#notmetal — Public Fediverse posts

Canadian cellist Raphael Weinroth-Browne probably needs no introduction at this point, which is a bit surprising, given that this is a metal blog. He first graced these halls in 2015 through The Visit, and, as a soloist, in early 2020 with the spectacular Worlds Within. By now, his “not not metal” approach to cello is a familiar comfort to this reviewer in particular. He is a frequent guest on my year-end lists, and I always look forward to his work, especially since last year’s Lifeblood, which—hang on, that was just last year? Turns out Weinroth-Browne has been busy over the last little bit, with his third full-length, Empyrean, coming less than a year after the last. That might be an indication we should be wary, or maybe the man is simply filled with good ideas. Let’s find out.

Empyrean is different than most everything Raphael Weinroth-Browne has done recently. Generally, I think of his work as being neo-classical, but there’s a clear metal influence in what he does that acts as a sort of anchor to his work—certainly Lifeblood had a heavy spine that guided much of its direction. But Empyrean began its days as a commission from a contemporary dance company, an invitation for Weinroth-Browne to build a score for a show called BACH Reimagined. The metal influence is there, of course, but this time intertwined with baroque sensibilities. As a result, it is less tangible, more open, and really highlights the “classical.” Tracks flow in and out of each other without clear breaks—I often check my player around track four (the dream-like “Murmuration”), surprised to realize I’m not on the first song anymore. Nowhere near it, in fact—Empyrean is stealing my sense of time.

That is the album’s main strength: it flows. Not quite like Worlds Within, where everything was re-dedicated around core ideas, but in a natural, airy way that just sort of glides from one idea to the next without looking back. The brief-yet-dramatic romp of “Remnant” becomes the journeying “Evocation” before you know it, and it’s not until “Integration” (track five!) that I notice we’ve moved well past the opener. Speaking of “Evocation,” it’s a gorgeous song and an album highlight. It swells softly, capturing an adventurous feeling with impressively quiet grace. Later, “Reflection” brings in more of that metal influence Raphael Weinroth-Browne knows and loves, with percussion and backing riffs that support a searching, soaring melody. It maintains the quiet dignity Empyrean is built on while still feeling like the kind of thing you might read about on a metal blog—”classic” Raphael Weinroth-Browne. Of course, we get there without really realizing we’ve gotten there; it doesn’t flow seamlessly from the earlier “Sanctum,” but the groundwork is laid so well that it doesn’t feel out of place on an album much more classical than I’d expected.

I could argue that the flow of Empyrean is perhaps its greatest drawback too. There are many great ideas on Empyrean that appear once only and are quickly discarded as the unyielding cello moves to its next idea. On Lifeblood, the longer track lengths often meant we stayed with one central idea for an extended length of time, building around it and creating something impactful. While Empyrean is ten full minutes shorter (around 48 minutes over nine tracks), it feels somehow longer as the songs blend and occasionally lose ground transitioning from one ephemeral idea to the next. We end the journey with the title track, which sets down a gorgeous melody that builds and swells and fades, but never really goes anywhere or does anything. It’s beautiful, but it’s restrained. That may just be the metalhead in me talking—Empyrean takes us further from our “comfort zone” (in that this is a metal blog) than previous Raphael Weinroth-Browne albums—but it does feel like Empyrean is not as focused as it could be.

In fact, Empyrean feels almost like an improvisation, like Raphael Weinroth-Browne is speaking through his instrument, freehand, and inviting us to just listen. It’s a great way to spend the better part of an hour, and it sounds beautiful as ever—he is a master of his instrument. Empyrean feels a touch unfocused compared to previous releases, but if you want to just close your eyes and follow the threads of this journey, it is still as rewarding and enriching an experience as I’ve come to hope for.

Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3
Label: Self release
Websites: raphaelweinroth-browne.bandcamp.com | raphaelweinrothbrowne.com | facebook.com/raphcello
Releases Worldwide: September 11th, 2026

Canadian cellist Raphael Weinroth-Browne probably needs no introduction at this point, which is a bit surprising, given that this is a metal blog. He first graced these halls in 2015 through The Visit, and, as a soloist, in early 2020 with the spectacular Worlds Within. By now, his “not not metal” approach to cello is a familiar comfort to this reviewer in particular. He is a frequent guest on my year-end lists, and I always look forward to his work, especially since last year’s Lifeblood, which—hang on, that was just last year? Turns out Weinroth-Browne has been busy over the last little bit, with his third full-length, Empyrean, coming less than a year after the last. That might be an indication we should be wary, or maybe the man is simply filled with good ideas. Let’s find out.

Empyrean is different than most everything Raphael Weinroth-Browne has done recently. Generally, I think of his work as being neo-classical, but there’s a clear metal influence in what he does that acts as a sort of anchor to his work—certainly Lifeblood had a heavy spine that guided much of its direction. But Empyrean began its days as a commission from a contemporary dance company, an invitation for Weinroth-Browne to build a score for a show called BACH Reimagined. The metal influence is there, of course, but this time intertwined with baroque sensibilities. As a result, it is less tangible, more open, and really highlights the “classical.” Tracks flow in and out of each other without clear breaks—I often check my player around track four (the dream-like “Murmuration”), surprised to realize I’m not on the first song anymore. Nowhere near it, in fact—Empyrean is stealing my sense of time.

That is the album’s main strength: it flows. Not quite like Worlds Within, where everything was re-dedicated around core ideas, but in a natural, airy way that just sort of glides from one idea to the next without looking back. The brief-yet-dramatic romp of “Remnant” becomes the journeying “Evocation” before you know it, and it’s not until “Integration” (track five!) that I notice we’ve moved well past the opener. Speaking of “Evocation,” it’s a gorgeous song and an album highlight. It swells softly, capturing an adventurous feeling with impressively quiet grace. Later, “Reflection” brings in more of that metal influence Raphael Weinroth-Browne knows and loves, with percussion and backing riffs that support a searching, soaring melody. It maintains the quiet dignity Empyrean is built on while still feeling like the kind of thing you might read about on a metal blog—”classic” Raphael Weinroth-Browne. Of course, we get there without really realizing we’ve gotten there; it doesn’t flow seamlessly from the earlier “Sanctum,” but the groundwork is laid so well that it doesn’t feel out of place on an album much more classical than I’d expected.

I could argue that the flow of Empyrean is perhaps its greatest drawback too. There are many great ideas on Empyrean that appear once only and are quickly discarded as the unyielding cello moves to its next idea. On Lifeblood, the longer track lengths often meant we stayed with one central idea for an extended length of time, building around it and creating something impactful. While Empyrean is ten full minutes shorter (around 48 minutes over nine tracks), it feels somehow longer as the songs blend and occasionally lose ground transitioning from one ephemeral idea to the next. We end the journey with the title track, which sets down a gorgeous melody that builds and swells and fades, but never really goes anywhere or does anything. It’s beautiful, but it’s restrained. That may just be the metalhead in me talking—Empyrean takes us further from our “comfort zone” (in that this is a metal blog) than previous Raphael Weinroth-Browne albums—but it does feel like Empyrean is not as focused as it could be.

In fact, Empyrean feels almost like an improvisation, like Raphael Weinroth-Browne is speaking through his instrument, freehand, and inviting us to just listen. It’s a great way to spend the better part of an hour, and it sounds beautiful as ever—he is a master of his instrument. Empyrean feels a touch unfocused compared to previous releases, but if you want to just close your eyes and follow the threads of this journey, it is still as rewarding and enriching an experience as I’ve come to hope for.

Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3
Label: Self release
Websites: raphaelweinroth-browne.bandcamp.com | raphaelweinrothbrowne.com | facebook.com/raphcello
Releases Worldwide: September 11th, 2026

Canadian cellist Raphael Weinroth-Browne probably needs no introduction at this point, which is a bit surprising, given that this is a metal blog. He first graced these halls in 2015 through The Visit, and, as a soloist, in early 2020 with the spectacular Worlds Within. By now, his “not not metal” approach to cello is a familiar comfort to this reviewer in particular. He is a frequent guest on my year-end lists, and I always look forward to his work, especially since last year’s Lifeblood, which—hang on, that was just last year? Turns out Weinroth-Browne has been busy over the last little bit, with his third full-length, Empyrean, coming less than a year after the last. That might be an indication we should be wary, or maybe the man is simply filled with good ideas. Let’s find out.

Empyrean is different than most everything Raphael Weinroth-Browne has done recently. Generally, I think of his work as being neo-classical, but there’s a clear metal influence in what he does that acts as a sort of anchor to his work—certainly Lifeblood had a heavy spine that guided much of its direction. But Empyrean began its days as a commission from a contemporary dance company, an invitation for Weinroth-Browne to build a score for a show called BACH Reimagined. The metal influence is there, of course, but this time intertwined with baroque sensibilities. As a result, it is less tangible, more open, and really highlights the “classical.” Tracks flow in and out of each other without clear breaks—I often check my player around track four (the dream-like “Murmuration”), surprised to realize I’m not on the first song anymore. Nowhere near it, in fact—Empyrean is stealing my sense of time.

That is the album’s main strength: it flows. Not quite like Worlds Within, where everything was re-dedicated around core ideas, but in a natural, airy way that just sort of glides from one idea to the next without looking back. The brief-yet-dramatic romp of “Remnant” becomes the journeying “Evocation” before you know it, and it’s not until “Integration” (track five!) that I notice we’ve moved well past the opener. Speaking of “Evocation,” it’s a gorgeous song and an album highlight. It swells softly, capturing an adventurous feeling with impressively quiet grace. Later, “Reflection” brings in more of that metal influence Raphael Weinroth-Browne knows and loves, with percussion and backing riffs that support a searching, soaring melody. It maintains the quiet dignity Empyrean is built on while still feeling like the kind of thing you might read about on a metal blog—”classic” Raphael Weinroth-Browne. Of course, we get there without really realizing we’ve gotten there; it doesn’t flow seamlessly from the earlier “Sanctum,” but the groundwork is laid so well that it doesn’t feel out of place on an album much more classical than I’d expected.

I could argue that the flow of Empyrean is perhaps its greatest drawback too. There are many great ideas on Empyrean that appear once only and are quickly discarded as the unyielding cello moves to its next idea. On Lifeblood, the longer track lengths often meant we stayed with one central idea for an extended length of time, building around it and creating something impactful. While Empyrean is ten full minutes shorter (around 48 minutes over nine tracks), it feels somehow longer as the songs blend and occasionally lose ground transitioning from one ephemeral idea to the next. We end the journey with the title track, which sets down a gorgeous melody that builds and swells and fades, but never really goes anywhere or does anything. It’s beautiful, but it’s restrained. That may just be the metalhead in me talking—Empyrean takes us further from our “comfort zone” (in that this is a metal blog) than previous Raphael Weinroth-Browne albums—but it does feel like Empyrean is not as focused as it could be.

In fact, Empyrean feels almost like an improvisation, like Raphael Weinroth-Browne is speaking through his instrument, freehand, and inviting us to just listen. It’s a great way to spend the better part of an hour, and it sounds beautiful as ever—he is a master of his instrument. Empyrean feels a touch unfocused compared to previous releases, but if you want to just close your eyes and follow the threads of this journey, it is still as rewarding and enriching an experience as I’ve come to hope for.

Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3
Label: Self release
Websites: raphaelweinroth-browne.bandcamp.com | raphaelweinrothbrowne.com | facebook.com/raphcello
Releases Worldwide: September 11th, 2026

Canadian cellist Raphael Weinroth-Browne probably needs no introduction at this point, which is a bit surprising, given that this is a metal blog. He first graced these halls in 2015 through The Visit, and, as a soloist, in early 2020 with the spectacular Worlds Within. By now, his “not not metal” approach to cello is a familiar comfort to this reviewer in particular. He is a frequent guest on my year-end lists, and I always look forward to his work, especially since last year’s Lifeblood, which—hang on, that was just last year? Turns out Weinroth-Browne has been busy over the last little bit, with his third full-length, Empyrean, coming less than a year after the last. That might be an indication we should be wary, or maybe the man is simply filled with good ideas. Let’s find out.

Empyrean is different than most everything Raphael Weinroth-Browne has done recently. Generally, I think of his work as being neo-classical, but there’s a clear metal influence in what he does that acts as a sort of anchor to his work—certainly Lifeblood had a heavy spine that guided much of its direction. But Empyrean began its days as a commission from a contemporary dance company, an invitation for Weinroth-Browne to build a score for a show called BACH Reimagined. The metal influence is there, of course, but this time intertwined with baroque sensibilities. As a result, it is less tangible, more open, and really highlights the “classical.” Tracks flow in and out of each other without clear breaks—I often check my player around track four (the dream-like “Murmuration”), surprised to realize I’m not on the first song anymore. Nowhere near it, in fact—Empyrean is stealing my sense of time.

That is the album’s main strength: it flows. Not quite like Worlds Within, where everything was re-dedicated around core ideas, but in a natural, airy way that just sort of glides from one idea to the next without looking back. The brief-yet-dramatic romp of “Remnant” becomes the journeying “Evocation” before you know it, and it’s not until “Integration” (track five!) that I notice we’ve moved well past the opener. Speaking of “Evocation,” it’s a gorgeous song and an album highlight. It swells softly, capturing an adventurous feeling with impressively quiet grace. Later, “Reflection” brings in more of that metal influence Raphael Weinroth-Browne knows and loves, with percussion and backing riffs that support a searching, soaring melody. It maintains the quiet dignity Empyrean is built on while still feeling like the kind of thing you might read about on a metal blog—”classic” Raphael Weinroth-Browne. Of course, we get there without really realizing we’ve gotten there; it doesn’t flow seamlessly from the earlier “Sanctum,” but the groundwork is laid so well that it doesn’t feel out of place on an album much more classical than I’d expected.

I could argue that the flow of Empyrean is perhaps its greatest drawback too. There are many great ideas on Empyrean that appear once only and are quickly discarded as the unyielding cello moves to its next idea. On Lifeblood, the longer track lengths often meant we stayed with one central idea for an extended length of time, building around it and creating something impactful. While Empyrean is ten full minutes shorter (around 48 minutes over nine tracks), it feels somehow longer as the songs blend and occasionally lose ground transitioning from one ephemeral idea to the next. We end the journey with the title track, which sets down a gorgeous melody that builds and swells and fades, but never really goes anywhere or does anything. It’s beautiful, but it’s restrained. That may just be the metalhead in me talking—Empyrean takes us further from our “comfort zone” (in that this is a metal blog) than previous Raphael Weinroth-Browne albums—but it does feel like Empyrean is not as focused as it could be.

In fact, Empyrean feels almost like an improvisation, like Raphael Weinroth-Browne is speaking through his instrument, freehand, and inviting us to just listen. It’s a great way to spend the better part of an hour, and it sounds beautiful as ever—he is a master of his instrument. Empyrean feels a touch unfocused compared to previous releases, but if you want to just close your eyes and follow the threads of this journey, it is still as rewarding and enriching an experience as I’ve come to hope for.

Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3
Label: Self release
Websites: raphaelweinroth-browne.bandcamp.com | raphaelweinrothbrowne.com | facebook.com/raphcello
Releases Worldwide: September 11th, 2026

Canadian cellist Raphael Weinroth-Browne probably needs no introduction at this point, which is a bit surprising, given that this is a metal blog. He first graced these halls in 2015 through The Visit, and, as a soloist, in early 2020 with the spectacular Worlds Within. By now, his “not not metal” approach to cello is a familiar comfort to this reviewer in particular. He is a frequent guest on my year-end lists, and I always look forward to his work, especially since last year’s Lifeblood, which—hang on, that was just last year? Turns out Weinroth-Browne has been busy over the last little bit, with his third full-length, Empyrean, coming less than a year after the last. That might be an indication we should be wary, or maybe the man is simply filled with good ideas. Let’s find out.

Empyrean is different than most everything Raphael Weinroth-Browne has done recently. Generally, I think of his work as being neo-classical, but there’s a clear metal influence in what he does that acts as a sort of anchor to his work—certainly Lifeblood had a heavy spine that guided much of its direction. But Empyrean began its days as a commission from a contemporary dance company, an invitation for Weinroth-Browne to build a score for a show called BACH Reimagined. The metal influence is there, of course, but this time intertwined with baroque sensibilities. As a result, it is less tangible, more open, and really highlights the “classical.” Tracks flow in and out of each other without clear breaks—I often check my player around track four (the dream-like “Murmuration”), surprised to realize I’m not on the first song anymore. Nowhere near it, in fact—Empyrean is stealing my sense of time.

That is the album’s main strength: it flows. Not quite like Worlds Within, where everything was re-dedicated around core ideas, but in a natural, airy way that just sort of glides from one idea to the next without looking back. The brief-yet-dramatic romp of “Remnant” becomes the journeying “Evocation” before you know it, and it’s not until “Integration” (track five!) that I notice we’ve moved well past the opener. Speaking of “Evocation,” it’s a gorgeous song and an album highlight. It swells softly, capturing an adventurous feeling with impressively quiet grace. Later, “Reflection” brings in more of that metal influence Raphael Weinroth-Browne knows and loves, with percussion and backing riffs that support a searching, soaring melody. It maintains the quiet dignity Empyrean is built on while still feeling like the kind of thing you might read about on a metal blog—”classic” Raphael Weinroth-Browne. Of course, we get there without really realizing we’ve gotten there; it doesn’t flow seamlessly from the earlier “Sanctum,” but the groundwork is laid so well that it doesn’t feel out of place on an album much more classical than I’d expected.

I could argue that the flow of Empyrean is perhaps its greatest drawback too. There are many great ideas on Empyrean that appear once only and are quickly discarded as the unyielding cello moves to its next idea. On Lifeblood, the longer track lengths often meant we stayed with one central idea for an extended length of time, building around it and creating something impactful. While Empyrean is ten full minutes shorter (around 48 minutes over nine tracks), it feels somehow longer as the songs blend and occasionally lose ground transitioning from one ephemeral idea to the next. We end the journey with the title track, which sets down a gorgeous melody that builds and swells and fades, but never really goes anywhere or does anything. It’s beautiful, but it’s restrained. That may just be the metalhead in me talking—Empyrean takes us further from our “comfort zone” (in that this is a metal blog) than previous Raphael Weinroth-Browne albums—but it does feel like Empyrean is not as focused as it could be.

In fact, Empyrean feels almost like an improvisation, like Raphael Weinroth-Browne is speaking through his instrument, freehand, and inviting us to just listen. It’s a great way to spend the better part of an hour, and it sounds beautiful as ever—he is a master of his instrument. Empyrean feels a touch unfocused compared to previous releases, but if you want to just close your eyes and follow the threads of this journey, it is still as rewarding and enriching an experience as I’ve come to hope for.

Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3
Label: Self release
Websites: raphaelweinroth-browne.bandcamp.com | raphaelweinrothbrowne.com | facebook.com/raphcello
Releases Worldwide: September 11th, 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

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