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Dvm Spiro – MMXXVI – Grave Review

As is perhaps unsurprising for a doom act, Dvm Spiro appear to have a preoccupation with death. The…
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Dvm Spiro – MMXXVI – Grave Review

As is perhaps unsurprising for a doom act, Dvm Spiro appear to have a preoccupation with death. The…
#NewsBeep #News #Music #2026 #3.0 #Ahab #CA #Canada #DeathDoom #Doom #DvmSpiro #Endonomos #Entertainment #funeral #FuneralDoom #ItalianMetal #Jan26 #MMXXVI-Grave #MyKingdomMusic #NihiliLocus #review #reviews
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https://www.europesays.com/ie/276482/ Dvm Spiro – MMXXVI – Grave Review #2026 #3.0 #Ahab #DeathDoom #Doom #DvmSpiro #Éire #Endonomos #Entertainment #Funeral #FuneralDoom #IE #Ireland #ItalianMetal #Jan26 #MMXXVIGrave #Music #MyKingdomMusic #NihiliLocus #Review #Reviews

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ver Sacrum by DAWN OF A DARK AGE

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ver Sacrum by DAWN OF A DARK AGE

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ver Sacrum by DAWN OF A DARK AGE

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ver Sacrum by DAWN OF A DARK AGE

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ver Sacrum by DAWN OF A DARK AGE

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

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

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

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

Aganoor – Doomerism Review

By Killjoy

Of all the genre labels, doom metal is probably the one that most often prompts me to investigate further. This isn’t because it’s my favorite per se, but rather because doom and its myriad subgenres can sound so wildly different from one another,1 so I try to ensure I don’t miss something good. This time it paid off when I found Aganoor, a brand new doom group from Rome, Italy. Formed as recently as summer 2023, they wasted no time writing and recording a debut LP, Doomerism, which promises an intriguing blend of classic doom, stoner, heavy psych, and goth rock. With an album title that’s maybe a bit on the nose, Aganoor sets out to bend multiple time-tested styles to suit their doomy whims.

Like forebears Black Sabbath or Pentagram, Aganoor doesn’t skimp on weighty, down-tuned guitar riffs. The majority of these riffs are infused with a sense of vaguely bluesy stoner groove peddled by the likes of Wo Fat, with just enough grit and fuzz around the edges. At times, the guitars also take on a darker inflection when vocalist Dan Ghostrider dips into surly Type O Negative goth rock territory. It’s not all doom and gloom, though. Aganoor also has a penchant for luxuriant psychedelic explorations like Elder or (later) REZN, albeit more concise and less indulgent. A slight reverb effect on the guitars lends the music a cosmic vibe and augments the sense of psychedelia. The key takeaway is that Aganoor enjoys jamming across multiple styles.

However, to describe Doomerism as a “jam” may be misleading because it implies that the music is directionless or unplanned. Aganoor never succumbs to the autopilot tendencies commonly associated with stoner and psych groups. In fact, all of Doomerism’s tracks sit in the 6 to 8-minute range, but they feel more like 4. This is due to a keen sense of flow and an intuition of when to go harder with the doom riffs and when to ease off the throttle for an entrancing psychedelic passage. “Icarus” exemplifies this dichotomy best, where an irresistible groove dominates the first half, then smoothly settles into a smoky bass-led segment. This isn’t to say that it’s always either-or; there are plenty of times when the lead guitar goes on a short excursion while tethered to a solid rhythm guitar or bass line (“Morbid Skin,” “Bury My Soul,” “Mind Shadowing”). In this way, not a single minute feels wasted, and even the meandering bits feel vital.

Perhaps the most appealing quality of Doomerism is how easy it is to listen to while simultaneously offering enough to chew on during repeat visits. Aganoor does this by keeping just enough of the familiar popular music song structure but strategically omitting or lengthening components to form something more novel. The more rock-oriented numbers feature traditional choruses (“Bury My Soul” and “Emerald Lake”), but rather than relying too heavily on them for memorability, Aganoor leans more on quality hooks and recurring melodies. They’re also happy to write long, elaborate intros (“Nadir”) and instrumental bridges (“Mind Shadowing”) without ever approaching proggy excess. Doomerism’s 6-track, 39-minute runtime is the perfect amount to feel satisfied but still wish for one more song. If I must nitpick, it can sometimes feel like Aganoor are a bit too secure in the shadow of their various influences, but it’s hard to complain when their execution is this good, and they still undeniably put their own spin on this retro flavor of songwriting.

Aganoor came seemingly out of nowhere with an enchanting combination of doom metal and adjacent styles. Doomerism feels like the best of both worlds; the riffs-first approach and gothic tendencies keep the psychedelic elements focused and grounded in reality, while the stoner rock grants the perfect amount of levity to an otherwise stifling atmosphere. The net effect is warm and refreshing like a summer breeze. Each song has a smooth, buttery flow that’s easy to zone out and get lost in. I would not have guessed this to be a debut album; the band members sound as comfortable as if they’ve been playing together for years. As such, things already look promising for a future Aganoor sophomore record.

Rating: 4.0/5.0
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: My Kingdom Music | BloodRock Records
Websites: aganoor.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/aganoorband
Releases Worldwide: June 6th, 2025

#2025 #40 #Aganoor #BlackSabbath #BloodRockRecords #DoomMetal #Doomerism #Elder #GothicMetal #ItalianMetal #Jun25 #MyKingdomMusic #Pentagram #PsychedelicDoomMetal #PsychedelicRock #Review #Reviews #REZN #StonerMetal #TypeONegative #WoFat

Aganoor – Doomerism Review

By Killjoy

Of all the genre labels, doom metal is probably the one that most often prompts me to investigate further. This isn’t because it’s my favorite per se, but rather because doom and its myriad subgenres can sound so wildly different from one another,1 so I try to ensure I don’t miss something good. This time it paid off when I found Aganoor, a brand new doom group from Rome, Italy. Formed as recently as summer 2023, they wasted no time writing and recording a debut LP, Doomerism, which promises an intriguing blend of classic doom, stoner, heavy psych, and goth rock. With an album title that’s maybe a bit on the nose, Aganoor sets out to bend multiple time-tested styles to suit their doomy whims.

Like forebears Black Sabbath or Pentagram, Aganoor doesn’t skimp on weighty, down-tuned guitar riffs. The majority of these riffs are infused with a sense of vaguely bluesy stoner groove peddled by the likes of Wo Fat, with just enough grit and fuzz around the edges. At times, the guitars also take on a darker inflection when vocalist Dan Ghostrider dips into surly Type O Negative goth rock territory. It’s not all doom and gloom, though. Aganoor also has a penchant for luxuriant psychedelic explorations like Elder or (later) REZN, albeit more concise and less indulgent. A slight reverb effect on the guitars lends the music a cosmic vibe and augments the sense of psychedelia. The key takeaway is that Aganoor enjoys jamming across multiple styles.

However, to describe Doomerism as a “jam” may be misleading because it implies that the music is directionless or unplanned. Aganoor never succumbs to the autopilot tendencies commonly associated with stoner and psych groups. In fact, all of Doomerism’s tracks sit in the 6 to 8-minute range, but they feel more like 4. This is due to a keen sense of flow and an intuition of when to go harder with the doom riffs and when to ease off the throttle for an entrancing psychedelic passage. “Icarus” exemplifies this dichotomy best, where an irresistible groove dominates the first half, then smoothly settles into a smoky bass-led segment. This isn’t to say that it’s always either-or; there are plenty of times when the lead guitar goes on a short excursion while tethered to a solid rhythm guitar or bass line (“Morbid Skin,” “Bury My Soul,” “Mind Shadowing”). In this way, not a single minute feels wasted, and even the meandering bits feel vital.

Perhaps the most appealing quality of Doomerism is how easy it is to listen to while simultaneously offering enough to chew on during repeat visits. Aganoor does this by keeping just enough of the familiar popular music song structure but strategically omitting or lengthening components to form something more novel. The more rock-oriented numbers feature traditional choruses (“Bury My Soul” and “Emerald Lake”), but rather than relying too heavily on them for memorability, Aganoor leans more on quality hooks and recurring melodies. They’re also happy to write long, elaborate intros (“Nadir”) and instrumental bridges (“Mind Shadowing”) without ever approaching proggy excess. Doomerism’s 6-track, 39-minute runtime is the perfect amount to feel satisfied but still wish for one more song. If I must nitpick, it can sometimes feel like Aganoor are a bit too secure in the shadow of their various influences, but it’s hard to complain when their execution is this good, and they still undeniably put their own spin on this retro flavor of songwriting.

Aganoor came seemingly out of nowhere with an enchanting combination of doom metal and adjacent styles. Doomerism feels like the best of both worlds; the riffs-first approach and gothic tendencies keep the psychedelic elements focused and grounded in reality, while the stoner rock grants the perfect amount of levity to an otherwise stifling atmosphere. The net effect is warm and refreshing like a summer breeze. Each song has a smooth, buttery flow that’s easy to zone out and get lost in. I would not have guessed this to be a debut album; the band members sound as comfortable as if they’ve been playing together for years. As such, things already look promising for a future Aganoor sophomore record.

Rating: 4.0/5.0
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: My Kingdom Music | BloodRock Records
Websites: aganoor.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/aganoorband
Releases Worldwide: June 6th, 2025

#2025 #40 #Aganoor #BlackSabbath #BloodRockRecords #DoomMetal #Doomerism #Elder #GothicMetal #ItalianMetal #Jun25 #MyKingdomMusic #Pentagram #PsychedelicDoomMetal #PsychedelicRock #Review #Reviews #REZN #StonerMetal #TypeONegative #WoFat

Aganoor – Doomerism Review

By Killjoy

Of all the genre labels, doom metal is probably the one that most often prompts me to investigate further. This isn’t because it’s my favorite per se, but rather because doom and its myriad subgenres can sound so wildly different from one another,1 so I try to ensure I don’t miss something good. This time it paid off when I found Aganoor, a brand new doom group from Rome, Italy. Formed as recently as summer 2023, they wasted no time writing and recording a debut LP, Doomerism, which promises an intriguing blend of classic doom, stoner, heavy psych, and goth rock. With an album title that’s maybe a bit on the nose, Aganoor sets out to bend multiple time-tested styles to suit their doomy whims.

Like forebears Black Sabbath or Pentagram, Aganoor doesn’t skimp on weighty, down-tuned guitar riffs. The majority of these riffs are infused with a sense of vaguely bluesy stoner groove peddled by the likes of Wo Fat, with just enough grit and fuzz around the edges. At times, the guitars also take on a darker inflection when vocalist Dan Ghostrider dips into surly Type O Negative goth rock territory. It’s not all doom and gloom, though. Aganoor also has a penchant for luxuriant psychedelic explorations like Elder or (later) REZN, albeit more concise and less indulgent. A slight reverb effect on the guitars lends the music a cosmic vibe and augments the sense of psychedelia. The key takeaway is that Aganoor enjoys jamming across multiple styles.

However, to describe Doomerism as a “jam” may be misleading because it implies that the music is directionless or unplanned. Aganoor never succumbs to the autopilot tendencies commonly associated with stoner and psych groups. In fact, all of Doomerism’s tracks sit in the 6 to 8-minute range, but they feel more like 4. This is due to a keen sense of flow and an intuition of when to go harder with the doom riffs and when to ease off the throttle for an entrancing psychedelic passage. “Icarus” exemplifies this dichotomy best, where an irresistible groove dominates the first half, then smoothly settles into a smoky bass-led segment. This isn’t to say that it’s always either-or; there are plenty of times when the lead guitar goes on a short excursion while tethered to a solid rhythm guitar or bass line (“Morbid Skin,” “Bury My Soul,” “Mind Shadowing”). In this way, not a single minute feels wasted, and even the meandering bits feel vital.

Perhaps the most appealing quality of Doomerism is how easy it is to listen to while simultaneously offering enough to chew on during repeat visits. Aganoor does this by keeping just enough of the familiar popular music song structure but strategically omitting or lengthening components to form something more novel. The more rock-oriented numbers feature traditional choruses (“Bury My Soul” and “Emerald Lake”), but rather than relying too heavily on them for memorability, Aganoor leans more on quality hooks and recurring melodies. They’re also happy to write long, elaborate intros (“Nadir”) and instrumental bridges (“Mind Shadowing”) without ever approaching proggy excess. Doomerism’s 6-track, 39-minute runtime is the perfect amount to feel satisfied but still wish for one more song. If I must nitpick, it can sometimes feel like Aganoor are a bit too secure in the shadow of their various influences, but it’s hard to complain when their execution is this good, and they still undeniably put their own spin on this retro flavor of songwriting.

Aganoor came seemingly out of nowhere with an enchanting combination of doom metal and adjacent styles. Doomerism feels like the best of both worlds; the riffs-first approach and gothic tendencies keep the psychedelic elements focused and grounded in reality, while the stoner rock grants the perfect amount of levity to an otherwise stifling atmosphere. The net effect is warm and refreshing like a summer breeze. Each song has a smooth, buttery flow that’s easy to zone out and get lost in. I would not have guessed this to be a debut album; the band members sound as comfortable as if they’ve been playing together for years. As such, things already look promising for a future Aganoor sophomore record.

Rating: 4.0/5.0
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: My Kingdom Music | BloodRock Records
Websites: aganoor.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/aganoorband
Releases Worldwide: June 6th, 2025

#2025 #40 #Aganoor #BlackSabbath #BloodRockRecords #DoomMetal #Doomerism #Elder #GothicMetal #ItalianMetal #Jun25 #MyKingdomMusic #Pentagram #PsychedelicDoomMetal #PsychedelicRock #Review #Reviews #REZN #StonerMetal #TypeONegative #WoFat

Aganoor – Doomerism Review

By Killjoy

Of all the genre labels, doom metal is probably the one that most often prompts me to investigate further. This isn’t because it’s my favorite per se, but rather because doom and its myriad subgenres can sound so wildly different from one another,1 so I try to ensure I don’t miss something good. This time it paid off when I found Aganoor, a brand new doom group from Rome, Italy. Formed as recently as summer 2023, they wasted no time writing and recording a debut LP, Doomerism, which promises an intriguing blend of classic doom, stoner, heavy psych, and goth rock. With an album title that’s maybe a bit on the nose, Aganoor sets out to bend multiple time-tested styles to suit their doomy whims.

Like forebears Black Sabbath or Pentagram, Aganoor doesn’t skimp on weighty, down-tuned guitar riffs. The majority of these riffs are infused with a sense of vaguely bluesy stoner groove peddled by the likes of Wo Fat, with just enough grit and fuzz around the edges. At times, the guitars also take on a darker inflection when vocalist Dan Ghostrider dips into surly Type O Negative goth rock territory. It’s not all doom and gloom, though. Aganoor also has a penchant for luxuriant psychedelic explorations like Elder or (later) REZN, albeit more concise and less indulgent. A slight reverb effect on the guitars lends the music a cosmic vibe and augments the sense of psychedelia. The key takeaway is that Aganoor enjoys jamming across multiple styles.

However, to describe Doomerism as a “jam” may be misleading because it implies that the music is directionless or unplanned. Aganoor never succumbs to the autopilot tendencies commonly associated with stoner and psych groups. In fact, all of Doomerism’s tracks sit in the 6 to 8-minute range, but they feel more like 4. This is due to a keen sense of flow and an intuition of when to go harder with the doom riffs and when to ease off the throttle for an entrancing psychedelic passage. “Icarus” exemplifies this dichotomy best, where an irresistible groove dominates the first half, then smoothly settles into a smoky bass-led segment. This isn’t to say that it’s always either-or; there are plenty of times when the lead guitar goes on a short excursion while tethered to a solid rhythm guitar or bass line (“Morbid Skin,” “Bury My Soul,” “Mind Shadowing”). In this way, not a single minute feels wasted, and even the meandering bits feel vital.

Perhaps the most appealing quality of Doomerism is how easy it is to listen to while simultaneously offering enough to chew on during repeat visits. Aganoor does this by keeping just enough of the familiar popular music song structure but strategically omitting or lengthening components to form something more novel. The more rock-oriented numbers feature traditional choruses (“Bury My Soul” and “Emerald Lake”), but rather than relying too heavily on them for memorability, Aganoor leans more on quality hooks and recurring melodies. They’re also happy to write long, elaborate intros (“Nadir”) and instrumental bridges (“Mind Shadowing”) without ever approaching proggy excess. Doomerism’s 6-track, 39-minute runtime is the perfect amount to feel satisfied but still wish for one more song. If I must nitpick, it can sometimes feel like Aganoor are a bit too secure in the shadow of their various influences, but it’s hard to complain when their execution is this good, and they still undeniably put their own spin on this retro flavor of songwriting.

Aganoor came seemingly out of nowhere with an enchanting combination of doom metal and adjacent styles. Doomerism feels like the best of both worlds; the riffs-first approach and gothic tendencies keep the psychedelic elements focused and grounded in reality, while the stoner rock grants the perfect amount of levity to an otherwise stifling atmosphere. The net effect is warm and refreshing like a summer breeze. Each song has a smooth, buttery flow that’s easy to zone out and get lost in. I would not have guessed this to be a debut album; the band members sound as comfortable as if they’ve been playing together for years. As such, things already look promising for a future Aganoor sophomore record.

Rating: 4.0/5.0
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: My Kingdom Music | BloodRock Records
Websites: aganoor.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/aganoorband
Releases Worldwide: June 6th, 2025

#2025 #40 #Aganoor #BlackSabbath #BloodRockRecords #DoomMetal #Doomerism #Elder #GothicMetal #ItalianMetal #Jun25 #MyKingdomMusic #Pentagram #PsychedelicDoomMetal #PsychedelicRock #Review #Reviews #REZN #StonerMetal #TypeONegative #WoFat

Eva Can’t – Emisferi Review

By Angry Metal Guy

Written by Nameless N00b 86

Eva Can’t is ready for a musical expedition. A global, transoceanic expedition, judging by the promo sheet which says that Emisferi is “imagined as a journey from pole to pole on an uninhabited planet.” Accordingly, the album title translates to “hemispheres” from Italian and is organized into four trios of songs called Ghiacci Boreali (Northern Ice), Mari Boreali (Northern Seas), Mari Australi (Southern Seas) and Ghiacci Australi (Southern Ice). A quick scan through previous releases and Dr. Wvrm’s review of their last full-length Gravatum in 2017 reveals a group distinguished by transformation, now with a style unrecognizable from its original configuration. To navigate such an ambitious concept this time around, they must be adventurous enough to explore new waters yet focused enough to avoid drifting aimlessly. Let’s set sail to discover how well Emisferi traverses this fine line.

The melodic death metal that once defined the Eva Can’t sound is now little more than fossils scattered in the seabed of a post-rock ocean. While Gravatum was a seismic shift to prog-rock with traces of post, Emisferi morphs more subtly into post-rock with traces of prog. Irrespective of genre labels, vocalist Simone Lanzoni seizes the listener’s attention from the moment he utters his first rich, silky notes and every time he opens his mouth thereafter. He sings, speaks, growls and roars with perfect enunciation throughout the voyage.1 Accompanying his inimitable vocal style is instrumentation resembling a more upbeat Agalloch and a less aggressive The Ocean. Metallic edges in the form of blast beats and rapid tremolos occasionally surface like a dorsal fin, but one belonging to an amiable dolphin rather than a menacing shark.

The ship’s crew joins their respective strengths together exceptionally well. This is unsurprising, as all four original members have remained since formation in 2009. Many groups with strong vocalists are tempted to always place them front and center, but Eva Can’t rejects this idea. While there are moments written around Lanzoni’s voice (“La Volta” and “Di Stanze Assenti”), he humbly shares the spotlight with his fellow bandmates. The entire Mari Boreali trio (“Prima Tempesta,” “Nottetempo” and “Avamporti”) is instrumental, mixing The Ocean’s opus Pelagial with the buoyancy of Unreqvited, and the trilogy contributes the most to the album’s maritime theme. When appropriate, Diego Molina and Andrea Maurizzi fill the sails with forceful, deliberate drum hits and bass notes (“Oracoli” and “ARCA”). The technical guitar solos of their previous work are gone–and missed–but Luigi Iacovitti and Lanzoni tie everything together with guitar lines both serene (“Gli Ultimi Alisei”) and stormy (“Genoma”).

Certain choices on Emisferi on a macro scale compromise the successes of the individual songs. At just under 70 minutes, it’s the latest in a series of ballooning Eva Can’t records.2 The tracks are laid out logically: intro “Emisferi I,” all four trios with interludes sandwiched in between, then outro “Emisferi II.” The short instrumental tracks alone add 13 minutes of empty content that I suspect was mainly kept to fill out this tracklist blueprint. By excising them and trimming the meandering instrumental sections (“ARCA” and “Agartha Sommersa”), Emisferi could have easily been under an hour and more purposeful for it. The wasted time is made more frustrating by ideas toyed with but not fully committed to. For example, the saxophone segment tacked onto the end of “Agartha Sommersa” feels like an afterthought. “La Forca” is the odd duck of the album–with a faster tempo and goth-kissed guitar leads recalling Unto Others–but a few similar songs would have made it feel less conspicuous.

Emisferi made some good headway but became lost too frequently and shed too much momentum. The individual songs are smooth like an eel and likely could have carried the ship through its global expedition if not for the extra weight. Notwithstanding, anyone looking for a mellow getaway to break up the monotony should climb aboard. After all, enjoying the beauty of the journey is just as important as reaching the destination.

Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: 10 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3
Label: My Kingdom Music
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: September 20th, 2024

#2024 #Agalloch #BlackMetal #Emisferi #EvaCanT #Gravatum #ItalianMetal #MyKingdomMusic #PostMetal #ProgressiveMetal #Review #Reviews #Sep24 #TheOcean

Eva Can’t – Emisferi Review

By Angry Metal Guy

Written by Nameless N00b 86

Eva Can’t is ready for a musical expedition. A global, transoceanic expedition, judging by the promo sheet which says that Emisferi is “imagined as a journey from pole to pole on an uninhabited planet.” Accordingly, the album title translates to “hemispheres” from Italian and is organized into four trios of songs called Ghiacci Boreali (Northern Ice), Mari Boreali (Northern Seas), Mari Australi (Southern Seas) and Ghiacci Australi (Southern Ice). A quick scan through previous releases and Dr. Wvrm’s review of their last full-length Gravatum in 2017 reveals a group distinguished by transformation, now with a style unrecognizable from its original configuration. To navigate such an ambitious concept this time around, they must be adventurous enough to explore new waters yet focused enough to avoid drifting aimlessly. Let’s set sail to discover how well Emisferi traverses this fine line.

The melodic death metal that once defined the Eva Can’t sound is now little more than fossils scattered in the seabed of a post-rock ocean. While Gravatum was a seismic shift to prog-rock with traces of post, Emisferi morphs more subtly into post-rock with traces of prog. Irrespective of genre labels, vocalist Simone Lanzoni seizes the listener’s attention from the moment he utters his first rich, silky notes and every time he opens his mouth thereafter. He sings, speaks, growls and roars with perfect enunciation throughout the voyage.1 Accompanying his inimitable vocal style is instrumentation resembling a more upbeat Agalloch and a less aggressive The Ocean. Metallic edges in the form of blast beats and rapid tremolos occasionally surface like a dorsal fin, but one belonging to an amiable dolphin rather than a menacing shark.

The ship’s crew joins their respective strengths together exceptionally well. This is unsurprising, as all four original members have remained since formation in 2009. Many groups with strong vocalists are tempted to always place them front and center, but Eva Can’t rejects this idea. While there are moments written around Lanzoni’s voice (“La Volta” and “Di Stanze Assenti”), he humbly shares the spotlight with his fellow bandmates. The entire Mari Boreali trio (“Prima Tempesta,” “Nottetempo” and “Avamporti”) is instrumental, mixing The Ocean’s opus Pelagial with the buoyancy of Unreqvited, and the trilogy contributes the most to the album’s maritime theme. When appropriate, Diego Molina and Andrea Maurizzi fill the sails with forceful, deliberate drum hits and bass notes (“Oracoli” and “ARCA”). The technical guitar solos of their previous work are gone–and missed–but Luigi Iacovitti and Lanzoni tie everything together with guitar lines both serene (“Gli Ultimi Alisei”) and stormy (“Genoma”).

Certain choices on Emisferi on a macro scale compromise the successes of the individual songs. At just under 70 minutes, it’s the latest in a series of ballooning Eva Can’t records.2 The tracks are laid out logically: intro “Emisferi I,” all four trios with interludes sandwiched in between, then outro “Emisferi II.” The short instrumental tracks alone add 13 minutes of empty content that I suspect was mainly kept to fill out this tracklist blueprint. By excising them and trimming the meandering instrumental sections (“ARCA” and “Agartha Sommersa”), Emisferi could have easily been under an hour and more purposeful for it. The wasted time is made more frustrating by ideas toyed with but not fully committed to. For example, the saxophone segment tacked onto the end of “Agartha Sommersa” feels like an afterthought. “La Forca” is the odd duck of the album–with a faster tempo and goth-kissed guitar leads recalling Unto Others–but a few similar songs would have made it feel less conspicuous.

Emisferi made some good headway but became lost too frequently and shed too much momentum. The individual songs are smooth like an eel and likely could have carried the ship through its global expedition if not for the extra weight. Notwithstanding, anyone looking for a mellow getaway to break up the monotony should climb aboard. After all, enjoying the beauty of the journey is just as important as reaching the destination.

Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: 10 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3
Label: My Kingdom Music
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: September 20th, 2024

#2024 #Agalloch #BlackMetal #Emisferi #EvaCanT #Gravatum #ItalianMetal #MyKingdomMusic #PostMetal #ProgressiveMetal #Review #Reviews #Sep24 #TheOcean

Eva Can’t – Emisferi Review

By Angry Metal Guy

Written by Nameless N00b 86

Eva Can’t is ready for a musical expedition. A global, transoceanic expedition, judging by the promo sheet which says that Emisferi is “imagined as a journey from pole to pole on an uninhabited planet.” Accordingly, the album title translates to “hemispheres” from Italian and is organized into four trios of songs called Ghiacci Boreali (Northern Ice), Mari Boreali (Northern Seas), Mari Australi (Southern Seas) and Ghiacci Australi (Southern Ice). A quick scan through previous releases and Dr. Wvrm’s review of their last full-length Gravatum in 2017 reveals a group distinguished by transformation, now with a style unrecognizable from its original configuration. To navigate such an ambitious concept this time around, they must be adventurous enough to explore new waters yet focused enough to avoid drifting aimlessly. Let’s set sail to discover how well Emisferi traverses this fine line.

The melodic death metal that once defined the Eva Can’t sound is now little more than fossils scattered in the seabed of a post-rock ocean. While Gravatum was a seismic shift to prog-rock with traces of post, Emisferi morphs more subtly into post-rock with traces of prog. Irrespective of genre labels, vocalist Simone Lanzoni seizes the listener’s attention from the moment he utters his first rich, silky notes and every time he opens his mouth thereafter. He sings, speaks, growls and roars with perfect enunciation throughout the voyage.1 Accompanying his inimitable vocal style is instrumentation resembling a more upbeat Agalloch and a less aggressive The Ocean. Metallic edges in the form of blast beats and rapid tremolos occasionally surface like a dorsal fin, but one belonging to an amiable dolphin rather than a menacing shark.

The ship’s crew joins their respective strengths together exceptionally well. This is unsurprising, as all four original members have remained since formation in 2009. Many groups with strong vocalists are tempted to always place them front and center, but Eva Can’t rejects this idea. While there are moments written around Lanzoni’s voice (“La Volta” and “Di Stanze Assenti”), he humbly shares the spotlight with his fellow bandmates. The entire Mari Boreali trio (“Prima Tempesta,” “Nottetempo” and “Avamporti”) is instrumental, mixing The Ocean’s opus Pelagial with the buoyancy of Unreqvited, and the trilogy contributes the most to the album’s maritime theme. When appropriate, Diego Molina and Andrea Maurizzi fill the sails with forceful, deliberate drum hits and bass notes (“Oracoli” and “ARCA”). The technical guitar solos of their previous work are gone–and missed–but Luigi Iacovitti and Lanzoni tie everything together with guitar lines both serene (“Gli Ultimi Alisei”) and stormy (“Genoma”).

Certain choices on Emisferi on a macro scale compromise the successes of the individual songs. At just under 70 minutes, it’s the latest in a series of ballooning Eva Can’t records.2 The tracks are laid out logically: intro “Emisferi I,” all four trios with interludes sandwiched in between, then outro “Emisferi II.” The short instrumental tracks alone add 13 minutes of empty content that I suspect was mainly kept to fill out this tracklist blueprint. By excising them and trimming the meandering instrumental sections (“ARCA” and “Agartha Sommersa”), Emisferi could have easily been under an hour and more purposeful for it. The wasted time is made more frustrating by ideas toyed with but not fully committed to. For example, the saxophone segment tacked onto the end of “Agartha Sommersa” feels like an afterthought. “La Forca” is the odd duck of the album–with a faster tempo and goth-kissed guitar leads recalling Unto Others–but a few similar songs would have made it feel less conspicuous.

Emisferi made some good headway but became lost too frequently and shed too much momentum. The individual songs are smooth like an eel and likely could have carried the ship through its global expedition if not for the extra weight. Notwithstanding, anyone looking for a mellow getaway to break up the monotony should climb aboard. After all, enjoying the beauty of the journey is just as important as reaching the destination.

Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: 10 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3
Label: My Kingdom Music
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: September 20th, 2024

#2024 #Agalloch #BlackMetal #Emisferi #EvaCanT #Gravatum #ItalianMetal #MyKingdomMusic #PostMetal #ProgressiveMetal #Review #Reviews #Sep24 #TheOcean

Ecr.Linf – Belluaires Review

By Dear Hollow

Post-black isn’t a style I would normally associate with themes of viscera or ritualism. Stereotypes and caricatures exist as Deafheaven school of thought, quite cheery affairs with sanguine post-rock melodies atop a foundation of distant blastbeats and shrieks. Ecr.Linf offers no such grace. Belluaires’ breed of post-black offers its full and textured, melody-first approach, but adds an animalistic urgency. Recalling the likes of Decline of the I or The Great Old Ones. Atmosphere is foremost but twisted into the warped image of desperation and intensity. A final cry of humanity is what it promises – does it exit with a roar or a whimper?

Ecr.Linf, the moniker taken from Voltaire’s famous maxim “ecrasons l’infame,”1 in one take translated to “crush the monster,” is a French black metal five-piece with history from acts like Svart Crown, No Return, and Jarell. Their Belluaires debut is a tour-de-force, undeniably French, recalling acts like Celeste and Déluge in its incorporation of hardcore and noise textures. It promises an unlikely combination of post-black and dissonant black, swirling riffs, manic and warlike blastbeats, and desperate barks commanding a dense and thick fog punctuated by moments of clarity. Ultimately, while these newcomers pale in comparison to more seasoned acts, Belluaires nonetheless makes one hell of a statement when it gets going, even if its buildup and on-the-fence compositions temper the hype.

There are two flavors to Belluaires: outright punishment and the ominous build-up to the punishment. Opener “Le Désespoir Du Prophète” and “Missive” offer the latter, that while thick and vicious riffs are in no short supply, spoken word and pulsing percussion indicate more patient crescendos. Meanwhile “Tribunal De L’âme” and “La Danse Des Crânes” are taken from the Celeste playbook, ritualistic percussion colliding neatly with mammoth riffs, plus a symphonic flare and wonky accordion closing out the latter doesn’t hurt. However, it’s not until the second half that Ecr.Linf gets their footing: beginning with the mad waltzing rhythms of “Le Royaume Du Vide,” Belluaires begins capitalizing upon the dissonant portion of their sound. “Ultime Projection” and “Valetaille” are easily the best tracks and comprise a walloping one-two punch. Each deals in more subtle songwriting from warped dissonant clarity to a dark and warming melody of blackgaze, punctuated by sprawling contemplative passages dwelling and shuddering in the wake of the colossus, concluded by dusty breaths of a gentle piano. For a black metal album, Ecr.Linf does a stellar job making Belluaires sound as huge as possible, touching upon post-metal, its density saturating every space within it.

For all its hugeness and formidability, I wish Ecr.Linf made more songs like “Valetaille.” Much like the likewise “dissonant black” genre-mates Sisyphean’s Colours of Faith, too much of Belluaires is spent mingling between post-black warmth and ominous dissonance. I’m grateful that Ecr.Linf arrive in grandiose fashion, but the first five tracks, with the exception of “La Danse Des Crânes,” are simply pleasant blackened affairs with a bigger sound, but little else. “Tribunal De L’âme” is largely forgettable, the spoken word of “Le Désespoir Du Prophète” verges on awkward, and “Feu Pâle” is a completely unnecessary closer, comprised of just a few warbling major chords, after the earthmoving and despondent ending of “Valetaille.” Belluaires comprises a very French sound from the despair to the vicious barks. This palette inevitably pales compared to the similarly built but more experienced offerings of Celeste, Amesoeurs, and Alcest.

Ecr.Linf promises a unique fusion, and only periodically do they deliver. While there’s little blatantly wrong with Belluaires in its punishing ritualistic hugeness, but expectations temper it quite a bit. It finally finds its footing in the second act with tracks “Ultime Projection” and “Valetaille” finding a powerful balance of vicious dissonance and post-black warmth in an undeniably atmospheric but relentlessly punishing sound. Ultimately, although initially I was overwhelmed by its weight and rabid intensity, it ends up neither a whimper nor a roar, but rather a firm tone to signal the end of humanity.

Rating: 2.5/5.0
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: My Kingdom Music
Website: facebook.com/Ecr.LinfOfficiel
Releases Worldwide: March 22nd, 2024

#25 #2024 #Alcest #Amesoeurs #Belluaires #BlackMetal #BlackenedDeathMetal #Celeste #Deafheaven #DeclineOfTheI #Deluge #DissonantBlackMetal #EcrLinf #FrenchMetal #Jarell #Mar24 #MyKingdomMusic #NoReturn #PostBlackMetal #PostMetal #Review #Reviews #SvartCrown #TheGreatOldOnes

Ecr.Linf – Belluaires Review

By Dear Hollow

Post-black isn’t a style I would normally associate with themes of viscera or ritualism. Stereotypes and caricatures exist as Deafheaven school of thought, quite cheery affairs with sanguine post-rock melodies atop a foundation of distant blastbeats and shrieks. Ecr.Linf offers no such grace. Belluaires’ breed of post-black offers its full and textured, melody-first approach, but adds an animalistic urgency. Recalling the likes of Decline of the I or The Great Old Ones. Atmosphere is foremost but twisted into the warped image of desperation and intensity. A final cry of humanity is what it promises – does it exit with a roar or a whimper?

Ecr.Linf, the moniker taken from Voltaire’s famous maxim “ecrasons l’infame,”1 in one take translated to “crush the monster,” is a French black metal five-piece with history from acts like Svart Crown, No Return, and Jarell. Their Belluaires debut is a tour-de-force, undeniably French, recalling acts like Celeste and Déluge in its incorporation of hardcore and noise textures. It promises an unlikely combination of post-black and dissonant black, swirling riffs, manic and warlike blastbeats, and desperate barks commanding a dense and thick fog punctuated by moments of clarity. Ultimately, while these newcomers pale in comparison to more seasoned acts, Belluaires nonetheless makes one hell of a statement when it gets going, even if its buildup and on-the-fence compositions temper the hype.

There are two flavors to Belluaires: outright punishment and the ominous build-up to the punishment. Opener “Le Désespoir Du Prophète” and “Missive” offer the latter, that while thick and vicious riffs are in no short supply, spoken word and pulsing percussion indicate more patient crescendos. Meanwhile “Tribunal De L’âme” and “La Danse Des Crânes” are taken from the Celeste playbook, ritualistic percussion colliding neatly with mammoth riffs, plus a symphonic flare and wonky accordion closing out the latter doesn’t hurt. However, it’s not until the second half that Ecr.Linf gets their footing: beginning with the mad waltzing rhythms of “Le Royaume Du Vide,” Belluaires begins capitalizing upon the dissonant portion of their sound. “Ultime Projection” and “Valetaille” are easily the best tracks and comprise a walloping one-two punch. Each deals in more subtle songwriting from warped dissonant clarity to a dark and warming melody of blackgaze, punctuated by sprawling contemplative passages dwelling and shuddering in the wake of the colossus, concluded by dusty breaths of a gentle piano. For a black metal album, Ecr.Linf does a stellar job making Belluaires sound as huge as possible, touching upon post-metal, its density saturating every space within it.

For all its hugeness and formidability, I wish Ecr.Linf made more songs like “Valetaille.” Much like the likewise “dissonant black” genre-mates Sisyphean’s Colours of Faith, too much of Belluaires is spent mingling between post-black warmth and ominous dissonance. I’m grateful that Ecr.Linf arrive in grandiose fashion, but the first five tracks, with the exception of “La Danse Des Crânes,” are simply pleasant blackened affairs with a bigger sound, but little else. “Tribunal De L’âme” is largely forgettable, the spoken word of “Le Désespoir Du Prophète” verges on awkward, and “Feu Pâle” is a completely unnecessary closer, comprised of just a few warbling major chords, after the earthmoving and despondent ending of “Valetaille.” Belluaires comprises a very French sound from the despair to the vicious barks. This palette inevitably pales compared to the similarly built but more experienced offerings of Celeste, Amesoeurs, and Alcest.

Ecr.Linf promises a unique fusion, and only periodically do they deliver. While there’s little blatantly wrong with Belluaires in its punishing ritualistic hugeness, but expectations temper it quite a bit. It finally finds its footing in the second act with tracks “Ultime Projection” and “Valetaille” finding a powerful balance of vicious dissonance and post-black warmth in an undeniably atmospheric but relentlessly punishing sound. Ultimately, although initially I was overwhelmed by its weight and rabid intensity, it ends up neither a whimper nor a roar, but rather a firm tone to signal the end of humanity.

Rating: 2.5/5.0
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: My Kingdom Music
Website: facebook.com/Ecr.LinfOfficiel
Releases Worldwide: March 22nd, 2024

#25 #2024 #Alcest #Amesoeurs #Belluaires #BlackMetal #BlackenedDeathMetal #Celeste #Deafheaven #DeclineOfTheI #Deluge #DissonantBlackMetal #EcrLinf #FrenchMetal #Jarell #Mar24 #MyKingdomMusic #NoReturn #PostBlackMetal #PostMetal #Review #Reviews #SvartCrown #TheGreatOldOnes

Ecr.Linf – Belluaires Review

By Dear Hollow

Post-black isn’t a style I would normally associate with themes of viscera or ritualism. Stereotypes and caricatures exist as Deafheaven school of thought, quite cheery affairs with sanguine post-rock melodies atop a foundation of distant blastbeats and shrieks. Ecr.Linf offers no such grace. Belluaires’ breed of post-black offers its full and textured, melody-first approach, but adds an animalistic urgency. Recalling the likes of Decline of the I or The Great Old Ones. Atmosphere is foremost but twisted into the warped image of desperation and intensity. A final cry of humanity is what it promises – does it exit with a roar or a whimper?

Ecr.Linf, the moniker taken from Voltaire’s famous maxim “ecrasons l’infame,”1 in one take translated to “crush the monster,” is a French black metal five-piece with history from acts like Svart Crown, No Return, and Jarell. Their Belluaires debut is a tour-de-force, undeniably French, recalling acts like Celeste and Déluge in its incorporation of hardcore and noise textures. It promises an unlikely combination of post-black and dissonant black, swirling riffs, manic and warlike blastbeats, and desperate barks commanding a dense and thick fog punctuated by moments of clarity. Ultimately, while these newcomers pale in comparison to more seasoned acts, Belluaires nonetheless makes one hell of a statement when it gets going, even if its buildup and on-the-fence compositions temper the hype.

There are two flavors to Belluaires: outright punishment and the ominous build-up to the punishment. Opener “Le Désespoir Du Prophète” and “Missive” offer the latter, that while thick and vicious riffs are in no short supply, spoken word and pulsing percussion indicate more patient crescendos. Meanwhile “Tribunal De L’âme” and “La Danse Des Crânes” are taken from the Celeste playbook, ritualistic percussion colliding neatly with mammoth riffs, plus a symphonic flare and wonky accordion closing out the latter doesn’t hurt. However, it’s not until the second half that Ecr.Linf gets their footing: beginning with the mad waltzing rhythms of “Le Royaume Du Vide,” Belluaires begins capitalizing upon the dissonant portion of their sound. “Ultime Projection” and “Valetaille” are easily the best tracks and comprise a walloping one-two punch. Each deals in more subtle songwriting from warped dissonant clarity to a dark and warming melody of blackgaze, punctuated by sprawling contemplative passages dwelling and shuddering in the wake of the colossus, concluded by dusty breaths of a gentle piano. For a black metal album, Ecr.Linf does a stellar job making Belluaires sound as huge as possible, touching upon post-metal, its density saturating every space within it.

For all its hugeness and formidability, I wish Ecr.Linf made more songs like “Valetaille.” Much like the likewise “dissonant black” genre-mates Sisyphean’s Colours of Faith, too much of Belluaires is spent mingling between post-black warmth and ominous dissonance. I’m grateful that Ecr.Linf arrive in grandiose fashion, but the first five tracks, with the exception of “La Danse Des Crânes,” are simply pleasant blackened affairs with a bigger sound, but little else. “Tribunal De L’âme” is largely forgettable, the spoken word of “Le Désespoir Du Prophète” verges on awkward, and “Feu Pâle” is a completely unnecessary closer, comprised of just a few warbling major chords, after the earthmoving and despondent ending of “Valetaille.” Belluaires comprises a very French sound from the despair to the vicious barks. This palette inevitably pales compared to the similarly built but more experienced offerings of Celeste, Amesoeurs, and Alcest.

Ecr.Linf promises a unique fusion, and only periodically do they deliver. While there’s little blatantly wrong with Belluaires in its punishing ritualistic hugeness, but expectations temper it quite a bit. It finally finds its footing in the second act with tracks “Ultime Projection” and “Valetaille” finding a powerful balance of vicious dissonance and post-black warmth in an undeniably atmospheric but relentlessly punishing sound. Ultimately, although initially I was overwhelmed by its weight and rabid intensity, it ends up neither a whimper nor a roar, but rather a firm tone to signal the end of humanity.

Rating: 2.5/5.0
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: My Kingdom Music
Website: facebook.com/Ecr.LinfOfficiel
Releases Worldwide: March 22nd, 2024

#25 #2024 #Alcest #Amesoeurs #Belluaires #BlackMetal #BlackenedDeathMetal #Celeste #Deafheaven #DeclineOfTheI #Deluge #DissonantBlackMetal #EcrLinf #FrenchMetal #Jarell #Mar24 #MyKingdomMusic #NoReturn #PostBlackMetal #PostMetal #Review #Reviews #SvartCrown #TheGreatOldOnes