#notmetal — Public Fediverse posts

Now canonized in the church of dark, experimental electronica, Saint Vengeur approaches us in a new(ish) form. In this incarnation, the not-so-latent eroticism of their debut, Par Feu et Par Flammes is laid bare,1 and following singles have continued to show titular Saint Herman Pańkow delving into the psychologies of love, hate, and religion and exorcising related emotional demons. Godless Tonight is the next chapter, and its weirdly disturbing art and title that could read as either condemnatory or liberational, only give some clue as to its contents. With poetry delivered through the conceit of a bizarre play, and a fluid, unlabellable mélange of EBM, darksynth, witch house, and many things between, Godless Tonight explores the inherent cruelty and pain yet also the necessity of love.

Just as you would were we discussing extreme metal, don’t dismiss the relativity when I say that Godless Tonight is less weird than Par Feu. This is still the person who wrote what I originally described as “like […] music composed by an alien.” The cold chimes whose tunefulness drains out of them, synths that burble and distort themselves in and out of haunting refrains erratic, fickle tempos, an overwhelming sense of hostility and tension: all are present. Sometimes, the exact same themes even arise (“451,” “HELLSTAR ANDROMEDA”). But the manner in which these are delivered is more tempered by harmoniousness and navigable groove. This works in step with the album’s mode of execution, as characters variously present musings, throw accusations, make confessions, commands, requests, and proclamations amidst the shifting scenes of seductive and sinister synth, which—intentionally or not—feel directed at you, the audience. Thus a part of the proceedings, one’s ear naturally sympathises to even the strangest and ugliest turns and finds more beauty in the greater abundance of mournful refrains.

The chameleonic nature of Godless Tonight is what makes it so potent. Is it abstraction and maximalism coalescing into a mesmerising, even danceable whole (“PRURIENT SOCIETY,” “HELLSTAR ARNDROMEDA,” “THE LIGHT OF THIS WORLD”)? Is it deceptively straightforward, hiding the next sudden turn of madness or cruelty (“451,” “LUST FANTASY PRESAGE,” “POOR HOMME (DISCO)”)? Both, it seems. The album’s greater stylistic breadth across the EBM and EDM spectrum nonetheless hinges on Saint Vengeur’s characteristic burbling sulky arpeggios and dissonant synth chords, into which the melancholic, uptempo themes repeatedly dissolve. The melodies are alluring, the beats catchy, the refrains memorable; but the ugliness is never far away, and so the sense of dread and tension rises. Thus, when tracks like “PRURIENT SOCIETY” and “LUST FANTASY PRESAGE” tread the line with hypnotic witch house, their weirdness reads only as beautiful; and when a shivering refrain chimes in midway through “451,” or starts to dominate “(S)LAUGHTER,” it feels like a blessing. By the time you reach “POOR HOMME (DISCO)” and “THE LIGHT OF THIS WORLD,” you take their irresistible cadence in stride, discomfiting as those voices and keys may be. As Godless Tonight morphs through variously solemn and vicious expressions, the disparity in styles is both more obvious and less troublesome; somehow it all just comes together.

That’s not to say that Saint Vengeur has actually performed a miracle; it’s not all perfect. The tongue-in-cheek self-awareness—the opening speech (“GOOD EVENING”) and playful mockery of our leads that the music is “like a child banging on a xylophone[…]” (“PRURIENT SOCIETY”)—might trigger some soft eye-rolls amongst the less tolerant, and doesn’t itself free Saint Vengeur from the responsibility to deliver compelling music. The oddly broken-up “DEVOURING FEMININE” into “CONFESSION,” somewhat stalls the flow, with the sudden volume of the latter’s sample just a tad jarring. It’s hard to believe, however, that this disturbing interlude is not intended to shake the listener’s complacency. Indeed, with the continual evolutions of the music and shifting dynamics between the speakers (and us), the album—the play ostensibly being performed—feels like a bad trip in a strange club, where you’re dragged into the messiest relationship ever. So while mileage may vary on some of the lyrics and their delivery, Godless Tonight succeeds in its presumed goal of making you squirm.

Godless Tonight, with its addictive rhythms and intricate blending of bizarre and beautiful, is primed to capture even those faintly sympathetic to the weird and electronically expressed. It’s groovy and fun, creepy with a small “c”, and sexy with quite a big “S”. It’s not exactly a palate-cleanser from the heaviness of metal so much as a way to satiate some dark, playful curiosity. I’d take the apple Saint Vengeur offers.

Rating: Very Good
DR: ? | Format Reviewed: stream (of consciousness)
Label: Genom Records
Websites: Bandcamp | Instagram
Releases Worldwide: September 4th, 2026

Now canonized in the church of dark, experimental electronica, Saint Vengeur approaches us in a new(ish) form. In this incarnation, the not-so-latent eroticism of their debut, Par Feu et Par Flammes is laid bare,1 and following singles have continued to show titular Saint Herman Pańkow delving into the psychologies of love, hate, and religion and exorcising related emotional demons. Godless Tonight is the next chapter, and its weirdly disturbing art and title that could read as either condemnatory or liberational, only give some clue as to its contents. With poetry delivered through the conceit of a bizarre play, and a fluid, unlabellable mélange of EBM, darksynth, witch house, and many things between, Godless Tonight explores the inherent cruelty and pain yet also the necessity of love.

Just as you would were we discussing extreme metal, don’t dismiss the relativity when I say that Godless Tonight is less weird than Par Feu. This is still the person who wrote what I originally described as “like […] music composed by an alien.” The cold chimes whose tunefulness drains out of them, synths that burble and distort themselves in and out of haunting refrains erratic, fickle tempos, an overwhelming sense of hostility and tension: all are present. Sometimes, the exact same themes even arise (“451,” “HELLSTAR ANDROMEDA”). But the manner in which these are delivered is more tempered by harmoniousness and navigable groove. This works in step with the album’s mode of execution, as characters variously present musings, throw accusations, make confessions, commands, requests, and proclamations amidst the shifting scenes of seductive and sinister synth, which—intentionally or not—feel directed at you, the audience. Thus a part of the proceedings, one’s ear naturally sympathises to even the strangest and ugliest turns and finds more beauty in the greater abundance of mournful refrains.

The chameleonic nature of Godless Tonight is what makes it so potent. Is it abstraction and maximalism coalescing into a mesmerising, even danceable whole (“PRURIENT SOCIETY,” “HELLSTAR ARNDROMEDA,” “THE LIGHT OF THIS WORLD”)? Is it deceptively straightforward, hiding the next sudden turn of madness or cruelty (“451,” “LUST FANTASY PRESAGE,” “POOR HOMME (DISCO)”)? Both, it seems. The album’s greater stylistic breadth across the EBM and EDM spectrum nonetheless hinges on Saint Vengeur’s characteristic burbling sulky arpeggios and dissonant synth chords, into which the melancholic, uptempo themes repeatedly dissolve. The melodies are alluring, the beats catchy, the refrains memorable; but the ugliness is never far away, and so the sense of dread and tension rises. Thus, when tracks like “PRURIENT SOCIETY” and “LUST FANTASY PRESAGE” tread the line with hypnotic witch house, their weirdness reads only as beautiful; and when a shivering refrain chimes in midway through “451,” or starts to dominate “(S)LAUGHTER,” it feels like a blessing. By the time you reach “POOR HOMME (DISCO)” and “THE LIGHT OF THIS WORLD,” you take their irresistible cadence in stride, discomfiting as those voices and keys may be. As Godless Tonight morphs through variously solemn and vicious expressions, the disparity in styles is both more obvious and less troublesome; somehow it all just comes together.

That’s not to say that Saint Vengeur has actually performed a miracle; it’s not all perfect. The tongue-in-cheek self-awareness—the opening speech (“GOOD EVENING”) and playful mockery of our leads that the music is “like a child banging on a xylophone[…]” (“PRURIENT SOCIETY”)—might trigger some soft eye-rolls amongst the less tolerant, and doesn’t itself free Saint Vengeur from the responsibility to deliver compelling music. The oddly broken-up “DEVOURING FEMININE” into “CONFESSION,” somewhat stalls the flow, with the sudden volume of the latter’s sample just a tad jarring. It’s hard to believe, however, that this disturbing interlude is not intended to shake the listener’s complacency. Indeed, with the continual evolutions of the music and shifting dynamics between the speakers (and us), the album—the play ostensibly being performed—feels like a bad trip in a strange club, where you’re dragged into the messiest relationship ever. So while mileage may vary on some of the lyrics and their delivery, Godless Tonight succeeds in its presumed goal of making you squirm.

Godless Tonight, with its addictive rhythms and intricate blending of bizarre and beautiful, is primed to capture even those faintly sympathetic to the weird and electronically expressed. It’s groovy and fun, creepy with a small “c”, and sexy with quite a big “S”. It’s not exactly a palate-cleanser from the heaviness of metal so much as a way to satiate some dark, playful curiosity. I’d take the apple Saint Vengeur offers.

Rating: Very Good
DR: ? | Format Reviewed: stream (of consciousness)
Label: Genom Records
Websites: Bandcamp | Instagram
Releases Worldwide: September 4th, 2026

Now canonized in the church of dark, experimental electronica, Saint Vengeur approaches us in a new(ish) form. In this incarnation, the not-so-latent eroticism of their debut, Par Feu et Par Flammes is laid bare,1 and following singles have continued to show titular Saint Herman Pańkow delving into the psychologies of love, hate, and religion and exorcising related emotional demons. Godless Tonight is the next chapter, and its weirdly disturbing art and title that could read as either condemnatory or liberational, only give some clue as to its contents. With poetry delivered through the conceit of a bizarre play, and a fluid, unlabellable mélange of EBM, darksynth, witch house, and many things between, Godless Tonight explores the inherent cruelty and pain yet also the necessity of love.

Just as you would were we discussing extreme metal, don’t dismiss the relativity when I say that Godless Tonight is less weird than Par Feu. This is still the person who wrote what I originally described as “like […] music composed by an alien.” The cold chimes whose tunefulness drains out of them, synths that burble and distort themselves in and out of haunting refrains erratic, fickle tempos, an overwhelming sense of hostility and tension: all are present. Sometimes, the exact same themes even arise (“451,” “HELLSTAR ANDROMEDA”). But the manner in which these are delivered is more tempered by harmoniousness and navigable groove. This works in step with the album’s mode of execution, as characters variously present musings, throw accusations, make confessions, commands, requests, and proclamations amidst the shifting scenes of seductive and sinister synth, which—intentionally or not—feel directed at you, the audience. Thus a part of the proceedings, one’s ear naturally sympathises to even the strangest and ugliest turns and finds more beauty in the greater abundance of mournful refrains.

The chameleonic nature of Godless Tonight is what makes it so potent. Is it abstraction and maximalism coalescing into a mesmerising, even danceable whole (“PRURIENT SOCIETY,” “HELLSTAR ARNDROMEDA,” “THE LIGHT OF THIS WORLD”)? Is it deceptively straightforward, hiding the next sudden turn of madness or cruelty (“451,” “LUST FANTASY PRESAGE,” “POOR HOMME (DISCO)”)? Both, it seems. The album’s greater stylistic breadth across the EBM and EDM spectrum nonetheless hinges on Saint Vengeur’s characteristic burbling sulky arpeggios and dissonant synth chords, into which the melancholic, uptempo themes repeatedly dissolve. The melodies are alluring, the beats catchy, the refrains memorable; but the ugliness is never far away, and so the sense of dread and tension rises. Thus, when tracks like “PRURIENT SOCIETY” and “LUST FANTASY PRESAGE” tread the line with hypnotic witch house, their weirdness reads only as beautiful; and when a shivering refrain chimes in midway through “451,” or starts to dominate “(S)LAUGHTER,” it feels like a blessing. By the time you reach “POOR HOMME (DISCO)” and “THE LIGHT OF THIS WORLD,” you take their irresistible cadence in stride, discomfiting as those voices and keys may be. As Godless Tonight morphs through variously solemn and vicious expressions, the disparity in styles is both more obvious and less troublesome; somehow it all just comes together.

That’s not to say that Saint Vengeur has actually performed a miracle; it’s not all perfect. The tongue-in-cheek self-awareness—the opening speech (“GOOD EVENING”) and playful mockery of our leads that the music is “like a child banging on a xylophone[…]” (“PRURIENT SOCIETY”)—might trigger some soft eye-rolls amongst the less tolerant, and doesn’t itself free Saint Vengeur from the responsibility to deliver compelling music. The oddly broken-up “DEVOURING FEMININE” into “CONFESSION,” somewhat stalls the flow, with the sudden volume of the latter’s sample just a tad jarring. It’s hard to believe, however, that this disturbing interlude is not intended to shake the listener’s complacency. Indeed, with the continual evolutions of the music and shifting dynamics between the speakers (and us), the album—the play ostensibly being performed—feels like a bad trip in a strange club, where you’re dragged into the messiest relationship ever. So while mileage may vary on some of the lyrics and their delivery, Godless Tonight succeeds in its presumed goal of making you squirm.

Godless Tonight, with its addictive rhythms and intricate blending of bizarre and beautiful, is primed to capture even those faintly sympathetic to the weird and electronically expressed. It’s groovy and fun, creepy with a small “c”, and sexy with quite a big “S”. It’s not exactly a palate-cleanser from the heaviness of metal so much as a way to satiate some dark, playful curiosity. I’d take the apple Saint Vengeur offers.

Rating: Very Good
DR: ? | Format Reviewed: stream (of consciousness)
Label: Genom Records
Websites: Bandcamp | Instagram
Releases Worldwide: September 4th, 2026

Now canonized in the church of dark, experimental electronica, Saint Vengeur approaches us in a new(ish) form. In this incarnation, the not-so-latent eroticism of their debut, Par Feu et Par Flammes is laid bare,1 and following singles have continued to show titular Saint Herman Pańkow delving into the psychologies of love, hate, and religion and exorcising related emotional demons. Godless Tonight is the next chapter, and its weirdly disturbing art and title that could read as either condemnatory or liberational, only give some clue as to its contents. With poetry delivered through the conceit of a bizarre play, and a fluid, unlabellable mélange of EBM, darksynth, witch house, and many things between, Godless Tonight explores the inherent cruelty and pain yet also the necessity of love.

Just as you would were we discussing extreme metal, don’t dismiss the relativity when I say that Godless Tonight is less weird than Par Feu. This is still the person who wrote what I originally described as “like […] music composed by an alien.” The cold chimes whose tunefulness drains out of them, synths that burble and distort themselves in and out of haunting refrains erratic, fickle tempos, an overwhelming sense of hostility and tension: all are present. Sometimes, the exact same themes even arise (“451,” “HELLSTAR ANDROMEDA”). But the manner in which these are delivered is more tempered by harmoniousness and navigable groove. This works in step with the album’s mode of execution, as characters variously present musings, throw accusations, make confessions, commands, requests, and proclamations amidst the shifting scenes of seductive and sinister synth, which—intentionally or not—feel directed at you, the audience. Thus a part of the proceedings, one’s ear naturally sympathises to even the strangest and ugliest turns and finds more beauty in the greater abundance of mournful refrains.

The chameleonic nature of Godless Tonight is what makes it so potent. Is it abstraction and maximalism coalescing into a mesmerising, even danceable whole (“PRURIENT SOCIETY,” “HELLSTAR ARNDROMEDA,” “THE LIGHT OF THIS WORLD”)? Is it deceptively straightforward, hiding the next sudden turn of madness or cruelty (“451,” “LUST FANTASY PRESAGE,” “POOR HOMME (DISCO)”)? Both, it seems. The album’s greater stylistic breadth across the EBM and EDM spectrum nonetheless hinges on Saint Vengeur’s characteristic burbling sulky arpeggios and dissonant synth chords, into which the melancholic, uptempo themes repeatedly dissolve. The melodies are alluring, the beats catchy, the refrains memorable; but the ugliness is never far away, and so the sense of dread and tension rises. Thus, when tracks like “PRURIENT SOCIETY” and “LUST FANTASY PRESAGE” tread the line with hypnotic witch house, their weirdness reads only as beautiful; and when a shivering refrain chimes in midway through “451,” or starts to dominate “(S)LAUGHTER,” it feels like a blessing. By the time you reach “POOR HOMME (DISCO)” and “THE LIGHT OF THIS WORLD,” you take their irresistible cadence in stride, discomfiting as those voices and keys may be. As Godless Tonight morphs through variously solemn and vicious expressions, the disparity in styles is both more obvious and less troublesome; somehow it all just comes together.

That’s not to say that Saint Vengeur has actually performed a miracle; it’s not all perfect. The tongue-in-cheek self-awareness—the opening speech (“GOOD EVENING”) and playful mockery of our leads that the music is “like a child banging on a xylophone[…]” (“PRURIENT SOCIETY”)—might trigger some soft eye-rolls amongst the less tolerant, and doesn’t itself free Saint Vengeur from the responsibility to deliver compelling music. The oddly broken-up “DEVOURING FEMININE” into “CONFESSION,” somewhat stalls the flow, with the sudden volume of the latter’s sample just a tad jarring. It’s hard to believe, however, that this disturbing interlude is not intended to shake the listener’s complacency. Indeed, with the continual evolutions of the music and shifting dynamics between the speakers (and us), the album—the play ostensibly being performed—feels like a bad trip in a strange club, where you’re dragged into the messiest relationship ever. So while mileage may vary on some of the lyrics and their delivery, Godless Tonight succeeds in its presumed goal of making you squirm.

Godless Tonight, with its addictive rhythms and intricate blending of bizarre and beautiful, is primed to capture even those faintly sympathetic to the weird and electronically expressed. It’s groovy and fun, creepy with a small “c”, and sexy with quite a big “S”. It’s not exactly a palate-cleanser from the heaviness of metal so much as a way to satiate some dark, playful curiosity. I’d take the apple Saint Vengeur offers.

Rating: Very Good
DR: ? | Format Reviewed: stream (of consciousness)
Label: Genom Records
Websites: Bandcamp | Instagram
Releases Worldwide: September 4th, 2026

Now canonized in the church of dark, experimental electronica, Saint Vengeur approaches us in a new(ish) form. In this incarnation, the not-so-latent eroticism of their debut, Par Feu et Par Flammes is laid bare,1 and following singles have continued to show titular Saint Herman Pańkow delving into the psychologies of love, hate, and religion and exorcising related emotional demons. Godless Tonight is the next chapter, and its weirdly disturbing art and title that could read as either condemnatory or liberational, only give some clue as to its contents. With poetry delivered through the conceit of a bizarre play, and a fluid, unlabellable mélange of EBM, darksynth, witch house, and many things between, Godless Tonight explores the inherent cruelty and pain yet also the necessity of love.

Just as you would were we discussing extreme metal, don’t dismiss the relativity when I say that Godless Tonight is less weird than Par Feu. This is still the person who wrote what I originally described as “like […] music composed by an alien.” The cold chimes whose tunefulness drains out of them, synths that burble and distort themselves in and out of haunting refrains erratic, fickle tempos, an overwhelming sense of hostility and tension: all are present. Sometimes, the exact same themes even arise (“451,” “HELLSTAR ANDROMEDA”). But the manner in which these are delivered is more tempered by harmoniousness and navigable groove. This works in step with the album’s mode of execution, as characters variously present musings, throw accusations, make confessions, commands, requests, and proclamations amidst the shifting scenes of seductive and sinister synth, which—intentionally or not—feel directed at you, the audience. Thus a part of the proceedings, one’s ear naturally sympathises to even the strangest and ugliest turns and finds more beauty in the greater abundance of mournful refrains.

The chameleonic nature of Godless Tonight is what makes it so potent. Is it abstraction and maximalism coalescing into a mesmerising, even danceable whole (“PRURIENT SOCIETY,” “HELLSTAR ARNDROMEDA,” “THE LIGHT OF THIS WORLD”)? Is it deceptively straightforward, hiding the next sudden turn of madness or cruelty (“451,” “LUST FANTASY PRESAGE,” “POOR HOMME (DISCO)”)? Both, it seems. The album’s greater stylistic breadth across the EBM and EDM spectrum nonetheless hinges on Saint Vengeur’s characteristic burbling sulky arpeggios and dissonant synth chords, into which the melancholic, uptempo themes repeatedly dissolve. The melodies are alluring, the beats catchy, the refrains memorable; but the ugliness is never far away, and so the sense of dread and tension rises. Thus, when tracks like “PRURIENT SOCIETY” and “LUST FANTASY PRESAGE” tread the line with hypnotic witch house, their weirdness reads only as beautiful; and when a shivering refrain chimes in midway through “451,” or starts to dominate “(S)LAUGHTER,” it feels like a blessing. By the time you reach “POOR HOMME (DISCO)” and “THE LIGHT OF THIS WORLD,” you take their irresistible cadence in stride, discomfiting as those voices and keys may be. As Godless Tonight morphs through variously solemn and vicious expressions, the disparity in styles is both more obvious and less troublesome; somehow it all just comes together.

That’s not to say that Saint Vengeur has actually performed a miracle; it’s not all perfect. The tongue-in-cheek self-awareness—the opening speech (“GOOD EVENING”) and playful mockery of our leads that the music is “like a child banging on a xylophone[…]” (“PRURIENT SOCIETY”)—might trigger some soft eye-rolls amongst the less tolerant, and doesn’t itself free Saint Vengeur from the responsibility to deliver compelling music. The oddly broken-up “DEVOURING FEMININE” into “CONFESSION,” somewhat stalls the flow, with the sudden volume of the latter’s sample just a tad jarring. It’s hard to believe, however, that this disturbing interlude is not intended to shake the listener’s complacency. Indeed, with the continual evolutions of the music and shifting dynamics between the speakers (and us), the album—the play ostensibly being performed—feels like a bad trip in a strange club, where you’re dragged into the messiest relationship ever. So while mileage may vary on some of the lyrics and their delivery, Godless Tonight succeeds in its presumed goal of making you squirm.

Godless Tonight, with its addictive rhythms and intricate blending of bizarre and beautiful, is primed to capture even those faintly sympathetic to the weird and electronically expressed. It’s groovy and fun, creepy with a small “c”, and sexy with quite a big “S”. It’s not exactly a palate-cleanser from the heaviness of metal so much as a way to satiate some dark, playful curiosity. I’d take the apple Saint Vengeur offers.

Rating: Very Good
DR: ? | Format Reviewed: stream (of consciousness)
Label: Genom Records
Websites: Bandcamp | Instagram
Releases Worldwide: September 4th, 2026

I’ve always been more drawn to art that induces ‘negative’ emotions over ‘positive’ ones.1 I hate happy endings; I want art to make me cry or feel deeply unsettled; I feel deeply soothed by the pathos of wallowing. As a result, the depressive goth-synth-doom of Hours of Worship more than appeals. Morbid Hearts, Trembling Master, and Wound are back, this time joined by new permanent member Loathe, who lends her voice to the chorus of apathy. Resignation, as its name suggests, turns from the bitterness and despair of The Cold that You Left and the Death & Dying duology towards the acceptance and even welcoming of death. As ever, Hours of Worship give funeral doom and DSBM a run for their money in the bleakness of their concept and the sound of their music. But Resignation shows, perhaps best in their career so far, how something so bleak can still be beautiful.

Resignation is the closest Hours of Worship have come to metal, the blurred boundary between the synthetic and the metallic intensifying the cheerlessness. Distorted screams and growls are often the sole voice or duet alongside sung vocals, wrapped in weeping or eerie refrains in ways that variously remind me of Clouds (“You Hold No Value,” “Violent Thoughts are Not Enough”) and None (“True Loathe,” “Resignation”). Dissonance pulls at the corners of several of the primarily mournful melodies, led by odd key arrangements and layering of guitar and synths. This peaks in mid-album “Solace,” a collaboration with Psywarfare, whose disturbing electro-noise meets Hours of Worship’s ambience for an experience akin to a darker, much more frightening version of Bong-Ra. Stepping not once out of a funereal somnambulation, compositions progress to a soft, minimalist beat and let the lamenting melody lead; suspended animation is replaced with a smarter use of liminal space and a realised sense of build.

In Resignation’s particular blend and evolution of the act’s musical strands, Hours of Worship have found their truest and most wretched expression. The characteristic intoxicating sullenness of minor melodies, gently swaying grooves, and apathetic cleans is deepened to dangerously opioid levels. Refrains are yet more direly lugubrious and gorgeous (“Resignation,” “The Weight Beneath,” “Violent Thoughts…”), and there’s considerably more depth to their trajectories that layer synths and guitars for dreamlike (“Lower than Want,” “Bury Me in Deep Waters”) and emphatic (“You Hold No Value,” “The Weight Beneath”) effect. Hours of Worship use rhythm to accentuate these themes, dropping the beat (“You Hold…,” “Resignation,” “Bury Me…”) or just the percussion (“The Weight Beneath,” “Violent Thoughts…”) out suddenly, syncing vocals with scales and chimes with purring feedback pulses to the tempo of the album’s ebbing heartbeat. Loathe is a perfect addition, her haunting singing striking the balance between apathetic and despairing, channelling the canny rhythms through listless repetitions (“The Weight Beneath”). She acts as a foil to the morose cleans and agonised growls of her masculine counterparts who often go together in a baleful duet (“Resignation,” “Violent Thoughts…”) or snarl in almost defensive cruelty (“You Hold No Value,” “Solace”) while she laments alone in open vulnerability (“Lower than Want,” “The Weight Beneath”).

Relative to its style and subgenre, Resignation is compelling. Kindred spirits of myself and Hours of Worship, who love the gloom, shouldn’t have any problem with getting in an appropriately receptive mood, but this time the more involved and better developed compositions are likely to lure some previous naysayers to the graveyard. Baleful and melancholic in the majority, the album is but slightly weakened by the almost uplifting melody of closer “Abattoir Heart.” The brutal “Solace”—though powerful in how confrontationally dissonant and unsettling it is, also sticks out a little too much for comfort—as though comfort were really Hours of Worship’s concern. Despite these reservations, Resignation flows assuredly and strangely enough feels very consistent, with no lapses in the magnetism of the melodies or the misery.

Hours of Worship may have seemed like an act that wouldn’t evolve beyond the particularly languid lugubriousness of the Death & Dying duology. Yet they step into a new chapter here with a nuance and depth that add meaningful layers to already bottomless woe. Resignation may not be formed quite right to deliver a killing blow, but never have they come so seductively close.

Rating: Very Good2
DR: 9 | Format Reviewed: FLAC
Label: Worship the Dead
Websites: Bandcamp | Instagram
Releases Worldwide: July 10th, 2026

I’ve always been more drawn to art that induces ‘negative’ emotions over ‘positive’ ones.1 I hate happy endings; I want art to make me cry or feel deeply unsettled; I feel deeply soothed by the pathos of wallowing. As a result, the depressive goth-synth-doom of Hours of Worship more than appeals. Morbid Hearts, Trembling Master, and Wound are back, this time joined by new permanent member Loathe, who lends her voice to the chorus of apathy. Resignation, as its name suggests, turns from the bitterness and despair of The Cold that You Left and the Death & Dying duology towards the acceptance and even welcoming of death. As ever, Hours of Worship give funeral doom and DSBM a run for their money in the bleakness of their concept and the sound of their music. But Resignation shows, perhaps best in their career so far, how something so bleak can still be beautiful.

Resignation is the closest Hours of Worship have come to metal, the blurred boundary between the synthetic and the metallic intensifying the cheerlessness. Distorted screams and growls are often the sole voice or duet alongside sung vocals, wrapped in weeping or eerie refrains in ways that variously remind me of Clouds (“You Hold No Value,” “Violent Thoughts are Not Enough”) and None (“True Loathe,” “Resignation”). Dissonance pulls at the corners of several of the primarily mournful melodies, led by odd key arrangements and layering of guitar and synths. This peaks in mid-album “Solace,” a collaboration with Psywarfare, whose disturbing electro-noise meets Hours of Worship’s ambience for an experience akin to a darker, much more frightening version of Bong-Ra. Stepping not once out of a funereal somnambulation, compositions progress to a soft, minimalist beat and let the lamenting melody lead; suspended animation is replaced with a smarter use of liminal space and a realised sense of build.

In Resignation’s particular blend and evolution of the act’s musical strands, Hours of Worship have found their truest and most wretched expression. The characteristic intoxicating sullenness of minor melodies, gently swaying grooves, and apathetic cleans is deepened to dangerously opioid levels. Refrains are yet more direly lugubrious and gorgeous (“Resignation,” “The Weight Beneath,” “Violent Thoughts…”), and there’s considerably more depth to their trajectories that layer synths and guitars for dreamlike (“Lower than Want,” “Bury Me in Deep Waters”) and emphatic (“You Hold No Value,” “The Weight Beneath”) effect. Hours of Worship use rhythm to accentuate these themes, dropping the beat (“You Hold…,” “Resignation,” “Bury Me…”) or just the percussion (“The Weight Beneath,” “Violent Thoughts…”) out suddenly, syncing vocals with scales and chimes with purring feedback pulses to the tempo of the album’s ebbing heartbeat. Loathe is a perfect addition, her haunting singing striking the balance between apathetic and despairing, channelling the canny rhythms through listless repetitions (“The Weight Beneath”). She acts as a foil to the morose cleans and agonised growls of her masculine counterparts who often go together in a baleful duet (“Resignation,” “Violent Thoughts…”) or snarl in almost defensive cruelty (“You Hold No Value,” “Solace”) while she laments alone in open vulnerability (“Lower than Want,” “The Weight Beneath”).

Relative to its style and subgenre, Resignation is compelling. Kindred spirits of myself and Hours of Worship, who love the gloom, shouldn’t have any problem with getting in an appropriately receptive mood, but this time the more involved and better developed compositions are likely to lure some previous naysayers to the graveyard. Baleful and melancholic in the majority, the album is but slightly weakened by the almost uplifting melody of closer “Abattoir Heart.” The brutal “Solace”—though powerful in how confrontationally dissonant and unsettling it is, also sticks out a little too much for comfort—as though comfort were really Hours of Worship’s concern. Despite these reservations, Resignation flows assuredly and strangely enough feels very consistent, with no lapses in the magnetism of the melodies or the misery.

Hours of Worship may have seemed like an act that wouldn’t evolve beyond the particularly languid lugubriousness of the Death & Dying duology. Yet they step into a new chapter here with a nuance and depth that add meaningful layers to already bottomless woe. Resignation may not be formed quite right to deliver a killing blow, but never have they come so seductively close.

Rating: Very Good2
DR: 9 | Format Reviewed: FLAC
Label: Worship the Dead
Websites: Bandcamp | Instagram
Releases Worldwide: July 10th, 2026

I’ve always been more drawn to art that induces ‘negative’ emotions over ‘positive’ ones.1 I hate happy endings; I want art to make me cry or feel deeply unsettled; I feel deeply soothed by the pathos of wallowing. As a result, the depressive goth-synth-doom of Hours of Worship more than appeals. Morbid Hearts, Trembling Master, and Wound are back, this time joined by new permanent member Loathe, who lends her voice to the chorus of apathy. Resignation, as its name suggests, turns from the bitterness and despair of The Cold that You Left and the Death & Dying duology towards the acceptance and even welcoming of death. As ever, Hours of Worship give funeral doom and DSBM a run for their money in the bleakness of their concept and the sound of their music. But Resignation shows, perhaps best in their career so far, how something so bleak can still be beautiful.

Resignation is the closest Hours of Worship have come to metal, the blurred boundary between the synthetic and the metallic intensifying the cheerlessness. Distorted screams and growls are often the sole voice or duet alongside sung vocals, wrapped in weeping or eerie refrains in ways that variously remind me of Clouds (“You Hold No Value,” “Violent Thoughts are Not Enough”) and None (“True Loathe,” “Resignation”). Dissonance pulls at the corners of several of the primarily mournful melodies, led by odd key arrangements and layering of guitar and synths. This peaks in mid-album “Solace,” a collaboration with Psywarfare, whose disturbing electro-noise meets Hours of Worship’s ambience for an experience akin to a darker, much more frightening version of Bong-Ra. Stepping not once out of a funereal somnambulation, compositions progress to a soft, minimalist beat and let the lamenting melody lead; suspended animation is replaced with a smarter use of liminal space and a realised sense of build.

In Resignation’s particular blend and evolution of the act’s musical strands, Hours of Worship have found their truest and most wretched expression. The characteristic intoxicating sullenness of minor melodies, gently swaying grooves, and apathetic cleans is deepened to dangerously opioid levels. Refrains are yet more direly lugubrious and gorgeous (“Resignation,” “The Weight Beneath,” “Violent Thoughts…”), and there’s considerably more depth to their trajectories that layer synths and guitars for dreamlike (“Lower than Want,” “Bury Me in Deep Waters”) and emphatic (“You Hold No Value,” “The Weight Beneath”) effect. Hours of Worship use rhythm to accentuate these themes, dropping the beat (“You Hold…,” “Resignation,” “Bury Me…”) or just the percussion (“The Weight Beneath,” “Violent Thoughts…”) out suddenly, syncing vocals with scales and chimes with purring feedback pulses to the tempo of the album’s ebbing heartbeat. Loathe is a perfect addition, her haunting singing striking the balance between apathetic and despairing, channelling the canny rhythms through listless repetitions (“The Weight Beneath”). She acts as a foil to the morose cleans and agonised growls of her masculine counterparts who often go together in a baleful duet (“Resignation,” “Violent Thoughts…”) or snarl in almost defensive cruelty (“You Hold No Value,” “Solace”) while she laments alone in open vulnerability (“Lower than Want,” “The Weight Beneath”).

Relative to its style and subgenre, Resignation is compelling. Kindred spirits of myself and Hours of Worship, who love the gloom, shouldn’t have any problem with getting in an appropriately receptive mood, but this time the more involved and better developed compositions are likely to lure some previous naysayers to the graveyard. Baleful and melancholic in the majority, the album is but slightly weakened by the almost uplifting melody of closer “Abattoir Heart.” The brutal “Solace”—though powerful in how confrontationally dissonant and unsettling it is, also sticks out a little too much for comfort—as though comfort were really Hours of Worship’s concern. Despite these reservations, Resignation flows assuredly and strangely enough feels very consistent, with no lapses in the magnetism of the melodies or the misery.

Hours of Worship may have seemed like an act that wouldn’t evolve beyond the particularly languid lugubriousness of the Death & Dying duology. Yet they step into a new chapter here with a nuance and depth that add meaningful layers to already bottomless woe. Resignation may not be formed quite right to deliver a killing blow, but never have they come so seductively close.

Rating: Very Good2
DR: 9 | Format Reviewed: FLAC
Label: Worship the Dead
Websites: Bandcamp | Instagram
Releases Worldwide: July 10th, 2026

I’ve always been more drawn to art that induces ‘negative’ emotions over ‘positive’ ones.1 I hate happy endings; I want art to make me cry or feel deeply unsettled; I feel deeply soothed by the pathos of wallowing. As a result, the depressive goth-synth-doom of Hours of Worship more than appeals. Morbid Hearts, Trembling Master, and Wound are back, this time joined by new permanent member Loathe, who lends her voice to the chorus of apathy. Resignation, as its name suggests, turns from the bitterness and despair of The Cold that You Left and the Death & Dying duology towards the acceptance and even welcoming of death. As ever, Hours of Worship give funeral doom and DSBM a run for their money in the bleakness of their concept and the sound of their music. But Resignation shows, perhaps best in their career so far, how something so bleak can still be beautiful.

Resignation is the closest Hours of Worship have come to metal, the blurred boundary between the synthetic and the metallic intensifying the cheerlessness. Distorted screams and growls are often the sole voice or duet alongside sung vocals, wrapped in weeping or eerie refrains in ways that variously remind me of Clouds (“You Hold No Value,” “Violent Thoughts are Not Enough”) and None (“True Loathe,” “Resignation”). Dissonance pulls at the corners of several of the primarily mournful melodies, led by odd key arrangements and layering of guitar and synths. This peaks in mid-album “Solace,” a collaboration with Psywarfare, whose disturbing electro-noise meets Hours of Worship’s ambience for an experience akin to a darker, much more frightening version of Bong-Ra. Stepping not once out of a funereal somnambulation, compositions progress to a soft, minimalist beat and let the lamenting melody lead; suspended animation is replaced with a smarter use of liminal space and a realised sense of build.

In Resignation’s particular blend and evolution of the act’s musical strands, Hours of Worship have found their truest and most wretched expression. The characteristic intoxicating sullenness of minor melodies, gently swaying grooves, and apathetic cleans is deepened to dangerously opioid levels. Refrains are yet more direly lugubrious and gorgeous (“Resignation,” “The Weight Beneath,” “Violent Thoughts…”), and there’s considerably more depth to their trajectories that layer synths and guitars for dreamlike (“Lower than Want,” “Bury Me in Deep Waters”) and emphatic (“You Hold No Value,” “The Weight Beneath”) effect. Hours of Worship use rhythm to accentuate these themes, dropping the beat (“You Hold…,” “Resignation,” “Bury Me…”) or just the percussion (“The Weight Beneath,” “Violent Thoughts…”) out suddenly, syncing vocals with scales and chimes with purring feedback pulses to the tempo of the album’s ebbing heartbeat. Loathe is a perfect addition, her haunting singing striking the balance between apathetic and despairing, channelling the canny rhythms through listless repetitions (“The Weight Beneath”). She acts as a foil to the morose cleans and agonised growls of her masculine counterparts who often go together in a baleful duet (“Resignation,” “Violent Thoughts…”) or snarl in almost defensive cruelty (“You Hold No Value,” “Solace”) while she laments alone in open vulnerability (“Lower than Want,” “The Weight Beneath”).

Relative to its style and subgenre, Resignation is compelling. Kindred spirits of myself and Hours of Worship, who love the gloom, shouldn’t have any problem with getting in an appropriately receptive mood, but this time the more involved and better developed compositions are likely to lure some previous naysayers to the graveyard. Baleful and melancholic in the majority, the album is but slightly weakened by the almost uplifting melody of closer “Abattoir Heart.” The brutal “Solace”—though powerful in how confrontationally dissonant and unsettling it is, also sticks out a little too much for comfort—as though comfort were really Hours of Worship’s concern. Despite these reservations, Resignation flows assuredly and strangely enough feels very consistent, with no lapses in the magnetism of the melodies or the misery.

Hours of Worship may have seemed like an act that wouldn’t evolve beyond the particularly languid lugubriousness of the Death & Dying duology. Yet they step into a new chapter here with a nuance and depth that add meaningful layers to already bottomless woe. Resignation may not be formed quite right to deliver a killing blow, but never have they come so seductively close.

Rating: Very Good2
DR: 9 | Format Reviewed: FLAC
Label: Worship the Dead
Websites: Bandcamp | Instagram
Releases Worldwide: July 10th, 2026

I’ve always been more drawn to art that induces ‘negative’ emotions over ‘positive’ ones.1 I hate happy endings; I want art to make me cry or feel deeply unsettled; I feel deeply soothed by the pathos of wallowing. As a result, the depressive goth-synth-doom of Hours of Worship more than appeals. Morbid Hearts, Trembling Master, and Wound are back, this time joined by new permanent member Loathe, who lends her voice to the chorus of apathy. Resignation, as its name suggests, turns from the bitterness and despair of The Cold that You Left and the Death & Dying duology towards the acceptance and even welcoming of death. As ever, Hours of Worship give funeral doom and DSBM a run for their money in the bleakness of their concept and the sound of their music. But Resignation shows, perhaps best in their career so far, how something so bleak can still be beautiful.

Resignation is the closest Hours of Worship have come to metal, the blurred boundary between the synthetic and the metallic intensifying the cheerlessness. Distorted screams and growls are often the sole voice or duet alongside sung vocals, wrapped in weeping or eerie refrains in ways that variously remind me of Clouds (“You Hold No Value,” “Violent Thoughts are Not Enough”) and None (“True Loathe,” “Resignation”). Dissonance pulls at the corners of several of the primarily mournful melodies, led by odd key arrangements and layering of guitar and synths. This peaks in mid-album “Solace,” a collaboration with Psywarfare, whose disturbing electro-noise meets Hours of Worship’s ambience for an experience akin to a darker, much more frightening version of Bong-Ra. Stepping not once out of a funereal somnambulation, compositions progress to a soft, minimalist beat and let the lamenting melody lead; suspended animation is replaced with a smarter use of liminal space and a realised sense of build.

In Resignation’s particular blend and evolution of the act’s musical strands, Hours of Worship have found their truest and most wretched expression. The characteristic intoxicating sullenness of minor melodies, gently swaying grooves, and apathetic cleans is deepened to dangerously opioid levels. Refrains are yet more direly lugubrious and gorgeous (“Resignation,” “The Weight Beneath,” “Violent Thoughts…”), and there’s considerably more depth to their trajectories that layer synths and guitars for dreamlike (“Lower than Want,” “Bury Me in Deep Waters”) and emphatic (“You Hold No Value,” “The Weight Beneath”) effect. Hours of Worship use rhythm to accentuate these themes, dropping the beat (“You Hold…,” “Resignation,” “Bury Me…”) or just the percussion (“The Weight Beneath,” “Violent Thoughts…”) out suddenly, syncing vocals with scales and chimes with purring feedback pulses to the tempo of the album’s ebbing heartbeat. Loathe is a perfect addition, her haunting singing striking the balance between apathetic and despairing, channelling the canny rhythms through listless repetitions (“The Weight Beneath”). She acts as a foil to the morose cleans and agonised growls of her masculine counterparts who often go together in a baleful duet (“Resignation,” “Violent Thoughts…”) or snarl in almost defensive cruelty (“You Hold No Value,” “Solace”) while she laments alone in open vulnerability (“Lower than Want,” “The Weight Beneath”).

Relative to its style and subgenre, Resignation is compelling. Kindred spirits of myself and Hours of Worship, who love the gloom, shouldn’t have any problem with getting in an appropriately receptive mood, but this time the more involved and better developed compositions are likely to lure some previous naysayers to the graveyard. Baleful and melancholic in the majority, the album is but slightly weakened by the almost uplifting melody of closer “Abattoir Heart.” The brutal “Solace”—though powerful in how confrontationally dissonant and unsettling it is, also sticks out a little too much for comfort—as though comfort were really Hours of Worship’s concern. Despite these reservations, Resignation flows assuredly and strangely enough feels very consistent, with no lapses in the magnetism of the melodies or the misery.

Hours of Worship may have seemed like an act that wouldn’t evolve beyond the particularly languid lugubriousness of the Death & Dying duology. Yet they step into a new chapter here with a nuance and depth that add meaningful layers to already bottomless woe. Resignation may not be formed quite right to deliver a killing blow, but never have they come so seductively close.

Rating: Very Good2
DR: 9 | Format Reviewed: FLAC
Label: Worship the Dead
Websites: Bandcamp | Instagram
Releases Worldwide: July 10th, 2026

Mirror of My Soul – October Is Rising Review

Now—as summer blasts the Earth into a fly-ridden heath—…
#NewsBeep #News #Music #2026 #3.5 #AliceInChains #AugustIsFalling #Avantasia #AxeDragger #Current93 #Doomdogs #DunRingill #Entertainment #FieldsoftheNephilim #Folk #Jethrotull #JohnnyCash #Jun26 #LouReed #MajesticMountainRecords #MirrorofMySoul #NotMetal #OctoberIsRising #Opeth #pentagram #PeterGabriel #review #Reviews #SwedishMetal #Tiamat #UK #UnitedKingdom
https://www.newsbeep.com/uk/627887/

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hey, remember in 2021, when we were all stuck indoors, six feet away from each other, and a little Swiss band called Impure Wilhelmina came out of nowhere and dropped Antidote, an album that had bangers from beginning to end, and was awarded a rare-but-coveted 5.0 from yours truly? That was a fun time, because there were some of you who loved the album (and still do), and many more of you who didn’t like it, and boy, some of you who hated it acted like the album personally violated your beloved dog or cat in front of your mother… who the album then shot in cold blood while gaslighting you. Yep, like I said… fun times! Good news is they’re back with their eigth album, Le sanglot, and to further endear to the listeners who may or may not have enjoyed their work so far, it’s sung entirely in French!

Okay, now that the detractors have noped the fuck outta here, I’m sure some of you have questions as to whether or not Le sanglot hits the same lofty highs of Antidote and Radiation. Sadly, the short answer is “no,” but that doesn’t mean there isn’t any enjoyment to be found on here. From the moment “Électricité noire” opens up, all the trademark Impurities lay bare: crashing atonal riffs, pounding drums, and Michael Schindl’s buttery smooth, soulful croon are all present and accounted for. The only difference is it’s in a different language… and that’s fine! If you enjoyed anything from the prior two albums, your head will still bob, and your inner sad-boi/-girl will be more than satiated by the song’s charms, just like the highlights on their previous outings did.

The problem here is that, despite whatever language the band decides to sing in, some of the songs just don’t land as well, or leave an impact. Immediate follow-up “Cent milles plais,” while musically pleasant and inoffensive, doesn’t do much to pull you in over the song’s duration. Elsewhere, closer “À jaimais radieuse” sounds like it’s building to something in the end, but it fades out as Schindl finishes off his second chorus, leaving the listener hanging and not in a good way. But while you have certified bangers like “Train mort,” the only song with black metal screaming and atmospherics, it’s that weird back-and-forth of quality that’s both confounding and frustrating.

What isn’t confusing or anger-inducing is the production. Once again silky-smooth and robust, Le sanglot oozes ferocity when needed, like on the blast-beat portion of album highlight “Blanche réalité,” giving the album a much-needed boost of energy. The quieter, softer moments also shine, like on the acoustic “Demain j’abandonne,” providing a rich, warm feeling while listening. But while it sounds great, I wish the songwriting were tighter this go-’round, with stronger choices and melodies. When Impure Wilhelmina fire on all cylinders, the results are usually not only impressive, but they tug on the heartstrings like few others do. On some of these songs, they just fall flat, and that’s a heartbreaking thing to admit.

But that’s not to say there isn’t anything enjoyable on Le sanglot, as there are still some great moments on here. They’re just few and far-between, and not at the level of their previous two albums. Just go into the album knowing this and, regardless of your expertise of the French language, you’ll be fine. Either way, I’m sure the comment section is going to be interesting, regardless of your stance on the band or their music.1

Review: 3.0/5.0
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Season of Mist
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: May 22nd, 2026

Hey, remember in 2021, when we were all stuck indoors, six feet away from each other, and a little Swiss band called Impure Wilhelmina came out of nowhere and dropped Antidote, an album that had bangers from beginning to end, and was awarded a rare-but-coveted 5.0 from yours truly? That was a fun time, because there were some of you who loved the album (and still do), and many more of you who didn’t like it, and boy, some of you who hated it acted like the album personally violated your beloved dog or cat in front of your mother… who the album then shot in cold blood while gaslighting you. Yep, like I said… fun times! Good news is they’re back with their eigth album, Le sanglot, and to further endear to the listeners who may or may not have enjoyed their work so far, it’s sung entirely in French!

Okay, now that the detractors have noped the fuck outta here, I’m sure some of you have questions as to whether or not Le sanglot hits the same lofty highs of Antidote and Radiation. Sadly, the short answer is “no,” but that doesn’t mean there isn’t any enjoyment to be found on here. From the moment “Électricité noire” opens up, all the trademark Impurities lay bare: crashing atonal riffs, pounding drums, and Michael Schindl’s buttery smooth, soulful croon are all present and accounted for. The only difference is it’s in a different language… and that’s fine! If you enjoyed anything from the prior two albums, your head will still bob, and your inner sad-boi/-girl will be more than satiated by the song’s charms, just like the highlights on their previous outings did.

The problem here is that, despite whatever language the band decides to sing in, some of the songs just don’t land as well, or leave an impact. Immediate follow-up “Cent milles plais,” while musically pleasant and inoffensive, doesn’t do much to pull you in over the song’s duration. Elsewhere, closer “À jaimais radieuse” sounds like it’s building to something in the end, but it fades out as Schindl finishes off his second chorus, leaving the listener hanging and not in a good way. But while you have certified bangers like “Train mort,” the only song with black metal screaming and atmospherics, it’s that weird back-and-forth of quality that’s both confounding and frustrating.

What isn’t confusing or anger-inducing is the production. Once again silky-smooth and robust, Le sanglot oozes ferocity when needed, like on the blast-beat portion of album highlight “Blanche réalité,” giving the album a much-needed boost of energy. The quieter, softer moments also shine, like on the acoustic “Demain j’abandonne,” providing a rich, warm feeling while listening. But while it sounds great, I wish the songwriting were tighter this go-’round, with stronger choices and melodies. When Impure Wilhelmina fire on all cylinders, the results are usually not only impressive, but they tug on the heartstrings like few others do. On some of these songs, they just fall flat, and that’s a heartbreaking thing to admit.

But that’s not to say there isn’t anything enjoyable on Le sanglot, as there are still some great moments on here. They’re just few and far-between, and not at the level of their previous two albums. Just go into the album knowing this and, regardless of your expertise of the French language, you’ll be fine. Either way, I’m sure the comment section is going to be interesting, regardless of your stance on the band or their music.1

Review: 3.0/5.0
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Season of Mist
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: May 22nd, 2026

Hey, remember in 2021, when we were all stuck indoors, six feet away from each other, and a little Swiss band called Impure Wilhelmina came out of nowhere and dropped Antidote, an album that had bangers from beginning to end, and was awarded a rare-but-coveted 5.0 from yours truly? That was a fun time, because there were some of you who loved the album (and still do), and many more of you who didn’t like it, and boy, some of you who hated it acted like the album personally violated your beloved dog or cat in front of your mother… who the album then shot in cold blood while gaslighting you. Yep, like I said… fun times! Good news is they’re back with their eigth album, Le sanglot, and to further endear to the listeners who may or may not have enjoyed their work so far, it’s sung entirely in French!

Okay, now that the detractors have noped the fuck outta here, I’m sure some of you have questions as to whether or not Le sanglot hits the same lofty highs of Antidote and Radiation. Sadly, the short answer is “no,” but that doesn’t mean there isn’t any enjoyment to be found on here. From the moment “Électricité noire” opens up, all the trademark Impurities lay bare: crashing atonal riffs, pounding drums, and Michael Schindl’s buttery smooth, soulful croon are all present and accounted for. The only difference is it’s in a different language… and that’s fine! If you enjoyed anything from the prior two albums, your head will still bob, and your inner sad-boi/-girl will be more than satiated by the song’s charms, just like the highlights on their previous outings did.

The problem here is that, despite whatever language the band decides to sing in, some of the songs just don’t land as well, or leave an impact. Immediate follow-up “Cent milles plais,” while musically pleasant and inoffensive, doesn’t do much to pull you in over the song’s duration. Elsewhere, closer “À jaimais radieuse” sounds like it’s building to something in the end, but it fades out as Schindl finishes off his second chorus, leaving the listener hanging and not in a good way. But while you have certified bangers like “Train mort,” the only song with black metal screaming and atmospherics, it’s that weird back-and-forth of quality that’s both confounding and frustrating.

What isn’t confusing or anger-inducing is the production. Once again silky-smooth and robust, Le sanglot oozes ferocity when needed, like on the blast-beat portion of album highlight “Blanche réalité,” giving the album a much-needed boost of energy. The quieter, softer moments also shine, like on the acoustic “Demain j’abandonne,” providing a rich, warm feeling while listening. But while it sounds great, I wish the songwriting were tighter this go-’round, with stronger choices and melodies. When Impure Wilhelmina fire on all cylinders, the results are usually not only impressive, but they tug on the heartstrings like few others do. On some of these songs, they just fall flat, and that’s a heartbreaking thing to admit.

But that’s not to say there isn’t anything enjoyable on Le sanglot, as there are still some great moments on here. They’re just few and far-between, and not at the level of their previous two albums. Just go into the album knowing this and, regardless of your expertise of the French language, you’ll be fine. Either way, I’m sure the comment section is going to be interesting, regardless of your stance on the band or their music.1

Review: 3.0/5.0
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Season of Mist
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: May 22nd, 2026

Hey, remember in 2021, when we were all stuck indoors, six feet away from each other, and a little Swiss band called Impure Wilhelmina came out of nowhere and dropped Antidote, an album that had bangers from beginning to end, and was awarded a rare-but-coveted 5.0 from yours truly? That was a fun time, because there were some of you who loved the album (and still do), and many more of you who didn’t like it, and boy, some of you who hated it acted like the album personally violated your beloved dog or cat in front of your mother… who the album then shot in cold blood while gaslighting you. Yep, like I said… fun times! Good news is they’re back with their eigth album, Le sanglot, and to further endear to the listeners who may or may not have enjoyed their work so far, it’s sung entirely in French!

Okay, now that the detractors have noped the fuck outta here, I’m sure some of you have questions as to whether or not Le sanglot hits the same lofty highs of Antidote and Radiation. Sadly, the short answer is “no,” but that doesn’t mean there isn’t any enjoyment to be found on here. From the moment “Électricité noire” opens up, all the trademark Impurities lay bare: crashing atonal riffs, pounding drums, and Michael Schindl’s buttery smooth, soulful croon are all present and accounted for. The only difference is it’s in a different language… and that’s fine! If you enjoyed anything from the prior two albums, your head will still bob, and your inner sad-boi/-girl will be more than satiated by the song’s charms, just like the highlights on their previous outings did.

The problem here is that, despite whatever language the band decides to sing in, some of the songs just don’t land as well, or leave an impact. Immediate follow-up “Cent milles plais,” while musically pleasant and inoffensive, doesn’t do much to pull you in over the song’s duration. Elsewhere, closer “À jaimais radieuse” sounds like it’s building to something in the end, but it fades out as Schindl finishes off his second chorus, leaving the listener hanging and not in a good way. But while you have certified bangers like “Train mort,” the only song with black metal screaming and atmospherics, it’s that weird back-and-forth of quality that’s both confounding and frustrating.

What isn’t confusing or anger-inducing is the production. Once again silky-smooth and robust, Le sanglot oozes ferocity when needed, like on the blast-beat portion of album highlight “Blanche réalité,” giving the album a much-needed boost of energy. The quieter, softer moments also shine, like on the acoustic “Demain j’abandonne,” providing a rich, warm feeling while listening. But while it sounds great, I wish the songwriting were tighter this go-’round, with stronger choices and melodies. When Impure Wilhelmina fire on all cylinders, the results are usually not only impressive, but they tug on the heartstrings like few others do. On some of these songs, they just fall flat, and that’s a heartbreaking thing to admit.

But that’s not to say there isn’t anything enjoyable on Le sanglot, as there are still some great moments on here. They’re just few and far-between, and not at the level of their previous two albums. Just go into the album knowing this and, regardless of your expertise of the French language, you’ll be fine. Either way, I’m sure the comment section is going to be interesting, regardless of your stance on the band or their music.1

Review: 3.0/5.0
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Season of Mist
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: May 22nd, 2026

Hey, remember in 2021, when we were all stuck indoors, six feet away from each other, and a little Swiss band called Impure Wilhelmina came out of nowhere and dropped Antidote, an album that had bangers from beginning to end, and was awarded a rare-but-coveted 5.0 from yours truly? That was a fun time, because there were some of you who loved the album (and still do), and many more of you who didn’t like it, and boy, some of you who hated it acted like the album personally violated your beloved dog or cat in front of your mother… who the album then shot in cold blood while gaslighting you. Yep, like I said… fun times! Good news is they’re back with their eigth album, Le sanglot, and to further endear to the listeners who may or may not have enjoyed their work so far, it’s sung entirely in French!

Okay, now that the detractors have noped the fuck outta here, I’m sure some of you have questions as to whether or not Le sanglot hits the same lofty highs of Antidote and Radiation. Sadly, the short answer is “no,” but that doesn’t mean there isn’t any enjoyment to be found on here. From the moment “Électricité noire” opens up, all the trademark Impurities lay bare: crashing atonal riffs, pounding drums, and Michael Schindl’s buttery smooth, soulful croon are all present and accounted for. The only difference is it’s in a different language… and that’s fine! If you enjoyed anything from the prior two albums, your head will still bob, and your inner sad-boi/-girl will be more than satiated by the song’s charms, just like the highlights on their previous outings did.

The problem here is that, despite whatever language the band decides to sing in, some of the songs just don’t land as well, or leave an impact. Immediate follow-up “Cent milles plais,” while musically pleasant and inoffensive, doesn’t do much to pull you in over the song’s duration. Elsewhere, closer “À jaimais radieuse” sounds like it’s building to something in the end, but it fades out as Schindl finishes off his second chorus, leaving the listener hanging and not in a good way. But while you have certified bangers like “Train mort,” the only song with black metal screaming and atmospherics, it’s that weird back-and-forth of quality that’s both confounding and frustrating.

What isn’t confusing or anger-inducing is the production. Once again silky-smooth and robust, Le sanglot oozes ferocity when needed, like on the blast-beat portion of album highlight “Blanche réalité,” giving the album a much-needed boost of energy. The quieter, softer moments also shine, like on the acoustic “Demain j’abandonne,” providing a rich, warm feeling while listening. But while it sounds great, I wish the songwriting were tighter this go-’round, with stronger choices and melodies. When Impure Wilhelmina fire on all cylinders, the results are usually not only impressive, but they tug on the heartstrings like few others do. On some of these songs, they just fall flat, and that’s a heartbreaking thing to admit.

But that’s not to say there isn’t anything enjoyable on Le sanglot, as there are still some great moments on here. They’re just few and far-between, and not at the level of their previous two albums. Just go into the album knowing this and, regardless of your expertise of the French language, you’ll be fine. Either way, I’m sure the comment section is going to be interesting, regardless of your stance on the band or their music.1

Review: 3.0/5.0
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Season of Mist
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: May 22nd, 2026

https://www.europesays.com/uk/847300/ Moon Far Away – Acou Review #2026 #30 #Acou #DarkNeofolk #DeadCanDance #Entertainment #Mar26 #MoonFarAway #music #Nebelhexe #NotMetal #ProphecyProductions #Review #Reviews #RussianMetal #Tenhi #UK #UnitedKingdom

As a fledgling metalhead in the 90s and early 2000s, I spent many a day scouring my local record shop for new, interesting bands and artists due to magazine interviews, reviews, and the occasional word-of-mouth treatment from friends and artists alike. This adventurous time period was responsible for my dalliances and appreciation of the world of neofolk. Between the somber atmospheres of Tenhi and the thriving, teeming music of the late Nebelhexë, it opened up new avenues to explore and bands to check out. With this in mind, I decided to tackle Acou, the fifth album from Russian quartet Moon Far Away, only to realize that they’ve been around since 1994 and this is the first time hearing about (or anything from) them.

Well, at least I got to finally experience their music, as Acou is a fairly enjoyable album with some interesting angles. After a brief interlude, featuring a lone trumpet and some ambient chantings and melodies, the title track kicks off in earnest, showcasing just why Moon Far Away have earned the reputation as “The Russian Dead Can Dance” as the vocal harmonies of multi-instrumentalist Count Ash and his counterpart (and song lead) Leda intertwine during the chorus over a playful bassline from Zhigich and some driving percussion by Victorion, creating a rapturous atmosphere that also plays homage to their Russian roots. Elsewhere, “Steel Light Love” shows off their more Gothic leanings, with Count Ash taking the lead with Leda softly wailing in the background throughout the song’s majority. On these three songs, the band’s artistic strengths shine brilliantly, giving off the impression that this is a neofolk classic for the ages.

Acou by Moon far away

The problem is that there are other songs on here, and some of them pull the proceedings down quite a bit. “17 Years” features an older vocalist1 chant-singing partially off-key for over three minutes. Speaking of off-key, Count Ash’s voice on “Look, the Human Flocks…” keeps to a monotone, often at odds with Leda’s angelic vocals, and the song ends without building up to anything. But the biggest issue lies with “Soulofkey,” which starts off promisingly enough, with a haunting piano melody that burrows into your skull. Still, it keeps burrowing, because other than a few key changes, it just keeps going and going and going for the entirety of the song’s seven-minute runtime, losing all potency and interest.

At least Acou sounds great from a production standpoint. Zhigich’s bass is thick and meaty, and Victorion’s percussion hits with the impact his performances need. Even the traditional instruments, such as the flute and trumpet, all ring with a stark clarity that’s sometimes missing from neofolk music. I just wish the arrangements and performances were a bit tighter overall, because when Acou shines, it’s with a brilliance that few can match, and that’s no mean feat.

And that kills me, as I wanted to like Acou more than I do. When everyone’s on top of their game, Acou is a compelling album that’s teeming with life and vibrancy. But the hiccups on some of the tracks keep my enjoyment tempered, and that’s a shame because Moon Far Away impressed me on their best tracks, and they are giving me a new band to check out in the future. That said, there’s still plenty to like on here, and if you enjoy any of the bands I mentioned above, you could do much worse than what’s on offer here.

Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Prophecy Productions
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Release Dates: EU: 2026.03.13 | NA: 03.27.2026

As a fledgling metalhead in the 90s and early 2000s, I spent many a day scouring my local record shop for new, interesting bands and artists due to magazine interviews, reviews, and the occasional word-of-mouth treatment from friends and artists alike. This adventurous time period was responsible for my dalliances and appreciation of the world of neofolk. Between the somber atmospheres of Tenhi and the thriving, teeming music of the late Nebelhexë, it opened up new avenues to explore and bands to check out. With this in mind, I decided to tackle Acou, the fifth album from Russian quartet Moon Far Away, only to realize that they’ve been around since 1994 and this is the first time hearing about (or anything from) them.

Well, at least I got to finally experience their music, as Acou is a fairly enjoyable album with some interesting angles. After a brief interlude, featuring a lone trumpet and some ambient chantings and melodies, the title track kicks off in earnest, showcasing just why Moon Far Away have earned the reputation as “The Russian Dead Can Dance” as the vocal harmonies of multi-instrumentalist Count Ash and his counterpart (and song lead) Leda intertwine during the chorus over a playful bassline from Zhigich and some driving percussion by Victorion, creating a rapturous atmosphere that also plays homage to their Russian roots. Elsewhere, “Steel Light Love” shows off their more Gothic leanings, with Count Ash taking the lead with Leda softly wailing in the background throughout the song’s majority. On these three songs, the band’s artistic strengths shine brilliantly, giving off the impression that this is a neofolk classic for the ages.

Acou by Moon far away

The problem is that there are other songs on here, and some of them pull the proceedings down quite a bit. “17 Years” features an older vocalist1 chant-singing partially off-key for over three minutes. Speaking of off-key, Count Ash’s voice on “Look, the Human Flocks…” keeps to a monotone, often at odds with Leda’s angelic vocals, and the song ends without building up to anything. But the biggest issue lies with “Soulofkey,” which starts off promisingly enough, with a haunting piano melody that burrows into your skull. Still, it keeps burrowing, because other than a few key changes, it just keeps going and going and going for the entirety of the song’s seven-minute runtime, losing all potency and interest.

At least Acou sounds great from a production standpoint. Zhigich’s bass is thick and meaty, and Victorion’s percussion hits with the impact his performances need. Even the traditional instruments, such as the flute and trumpet, all ring with a stark clarity that’s sometimes missing from neofolk music. I just wish the arrangements and performances were a bit tighter overall, because when Acou shines, it’s with a brilliance that few can match, and that’s no mean feat.

And that kills me, as I wanted to like Acou more than I do. When everyone’s on top of their game, Acou is a compelling album that’s teeming with life and vibrancy. But the hiccups on some of the tracks keep my enjoyment tempered, and that’s a shame because Moon Far Away impressed me on their best tracks, and they are giving me a new band to check out in the future. That said, there’s still plenty to like on here, and if you enjoy any of the bands I mentioned above, you could do much worse than what’s on offer here.

Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Prophecy Productions
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Release Dates: EU: 2026.03.13 | NA: 03.27.2026

As a fledgling metalhead in the 90s and early 2000s, I spent many a day scouring my local record shop for new, interesting bands and artists due to magazine interviews, reviews, and the occasional word-of-mouth treatment from friends and artists alike. This adventurous time period was responsible for my dalliances and appreciation of the world of neofolk. Between the somber atmospheres of Tenhi and the thriving, teeming music of the late Nebelhexë, it opened up new avenues to explore and bands to check out. With this in mind, I decided to tackle Acou, the fifth album from Russian quartet Moon Far Away, only to realize that they’ve been around since 1994 and this is the first time hearing about (or anything from) them.

Well, at least I got to finally experience their music, as Acou is a fairly enjoyable album with some interesting angles. After a brief interlude, featuring a lone trumpet and some ambient chantings and melodies, the title track kicks off in earnest, showcasing just why Moon Far Away have earned the reputation as “The Russian Dead Can Dance” as the vocal harmonies of multi-instrumentalist Count Ash and his counterpart (and song lead) Leda intertwine during the chorus over a playful bassline from Zhigich and some driving percussion by Victorion, creating a rapturous atmosphere that also plays homage to their Russian roots. Elsewhere, “Steel Light Love” shows off their more Gothic leanings, with Count Ash taking the lead with Leda softly wailing in the background throughout the song’s majority. On these three songs, the band’s artistic strengths shine brilliantly, giving off the impression that this is a neofolk classic for the ages.

Acou by Moon far away

The problem is that there are other songs on here, and some of them pull the proceedings down quite a bit. “17 Years” features an older vocalist1 chant-singing partially off-key for over three minutes. Speaking of off-key, Count Ash’s voice on “Look, the Human Flocks…” keeps to a monotone, often at odds with Leda’s angelic vocals, and the song ends without building up to anything. But the biggest issue lies with “Soulofkey,” which starts off promisingly enough, with a haunting piano melody that burrows into your skull. Still, it keeps burrowing, because other than a few key changes, it just keeps going and going and going for the entirety of the song’s seven-minute runtime, losing all potency and interest.

At least Acou sounds great from a production standpoint. Zhigich’s bass is thick and meaty, and Victorion’s percussion hits with the impact his performances need. Even the traditional instruments, such as the flute and trumpet, all ring with a stark clarity that’s sometimes missing from neofolk music. I just wish the arrangements and performances were a bit tighter overall, because when Acou shines, it’s with a brilliance that few can match, and that’s no mean feat.

And that kills me, as I wanted to like Acou more than I do. When everyone’s on top of their game, Acou is a compelling album that’s teeming with life and vibrancy. But the hiccups on some of the tracks keep my enjoyment tempered, and that’s a shame because Moon Far Away impressed me on their best tracks, and they are giving me a new band to check out in the future. That said, there’s still plenty to like on here, and if you enjoy any of the bands I mentioned above, you could do much worse than what’s on offer here.

Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Prophecy Productions
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Release Dates: EU: 2026.03.13 | NA: 03.27.2026

As a fledgling metalhead in the 90s and early 2000s, I spent many a day scouring my local record shop for new, interesting bands and artists due to magazine interviews, reviews, and the occasional word-of-mouth treatment from friends and artists alike. This adventurous time period was responsible for my dalliances and appreciation of the world of neofolk. Between the somber atmospheres of Tenhi and the thriving, teeming music of the late Nebelhexë, it opened up new avenues to explore and bands to check out. With this in mind, I decided to tackle Acou, the fifth album from Russian quartet Moon Far Away, only to realize that they’ve been around since 1994 and this is the first time hearing about (or anything from) them.

Well, at least I got to finally experience their music, as Acou is a fairly enjoyable album with some interesting angles. After a brief interlude, featuring a lone trumpet and some ambient chantings and melodies, the title track kicks off in earnest, showcasing just why Moon Far Away have earned the reputation as “The Russian Dead Can Dance” as the vocal harmonies of multi-instrumentalist Count Ash and his counterpart (and song lead) Leda intertwine during the chorus over a playful bassline from Zhigich and some driving percussion by Victorion, creating a rapturous atmosphere that also plays homage to their Russian roots. Elsewhere, “Steel Light Love” shows off their more Gothic leanings, with Count Ash taking the lead with Leda softly wailing in the background throughout the song’s majority. On these three songs, the band’s artistic strengths shine brilliantly, giving off the impression that this is a neofolk classic for the ages.

Acou by Moon far away

The problem is that there are other songs on here, and some of them pull the proceedings down quite a bit. “17 Years” features an older vocalist1 chant-singing partially off-key for over three minutes. Speaking of off-key, Count Ash’s voice on “Look, the Human Flocks…” keeps to a monotone, often at odds with Leda’s angelic vocals, and the song ends without building up to anything. But the biggest issue lies with “Soulofkey,” which starts off promisingly enough, with a haunting piano melody that burrows into your skull. Still, it keeps burrowing, because other than a few key changes, it just keeps going and going and going for the entirety of the song’s seven-minute runtime, losing all potency and interest.

At least Acou sounds great from a production standpoint. Zhigich’s bass is thick and meaty, and Victorion’s percussion hits with the impact his performances need. Even the traditional instruments, such as the flute and trumpet, all ring with a stark clarity that’s sometimes missing from neofolk music. I just wish the arrangements and performances were a bit tighter overall, because when Acou shines, it’s with a brilliance that few can match, and that’s no mean feat.

And that kills me, as I wanted to like Acou more than I do. When everyone’s on top of their game, Acou is a compelling album that’s teeming with life and vibrancy. But the hiccups on some of the tracks keep my enjoyment tempered, and that’s a shame because Moon Far Away impressed me on their best tracks, and they are giving me a new band to check out in the future. That said, there’s still plenty to like on here, and if you enjoy any of the bands I mentioned above, you could do much worse than what’s on offer here.

Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Prophecy Productions
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Release Dates: EU: 2026.03.13 | NA: 03.27.2026

As a fledgling metalhead in the 90s and early 2000s, I spent many a day scouring my local record shop for new, interesting bands and artists due to magazine interviews, reviews, and the occasional word-of-mouth treatment from friends and artists alike. This adventurous time period was responsible for my dalliances and appreciation of the world of neofolk. Between the somber atmospheres of Tenhi and the thriving, teeming music of the late Nebelhexë, it opened up new avenues to explore and bands to check out. With this in mind, I decided to tackle Acou, the fifth album from Russian quartet Moon Far Away, only to realize that they’ve been around since 1994 and this is the first time hearing about (or anything from) them.

Well, at least I got to finally experience their music, as Acou is a fairly enjoyable album with some interesting angles. After a brief interlude, featuring a lone trumpet and some ambient chantings and melodies, the title track kicks off in earnest, showcasing just why Moon Far Away have earned the reputation as “The Russian Dead Can Dance” as the vocal harmonies of multi-instrumentalist Count Ash and his counterpart (and song lead) Leda intertwine during the chorus over a playful bassline from Zhigich and some driving percussion by Victorion, creating a rapturous atmosphere that also plays homage to their Russian roots. Elsewhere, “Steel Light Love” shows off their more Gothic leanings, with Count Ash taking the lead with Leda softly wailing in the background throughout the song’s majority. On these three songs, the band’s artistic strengths shine brilliantly, giving off the impression that this is a neofolk classic for the ages.

Acou by Moon far away

The problem is that there are other songs on here, and some of them pull the proceedings down quite a bit. “17 Years” features an older vocalist1 chant-singing partially off-key for over three minutes. Speaking of off-key, Count Ash’s voice on “Look, the Human Flocks…” keeps to a monotone, often at odds with Leda’s angelic vocals, and the song ends without building up to anything. But the biggest issue lies with “Soulofkey,” which starts off promisingly enough, with a haunting piano melody that burrows into your skull. Still, it keeps burrowing, because other than a few key changes, it just keeps going and going and going for the entirety of the song’s seven-minute runtime, losing all potency and interest.

At least Acou sounds great from a production standpoint. Zhigich’s bass is thick and meaty, and Victorion’s percussion hits with the impact his performances need. Even the traditional instruments, such as the flute and trumpet, all ring with a stark clarity that’s sometimes missing from neofolk music. I just wish the arrangements and performances were a bit tighter overall, because when Acou shines, it’s with a brilliance that few can match, and that’s no mean feat.

And that kills me, as I wanted to like Acou more than I do. When everyone’s on top of their game, Acou is a compelling album that’s teeming with life and vibrancy. But the hiccups on some of the tracks keep my enjoyment tempered, and that’s a shame because Moon Far Away impressed me on their best tracks, and they are giving me a new band to check out in the future. That said, there’s still plenty to like on here, and if you enjoy any of the bands I mentioned above, you could do much worse than what’s on offer here.

Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Prophecy Productions
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Release Dates: EU: 2026.03.13 | NA: 03.27.2026

The Mountain King – Pike Dreams Review

My general lack of awareness and the fact that The Mountain King themselves submitted the album via contact…
#NewsBeep #News #Music #2026 #3.0 #Ambient #BoardsofCanada #Electronic #Entertainment #GermanMetal #Mar26 #NotMetal #Phal:Angst #PikeDreams #PostRock #review #Reviews #Self-Releases #TheMountainKing #UK #UnitedKingdom #VoidKeyRecordings
https://www.newsbeep.com/uk/466224/

The Mountain King – Pike Dreams Review

My general lack of awareness and the fact that The Mountain King themselves submitted the album via contact…
#NewsBeep #News #Music #2026 #3.0 #Ambient #AU #Australia #BoardsofCanada #Electronic #Entertainment #GermanMetal #Mar26 #NotMetal #Phal:Angst #PikeDreams #PostRock #review #reviews #Self-Releases #TheMountainKing #VoidKeyRecordings
https://www.newsbeep.com/au/529059/

The Mountain King – Pike Dreams Review

My general lack of awareness and the fact that The Mountain King themselves submitted the album via contact…
#NewsBeep #News #Music #2026 #3.0 #Ambient #AU #Australia #BoardsofCanada #Electronic #Entertainment #GermanMetal #Mar26 #NotMetal #Phal:Angst #PikeDreams #PostRock #review #reviews #Self-Releases #TheMountainKing #VoidKeyRecordings
https://www.newsbeep.com/au/529059/

https://www.europesays.com/ie/376001/ The Mountain King – Pike Dreams Review #2026 #30 #Ambient #BoardsOfCanada #Éire #Electronic #Entertainment #GermanMetal #IE #Ireland #Mar26 #Music #NotMetal #Phal:Angst #PikeDreams #PostRock #Review #Reviews #SelfReleases #TheMountainKing #VoidKeyRecordings

My general lack of awareness and the fact that The Mountain King themselves submitted the album via contact form and didn’t give much away in their promo pack left me unprepared for Pike Dreams. In the hazy air of the promo sump, I caught the word ‘doom’, but when I hit play on Pike Dreams that’s not quite what I got. As much as the name and cover art seem to scream Sabbathian (neo-)classical heavy metal, stoner, and of course doom, Pike Dreams is ambient, synth-led post-rock, and it’s instrumental. The German duo have been lurking around the borders of drone/stoner/doom since 2014, and do not operate as a solely instrumental act. That Pike Dreams speaks to its being created as “a slow cycle of reflection on human history across the last two millennia,” where each song is named for a particular year of great social and societal change in Europe. Marrying evocation with execution is a difficulty especially acute for instrumental music—how does The Mountain King fare?

As an ambient album, Pike Dreams leans heavily towards synth, with touches of piano, barely-there percussion, and heavily-muted guitars. It carries a feeling of nostalgia that manifests dualistically in fuzzed-out soundscapes and grainy warmth à la Boards of Canada (“1066,” “1381”), and on the other through dungeon-synth, and quasi-medieval horns and melodies (“1328”). This seems appropriate given the record’s historical concept. Its modernity surfaces in subtle hints at an industrial edge to riffs that break the surface of haze and resonate between echoing pulses, reminding me fragmentarily of Phal:Angst and Haunted Plasma (“1066,” “1789,” “2026”). What Pike Dreams is most of all, however, is quiet. Regardless of the music’s precise direction, it remains blanketed by fog with every element subdued, magnifying the meaning of the word ‘reflection’ in the album’s description.

Pike Dreams by The Mountain King

The Mountain King take the ‘less is more’ approach not only to volume, but also to the structure of the record and the compositions themselves. Pike Dreams could be described as fluctuating between introspective calm and confident expressiveness, but this translates to a change in intensity from 1 to 1.5 on a scale of 10. Gentle pulses trade places with blunt, horn-accented chugs (“476,” “1789”), strings and tremolo blur together in indistinct softness (“1525,” “2010”), and trap beats support liquid guitar-synth hybrids (“1789,” “2026”). Often, the blurred boundaries of physically and synthetically-crafted sounds are beautiful, melodically and precisely in their dreamlike ethereality (“1066,” “1524”). Often, however, do the persistent understatement of movement and omnipresent muting hamper Pike Dreams’ ability to gain its listeners’ attention. This muffling is no doubt intentional, and does work well at intervals: for instance, in the service of contrast or transition (“2010”); acting as a musing pause (“1524”); or to amplify a melody’s poignancy through almost painful delicacy (“1066”). Yet its unequivocal application to all moments of all songs can make even the grandest passages underwhelming.

In this regard, it’s uncertain how a listener is meant to relate Pike Dreams to its subject matter. On the one hand, the deliberate vagueness of the soundscape mirrors a look back through the mists of time, and allows the audience to project their own sentiments onto its subtle evocation. On the other hand, this same nature prevents the audience from connecting to the music itself, and from connecting the music to its supposed year of reference. More minimalist tracks (“1328,” “1381,” “2026”) may work better when the listener detaches, but more expressive ones (“1066,” “1524,” “2010”) when the listener invests in their refrains—and the ones in those tracks are often very lovely. Whether there’s an issue here will be down to the role one designates to a concept album—especially of the instrumental and ambient kind.

Pike Dreams is as hard to pin down as you might expect from the above and from its appropriately mysterious title. As a whispering, quite beautiful, backdrop, it makes for a soothing and introspective experience that I can’t deny I enjoy returning to. In many ways, it’s a breath of fresh air amidst a constant storm of fast and extremely heavy music that so often fills these halls, and a chance to exhale and let go in a time of conflict and strife. The Mountain King may not have done enough to fully embody their themes or impress their compositions’ identities upon the listener, but how it feels for the duration is worth something.

Rating: Good
DR: 10 | Format Reviewed: VBR mp3
Label: Void Key Recordings
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: March 6th, 2026

My general lack of awareness and the fact that The Mountain King themselves submitted the album via contact form and didn’t give much away in their promo pack left me unprepared for Pike Dreams. In the hazy air of the promo sump, I caught the word ‘doom’, but when I hit play on Pike Dreams that’s not quite what I got. As much as the name and cover art seem to scream Sabbathian (neo-)classical heavy metal, stoner, and of course doom, Pike Dreams is ambient, synth-led post-rock, and it’s instrumental. The German duo have been lurking around the borders of drone/stoner/doom since 2014, and do not operate as a solely instrumental act. That Pike Dreams speaks to its being created as “a slow cycle of reflection on human history across the last two millennia,” where each song is named for a particular year of great social and societal change in Europe. Marrying evocation with execution is a difficulty especially acute for instrumental music—how does The Mountain King fare?

As an ambient album, Pike Dreams leans heavily towards synth, with touches of piano, barely-there percussion, and heavily-muted guitars. It carries a feeling of nostalgia that manifests dualistically in fuzzed-out soundscapes and grainy warmth à la Boards of Canada (“1066,” “1381”), and on the other through dungeon-synth, and quasi-medieval horns and melodies (“1328”). This seems appropriate given the record’s historical concept. Its modernity surfaces in subtle hints at an industrial edge to riffs that break the surface of haze and resonate between echoing pulses, reminding me fragmentarily of Phal:Angst and Haunted Plasma (“1066,” “1789,” “2026”). What Pike Dreams is most of all, however, is quiet. Regardless of the music’s precise direction, it remains blanketed by fog with every element subdued, magnifying the meaning of the word ‘reflection’ in the album’s description.

Pike Dreams by The Mountain King

The Mountain King take the ‘less is more’ approach not only to volume, but also to the structure of the record and the compositions themselves. Pike Dreams could be described as fluctuating between introspective calm and confident expressiveness, but this translates to a change in intensity from 1 to 1.5 on a scale of 10. Gentle pulses trade places with blunt, horn-accented chugs (“476,” “1789”), strings and tremolo blur together in indistinct softness (“1525,” “2010”), and trap beats support liquid guitar-synth hybrids (“1789,” “2026”). Often, the blurred boundaries of physically and synthetically-crafted sounds are beautiful, melodically and precisely in their dreamlike ethereality (“1066,” “1524”). Often, however, do the persistent understatement of movement and omnipresent muting hamper Pike Dreams’ ability to gain its listeners’ attention. This muffling is no doubt intentional, and does work well at intervals: for instance, in the service of contrast or transition (“2010”); acting as a musing pause (“1524”); or to amplify a melody’s poignancy through almost painful delicacy (“1066”). Yet its unequivocal application to all moments of all songs can make even the grandest passages underwhelming.

In this regard, it’s uncertain how a listener is meant to relate Pike Dreams to its subject matter. On the one hand, the deliberate vagueness of the soundscape mirrors a look back through the mists of time, and allows the audience to project their own sentiments onto its subtle evocation. On the other hand, this same nature prevents the audience from connecting to the music itself, and from connecting the music to its supposed year of reference. More minimalist tracks (“1328,” “1381,” “2026”) may work better when the listener detaches, but more expressive ones (“1066,” “1524,” “2010”) when the listener invests in their refrains—and the ones in those tracks are often very lovely. Whether there’s an issue here will be down to the role one designates to a concept album—especially of the instrumental and ambient kind.

Pike Dreams is as hard to pin down as you might expect from the above and from its appropriately mysterious title. As a whispering, quite beautiful, backdrop, it makes for a soothing and introspective experience that I can’t deny I enjoy returning to. In many ways, it’s a breath of fresh air amidst a constant storm of fast and extremely heavy music that so often fills these halls, and a chance to exhale and let go in a time of conflict and strife. The Mountain King may not have done enough to fully embody their themes or impress their compositions’ identities upon the listener, but how it feels for the duration is worth something.

Rating: Good
DR: 10 | Format Reviewed: VBR mp3
Label: Void Key Recordings
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: March 6th, 2026

My general lack of awareness and the fact that The Mountain King themselves submitted the album via contact form and didn’t give much away in their promo pack left me unprepared for Pike Dreams. In the hazy air of the promo sump, I caught the word ‘doom’, but when I hit play on Pike Dreams that’s not quite what I got. As much as the name and cover art seem to scream Sabbathian (neo-)classical heavy metal, stoner, and of course doom, Pike Dreams is ambient, synth-led post-rock, and it’s instrumental. The German duo have been lurking around the borders of drone/stoner/doom since 2014, and do not operate as a solely instrumental act. That Pike Dreams speaks to its being created as “a slow cycle of reflection on human history across the last two millennia,” where each song is named for a particular year of great social and societal change in Europe. Marrying evocation with execution is a difficulty especially acute for instrumental music—how does The Mountain King fare?

As an ambient album, Pike Dreams leans heavily towards synth, with touches of piano, barely-there percussion, and heavily-muted guitars. It carries a feeling of nostalgia that manifests dualistically in fuzzed-out soundscapes and grainy warmth à la Boards of Canada (“1066,” “1381”), and on the other through dungeon-synth, and quasi-medieval horns and melodies (“1328”). This seems appropriate given the record’s historical concept. Its modernity surfaces in subtle hints at an industrial edge to riffs that break the surface of haze and resonate between echoing pulses, reminding me fragmentarily of Phal:Angst and Haunted Plasma (“1066,” “1789,” “2026”). What Pike Dreams is most of all, however, is quiet. Regardless of the music’s precise direction, it remains blanketed by fog with every element subdued, magnifying the meaning of the word ‘reflection’ in the album’s description.

Pike Dreams by The Mountain King

The Mountain King take the ‘less is more’ approach not only to volume, but also to the structure of the record and the compositions themselves. Pike Dreams could be described as fluctuating between introspective calm and confident expressiveness, but this translates to a change in intensity from 1 to 1.5 on a scale of 10. Gentle pulses trade places with blunt, horn-accented chugs (“476,” “1789”), strings and tremolo blur together in indistinct softness (“1525,” “2010”), and trap beats support liquid guitar-synth hybrids (“1789,” “2026”). Often, the blurred boundaries of physically and synthetically-crafted sounds are beautiful, melodically and precisely in their dreamlike ethereality (“1066,” “1524”). Often, however, do the persistent understatement of movement and omnipresent muting hamper Pike Dreams’ ability to gain its listeners’ attention. This muffling is no doubt intentional, and does work well at intervals: for instance, in the service of contrast or transition (“2010”); acting as a musing pause (“1524”); or to amplify a melody’s poignancy through almost painful delicacy (“1066”). Yet its unequivocal application to all moments of all songs can make even the grandest passages underwhelming.

In this regard, it’s uncertain how a listener is meant to relate Pike Dreams to its subject matter. On the one hand, the deliberate vagueness of the soundscape mirrors a look back through the mists of time, and allows the audience to project their own sentiments onto its subtle evocation. On the other hand, this same nature prevents the audience from connecting to the music itself, and from connecting the music to its supposed year of reference. More minimalist tracks (“1328,” “1381,” “2026”) may work better when the listener detaches, but more expressive ones (“1066,” “1524,” “2010”) when the listener invests in their refrains—and the ones in those tracks are often very lovely. Whether there’s an issue here will be down to the role one designates to a concept album—especially of the instrumental and ambient kind.

Pike Dreams is as hard to pin down as you might expect from the above and from its appropriately mysterious title. As a whispering, quite beautiful, backdrop, it makes for a soothing and introspective experience that I can’t deny I enjoy returning to. In many ways, it’s a breath of fresh air amidst a constant storm of fast and extremely heavy music that so often fills these halls, and a chance to exhale and let go in a time of conflict and strife. The Mountain King may not have done enough to fully embody their themes or impress their compositions’ identities upon the listener, but how it feels for the duration is worth something.

Rating: Good
DR: 10 | Format Reviewed: VBR mp3
Label: Void Key Recordings
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: March 6th, 2026

My general lack of awareness and the fact that The Mountain King themselves submitted the album via contact form and didn’t give much away in their promo pack left me unprepared for Pike Dreams. In the hazy air of the promo sump, I caught the word ‘doom’, but when I hit play on Pike Dreams that’s not quite what I got. As much as the name and cover art seem to scream Sabbathian (neo-)classical heavy metal, stoner, and of course doom, Pike Dreams is ambient, synth-led post-rock, and it’s instrumental. The German duo have been lurking around the borders of drone/stoner/doom since 2014, and do not operate as a solely instrumental act. That Pike Dreams speaks to its being created as “a slow cycle of reflection on human history across the last two millennia,” where each song is named for a particular year of great social and societal change in Europe. Marrying evocation with execution is a difficulty especially acute for instrumental music—how does The Mountain King fare?

As an ambient album, Pike Dreams leans heavily towards synth, with touches of piano, barely-there percussion, and heavily-muted guitars. It carries a feeling of nostalgia that manifests dualistically in fuzzed-out soundscapes and grainy warmth à la Boards of Canada (“1066,” “1381”), and on the other through dungeon-synth, and quasi-medieval horns and melodies (“1328”). This seems appropriate given the record’s historical concept. Its modernity surfaces in subtle hints at an industrial edge to riffs that break the surface of haze and resonate between echoing pulses, reminding me fragmentarily of Phal:Angst and Haunted Plasma (“1066,” “1789,” “2026”). What Pike Dreams is most of all, however, is quiet. Regardless of the music’s precise direction, it remains blanketed by fog with every element subdued, magnifying the meaning of the word ‘reflection’ in the album’s description.

Pike Dreams by The Mountain King

The Mountain King take the ‘less is more’ approach not only to volume, but also to the structure of the record and the compositions themselves. Pike Dreams could be described as fluctuating between introspective calm and confident expressiveness, but this translates to a change in intensity from 1 to 1.5 on a scale of 10. Gentle pulses trade places with blunt, horn-accented chugs (“476,” “1789”), strings and tremolo blur together in indistinct softness (“1525,” “2010”), and trap beats support liquid guitar-synth hybrids (“1789,” “2026”). Often, the blurred boundaries of physically and synthetically-crafted sounds are beautiful, melodically and precisely in their dreamlike ethereality (“1066,” “1524”). Often, however, do the persistent understatement of movement and omnipresent muting hamper Pike Dreams’ ability to gain its listeners’ attention. This muffling is no doubt intentional, and does work well at intervals: for instance, in the service of contrast or transition (“2010”); acting as a musing pause (“1524”); or to amplify a melody’s poignancy through almost painful delicacy (“1066”). Yet its unequivocal application to all moments of all songs can make even the grandest passages underwhelming.

In this regard, it’s uncertain how a listener is meant to relate Pike Dreams to its subject matter. On the one hand, the deliberate vagueness of the soundscape mirrors a look back through the mists of time, and allows the audience to project their own sentiments onto its subtle evocation. On the other hand, this same nature prevents the audience from connecting to the music itself, and from connecting the music to its supposed year of reference. More minimalist tracks (“1328,” “1381,” “2026”) may work better when the listener detaches, but more expressive ones (“1066,” “1524,” “2010”) when the listener invests in their refrains—and the ones in those tracks are often very lovely. Whether there’s an issue here will be down to the role one designates to a concept album—especially of the instrumental and ambient kind.

Pike Dreams is as hard to pin down as you might expect from the above and from its appropriately mysterious title. As a whispering, quite beautiful, backdrop, it makes for a soothing and introspective experience that I can’t deny I enjoy returning to. In many ways, it’s a breath of fresh air amidst a constant storm of fast and extremely heavy music that so often fills these halls, and a chance to exhale and let go in a time of conflict and strife. The Mountain King may not have done enough to fully embody their themes or impress their compositions’ identities upon the listener, but how it feels for the duration is worth something.

Rating: Good
DR: 10 | Format Reviewed: VBR mp3
Label: Void Key Recordings
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: March 6th, 2026

My general lack of awareness and the fact that The Mountain King themselves submitted the album via contact form and didn’t give much away in their promo pack left me unprepared for Pike Dreams. In the hazy air of the promo sump, I caught the word ‘doom’, but when I hit play on Pike Dreams that’s not quite what I got. As much as the name and cover art seem to scream Sabbathian (neo-)classical heavy metal, stoner, and of course doom, Pike Dreams is ambient, synth-led post-rock, and it’s instrumental. The German duo have been lurking around the borders of drone/stoner/doom since 2014, and do not operate as a solely instrumental act. That Pike Dreams speaks to its being created as “a slow cycle of reflection on human history across the last two millennia,” where each song is named for a particular year of great social and societal change in Europe. Marrying evocation with execution is a difficulty especially acute for instrumental music—how does The Mountain King fare?

As an ambient album, Pike Dreams leans heavily towards synth, with touches of piano, barely-there percussion, and heavily-muted guitars. It carries a feeling of nostalgia that manifests dualistically in fuzzed-out soundscapes and grainy warmth à la Boards of Canada (“1066,” “1381”), and on the other through dungeon-synth, and quasi-medieval horns and melodies (“1328”). This seems appropriate given the record’s historical concept. Its modernity surfaces in subtle hints at an industrial edge to riffs that break the surface of haze and resonate between echoing pulses, reminding me fragmentarily of Phal:Angst and Haunted Plasma (“1066,” “1789,” “2026”). What Pike Dreams is most of all, however, is quiet. Regardless of the music’s precise direction, it remains blanketed by fog with every element subdued, magnifying the meaning of the word ‘reflection’ in the album’s description.

Pike Dreams by The Mountain King

The Mountain King take the ‘less is more’ approach not only to volume, but also to the structure of the record and the compositions themselves. Pike Dreams could be described as fluctuating between introspective calm and confident expressiveness, but this translates to a change in intensity from 1 to 1.5 on a scale of 10. Gentle pulses trade places with blunt, horn-accented chugs (“476,” “1789”), strings and tremolo blur together in indistinct softness (“1525,” “2010”), and trap beats support liquid guitar-synth hybrids (“1789,” “2026”). Often, the blurred boundaries of physically and synthetically-crafted sounds are beautiful, melodically and precisely in their dreamlike ethereality (“1066,” “1524”). Often, however, do the persistent understatement of movement and omnipresent muting hamper Pike Dreams’ ability to gain its listeners’ attention. This muffling is no doubt intentional, and does work well at intervals: for instance, in the service of contrast or transition (“2010”); acting as a musing pause (“1524”); or to amplify a melody’s poignancy through almost painful delicacy (“1066”). Yet its unequivocal application to all moments of all songs can make even the grandest passages underwhelming.

In this regard, it’s uncertain how a listener is meant to relate Pike Dreams to its subject matter. On the one hand, the deliberate vagueness of the soundscape mirrors a look back through the mists of time, and allows the audience to project their own sentiments onto its subtle evocation. On the other hand, this same nature prevents the audience from connecting to the music itself, and from connecting the music to its supposed year of reference. More minimalist tracks (“1328,” “1381,” “2026”) may work better when the listener detaches, but more expressive ones (“1066,” “1524,” “2010”) when the listener invests in their refrains—and the ones in those tracks are often very lovely. Whether there’s an issue here will be down to the role one designates to a concept album—especially of the instrumental and ambient kind.

Pike Dreams is as hard to pin down as you might expect from the above and from its appropriately mysterious title. As a whispering, quite beautiful, backdrop, it makes for a soothing and introspective experience that I can’t deny I enjoy returning to. In many ways, it’s a breath of fresh air amidst a constant storm of fast and extremely heavy music that so often fills these halls, and a chance to exhale and let go in a time of conflict and strife. The Mountain King may not have done enough to fully embody their themes or impress their compositions’ identities upon the listener, but how it feels for the duration is worth something.

Rating: Good
DR: 10 | Format Reviewed: VBR mp3
Label: Void Key Recordings
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: March 6th, 2026

Nytt Land – Aba Khan Review

I’d like to share my favorite fact about Nytt Land, the Siberian dark folk project from husband and…
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https://www.newsbeep.com/us/478104/

Nytt Land – Aba Khan Review

I’d like to share my favorite fact about Nytt Land, the Siberian dark folk project from husband and…
#NewsBeep #News #US #USA #UnitedStates #UnitedStatesOfAmerica #Music #2026 #3.5 #AbaKhan #DarkFolk #Entertainment #Feb26 #folk #NotMetal #NyttLand #ProphecyProductions #review #reviews #Siberianmusic
https://www.newsbeep.com/us/478104/

I’d like to share my favorite fact about Nytt Land, the Siberian dark folk project from husband and wife, Anatoly and Natalia Pakhalenko.1 During my research for this review, I came across an old interview with Anatoly. He was discussing instrumental diversity on their then-upcoming release, ODAL. Of all the instruments Anatoly plays, the talharpa, an ancient Nordic bowed lyre, is his favorite. Do you know why it’s his favorite? BECAUSE HIS WIFE MADE IT FOR HIM. MADE IT. WITH HER OWN TWO HANDS.2 I can’t even imagine the incalculable value of such a gift. And I’m only half kidding when I say that fact alone makes Aba Khan—and anything else they release—worth a spin.

Nytt Land often releases albums strictly preserving the ancient traditions of their homeland, like 2025’s Songs of the Shaman, but Aba Khan follows a different path. Picking up the threads first woven on 2021’s Ritual and continued on 2023’s Torem, Aba Khan captures the energy of the shamanic rites of Nytt Land’s native Siberia. Nytt Land doesn’t perform any one specific rite on Aba Khan, but rather, Nytt Land channels their significance, their substance. As such, this isn’t a direct transcription or translation, but a respectful, contemporary interpretation that places listeners in the midst of ancestral proceedings. Produced with immersion in mind, the soundstage is dynamic and beautifully utilized. You can almost smell the clean air and feel the warmth of the bonfire as practitioners’ shifting vocals and well-placed instruments surround you, each given plenty of room to breathe and shine. To get the full effect, headphones are highly recommended here.

Aba Khan by Nytt Land

Production and mixing would mean little here, were it not for Nytt Land’s excellent performances. Natalia is the centerpiece, providing striking lead vocals and bringing to life the chanting, throat singing chorus of this ceremony (“Aba Khan,” “Taiga”). She and fellow drummer Aleksandr Rosliakov provide the raw, thunderous backbone for the album, stoking ritual fervor and reverence alike (“The Oath,” “Tygir Tayii (Heavenly Sacrifice)”).3 All other instruments are handled by Anatoly. Flutes, both bone and wood, alternate between heraldic (“Totem,” “Mansi”) and musical (“Taiga,” “Mansi”) duties, while strings—like the talharpa—guide Aba Khan through its eight movements. A high base quality means standout moments are few here, but the instrumental bridge of “Taiga,” which features mouth harp, flute, and talharpa all playing different melodies on top of a deep stringed foundation, is noteworthy, as is the absolutely massive, constant thrum of “Prayer.” It’s like listening to a god breathe.

According to the promo sheet, Aba Khan comprises a collection of shamanic vignettes, but it nevertheless possesses a loose narrative flow from one track to the next. This is largely driven by Natalia’s singing. Aba Khan is written entirely in indigenous Serbian languages and Old Norse, but Natalia defies the language barrier through measured swaying (“Taiga,” “Totem”), raw vulnerability (“The Oath,” “Prayer”) and ritualistic staccatos (“Tygir Tayii (Heavenly Sacrifice)”) to sketch the shape and purpose of each movement. I’m normally pretty unforgiving on intros, but “Aba Khan” serves more as an invocation or invitation before the ceremony begins in earnest with “Taiga.” Aside from mid-album snag “Uitag,” which dwells overlong in ambient repetition, Nytt Land moves with purpose through each movement. Aba Khan closes in a whirlwind, shifting from the tension of ceremonial action (“The Oath”) to that of anticipation (“Prayer”), before releasing it in spiraling celebration and catharsis (“Tygir Tayii”).

I don’t think anyone would argue the value of preservation efforts, but I might argue that Aba Khan does something even more important. Whether at a museum or on recordings like Songs of the Shaman, a clinical detachment separates us from feeling the gravity of these traditions as an insider would. Aba Khan annihilates that barrier. Using every tool at their disposal, Nytt Land communicates the emotions, atmosphere, and spirit of Siberia’s shamanic traditions through music, a universal language. This isn’t meant to be known in the mind. It’s meant to be felt in the heart. On Aba Khan, Nytt Land invites you to walk in their millennia-old shoes to a time and place where spirits rule, shamans protect the people, and old gods whisper.4

Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Prophecy Productions
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook | Instagram
Releases Worldwide: February 20th, 2026

I’d like to share my favorite fact about Nytt Land, the Siberian dark folk project from husband and wife, Anatoly and Natalia Pakhalenko.1 During my research for this review, I came across an old interview with Anatoly. He was discussing instrumental diversity on their then-upcoming release, ODAL. Of all the instruments Anatoly plays, the talharpa, an ancient Nordic bowed lyre, is his favorite. Do you know why it’s his favorite? BECAUSE HIS WIFE MADE IT FOR HIM. MADE IT. WITH HER OWN TWO HANDS.2 I can’t even imagine the incalculable value of such a gift. And I’m only half kidding when I say that fact alone makes Aba Khan—and anything else they release—worth a spin.

Nytt Land often releases albums strictly preserving the ancient traditions of their homeland, like 2025’s Songs of the Shaman, but Aba Khan follows a different path. Picking up the threads first woven on 2021’s Ritual and continued on 2023’s Torem, Aba Khan captures the energy of the shamanic rites of Nytt Land’s native Siberia. Nytt Land doesn’t perform any one specific rite on Aba Khan, but rather, Nytt Land channels their significance, their substance. As such, this isn’t a direct transcription or translation, but a respectful, contemporary interpretation that places listeners in the midst of ancestral proceedings. Produced with immersion in mind, the soundstage is dynamic and beautifully utilized. You can almost smell the clean air and feel the warmth of the bonfire as practitioners’ shifting vocals and well-placed instruments surround you, each given plenty of room to breathe and shine. To get the full effect, headphones are highly recommended here.

Aba Khan by Nytt Land

Production and mixing would mean little here, were it not for Nytt Land’s excellent performances. Natalia is the centerpiece, providing striking lead vocals and bringing to life the chanting, throat singing chorus of this ceremony (“Aba Khan,” “Taiga”). She and fellow drummer Aleksandr Rosliakov provide the raw, thunderous backbone for the album, stoking ritual fervor and reverence alike (“The Oath,” “Tygir Tayii (Heavenly Sacrifice)”).3 All other instruments are handled by Anatoly. Flutes, both bone and wood, alternate between heraldic (“Totem,” “Mansi”) and musical (“Taiga,” “Mansi”) duties, while strings—like the talharpa—guide Aba Khan through its eight movements. A high base quality means standout moments are few here, but the instrumental bridge of “Taiga,” which features mouth harp, flute, and talharpa all playing different melodies on top of a deep stringed foundation, is noteworthy, as is the absolutely massive, constant thrum of “Prayer.” It’s like listening to a god breathe.

According to the promo sheet, Aba Khan comprises a collection of shamanic vignettes, but it nevertheless possesses a loose narrative flow from one track to the next. This is largely driven by Natalia’s singing. Aba Khan is written entirely in indigenous Serbian languages and Old Norse, but Natalia defies the language barrier through measured swaying (“Taiga,” “Totem”), raw vulnerability (“The Oath,” “Prayer”) and ritualistic staccatos (“Tygir Tayii (Heavenly Sacrifice)”) to sketch the shape and purpose of each movement. I’m normally pretty unforgiving on intros, but “Aba Khan” serves more as an invocation or invitation before the ceremony begins in earnest with “Taiga.” Aside from mid-album snag “Uitag,” which dwells overlong in ambient repetition, Nytt Land moves with purpose through each movement. Aba Khan closes in a whirlwind, shifting from the tension of ceremonial action (“The Oath”) to that of anticipation (“Prayer”), before releasing it in spiraling celebration and catharsis (“Tygir Tayii”).

I don’t think anyone would argue the value of preservation efforts, but I might argue that Aba Khan does something even more important. Whether at a museum or on recordings like Songs of the Shaman, a clinical detachment separates us from feeling the gravity of these traditions as an insider would. Aba Khan annihilates that barrier. Using every tool at their disposal, Nytt Land communicates the emotions, atmosphere, and spirit of Siberia’s shamanic traditions through music, a universal language. This isn’t meant to be known in the mind. It’s meant to be felt in the heart. On Aba Khan, Nytt Land invites you to walk in their millennia-old shoes to a time and place where spirits rule, shamans protect the people, and old gods whisper.4

Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Prophecy Productions
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook | Instagram
Releases Worldwide: February 20th, 2026

I’d like to share my favorite fact about Nytt Land, the Siberian dark folk project from husband and wife, Anatoly and Natalia Pakhalenko.1 During my research for this review, I came across an old interview with Anatoly. He was discussing instrumental diversity on their then-upcoming release, ODAL. Of all the instruments Anatoly plays, the talharpa, an ancient Nordic bowed lyre, is his favorite. Do you know why it’s his favorite? BECAUSE HIS WIFE MADE IT FOR HIM. MADE IT. WITH HER OWN TWO HANDS.2 I can’t even imagine the incalculable value of such a gift. And I’m only half kidding when I say that fact alone makes Aba Khan—and anything else they release—worth a spin.

Nytt Land often releases albums strictly preserving the ancient traditions of their homeland, like 2025’s Songs of the Shaman, but Aba Khan follows a different path. Picking up the threads first woven on 2021’s Ritual and continued on 2023’s Torem, Aba Khan captures the energy of the shamanic rites of Nytt Land’s native Siberia. Nytt Land doesn’t perform any one specific rite on Aba Khan, but rather, Nytt Land channels their significance, their substance. As such, this isn’t a direct transcription or translation, but a respectful, contemporary interpretation that places listeners in the midst of ancestral proceedings. Produced with immersion in mind, the soundstage is dynamic and beautifully utilized. You can almost smell the clean air and feel the warmth of the bonfire as practitioners’ shifting vocals and well-placed instruments surround you, each given plenty of room to breathe and shine. To get the full effect, headphones are highly recommended here.

Aba Khan by Nytt Land

Production and mixing would mean little here, were it not for Nytt Land’s excellent performances. Natalia is the centerpiece, providing striking lead vocals and bringing to life the chanting, throat singing chorus of this ceremony (“Aba Khan,” “Taiga”). She and fellow drummer Aleksandr Rosliakov provide the raw, thunderous backbone for the album, stoking ritual fervor and reverence alike (“The Oath,” “Tygir Tayii (Heavenly Sacrifice)”).3 All other instruments are handled by Anatoly. Flutes, both bone and wood, alternate between heraldic (“Totem,” “Mansi”) and musical (“Taiga,” “Mansi”) duties, while strings—like the talharpa—guide Aba Khan through its eight movements. A high base quality means standout moments are few here, but the instrumental bridge of “Taiga,” which features mouth harp, flute, and talharpa all playing different melodies on top of a deep stringed foundation, is noteworthy, as is the absolutely massive, constant thrum of “Prayer.” It’s like listening to a god breathe.

According to the promo sheet, Aba Khan comprises a collection of shamanic vignettes, but it nevertheless possesses a loose narrative flow from one track to the next. This is largely driven by Natalia’s singing. Aba Khan is written entirely in indigenous Serbian languages and Old Norse, but Natalia defies the language barrier through measured swaying (“Taiga,” “Totem”), raw vulnerability (“The Oath,” “Prayer”) and ritualistic staccatos (“Tygir Tayii (Heavenly Sacrifice)”) to sketch the shape and purpose of each movement. I’m normally pretty unforgiving on intros, but “Aba Khan” serves more as an invocation or invitation before the ceremony begins in earnest with “Taiga.” Aside from mid-album snag “Uitag,” which dwells overlong in ambient repetition, Nytt Land moves with purpose through each movement. Aba Khan closes in a whirlwind, shifting from the tension of ceremonial action (“The Oath”) to that of anticipation (“Prayer”), before releasing it in spiraling celebration and catharsis (“Tygir Tayii”).

I don’t think anyone would argue the value of preservation efforts, but I might argue that Aba Khan does something even more important. Whether at a museum or on recordings like Songs of the Shaman, a clinical detachment separates us from feeling the gravity of these traditions as an insider would. Aba Khan annihilates that barrier. Using every tool at their disposal, Nytt Land communicates the emotions, atmosphere, and spirit of Siberia’s shamanic traditions through music, a universal language. This isn’t meant to be known in the mind. It’s meant to be felt in the heart. On Aba Khan, Nytt Land invites you to walk in their millennia-old shoes to a time and place where spirits rule, shamans protect the people, and old gods whisper.4

Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Prophecy Productions
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook | Instagram
Releases Worldwide: February 20th, 2026

I’d like to share my favorite fact about Nytt Land, the Siberian dark folk project from husband and wife, Anatoly and Natalia Pakhalenko.1 During my research for this review, I came across an old interview with Anatoly. He was discussing instrumental diversity on their then-upcoming release, ODAL. Of all the instruments Anatoly plays, the talharpa, an ancient Nordic bowed lyre, is his favorite. Do you know why it’s his favorite? BECAUSE HIS WIFE MADE IT FOR HIM. MADE IT. WITH HER OWN TWO HANDS.2 I can’t even imagine the incalculable value of such a gift. And I’m only half kidding when I say that fact alone makes Aba Khan—and anything else they release—worth a spin.

Nytt Land often releases albums strictly preserving the ancient traditions of their homeland, like 2025’s Songs of the Shaman, but Aba Khan follows a different path. Picking up the threads first woven on 2021’s Ritual and continued on 2023’s Torem, Aba Khan captures the energy of the shamanic rites of Nytt Land’s native Siberia. Nytt Land doesn’t perform any one specific rite on Aba Khan, but rather, Nytt Land channels their significance, their substance. As such, this isn’t a direct transcription or translation, but a respectful, contemporary interpretation that places listeners in the midst of ancestral proceedings. Produced with immersion in mind, the soundstage is dynamic and beautifully utilized. You can almost smell the clean air and feel the warmth of the bonfire as practitioners’ shifting vocals and well-placed instruments surround you, each given plenty of room to breathe and shine. To get the full effect, headphones are highly recommended here.

Aba Khan by Nytt Land

Production and mixing would mean little here, were it not for Nytt Land’s excellent performances. Natalia is the centerpiece, providing striking lead vocals and bringing to life the chanting, throat singing chorus of this ceremony (“Aba Khan,” “Taiga”). She and fellow drummer Aleksandr Rosliakov provide the raw, thunderous backbone for the album, stoking ritual fervor and reverence alike (“The Oath,” “Tygir Tayii (Heavenly Sacrifice)”).3 All other instruments are handled by Anatoly. Flutes, both bone and wood, alternate between heraldic (“Totem,” “Mansi”) and musical (“Taiga,” “Mansi”) duties, while strings—like the talharpa—guide Aba Khan through its eight movements. A high base quality means standout moments are few here, but the instrumental bridge of “Taiga,” which features mouth harp, flute, and talharpa all playing different melodies on top of a deep stringed foundation, is noteworthy, as is the absolutely massive, constant thrum of “Prayer.” It’s like listening to a god breathe.

According to the promo sheet, Aba Khan comprises a collection of shamanic vignettes, but it nevertheless possesses a loose narrative flow from one track to the next. This is largely driven by Natalia’s singing. Aba Khan is written entirely in indigenous Serbian languages and Old Norse, but Natalia defies the language barrier through measured swaying (“Taiga,” “Totem”), raw vulnerability (“The Oath,” “Prayer”) and ritualistic staccatos (“Tygir Tayii (Heavenly Sacrifice)”) to sketch the shape and purpose of each movement. I’m normally pretty unforgiving on intros, but “Aba Khan” serves more as an invocation or invitation before the ceremony begins in earnest with “Taiga.” Aside from mid-album snag “Uitag,” which dwells overlong in ambient repetition, Nytt Land moves with purpose through each movement. Aba Khan closes in a whirlwind, shifting from the tension of ceremonial action (“The Oath”) to that of anticipation (“Prayer”), before releasing it in spiraling celebration and catharsis (“Tygir Tayii”).

I don’t think anyone would argue the value of preservation efforts, but I might argue that Aba Khan does something even more important. Whether at a museum or on recordings like Songs of the Shaman, a clinical detachment separates us from feeling the gravity of these traditions as an insider would. Aba Khan annihilates that barrier. Using every tool at their disposal, Nytt Land communicates the emotions, atmosphere, and spirit of Siberia’s shamanic traditions through music, a universal language. This isn’t meant to be known in the mind. It’s meant to be felt in the heart. On Aba Khan, Nytt Land invites you to walk in their millennia-old shoes to a time and place where spirits rule, shamans protect the people, and old gods whisper.4

Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Prophecy Productions
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook | Instagram
Releases Worldwide: February 20th, 2026

I’d like to share my favorite fact about Nytt Land, the Serbian dark folk project from husband and wife, Anatoly and Natalia Pakhalenko.1 During my research for this review, I came across an old interview with Anatoly. He was discussing instrumental diversity on their then-upcoming release, ODAL. Of all the instruments Anatoly plays, the talharpa, an ancient Nordic bowed lyre, is his favorite. Do you know why it’s his favorite? BECAUSE HIS WIFE MADE IT FOR HIM. MADE IT. WITH HER OWN TWO HANDS.2 I can’t even imagine the incalculable value of such a gift. And I’m only half kidding when I say that fact alone makes Aba Khan—and anything else they release—worth a spin.

Nytt Land often releases albums strictly preserving the ancient traditions of their homeland, like 2025’s Songs of the Shaman, but Aba Khan follows a different path. Picking up the threads first woven on 2021’s Ritual and continued on 2023’s Torem, Aba Khan captures the energy of the shamanic rites of Nytt Land’s native Siberia. Nytt Land doesn’t perform any one specific rite on Aba Khan, but rather, Nytt Land channels their significance, their substance. As such, this isn’t a direct transcription or translation, but a respectful, contemporary interpretation that places listeners in the midst of ancestral proceedings. Produced with immersion in mind, the soundstage is dynamic and beautifully utilized. You can almost smell the clean air and feel the warmth of the bonfire as practitioners’ shifting vocals and well-placed instruments surround you, each given plenty of room to breathe and shine. To get the full effect, headphones are highly recommended here.

Aba Khan by Nytt Land

Production and mixing would mean little here, were it not for Nytt Land’s excellent performances. Natalia is the centerpiece, providing striking lead vocals and bringing to life the chanting, throat singing chorus of this ceremony (“Aba Khan,” “Taiga”). She and fellow drummer Aleksandr Rosliakov provide the raw, thunderous backbone for the album, stoking ritual fervor and reverence alike (“The Oath,” “Tygir Tayii (Heavenly Sacrifice)”).3 All other instruments are handled by Anatoly. Flutes, both bone and wood, alternate between heraldic (“Totem,” “Mansi”) and musical (“Taiga,” “Mansi”) duties, while strings—like the talharpa—guide Aba Khan through its eight movements. A high base quality means standout moments are few here, but the instrumental bridge of “Taiga,” which features mouth harp, flute, and talharpa all playing different melodies on top of a deep stringed foundation, is noteworthy, as is the absolutely massive, constant thrum of “Prayer.” It’s like listening to a god breathe.

According to the promo sheet, Aba Khan comprises a collection of shamanic vignettes, but it nevertheless possesses a loose narrative flow from one track to the next. This is largely driven by Natalia’s singing. Aba Khan is written entirely in indigenous Serbian languages and Old Norse, but Natalia defies the language barrier through measured swaying (“Taiga,” “Totem”), raw vulnerability (“The Oath,” “Prayer”) and ritualistic staccatos (“Tygir Tayii (Heavenly Sacrifice)”) to sketch the shape and purpose of each movement. I’m normally pretty unforgiving on intros, but “Aba Khan” serves more as an invocation or invitation before the ceremony begins in earnest with “Taiga.” Aside from mid-album snag “Uitag,” which dwells overlong in ambient repetition, Nytt Land moves with purpose through each movement. Aba Khan closes in a whirlwind, shifting from the tension of ceremonial action (“The Oath”) to that of anticipation (“Prayer”), before releasing it in spiraling celebration and catharsis (“Tygir Tayii”).

I don’t think anyone would argue the value of preservation efforts, but I might argue that Aba Khan does something even more important. Whether at a museum or on recordings like Songs of the Shaman, a clinical detachment separates us from feeling the gravity of these traditions as an insider would. Aba Khan annihilates that barrier. Using every tool at their disposal, Nytt Land communicates the emotions, atmosphere, and spirit of Siberia’s shamanic traditions through music, a universal language. This isn’t meant to be known in the mind. It’s meant to be felt in the heart. On Aba Khan, Nytt Land invites you to walk in their millennia-old shoes to a time and place where spirits rule, shamans protect the people, and old gods whisper.4

Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Prophecy Productions
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook | Instagram
Releases Worldwide: February 20th, 2026

Moon Mother – Meadowlands Review

I grew up with a slew of friends who dabbled in the visual arts throughout the years. One…
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https://www.newsbeep.com/uk/412258/

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I grew up with a slew of friends who dabbled in the visual arts throughout the years. One in particular blew me away by stating that the greatest artists aren’t the masters of their trade in every aspect, but rather they know what they don’t have, or rather don’t need, to make a sizable impact. You don’t need to own the most expensive paint set, a wide array of colors at your disposal, or to fill up the canvas with stuff. You have to just create your vision with what you have, and let the negative space do the work for you. Swedish duo Moon Mother knows this. On their second full-length, Meadowlands, they paint a lush, aural landscape teeming with anguish, grief, and trauma, while also crafting a sense of wonder, peace, and a smidge of hope.

You probably scrolled down to the tags section and decided to nope out in record time, especially at the sight of the “Not Metal” tag, and that’s entirely your loss. What guitarist Patriec Ahlström and vocalist Sara Mehner crafted in Meadowlands is nothing short of breathtaking, and their usage of negative space to allow for Ahlström’s melodies and gentle strums to reverberate and roll through the sleepy landscape they’ve crafted. “Wilderness,” with its finger-plucked strings and gentle electric guitar hums, is a class example of what you can build with only what you’ve got. It’s not the high production values or expensive instruments that carry you through. Rather, it’s knowing what to say, how to say it, and when not to say anything at all.

And Mehner’s angelic voice is the perfect complimentary component. Whether it’s her powerful howling (opener “High Houses”), somber melodies (closer “Windhover”), or her achingly beautiful near-yodels (“Wilderness”, the awesome “Be a Forest, Child!”), Mehner’s ability to wring out the most emotion out of a song or melody rivals that of Chelsea Wolfe or Emma Ruth Rundle in terms of performance and power. The way her gentle wailing closes out the title track stirs up so many raw emotions that will have you feeling both heartbreak and catharsis, no matter how it manifests within you. Singling out certain moments on Meadowlands proved difficult because, in reality, her standout performance, coupled with Ahlström’s musical backdrop, is best enjoyed in a single, uninterrupted, and fully focused listening experience.

If there was a bone to pick with Meadowlands, it’s in the production, and even then, it’s not a dealbreaker. Meadowlands is drenched in reverb, and I mean drenched in reverb. Coupled with the compressed mix, it makes it a bit busy, especially during the second half of “High Houses.” That, and the album is loaded with cathartic moments in the album’s second half, almost to the point of being overwhelmingly so. But the last time I’ve been hit this hard, this potently, by a doom/folk hybrid was with Darkher’s debut album. That is some absolutely stellar company to be with, and Meadowlands connects viscerally on that level.

Sure, I know what the name of the website is, and Meadowlands is a colossal anomaly in that aspect. And yes, I’m sure my colleagues will give me a reasonable (re: absurdly high) amount of shit for giving it the score it’s getting, but Moon Mother crafted an album that’s simultaneously the perfect album to purge your emotions, and an album you can use as a backdrop for a dew-filled foggy morning with a mug of your favorite heated beverage of choice. In creating an album to signify grief and hope, they gained my attention and my adoration. Give it your time, and it most certainly will do the same for you.

Rating: 4.0/5.0
DR: 7 | Format: WAV
Label: Independent/Self-Release
Websites: Official | Bandcamp
Releases Worldwide: February 6th, 2026

I grew up with a slew of friends who dabbled in the visual arts throughout the years. One in particular blew me away by stating that the greatest artists aren’t the masters of their trade in every aspect, but rather they know what they don’t have, or rather don’t need, to make a sizable impact. You don’t need to own the most expensive paint set, a wide array of colors at your disposal, or to fill up the canvas with stuff. You have to just create your vision with what you have, and let the negative space do the work for you. Swedish duo Moon Mother knows this. On their second full-length, Meadowlands, they paint a lush, aural landscape teeming with anguish, grief, and trauma, while also crafting a sense of wonder, peace, and a smidge of hope.

You probably scrolled down to the tags section and decided to nope out in record time, especially at the sight of the “Not Metal” tag, and that’s entirely your loss. What guitarist Patriec Ahlström and vocalist Sara Mehner crafted in Meadowlands is nothing short of breathtaking, and their usage of negative space to allow for Ahlström’s melodies and gentle strums to reverberate and roll through the sleepy landscape they’ve crafted. “Wilderness,” with its finger-plucked strings and gentle electric guitar hums, is a class example of what you can build with only what you’ve got. It’s not the high production values or expensive instruments that carry you through. Rather, it’s knowing what to say, how to say it, and when not to say anything at all.

And Mehner’s angelic voice is the perfect complimentary component. Whether it’s her powerful howling (opener “High Houses”), somber melodies (closer “Windhover”), or her achingly beautiful near-yodels (“Wilderness”, the awesome “Be a Forest, Child!”), Mehner’s ability to wring out the most emotion out of a song or melody rivals that of Chelsea Wolfe or Emma Ruth Rundle in terms of performance and power. The way her gentle wailing closes out the title track stirs up so many raw emotions that will have you feeling both heartbreak and catharsis, no matter how it manifests within you. Singling out certain moments on Meadowlands proved difficult because, in reality, her standout performance, coupled with Ahlström’s musical backdrop, is best enjoyed in a single, uninterrupted, and fully focused listening experience.

If there was a bone to pick with Meadowlands, it’s in the production, and even then, it’s not a dealbreaker. Meadowlands is drenched in reverb, and I mean drenched in reverb. Coupled with the compressed mix, it makes it a bit busy, especially during the second half of “High Houses.” That, and the album is loaded with cathartic moments in the album’s second half, almost to the point of being overwhelmingly so. But the last time I’ve been hit this hard, this potently, by a doom/folk hybrid was with Darkher’s debut album. That is some absolutely stellar company to be with, and Meadowlands connects viscerally on that level.

Sure, I know what the name of the website is, and Meadowlands is a colossal anomaly in that aspect. And yes, I’m sure my colleagues will give me a reasonable (re: absurdly high) amount of shit for giving it the score it’s getting, but Moon Mother crafted an album that’s simultaneously the perfect album to purge your emotions, and an album you can use as a backdrop for a dew-filled foggy morning with a mug of your favorite heated beverage of choice. In creating an album to signify grief and hope, they gained my attention and my adoration. Give it your time, and it most certainly will do the same for you.

Rating: 4.0/5.0
DR: 7 | Format: WAV
Label: Independent/Self-Release
Websites: Official | Bandcamp
Releases Worldwide: February 6th, 2026

I grew up with a slew of friends who dabbled in the visual arts throughout the years. One in particular blew me away by stating that the greatest artists aren’t the masters of their trade in every aspect, but rather they know what they don’t have, or rather don’t need, to make a sizable impact. You don’t need to own the most expensive paint set, a wide array of colors at your disposal, or to fill up the canvas with stuff. You have to just create your vision with what you have, and let the negative space do the work for you. Swedish duo Moon Mother knows this. On their second full-length, Meadowlands, they paint a lush, aural landscape teeming with anguish, grief, and trauma, while also crafting a sense of wonder, peace, and a smidge of hope.

You probably scrolled down to the tags section and decided to nope out in record time, especially at the sight of the “Not Metal” tag, and that’s entirely your loss. What guitarist Patriec Ahlström and vocalist Sara Mehner crafted in Meadowlands is nothing short of breathtaking, and their usage of negative space to allow for Ahlström’s melodies and gentle strums to reverberate and roll through the sleepy landscape they’ve crafted. “Wilderness,” with its finger-plucked strings and gentle electric guitar hums, is a class example of what you can build with only what you’ve got. It’s not the high production values or expensive instruments that carry you through. Rather, it’s knowing what to say, how to say it, and when not to say anything at all.

And Mehner’s angelic voice is the perfect complimentary component. Whether it’s her powerful howling (opener “High Houses”), somber melodies (closer “Windhover”), or her achingly beautiful near-yodels (“Wilderness”, the awesome “Be a Forest, Child!”), Mehner’s ability to wring out the most emotion out of a song or melody rivals that of Chelsea Wolfe or Emma Ruth Rundle in terms of performance and power. The way her gentle wailing closes out the title track stirs up so many raw emotions that will have you feeling both heartbreak and catharsis, no matter how it manifests within you. Singling out certain moments on Meadowlands proved difficult because, in reality, her standout performance, coupled with Ahlström’s musical backdrop, is best enjoyed in a single, uninterrupted, and fully focused listening experience.

If there was a bone to pick with Meadowlands, it’s in the production, and even then, it’s not a dealbreaker. Meadowlands is drenched in reverb, and I mean drenched in reverb. Coupled with the compressed mix, it makes it a bit busy, especially during the second half of “High Houses.” That, and the album is loaded with cathartic moments in the album’s second half, almost to the point of being overwhelmingly so. But the last time I’ve been hit this hard, this potently, by a doom/folk hybrid was with Darkher’s debut album. That is some absolutely stellar company to be with, and Meadowlands connects viscerally on that level.

Sure, I know what the name of the website is, and Meadowlands is a colossal anomaly in that aspect. And yes, I’m sure my colleagues will give me a reasonable (re: absurdly high) amount of shit for giving it the score it’s getting, but Moon Mother crafted an album that’s simultaneously the perfect album to purge your emotions, and an album you can use as a backdrop for a dew-filled foggy morning with a mug of your favorite heated beverage of choice. In creating an album to signify grief and hope, they gained my attention and my adoration. Give it your time, and it most certainly will do the same for you.

Rating: 4.0/5.0
DR: 7 | Format: WAV
Label: Independent/Self-Release
Websites: Official | Bandcamp
Releases Worldwide: February 6th, 2026

I grew up with a slew of friends who dabbled in the visual arts throughout the years. One in particular blew me away by stating that the greatest artists aren’t the masters of their trade in every aspect, but rather they know what they don’t have, or rather don’t need, to make a sizable impact. You don’t need to own the most expensive paint set, a wide array of colors at your disposal, or to fill up the canvas with stuff. You have to just create your vision with what you have, and let the negative space do the work for you. Swedish duo Moon Mother knows this. On their second full-length, Meadowlands, they paint a lush, aural landscape teeming with anguish, grief, and trauma, while also crafting a sense of wonder, peace, and a smidge of hope.

You probably scrolled down to the tags section and decided to nope out in record time, especially at the sight of the “Not Metal” tag, and that’s entirely your loss. What guitarist Patriec Ahlström and vocalist Sara Mehner crafted in Meadowlands is nothing short of breathtaking, and their usage of negative space to allow for Ahlström’s melodies and gentle strums to reverberate and roll through the sleepy landscape they’ve crafted. “Wilderness,” with its finger-plucked strings and gentle electric guitar hums, is a class example of what you can build with only what you’ve got. It’s not the high production values or expensive instruments that carry you through. Rather, it’s knowing what to say, how to say it, and when not to say anything at all.

And Mehner’s angelic voice is the perfect complimentary component. Whether it’s her powerful howling (opener “High Houses”), somber melodies (closer “Windhover”), or her achingly beautiful near-yodels (“Wilderness”, the awesome “Be a Forest, Child!”), Mehner’s ability to wring out the most emotion out of a song or melody rivals that of Chelsea Wolfe or Emma Ruth Rundle in terms of performance and power. The way her gentle wailing closes out the title track stirs up so many raw emotions that will have you feeling both heartbreak and catharsis, no matter how it manifests within you. Singling out certain moments on Meadowlands proved difficult because, in reality, her standout performance, coupled with Ahlström’s musical backdrop, is best enjoyed in a single, uninterrupted, and fully focused listening experience.

If there was a bone to pick with Meadowlands, it’s in the production, and even then, it’s not a dealbreaker. Meadowlands is drenched in reverb, and I mean drenched in reverb. Coupled with the compressed mix, it makes it a bit busy, especially during the second half of “High Houses.” That, and the album is loaded with cathartic moments in the album’s second half, almost to the point of being overwhelmingly so. But the last time I’ve been hit this hard, this potently, by a doom/folk hybrid was with Darkher’s debut album. That is some absolutely stellar company to be with, and Meadowlands connects viscerally on that level.

Sure, I know what the name of the website is, and Meadowlands is a colossal anomaly in that aspect. And yes, I’m sure my colleagues will give me a reasonable (re: absurdly high) amount of shit for giving it the score it’s getting, but Moon Mother crafted an album that’s simultaneously the perfect album to purge your emotions, and an album you can use as a backdrop for a dew-filled foggy morning with a mug of your favorite heated beverage of choice. In creating an album to signify grief and hope, they gained my attention and my adoration. Give it your time, and it most certainly will do the same for you.

Rating: 4.0/5.0
DR: 7 | Format: WAV
Label: Independent/Self-Release
Websites: Official | Bandcamp
Releases Worldwide: February 6th, 2026

I grew up with a slew of friends who dabbled in the visual arts throughout the years. One in particular blew me away by stating that the greatest artists aren’t the masters of their trade in every aspect, but rather they know what they don’t have, or rather don’t need, to make a sizable impact. You don’t need to own the most expensive paint set, a wide array of colors at your disposal, or to fill up the canvas with stuff. You have to just create your vision with what you have, and let the negative space do the work for you. Swedish duo Moon Mother knows this. On their second full-length, Meadowlands, they paint a lush, aural landscape teeming with anguish, grief, and trauma, while also crafting a sense of wonder, peace, and a smidge of hope.

You probably scrolled down to the tags section and decided to nope out in record time, especially at the sight of the “Not Metal” tag, and that’s entirely your loss. What guitarist Patriec Ahlström and vocalist Sara Mehner crafted in Meadowlands is nothing short of breathtaking, and their usage of negative space to allow for Ahlström’s melodies and gentle strums to reverberate and roll through the sleepy landscape they’ve crafted. “Wilderness,” with its finger-plucked strings and gentle electric guitar hums, is a class example of what you can build with only what you’ve got. It’s not the high production values or expensive instruments that carry you through. Rather, it’s knowing what to say, how to say it, and when not to say anything at all.

And Mehner’s angelic voice is the perfect complimentary component. Whether it’s her powerful howling (opener “High Houses”), somber melodies (closer “Windhover”), or her achingly beautiful near-yodels (“Wilderness”, the awesome “Be a Forest, Child!”), Mehner’s ability to wring out the most emotion out of a song or melody rivals that of Chelsea Wolfe or Emma Ruth Rundle in terms of performance and power. The way her gentle wailing closes out the title track stirs up so many raw emotions that will have you feeling both heartbreak and catharsis, no matter how it manifests within you. Singling out certain moments on Meadowlands proved difficult because, in reality, her standout performance, coupled with Ahlström’s musical backdrop, is best enjoyed in a single, uninterrupted, and fully focused listening experience.

If there was a bone to pick with Meadowlands, it’s in the production, and even then, it’s not a dealbreaker. Meadowlands is drenched in reverb, and I mean drenched in reverb. Coupled with the compressed mix, it makes it a bit busy, especially during the second half of “High Houses.” That, and the album is loaded with cathartic moments in the album’s second half, almost to the point of being overwhelmingly so. But the last time I’ve been hit this hard, this potently, by a doom/folk hybrid was with Darkher’s debut album. That is some absolutely stellar company to be with, and Meadowlands connects viscerally on that level.

Sure, I know what the name of the website is, and Meadowlands is a colossal anomaly in that aspect. And yes, I’m sure my colleagues will give me a reasonable (re: absurdly high) amount of shit for giving it the score it’s getting, but Moon Mother crafted an album that’s simultaneously the perfect album to purge your emotions, and an album you can use as a backdrop for a dew-filled foggy morning with a mug of your favorite heated beverage of choice. In creating an album to signify grief and hope, they gained my attention and my adoration. Give it your time, and it most certainly will do the same for you.

Rating: 4.0/5.0
DR: 7 | Format: WAV
Label: Independent/Self-Release
Websites: Official | Bandcamp
Releases Worldwide: February 6th, 2026

Halocraft – The Sky Will Remember / To Leave a Single Wolf Alive [Things You Might Have Missed 2025]

I find the idea of double albums fascinating. While in many cases they may indic…
#NewsBeep #News #US #USA #UnitedStates #UnitedStatesOfAmerica #Music #2025 #BlackNarcissus #Entertainment #GodIsanAstronaut #GreekMetal #Halocraft #InstrumentalMetal #NotMetal #PostRock #SelfRelease #TheSkyWillRemember #ThingsYouMightHaveMissed2025 #ToLeaveaSingleWolfAlive #TYMHM
https://www.newsbeep.com/us/320337/

Halocraft – The Sky Will Remember / To Leave a Single Wolf Alive [Things You Might Have Missed 2025]

I find the idea of double albums fascinating. While in many cases they may indic…
#NewsBeep #News #US #USA #UnitedStates #UnitedStatesOfAmerica #Music #2025 #BlackNarcissus #Entertainment #GodIsanAstronaut #GreekMetal #Halocraft #InstrumentalMetal #NotMetal #PostRock #SelfRelease #TheSkyWillRemember #ThingsYouMightHaveMissed2025 #ToLeaveaSingleWolfAlive #TYMHM
https://www.newsbeep.com/us/320337/

Halocraft – The Sky Will Remember / To Leave a Single Wolf Alive [Things You Might Have Missed 2025]

By Killjoy

I find the idea of double albums fascinating. While in many cases they may indicate an unchecked surge of inspiration or an unwillingness to self-edit, there are instances when the decision can feel genuinely appropriate. Halocraft, a (mostly) instrumental post-rock quartet from Greece, opted to split the final entry of a multi-album story into two parallel endings. According to their respective Bandcamp pages, The Sky Will Remember is the “imaginary happy ending,” whereas To Leave a Single Wolf Alive is the “true dark ending.” Aside from this brief description, the song titles, and sparse lyrics, Halocraft relies solely on their music to tell both sides of this narrative.

Halocraft’s “music first, atmosphere second” approach serves them well. It’s hard not to let oneself be borne away by the dreamy, leisurely guitar lines, which bear a fair resemblance to God Is an Astronaut or Black Narcissus. The Sky Will Remember is much closer to the cheerful, upbeat nature of Halocraft’s prior two full-lengths, with tons of tunes that are sticky-sweet but somehow never cloying. On the other hand, To Leave a Single Wolf Alive is a significant deviation from Halocraft’s usual style. Aside from its noticeably darker tone, it’s less reliant on hooks and, therefore, its slower burn took me a little longer to appreciate. Careful attention to both records will reveal subtle, whimsical bass counterpoints to the twin guitars.

The real strength of Halocraft’s songwriting is favoring clearly defined melodies over the sprawling free-form tendencies common in the post-rock genre. The songs loosely adhere to the tried and true pop structure, with verses and choruses that just happen to be instrumental in this case. I am, personally, partial toward The Sky Will Remember. Tracks such as “A Headful of Dreams,” “And in That Light, I Saw You,” and “Particle” never fail to lift my spirits. To Leave a Single Wolf Alive is there when I’m in the mood for something more melancholic but equally pleasant. While it does lean more heavily on repetition, there are moments that stand out, such as the slithering grooves of “And the Weak Suffer What They Must” and the faint goth-rock shades of “They Rest in Flames.” Though very different from one another, both albums are versatile enough to excel in the foreground and the background.

After spending nearly a year with both, I can confidently say that Halocraft has accomplished the difficult and paradoxical task of making two opposite yet complementary records. The Sky Will Remember and To Leave a Single Wolf Alive are a refreshing reversal of many instrumental post-rock norms, like meandering songwriting and lack of meaningful melodies. They are so easy to listen to and enjoy, no matter what mood I find myself in. I may connect with The Sky Will Remember more, but I appreciate Halocraft’s willingness and capability to expand their sound into darker avenues on To Leave a Single Wolf Alive. My hope is that on their next record they can take both of these disparate strands and weave them together. For now, though, you can’t go wrong with either choice.

Tracks to Check Out (The Sky Will Remember): “A Headful of Dreams,” “And in That Light, I Saw You”

Tracks to Check Out (To Leave a Single Wolf Alive): “And the Weak Suffer What They Must,” “They Rest in Flames”

#2025 #blackNarcissus #godIsAnAstronaut #greekMetal #halocraft #instrumentalMetal #notMetal #postRock #selfRelease #theSkyWillRemember #thingsYouMightHaveMissed2025 #toLeaveASingleWolfAlive #tymhm

Halocraft – The Sky Will Remember / To Leave a Single Wolf Alive [Things You Might Have Missed 2025]

By Killjoy

I find the idea of double albums fascinating. While in many cases they may indicate an unchecked surge of inspiration or an unwillingness to self-edit, there are instances when the decision can feel genuinely appropriate. Halocraft, a (mostly) instrumental post-rock quartet from Greece, opted to split the final entry of a multi-album story into two parallel endings. According to their respective Bandcamp pages, The Sky Will Remember is the “imaginary happy ending,” whereas To Leave a Single Wolf Alive is the “true dark ending.” Aside from this brief description, the song titles, and sparse lyrics, Halocraft relies solely on their music to tell both sides of this narrative.

Halocraft’s “music first, atmosphere second” approach serves them well. It’s hard not to let oneself be borne away by the dreamy, leisurely guitar lines, which bear a fair resemblance to God Is an Astronaut or Black Narcissus. The Sky Will Remember is much closer to the cheerful, upbeat nature of Halocraft’s prior two full-lengths, with tons of tunes that are sticky-sweet but somehow never cloying. On the other hand, To Leave a Single Wolf Alive is a significant deviation from Halocraft’s usual style. Aside from its noticeably darker tone, it’s less reliant on hooks and, therefore, its slower burn took me a little longer to appreciate. Careful attention to both records will reveal subtle, whimsical bass counterpoints to the twin guitars.

The real strength of Halocraft’s songwriting is favoring clearly defined melodies over the sprawling free-form tendencies common in the post-rock genre. The songs loosely adhere to the tried and true pop structure, with verses and choruses that just happen to be instrumental in this case. I am, personally, partial toward The Sky Will Remember. Tracks such as “A Headful of Dreams,” “And in That Light, I Saw You,” and “Particle” never fail to lift my spirits. To Leave a Single Wolf Alive is there when I’m in the mood for something more melancholic but equally pleasant. While it does lean more heavily on repetition, there are moments that stand out, such as the slithering grooves of “And the Weak Suffer What They Must” and the faint goth-rock shades of “They Rest in Flames.” Though very different from one another, both albums are versatile enough to excel in the foreground and the background.

After spending nearly a year with both, I can confidently say that Halocraft has accomplished the difficult and paradoxical task of making two opposite yet complementary records. The Sky Will Remember and To Leave a Single Wolf Alive are a refreshing reversal of many instrumental post-rock norms, like meandering songwriting and lack of meaningful melodies. They are so easy to listen to and enjoy, no matter what mood I find myself in. I may connect with The Sky Will Remember more, but I appreciate Halocraft’s willingness and capability to expand their sound into darker avenues on To Leave a Single Wolf Alive. My hope is that on their next record they can take both of these disparate strands and weave them together. For now, though, you can’t go wrong with either choice.

Tracks to Check Out (The Sky Will Remember): “A Headful of Dreams,” “And in That Light, I Saw You”

Tracks to Check Out (To Leave a Single Wolf Alive): “And the Weak Suffer What They Must,” “They Rest in Flames”

#2025 #blackNarcissus #godIsAnAstronaut #greekMetal #halocraft #instrumentalMetal #notMetal #postRock #selfRelease #theSkyWillRemember #thingsYouMightHaveMissed2025 #toLeaveASingleWolfAlive #tymhm

Halocraft – The Sky Will Remember / To Leave a Single Wolf Alive [Things You Might Have Missed 2025]

By Killjoy

I find the idea of double albums fascinating. While in many cases they may indicate an unchecked surge of inspiration or an unwillingness to self-edit, there are instances when the decision can feel genuinely appropriate. Halocraft, a (mostly) instrumental post-rock quartet from Greece, opted to split the final entry of a multi-album story into two parallel endings. According to their respective Bandcamp pages, The Sky Will Remember is the “imaginary happy ending,” whereas To Leave a Single Wolf Alive is the “true dark ending.” Aside from this brief description, the song titles, and sparse lyrics, Halocraft relies solely on their music to tell both sides of this narrative.

Halocraft’s “music first, atmosphere second” approach serves them well. It’s hard not to let oneself be borne away by the dreamy, leisurely guitar lines, which bear a fair resemblance to God Is an Astronaut or Black Narcissus. The Sky Will Remember is much closer to the cheerful, upbeat nature of Halocraft’s prior two full-lengths, with tons of tunes that are sticky-sweet but somehow never cloying. On the other hand, To Leave a Single Wolf Alive is a significant deviation from Halocraft’s usual style. Aside from its noticeably darker tone, it’s less reliant on hooks and, therefore, its slower burn took me a little longer to appreciate. Careful attention to both records will reveal subtle, whimsical bass counterpoints to the twin guitars.

The real strength of Halocraft’s songwriting is favoring clearly defined melodies over the sprawling free-form tendencies common in the post-rock genre. The songs loosely adhere to the tried and true pop structure, with verses and choruses that just happen to be instrumental in this case. I am, personally, partial toward The Sky Will Remember. Tracks such as “A Headful of Dreams,” “And in That Light, I Saw You,” and “Particle” never fail to lift my spirits. To Leave a Single Wolf Alive is there when I’m in the mood for something more melancholic but equally pleasant. While it does lean more heavily on repetition, there are moments that stand out, such as the slithering grooves of “And the Weak Suffer What They Must” and the faint goth-rock shades of “They Rest in Flames.” Though very different from one another, both albums are versatile enough to excel in the foreground and the background.

After spending nearly a year with both, I can confidently say that Halocraft has accomplished the difficult and paradoxical task of making two opposite yet complementary records. The Sky Will Remember and To Leave a Single Wolf Alive are a refreshing reversal of many instrumental post-rock norms, like meandering songwriting and lack of meaningful melodies. They are so easy to listen to and enjoy, no matter what mood I find myself in. I may connect with The Sky Will Remember more, but I appreciate Halocraft’s willingness and capability to expand their sound into darker avenues on To Leave a Single Wolf Alive. My hope is that on their next record they can take both of these disparate strands and weave them together. For now, though, you can’t go wrong with either choice.

Tracks to Check Out (The Sky Will Remember): “A Headful of Dreams,” “And in That Light, I Saw You”

Tracks to Check Out (To Leave a Single Wolf Alive): “And the Weak Suffer What They Must,” “They Rest in Flames”

#2025 #blackNarcissus #godIsAnAstronaut #greekMetal #halocraft #instrumentalMetal #notMetal #postRock #selfRelease #theSkyWillRemember #thingsYouMightHaveMissed2025 #toLeaveASingleWolfAlive #tymhm

Halocraft – The Sky Will Remember / To Leave a Single Wolf Alive [Things You Might Have Missed 2025]

By Killjoy

I find the idea of double albums fascinating. While in many cases they may indicate an unchecked surge of inspiration or an unwillingness to self-edit, there are instances when the decision can feel genuinely appropriate. Halocraft, a (mostly) instrumental post-rock quartet from Greece, opted to split the final entry of a multi-album story into two parallel endings. According to their respective Bandcamp pages, The Sky Will Remember is the “imaginary happy ending,” whereas To Leave a Single Wolf Alive is the “true dark ending.” Aside from this brief description, the song titles, and sparse lyrics, Halocraft relies solely on their music to tell both sides of this narrative.

Halocraft’s “music first, atmosphere second” approach serves them well. It’s hard not to let oneself be borne away by the dreamy, leisurely guitar lines, which bear a fair resemblance to God Is an Astronaut or Black Narcissus. The Sky Will Remember is much closer to the cheerful, upbeat nature of Halocraft’s prior two full-lengths, with tons of tunes that are sticky-sweet but somehow never cloying. On the other hand, To Leave a Single Wolf Alive is a significant deviation from Halocraft’s usual style. Aside from its noticeably darker tone, it’s less reliant on hooks and, therefore, its slower burn took me a little longer to appreciate. Careful attention to both records will reveal subtle, whimsical bass counterpoints to the twin guitars.

The real strength of Halocraft’s songwriting is favoring clearly defined melodies over the sprawling free-form tendencies common in the post-rock genre. The songs loosely adhere to the tried and true pop structure, with verses and choruses that just happen to be instrumental in this case. I am, personally, partial toward The Sky Will Remember. Tracks such as “A Headful of Dreams,” “And in That Light, I Saw You,” and “Particle” never fail to lift my spirits. To Leave a Single Wolf Alive is there when I’m in the mood for something more melancholic but equally pleasant. While it does lean more heavily on repetition, there are moments that stand out, such as the slithering grooves of “And the Weak Suffer What They Must” and the faint goth-rock shades of “They Rest in Flames.” Though very different from one another, both albums are versatile enough to excel in the foreground and the background.

After spending nearly a year with both, I can confidently say that Halocraft has accomplished the difficult and paradoxical task of making two opposite yet complementary records. The Sky Will Remember and To Leave a Single Wolf Alive are a refreshing reversal of many instrumental post-rock norms, like meandering songwriting and lack of meaningful melodies. They are so easy to listen to and enjoy, no matter what mood I find myself in. I may connect with The Sky Will Remember more, but I appreciate Halocraft’s willingness and capability to expand their sound into darker avenues on To Leave a Single Wolf Alive. My hope is that on their next record they can take both of these disparate strands and weave them together. For now, though, you can’t go wrong with either choice.

Tracks to Check Out (The Sky Will Remember): “A Headful of Dreams,” “And in That Light, I Saw You”

Tracks to Check Out (To Leave a Single Wolf Alive): “And the Weak Suffer What They Must,” “They Rest in Flames”

#2025 #blackNarcissus #godIsAnAstronaut #greekMetal #halocraft #instrumentalMetal #notMetal #postRock #selfRelease #theSkyWillRemember #thingsYouMightHaveMissed2025 #toLeaveASingleWolfAlive #tymhm

Halocraft – The Sky Will Remember / To Leave a Single Wolf Alive [Things You Might Have Missed 2025]

By Killjoy

I find the idea of double albums fascinating. While in many cases they may indicate an unchecked surge of inspiration or an unwillingness to self-edit, there are instances when the decision can feel genuinely appropriate. Halocraft, a (mostly) instrumental post-rock quartet from Greece, opted to split the final entry of a multi-album story into two parallel endings. According to their respective Bandcamp pages, The Sky Will Remember is the “imaginary happy ending,” whereas To Leave a Single Wolf Alive is the “true dark ending.” Aside from this brief description, the song titles, and sparse lyrics, Halocraft relies solely on their music to tell both sides of this narrative.

Halocraft’s “music first, atmosphere second” approach serves them well. It’s hard not to let oneself be borne away by the dreamy, leisurely guitar lines, which bear a fair resemblance to God Is an Astronaut or Black Narcissus. The Sky Will Remember is much closer to the cheerful, upbeat nature of Halocraft’s prior two full-lengths, with tons of tunes that are sticky-sweet but somehow never cloying. On the other hand, To Leave a Single Wolf Alive is a significant deviation from Halocraft’s usual style. Aside from its noticeably darker tone, it’s less reliant on hooks and, therefore, its slower burn took me a little longer to appreciate. Careful attention to both records will reveal subtle, whimsical bass counterpoints to the twin guitars.

The real strength of Halocraft’s songwriting is favoring clearly defined melodies over the sprawling free-form tendencies common in the post-rock genre. The songs loosely adhere to the tried and true pop structure, with verses and choruses that just happen to be instrumental in this case. I am, personally, partial toward The Sky Will Remember. Tracks such as “A Headful of Dreams,” “And in That Light, I Saw You,” and “Particle” never fail to lift my spirits. To Leave a Single Wolf Alive is there when I’m in the mood for something more melancholic but equally pleasant. While it does lean more heavily on repetition, there are moments that stand out, such as the slithering grooves of “And the Weak Suffer What They Must” and the faint goth-rock shades of “They Rest in Flames.” Though very different from one another, both albums are versatile enough to excel in the foreground and the background.

After spending nearly a year with both, I can confidently say that Halocraft has accomplished the difficult and paradoxical task of making two opposite yet complementary records. The Sky Will Remember and To Leave a Single Wolf Alive are a refreshing reversal of many instrumental post-rock norms, like meandering songwriting and lack of meaningful melodies. They are so easy to listen to and enjoy, no matter what mood I find myself in. I may connect with The Sky Will Remember more, but I appreciate Halocraft’s willingness and capability to expand their sound into darker avenues on To Leave a Single Wolf Alive. My hope is that on their next record they can take both of these disparate strands and weave them together. For now, though, you can’t go wrong with either choice.

Tracks to Check Out (The Sky Will Remember): “A Headful of Dreams,” “And in That Light, I Saw You”

Tracks to Check Out (To Leave a Single Wolf Alive): “And the Weak Suffer What They Must,” “They Rest in Flames”

#2025 #blackNarcissus #godIsAnAstronaut #greekMetal #halocraft #instrumentalMetal #notMetal #postRock #selfRelease #theSkyWillRemember #thingsYouMightHaveMissed2025 #toLeaveASingleWolfAlive #tymhm

Antinoë – The Fold Review

As the whispering winds of winter begin to blow colder through my neck of the woods, a time…
#NewsBeep #News #Music #2025 #4.0 #Ambient #Antinoë #Darkher #DeadCanDance #DimmuBorgir #Emperor #Entertainment #enya #NotMetal #Nov25 #Piano #review #SpanishMetal #TheFold #UK #UnitedKingdom
https://www.newsbeep.com/uk/276182/

Antinoë – The Fold Review

By Tyme

As the whispering winds of winter begin to blow colder through my neck of the woods, a time of year when fires get cozier, quaffed beers get darker, and we here at AMG begin to rhapsodize on things missed and regale readers with things listed, I found myself still searching for a near-end-of-year something new. When I saw Antinoë’s Dark Essence Records debut, The Fold, blurbily described as ‘Neoclassical Folk meets melancholy Pop with a Metal attitude,’ I was intrigued. Descending from the mountains of Madrid, Antinoë is the passion project of pianist and vocalist Teresa Marraco. Launched in 2021, Antinoë’s 2023 release, Whispers from the Dark Past, offered a unique piano tribute to the 90s Norwegian black metal scene, with Marraco covering everything from Emperor’s “I Am the Black Wizards” to Mayhem’s “Life Eternal” and Dimmu Borgir’s “Mourning Palace.”1 Poised to challenge the very fluid boundaries of what metal can be, let’s see if The Fold has the warmth necessary to keep those wintery winds at bay.

Void of instrumental trappings associated with most traditional metal, Antinoë relies solely on Marraco’s beautifully resonant voice and her expansive piano compositions to weave stygian tapestries. Conceptually, The Fold navigates the odyssey of accepting death, inviting listeners to tread a path through the idiomatic depths of grief’s different stages, as it traces the process of ‘folding inward.’ From the outset, as cricket-song fades into “Night Falls,” with its delicately crafted, darkly haunting piano melody and celestial vocals, the track pulls at melancholy heartstrings, drawing you into Antinoë’s dark world and setting the stage for what’s to come. The Fold offers an immersive, piano-led experience, peppered with pummeled ivories that shift with metallic force beneath sustained choral harmonies (“The Devil’s Voice”), as wispy trails of folky, Enya-esque ambiance waft amid airy, Dead Can Dance-like atmospheres (“Når Du Dør”). Not unlike Darkher, Antinoë succeeds at tapping into inscrutable emotion by minimalist means, but where Maiven casts spells webbed in doom, Marraco’s magic leans more toward the black arts.

While Antinoë draws much of its ‘metal’ from lyrical themes that explore the dense nature of grief and death, that doesn’t mean The Fold is musically bereft of heavier fare. Death angels descend on Emperor wings with halos of Dimmu Borgir to hover over the opening chords of “Threshold,” heralding dark omens in a chorus of swarming harmonies, witchy laughter, and raspy breaths, all as Antinoë pounds and trills her way through octaves in true symphonic black metal fashion.2 Is it still just a girl and her piano? Yes, but it’s by far the ‘heaviest’ song on the album. Which gives way to the excellently murky pop of “Chaos in the Sky,” another album highlight that had my neck snapped to rapt attention when Marracos, in her smoky voice, opened with “Who the fuck are you? Who the fuck am I?” like some dark-alt Adele, creating another moment more metal than not.

Drenched in warmth, The Fold’s production captures the beauty of Antinoë’s neo-classical elegance and marries it perfectly to its atmospherically blackened weight, providing a full-on musical experience. Whether it’s the delicate last minute of “The Devil’s Voice,” which flirts with a “Lágnætti” melody, off the Sólstafir magnum opus Ottá, or the inquisitive, childlike mystery of the whispers and keys on “Flock,” to the somber dirge of vocals from “Light Bringer,” listening to Antinoë is to become utterly immersed. I have little to critique, so enamored am I by Antinoë’s ability to impart complex ideas in the simplest of terms. I suppose there’s a minute or two that Marraco could have shaved from the two instrumentals, but in all honesty, there’s not a minute of The Fold that I would cut or change.

One of the things I’ve always appreciated about AMG is its fearlessness in shedding light on bands that are categorically not metal. Case in point, among many, is Dolphin Whisperer’s review of Maud the Moth’s excellent The Distaff this year. Antinoë has recorded an emotional album for healing hearts, and as I look back on the last few years of losses I’ve experienced, I’m unsurprised by how impactful it’s been to me. I wasn’t expecting something of this caliber to come sweeping in so close to list season, but here we are. I’ll gladly wrap myself in a warm blanket next to a cozy fire, slip on my favorite pair of headphones, and sip a smoky porter while letting The Fold envelop me against the impending winter’s chill.

Rating: 4.0/5.0
DR: 9 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Dark Essence Records
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: November 21st, 2025

#2025 #40 #ambient #antinoe #darkher #deadCanDance #dimmuBorgir #emperor #enya #notMetal #nov25 #piano #review #spanishMetal #theFold

Antinoë – The Fold Review

By Tyme

As the whispering winds of winter begin to blow colder through my neck of the woods, a time of year when fires get cozier, quaffed beers get darker, and we here at AMG begin to rhapsodize on things missed and regale readers with things listed, I found myself still searching for a near-end-of-year something new. When I saw Antinoë’s Dark Essence Records debut, The Fold, blurbily described as ‘Neoclassical Folk meets melancholy Pop with a Metal attitude,’ I was intrigued. Descending from the mountains of Madrid, Antinoë is the passion project of pianist and vocalist Teresa Marraco. Launched in 2021, Antinoë’s 2023 release, Whispers from the Dark Past, offered a unique piano tribute to the 90s Norwegian black metal scene, with Marraco covering everything from Emperor’s “I Am the Black Wizards” to Mayhem’s “Life Eternal” and Dimmu Borgir’s “Mourning Palace.”1 Poised to challenge the very fluid boundaries of what metal can be, let’s see if The Fold has the warmth necessary to keep those wintery winds at bay.

Void of instrumental trappings associated with most traditional metal, Antinoë relies solely on Marraco’s beautifully resonant voice and her expansive piano compositions to weave stygian tapestries. Conceptually, The Fold navigates the odyssey of accepting death, inviting listeners to tread a path through the idiomatic depths of grief’s different stages, as it traces the process of ‘folding inward.’ From the outset, as cricket-song fades into “Night Falls,” with its delicately crafted, darkly haunting piano melody and celestial vocals, the track pulls at melancholy heartstrings, drawing you into Antinoë’s dark world and setting the stage for what’s to come. The Fold offers an immersive, piano-led experience, peppered with pummeled ivories that shift with metallic force beneath sustained choral harmonies (“The Devil’s Voice”), as wispy trails of folky, Enya-esque ambiance waft amid airy, Dead Can Dance-like atmospheres (“Når Du Dør”). Not unlike Darkher, Antinoë succeeds at tapping into inscrutable emotion by minimalist means, but where Maiven casts spells webbed in doom, Marraco’s magic leans more toward the black arts.

While Antinoë draws much of its ‘metal’ from lyrical themes that explore the dense nature of grief and death, that doesn’t mean The Fold is musically bereft of heavier fare. Death angels descend on Emperor wings with halos of Dimmu Borgir to hover over the opening chords of “Threshold,” heralding dark omens in a chorus of swarming harmonies, witchy laughter, and raspy breaths, all as Antinoë pounds and trills her way through octaves in true symphonic black metal fashion.2 Is it still just a girl and her piano? Yes, but it’s by far the ‘heaviest’ song on the album. Which gives way to the excellently murky pop of “Chaos in the Sky,” another album highlight that had my neck snapped to rapt attention when Marracos, in her smoky voice, opened with “Who the fuck are you? Who the fuck am I?” like some dark-alt Adele, creating another moment more metal than not.

Drenched in warmth, The Fold’s production captures the beauty of Antinoë’s neo-classical elegance and marries it perfectly to its atmospherically blackened weight, providing a full-on musical experience. Whether it’s the delicate last minute of “The Devil’s Voice,” which flirts with a “Lágnætti” melody, off the Sólstafir magnum opus Ottá, or the inquisitive, childlike mystery of the whispers and keys on “Flock,” to the somber dirge of vocals from “Light Bringer,” listening to Antinoë is to become utterly immersed. I have little to critique, so enamored am I by Antinoë’s ability to impart complex ideas in the simplest of terms. I suppose there’s a minute or two that Marraco could have shaved from the two instrumentals, but in all honesty, there’s not a minute of The Fold that I would cut or change.

One of the things I’ve always appreciated about AMG is its fearlessness in shedding light on bands that are categorically not metal. Case in point, among many, is Dolphin Whisperer’s review of Maud the Moth’s excellent The Distaff this year. Antinoë has recorded an emotional album for healing hearts, and as I look back on the last few years of losses I’ve experienced, I’m unsurprised by how impactful it’s been to me. I wasn’t expecting something of this caliber to come sweeping in so close to list season, but here we are. I’ll gladly wrap myself in a warm blanket next to a cozy fire, slip on my favorite pair of headphones, and sip a smoky porter while letting The Fold envelop me against the impending winter’s chill.

Rating: 4.0/5.0
DR: 9 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Dark Essence Records
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: November 21st, 2025

#2025 #40 #ambient #antinoe #darkher #deadCanDance #dimmuBorgir #emperor #enya #notMetal #nov25 #piano #review #spanishMetal #theFold