#season-of-mist — Public Fediverse posts

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

A little less than a year ago, Green Carnation dropped Part I of their A Dark Poem trilogy, The Shores of Melancholia. That captivating record sets the stage for the band’s ambitious Ophelia-inspired epic. While I know many loved The Shores of Melancholia as it stood (which is fair), I had a difficult time treating it that way, knowing it was meant to be a full experience. Thankfully, I can say that The Shores of Melancholia works even more now that I’ve heard A Dark Poem Part II: Sanguis. The Shores of Melancholia is a fantastic introduction to the unbearable depression, frustration, guilt, and sorrow that envelop Sanguis and its impeccably concise, thirty-seven-minute runtime. So, I’ll admit, individual albums should have stand-alone qualities. That way, listeners can absorb a record in the moment and in the entire experience when they have time for such a thing. We all know Part I mostly achieved that, but what about Part II?

I can thankfully say that Green Carnation has achieved both. Sanguis is a record you can put on repeat with no problems, while also setting both parts on in succession. Everything that was set up in the first album is cranked to eleven in the sequel. And not just in songwriting, riffage, aggression, or attitude. This is still Green Carnation, after all. The sad moments I felt with the first album are far more intense in the sequel. The riffs are harder than most of the songs the band has ever written, and the slower pieces have the emotion of a broken-hearted child. This is exactly what much of the lyrical content focuses on. If there ever was A Dark Poem by Green Carnation, Sanguis is it.

A Dark Poem, Part II: Sanguis by Green Carnation

The self-titled opener is simply one of the most epic on the disc. It picks up from where the previous album left off and slingshots you into a powerful new direction. Incorporating spacey effects with a headbangable groove and a soaring, melodic chorus, this nine-minute beauty sets the stage for what’s to come. When the rasps arrive at the halfway mark, the desperation in the clean vocals intensifies, bringing along that good ole Green Carnation sadness. But the moment it all seems to come to an end, it transitions once more, splashing every known color on the canvas as it builds, drawing all manner of moods through its dripping, streaking, and smattering visualizations. This track alone is worth the journey into Sanguis, but it’s only the beginning.

We take a step back into the warm embrace of calmness with the follow-up track, “Loneliness Untold, Loneliness Unfold.” Ripped straight from the cutting floor of Acoustic Verses, this gorgeous track is made even more special because it features Stein Roger Sordal on vocals. And, by god, can he stand up straight next to the mighty Kjetil Nordhus. The closer, “Lunar Tale,” is another in the same vein. Simplistic in approach (that’s really what makes it so powerful), it uses soft vocals and breathy flute to zap any happiness you might have in your current situation, and leave you battered, broken, and without hope. Another track worth mentioning explores some sounds of Green Carnation’s past. “Fire in Ice” is a nifty compilation of the band’s current era, smashed together with the rocking character of A Blessing in Disguise. Opening with some soothing clean guitars, it alternates between a classic groove and a bass/drum-led lull. Then, it erupts into a kickass riff that rocks the socks off my dick. This song incorporates the ferocity and beauty of Green Carnation better than any on the album.

Outside of some goofy progginess on the back half of “Sweet to the Point of Bitter,” Sanguis is arguably damn-near perfect. The opener conjures fist-pumping anger at the sky; “Fire in Ice” lets you stomp down everything that stands in your way; and “Loneliness Untold, Loneliness Unfold”1 is the emotional breakdown song we’ve needed all year. Toss in a handsomely dynamic master that lets even the smallest of morsels of melancholy rise to the surface, and you have something that is simply breathtaking for the band and the genre. If Green Carnation has never resonated with you, there is nothing I can do to change your mind. For those who need something in these trying times to bolster their spirits or tear them apart (if only for a moment to reset), Sanguis is here for you.

Rating: 4.5/5.0
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3
Label: Season of Mist
Websites: greencarnationsom.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/greencarnationnorway
Releases Worldwide: April 3rd, 2026

Sometimes a record practically introduces itself with a shrug. Take Via Doloris and their debut Guerre et Paix. The band name? A shortened nod to the Via Dolorosa. The death of Jesus and some “suffering-as-identity” vibes that we’ve seen a thousand times in black metal. The album title? Literally War and Peace in French. The cover art? You’ve seen it. You have seen it—some grayscale, vaguely haunted expanse that could just as easily front a dozen other releases clogging up the “give in to your anger” section. None of this is a crime on its own, but stack all these choices together, and they start pinging that lizard-brain reviewer alarm: this looks like a mid-tier black metal album before a single note even plays. Then there’s the promo copy, dutifully promising “a passage through pain in search of meaning, and the distant, flickering promise of rebirth.” Is this thing good, or is it just another entry in the ever-expanding catalog of metal-by-numbers?

Via Doloris is the solo project of guitarist Gildas le Pape, who spent several years performing live with Satyricon, and Guerre et Paix marks his debut under the moniker. The sound is a comfortable middle ground between more straightforward, blast-driven, 2nd-wave riffing and more expansive, atmospheric impulses, with le Pape’s melody-forward riffs driving the compositions. His guitar work never veers too far off the blackened path, but he imbues each riff with a sneaky melodicity and deploys a fair amount of variety in his 6-stringed attack. There are notes of Havukruunu-esque pagan black melodies (“Communion”), swirling Blut Aus Nord icy arpeggios (“Omniprésents”), and searing, Anaal Nathkrakh-flavored bouts of black metal destruction (“For The Glory”). Throughout it all, le Pape’s knack for catchy, multi-faceted blackened riff-craft shines through. The parts are at once hypnotic and aggressive, and often deepened through intricate guitar layers, allowing songs to flow seamlessly between movements. I’ve found the entrancing outro to “Ultime Tourment” or the Fluisteraars-like motif of “Visdommens Vei 1” stuck in my head for weeks during the review, a testament to the strength of the guitar parts on display and to their immersive effect.

The songs on Guerre et Paix largely sit in the 6–7 minute range, and while Via Doloris doesn’t always wring every possible peak out of that runtime, le Pape makes it feel purposeful more often than not. A track like “Un Franc Soleil” is built around an engaging central riff that subtly evolves as the song progresses, even if it stops just shy of a full-blown crescendo. This approach carries across the record: rather than leaning on dramatic shifts, le Pape favors gradual layering and textural changes, letting songs breathe and unfold at their own pace. The songwriting tends to stick to a core tempo and feel, with variation coming from added guitar layers, drum patterns, or ambient elements rather than structural overhauls. While this can create a meditative consistency that makes certain parts and songs blend together, it ultimately works in the album’s favor, giving Guerre et Paix a cohesive, immersive flow that reinforces the strength of its ideas over the course of a full listen.

This is all buoyed by a seriously sharp production job. Guerre et Paix sounds immaculate. Produced by le Pape and mixed with Nicolai Codling, it opts for clarity over the genre’s usual haze with crystalline guitars front and center, cutting cleanly through even the densest passages. They’re icy but precise, with every layered phrase coming through intact instead of dissolving into mush. Frost (Satyricon, 1349) turns in a characteristically stellar session performance, and the mix gives him room to flex. The drums have a warm, natural quality to them that showcases a varied performance. It allows the more subdued sections to breathe while still filling the mix during more intense, blast-heavy moments. It all comes together to elevate the album’s most dynamic touches, letting details like the choral swell in “Omniprésents” or the melancholic closing progression of “Communion” land exactly as they should.

As it turns out, Guerre et Paix lands comfortably above the genre’s overcrowded middle tier. Via Doloris has delivered an immersive and nuanced atmospheric black metal record, carried by memorable, melodic guitar work that unfolds beautifully over contemplative songs. It sounds amazing and marks le Pape as a promising voice within the space. This is way better than the somewhat generic packaging would suggest.



Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: 10 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Season of Mist
Websites: viadoloris.bandcamp.com | instagram.com/via.doloris
Releases Worldwide: March 20th, 2026

Reviewing albums explicitly labelled post-metal always seems to bring out my inner pedant. I know all genre labels are kind of meaningless, but post-metal specifically seems to simply be slapped onto anything with fewer riffs than your average atmo-black record, but a lot more cleans. Nonetheless, you know what it sounds like, in essence. If that essence had form, it could be Unverkalt on their third LP Héréditaire. Born in Greece and now split between Greece and Germany, Unverkalt’s self-styled avant-garde approach to post-metal takes its “heaviest and most heartfelt” form on this album, which also marks their signing with Season of Mist. Unknown to me beforehand, promotional references to Cut of Luna and Sylvaine in particular caught my eye, along with the art. I’m glad I picked it up because Unverkalt have something that approaches brilliance at many times. But in embodying the vague yet recognisable subgenre—and sounding good whilst doing it—Héréditaire fails to go further than the safety of the minimum required.

Ignore the artist touchstones in the promo; Unverkalt has little meaningful in common with them: a female lead vocalist is about where that starts and ends. If anything, the aura reflects more Harakiri for the Sky, Heretoir, or maybe Frayle. Lead vocalist Dimitra Kalavrezou sings with a distinctive, somewhat sweet intonation, and screams with articulate fierceness—impressive considering this is her first record providing harsh vocals. Her voice is joined by that of guitarist Eli Mavrychev and—in a late-album highlight—Sakis Tolis (“I, The Deceit”), often layered and intermingled to lend a chorus-of-many-voices air that can be quite powerful. This sense of solidarity and humanity ties into Héréditaire’s overt emotionality—easily its greatest asset—which revolves around mournful yet uplifting themes that rise from softly resonant notes into the (regrettably blurry) weeping of tremolo and chunky riffs. It’s through the continued swell and fade of each composition that we get to see the greats that Unverkalt is capable of.

Héréditaire by Unverkalt

Even as songs tend to repeat the same pattern, most manage to draw the listener in. Synths (“Oath ov Prometheus”), vaguely MENA-style saxophone (“Ænæ Lithi”), and sprinklings of piano (“Penumbrian Lament”), and humming strings (“Maladie de l’Esprit”)1 float in and out, and I only wish they were used more. Harnessing the drama of surging, urgent riffs (“Die Auslöschung,” “Oath ov Prometheus”) and heartfelt group screams and singing (“Death is Forever,” “A Lullaby for the Descent”), the iterated compositions win you over by sheer force. These plainly beautiful melodies and ardent vocal performances are inextricable, each lending the other a level of strength and gravity neither could claim in isolation. Some songs stand head and shoulders above others in this regard: “Die Auslöschung,” “Death is Forever,” “Maladie de l’Esprit,” and in particular, “I, the Deceit,” where Sakis Tolis brings not only his voice but a distinctly Scandinavian melodeath2 vibe to a song where he and Dimitria also duet in their shared native tongue. That song and many others are also examples of Unverkalt’s strange, quasi-pop-rock leanings that they incorporate through the use of bobbing, understated clean refrains that slingshot back into something heavier or more atmospheric (“Oath ov Prometheus,” “A Lullaby for the Descent,” “Introjects”). This weirdness sharpens Unverkalt’s style and works surprisingly well.

Héréditaire thus brims with feeling, strong melodies, and potential. Undeniably stirring at its best (“Die Auslöschung,” “I, the Deceit,” “Maladie de l’Esprit”), and with little idiosyncrasies of style giving it distinction, as a whole it feels oddly unrealised. One culprit is the shockingly compressed mix, which robs the guitars of their body and drums of their bite. Given the vocal range on display and the elements of instrumental experimentation (horns, piano, etc), this would sound far better with a roomier production. But it’s primarily the overly repetitive structure of the compositions that causes issues. Though the passion of the singing or screaming, and the force of a good melody cause you to briefly forget, every song follows essentially the same trajectory—or rather, the same sequence of things repeats across the album, sometimes spanning between songs. Whispers or quiet singing, a steady beat and post-rock atmosphere, black-adjacent speed and screaming, and a lapse into a swaying tempo. With nine tracks adding up to around 50 minutes, you start to notice.

I don’t want to rag on Héréditarire too much; it’s a good album. The fervency and melancholia of the vocal performances—from Dimitria especially—and melodies show the passion behind the project, and there’s a thread of individuality that could pull them out of obscurity. But for as expressive, intriguing, and compelling as their music often is, Unverkalt’s reluctance—or inability—to step outside of a template holds them down when they could be soaring.

Rating: Good
DR: 5 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Season of Mist
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: February 27th, 2026

Dead Horse One - Season of Mist - 2017
#Music #AlbumSuggestions #NowPlaying #NowListening
#DeadHorseOne #SeasonOfMist

Recensie: Green Carnation – A Dark Poem, Pt I: The Shores Of Melancholia ★★★★
https://writteninmusic.com/albumrecensie/green-carnation-a-dark-poem-pt-i-the-shores-of-melancholia/

#Music #Metal #GreenCarnation #SeasonofMist #Bertus

Der Weg Einer Freiheit – Innern [Things You Might Have Missed 2025]

By Thus Spoke

My experience with Der Weg Einer Freiheit differs quite substantially from our resident Eldritch reviewer. Perhaps because my first taste was 2017’s Finisterre, I never saw it, nor later Noktvrn (2021) as disappointing steps down from previous Stellar heights. In my eyes, the path that Der Weg Einer Freiheit followed in the last decade is not only a natural extension of their introspective, emotionally-charged black metal, but it has also enabled them to expand and enhance this consistently potent core to new levels. Whilst sliding into post-metal, and opening themselves to the admittedly unrefined use of gaze, the group nonetheless fold them into the speed and fury of their heavier side, ramping up the climaxes, and making Noktvrn a staggeringly impactful work whose official score here I can only respectfully disagree with. It was largely due to my love for that record that I was so excited at the approach of Innern earlier this year.1 Little did I know that it would fall to me, come list season, to give Der Weg Einer Freiheit their due.

Innern takes the fragments of Der Weg Einer Freiheit’s personality and combines them in a way that demonstrates their evolution across the board. Their flair for continual escalation, with a darkly humming atmosphere, urgent guitar lines, and a cascading torrent of percussion, has only improved. It gives first track, “Marter,” a strange yet inexorable ability to make me feel excited for an album I’m already listening to, and this tug deep in my core will resurface repeatedly as “Xilbaba,” “Eos,” and “Fragment” rush upwards toward, or collapse downwards into their own devastating climaxes. The group’s recent experimentation with softer textures is manifest in yet more layers that make the intense sound more intense (“Marter,” “Eos”) and the introspective more introspective (“Fragment,” “Forlorn”), pulling its listener in deep either way. Innern does mean ‘inside’, after all.

The music has—somehow—more presence than ever. Guitars sound downright cinematic in their grandiose, sweeping paths or resonant chimes, but whether surging or sighing, you listen. It doesn’t hurt that they carry some of the most gorgeous melodies of Der Weg Einer Freiheit’s career (“Xilbaba,” “Eos”). The final act, signified by the return of piano in late instrumental “Finisterre III” and the closing, English-sung “Forlorn,” does not weaken Innern’s resolve nor its magnetism. With decisive chords and dreamily sad scales as carefully placed for reflection as those that began the album in “Marter” were for anticipation. And the shoegaze is no longer shoehorned and segregated; unlike Noktvrn’s maligned “Haven,” “Forlorn” has bite, and it rises as it should out of the conflicting emotions of apathy and longing that final track expresses. Once again, Tobias Schuler’s drumming propels violent, beautiful storms from calm to fury and back with a graceful savagery that could send death metal percussionists packing. Innern’s use of tempos to construct an ebb and flow that rushes and crashes around the listener, and allows space for a forlorn tremolo to ring in the air, and Nikita Kamprad’s scream to hold, is little short of magnificent.

So monumental in aura is Innern, and yet, so easy to listen to. Not even 45 minutes long, and dripping with feeling, suffused with captivating melodies and compelling rhythms, the silence at its close comes with a jolt as the portal suddenly closes. Needless to say, I’ve been hitting it on repeat for a while now. The sterner side of me would acknowledge the album’s quiet(er) death—from “Finisterre III” onwards—may irk some, but as I indicated earlier, not only does the seamless and natural exhale of “Finisterre III”-“Forlorn” flow perfectly, there’s a decisiveness and a finality to this closing act that I’ve come to appreciate more and more.

If somehow you’re reading this and either a) like Der Weg Einer Freiheit but haven’t got to Innern yet; or b) have never listened to them before, but like the sound of anything above. Stop what you’re doing immediately, please, and give Innern a spin. This might be the best Der Weg Einer Freiheit ever sounded.

Tracks to Check Out: “Marter,” “Xilbaba,” “Eos,” “Forlorn”

#2025 #atmosphericBlackMetal #blackMetal #derWegEinerFreiheit #germanMetal #innern #postMetal #seasonOfMist #thingsYouMightHaveMissed2025

Danheim – Heimferd Review

By Mystikus Hugebeard

Ah, the Viking Age. One of the most mythologized eras in history, and a bottomless well of inspiration for cool things like video games, shows, books, tattoos, and bad things like obsession over ancestral purity, shockingly racist ideologies, and lutefisk. But the best thing of all, and most importantly, music! Which leads us to Danheim (Literally “Danish Home”). Danheim is the solo Nordic folk project by Reidar Schæfer Olsen, and Heimferd is his first full album in four years, which might as well be an eternity. Danheim is usually very prolific, with eight albums released between 2017 and 2021, with about a gazillion singles released during and after those 4 years. Furthermore, Danheim is one of the more well-known Nordic folk artists; he has numerous collaborations with, to name a few, Gealdýr, Sigurboði, Heldom, and has, like Wardruna, been featured on the History Channel’s Vikings. In other words, Danheim is something of a titan of the genre—is Heimferd worth the wait?

Danheim’s music, and by extension Heimferd, is a sonic extension of the version of the Vikings that has embedded itself within people’s imagination and contemporary media: an intoxicating image of a powerful and mysterious people, plunged into a captivating world of violence and mysticism.1 Most might immediately connect Danheim’s sound to Wardruna (not unjustifiably), but that paints a rather flat picture. The music is cinematic in a way that calls to mind a less avant-garde Heilung, it vibrates with a slightly electronic, tribal weight that, at this point, belongs more to Danheim than any of his peers (but one might still compare it to Vígundr or Heldom), and it’s atmospheric and densely layered like, well, Wardruna. But I believe it’s the simple immediacy of Danheim’s that has made him the Nordic folk titan that he is. It’s just so easy to fall under the spell of electronically augmented droning chants set to the rhythm of deep, beating drums, heard in some form or another in nearly every song on Heimferd.

…and yet, there sadly wafts an air of shallowness across Heimferd. There is an unfulfilled relationship between Heimferd’s sound and its songwriting. Heimferd’s stellar production and the variety of instruments create a captivating soundscape, but so rarely do songs breathe or evolve in a way that gives the songs life. This is felt all throughout Heimferd. “Heljar Skuggar” and “Rúnmyrkr” each utilize engaging, distorted chants in the vein of Heilung, but feel stagnant, without peaks or valleys. Songs are often lacking in stakes or tension, the worst of which is heard in the lifeless “Valvejen” as it flits loosely between tagelharpa melodies and excessive downtime. For songs meant to sound almost hypnotic in their droning, much comes off as forgettable, like “Kominn Dagr” as it switches from monotone chanting into a toothless tagelharpa melody, neither section given ample time to grow or make an impact. Clearly, Danheim places a lot of emphasis on atmosphere, and Heimferd is indeed viking-y at a distance—but up close, there is little to sink your teeth into.

This is not always the case, however, with a handful of songs towering above the rest. The vocal-heavy closer, “Yggdrasil II” (a sequel to “Yggdrasil” from 2018’s Fridr), has a quiet majesty to its rhythmic and beautiful chorus. “Vindfari” is an unassuming song that really sneaks up on you, as the drums march behind a simple chanting melody with a peculiar, percussive vocal delivery to some words that adds unique character to the song. Heimferd’s best song is “Haukadalur,” though. This song moves and breathes like a living thing, as distant haggard exhalations augment a powerful beat which heralds a coarse, dancing tagelharpa. These songs have such richness to their melodies, making the most of Danheim’s accessible and engaging style. It feels as if this has been my experience with every Danheim album: two or three genuinely stellar tracks that speak of an artist capable of amazing things, surrounded by songs that sound great but leave little impression.

Danheim has ever been frustrating for me, and Heimferd reaffirms that feeling. His infectious soundscape sufficiently conjures a Viking-age atmosphere and energy, but with base songwriting that so rarely transforms the music into something lasting or impactful. It’s strange, because my first listen of Heimferd was the most positive one, and I think it’s because Danheim’s style of Nordic folk can be cathartic in a way not many other artists within the genre are. But on each subsequent spin, when I listen closer, probing, pleading for depth, I’m left wanting. Heimferd is the distilled essence of the modern perception of Vikings, but with little drama or tension. It’s fun, but ephemeral.

Rating: Mixed
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps
Label: Season of Mist
Websites: official | bandcamp
Releases Worldwide: October 31st, 2025

#25 #2025 #Danheim #DarkFolk #Gealdýr #Heilung #Heimferd #Heldom #Neofolk #NordicFolk #Oct25 #Review #Reviews #SeasonOfMist #Sigurbodi #Vigundr #VikingMusic #Wardruna

Hooded Menace – Lachrymose Monuments of Obscuration Review

By Steel Druhm

I’ve been hot and cold on Finnish doom-death act Hooded Menace over the years. I enjoyed the heavy, ugly sound of their early albums, but as they slowly progressed into more melodic realms, I felt they lost a bit of their primal sting. I enjoyed albums like Ossuarium Silhouettes Unhallowed and 2021s The Tritonus Bell and respected their reset into more jaunty, trad metal melo-doom soundscapes, but it just felt like something was missing. That brings us to their latest release, Lachrymose Monuments of Obscuration. They’re still moving in the melo-doom direction, and what you get is a wild mish-mash of 80s trad metal, Peaceville-esque Goth doom, and hard rock. It’s ambitious and skillfully executed, but it’s not without bumps and thumps along the way.

After a throwaway intro, Hooded Menace clubs you like an Easter seal with the 7-plus minute riff-o-thon “Pale Masquerade.” You will detect flavor notes of Sentenced, Cemetery, and Cathedral as the terrible trio rocks hard and rides free with more riffs than you can process, all backed by grunting death roars. It’s a wild trip as things twist from doomy passages to straight-up arena metal rocking and every stop in between. The transitions are smooth, and nothing feels duct-taped together as styles and genres ebb and flow. The problem is the length. At multiple times, I felt like another song had started, but nope, it was the same track meandering all over the map. It packs a lot into the 7 minutes, but it feels like too much. This is an issue across Lachrymose, despite a lot of cool moments in each song. “Portrait Without a Face” pays big homage to the Peaceville days of Goth doom with weepy cellos sighing alongside the heavy doom leads, and nods to Paradise Lost are impossible to ignore. Then, around the 3:40 mark, they dump all that in favor of hard-charging Black Royal-esque power chugs, and it’s glorious. It still runs too long, though.

Elsewhere, “Daughters of Lingering Pain” is painfully Paradise Lost in the guitar piece, but the vocals skew to Cemetery classics like Godless Beauty and Black Vanity.1 This one in particular packs a wicked nostalgia punch that takes me back to the early ’90s when Goth doom was new and shiny. “Lugubrious Dance” also goes back to the band’s early days of straight-up doom worship, and you get some massive riffs on what is the album’s high point and the only track (save for the shocking cover version) that doesn’t suffer for running over 7 minutes. Toward the end of the album, you’re graced by “Save a Prayer,” which took me about 3 minutes to realize is a cover of the classic 80s hit by Duran Duran. Somehow it works very well beaten into a Goth doom style, and as much as it shames me to admit it, it’s one of my favorite moments on the album. Closer “Into Haunted Oblivion” clocks in just shy of 10 minutes, and after an album of 7-minute epics, your ability to swallow another family-sized doom biscuit will be compromised. It’s not a bad tune, and parts remind me again of my beloved Cemetery, and the Peaceville cellos float back in for added atmosphere. It ultimately just tottles on for too long, and by the 6th minute, I start losing my mental grip. At just under 47 minutes, Lachrymose Monuments of Obscuration feels considerably longer due to the bloatimus maximus.

Although I have issues with the overstuffed songs, I have only good things to say about Lasse Pyykkö’s wild guitar work. He’s an infernal riff machine, and his leads race across several genres. His launching pad is classic doom, but he’s more than happy to shoehorn in scads of traditional/classic metal influences as well as touches of arena rock. You can’t listen to this guy’s playing and not be impressed. I especially enjoy when his rocked out doom style approaches that of prime Cathedral. He’s basically a metal history tour guide, and he knows how to make a riff stick in your head. Harri Kuokkanen’s vocals are fairly one-note, but his rough death roars are effectively raw and grizzly. He does inject personality into the mix, though a few clean passages would be a boon. The template works well; it just needs a touch of restraint.

Hooded Menace have talent to spare, and when they hit their groove, you will be rocked muchly. The songs on Lachrymose Monuments of Obscuration vary from very good to merely good, with the lesser tracks held back by their sheer length. If you want to do the rocking melo-doom thing, the songs need to be pared down to rock song lengths, and Hooded Menace refuse to do that. To their credit, this is still almost a 3.5. There’s a lot here to enjoy, but there’s also a lot here. Mileage will vary accordingly.

Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Season of Mist
Websites: hoodedmenace.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/hoodedmenaceofficial | instagram.com/hoodedmenaceofficial
Releases Worldwide: October 3rd, 2025

#2025 #30 #Cathedral #Cemetery #DeathMetal #DoomMetal #DuranDuran #FinnishMetal #HoodedMenace #LachrymoseMonumentsOfObscuration #Oct25 #Reviews #SeasonOfMist #Sentenced

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GREEN CARNATION - 'A Dark Poem Pt. l - The Shores Of Nothingness' by @green2carnation & @seasonofmistofficial

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Sowulo – Niht Review

By Twelve

It’s been a minute since I’ve got a chance to review some folk music around here. It’s not super common that we get these promos, but when a sample of dark folk, spiritually, resembles our heavy metal world, we occasionally find some sent our way. Today’s sample is Niht, the sixth full-length release from Dutch Sowulo (“sun” in proto-Germanic), which takes a philosophical approach to the histories of northern Europe. It’s got everything you could ask for in dark folk on paper: lyrics written in a language no one (to the best of my knowledge) speaks anymore, a small army of instruments that I can’t picture by name alone, and an inscrutable cover with a vague runic shape on it. Sowulo are, on paper, set up for success with Niht already; how does the music itself fare?

Like most works of dark folk in a similar vein—Urferd, Forndom, Wardruna, as examples—Niht draws strength from its reaches at authenticity. Sole band member Faber Horbach (Myrkvur) sings, plays nyckelharpa, carnyx, bouzouki, and acoustic percussion, with guest musicians contribution violins, harps, horns, and more to the work. The stringed instruments create an orchestral-Nordic-folk atmosphere for Sowulo to thrive in, and Niht has a lot of great moments in this vein, from the dramatic “Full Mōna,” featuring hypnotic throat singing at rising intensity, to the eerie, expansive “Swefnian.” Horbach’s gruff, throaty singing, complemented by guest singing from Micky Huijsmans (End of the Dream), brings the Anglo-Saxon lyrics to life; their duet in the stirring chorus of “Nihtēagan” is one of the best moments on Niht, owing largely to their emotional delivery (though the strings work does a lot of heavy lifting too).

Of course, there’s no metal here, and very little in the way of electric influence. Distortion is a distant dream; instead, the music and production are clean and airy, for the most part. “Mōnaþblōd” is a notable exception, with elements of electronica meshing against Sowulo’s natural folk leanings. But generally, you can hear every instrument and enjoy a comparatively quiet listen with atmospheric influence. “Miċele Steorran” is a fantastic example, a peaceful track that uses gently strings to create dream-like soundscapes that complement Horbach and Huijsmans’s singing. It’s not “purely” dark folk or neofolk, but the influences are strong enough that its power comes largely from orchestral highs and emotional vocal melodies, rather than any kind of heaviness.

Despite these terrific qualities, Niht still feels held back, as if it’s a restrained version of Horbach’s original intention—at least to my ears. Niht has on it a lot of tracks that contain a lot of repetition, which makes it feel artificially long. “Carnyx,” for example, is a nearly four-minute exploration of the eponymous wind instrument that doesn’t do much of anything except add ambience, all but halting Niht halfway through. Both the intro and closer share this approach. On the other side of the coin, “Seolfren Sicol” is dominated by its chorus, to the point that it’s the only thing I ever remember about the song. This is, perhaps, the drawback of writing your songs in a dead language—the two verses in the song resemble each other so closely that the song feels like it’s been copied and pasted in several places. With thirteen tracks, it feels as if Sowulo brought too many ideas to Niht—as if there is simultaneously too much album and too little.

Niht does a good job of building an authentic-feeling, atmospheric Nordic folk experience. It is, at varying times, complex, mesmerizing, and passionate. It does have its moments that don’t quite land as they should, but the whole is enjoyable and moving. I hadn’t heard of Sowulo before Niht, but it’s the kind of album that makes me want to hear more. If you need a break from our usual fare, you could do a lot worse than Niht.

Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3
Label: Season of Mist
Websites: sowulo.bandcamp.com | sowulo.nl | facebook.com/Sowulo
Releases Worldwide: August 29th, 2025

#2025 #30 #Aug25 #DarkFolk #DutchMetal #EndOfTheDream #Forndom #Myrkvur #Neofolk #Niht #Review #Reviews #SeasonOfMist #Sowulo #Urferd #Wardruna

Green Carnation – A Dark Poem Part I: The Shores of Melancholia Review

By Dr. A.N. Grier

Not gonna lie, I did a double-take when I saw that Green Carnation’s fantastic Leaves of Yesteryear came out five fucking years ago. And what a different time that was. We were balls-deep in Covid hell, I was living in a 600 square foot apartment in one of the hottest shit holes on earth, and I had a completely different job than I do now. But I didn’t mind any of it because I had my beloved Leaves of Yesteryear, which I still talk to staff about regularly. They love it. Many fans considered Green Carnation’s 2020 release a return to form for the band, and A Dark Poem Part I: The Shores of Melancholia continues where its predecessor left off. But it also incorporates everything we’ve ever known of the band’s catalog. Returning to the days of Light of Day, Day of Darkness, the band sets out to tell us a new story. Instead of accomplishing it in a single, one-hour song, The Shores of Melancholia marks Part I of a three-part series. This is one hell of an undertaking, but I’m here for it.

The sole purpose of The Shores of Melancholia is to set the tone of the trilogy, using its lyrical content and progressive nature to lure you in without answering any questions. The answers will come later. Throughout this first part of the trilogy, you’ll explore grief and inner turmoil, all the while trying to decide if you should headbang or hang your head in utter despair. More than the previous record, there are tracks here that are a total mind-fuck, transitioning endlessly between grooving riffs, melodic passages, and sadboi atmospheres. This does give a sense of return to Light of Day, Day of Darkness, with its numerous riff changes and progressive elements. But that’s where it ends. This is a different Green Carnation these days. A band that honors its legacy but refuses to become stale.

For example, the album opens with two groovy numbers that take those elements from their rocking 2003 release, A Blessing in Disguise, and shove loads of details into them. “As Silence Took You” begins the album with a dark, slow-moving introduction that evolves into an effect-laden blanket of bassy licks and soft vocals. When the chorus arrives, the true strength of Kjetil Nordhus’ voice rings in the clouds. After following this pattern for a while, it evolves into an attractive chug that amplifies the energy and takes this sad song into even darker territories. Lyrically, this song has hit me hard lately, being that I lost my father suddenly a couple of weeks ago. Like the lyrics state, I never got to say goodbye as silence took you. But as far as groovers go, the follow-up track takes the urinal cake. With various slapping riffs that get your noggin’ rockin’, the chorus stands out for its very folky attitude. It’s a perfect blend and a song I find myself repeating constantly.

While the two opening pieces get the juices going, the two that close the album take you down into a dark place. The atmospheres that introduce the title track are massive, sucking you into melancholic bliss. It also has the biggest, most beautiful chorus of the record. The best part of the song is the hauntingly gorgeous, yet rather simple guitar lead that resonates throughout. While “The Shores of Melancholia” might be the strongest of the album, the closer, “Too Close to the Flame,” is the most progressive. This epic number is a rollercoaster ride of emotions—at one point sinister, at other times uplifting and foot-tappable. It also has plenty of those patented chugs Green Carnation is so good at utilizing when introducing new builds. But I can’t end this review without talking about the album’s literal black sheep. We haven’t heard black metal rasps in Green Carnation since Nattefrost’s contribution on Light of Day, Day of Darkness, but you are not prepared for “The Slave That You Are.” This song uses Enslaved’s Grutle Kjellson on vocals, while, sometimes awkwardly, the band fuses old-school black metal with progressive sound. While not uncommon for Enslaved, the progressive elements of Green Carnation make it a wild ride.

The only track that doesn’t grab me as strongly as the others is “Me, My Enemy.” Lyrically, it does a great job fitting the theme. But it’s ballady pace with spacey Pink Floydish effects takes me out of the mood a bit. Though it’s a shocker to go from this track to the aforementioned “The Slave That You Are.” It’s difficult to measure the greatness of an album that is only one part of a trilogy without knowing the final result. But, as this album stands, Leaves of Yesteryear is a stronger record as a whole. But, again, the day all the pieces come into place, this trilogy has the potential of being the most adventurous endeavor the band has ever taken. There are a lot of surprises on this new album, which I appreciate because if you look at the band’s catalog, no two records are the same. Based on this record alone, I’m quite excited to see how this plays out.

Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: 9 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3
Label: Season of Mist
Websites: greencarnationsom.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/greencarnationnorway
Releases Worldwide: September 5th, 2025

#2025 #35 #ADarkPoemPartITheShoresOfMelancholia #Enslaved #GreenCarnation #NorwegianMetal #PinkFloyd #ProgressiveMetal #Review #Reviews #SeasonOfMist #Sep25

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