letting drummer Tam Moran show off flair and chops with rapid-fire cymbal fills. Doses of classic Vader stomp pepper “Oppressed Repressed”, and nods to Suffocation run through “Echoes of a Fractured Mind”. The flavor of the olde and trve are deeply embedded throughout the construction of Led Into Oblivion, all filtered through an exuberant attack that rarely pauses for breath.

In keeping with the stylings, Led Into Oblivion also keeps up with the sound. This album is meaty, layered, and not the most dynamic beast, but all instruments are given room to breathe by brutal death standards. A healthy dollop of pinch harmonics flow throughout the riff construction, and bassist Liam McCafferty is constantly heard clanging away in the background with the occasional spotlight given for a fill or scale. The concise runtime (about the length of Reign in Blood, yet another nod to the building blocks of greats) ensures ear fatigue doesn’t set in despite the perpetually speedy approach. A good track order does keep variety from cut to cut, with “A Manic Indoctrination” featuring open chord progressions and our first dose of real mid-tempo sound before the drums resume blasting away under the building menace. While being a well-arranged list of brutal death tropes, Scordatura wisely leave the concrete brick styled production in the past.

The only major blemish on Led Into Oblivion is a common one, but one that cannot be overlooked. Scordatura have spent so much time distilling the essence of the greats into their overall sound without capturing the distinguishing factors that made them great. “Existential Termination” dalliances with downtempo Cannibal Corpse, and the grindier moments of WWtFW era Dying Fetus as well as Deicide raise their head, but these snapshots lack the staying power of those names. Led Into Oblivion is an enjoyable release without any significant flaws, but it’s difficult to recall any standout moments once the album reaches its conclusion. This is disappointing, as Scordatura clearly have the skills to emulate all of these bands, but can’t quite stick the landing on a stank face triggering “rewind it and listen again” moment to distinguish it from their mountain of peers. Closer “Begging to Die” is an easy illustration, goes full New York style with a bouncy main riff which smacks of modern Pyrexia groove before trying to drop an Archspire verse (sans the vocals) and leads the listener to a thunderous but blurred conclusion.

Despite a name implying forays into the more uncomfortable realms of death, Scordatura have offered up a platter of decent-grade tribute to the death of olde. Led Into Oblivion isn’t a bad album, and is definitely worth a casual listen or three. But the band is still on the hunt for the X Factor to push them beyond their influences. They certainly have the playing chops, and I believe the compositional ability to make it come together. For now, let yourself be Led Into Oblivion and hear a good combination of the sounds of yore; just don’t be surprised when you find yourself wishing you were listening to their influences instead.

Rating: 2.5/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Everlasting Spew Records
Website: Album Bandcamp
Releases Worldwide: June 19th, 2026

“Scordatura” is an Italian word that means “mistuning.” This is a technique used for stringed instruments to allow for bizarre chords, or to simplify progressions that would require a lot of tendon mutilation to achieve in normal tunings. It’s a dope name, a cool concept, and an example of metal’s infinite ability to make badass monikers out of otherwise clinical, innocent terminology. Hailing from Scotland, rather than the land of leaning towers and opera, Scordatura have arrived with their 4th opus, Led Into Oblivion. Between their choice of title and their selection of album name, what sort of hellish soundscape awaits within?

With a name rooted in deep music theory, you’d expect an assault in the vein of Replicant or modern Pestilence. This is not the case. Scordatura lay their foundations off a respectable set of giant shoulders, featuring a high octane assault flavored primarily with the self-titled era of Cryptopsy. Drums are blasted, guitar strings are shredded, and the tempo maintains a consistently blurry pace. “Retali(H)ate” and “Led Into Oblivion” feature start-stop riffing with vocalist Daryl Boyce sounding like the lost brother of Matt McGachy in his earlier days, with the occasional sustained chord letting drummer Tam Moran show off flair and chops with rapid-fire cymbal fills. Doses of classic Vader stomp pepper “Oppressed Repressed”, and nods to Suffocation run through “Echoes of a Fractured Mind”. The flavor of the olde and trve are deeply embedded throughout the construction of Led Into Oblivion, all filtered through an exuberant attack that rarely pauses for breath.

In keeping with the stylings, Led Into Oblivion also keeps up with the sound. This album is meaty, layered, and not the most dynamic beast, but all instruments are given room to breathe by brutal death standards. A healthy dollop of pinch harmonics flow throughout the riff construction, and bassist Liam McCafferty is constantly heard clanging away in the background with the occasional spotlight given for a fill or scale. The concise runtime (about the length of Reign in Blood, yet another nod to the building blocks of greats) ensures ear fatigue doesn’t set in despite the perpetually speedy approach. A good track order does keep variety from cut to cut, with “A Manic Indoctrination” featuring open chord progressions and our first dose of real mid-tempo sound before the drums resume blasting away under the building menace. While being a well-arranged list of brutal death tropes, Scordatura wisely leave the concrete brick styled production in the past.

The only major blemish on Led Into Oblivion is a common one, but one that cannot be overlooked. Scordatura have spent so much time distilling the essence of the greats into their overall sound without capturing the distinguishing factors that made them great. “Existential Termination” dalliances with downtempo Cannibal Corpse, and the grindier moments of WWtFW era Dying Fetus as well as Deicide raise their head, but these snapshots lack the staying power of those names. Led Into Oblivion is an enjoyable release without any significant flaws, but it’s difficult to recall any standout moments once the album reaches its conclusion. This is disappointing, as Scordatura clearly have the skills to emulate all of these bands, but can’t quite stick the landing on a stank face triggering “rewind it and listen again” moment to distinguish it from their mountain of peers. Closer “Begging to Die” is an easy illustration, goes full New York style with a bouncy main riff which smacks of modern Pyrexia groove before trying to drop an Archspire verse (sans the vocals) and leads the listener to a thunderous but blurred conclusion.

Despite a name implying forays into the more uncomfortable realms of death, Scordatura have offered up a platter of decent-grade tribute to the death of olde. Led Into Oblivion isn’t a bad album, and is definitely worth a casual listen or three. But the band is still on the hunt for the X Factor to push them beyond their influences. They certainly have the playing chops, and I believe the compositional ability to make it come together. For now, let yourself be Led Into Oblivion and hear a good combination of the sounds of yore; just don’t be surprised when you find yourself wishing you were listening to their influences instead.

Rating: 2.5/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Everlasting Spew Records
Website: Album Bandcamp
Releases Worldwide: June 19th, 2026

True Crime has had its moment in the mainstream, with more than a fair share of content having been generated, particularly in the first half of this decade. But rather than bingeing on Ryan Murphy’s questionable Monster series,1 I instead suggest you take Monument of Misanthropy’s discography for a spin. Washington State Charm is the Austrians’ third successive LP tackling the exploits of a notorious serial killer—this time, Ted Bundy—and it’s bags more fun and significantly less disrespectful than your average makeup-and-true-crime YouTube video2 or Netflix dramatization. It’s also a showcase for some pretty great tech-death. As has become their trademark, Monument of Misanthropy evolve once again, tweaking their style to fit their despicable protagonist whilst remaining satisfyingly heavy. Are they still getting away with the gimmick, or is it time to hang up the hacksaw?

One thing’s clear at least: Washington State Charm is entertaining, and it interestingly suits its subject matter. Pivoting away slightly from the grind and brutality of Vile Postmortem Irrumatio and towards melody, hookiness, and groove, the album taps into a different form of Monument of Misanthropy’s signature snappiness. With guest appearances from Johnny Ciardullo (Angelmaker), Mendel bij de Leij (ex-Aborted), Gabe Mangold (Enterprise Earth), Hal Microutsicos (Engulf), and Jean-Jacques Moréac (Misanthrope), the record is scattered with riff-centric deathcore influence. For the most part, this really works. Intentional or not, there’s a parallel between this catchier, more accessible sound and Bundy’s status as one of the most well-known serial killers in modern history, who was also infamously “charming,” “handsome,” and otherwise palatable to society. If the previous album sounded, as I said at the time, “like Cattle Decapitation had a baby with Aborted,” then Washington State Charm is that baby growing into a teenager and experimenting, funnily enough, resembling their parent Aborted quite markedly, but with a bit of Cytotoxin by way of Dying Fetus thrown in for good measure.

Washington State Charm’s key strength is how Monument of Misanthropy twisted each aspect of their sound to make the whole infectiously catchy and memorable. Melody floods in with effervescent lead arpeggios (“Neath Tacoma Asphalt,” “A Hunger Unstilled,” “Colorado Murder”). Speed is used smartly in tandem with punchy syncopation (title track), and is met with a fairer dose of slower, circular swing (“The 1974 PNW Spree,” “The Hacksaw Blade”). The band’s mastery of rhythm to emphasize their punchlines (“The 1974…,” “Colorado Murder”), amp up the energy (“Neath Tacoma Asphalt,” “Colorado Murder”), and create an irresistible groove (“Suwannee Hog Shed”) has markedly improved.3 Together, this makes for highlights like the twin-guitar soloing on “Neath Tacoma Asphalt,” the drop-tuned uptempo groove on “Colorado Murder,” the call-and-response snarls and beats on “Chi Omega Blood Rage,” and the wonderful seesawing slide on “Strapped to the Throne.” There’s no way you’re listening to this without a savage grin plastered on your face.

It’s the album’s structure that lets down what might otherwise be a knock-out success. Humming with adrenaline from the literal high note of “Neath Tacoma Asphalt”‘s final riff, the inexplicably instrumental “A Hunger Unstilled” hits a little strangely. It’s a great piece in isolation, with a churning progression of melody and pace that calls to mind some hybrid of Aborted and Hath. But it’s most charitably taken as an extended intro to “The 1974…—which instantly kicks things back into murderous gear—and that feels wasteful. Monument of Misanthropy again add interview samples as miniature tracks, but their placement is similarly wonky, clustered around the start and end. It’s also hard not to compare them unfavorably to the drama-enhancing atmospheric examples on VPI. One could argue—not without justification—that these quirks are an intended reflection of their subject’s “career”: long periods without arrest, and an escape and ensuing murder spree once he was finally caught the first time. That would be fair, though it wouldn’t totally iron out flaws in the album’s flow. Less understandable, though less egregious, is the recurrence of a classic death metal cover at the close—Nile’s “Eye of Ra.” It’s a decent cover, but I don’t fully see its relevance.4

Washington State Charm achieves what it sets out to do: narrate the grisly story of a serial killer through slick, crushing death metal. It even goes one further, improving on the production—non-sample tracks averaging a DR of 5.5. Naysayers might bemoan the perceived slide towards accessibility, but really, the sheer gleeful energy of Washington State Charm is a testament to Monument of Misanthropy’s ever-increasing mastery of their craft.

Rating: Very Good
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3
Label: Listenable Records
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: June 26th, 2026

True Crime has had its moment in the mainstream, with more than a fair share of content having been generated, particularly in the first half of this decade. But rather than bingeing on Ryan Murphy’s questionable Monster series,1 I instead suggest you take Monument of Misanthropy’s discography for a spin. Washington State Charm is the Austrians’ third successive LP tackling the exploits of a notorious serial killer—this time, Ted Bundy—and it’s bags more fun and significantly less disrespectful than your average makeup-and-true-crime YouTube video2 or Netflix dramatization. It’s also a showcase for some pretty great tech-death. As has become their trademark, Monument of Misanthropy evolve once again, tweaking their style to fit their despicable protagonist whilst remaining satisfyingly heavy. Are they still getting away with the gimmick, or is it time to hang up the hacksaw?

One thing’s clear at least: Washington State Charm is entertaining, and it interestingly suits its subject matter. Pivoting away slightly from the grind and brutality of Vile Postmortem Irrumatio and towards melody, hookiness, and groove, the album taps into a different form of Monument of Misanthropy’s signature snappiness. With guest appearances from Johnny Ciardullo (Angelmaker), Mendel bij de Leij (ex-Aborted), Gabe Mangold (Enterprise Earth), Hal Microutsicos (Engulf), and Jean-Jacques Moréac (Misanthrope), the record is scattered with riff-centric deathcore influence. For the most part, this really works. Intentional or not, there’s a parallel between this catchier, more accessible sound and Bundy’s status as one of the most well-known serial killers in modern history, who was also infamously “charming,” “handsome,” and otherwise palatable to society. If the previous album sounded, as I said at the time, “like Cattle Decapitation had a baby with Aborted,” then Washington State Charm is that baby growing into a teenager and experimenting, funnily enough, resembling their parent Aborted quite markedly, but with a bit of Cytotoxin by way of Dying Fetus thrown in for good measure.

Washington State Charm’s key strength is how Monument of Misanthropy twisted each aspect of their sound to make the whole infectiously catchy and memorable. Melody floods in with effervescent lead arpeggios (“Neath Tacoma Asphalt,” “A Hunger Unstilled,” “Colorado Murder”). Speed is used smartly in tandem with punchy syncopation (title track), and is met with a fairer dose of slower, circular swing (“The 1974 PNW Spree,” “The Hacksaw Blade”). The band’s mastery of rhythm to emphasize their punchlines (“The 1974…,” “Colorado Murder”), amp up the energy (“Neath Tacoma Asphalt,” “Colorado Murder”), and create an irresistible groove (“Suwannee Hog Shed”) has markedly improved.3 Together, this makes for highlights like the twin-guitar soloing on “Neath Tacoma Asphalt,” the drop-tuned uptempo groove on “Colorado Murder,” the call-and-response snarls and beats on “Chi Omega Blood Rage,” and the wonderful seesawing slide on “Strapped to the Throne.” There’s no way you’re listening to this without a savage grin plastered on your face.

It’s the album’s structure that lets down what might otherwise be a knock-out success. Humming with adrenaline from the literal high note of “Neath Tacoma Asphalt”‘s final riff, the inexplicably instrumental “A Hunger Unstilled” hits a little strangely. It’s a great piece in isolation, with a churning progression of melody and pace that calls to mind some hybrid of Aborted and Hath. But it’s most charitably taken as an extended intro to “The 1974…—which instantly kicks things back into murderous gear—and that feels wasteful. Monument of Misanthropy again add interview samples as miniature tracks, but their placement is similarly wonky, clustered around the start and end. It’s also hard not to compare them unfavorably to the drama-enhancing atmospheric examples on VPI. One could argue—not without justification—that these quirks are an intended reflection of their subject’s “career”: long periods without arrest, and an escape and ensuing murder spree once he was finally caught the first time. That would be fair, though it wouldn’t totally iron out flaws in the album’s flow. Less understandable, though less egregious, is the recurrence of a classic death metal cover at the close—Nile’s “Eye of Ra.” It’s a decent cover, but I don’t fully see its relevance.4

Washington State Charm achieves what it sets out to do: narrate the grisly story of a serial killer through slick, crushing death metal. It even goes one further, improving on the production—non-sample tracks averaging a DR of 5.5. Naysayers might bemoan the perceived slide towards accessibility, but really, the sheer gleeful energy of Washington State Charm is a testament to Monument of Misanthropy’s ever-increasing mastery of their craft.

Rating: Very Good
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3
Label: Listenable Records
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: June 26th, 2026

Astriferous slimed out of the Costa Rican death metal scene back in 2019 and have been on a slow, upward crawl since. Their 2023 Pulsations from the Black Orb debut grabbed them some attention and a mostly positive review from our own Ferox. Their weapon of choice is repugnant caverncore with a dose of dissonance, putting them squarely in the Incantation, Dead Congregation, and early days Tomb Mold wing of the death emporium. Atavistic Unraveling finds them stuck in the same filth and scum with scant migration toward the light of day. It’s still fugly, grotesque death metal of the olden school, with the dissonance element adding a slight touch of modernity. Their sound is a bit more fleshed out this time, and when everything clicks, things can feel pretty goddamn harrowing and brutal. With so many bands trying to ape the classic Incantation sound and vibe, can Astriferous do enough to crack through that thick mucous membrane and claim their share of the cesspool? Let’s test the tainted waters for hazardous algae.

Fucknormous opener “Carriers of the Curse” is a fine way to kick things off, and it has all the crucial elements. It’s not doing anything new, but it comes after you with so much raw savagery that innovation starts to seem trivial. It covers all the bases a caverncore tune should, from ragged blasting to slower mid-tempo plodding, and there’s a meatheaded Cannibal Corpse vibe to the riffs when they aren’t being all snakey and creepy. The only downside is that it feels like the song rambles on for about a minute too long, revisiting the same scorched territory. “The Floating Catacombs” is more of the same high-quality ear abuse, with slimy, repulsive riffs and subterranean vocals teamed with caveman moments and some weirdly Voivodian riffs popping in and out for variety. As the album churns along, you get quality nastiness, but there’s that nagging tendency to stretch out compositions a bit too far, reducing the overall impact. This despite the fact that most song run between 4-5 minutes. It’s a weird thing. “Proto Embryo (The Third Tribulation)” is a remorseless blast furnace with just enough tempo shifts to keep things interesting, but it just keeps going when it feels like it should be over. Likewise, “Arcane Demonomania” is another blistering ass blaster with a jagged d-beat and a plethora of ugly, squiriming riffs. It’s easy to love, but once again, it drags on toward the end.

A few tracks are good but less impactful, like “Mnemonic Phenomena,” despite some effective doomy segments and overwhelming vocal excess. 8-plus minute closer “Resonance Cascade” is more modern-sounding, venturing into sludge doom at points. At its best, it can feel oppressive and suffocating. Over the whole runtime, though, it ends up challenging the attention span as segments of less interesting riffs drift by, offering little to cling to. The album’s nearly omnipresent sense of bloat makes a 36-minute album feel much longer than it is, which is a shame because Astriferous do so many things right here.

Felipe Tencio and new slinger Esteban Sancho are at the center of a maelstrom, casting frantic corkscrewing riffs in all directions when not laying down big power chugs that put the boot on the throat. This tandem knows the ways of caverncore, and many of these leads probably slithered away after recording to become invasive species somewhere. Incantation is a clear influence, but I also hear Immolation, Morbid Angel, and Cannibal Corpse in the DNA. Tencio is a great death metal vocalist possessed with a deep, intimidating roar for the ages. He sounds demonic and gigantic and anchors the material to the Ninth Level of Hell. José Pablo Phillips also impresses with a pronounced and weighty bass performance. The only real knock is that the writing can be undisciplined and too long in the fang, thereby partially unraveling the band’s good works.

Astriferous have a winning formula and the talent to execute it, and parts of Atavistic Unraveling scream of potential and hint at greatness. With tighter, more consistent writing, this would be a must-hear and headed for my year-end list. As it stands, I can safely recommend this for death heads everywhere as the wet, sticky goods are delivered, even if they aren’t all equally malicious and infectious. Like my great-granddaddy Pig Iron Druhm used to say, “If the cave smells of rancid mold, there’s bound to be some gold.” Wisdom!

Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Me Saco Un Ojo
Website: instagram.com/astriferousdeath
Releases Worldwide: June 26th, 2026

Astriferous slimed out of the Costa Rican death metal scene back in 2019 and have been on a slow, upward crawl since. Their 2023 Pulsations from the Black Orb debut grabbed them some attention and a mostly positive review from our own Ferox. Their weapon of choice is repugnant caverncore with a dose of dissonance, putting them squarely in the Incantation, Dead Congregation, and early days Tomb Mold wing of the death emporium. Atavistic Unraveling finds them stuck in the same filth and scum with scant migration toward the light of day. It’s still fugly, grotesque death metal of the olden school, with the dissonance element adding a slight touch of modernity. Their sound is a bit more fleshed out this time, and when everything clicks, things can feel pretty goddamn harrowing and brutal. With so many bands trying to ape the classic Incantation sound and vibe, can Astriferous do enough to crack through that thick mucous membrane and claim their share of the cesspool? Let’s test the tainted waters for hazardous algae.

Fucknormous opener “Carriers of the Curse” is a fine way to kick things off, and it has all the crucial elements. It’s not doing anything new, but it comes after you with so much raw savagery that innovation starts to seem trivial. It covers all the bases a caverncore tune should, from ragged blasting to slower mid-tempo plodding, and there’s a meatheaded Cannibal Corpse vibe to the riffs when they aren’t being all snakey and creepy. The only downside is that it feels like the song rambles on for about a minute too long, revisiting the same scorched territory. “The Floating Catacombs” is more of the same high-quality ear abuse, with slimy, repulsive riffs and subterranean vocals teamed with caveman moments and some weirdly Voivodian riffs popping in and out for variety. As the album churns along, you get quality nastiness, but there’s that nagging tendency to stretch out compositions a bit too far, reducing the overall impact. This despite the fact that most song run between 4-5 minutes. It’s a weird thing. “Proto Embryo (The Third Tribulation)” is a remorseless blast furnace with just enough tempo shifts to keep things interesting, but it just keeps going when it feels like it should be over. Likewise, “Arcane Demonomania” is another blistering ass blaster with a jagged d-beat and a plethora of ugly, squiriming riffs. It’s easy to love, but once again, it drags on toward the end.

A few tracks are good but less impactful, like “Mnemonic Phenomena,” despite some effective doomy segments and overwhelming vocal excess. 8-plus minute closer “Resonance Cascade” is more modern-sounding, venturing into sludge doom at points. At its best, it can feel oppressive and suffocating. Over the whole runtime, though, it ends up challenging the attention span as segments of less interesting riffs drift by, offering little to cling to. The album’s nearly omnipresent sense of bloat makes a 36-minute album feel much longer than it is, which is a shame because Astriferous do so many things right here.

Felipe Tencio and new slinger Esteban Sancho are at the center of a maelstrom, casting frantic corkscrewing riffs in all directions when not laying down big power chugs that put the boot on the throat. This tandem knows the ways of caverncore, and many of these leads probably slithered away after recording to become invasive species somewhere. Incantation is a clear influence, but I also hear Immolation, Morbid Angel, and Cannibal Corpse in the DNA. Tencio is a great death metal vocalist possessed with a deep, intimidating roar for the ages. He sounds demonic and gigantic and anchors the material to the Ninth Level of Hell. José Pablo Phillips also impresses with a pronounced and weighty bass performance. The only real knock is that the writing can be undisciplined and too long in the fang, thereby partially unraveling the band’s good works.

Astriferous have a winning formula and the talent to execute it, and parts of Atavistic Unraveling scream of potential and hint at greatness. With tighter, more consistent writing, this would be a must-hear and headed for my year-end list. As it stands, I can safely recommend this for death heads everywhere as the wet, sticky goods are delivered, even if they aren’t all equally malicious and infectious. Like my great-granddaddy Pig Iron Druhm used to say, “If the cave smells of rancid mold, there’s bound to be some gold.” Wisdom!

Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Me Saco Un Ojo
Website: instagram.com/astriferousdeath
Releases Worldwide: June 26th, 2026

Born of the ashes of former project Messenger, UK post-rock duo Liminal Sky, comprised of Jaime Gomez Arellano and Daniel Knight—and featuring Mat McNerney (Hexvessel, ex-Beastmilk), Kristoffer Rygg (Ulver), Anders Møller, Karin Park (Årabrot), Daniel O’Sullivan, Lars Horntveth, Alicia Nurho, Tore Ylwizaker, Ole Alexander Halstensgård, and Matt Rozeik—represents the next chapter in Arellano’s and Knight’s creative vision. Occupying a desolate space in the post realm that I haven’t covered in an official capacity since Latitudes dropped Part Island, upcoming debut All Tomorrow’s Darkness struck me in much the same way. Beautiful, inconsolable, tender, and graceful, Liminal Sky tugged at my heartstrings and called to my spirit.

An emotional and loving affair, All Tomorrow’s Darkness owes its gravity and poignancy to primary vocalist and lyricist Mat McNerney, impassioned by the recent loss of his mother. While it’s very clearly heard in McNerney’s vocal delivery across the record, Liminal Sky’s songwriting too reflects that heartbreak with crystalline clarity. Especially in their longer form compositions (“In Some Secret Universe,” “Algebra of Unknowing,” “All Tomorrow’s Darkness”), sweeping arcs and delicate plucked melodies inform the shape of mourning, of catharsis, of release, and of loss that All Tomorrow’s Darkness embodies. Its more energetic cuts (“A Solitary Future,” “Forget Me Not”) don’t disturb that shape, but rather recontextualize it as if to emphasize the unpredictable nature of grieving. As a whole, All Tomorrow’s Darkness represents a highly intelligent, deeply thoughtful, and highly resonant experience that offers its heart to those who would hear it, in the hopes that they would hold it with warmth and understanding.

Nowhere is this intimacy more effectively conjured than in centerpiece “Penance,” featuring Karin Park’s soothing croon. It is a stunning work, reminiscent of White Ward and Latitudes at their softest, but especially sorrowful, almost regretful. There’s a pain to this song which echoes some of the hardest processes that come with mourning the loss of a loved one, and it brings greater substance to its more energetic companion piece, “The Weight of Heaven.” In some strange alchemy, hookiness and subtle bounce fit “The Weight of Heaven” like a glove, almost as if the upshot of weathering the storm is clarity, acceptance, even hope. And yet, existential uncertainty and an ominous foreshadowing persist as undercurrent through songs like “Algebra of Unknowing” and “Oar on the Mooring” to remind the listener that clarity, that acceptance, and that hope is fragile. To further personify this message, All Tomorrow’s Darkness glides gently through all of these movements with a floatiness that belies its forlorn, heavy heart.

As a result of such fluidity, my perception of All Tomorrow’s Darkness’ hour-long expanse warps and shrinks. This, in turn, makes what should be a difficult, emotionally taxing experience remarkably easy to revisit. Its accessibility granted by direct, uncomplicated songwriting also affords a certain approachability that helps open up a listener not only to receive something so deeply steeped in pain and anguish, but also to respond in sympathetic release. That same simple songwriting, while effective and inviting, also results in some lightly recycled instrumental ideas. Across All Tomorrow’s Darkness, melodies, rhythms, and pacing occasionally reach a level of homogeneity and eerie familiarity such that every now and again I lose my place. I imagine that this might be on purpose, perhaps to reinforce an impression of liminal space and limbo that often manifests in the grieving process. If so, I’m not certain that Liminal Sky’s songwriting scaffolded that concept—outside of standout examples in “In Some Secret Universe” and “Algebra of Unknowing”—well enough to have the desired effect. Instead, and especially after multiple spins, it negatively impacts recall and weakens the album’s memorability.

Liminal Sky rekindled something inside me that I had forgotten after years apart from this little corner of the post world. In spite of its slow and soft approach, All Tomorrow’s Darkness strikes the spirit with accuracy and emotional heft. What few minor songwriting weaknesses it displays on occasion constitute an easily overcome obstacle to my appreciation of the experience. If anything, those very flaws help showcase how well-conceived and thoughtfully executed Liminal Sky’s debut is everywhere else. Imperfect, but easy to listen to and devastating to hear, All Tomorrow’s Darkness bears the soul of its creators with a candid vulnerability worth taking to heart.

Rating: Very Good!
DR: 9 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3
Label: Karisma Records
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: June 19th, 2026

Born of the ashes of former project Messenger, UK post-rock duo Liminal Sky, comprised of Jaime Gomez Arellano and Daniel Knight—and featuring Mat McNerney (Hexvessel, ex-Beastmilk), Kristoffer Rygg (Ulver), Anders Møller, Karin Park (Årabrot), Daniel O’Sullivan, Lars Horntveth, Alicia Nurho, Tore Ylwizaker, Ole Alexander Halstensgård, and Matt Rozeik—represents the next chapter in Arellano’s and Knight’s creative vision. Occupying a desolate space in the post realm that I haven’t covered in an official capacity since Latitudes dropped Part Island, upcoming debut All Tomorrow’s Darkness struck me in much the same way. Beautiful, inconsolable, tender, and graceful, Liminal Sky tugged at my heartstrings and called to my spirit.

An emotional and loving affair, All Tomorrow’s Darkness owes its gravity and poignancy to primary vocalist and lyricist Mat McNerney, impassioned by the recent loss of his mother. While it’s very clearly heard in McNerney’s vocal delivery across the record, Liminal Sky’s songwriting too reflects that heartbreak with crystalline clarity. Especially in their longer form compositions (“In Some Secret Universe,” “Algebra of Unknowing,” “All Tomorrow’s Darkness”), sweeping arcs and delicate plucked melodies inform the shape of mourning, of catharsis, of release, and of loss that All Tomorrow’s Darkness embodies. Its more energetic cuts (“A Solitary Future,” “Forget Me Not”) don’t disturb that shape, but rather recontextualize it as if to emphasize the unpredictable nature of grieving. As a whole, All Tomorrow’s Darkness represents a highly intelligent, deeply thoughtful, and highly resonant experience that offers its heart to those who would hear it, in the hopes that they would hold it with warmth and understanding.

Nowhere is this intimacy more effectively conjured than in centerpiece “Penance,” featuring Karin Park’s soothing croon. It is a stunning work, reminiscent of White Ward and Latitudes at their softest, but especially sorrowful, almost regretful. There’s a pain to this song which echoes some of the hardest processes that come with mourning the loss of a loved one, and it brings greater substance to its more energetic companion piece, “The Weight of Heaven.” In some strange alchemy, hookiness and subtle bounce fit “The Weight of Heaven” like a glove, almost as if the upshot of weathering the storm is clarity, acceptance, even hope. And yet, existential uncertainty and an ominous foreshadowing persist as undercurrent through songs like “Algebra of Unknowing” and “Oar on the Mooring” to remind the listener that clarity, that acceptance, and that hope is fragile. To further personify this message, All Tomorrow’s Darkness glides gently through all of these movements with a floatiness that belies its forlorn, heavy heart.

As a result of such fluidity, my perception of All Tomorrow’s Darkness’ hour-long expanse warps and shrinks. This, in turn, makes what should be a difficult, emotionally taxing experience remarkably easy to revisit. Its accessibility granted by direct, uncomplicated songwriting also affords a certain approachability that helps open up a listener not only to receive something so deeply steeped in pain and anguish, but also to respond in sympathetic release. That same simple songwriting, while effective and inviting, also results in some lightly recycled instrumental ideas. Across All Tomorrow’s Darkness, melodies, rhythms, and pacing occasionally reach a level of homogeneity and eerie familiarity such that every now and again I lose my place. I imagine that this might be on purpose, perhaps to reinforce an impression of liminal space and limbo that often manifests in the grieving process. If so, I’m not certain that Liminal Sky’s songwriting scaffolded that concept—outside of standout examples in “In Some Secret Universe” and “Algebra of Unknowing”—well enough to have the desired effect. Instead, and especially after multiple spins, it negatively impacts recall and weakens the album’s memorability.

Liminal Sky rekindled something inside me that I had forgotten after years apart from this little corner of the post world. In spite of its slow and soft approach, All Tomorrow’s Darkness strikes the spirit with accuracy and emotional heft. What few minor songwriting weaknesses it displays on occasion constitute an easily overcome obstacle to my appreciation of the experience. If anything, those very flaws help showcase how well-conceived and thoughtfully executed Liminal Sky’s debut is everywhere else. Imperfect, but easy to listen to and devastating to hear, All Tomorrow’s Darkness bears the soul of its creators with a candid vulnerability worth taking to heart.

Rating: Very Good!
DR: 9 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3
Label: Karisma Records
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: June 19th, 2026

The year of the snake strikes again, and this time the venom flows through Heart of the Serpent. This US-based duo delivers black metal that slithers between second-wave and DSBM, and on their third spawn Unraveling, Heart of the Serpent concocts tortuous bursts of blackened intensity and slinky grooves coiled around thrashy and ambient interstices. Five years have passed since sophomore album Loathing, and in the intervening time Heart of the Serpent shed vocalist Urion, reducing the ensemble to a two-piece. On Unraveling, guitarist, bassist, and keyboardist Ulg absorbs vocal duties while Hulder’s live drummer Vapula returns to clobber the skins. As we hoist Heart of the Serpent onto the scale for judgment, will we find Unraveling buoyed by its charms or over-encumbered with musical sins?

Compared to Heart of the Serpent’s previous albums, Unraveling reveals itself as their most maturely composed. Unwinding at its leisure, Unraveling is the longest of the outfit’s three albums, though it still packs proceedings into just thirty-eight minutes. An extra few minutes may not seem like much, yet it’s enough to allow songs to fully gestate. This cultivates dynamic highs and lows that were hinted at on Contempt and Loathing, but Unraveling feels more fully developed. It also exhibits Heart of the Serpent’s cleanest production to date. This gives a much-needed emphasis to the bass guitar, especially when it bubbles to the fore of the mix to provide low-end punch. Still, the bulk of what Heart of the Serpent did previously remains—the execution is just more sophisticated.

For a two-man project, Unraveling feels remarkably robust. Vapula’s drumming deserves special mention, as his riveting performances and canny fills and rolls command the momentum on most of Unraveling’s tracks. Ulg carries his own weight, too, and the instrumentation churns with slow-burn intensity. Specifically, Heart of the Serpent invests more time than ever in unhurried builds, allowing Ulg to craft intoxicating guitar and bass interplay that largely eschews technicality yet is no less captivating for it. “Rust” and “Unraveling” both exhibit this pattern, where the bass prowls beneath austere guitar sustains as tension mounts in calculated anticipation. Hooks and serpentine melodies wend throughout Unraveling, proving seductively engrossing from song to song. The only track that doesn’t work for me is “Mourning/Asphyxia,” a five-minute ambient instrumental that saps momentum with its awkward placement and wearisome length. Given the lack of motifs to tether “Mourning/Asphyxia” to the rest of Unraveling, the track flounders without any obvious context for its inclusion. Working its themes into other tracks or cutting it altogether would induce a more seamless listening experience.

Given everything Heart of the Serpent does right on Unraveling, it’s a shame that some missteps inhibit what is otherwise an enticing outing. The momentum lapse stemming from “Mourning/Asphyxia” is my biggest complaint, though others further cramp Heart of the Serpent’s muscle. Unraveling’s production provides plenty of contrast and largely deserves appreciation, the drum tones often sound muffled. Considering the arresting performance Vapula discharges, I wish it packed a bit more oomph. The guitars and bass sound warm and fierce, though, ensuring a cozy nesting spot amidst the cold-blooded blasts of black metal. Lastly, the concluding dyad of songs are two of Unraveling’s best tracks, both of which are mostly characterized by slower paces and gentler moments, leaving listeners with a low-energy conclusion. Retooling the album’s song order or replacing “Mourning/Asphyxia” with a lean, second-wave scorcher moved between these tracks could help revitalize the back half of the album.

Ultimately, Heart of the Serpent delivers a varied and engaging slab of black metal marred by a few odd choices. Unraveling creeps close to a much better score, and if not for a few damning flaws, I’d be insisting how Heart of the Serpent dropped a very good platter that makes the score-counter sweat. Instead, I’ll settle for spreading the word that the Heart of the Serpent beats with the potential for greatness.

Rating: Mixed
DR: N/A | Format Reviewed: WAV
Label: Self-Release
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: June 19th, 2026

The year of the snake strikes again, and this time the venom flows through Heart of the Serpent. This US-based duo delivers black metal that slithers between second-wave and DSBM, and on their third spawn Unraveling, Heart of the Serpent concocts tortuous bursts of blackened intensity and slinky grooves coiled around thrashy and ambient interstices. Five years have passed since sophomore album Loathing, and in the intervening time Heart of the Serpent shed vocalist Urion, reducing the ensemble to a two-piece. On Unraveling, guitarist, bassist, and keyboardist Ulg absorbs vocal duties while Hulder’s live drummer Vapula returns to clobber the skins. As we hoist Heart of the Serpent onto the scale for judgment, will we find Unraveling buoyed by its charms or over-encumbered with musical sins?

Compared to Heart of the Serpent’s previous albums, Unraveling reveals itself as their most maturely composed. Unwinding at its leisure, Unraveling is the longest of the outfit’s three albums, though it still packs proceedings into just thirty-eight minutes. An extra few minutes may not seem like much, yet it’s enough to allow songs to fully gestate. This cultivates dynamic highs and lows that were hinted at on Contempt and Loathing, but Unraveling feels more fully developed. It also exhibits Heart of the Serpent’s cleanest production to date. This gives a much-needed emphasis to the bass guitar, especially when it bubbles to the fore of the mix to provide low-end punch. Still, the bulk of what Heart of the Serpent did previously remains—the execution is just more sophisticated.

For a two-man project, Unraveling feels remarkably robust. Vapula’s drumming deserves special mention, as his riveting performances and canny fills and rolls command the momentum on most of Unraveling’s tracks. Ulg carries his own weight, too, and the instrumentation churns with slow-burn intensity. Specifically, Heart of the Serpent invests more time than ever in unhurried builds, allowing Ulg to craft intoxicating guitar and bass interplay that largely eschews technicality yet is no less captivating for it. “Rust” and “Unraveling” both exhibit this pattern, where the bass prowls beneath austere guitar sustains as tension mounts in calculated anticipation. Hooks and serpentine melodies wend throughout Unraveling, proving seductively engrossing from song to song. The only track that doesn’t work for me is “Mourning/Asphyxia,” a five-minute ambient instrumental that saps momentum with its awkward placement and wearisome length. Given the lack of motifs to tether “Mourning/Asphyxia” to the rest of Unraveling, the track flounders without any obvious context for its inclusion. Working its themes into other tracks or cutting it altogether would induce a more seamless listening experience.

Given everything Heart of the Serpent does right on Unraveling, it’s a shame that some missteps inhibit what is otherwise an enticing outing. The momentum lapse stemming from “Mourning/Asphyxia” is my biggest complaint, though others further cramp Heart of the Serpent’s muscle. Unraveling’s production provides plenty of contrast and largely deserves appreciation, the drum tones often sound muffled. Considering the arresting performance Vapula discharges, I wish it packed a bit more oomph. The guitars and bass sound warm and fierce, though, ensuring a cozy nesting spot amidst the cold-blooded blasts of black metal. Lastly, the concluding dyad of songs are two of Unraveling’s best tracks, both of which are mostly characterized by slower paces and gentler moments, leaving listeners with a low-energy conclusion. Retooling the album’s song order or replacing “Mourning/Asphyxia” with a lean, second-wave scorcher moved between these tracks could help revitalize the back half of the album.

Ultimately, Heart of the Serpent delivers a varied and engaging slab of black metal marred by a few odd choices. Unraveling creeps close to a much better score, and if not for a few damning flaws, I’d be insisting how Heart of the Serpent dropped a very good platter that makes the score-counter sweat. Instead, I’ll settle for spreading the word that the Heart of the Serpent beats with the potential for greatness.

Rating: Mixed
DR: N/A | Format Reviewed: WAV
Label: Self-Release
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: June 19th, 2026

Mein #GSpot ist fertig: Nabendynamo, Fahrer Berlin Parts und neue Kombipedale im Test. 🦆 ✨ #Faltrad #Cycling
#warumichradfahre #lifestyle65 #jun26 #warumichradfahreblog #HeimatEntdecker

Steckpedal am Brompton G Line defekt? Erfahre, wie ich das Problem in Köln gelöst und mein Faltrad auf Klickpedale umgerüstet habe. Jetzt lesen!

Mein #GSpot ist fertig: Nabendynamo, Fahrer Berlin Parts und neue Kombipedale im Test. 🦆 ✨ #Faltrad #Cycling
#warumichradfahre #lifestyle65 #jun26 #warumichradfahreblog #HeimatEntdecker

Steckpedal am Brompton G Line defekt? Erfahre, wie ich das Problem in Köln gelöst und mein Faltrad auf Klickpedale umgerüstet habe. Jetzt lesen!

Like those programmers who insist on rebuilding every line of code in Python, New York’s black metal woodland-walkers Astral Alchemy envision a universe unraveled down to its last atom. That process is captured in their debut record, Weaving Chilling Magical Dreamworlds. With five tracks and just shy of forty minutes of music, that’s a lot of ground to cover in little time. From the duo of guitarist/bassist/vocalist He Who Walks under the Bloodmoon and drummer/guitarist He Who Wields Twin Scepters of Malice, Astral Alchemy invites you to “Let the power of the stars guide you and the atmospheric universe coalesce the accounts of dreamworlds becoming reality.” But black metal bands are always talking big on how mystical and esoteric they are. Does Astral Alchemy have the magic, or is the only thing cold about Weaving Chilling Magical Dreamworlds how it leaves me in the end?

Astral Alchemy aren’t reinventing the wheel, but they sure get it spinning on Weaving Chilling Magical Dreamworlds. Evoking the grandeur of Emperor and the riffing belligerence of Dissection, Astral Alchemy wields second-wave sorcery through darkly atmospheric soundscapes. Particularly in early cuts like “Tria Prima Offering to the Great Serpent” and “Bathing in the Sap of the Moonflower,” Dreamworlds plays it straight in entwining blast beat-downs with synthesized choirs and symphonics, shifting between creeping, distorted arpeggios and furious tremolos. Where Astral Alchemy stand out is in execution: Dreamworlds is a living, angry beast. Astral Alchemy’s guitar tone is thick, burly, and good for turning their dense, high-octane riffs into weapons of cosmic warfare. Drumming on Dreamworlds is scathing and thunderous, but just as menacing in its slower moments like the Mayhemic crawls of “Tria Prima…” or the crushing back half of “Stars of Ruin.” Topped off with intricately layered synths and husky, ravenous rasps, Weaving Chilling Magical Dreamworlds becomes a particularly engrossing listen.

Like earthly alchemy, Astral Alchemy take simple ingredients and transmute them in subliminal ways while Weaving Chilling Magical Dreamworlds. With midpoint “Stars of Ruin,” Dreamworlds takes an unexpected turn: it slams. Halfway through, Astral Alchemy turned my head with its melodic, borderline metalcore chug riff before stopping and breaking my neck with a groovy, ignorant death riff and ear-splitting Breeeeeeee. It’s nuts. Forwarding Astral Alchemy’s march towards weirdness, “Collapse of the Cosmos” bookends its tremolo madness with Hexrotting electronic glitches and atmospherics1 while the epic, SotY-contending “Eyes through the Speculum” punches bright, downright uplifting progressions into Dreamworld’s frigid mold and somehow makes it work. Songs on Dreamworlds just don’t sit still; “Eyes…” bounces between airy acoustics to thick post-metal riffing to ethereal synths while comparatively normal tracks like “Bathing in the Sap of the Moonflower” still find ways to inject variation in rhythm and dissonance in melody. Simply, Weaving Chilling Magical Dreamworlds sees Astral Alchemy operate within the established tropes of black metal without being beholden to them.

Authenticity isn’t something black metal is known for, but that’s exactly the impression I get from Astral Alchemy. Weaving Chilling Magical Dreamworld’s lyricism is rooted in genuine alchemical philosophy (“Tria Prima Offering to the Great Serpent”), espousing the significance of transformation through destruction and synthesis. Everything about Astral Alchemy’s approach to songwriting—from the seamless melding of passages to the constant iterations on motifs to the dynamism of tone and energy—stands in accordance with these values. Astral Alchemy aren’t concerned with sounding “kvlt;” Dreamworlds’ mix and production sounds too crisp for that, despite its modest DR score. Instead, Astral Alchemy is very much guided by the pursuit of an esoteric soundscape of boundless creative and destructive energy. Weaving Chilling Magical Dreamworlds isn’t perfect in this regard—the first two tracks lose some steam by the end and “Collapse of the Cosmos” is somewhat standard-issue outside of its electronics—but you also don’t get much better than it either.

Weaving Chilling Magical Dreamworlds isn’t a great title—it doesn’t want to roll off the tongue at all—but it is apt. Abrasive, melodic, twisted, and just plain big, this first showing from Astral Alchemy honestly has me wondering if this duo is industry veterans in disguise. The confidence with which they carry themselves on Dreamworlds would be impressive for fresh musicians; it translates to impressive music in my headphones regardless. When much of black metal feels like a race to the bottom of the barrel, Astral Alchemy’s fresh take on the blackened arts is truly exciting. Weave on, Astral Alchemy!

Rating: Great!
DR: 6| Format Reviewed: 320 kbps MP3
Label: Naturmacht Productions
Websites: astralalchemybm.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/AstralAlchemyMusic
Releases Worldwide: June 25th, 2026

Like those programmers who insist on rebuilding every line of code in Python, New York’s black metal woodland-walkers Astral Alchemy envision a universe unraveled down to its last atom. That process is captured in their debut record, Weaving Chilling Magical Dreamworlds. With five tracks and just shy of forty minutes of music, that’s a lot of ground to cover in little time. From the duo of guitarist/bassist/vocalist He Who Walks under the Bloodmoon and drummer/guitarist He Who Wields Twin Scepters of Malice, Astral Alchemy invites you to “Let the power of the stars guide you and the atmospheric universe coalesce the accounts of dreamworlds becoming reality.” But black metal bands are always talking big on how mystical and esoteric they are. Does Astral Alchemy have the magic, or is the only thing cold about Weaving Chilling Magical Dreamworlds how it leaves me in the end?

Astral Alchemy aren’t reinventing the wheel, but they sure get it spinning on Weaving Chilling Magical Dreamworlds. Evoking the grandeur of Emperor and the riffing belligerence of Dissection, Astral Alchemy wields second-wave sorcery through darkly atmospheric soundscapes. Particularly in early cuts like “Tria Prima Offering to the Great Serpent” and “Bathing in the Sap of the Moonflower,” Dreamworlds plays it straight in entwining blast beat-downs with synthesized choirs and symphonics, shifting between creeping, distorted arpeggios and furious tremolos. Where Astral Alchemy stand out is in execution: Dreamworlds is a living, angry beast. Astral Alchemy’s guitar tone is thick, burly, and good for turning their dense, high-octane riffs into weapons of cosmic warfare. Drumming on Dreamworlds is scathing and thunderous, but just as menacing in its slower moments like the Mayhemic crawls of “Tria Prima…” or the crushing back half of “Stars of Ruin.” Topped off with intricately layered synths and husky, ravenous rasps, Weaving Chilling Magical Dreamworlds becomes a particularly engrossing listen.

Like earthly alchemy, Astral Alchemy take simple ingredients and transmute them in subliminal ways while Weaving Chilling Magical Dreamworlds. With midpoint “Stars of Ruin,” Dreamworlds takes an unexpected turn: it slams. Halfway through, Astral Alchemy turned my head with its melodic, borderline metalcore chug riff before stopping and breaking my neck with a groovy, ignorant death riff and ear-splitting Breeeeeeee. It’s nuts. Forwarding Astral Alchemy’s march towards weirdness, “Collapse of the Cosmos” bookends its tremolo madness with Hexrotting electronic glitches and atmospherics1 while the epic, SotY-contending “Eyes through the Speculum” punches bright, downright uplifting progressions into Dreamworld’s frigid mold and somehow makes it work. Songs on Dreamworlds just don’t sit still; “Eyes…” bounces between airy acoustics to thick post-metal riffing to ethereal synths while comparatively normal tracks like “Bathing in the Sap of the Moonflower” still find ways to inject variation in rhythm and dissonance in melody. Simply, Weaving Chilling Magical Dreamworlds sees Astral Alchemy operate within the established tropes of black metal without being beholden to them.

Authenticity isn’t something black metal is known for, but that’s exactly the impression I get from Astral Alchemy. Weaving Chilling Magical Dreamworld’s lyricism is rooted in genuine alchemical philosophy (“Tria Prima Offering to the Great Serpent”), espousing the significance of transformation through destruction and synthesis. Everything about Astral Alchemy’s approach to songwriting—from the seamless melding of passages to the constant iterations on motifs to the dynamism of tone and energy—stands in accordance with these values. Astral Alchemy aren’t concerned with sounding “kvlt;” Dreamworlds’ mix and production sounds too crisp for that, despite its modest DR score. Instead, Astral Alchemy is very much guided by the pursuit of an esoteric soundscape of boundless creative and destructive energy. Weaving Chilling Magical Dreamworlds isn’t perfect in this regard—the first two tracks lose some steam by the end and “Collapse of the Cosmos” is somewhat standard-issue outside of its electronics—but you also don’t get much better than it either.

Weaving Chilling Magical Dreamworlds isn’t a great title—it doesn’t want to roll off the tongue at all—but it is apt. Abrasive, melodic, twisted, and just plain big, this first showing from Astral Alchemy honestly has me wondering if this duo is industry veterans in disguise. The confidence with which they carry themselves on Dreamworlds would be impressive for fresh musicians; it translates to impressive music in my headphones regardless. When much of black metal feels like a race to the bottom of the barrel, Astral Alchemy’s fresh take on the blackened arts is truly exciting. Weave on, Astral Alchemy!

Rating: Great!
DR: 6| Format Reviewed: 320 kbps MP3
Label: Naturmacht Productions
Websites: astralalchemybm.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/AstralAlchemyMusic
Releases Worldwide: June 25th, 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

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

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

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

xtrem heiß, extrem wichtig: Auf zur Sternfahrt Köln 2026! Infos zur Route 8 im Blog. ☀️🚲 #Fahrrad #NRW
#warumichradfahre #lifestyle65 #jun26 #warumichradfahreblog #HeimatEntdecker

Erfahre alles zur Route 8 der Sternfahrt Köln 2026 ab Weiden-West. Pack die Sonnencreme ein und roll mit uns für den Radverkehr. Jetzt lesen!

For those who abhor the second-wave of black metal and its worship,1 Mork’s Monolitt may not be your cup of iced tea. Frosty tremolos, glacial chugs, and biting rasps lurk within, offering a welcome blast of northern darkness as I stare down the barrel of another sweltering Atlanta summer. Established in 2004, Thomas Eriksen’s Mork has been dispensing rime and punishment since debut Isebakke dropped in 2013. Now thirteen years on, Mork unveils eighth slab Monolitt, which radiates icy, blackened ire. As is customary, Eriksen supplies the lion’s share of sounds, though Asgeir Mickelson (ex-Borknagar, ex-Ihsahn) plies the drums while Øyvind Kaslegard (Svart Lotus) contributes additional vocals. Monolitt translates to ‘Monolith’ in English, and though it provides wonderful imagery and is immediately evocative, the name also sells a promise. Can Mork’s Monolitt deliver by embodying a towering manifestation of second-wave mayhem, or will it get buried beneath the permafrost?

Mork’s discography evolves with each release while maintaining a consistency of high-caliber craftsmanship that listeners can rely upon. Early Mork material embraced rawer production featuring buzz-sawing guitars and lo-fi fuzz, and though it blankets those albums in textureless uniformity, interesting ideas and riffs gleam through the static. Over time, Eriksen has refined his approach, finding ways to subtly experiment within the confines of second-wave black metal. In this way, Mork reminds me of Mayhem and Thron, continuously pushing the boundaries of their soundscape to expand their grasp of the genre. To me, 2024’s Syv acts as Mork’s most exploratory album to date, demonstrated by their foray into broader instrumentation as well as the beautiful acoustic and clean-sung finale, “Omme.” Monolitt, on the other hand, recenters the band squarely in second-wave territory, albeit with a smattering of Syv’s less conventional elements.

Given the solid foundation Mork establishes within black metal’s most identifiable form, Monolitt proves to be a bit of a misnomer considering the wealth of diverse ideas within it. Leadoff track “Under Vekten av Verden” kicks off festivities in ferocious fashion, where Mickelson hammers the kit with clockwork rigidity, and Eriksen dispatches wicked licks and riffs that sound like they were pulled from the heart of winter itself. “Ødelagt” begins with the same fury, but by its end decelerates to a funereal crawl. Follow-up “Torden” rejuvenates the pacing with a simple yet exhilarating guitar lead and gusts of peppy drum patterns that never fail to get my head bobbing. Monolitt doesn’t hoard the goodies on the front end, though, as “Inn i en Annen Sfære” and “Jutul” overflow with well-crafted moments applied using a delicate touch, underpinning Mork’s growth as astute songwriters. “Inn i en Annen Sfære” sparkles like ice-capped snow, where crystalline guitars glide through bright, sustained synths as the pacing inevitably propels the song into proper blackened tremolos and Eriksen’s gruff rasp. Similarly, “Utryddelse” employs tempo and mood shifts throughout its runtime that develop riveting dynamics and remind me of Kampfar and newer Mayhem, while “Jutul” uses a dash of clean singing in addition to recalling early Gorgorth’s implementation of faint, understated melody.

The whole of Monolitt is as impressive as the sum of its parts, and on it Mork endeavors to distill their essence even further. The mixing (Børge Finstad) and mastering (Jack Control and Maor Appelbaum) highlight the music wonderfully, giving each instrument ample space and retaining an edge to the tones such that Monolitt never sounds polished or slick. I only wish that the album’s middle was as consistent as its bookends. The tracks I’ve mentioned stand out as grade-A black metal, and though the other songs are good to very good, they don’t quite live up to the heights established at the pinnacle of Monolitt.

Through eight albums, Mork utterly convinces that their creative well runs deep. Monolitt stands tall, a monument to second-wave songwriting that demonstrates further exploration of the style doesn’t have to be stale. While Syv edges Monolitt out as my favorite Mork release, it’s damn close, and more than anything else, I’m left incredibly impressed with the band’s maturation and steadfast output. It’s rare for a band putting out so much material in so short a time to maintain this level of quality, but you better believe this one’s a genuine, bona fide, electrified, nine-track Monolitt. Now say it again, and hop on board!

Rating: Very Good!
DR: 9 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Peaceville Records
Websites: Website | Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: June 19th, 2026

For those who abhor the second-wave of black metal and its worship,1 Mork’s Monolitt may not be your cup of iced tea. Frosty tremolos, glacial chugs, and biting rasps lurk within, offering a welcome blast of northern darkness as I stare down the barrel of another sweltering Atlanta summer. Established in 2004, Thomas Eriksen’s Mork has been dispensing rime and punishment since debut Isebakke dropped in 2013. Now thirteen years on, Mork unveils eighth slab Monolitt, which radiates icy, blackened ire. As is customary, Eriksen supplies the lion’s share of sounds, though Asgeir Mickelson (ex-Borknagar, ex-Ihsahn) plies the drums while Øyvind Kaslegard (Svart Lotus) contributes additional vocals. Monolitt translates to ‘Monolith’ in English, and though it provides wonderful imagery and is immediately evocative, the name also sells a promise. Can Mork’s Monolitt deliver by embodying a towering manifestation of second-wave mayhem, or will it get buried beneath the permafrost?

Mork’s discography evolves with each release while maintaining a consistency of high-caliber craftsmanship that listeners can rely upon. Early Mork material embraced rawer production featuring buzz-sawing guitars and lo-fi fuzz, and though it blankets those albums in textureless uniformity, interesting ideas and riffs gleam through the static. Over time, Eriksen has refined his approach, finding ways to subtly experiment within the confines of second-wave black metal. In this way, Mork reminds me of Mayhem and Thron, continuously pushing the boundaries of their soundscape to expand their grasp of the genre. To me, 2024’s Syv acts as Mork’s most exploratory album to date, demonstrated by their foray into broader instrumentation as well as the beautiful acoustic and clean-sung finale, “Omme.” Monolitt, on the other hand, recenters the band squarely in second-wave territory, albeit with a smattering of Syv’s less conventional elements.

Given the solid foundation Mork establishes within black metal’s most identifiable form, Monolitt proves to be a bit of a misnomer considering the wealth of diverse ideas within it. Leadoff track “Under Vekten av Verden” kicks off festivities in ferocious fashion, where Mickelson hammers the kit with clockwork rigidity, and Eriksen dispatches wicked licks and riffs that sound like they were pulled from the heart of winter itself. “Ødelagt” begins with the same fury, but by its end decelerates to a funereal crawl. Follow-up “Torden” rejuvenates the pacing with a simple yet exhilarating guitar lead and gusts of peppy drum patterns that never fail to get my head bobbing. Monolitt doesn’t hoard the goodies on the front end, though, as “Inn i en Annen Sfære” and “Jutul” overflow with well-crafted moments applied using a delicate touch, underpinning Mork’s growth as astute songwriters. “Inn i en Annen Sfære” sparkles like ice-capped snow, where crystalline guitars glide through bright, sustained synths as the pacing inevitably propels the song into proper blackened tremolos and Eriksen’s gruff rasp. Similarly, “Utryddelse” employs tempo and mood shifts throughout its runtime that develop riveting dynamics and remind me of Kampfar and newer Mayhem, while “Jutul” uses a dash of clean singing in addition to recalling early Gorgorth’s implementation of faint, understated melody.

The whole of Monolitt is as impressive as the sum of its parts, and on it Mork endeavors to distill their essence even further. The mixing (Børge Finstad) and mastering (Jack Control and Maor Appelbaum) highlight the music wonderfully, giving each instrument ample space and retaining an edge to the tones such that Monolitt never sounds polished or slick. I only wish that the album’s middle was as consistent as its bookends. The tracks I’ve mentioned stand out as grade-A black metal, and though the other songs are good to very good, they don’t quite live up to the heights established at the pinnacle of Monolitt.

Through eight albums, Mork utterly convinces that their creative well runs deep. Monolitt stands tall, a monument to second-wave songwriting that demonstrates further exploration of the style doesn’t have to be stale. While Syv edges Monolitt out as my favorite Mork release, it’s damn close, and more than anything else, I’m left incredibly impressed with the band’s maturation and steadfast output. It’s rare for a band putting out so much material in so short a time to maintain this level of quality, but you better believe this one’s a genuine, bona fide, electrified, nine-track Monolitt. Now say it again, and hop on board!

Rating: Very Good!
DR: 9 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Peaceville Records
Websites: Website | Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: June 19th, 2026

The year was 2008. The place is Gelsenkirchen, Germany. Four brave souls were about to form Iron Kobra. Yearning for an era with less sheen and more grit, the band honed their craft with early demo Cult of the Snake and EP Battlesword. Their debut full-length, Dungeon Masters, wouldn’t descend upon the masses until 2012. While a little rough, it showed promise and ambition; the band clearly understood the fundamentals of hard rock and classic heavy metal. 2015 would see them return with Might & Magic, a higher-octane affair with tighter musicianship. But for a single here and there, Iron Kobra has remained quiet in the 11 years since. The metal snake returns now in 2026, promising louder, faster, and better.

I’m gonna do this review a little backward, starting with my chief complaint. Eternal Dagger feels more like a playlist than an album. There’s awesome musicianship and band cohesion on display here—the call and response antics of “Trembling Dungeons,” the stair-stepped riffs of “Fliehen,” the band’s perfect punctuation of Ela’s lyrics on “Forbidden Fruits,” Matze’s bass carrying the melody through the end of “Silver Strings and Iron Wings”—but nothing really ties these tracks together. It’s all undeniably the work of Iron Kobra, but the band careens—quite competently, at least—from searing speed metal (“Unchained & Untamed”) to Priestly NWoBHM (“Shibuya Nights”) to epic heavy metal (“Mountains of Madness”), making the album feel a bit unfocused. The great part about a criticism like this is that it has absolutely no bearing on how fucking hard these Germans rip.

From the first moments of “Trembling Dungeons”—a trash can opening, a sick divebomb, and soaring cleans—it’s clear Iron Kobra came here to chew bubblegum and kick ass, and they’re all out of bubblegum.1 Eternal Dagger is a rager written for all those who still blast Saxon on the reg. Whether burning barns (“Forbidden Fruits,” “Treacherous Tyrant”) or stomping out anthemic bangers, Iron Kobra plays with wanton abandon. This riotous and free energy never lets up, largely thanks to drummer Bjӧrn, even when the tempo drops a gear. “Silver Strings and Iron Wings” takes me back to Di’Anno-era Maiden, and “Trembling Dungeons” could’ve been an Angel Witch b-side. “Eternal Dagger” ventures into progressive territory, and although it doesn’t quite stick the landing and ends a little awkwardly, it’s intriguing, and I’d like to see them explore this narrative style more on future releases.

Eternal Dagger is a vast improvement over Iron Kobra’s back catalog, most notably stemming from its superior production. Mixed and mastered by Stefan Castevet, Eternal Dagger feels full and fleshed out. Bjӧrn’s kick drum moves some serious air, and Matze’s bass sounds absolutely incredible. It’s lush, vibrant, and responsible for some of my favorite moments on Eternal Dagger (“Shibuya Nights,” “Silver Strings,” “Unchained & Untamed”). The other major improvement of Eternal Dagger is the band’s synergy. While previous efforts felt like four talented musicians playing together, Eternal Dagger feels far more cohesive. This is best shown in the way lead guitarist Steffen dances beautifully around Ela’s rhythm guitars like variations on a theme. His leads and solos always feel like an extension of the rhythm section, rather than a standalone element (“Trembling Dungeons,” “Forbidden Fruits,” “Treacherous Tyrant”). Licks and fills from every member of Iron Kobra decorate the larger compositions, and as a result, Eternal Dagger feels like the work of a band at the top of their game.

Iron Kobra has got the goods. Front to back, Eternal Dagger is infectious and riotously fun. Whether you wanna howl at the sky while driving a bit too fast down the highway or pump your fist and bang your head in a crowd of sweaty, late-middle-aged men, Iron Kobra will get you there. I do wish Eternal Dagger had a more singular identity, but at the end of the day, I still had a blast working with this album over the past couple weeks. Unless you won’t settle for anything less than earth-shattering and paradigm-shifting masterpieces, Eternal Dagger will give you a sore neck and some involuntary stank face just fine.

Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: 9 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Dying Victims Productions
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook | Instagram
Releases Worldwide: June 19th, 2026

The year was 2008. The place is Gelsenkirchen, Germany. Four brave souls were about to form Iron Kobra. Yearning for an era with less sheen and more grit, the band honed their craft with early demo Cult of the Snake and EP Battlesword. Their debut full-length, Dungeon Masters, wouldn’t descend upon the masses until 2012. While a little rough, it showed promise and ambition; the band clearly understood the fundamentals of hard rock and classic heavy metal. 2015 would see them return with Might & Magic, a higher-octane affair with tighter musicianship. But for a single here and there, Iron Kobra has remained quiet in the 11 years since. The metal snake returns now in 2026, promising louder, faster, and better.

I’m gonna do this review a little backward, starting with my chief complaint. Eternal Dagger feels more like a playlist than an album. There’s awesome musicianship and band cohesion on display here—the call and response antics of “Trembling Dungeons,” the stair-stepped riffs of “Fliehen,” the band’s perfect punctuation of Ela’s lyrics on “Forbidden Fruits,” Matze’s bass carrying the melody through the end of “Silver Strings and Iron Wings”—but nothing really ties these tracks together. It’s all undeniably the work of Iron Kobra, but the band careens—quite competently, at least—from searing speed metal (“Unchained & Untamed”) to Priestly NWoBHM (“Shibuya Nights”) to epic heavy metal (“Mountains of Madness”), making the album feel a bit unfocused. The great part about a criticism like this is that it has absolutely no bearing on how fucking hard these Germans rip.

From the first moments of “Trembling Dungeons”—a trash can opening, a sick divebomb, and soaring cleans—it’s clear Iron Kobra came here to chew bubblegum and kick ass, and they’re all out of bubblegum.1 Eternal Dagger is a rager written for all those who still blast Saxon on the reg. Whether burning barns (“Forbidden Fruits,” “Treacherous Tyrant”) or stomping out anthemic bangers, Iron Kobra plays with wanton abandon. This riotous and free energy never lets up, largely thanks to drummer Bjӧrn, even when the tempo drops a gear. “Silver Strings and Iron Wings” takes me back to Di’Anno-era Maiden, and “Trembling Dungeons” could’ve been an Angel Witch b-side. “Eternal Dagger” ventures into progressive territory, and although it doesn’t quite stick the landing and ends a little awkwardly, it’s intriguing, and I’d like to see them explore this narrative style more on future releases.

Eternal Dagger is a vast improvement over Iron Kobra’s back catalog, most notably stemming from its superior production. Mixed and mastered by Stefan Castevet, Eternal Dagger feels full and fleshed out. Bjӧrn’s kick drum moves some serious air, and Matze’s bass sounds absolutely incredible. It’s lush, vibrant, and responsible for some of my favorite moments on Eternal Dagger (“Shibuya Nights,” “Silver Strings,” “Unchained & Untamed”). The other major improvement of Eternal Dagger is the band’s synergy. While previous efforts felt like four talented musicians playing together, Eternal Dagger feels far more cohesive. This is best shown in the way lead guitarist Steffen dances beautifully around Ela’s rhythm guitars like variations on a theme. His leads and solos always feel like an extension of the rhythm section, rather than a standalone element (“Trembling Dungeons,” “Forbidden Fruits,” “Treacherous Tyrant”). Licks and fills from every member of Iron Kobra decorate the larger compositions, and as a result, Eternal Dagger feels like the work of a band at the top of their game.

Iron Kobra has got the goods. Front to back, Eternal Dagger is infectious and riotously fun. Whether you wanna howl at the sky while driving a bit too fast down the highway or pump your fist and bang your head in a crowd of sweaty, late-middle-aged men, Iron Kobra will get you there. I do wish Eternal Dagger had a more singular identity, but at the end of the day, I still had a blast working with this album over the past couple weeks. Unless you won’t settle for anything less than earth-shattering and paradigm-shifting masterpieces, Eternal Dagger will give you a sore neck and some involuntary stank face just fine.

Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: 9 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Dying Victims Productions
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook | Instagram
Releases Worldwide: June 19th, 2026

When one pictures Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, post-metal is probably not among the imagery that readily springs to mind. But the more I think about it, the more the birthplace of Loneshore makes sense. Just as post-metal is often defined by striking contrasts, so is Rio, a city where mountains and beaches coexist alongside favelas and wealthy communities. This diversity is mirrored in Loneshore’s sophomore record, Nothing Left to Deconstruct, which arrives nearly eight years after their 2018 debut, From Presence to Silence. How have the members of Loneshore matured as musicians during this time?

It turns out that Loneshore wasn’t always primarily a post-metal group. From Presence to Silence blended somber, doomy melodeath similar to Eternal Storm with Opethian melodies. Nothing Left to Deconstruct, however, squarely straddles the line between post-metal and Explosions in the Sky-esque post-rock, while adopting Amenra’s silvery-smooth buildups and releases. Loneshore retains some progressive metal, although this time it’s closer to The Ocean, especially during some of the clean-sung passages in “To Stride the Black Earth.” In fact, Luiz Felipe Netto’s clean and harsh vocal styles both cover a wide array of registers. Nothing Left to Deconstruct is no less lush from an instrumental perspective, making it an enjoyable listen from front to back.

Nothing Left to Deconstruct flows like a river, though don’t expect many whitewater rapids. Intro track “Self Oscillations” is like a gentle tributary, its dreamy vocal harmonies, mild guitar notes, and mesmerizing tom drum percussion rolling fluidly into “Straylight.” Loneshore makes good use of three guitarists and a bassist by overlapping their lines together sumptuously (“Parhelion,” “Of Lost Waters”). The 10-minute centerpiece “Birth of a Mountain” features a laid-back recurring melody that rises and falls like a sea of sand dunes. That said, there are sometimes surges of vehemence in the form of blackened snarls and forceful riffs (“Straylight,” “To Stride the Black Earth,” “Parhelion”). Because Loneshore doesn’t overly favor hooks or heaviness, Nothing Left to Deconstruct is a bit of a slow burn, requiring a few complete spins to sink in for me.

As relaxing as Nothing Left to Deconstruct is overall, most of its individual songs last longer than their contents can support. The majority hover around the 8-minute mark, and all of these have lengthy outros that don’t add much. “Of Lost Waters” begins with a pristine and serene post-rock tune, which is diminished by the minute-and-a-half meandering conclusion of “Birth of a Mountain” that came before. Likewise, concluding track “With Nothing We Part” is the most languid and least memorable despite a momentary injection of vitality at the halfway point. On the other hand, “To Stride the Black Earth” is the punchiest and has no noticeable fluff. While the total runtime sits at a fairly reasonable 52 minutes, there is a stronger 40 to 45-minute record lurking within.

It’s not uncommon for artists’ priorities to shift during a lengthy absence; in this case, Loneshore is the better for it. The post/prog metal hybrid Nothing Left to Deconstruct passes by like a pleasant ocean breeze in Rio de Janeiro. It took some time for me to fully appreciate it, but I’m glad I did. The main deficiencies holding back Nothing Left to Deconstruct are a lack of decisive conclusions and a bit of bloat. Nevertheless, if Loneshore continues to develop in this manner, I anticipate great things from album number three.

Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Willowtip Records
Websites: loneshore.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/Loneshore
Releases Worldwide: June 19th, 2026

When one pictures Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, post-metal is probably not among the imagery that readily springs to mind. But the more I think about it, the more the birthplace of Loneshore makes sense. Just as post-metal is often defined by striking contrasts, so is Rio, a city where mountains and beaches coexist alongside favelas and wealthy communities. This diversity is mirrored in Loneshore’s sophomore record, Nothing Left to Deconstruct, which arrives nearly eight years after their 2018 debut, From Presence to Silence. How have the members of Loneshore matured as musicians during this time?

It turns out that Loneshore wasn’t always primarily a post-metal group. From Presence to Silence blended somber, doomy melodeath similar to Eternal Storm with Opethian melodies. Nothing Left to Deconstruct, however, squarely straddles the line between post-metal and Explosions in the Sky-esque post-rock, while adopting Amenra’s silvery-smooth buildups and releases. Loneshore retains some progressive metal, although this time it’s closer to The Ocean, especially during some of the clean-sung passages in “To Stride the Black Earth.” In fact, Luiz Felipe Netto’s clean and harsh vocal styles both cover a wide array of registers. Nothing Left to Deconstruct is no less lush from an instrumental perspective, making it an enjoyable listen from front to back.

Nothing Left to Deconstruct flows like a river, though don’t expect many whitewater rapids. Intro track “Self Oscillations” is like a gentle tributary, its dreamy vocal harmonies, mild guitar notes, and mesmerizing tom drum percussion rolling fluidly into “Straylight.” Loneshore makes good use of three guitarists and a bassist by overlapping their lines together sumptuously (“Parhelion,” “Of Lost Waters”). The 10-minute centerpiece “Birth of a Mountain” features a laid-back recurring melody that rises and falls like a sea of sand dunes. That said, there are sometimes surges of vehemence in the form of blackened snarls and forceful riffs (“Straylight,” “To Stride the Black Earth,” “Parhelion”). Because Loneshore doesn’t overly favor hooks or heaviness, Nothing Left to Deconstruct is a bit of a slow burn, requiring a few complete spins to sink in for me.

As relaxing as Nothing Left to Deconstruct is overall, most of its individual songs last longer than their contents can support. The majority hover around the 8-minute mark, and all of these have lengthy outros that don’t add much. “Of Lost Waters” begins with a pristine and serene post-rock tune, which is diminished by the minute-and-a-half meandering conclusion of “Birth of a Mountain” that came before. Likewise, concluding track “With Nothing We Part” is the most languid and least memorable despite a momentary injection of vitality at the halfway point. On the other hand, “To Stride the Black Earth” is the punchiest and has no noticeable fluff. While the total runtime sits at a fairly reasonable 52 minutes, there is a stronger 40 to 45-minute record lurking within.

It’s not uncommon for artists’ priorities to shift during a lengthy absence; in this case, Loneshore is the better for it. The post/prog metal hybrid Nothing Left to Deconstruct passes by like a pleasant ocean breeze in Rio de Janeiro. It took some time for me to fully appreciate it, but I’m glad I did. The main deficiencies holding back Nothing Left to Deconstruct are a lack of decisive conclusions and a bit of bloat. Nevertheless, if Loneshore continues to develop in this manner, I anticipate great things from album number three.

Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Willowtip Records
Websites: loneshore.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/Loneshore
Releases Worldwide: June 19th, 2026

Few luminaries in metal can suckerpunch you right in the feels quite like Patrick Walker of 40 Watt Sun and the legendary Warning. Seriously, he could be singing to you about proper chinchilla care, and many would be left a sobbing, blubbering mess as he caterwauls about what treats and bathing clay to get for your new furry little friend. If you need proof of this, go give 2006’s sorrowful masterpiece (and recent Yer Metal is Olde inductee) Watching from a Distance 45 minutes of your time, and when you’re done splashing cold water on your face to remove the tears and redness, you’ll be hard-pressed to disagree. No one could predict that Walker would resurrect the project, as he seemed happy(?!) and content to continue with 40WS, but with its 2016 resurrection and now new album Rituals of Shame, all eyes are on Walker and crew to deliver.

And deliver, they did. Just like its immediate and legendary predecessor, Rituals is 45 minutes of a band taking its dear, bittersweet time to wrest every milliliter of sadness out of you. From the opening seconds of the title track, Walker and 40WS bandmate Wayne Taylor smother you flat with subdued riffs and simplistic yet effective melodies, even before a single word is muttered. But once Walker begins singing, ho-boy, that familiar yearning ache returns in full depressing force. Weathered by years of life experiences, Walker’s bellowing vibrato haven’t lost an ounce of effectiveness. In fact, they’ve become more potent over time, channeling that feeling that can only be delivered by someone who’s been through various wringers and back through honest conviction. It feels like they never disbanded, only resting until the time is right.

The other four songs also ensure that no light escapes or gets in. Closer “Teacher” hits with the same level of effectiveness as “Bridges” and “Footprints” did on Watching, but not taking as long to do so. Returning bassist Marcus Hatfield and new drummer Andy Prestidge (also of 40WS) added just enough variations of fills, rhythms, and flourishes, but mostly kept to a simple, heavy, and driving sound, again amplifying the anguish conveyed by Walker, his lyrics, and voice. And that’s the key to the effectiveness of Rituals and Warning as a whole; you don’t need flashiness, technical proficiency, or tricks and studio wizardry to be effective. Sometimes, brutally transparent honesty, wide-open space for your instruments to breathe and reverberate, and your emotions in the here and now are more than enough to get your message across.

It doesn’t hurt that Rituals is a massive improvement in some areas in terms of mastering and production. You can hear and feel Hatfield’s bass, and Prestidge’s drums don’t have that annoying “My Dying Bride in an empty bathroom” sound1 that permeated on Watching, so kudos to Tom Dring for engineering the drums perfectly. Thankfully, Chris Fullard and Adam Gonsalves left the guitars and Walker’s voice alone, as what wasn’t broken sure as hell didn’t need fixing. The only drawback to Rituals is this isn’t something I could listen to all that much. Not because of the quality, which is stellar, but it hurts to listen to on an emotional level. If you were in a good mood before listening to this, you sure as shit won’t be when you’re done. That said, if you need to purge and get whatever the fuck is making you sad out, I can’t think of a better album to do so with.

And that’s the… I refuse to say “appeal,” but I’m at a loss for words otherwise, of Warning. You don’t go into their music for gains at the gym, to romance your significant other, or to bask in someone’s ability to up and down a fretboard as fast as humanly possible. You listen to Warning to reflect, to purge, and to feel. And if you’re anything at all like me, you’ve been waiting a damn long time for a worthy follow-up to Watching from a Distance. Thankfully, Warning gave us exactly that. Welcome back.

Rating: 4.0/5.0
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 256 kbps mp3
Label: Relapse
Websites: warningdoom.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/warningdoom | instagram.com/warningdoom
Releases Worldwide: June 19th, 2026

Few luminaries in metal can suckerpunch you right in the feels quite like Patrick Walker of 40 Watt Sun and the legendary Warning. Seriously, he could be singing to you about proper chinchilla care, and many would be left a sobbing, blubbering mess as he caterwauls about what treats and bathing clay to get for your new furry little friend. If you need proof of this, go give 2006’s sorrowful masterpiece (and recent Yer Metal is Olde inductee) Watching from a Distance 45 minutes of your time, and when you’re done splashing cold water on your face to remove the tears and redness, you’ll be hard-pressed to disagree. No one could predict that Walker would resurrect the project, as he seemed happy(?!) and content to continue with 40WS, but with its 2016 resurrection and now new album Rituals of Shame, all eyes are on Walker and crew to deliver.

And deliver, they did. Just like its immediate and legendary predecessor, Rituals is 45 minutes of a band taking its dear, bittersweet time to wrest every milliliter of sadness out of you. From the opening seconds of the title track, Walker and 40WS bandmate Wayne Taylor smother you flat with subdued riffs and simplistic yet effective melodies, even before a single word is muttered. But once Walker begins singing, ho-boy, that familiar yearning ache returns in full depressing force. Weathered by years of life experiences, Walker’s bellowing vibrato haven’t lost an ounce of effectiveness. In fact, they’ve become more potent over time, channeling that feeling that can only be delivered by someone who’s been through various wringers and back through honest conviction. It feels like they never disbanded, only resting until the time is right.

The other four songs also ensure that no light escapes or gets in. Closer “Teacher” hits with the same level of effectiveness as “Bridges” and “Footprints” did on Watching, but not taking as long to do so. Returning bassist Marcus Hatfield and new drummer Andy Prestidge (also of 40WS) added just enough variations of fills, rhythms, and flourishes, but mostly kept to a simple, heavy, and driving sound, again amplifying the anguish conveyed by Walker, his lyrics, and voice. And that’s the key to the effectiveness of Rituals and Warning as a whole; you don’t need flashiness, technical proficiency, or tricks and studio wizardry to be effective. Sometimes, brutally transparent honesty, wide-open space for your instruments to breathe and reverberate, and your emotions in the here and now are more than enough to get your message across.

It doesn’t hurt that Rituals is a massive improvement in some areas in terms of mastering and production. You can hear and feel Hatfield’s bass, and Prestidge’s drums don’t have that annoying “My Dying Bride in an empty bathroom” sound1 that permeated on Watching, so kudos to Tom Dring for engineering the drums perfectly. Thankfully, Chris Fullard and Adam Gonsalves left the guitars and Walker’s voice alone, as what wasn’t broken sure as hell didn’t need fixing. The only drawback to Rituals is this isn’t something I could listen to all that much. Not because of the quality, which is stellar, but it hurts to listen to on an emotional level. If you were in a good mood before listening to this, you sure as shit won’t be when you’re done. That said, if you need to purge and get whatever the fuck is making you sad out, I can’t think of a better album to do so with.

And that’s the… I refuse to say “appeal,” but I’m at a loss for words otherwise, of Warning. You don’t go into their music for gains at the gym, to romance your significant other, or to bask in someone’s ability to up and down a fretboard as fast as humanly possible. You listen to Warning to reflect, to purge, and to feel. And if you’re anything at all like me, you’ve been waiting a damn long time for a worthy follow-up to Watching from a Distance. Thankfully, Warning gave us exactly that. Welcome back.

Rating: 4.0/5.0
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 256 kbps mp3
Label: Relapse
Websites: warningdoom.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/warningdoom | instagram.com/warningdoom
Releases Worldwide: June 19th, 2026

Japanese death metal quartet Defiled have spent three decades releasing records that are unique and stubbornly uncategorizable. From the innovative and boundary-pushing (2003’s Divination and 2011’s In Crisis), to the leaner, more modern era (Towards Inevitable Ruin through Horror Beyond Horror), their eight-album discography has wandered through as many genres as it has writers on this blog.1 Divination and In Crisis sounded like stuffing Cryptopsy, Voivod, and Primus into a metal box and kicking it down a flight of stairs, but lineup turnover ushered in a disappointing shift on Towards Inevitable Ruin that persisted through the next three albums. Accordingly, my AMG colleagues had no shortage of criticisms, yet beneath every complaint—and AMG’s Law of Diminishing Recordings—lies the group’s unwavering shinjō:2 write the music they want to write and don’t give a damn what anyone thinks, as long as it provokes a reaction. What reaction will Defiled’s ninth album, Altered State, draw?

As it turns out, a positive one. On Altered State, Defiled’s early, unhinged chaos has given way to a more controlled sound, though the quartet still brings plenty of rhythmic changes (“Dazed in Blindness”), odd time signatures (“Prophecies”), and off-kilter grooves (“Obsession”) that confirm the group’s trademark brand of wackiness is alive and kicking. Across approximately forty-three minutes, Defiled tear through fourteen tracks, loading songs like “Portal,” “The Degradation,” and “Genocidal Stage” with pit-igniting, muscular riffs that nod toward Sepultura’s classic era. The first seven tracks fly by, but with Altered State’s familiar grindcore-leaning structure, the feeling of fatigue begins to creep in, especially as many songs follow similar patterns. Fortunately, cuts like “The Ultra Death” and “Metamorphosis of Evil” help break that spell, injecting a welcome dose of Human-era Death into the mix. And while it remains a melting pot of genres, Altered State plants its flag firmly in thrash and death above all else.

Two enduring criticisms have plagued Defiled’s modern era, but Altered State shows meaningful improvement on both. 2024’s Horror Beyond Horror struggled not because of weak performances, but because its material failed to leave a lasting mark. Altered state largely flips that script, relying on a barrage of catchy riffing by Yusuke Sumita and Sinichiro Hamada to craft tracks that are both engaging and memorable in equal measure. From “Obsession” through “Genocidal Stage,” my head rarely stayed still, nodding in time as Keisuke Hamada’s assaulting blasts and jackhammer rhythms fuse with Sumita and Hamada’s down-picked guitar lines. Vocally, Hamada delivers a solid, deathly growl with a dusting of groove metal grit that sticks with Defiled’s usual approach. Though his delivery is throaty, consistent and appropriately abrasive, his phrasing doesn’t vary much. Long drawn‑out growls tend to appear in the same spots—always during intros and usually coming out of choruses or a bridge—making his performance predictable even as the instrumentation around it shifts and mutates, serving more as a functional piece than a standout characteristic.

Takachita Nakajima’s bass excursions revive some of the low-end grooves that defined Defiled’s early years (see “The Degradation” and “Metamorphosis of Evil”, for example), but recent releases buried them under bad production. While the mix here is still too loud and compressed to give his bass the adequate space it deserves, Altered State’s production is nonetheless a clear improvement. Its added warmth and body give the material a classic death metal heft that lets the songwriting land squarely in that sweet spot of ’90s nostalgia, while still remaining balanced enough for Nakakima’s bass ventures to occasionally surface beneath the nuances of Humada’s terrific drumming or Sumita’s and Keisuke Hamada’s sprinting riffwork.

In his review of Horror Beyond Horror, Felagund held out hope that the next writer to tackle Defiled would earn the honor of bestowing their first “Great” rating since In Crisis. I won’t be claiming that distinction with Altered State, but I do find myself in the welcome position of giving these Japanese veterans their strongest marks in a decade. Altered State succeeds by largely shedding prior missteps and packing itself with memorable material while still delivering the patented twists and turns that have defined Defiled’s sound for years. Hard to love but undoubtedly entertaining, Altered State is the first step in a course correction Defiled desperately needed.

Rating: Good
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3
Label: Season of Mist
Websites: defiledjapan.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/defiled
Releases Worldwide: June 12th, 2026