#self-releases — Public Fediverse posts

Cemented upon rebellious ideals that consistently buck the currents of popularity, the very nature of metal demands change. Yet some bedrocks of metal weather the winds of time and endure: thrash’s inevitable association with denim and cheap beer, OSDM’s obdurate immutability, and power metal’s lactose dependence persist. Yet perhaps none are as eternal as the legacy of traditional heavy metal bearing the banner of trve, and it’s under this standard that Fairfield, Connecticut’s Unknown marches. These Nutmeggers harbor loyalty for the olde school, and although they spice up sophomore full-length Graveyard of Empires with flavors of power and thrash, the overwhelming core of their concoction is one of classic heft. In the end, is it a draught worth quaffing, or a brew better left Unknown?

Though bits of other genres creep into Graveyard of Empires, Unknown’s comparators remain solidly rooted in classic heavy metal. Fans of Iron Maiden will uncover plenty of familiar qualities, especially from their aughts-era output, while Manilla Road and Jag Panzer offer further reference points. Mainly, Unknown operates in soaring mid-tempos that conjure sweeping vistas and epic atmospheres (“Ardennes Offensive,” “Guns of August”). A fair amount of Saxon reveals itself as well, particularly with how Unknown’s guitar work seamlessly oscillates between valiant, lofty leads and straightforward power chords that drive momentum and musical tension. Even amongst these towering touchstones, though, Unknown crafts an identity outside their influences.

Unknown’s music ferries listeners to vibrant landscapes on Graveyard of Empires. Whiffs of Ancient Egypt (“Graveyard of Empires”), galloping western melodrama (“Warrior Ascension”), and tribal paradise (“Land of the Pure”) enrich the record with a wealth of backdrops that feel fleshed out and distinct. The opening triad of “Ardennes Offensive,” “Graveyard of Empires,” and “Guns of August” brim with fiery twin guitars that flit between beautifully built sustains gleaming with majesty and burly riffs that crunch and punch. “Reverie Code” and “Warrior Ascension” likewise crackle with evocative six-string action, and credit to Aamir Syed and Michael Dale for their savvy guitar work on Graveyard. Meanwhile, bassist Andic Salcedo and session drummer Nick Bellmore supply a rock-solid rhythm section, rarely calling attention to themselves but ably girding Unknown’s melodic nucleus while unleashing subtle performances that are easy to miss unless attuned to them.

Despite the many things Unknown does well on Graveyard of Empires, I often find the vocal decisions and deliveries too distracting to enjoy. Given vocalist Matt Fisher’s compelling performance on Unknown’s debut Vanishing Point, the shift in direction is puzzling. Where Fisher’s range mostly dwelt in a comfortable mid-register on Vanishing Point, Graveyard of Empires sees him deploy many more falsettos across the album (“Guns of August,” “I Am Death,” “On the Edge of Peace”). Fisher clearly has talent, but his upper reaches undercut performances when he pushes his deliveries past the brink of his ability to control them, which is a real shame because when he drops into a lower range or growls, things work much better (“Ardennes Offensive,” “Graveyard of Empires”). On Vanishing Point, Fisher did a swell job with the top rungs of his vocal range, particularly on tracks “Where Men Find Glory” and “Mission No. 84”, so the miss here is especially perplexing. More positively the bright mix sparkles, enabling guitars and drums to strut their stuff. Additionally, the runtime packs an avalanche of riffs and aural panoramas into just forty minutes.

Broadly speaking, there tend to be two types of Mixed albums in my mind. The first can be characterized by records that are generally fine and do most things right without kindling enough interest for higher engagement. The second involves LPs that boast a higher ceiling but accommodate a flaw too glaring to look past. Graveyard of Empires falls squarely into this latter camp with a baffling foible that eluded Unknown’s debut. Still, the band does so much right on every other front that I have faith they’ll smooth out the kinks next time around. Until then, I’ll revisit some of these tracks on occasion and leave the rest in the Graveyard.

Rating: Mixed
DR: 10 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Self-Release
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook | Instagram
Releases Worldwide: September 4th, 2026

Trap a toddler, just any foundling who wanders into your snare, and he’ll tell you: maximum gross-out can never be induced by sight, smell, touch, or taste alone. No, it’s that combination of all or some of the above that we call texture–texture is the most reliable shortcut to the gag reflex. With that in mind, Ferox eyed the self-titled debut from Aussie sextet Slime Dimension. AMG Industries already has a Vomit Guy on staff. Could I carve out a similar niche for myself in all things slimy and mucous-y? Ya gotta specialize to survive the onslaught of n00bs coming for your spot. I want to be Snot Guy! Will these nine tracks of death metal, delivered in a fleeting, sneeze-like twenty-six minutes, get me there? Empty your sinuses on me, Slime Dimension, and let’s find out.

When you unwad the tissue that is Slime Dimension, you may be surprised by the nuggets inside. The band name and album art promise something burbling and viscous. Instead, Slime Dimension traffics in polished and even catchy melodeath. From the moment you click “play,” it’s apparent that this platter is more of a sweet treat than it is a pile o’slop. Opener “Carcass Gravy” snaps you to attention with big Skeletonwitch vibes, as thrash-y riffs and Chance Garnette-style vocals fly by in a blur. Track after track whips past, with Slime Dimension displaying an aptitude for infectious choruses (“Carcass Gravy,” “The Beyond”) and tastefully dispensed guitar solos (“Weightless, Unhinged,” “Necrotic Solace”) that evoke genre titans The Black Dahlia Murder. Sprinkle it all with an overlay of the Party Lovecraft ethos that distinguishes Xoth and Slugdge from their peers, and it’s apparent that Slime Dimension has coughed up an appealing loogie. Even if this long player never escapes the shadow of its influences, Slime Dimension is still mostly worthy of the sliver of time it asks of you.

This is all familiar territory, but Slime Dimension make small choices along the way that keep things from getting mired in formula. The guitars of Sloptimus Slime and Slimeon Phoenix (a duo that’s been replaced since recording by Arnold Sludgenator and John Slimebo) intersect with the songs in interesting ways. They don’t simply plop a solo down two-thirds of the way through every track. That restraint makes the classic rock-inflected bars that finally drop during album centerpiece “Weightless, Unhinged” land harder than they otherwise might. These well-conceived dollops of novelty pop up throughout the slab’s brief run to make twenty-six minutes disappear before anyone has time to say “Gesundheit.”

The time might fly by too fast. Slime Dimension is a fleet and entertaining listen, but few moments stand out or leave a lasting impact. “Weightless, Unhinged,” “Necrotic Solace,” and closer “The Beyond” sport dynamic songwriting, and all three will stick to the wall if you flick ’em yonder. There are no outright duds on the platter, but the remaining tracks can feel like they’ve been buffed and shined to the point of becoming slight. Slime Dimension’s debut is crafted with enormous good cheer, from the earworm riffs to the slime-based fake names that come off just a bit goofy. The album lacks substance, though; there’s never enough nutritious gristle to justify the insulin spike these nine offerings are sure to induce.

An inessential good time is still a good time. Slime Dimension spew forth with a strong handle on their sound and the ability to channel their influences with brio. I got through this album with ease each and every time I played it. I’d bet large sums that the band is a ton of fun in a live setting. If they’re going to make an impact in the studio, though, they might want to balance their exuberance with something stickier.

Rating: 2.5/5.0
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: FLAC
Label: Self-Release
Websites: slimedimension.bandcamp.com|slimedimension.com
Releases Worldwide: September 11th, 2026

There are a few phrases that I could theoretically read in a promo blurb that would get me to instantly pick it up.1 When my eyes landed on the line “Lord Carrion seeks to usher in 1000 years of ruin to fascists and authoritarians of all stripes,” I thought “say less,” and took Man Made Hell without any care for the fact that its black metal comes with a significant dose of southern hardcore—not my preferred subgenre. I’m glad I did. Their debut LP after two years honing their craft with an EP and a split, Man Made Hell is Lord Carrion’s first big chance to bring about the promised destruction to oppressors. The stark redness of the cover, the marrying of some of metal’s noisiest styles, and the band’s proud antifascism make for a loud statement that the music must live up to. And does it?

Man Made Hell certainly does not flinch away from the implicit violence of its influences. A crusty, second-wave black metal base meets with the boundless energy and acidity of rampaging hardcore for a sound that’s both aurally and spiritually raw as fuck. Jonross Maddog2 Maddox’s d-beats and the clattering pivots of snare rollovers and cymbal smashes drag you by the scruff of your neck behind a rampaging train of Matthew Price and Miguel Hallare’s riffs, as Jake Plissken screams in your face through a mouthful of barbed wire. Sometimes, it’s no more than this: sanguine yet standard noisy rampaging that doesn’t break any moulds (“Suicide Planet,” “Billions Dead”). At others, Lord Carrion pull back from showing their teeth just enough for some layers and gripping melodicism to show their heart.

Lord Carrion display their passion best when they stray outside of the lines. It’s tangible in the ballistic extremities—the snippets of solo drums (“Billions Dead,” “Yaldabaoth”) and the passages of particularly intense extended, repeated, throat-shredding screams (“Plutocrat Slaughter Ritual,” “The Walls are Closing In”). Most notably, the feeling on Man Made Hell is strongest in every place Lord Carrion make the sound entirely their own. Resonance that goes beyond its obvious atmo-black inspiration to transform a previously granite riff into a shadowy refrain (“Plutocrat…,” “Peace is a Bloody Sword”) when it isn’t blurring a tremolo melody for some randomly gorgeous meloblack (“What Remains”). Such buoyant, mournful melodies sprinkled around work together with punchy syncopation and aforementioned hellish vocals for compelling, satisfyingly sharp declarations (“Desperate Cruelty,” “What Remains”). Disso-death drips into arachnid arpeggios (“Billions Dead”) and drawling, sinister chords (“Peace…), injecting a cruel edge that just works. Rhythmic turns often take the best of both black metal and hardcore for fun (“Suicide Planet,” “The Walls are Closing In”) and darkly groovy (“Plutocrat…”) moments.

The greatest issue with Man Made Hell is that its brilliance is a little unevenly distributed. So fiery at its jawbreaking, moody, best, the (over-)use of more “standard” second-wave black/hardcore riffing risks the loss of any audience turned off by such mundanities.3 Similarly, the album would probably benefit from a smidge more time to fully integrate the many great ideas and segments it contains. As an example: the jumpscare of full-volume white noise that splits the doom-drone of “Peace…”‘s first act is visceral, and will probably split listeners into a love/hate dichotomy. The gentle beauty of “What Remains,” rising from carefully-placed strums and the hushed howling of wind to an emotional meloblack finale, though I love it, feels slightly out of place. I can hear the hints of atmosphere and nuance that Lord Carrion drop beforehand, and it seems like minor tweaks would integrate these aspects better.

Man Made Hell divides me, leaving me affected but uncommitted. It’s pretty fun in a satisfyingly gronky way, whilst also possessing a gravitas that portends—even though it doesn’t execute—greatness. What is certain is that Lord Carrion have got something; their ardour oozes out of most-every fuzz-choked note, and I think they make their point just fine for now.

Rating: Good
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: wav
Label: Self-Released
Websites: Bandcamp | Instagram
Releases Worldwide: August 24th, 2026

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

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

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

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

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

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

Since opining on thrash metal’s 2026 resurgence in Nukem’s The Grave Remains review, a steady stream of thrash clans have continued to trickle into the promo sump. Next up is Vancouver power trio W.M.D.,1 short for When Minds Develop. Formed in 2015, W.M.D. unleashed debut Lethal Revenge in 2018 before losing all but one of their founding members—guitarist and vocalist Skyler Mills. After recruiting bassist Jon Power and drummer Ryan Idris in 2023, this wrecking crew set to write and record their sophomore opus Against All Warnings. Eight years is a long time between albums, and turning over nearly the entire band can radically shift its dynamics. Has W.M.D. cleared these hurdles and incubated weapons of thrash destruction, or do they deliver a new album Against All Warnings?

W.M.D. plays thrash the way the old school intended—breakneck and direct. Against All Warnings mostly reminds me of East Coast acts, specifically Overkill and Anthrax, due to the in-your-face attitude, low-frills precision, and spirited bass spunk. Although these benchmarks are most immediate, subtler influences surface by way of Megadethian technicality and razor-sharp riffing à la classic Exodus. I’d also be remiss not to mention Hyperia, which currently features Mills and Power while hosting Idris as their live drummer. Regardless, W.M.D. absorbs the thrash that came before and forges it into a sound all their own—and it rips.

Taking crossover’s blistering speeds and supercharging them with riveting performances, Against All Warnings rams oodles of riffs, grooves, and rolls into forty engrossing minutes. I’m a sucker for bass presence, and W.M.D. packs enough beef to induce a weeklong case of the meat sweats. Jon Power discharges his burly low-end throughout Against All Warnings, bouncing and clanging with the vim and vigor of Verni or DiGiorgio (“Kleptomania,” “The Thin Red Line”). Idris rounds out the rhythm section, nimbly whipsawing across the kit as he maneuvers through full-throttle barrages (“Against All Warnings,” “Painful Vengeance”), half-time chugs (“The Thin Red Line,” “Already Dead”), and herky-jerky stutter stops (“Post Human Predator”). Mills takes on the rest, laying down barbed hooks (“The Black Expanse”) and snotty vocals that recall Lich King and Havok. As the cherry on top, guests Casey Trask (“Post Human Predator,” “Painful Vengeance”) and Kai Sakaguchi (“Against All Warnings”) contribute scorching solos, ensuring there’s never a dearth of pyrotechnics. In all, there’s no weak link in the chain, and Against All Warnings bristles with thrashy vitality.

Nearly as impressive as W.M.D.’s onslaught is their elusion of critical flaws. Against All Warnings sidesteps major pitfalls as W.M.D. navigates the treacherous channels of thrash, dancing along the knife’s edge between the genre’s primary criticisms: unoriginal and retreaded compositions and unserious stylings. Rather, the trio plays infectiously vibrant metal with utter conviction, and I’m here for every second of it. This doesn’t mean the album is perfect, however, and some fine-tuning would elevate Against All Warnings even higher. First, penultimate track “Already Dead” lingers at the end, which would be more palatable if it were the finale. Instead, after a slightly prolonged fade of thunder, we’re given “Painful Vengeance.” Switching the order of these tracks or pushing “Painful Vengeance” even earlier would work better. Also, while the production is warm and organic, the album plays a little too quietly. It’s not an issue if I’m only listening to Against All Warnings, but its songs are noticeably muted when thrown into a playlist with other material. Still, these complaints prove minor quibbles compared to the indisputable boom W.M.D. unleashes.

Thrash detractors may not be convinced by Against All Warnings, but they should be. It’s impossible to deny the energy and conviction coursing through W.M.D.’s balls-out blitz, where relentless speeds, head-banging hooks, and rousing choruses embody W.M.D.’s full-tilt bonanza. Against All Warnings ensconces itself as the best thrash album I’ve heard so far in 2026,2 and sets a high bar for the rest of the year. Somebody ought to sign these Canucks, because they’re peddling a potent brew that’s guaranteed to please, Warnings be damned.

Rating: Great
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Self-Release
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: June 5th, 2026

Melodic death metal had a banner year in 2025, brandishing outstanding releases from Aephanemer, Vittra, Buried Realm, Aversed, and others. Given that many of melodeth’s top tier releases came out in the back half of last year, there’s no cause for alarm yet, but with the exception of At the Gates’ opus The Ghost of a Future Dead, I can’t help feeling 2026 is off to a slow start.1 Throwing down the gauntlet with Old Gods Awaken, Vancouver collective Atavistia stakes their claim on this year’s melodeath throne. In his review of Cosmic Warfare, Doom_et_al noted that Atavistia made meaningful strides in songwriting since The Winter Way, but that plenty of room exists to further define an identity outside of Wintersun’s shadow. With the spotlight shining on folk metal influences throughout Old Gods Awaken, can Atavistia maintain their velocity after Cosmic Warfare, or would it have been better to let sleeping gods lie?

For anyone who’s read about Atavistia at AMG before, you know there’s one band whose temple even these Old Gods pray at.2 If you expected that to change, shame on you. With their most flagrant foray into folk metal to date, Atavistia doubles down on Wintersun worship with Old Gods Awaken while succumbing to a feverish case of Ensiferumania. On the surface, this may sound like Atavistia regressing back towards The Winter Way, but instead the band continues to refine the overwrought compositions that Doomy dinged in that review and delivers a succinct forty-three minutes of symphonic melodeath. And though Wintersun and Ensiferum cast the longest shadows, shades of Children of Bodom and Kalmah broaden Old Gods Awaken’s footprint and enrich its well of influences.

Despite Atavistia’s new musical folk-us and turning over half the band since Cosmic Warfare, they submit well-conceived orchestrations and tight performances throughout Old Gods Awaken. Specifically, Atavistia bade farewell to guitarist Dalton Meaden and bassist D’wayne Murray in 2024, welcoming Elia Baghbaniyan and Spencer Budworth in their stead. The quality of instrumentation remains consistent with previous albums, where guitars and synths steal the show as they trade earwormy melodic lines (“Mystic Tavern,” “I Skogens Djup”) that lead into heartfelt solos (“Goddess of My Dreams,” “Ride the White Storm”) and stirring, rustic breaks (“To a New World”). The haunting choirs on Cosmic Warfare have also been replaced by viking gang chants, which makes sense stylistically, but loses some of the flair that helped the former stand out. Longtime drummer Max Sepulveda lays down a commendable performance as well, spicing songs up with well-crafted fills that never overpower Old Gods Awaken’s dense compositions. Besides contributing guitar and supplying his best vocal performance to date, Atavistia ringleader Matt Sippola weaves together a rousing album that stands beside its inspirations.

While Atavistia successfully plunges headlong into folk, the move erodes some of the identity they established previously. Tracks on Cosmic Warfare recalled Wintersun, but just as much reminded me of Brymir and the choral arrangements in The Phantom Menace. Old Gods Awaken forsakes these subtle nods, and though that isn’t bad on its own, the Ensiferum influence is a safer path that deteriorates some of Atavistia’s idiosyncrasies. Additionally, some of the melodies and song structures on Old Gods Awaken blur together. “Mystic Tavern,” “Seeker of Time,” and “Goddess of My Dreams”3 all have similar-sounding leads, and the first two also have somewhat predictable compositions that stand out since the songs are back-to-back, particularly in terms of pacing and the timing of more subdued moments. Ultimately, these are minor complaints on very well-executed material, but diversifying the song structures could unveil even greater heights.

Old Gods Awaken subverts my expectations of what I thought a new Atavistia record would sound like, and even though they lean into a well-defined arena, they do so capably. Monster hooks and intricate, engaging arrangements keep the replay value of Old Gods Awaken tantalizingly high, especially with tight songwriting across the album. I’m curious where Atavistia goes next, as there’s no clear indication of what direction they’ll take. Whatever it is, the persistent urge to evolve their songcraft proves Atavistia will make it interesting and fun, and that every once in a while, you can teach Old Gods new tricks.

Rating: Very Good
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Self-Release
Websites: Website | Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: May 15th, 2026

There’s a lot of weird shit floating around the metalsphere, and that includes Voidthrone’s newest addition, Dreaming Rat. The Seattle quartet has been kicking around for a decade, and in that time have released three prior platters of escalating lunacy. Without question, Dreaming Rat is Voidthrone’s most unhinged concoction to date, and a quick look at their Bandcamp credits gives prospective listeners a window into the alchemical ingredients they cook with, including Otamatone, conch shell, jaw harp, vibraslap, digeridoo, spoons, and a fretless bass. Throw in vocalist Zhenya Frolov’s deranged vocal stylings, and you’ve got yourself a bona fide manic expression of dissonant blackened death metal. With so many disparate components in Dreaming Rat’s stew, does Voidthrone soothe the savage beast or unleash a waking nightmare?

Listening to Dreaming Rat is a bit like experiencing an auditory fever dream, where disconnected fragments congeal into lurid, atonal anarchy. Voidthrone didn’t arrive at this sound overnight, though. Debut Spiritual War Tactics whipped and frothed with the restrained vitality of Krallice, and follow-up Kur added jazz-informed touches in the vein of Imperial Triumphant. Physical Degradation evolved Voidthrone’s sound, integrating more unconventional instrumentation and pushing the band’s songwriting past its comfort zone. On Dreaming Rat, Voidthrone takes the blueprint laid out on Physical Degradation and indiscriminately expands the range for strange. The result sees Frolov stretching his vocal performance into frenzied tirades, covering the gamut from Replicant’s vomitous barks to Sigh’s oddball deliveries. The instrumentation also gets exponentially wackier, as it conjures the rabid wrath of Pyrrhon along with the chaotic instincts of Afterbirth, resulting in an unpredictable romp to the end of the world.

At Dreaming Rat’s core, Voidthrone details the life and death of a solar system through bleak eras, segmenting the album into present, past, and future. The arcs are presented in that order, with each one comprised of three songs. The present describes the apex of a civilization, harnessing the promises forged upon the hopes and chaos of the past. Meanwhile, Voidthrone paints a grim outlook for the future, specifically calling out ‘an extinguished, lonely death of the physical, spiritual, and cognitive.’1 The lyrics throughout Dreaming Rat read like the demented ravings of a madman’s manifesto,2 and while I don’t think I could have divined the album’s overarching concept from them alone, reading them amplifies the bedlam Voidthrone has crafted on Dreaming Rat.

Writing music this lawless may seem haphazard, but over repeated listens, I’ve begun to glimpse the method to Dreaming Rat’s madness. Without question, everyone in Voidthrone earns their stripes. Ronald Foodsack’s guitars drench Dreaming Rat with warbling dissonance, perpetually in flux so that there’s never a riff or refrain to inhibit the music’s incessant lurch. Whether moving at frantic paces (“III-I. Surfing the Abyss”) or decelerating to a plodding crawl (“II-II. Morbid Seagull”), Ron’s six-stringed blitz never stalls. Additionally, Gavin Brooks contributes acoustic guitar and solos while manning the glorious fretless bass.3 Technical death metal has hogged the fretless bass for too long, and I’m glad Voidthrone has the stones to add it to disso metal’s tool chest. Tracks like “I-I. Bergen” and “II-I. Homeless Animal” showcase the character the instrument offers, bolstering the ever-shifting nature of Dreaming Rat. Drummer Josh Keifer grounds the band ably, locked into a supporting role that allows the other instruments to take center stage while he keeps things on the rails. Frolov’s feral vocals and the host of unconventional instruments further enrich Voidthrone’s distinctive identity, establishing what sounds like it could be the death throes of the universe.

What Voidthrone accomplishes with Dreaming Rat is fascinating and unique, and merits everyone’s attention. Sure, some songs could be trimmed to make such a scathing album a bit shorter and more palatable, and the three arcs could use some musical cues to distinguish songs thematically from one another, but Dreaming Rat is a crowning achievement for the band. Voidthrone’s psychedelic psychosis makes bold promises on paper and completely delivers in fact, and when I’m in the mood to get really weird with it, this will be the album I reach for.

Rating: Very Good!
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Self-Release
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: May 8th, 2026

Leading up to the release of The Harvest, Ashen Horde finds themselves pushing against the boundaries of the identity they’ve honed since forming in 2013. Conceived by Los Angeles-based Trevor Portz, the sole contributor through the band’s first two albums,1 Ashen Horde stands as a studio-only project, blurring the lines between black and death metal with progressive tendencies while telling unified stories through each album’s runtime. On third album Fallen Cathedrals, Ashen Horde enlisted the talents of powerhouse vocalist Stevie Boiser (Inferi, Equipoise) to tremendous effect. Portz and Boiser delivered another gem on follow-up Antimony, joined by drummer Robin Stone (Chestcrush) and bassist Igor Panasewicz (NightWraith). On fifth album The Harvest: newcomer Karl Chamberlain (Putrefier) replaces Boiser and leans heavily into melodic cleans, Panasewicz exits the fold, the narrative element has been replaced with a looser theme,2 and Ashen Horde begins rehearsals for their first-ever live performances later this year. Do all these changes result in an effective crop rotation, keeping The Harvest’s yield fresh and rich, or do the white-hot flames of slash-and-burn songwriting blaze too brightly, leaving only a bumper crop of ash?

Where Boiser’s vocals amplified Ashen Horde’s ferocity within the confines of black and death metal, Chamberlain’s stylings push the band’s sound into a more melodic arena. Clean vocals sparsely populated Ashen Horde’s Boiser era, but The Harvest sees them co-headline, prominently featuring Chamberlain’s versatile melodic phrasing. Prior releases’ touchstones Opeth and Enslaved continue to be relevant, yet the emphasis on cleans skews heavily towards Trivium and, to a lesser extent, Killswitch Engage.3 The shift is broader than the vocals, though, as the instrumentation diversifies as well. Frantic trems and knotty compositions previously grounded Ashen Horde’s sound in progressive black metal akin to Ihsahn, but The Harvest evolves to bring a distinctly Voivoidian essence to the guitar work (the riffing after the solo on “Backward Momentum” is classic Piggy). Performance-wise, Ashen Horde delivers first-rate moments that ground returning listeners in a familiar setting, with Portz laying down his usual impressive stringed attack and Stone supplying nuanced exhibitions throughout. In total, these changes evince a band at a crossroads, uncontent to rest on its laurels while a new outlook is forged.

The maturation of Ashen Horde’s sound amounts to more than an inflated list of references, though. For starters, the underlying genres require reevaluation. Fallen Cathedrals and Antimony classify as black metal, death metal, and progressive metal, yet The Harvest adds a healthy dose of melodic death metal and a dash of thrash. Specifically, “Remnant” evokes a slightly proggier take on 90s In Flames while “Apparition” recalls a less rabid The Black Dahlia Murder. Besides Voivod, The Harvest taps into thrash via the jazzy grooves heard on Species’ latest (“Entropy and Ecstasy”) and the whirring, dissonant refrains endemic to Coroner (“Autumnal,” “A Place in the Rot”). With so many moving pieces, it’s a wonder that Ashen Horde retains as much of their core identity as they do.

Given the dramatic musical pivot, The Harvest feels like a snapshot of a band mid-flight rather than one reaching their final destination. With Ashen Horde stacking so many elements on top of one another, I’m not sure how well they gel into a unified album. The vocals in particular give me the biggest pause—not because of Chamberlain’s performance, which is potent across harsh and clean deliveries. I’m just not convinced how well they work in concert, given the even split between them. On previous albums, cleans were sparingly used as accents, but their expanded involvement on The Harvest conjures disparate moods that flit back and forth in a way that occasionally feels jarring (“Autumnal”). The end result is a compromise that lands between the familiar and the bold.

Despite Ashen Horde exploring a new identity on The Harvest, plenty of earwatering fruit awaits a good reaping. As the band calls out in their promo materials, even though the central theme is about endings, The Harvest is a new beginning. I expect opinions will be split on the new direction, but Ashen Horde is a project that teems with ideas and new frontiers, and I’ll take that every time over a band that’s content to remake the same album over and over. Now go check out this week’s Harvest and sample its tasty Ashen Hordeuvres.

Rating: Good!
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Self-Release
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: May 1st, 2026

Without question, Friday is my favorite day of the week. Even more tantalizing than the conclusion to an often grueling gauntlet of meetings, feedback, and GSD,1 I’m blessed with metal’s new releases. Trying to listen to everything that comes out is a fool’s errand—luckily, I’m a fool. During one of my customary Friday excursions, fortune smiled upon me when I stumbled onto Graufar’s sophomore opus, Via Necropolis. As I listened, the album’s grooves, riffs, and passions bathed me in blackened deathly glory. My luck persisted through the morning—Graufar’s promo still lurked unclaimed in the bin. Yoink! Though I discovered Via Necropolis late, I was powerless to resist the call of a review, especially given the band’s unsigned/independent status. Thus saddled with an unplanned bit of writing and a pocketful of tunes, let us sojourn down Necropolis way.

Too many blackened death metal bands present a mixed bag of half-measures.2 To me, the peak allure of the subgenre promises the brutality and technicality of death metal united with black metal’s icy atmospherics and raw aesthetics. The quintessentially boilerplate BDM band brews a tepid concoction featuring a death metal base with black metal spices; fortunately, Graufar averts getting mired in pedestrian trappings. Honing a sound established on debut Scordalus, Via Necropolis flaunts chilly trems, grating rasps, and a coat of corpse paint that betrays their blackened heart, and it beats with the blood of Dissection, Necrophobic, and Rimfrost. Death metal’s influence is more subtle, skulking in chugging grooves and vicious growls that blend in seamlessly.

Via Necropolis by Graufar

Though Graufar’s performances across Via Necropolis merit praise, vocalist Gernot Graf deserves special recognition. His scathing vocals loose misery and malevolence that arouse a primal reflex, making my throat twinge at the thought of snarling along. Tracks like “Blizzard and Blaze” and “Foltertrog” exhibit Graf’s penchant for wringing out every ounce of emotion, from vitriol to agony. Black metal rasps aren’t his only trick, though. Graf roars with an insatiable fire on “Charon” and “Buried in Flames,” devolving into bestial throes within “Heralds of Doom” and “Via Necropolis” and ensuring that his versatile performance never lacks conviction or fervor. Graf also plays guitar alongside Michael Herber, and together they fashion a glittering heap of licks, leads, and grooves. And it’s the latter that stands out the most, because while death metal regularly brandishes them, black metal rarely deigns to approve the groove. Meanwhile, “Buried in Flames” and “On Your Knees” demonstrate Graufar’s shrewd understanding of songwriting, and bolstered by Thomas Buchmeier’s slinky bass and René Hinum’s precision drumming, Via Necropolis positively thrums.

Throughout Via Necropolis, Graufar dazzles with their ability to conjure dynamic arrangements informed by influences. Kicking off with a Dissection-coded intro on “Blizzard and Blaze,” Graufar mingles with mellow cleans, slithers through second-wave savagery reminiscent of Mayhem,3 and even dabbles in throat-singing before ending back on the cleans. “Heralds of Doom” features a fiery solo that cedes to a pit-ready sway, “Via Necropolis” starts with a sleek Necrophobic-meets-Watain riff that builds to a doomy chorus played over rabid trems, and “On Your Knees” bashes you in the face with a potent Sepultura groove.4 Despite Graufar’s administration of reference points galore, they never linger overlong on any one. The songwriting is deceptively understated, and although this works in Graufar’s favor as a whole, over repeated listens I find my engagement more attuned to Via Necropolis’s back half. Reordering the tracks (“Buried in Flames” would make a fantastic opener) and slightly trimming the longer ones would add an immediacy that brings some of the back-end boom up front.

All told, Graufar delivers a vibrant outing that boasts a refreshing take on blackened death teeming with wonderfully wicked ideas. Via Necropolis sizzles throughout its forty-two minutes and distinguishes the band as an act to watch. Considering both Graufar’s albums have been released independently, the band displays remarkable song craft and self-editing, and Via Necropolis gleams with talented musicians who forge well-crafted metal bangers. Better late than never, I’m glad this gem didn’t slip by.

Rating: Very Good!
DR: NA | Format Reviewed: WAV
Label: Self-Release
Websites: Website | Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: March 20th, 2026

Clouds of smoke obscure your view of the stage, where amps are littered with empty glass bottles. The scents of sweat and spilled beer dance in your nostrils as five long-haired reprobates clad in denim and leather walk onto the stage, a swagger in their step and street tough bravado oozing from their pores. Looking to take in a show whilst sitting on your ass? Get fucked. Total Maniac expects you to be on your feet and moving, and if you’re not ready for that, why are you even here? These boys from Baltimore play a raucous brand of classic rock-meets-speed metal that lives somewhere between Motörhead, Mötley Crüe, and Ted Nugent, delivering no-frills cheap thrills on sophomore effort Love Overdrive. So slap on your battle vest and steel-toe boots—when adrenaline starts to flow, and you’re thrashing all around, you’ve gotta be prepared to act like a Total Maniac.

Compared to Total Maniac’s self-titled debut, Love Overdrive veers more into the trad metal/rock ‘n’ roll lane than Total Maniac’s thrash ‘n’ roll stylings. While both albums showcase Total Maniac’s snotty disregard for authority and decorum, Total Maniac dedicated more attention to thrashy chugs and barked vocals. On Love Overdrive, the focus centers on sticky leads and hooky riffs over palm-muted riffing and abrasive grit. Love Overdrive also tones down what passed for technicality on their debut. Not that Total Maniac doesn’t host capable musicians, but there are moments across the album where guitars and vocals sound like they’re pushing just past their ability. Despite that, Love Overdrive features an enthusiastic embrace of freewheeling sin-dealing that’s easy to appreciate.

What Total Maniac lacks in virtuosic prowess, they make up in impish pluck. With only twenty-seven minutes on tap, Love Overdrive never feels phoned in. Each moment sounds crafted to maximize fist-pumping carnage, from the “Panama”-meets-“Wild Side” riffing in “Love Overdrive” to the Phil Campbell-inspired soloing toward the end of “Flatline.” It’s unclear which of Total Maniac’s guitarists takes the lead at any given point, but both Mike Brown and Nick Etson lay down earworm after earworm, frequently breaking away for a quick solo before snapping back to let vocalist Diamond Dustin regale you about hard living, hard loving, and hard rocking. Double-D doesn’t lack conviction, although his upper range sometimes gets away from him. It’s not a deal-breaker, as this sort of rowdy street metal lends itself to imperfect performances that enhance its DIY charm, but piercing falsettos occasionally hit like a sour King Diamond. As for the rhythm section, drummer Vaughn Volkman does a commendable job keeping Love Overdrive’s eight tracks on the rails, but it’s bassist Ben Martin who steals the show. His beefy grumbles and well-mixed countermelodies offset Total Maniac’s dual-guitar attack, creating a well-balanced stringed menace that defines my favorite aspect of Love Overdrive.

Though Total Maniac bleeds authenticity and fun, Love Overdrive does little to stake an identity that hasn’t already been claimed. Many of the riffs seem like variations on Mötley Crüe’s 80s heyday, with “Early Grave” echoing the main motif from “Kickstart My Heart” and the intro from “Set Fire to the Sun” hitting the same mid-paced groove and brief bass sustains as “Shout at the Devil.” The mid-song break in “Drinkin’ Our Way to Hell” even reminds me of Nugent’s crackpot rant towards the end of “Wango Tango.” In this way, Love Overdrive feels like a step back from Total Maniac, which was rougher around the edges, but better defined a unique voice for the band.

Total Maniac does a fantastic job of harnessing the spirit of the music I grew up listening to, but Love Overdrive rarely captures moments that achieve the promise of their inspirations. Fun abounds, and the music encourages beer-chugging shenanigans with a shit-eating grin, yet in the end Total Maniac leaves me wanting to revisit songs I already know rather than learn these new ones. Even so, it’s a quick listen worthy of a spin for anyone craving new material harkening to simpler times. I look forward to hearing where Total Maniac ventures next, and I hope they find a way to continue celebrating the glory of the past while sending their future into Overdrive.



Rating: Mixed
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Self-Released
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: March 27th, 2026

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

Herezjarcha—Arch-Heretic—is the sophomore of Pennsylvania-based Profane Elegy, who are determined to escape genre boundaries. Following the trajectory set by 2023’s When All is Nothing, it sees the co-existence if not coalescence of black and death metal, but also an atmospheric, ambient kind of doom, and only doubles down on each aspect. It’s not the first time a metal artist has claimed to eschew categorization, and many, if not most, modern artists in extreme subgenres borrow from less extreme ones and incorporate generous reverb. Profane Elegy’s claims, therefore, don’t excite special interest whether you’ve heard the debut or not; listeners dis/like their sound on its own terms. However, there is actually something different about the way they combine their disparate aspects, and Herezjarcha is all the stronger for it.

Dropped blindly into Herezjarcha at any random moment, you’d be forgiven for taking it for trve blackened death—reminiscent in particular of Keres, or a less-polished Vredehammer. Rough snarls rip like cold wind across mean-faced arpeggios skittering their way up and down sinister scales to unforgiving percussive assaults, satisfyingly gnarly. But with a snap, Profane Elegy’s mood swings from malice to despair, and clean vocals lead a mournful refrain, layered, post-black strums dominating the soundscape. Opener “Exeunt Omnes,” which begins—as many others do—with wild, thrashy black metal energy, prefigures the way the album repeatedly changes the vibe and takes its listener by surprise, as the riffs soften and are joined by softly sung “ohh-hh-hh”s. Their blackened base is rent by change, from stripped-back ambience to hearty sung-screamed duets, black n’ roll irreverence to sludgy blackened doom and frosty black metal proper. Though sounding very little alike in actuality, the best comparison to Profane Elegy’s marrying of a vibrant blackened death with overt melodicism led by cleans is Slugdge.1 Herezjarcha is far more intriguing and multifaceted than may appear on face value.

Herezjarcha by Profane Elegy

Profane Elegy do nothing by half-measures, and throw themselves with equal vigour into both their heavier and softer sides. Their blackened death is gnarly and dynamic, whether overtly aggressive (“I AM”) or in squealing, drawling pursuit of flair and acrobatics (“Haunted” “And Then We Are Gone”). The second-wave-adjacent harsh vocal production, slightly muted and noisy, adds to the overall rawness, intensifying the more straightforwardly brutal and giving grit to the more melodic, atmospherically inclined. On the former side, things really do get heavy, and the churning, howl-ridden soundscape is irresistible, but as the album progresses, it’s the latter that sees Profane Elegy doing some genuinely cool things. Eerie scales blend into a layered cascade of strums (“As My Heart Turns to Ash”), or invite the chords of melancholia to join them (“The Accuser”); more and more space is devoted to variously stripped-back quiet. Things don’t just hang in reverb; space opens in which a savage riff briefly grows mournful, and after few turns of tension, an almost gazey feel prevails as cleans take the lead (“As My Heart…”). It’s not the addition of atmosphere that’s good, it’s how Profane Elegy positions a mournful, post-adjacent mood with their harsh blackened side that manages to not sacrifice either, even when combined.

Yet, in committing as fully as they do to the spirit and execution of their disparate visages, Profane Elegy demonstrate that they haven’t quite refined the formula for their coexistence. The churning, variously vicious and epic blackened death on display on Herezjarcha is raucously enjoyable, while the vulnerability and atmosphere brought in by other influences create a powerful emotionality and works very well in combination. This doesn’t prevent the slightly awkward way one transitions to the other—particularly in the record’s first half. The balance and integration do improve as the runtime progresses, to the extent that the latter end, if stretched to the length of a full LP, would receive a higher score of at least one half figure. Still, the difference in the sound between the raw and ugly and the comparatively glossy is marked and can give the impression that one is suddenly listening to a totally different artist when the former switches places entirely for the other.

What Profane Elegy do achieve with Herezarcha, however, is to assert their skill and personality. Amidst a sea of underground metal artists pitching their bold and subversive takes, Profane Elegy stand in the sureness of honest distinction. They might not have cracked the complete execution yet, at a slim 38 minutes, Herezarcha is more than worth the time it takes to experience their unpolished expression.

Rating: Good
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 192 kbps mp3
Label: Self-Release
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: January 30th, 2026

Back in 2004, an album called Fallout dropped from an unheralded little band called Slumber. It was a lush, gorgeous piece of melodic doom in the vein of early Katatonia, Rapture, and Insomnium, and there was something very special about the moods created within. It remains a beloved album of Yours Steely, and I often wonder why it isn’t better known. Slumber guitarist/songwriter Jari Lindholm would go on to start Enshine, and their Origin and Singulariuty albums took the Slumber aesthetic forward to new soundscapes. Singularity was my Album o’ the Year in 2015, and I still get dragged into its glorious depths at regular intervals. It’s been a long wait for a new Enshine opus as Jari puttered with his ExGenesis and self-titled projects, but word broke in December that a new Enshine was imminent. Elevation was dropped without much fanfare or advanced promo campaigns, so we had to get our greasy mitts on it the same way the filthy masses do. As with past Enshine efforts, Elevation finds Jari Lindholm teamed with Sébastien Pierre, and their classic sound is present, still sitting somewhere between melodoom and melancholic melodeath, and naturally, it’s beautifully rendered. But can it maintain the same high level as the earlier works?

Opener “Shimmering” suggests it can as you’re greeted by the expected cavalcade of opulent trilling leads with melancholic flourishes. Everything is highly polished and bright as the sun, with guitar and keyboards rising and swelling in melodic waves. The music reminds me of modern Insomnium and the mellower moments on Omnium Gatherum’s New World Shadows. Sébastien Pierre provides effective death metal roars that suit the music, and the pieces all fit together well. It’s not the best thing Enshine’s ever done, but it’s pretty damn good. It soon becomes apparent, however, that the opener is one of the most lively tracks on offer. “Heartbliss” has harsher vocals, but they’re wrapped up in a glossy pancake of airy, ethereal melodoom without much in the way of an actual “doom” component to ground things and provide real impact. Jari’s guitar work is ephemeral, stunning, and I could listen to it for days, but the song itself doesn’t stick in my memory. I enjoy it as it floats past, but cannot recall it thereafter. “Where the Sunrise is Felt” self-corrects, providing a beefier riffing foundation, and Sébastien sounds extra spicy here. You still get a deluge of ethereal noodling to float upon, but it’s balanced by some beef, and that makes a difference.

Just as things seem to be moving in the right direction, “Distant Glow” hits with 4 minutes of bright, sugar-coated synthwave devoid of vocals or the slightest edge. It’s moody but dull, and it derails the energy Elevation was beginning to establish. Around this point, it dawned on me that the album is something they could play at a new age spa without disrupting the tranquility or displacing anyone’s chakra. I suppose there’s a place for “spa-metal,” but not on my goddamn property. The remainder of Elevation is loaded with languid, lustrous melodoom with the emphasis on the melo part. I’m reminded of Omnium Gatherum and later era Anathema, and the ravishing sounds are omnipresent, but it’s often sleepy and overly restrained. Here and there, Sébastien or Jari lapses into a whispered delivery, and that choice sums up Elevation as well as anything: it’s dialed-back music designed to avoid any emotion beyond a sullen glaze-over. It’s gorgeous but without real peaks and valleys or much in the way of dramatic impact. Without memorable individual moments, it becomes too easy to lose focus while listening, and the music very quickly slips into the background. Not only does the material tend to sit in the back row of your attention, but the songs tend to bleed together into an ornate, noodly mush. Lovely but unmemorable.

I’m a huge fan of Jari Lindholm’s guitar work, and his brilliance is on display all over Elevation. He has a unique ability to craft such gorgeous and moody guitar lines and layer them in a way that generates a fog of emotion. While his talents are in force here, the end result is less immediate and dynamic than on past works. There’s no shortage of sumptuous leads and delicate solos, but the overall effect is too often lethargy rather than emotional pangs and pulses. A lot of Elevation simply washes over and past me without activating my memory circuits. Jari and Sébastien share vocals, and though Sébastien’s death roars are good, they don’t add as much pop to the material as they could. Sébastien also handles keyboards, and at times his playing becomes a touch cloying and even cheesy. Ultimately, I spend too much time waiting for Jari and/or Sébastien to go harder and provide more oomph to the proceedings, but they rarely do.

Elevation is a gorgeous listen, but there aren’t many songs that I recall once the album ends. It’s a worthwhile listen, and I doubt Enshine could make a bad album, but this really makes me want to spin Singularity or Origin instead. That’s a big bummer for me, and I hope your melo mileage varies. Now go find that Slumber album and learn!

Rating: 3.0/5.01
DR: 5 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Self-Release
Websites: enshine.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/enshine.band
Releases Worldwide: January 3rd, 2026

Maddog

I can’t overstate Enshine’s impact on my music taste. As a teen, I enjoyed melodic death metal, but struggled with the genre’s doomier acts. One day, I stumbled upon Enshine’s 2013 debut Origin. Having never heard of Jari Lindholm’s landmark band Slumber, I came in with few expectations. Eschewing the nondescript riffs that I had come to expect from doom, Origin captivated me with its creative melodies, gigantic climaxes, and synth-laced atmosphere. Most importantly, it brought tears to my eyes. Singularity followed suit in 2015, dragging slightly but hitting hard nonetheless. While Lindholm has released other albums via Exgenesis and his solo work in the interim, Elevation breaks a decade-long silence for Enshine. While it can’t match my first wide-eyed listen through Origin, Elevation is a worthy companion to a sorrowful night.

Enshine has always made every instrument count. Rather than fading into the background, Giannis Koskinas’ (Ocean of Grief) bass steals the show with lively lead melodies (“The Moment”). Conversely, on tracks like “Where the Sunrise Is Felt,” the rhythm section supplies a simple but hefty backbone to steer the song along. Sébastien Pierre’s keyboard is as active as ever, providing both center-stage melodies and a canvas for the other instruments. It’s remarkable how well this works; indeed, the key-heavy instrumental “Distant Glow” is one of Elevation’s most haunting cuts. Pierre and Lindholm’s vocals are unremarkable but get the job done, and the vocal lines are perfectly timed to accentuate the album’s peaks. Of course, while each of these pieces is compelling, Elevation’s guitars are a masterclass. Serving up huge Insomnium riffs, tear-jerking melodies, and minimalist interludes, Lindholm’s guitar work is varied but consistently impressive. Rounded out by a rich tone, Elevation is a full-blown sonic tapestry.

Elevation by Enshine

Enshine’s best work excels in both its climaxes and the journeys between them. Enshine’s riffs are more enormous than ever, with “The Purity of Emptiness” showcasing some pounding specimens. The rhythm section accentuates this riffwork like a thundering heartbeat. Elevation’s melodic peaks are just as lofty, and an explosive guitar solo makes the opener “Shimmering” an early contender for song of the year. As always, Enshine knows when and how to dial it back. For instance, the opening melody of “Heartbliss” serves as a serene counterpoint to the song’s beefier moments, while the closer “Reignite” relieves tension through its sparse midsection. While Elevation often flits masterfully between these extremes, it sometimes fizzles out. The aforementioned “Heartbliss” and “Reignite,” the two longest tracks, both spend their last few minutes in forgettable melodic ramblings. More generally, the album’s back half often settles into a neutral middle ground that neither excites nor calms. Elevation sometimes loses its footing, but most of its runtime is a dexterous volley between aggression and tranquility.

Accordingly, Elevation packs a powerful but inconsistent emotional punch. The most conventional source is the album’s soaring melodies, like those on “Shimmering.” But Enshine’s heart often hides in unlikely spots. “The Moment” hypnotizes the listener with a simple guitar riff, transmutes it into a tragic behemoth, and culminates in rhythmic repetition that evokes Cult of Luna. The key-driven “Distant Glow” remains the album’s most unlikely triumph. By rooting itself in one bittersweet melodic motif, “Distant Glow” evolves seamlessly from a chamomile-infused Infected Mushroom trance to punchy melodeath riffs. The result is a four-minute track that feels like a lifetime, in the best possible way. In contrast, parts of Elevation feel clinical. Songs like “The Purity of Emptiness” rely on interchangeable mid-paced riffs that fade from memory, and even stronger tracks fall into the same age-old trap (“Where the Sunrise Is Felt”). Enshine hasn’t lost their secret sauce, but they have diluted it.

But even more so than usual, I’m an unreliable narrator trapped in the tiniest of prisons. My twelve years with Enshine both paint and taint my perspective. So yes, “Reignite” is Enshine’s worst closer; but that’s because I remember the months I leaned on “Apex” and the friendship I strengthened with “Constellation.” And yes, Elevation sometimes gets lost in meandering riffs; but that sticks out because Origin is the pinnacle of concise melodeath-doom. Enshine’s former glory offers a convenient template for critiquing its follow-ups. In truth, Elevation is an enchanting release from a band that I’d feared would never return. Whether you’re an Enshine addict, a curious first-timer, or even a non-metalhead, Elevation demands and earns your attention.



Rating: 3.5/5.02

Nuclear Dudes – Truth Paste Review

By Thus Spoke

Nuclear Dudes is one step closer to living up to their moniker as they are now officially more than one person.1 Joined by Brandon Nakamura (Doomsday 1999, ex-Teen Cthulu) on vocals, Sandrider’s Jon Weisnewski bounces back from the synthwave moment of Compression Crimes 1 to resume the usual trajectory of insanity. 2023’s Boss Blades—my personal introduction to this madness—was a disarmingly likeable collection of silly and serious sounds heavy and light. It was also surprisingly good. Though I’d partly forgotten this due to its brevity and my sieve-like brain, the band has such character, in name, in vibe, and artwork theme—that a commenter very sensibly pointed out is likely courtesy of Weisnewski’s small child and not his brother as I hilariously assumed—that I was instantly back in the room with Nuclear Dudes, ready for the next trip.

With a permanent2 vocalist alongside Weisnewski’s own contributions, Truth Paste is closer to powerviolence or grind than previous outings. But a vague resemblance to these genres is as close as it gets. The record is a breezy 23 minutes across 11 tracks (check one: very short runtimes), and there are more passages of outright beatdown, screaming, chaotic metallic insanity (check 2: silly heavy and intense). But it’s what’s going on within that runtime, and both during and between those especially heavy moments that matters. Nuclear Dudes don’t waste a second. Opening on a bizarre tribute to Guns ‘n Roses’ “Welcome to the Jungle”—which includes using that song’s literal intro as their own—the duo switch in a flash to an electro-grind(core), erratically accented by an array of eclectic sound effects, which is a recurrent style on the album. Approximately four and a half minutes in, it becomes clear that the preceding two tracks (“Napalm Life,” “Holiday Warfare”) functioned as a violent induction to themes that are to follow, as the title track ramps up to a pure hardcore breakdown to a woman crying “ohhhh myy gawwd it’s—”, and the ensuing chuggery forms the first ‘breather’ for the listener. That concludes the most normal segment on the record.

Truth Paste is weird, but it’s not incoherent. Despite the apparently revolving door of blooping, whirring keys and sound effects, and tempo changes that would give an F1 driver whiplash (“Napalm Life,” “Dirty 20,” “Death at Burning Man”), the whole thing flows remarkably well. Pretty much all songs transition seamlessly from the previous with overlapping samples, humming melodies, basslines, or keyboard something-or-other. Nuclear Dudes hit their peak at moments when the electronica-mixed-with-guitar transforms into synthwave by way of grind, making for ridiculously fun grooves (“Concussion Protocol,” “Space Juice,” “Pelvis Presley”) if not some very entertaining melodic excursions. Or perhaps the best parts are during those rapid-fire switches, where goofy meets brutal and jaw-smashing breakdowns are followed or preceded by floaty ethereality (“Truth Paste,” “Juggalos for Congress”).

As a novelty band that takes not taking itself seriously quite seriously, Nuclear Dudes are doing everything right. Track titles are dumb, the movie samples cheesy, and the harsh vox mix is a wry recollection of a bygone bedroom death/grind era. Nuclear Dudes own every last second of it, from the roboticised vocals (“Napalm Life,” “Concussion Protocol,” “Cyrus the Virus”) to the videogame battle sequence vibes of the keyboard gymnastics (“Dirty 20,” “Space Juice”). It’s almost annoying how un-annoying it is. And since you effectively experience it as one extended track, given those instant transitions, it becomes very easy to just vibe with it and not worry about which song you’re actually hearing at any moment, or whether what you just heard was genius or just silly. But in having superior flow to its predecessors, Truth Paste also possesses fewer true standout moments. There are no lows, it’s true, but there are also no epic peaks—no “Many Knifes,” for instance. Then again, this record is committing more strongly to the meth-head electro-grind genre than Boss Blades, and in that respect, kind of smashes it.

If you want to have a very entertaining 23 minutes and six seconds, Truth Paste should be your go-to. Nuclear Dudes has taken recruiting a vocalist, and evolving into their full hybrid mad-subgenre form in their stride, as they continue to half-sprint, half-dance ahead. This record is so tight, fun, and irritatingly self-aware that personal taste is practically irrelevant. I’m no longer going to express surprise that anything Nuclear Dudes creates will be fucking great.

Rating: Great
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Self-Release
Website: Bandcamp
Releases Worldwide: September 5th, 2025

#2025 #40 #DeathMetal #EDM #ElectronicMetal #ExperimentalMetal #Grind #Grindcore #NuclearDudes #Powerviolence #Review #Reviews #Sandrider #SelfReleases #Sep25 #Synthwave #TeenCthulhu #TruthPaste #USMetal

Cult Burial – Collapse of Pattern, Reverence of Dust Review

By Thus Spoke

It has always overwhelmed me just how much music is out there, ceaselessly being recorded in studios and basements and forests, ceaselessly being promoted and released, and often sent into the AMG promo pile. There is so much more below the surface than above it, even as regards just one small subgenre. How can one possibly listen to it all, and discern greatness from mediocrity? How can bands stand out when countless others are branding themselves so similarly, making music so apparently similar? Cult Burial are one such band that I would likely never have come across were it not for this gig, despite the generally positive reception both their debut and sophomore albums received (the latter also coming from me). In that review, I highlighted what I perceived to be a distinctiveness to the band’s sound, their particular mixture of death, black, and post-metal sounding just different enough to give them an edge, minor hiccoughs notwithstanding. Then, Cult Burial was in the perfect position to capitalize on these unique strengths and refine the formula, and it is after two years in the shadows that the fruit of their labors falls into my hands.

LP 3, Collapse of Pattern, Reverence of Dust, is immediately and strikingly more imposing than its predecessor. More menacing in its melodies and more aggressive in its stronger leanings towards deathened territory, it also sounds literally sharper, with fewer instances of guitar being relegated to a background bit-part and more of them center-stage in the leading role. The music is atmospheric in a similarly echoing way, again recalling Praise the Plague, but now this atmosphere treads into the more unsettling territory accompanied by jarring chord progressions, akin to Akhlys (“Vincula,” “Vestige”), or even Blut Aus Nord (“Mire”), though decidedly less manic. This new sense of malice goes a long way toward giving Cult Burial a stronger hold on the listener, and helping them avoid the issue of image-sound incongruence that haunted Reverie of the Malignant.

What hasn’t changed about Cult Burial’s approach is their preferred compositional structure. Sticking with relatively brief song lengths, they rely on melodic and rhythmic hooks (“Aether,” “Vestige”) that keep the pace high between the atmospheric intros and interludes, rather than extended creeping builds. This risk didn’t entirely pay off in the last outing, but Collapse of Pattern sees a renewed vigor that makes songs, which pack in blackened doom and death in a signature smoky style with a more ‘conventional’ black or death metal solo or bridge, tonally fluid despite their fluctuations. The prevailing tone of meanness is a markedly more consistent and coherent than previously, and this now shines through most strongly where Cult Burial turn to the tangled zone of dissonance in their extreme metal leanings, which takes the humming chords and minor melodies—not to mention the pleasantly audible purr of the bass—into a realm of creepy that’s thoroughly, spine-tinglingly enjoyable (“Vincula,” “Enthrall,” “Beseech”).

The main problem is that, however cool or chilling various passages are—and they are—Collapse of Pattern never does enough to fully arrest its audience. A seeming impatience to get to the next bit compounds paradoxically with a reluctance to ever progress beyond the inevitable switch from slower intro to faster heaviness. It makes the music feel underdeveloped in two senses. On the one hand, by lack of builds and by not actually possessing the presence they tease with an overly mysterious and surface-level atmospheric aura—marked by heavy resonance. On the other hand, by the near absence of dynamism in the yet fickle and multifaceted compositions, which sway from an ominous death-doom into a distinctly tech-death acerbity. While Cult Burial made strides when it comes to improving their overall vibe—as in, there’s no longer a strange tonal separation between different songs as there was before—their music indicates that they still feel unsure of their identity. Simultaneously trying too hard to sound dark and huge and frightening, and not trying hard enough to craft a convincingly solid presence that would justify it.

Collapse of Pattern feels like one step forward, two steps back. On every listen, I am drawn in by opener “Vincula”‘s malevolently stomping, eerily moaning refrain. By the time I have reached its back half, however, it no longer grips me; songs bleed together and dissolve. Cult Burial may still have something great in them, but until they dive fully into the void or write some killer riffs, they are doomed to fade into obscurity.

Rating: Mixed
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Self-Released
Websites: cultburial.com | cultburial.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/cultburial
Released Worldwide: September 5th, 2025

#25 #2025 #AKhlys #BlackMetal #BlackenedDeathMetal #BlackenedDoom #BlutAusNord #CollapseOfPatternReverenceOfDust #CultBurial #DeathMetal #PraiseThePlague #Review #Reviews #SelfReleases #Sep25 #UKMetal

Old Machines – The Cycles of Extinction Review

By Thus Spoke

Picture the scene: it’s 3 am, and the bar is about to close. the last remaining customers—a table of four1 long-haired, denim and leather-clad men—are being shooed out. As they stagger, laughing, out the door, the bartender hears one of them (who he doesn’t know is guitarst Brian Rush of Ænigmatum, et al) saying, “Wait, wait, ok ok yeah so you’re on the keyboards doing the melody, and then I’m—what are we going for—black, death, thrash?…Yeah, awesome…” In this imagined world, the unsuspecting eavesdropper just witnessed the birth of Old Machines, who may well have begun work on their 2024 demo Backwards Through Space that very night. A year on, the crew—whose notable members also include Oxygen Destroyer percussionist Chris Craven—make their full-length debut with The Cycles of Extinction, which takes their craft and their concept from zero right to infinity, and beyond.

Cycles of Extinction is steeped in lore billions of years old, telling stories of peoples and times spanning aeons and light years—which may or may not be plotlines from many cherished video games—and sporting a runtime spanning an hour. Old Machine’s chosen format could perhaps best be described as being to symphonic death metal what Old Nick is to raw black metal.2 The bulk of the music is led by the keys, which do not attempt to disguise their jam-core sound that fluctuates between dungeon-synth camp and the kind of ambient sound-healing hum you’d get at the end of a yoga session in 2002. Guitars largely follow the rhythm and timbre of the synths—with many a hammer-on and pull-off ascending and descending alongside the identically clambering keys—if they don’t chug and gallop along to the next dramatically marching beat. There are some acrobatics, but they never usurp that keyboard’s position at centre-stage. Fast and mostly straightforward drumming keeps things at a vibrant up-tempo, with just a hint of thrashy energy, and croaking snarls share roughly equal space with booming spoken-word narration. It’s uncomplicated, but not without a certain charming passion and weirdness.

If nothing else, Cycles of Extinction sounds like Old Machines had a lot of fun making it. The tongue-in-cheek melodrama of the unadorned keyboard swooping through a movement, whilst the drums batter and riffs riff meanly, (“Glory to the Terrans of the First Contact War”) like something out of an N64 game fight scene (“The Sundering of the Irradiated Sons, and the Rebellion Sparked by the Gene-Plague”) is so silly it kind of works. There are moments where it’s almost genius: the deceleration and acceleration of “Cycles of Extinction,” complete with well-timed spoken word and manic screams; or the sudden vivacious grace of the guitars on “They Are Legion: The Tragic Exodus of the Veiled Creators ” that breaks the mould and outdoes the keys for just a moment, before the twain tumble back down a scale together. The first (“Cycles of Extinction”), and maybe even the second (“Extinguishing the Light of the Preludian Empire (Upon the Apex of Their Glory)”), time you hear that choir effect, played in an on-off jaunt that betrays their origin as having nothing at all to do with a human voice, it’s nigh impossible not to smile. But the question is: at what point are you no longer laughing with Old Machines, but laughing at them?

Unfortunately for Old Machines, the very synthetic-sounding synths with their repeated use of the same effects, chuggy, fast guitars, and prevalent spoken-word gets old. The pattern changes but little until the final two tracks “They Are Legion…” and “Glory to the Terrans…”—which in fairness do account for nearly a quarter of the runtime—when all of the best riffs, melodies, and moments are hastily stuffed in next to all the above. This is odd enough, and yet far more baffling is the decision to include two extended passages of ambience. The first one opens the album on a decidedly slow and tonally incongruent note as the first third of the 11-minute opener “Twilight of the Old Gods and the Dawning of the First Cycle.” The other slams the breaks on mid-album for a full eight minutes and 38 seconds of uneventful vagary (“Dark Space and Beyond – The Continuance of the Evolution of the Final Cycle”). If you were vibing with Old Machines’ weird keyboard blackened death metal before, then this ice cold shower kills the mood and exacerbates the irritation of following track “Crescendo of Carnage: Warsong of the Singing Swarm (Swarm Wars I)” and its especially jerky, stabby riff and key combos.

At the end of the day, Old Machines had an idea, and they ran with it. Maybe it’ll tickle some listeners enough in just the right way, because it is at times kinda fun. But even looking past the goofiness, the album’s structural issues—the monotone ambience and behemoth length—are sure to test the most saintly of patiences. If we can believe the band, The Cycles of Extinction is only the beginning; we’ll just have to wait and see whether Old Machines double down on the cheese, or evolve.

Rating: Mixed
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: 320kbps mp3
Label: Self-Release
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: August 22nd, 2025

#25 #2025 #Aug2025 #BlackMetal #DeathMetal #DungeonSynth #ElectronicMetal #OldMachines #OldNick #Review #Reviews #SelfReleases #SymphonicDeathMetal #TheCyclesOfExtinction #ThrashMetal

Record(s) o’ the Month – May 2025

By Angry Metal Guy

There are months when the Record(s) o’ the Month feels like a sacred duty. It is the noble, worthwhile culmination of rigorous listening and passionate discourse.1 And then there’s May. May, a month in which Dr. A.N. Grier tried to vote for a band called… SEXCAVE or some shit four or five different times using different pseudonyms (but the same IP address), and where Dolphin Whisperer almost made me rage quit by making a single comment about “sky-tearing tonalities,” which, like… what kind of pretentious fucking bullshit is that? Do you people even listen to music, or do you just sit around all day making up stupid poetic ways of saying absolutely nothing?2 But if we’re fair, he wasn’t entirely wrong. Sometimes a record arrives that doesn’t just demand attention, it seizes it like an Aztec death deity grabbing the sun.3 So for the first time in a while, the best album in May came from an unsigned band. And not just any unsigned band. It came from a band proficient in bull riding!

The beauty of the Unsigned Band Rodeö lies in its chaos. No expectations. No promo sheets. No preconceived narratives. Just music dropped into our laps like cursed artifacts.4 On Nikan Axkan, which was self-released on May 2nd, 2025 [Bandcamp], Kalaveraztekah weaponizes its vision of death metal through the lens of pre-Hispanic culture and indigenous cosmology. There’s no sense that these Hidrocálidos are some kind of novelty act. They aren’t a Mexican Eluveitie, just playing Dark Tranquillity riffs while putting a Ritual Death Flute over it for 40 seconds in every song.5 Rather, Nikan Axkan is a muscular, seething, and deeply rooted record that radiates conviction from every grinding riff. The percussion rumbles like a procession of drums echoing through stone temples, fusing to a brutal core of death metal that just fucks. There’s a Blood Incantation-like spaciness that offers a counterbalance to all this brutality and adds unexpected depth. After spending the better part of a week in what my physician has called a “ritualistic fugue state,” I managed to pull myself out of the netherworld to write that when Kalaveraztekah’s two pillars—the atmospheric otherworldly and the brutal death metal—meet, “they crash into each other like storm fronts, creating something beautiful and terrible to behold. Nikan Axkan is simultaneously brutal and thoughtful, grindy and melodic, atmospheric and immediate,” and it’s the Record o’ the Month.

Runner(s) Up:

…and Oceans // The Regeneration Itinerary [May 23rd, 2025 | Season of Mist | Bandcamp] — …and Oceans is having an Amorphisesque second act and I am here for it. They’ve always walked the line between symphonic grandiosity and black metal chaos, and with The Regeneration Itinerary, they’ve engineered their third very good platter in 5 years. The record combines sharp, Emperor-style riffing with theatrical synths, industrial flourishes, and ruthlessly precise pacing. “Demonstrating a degree of evolution in their craft” and with “exceptional [performances] across the board,” …and Oceans have once again hit that sweet balance—and ever-more unique sound in this current black metal soundscape—that makes their revitalization so welcome. But it’s not just that it’s a good continuation, I feel like they are continuing to refine and revitalize the launch with each new album they release. It’s always fun to watch bands defy Angry Metal Guy’s Law of Diminishing Recordings™, and while The Regeneration Itinerary isn’t their best record yet, 30 years after their debut, …and Oceans is still releasing vital music that’s impossible to overlook.

Jade // Mysteries of a Flowery Dream [May 9th, 2025 | Pulverised Records | Bandcamp] — Mysteries of a Flowery Dream is an atmospheric death metal record that unfolds like a guided hallucination. It’s melodic. It’s moody. It’s weirdly elegant. And it doesn’t care about my riffs-per-minute quota. It takes things slow and keeps them dreamy. Jade trades bludgeoning immediacy for textured dream-logic, and while it takes a few listens to understand what’s happening, once it clicks, it’s hard for listeners to shake. And yet, it balances out the problem that atmospheric records rarely feel heavy, because they’re too busy padding the sharp edges with “atmosphere.” But Mysteries of a Flowery Dream accomplishes its heaviness by feeling oppressive, dense, claustrophobic, and crushing—leaving the listener feeling like they’re in an experimental submarine on their way to see the Titanic.6 And while it’s not the easiest record to penetrate, Owlswald wants you to know that “those who actively immerse themselves in Jade’s expansive world will be handsomely rewarded. The excellent songwriting, replete with its cohesion, balance, and dynamism, is impressive, steadily shifting my initial apathetic impressions to genuine appreciation. So don your finest headphones, sit back, and let Jade immerse you in their dreamlike world.”

#AndOceans #2025 #AMGSUnsignedBandRodeo #Amorphis #DarkTranquillity #Eluveitie #Emperor #Independent #Jade #Kalaveraztekah #May25 #MysteriesOfAFloweryDream #NikanAxkan #RecordSOTheMonth #RecordsOfTheMonth #SelfReleases #TheRegenerationItinerary

Anthony Ellis: Ashes of Reason – Crisis Catalyst Review

By Angry Metal Guy

Written By: Nameless_n00b_603

CRISIS CATALYST – 1

In an age where technology is abundant and affordable, it’s never been easier for someone with a ditty and a dream to make their music a reality. Enter Ashes of Reason, the brainchild of one-man band Anthony Ellis, and his third full-length, Crisis Catalyst. Shouldering the responsibility to write, record, and produce your own album is painstakingly ambitious and requires deep wells of both grit and gumption. Calling the shots means you get to deliver your 100% pure, undiluted vision into the hungry earholes of curious listeners. You also risk crafting an echo chamber, reinforcing questionable choices, and forgoing feedback that could make the difference between a romp-stomping release and an aural slog.

Crisis Catalyst is an influence-laced affair, with an In Flames-tinged riff here (“Desensitised Nation”) and an Annihilator-flavored vocal delivery there (“Crisis Catalyst”). It’s at the altar of Iron Maiden, though, where Ashes of Reason worships most fervently. The problem with wearing influences on your sleeve is that you inevitably draw comparisons to your muse, especially when covering one of their most beloved tunes. Ashes of Reason’s cover of “Hallowed Be Thy Name” offers a cross-section of the woes that plague Crisis Catalyst, including dubious production and a scarcity of the show-stopping shredder cheese that most heavy metal cooks with.1

Listeners’ largest and most immediate hurdle is Ellis’ voice. He employs an assortment of styles; opener “Fight the Machine” touts Halfordian falsettos that get blood and fists pumping, and it’s a shame this style is relegated to one track because it’s by far the best one deployed. Mostly, the vocals mirror a reduced Devin Townsend (“Screaming at the Void,” “Pineapple Party”) without the range or versatility and are too often pitchy and unrefined. The biggest vocal sin is the ungainly reverb bedeviling tracks across the album (“Hallowed Be Thy Name,” “Clarity,”2 “The Long Return”).3 Hearing it repeatedly undercuts the momentum built by better moments. Layered vocal harmonies present another challenge; they aren’t inherently bad and work well when deftly implemented, but at times throughout Crisis Catalyst, they clash with jarring friction (“Screaming at the Void,” “Clarity,” “Ledger of Ghosts”). Other times, one vocal track sustains a note longer than another, creating a sloppy, uneven experience when mixed together (“Screaming at the Void,” “The Long Return”). If consuming Crisis Catalyst passively, some of these gripes aren’t immediately arresting, but once attuned, they’re distracting and difficult to endure on repeated spins.

Despite the vocals, there are plenty of praise-worthy moments on Crisis Catalyst. Rock-solid riffs snake through the album, featuring kickass licks and highlighting Ellis as an adept rhythm guitarist. Whether drawing from Gothenburg charm (“Desensitised,” “Cost Too High”), laying out Maidenesque riffs (“Clarity”4) or pumping out hard-rocking grooves (“Fight the Machine,” “Pineapple Party”), Ashes of Reason can assemble rousing compositions. Bass guitar occupies an unobtrusive yet chunky space that fits snugly in the mix (“Crisis Catalyst,” “Hallowed Be Thy Name”), while the drumming is an album highlight, flexing quick-sticked fills and fleet footwork.

Crisis Catalyst has promise, but those promising ideas are undermined by execution blunders and strange production decisions, leaving me wondering how much better Crisis Catalyst might have been with an experienced producer and another guitarist. The final result is a disappointing collection of tracks that needs more polish before serving it to the masses. If this review is harsh, it’s not out of malice. It takes a heaping dose of resolve and fearlessness to will an entire album into existence on your own, and for that, Anthony Ellis deserves a hearty tip of the cap. A good album lurks within these depths, but the experience is ultimately marred by distracting vocal effects, familiar ideas, and choices that are hard to justify. Absent a track to reel me back in, I won’t return to Crisis Catalyst after I close the chapter on this review. But with better production and more refinement, I’d be interested to hear what comes next.

Rating: 2.0/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Self-Released
Website: ashesofreason.bandcamp.com
Releases Worldwide: July 4th, 2025

#2025 #Annihilator #AnthonyEllis #AshesOfReason #CrisisCatalyst #HeavyMetal #InFlames #IronMaiden #Jul25 #Review #Reviews #SelfReleases

Crimson Shadows – Whispers of War Review

By Eldritch Elitist

When a beloved record receives a successor following a decade or more of germination, what do the fans want to hear? What do they dare hope to hear? Comparable cases have shown that the best-case scenario is typically a great record that echoes the artist’s prior success in varying degrees. Notable examples include albums that adhere to the artist’s established formula, yet whose energy has been somewhat eroded by the passage of time. Others are major departures that recall the past in genre only. Whispers of War, the third album from Canadian melodic power death metallers Crimson Shadows, reveals a third path: A record which adheres so strictly to its predecessor that it sounds like it dropped mere months afterward. With Whispers of War in my hands, I am confident that it is exactly what I’ve wanted all along.

For the uninitiated, Crimson Shadows’ sound is what would have happened if DragonForce had been mainstays in the late 90’s / early 00’s Finnish melodic death metal scene, but with a North American metalcore-adjacent sense of chunk and polish tailor-made for the 2009 Rockstar Energy Mayhem Festival. Their blend of sugary lead guitars and rhythmic violence is peak Dumb Guy Metal, and as The Dumbest Guy, I’m thrilled that this new album recaptures the formula perfectly. To compare Crimson Shadows’ album-to-album trajectory to that of DragonForce, Whispers of War is to 2014’s Kings Among Men as the first half of Sonic Firestorm is to the second half of Sonic Firestorm. Had this record been disc two of a Kings Among Men double album, not a single eye would have been batted. Everything is intact: Big riffs, bigger melodies, and ceaseless double bass drives staunchly locked to 200bpm. My biggest worry was that this unshaken formula would feel obligatory, but Whispers of War’s sheer caffeinated vigor is authentic and as undeniably addictive as ever.

Whispers of War’s quality is neck-and-neck with Kings Among Men, even surpassing it in certain areas in its battle to justify its own existence. Where Crimson Shadows’ preceding album was at its best in scattered instances of monumental grandeur, these new compositions are more compelling in their moment-to-moment execution. No song on Whispers of War feels as singularly massive as, say, the chorus of “Dawn of Vengeance,” yet its riffs feel more gleefully barbaric across the board, stampeding rowdily through verses in tracks like “Guardians” and “Rise of the Fallen Soul.” Elsewhere, the band weaves Wintersunny blastbeats into the proceedings (“Whispers of War,” “Battle Hard 2: Battle Harder”) in jolts of welcome variety. The more Whispers of War sits with me, the more I believe it superior to its younger sibling, even if I love all of Crimson Shadows’ children equally.1

What gives Whispers of War the edge as my new favorite Crimson Shadows record are its improved performances across the board. The band formed in 2006, yet in a mythically rare occurrence, has maintained their starting lineup, bassist Alex Snape being the sole exception. Guitarist / clean vocalist Greg Rounding has a notably greater control and expanded range during the record’s excellent choruses, and his and Ryan Hofing’s dueling guitar solos are elevated in both complexity and memorability. Harsh vocalist Jimi Maltais, meanwhile, remains a motherfucking powerhouse and one of the most underrated growlers in extreme metal. The only instrumental disappointment comes in the mixing of drummer Cory Hofing’s kitwork. His cymbal patterns are ear-ticklingly catchy, yet his kit’s tone and presence have been flattened in generic modern metal fashion in a downgrade from its thunderous nature on Kings Among Men.

I love this band. Maybe it’s because I had my old Xbox 360 loaded up with ripped DragonForce and Children of Bodom CDs, but to me, their music sounds like a Halo 3-branded can of Mountain Dew Game Fuel in the best possible way. There is a youthful earnestness to Crimson Shadows’ music that has become increasingly difficult to come by, and the fact that they have picked up exactly where they left off a decade ago with a record this good speaks volumes of their enthusiasm in being true to themselves and the music they love. I’d be thrilled to hear Crimson Shadows expand their sound in new directions following Whispers of War, but for the time being, this is an exceedingly rare instance where more of the same is the ideal outcome. There may be better records released in 2025, but I sincerely doubt I will spin any of them harder, louder, or with more jubilance than this one.

Rating: Great
DR: 5 | Format Reviewed: PCM
Label: Self-Release
Websites: crimsonshadows.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/CrimsonShadowsBand
Releases Worldwide: July 25th, 2025

#2025 #40 #CanadianMetal #CrimsonShadows #DragonForce #Jul25 #KingsAmongMen #MelodicDeathMetal #PowerMetal #Review #Reviews #SelfReleases #WhispersOfWar

Grace Hayhurst – The World Is Dying Review

By Angry Metal Guy

Written By: Nameless_n00b_601

Making good progressive metal is incredibly difficult. Where styles like black metal can still succeed without considered songwriting or astonishing musicianship, prog is a fickle mistress, demanding expert songcraft that balances dynamic peaks and valleys, as well as considerable instrumental prowess. Even prog’s biggest bands still routinely falter when armed with a fearsome squad of world-class musicians and major label backing.1 Still, this fails to deter new artists without such resources from aiming for the sheer highs the style can offer. Enter English multi-instrumentalist Grace Hayhurst and her debut record, The World Is Dying. Except for drums, Hayhurst accomplishes the impressive task of composing and performing an expansive prog album entirely by herself. Informed by both ’70s prog rock and modern prog metal, alongside orchestral music and sci-fi media, The World Is Dying aims to be music that Hayhurst “wants to listen to.” Can this one-woman independent release fulfill her ambitions and succeed in producing a quality prog album where her contemporaries have failed?

Grace Hayhurst demonstrates a clear familiarity with prog, which she uses to craft engaging and varied songs. Her brand of prog metal is very much in line with the approach to the subgenre crystallized by Dream Theater and modernized by Haken, complete with a dash of extra British flavor á la Steven Wilson and Gentle Giant. Vocal-led compositions feature keyboards front and center, alongside odd time signatures and syncopated guitar riffs across dynamic shifts between softer, atmospheric moments and heavier passages with distorted power chords. Hayhurst follows the “prog playbook” while managing to avoid the common pitfalls of unfocused songwriting and extended solo sections, which plague many of her contemporaries. Instead of mashing together unrelated parts around a vague pop song structure, she builds on a distinct rhythmic or melodic motif and follows it throughout a song. Hayhurst weaves in and out of verses, choruses, and solos while dialing the intensity up or down depending on the part. The World Is Dying’s strongest songs use such motifs as central throughlines, complicating and enhancing compositions through texture and instrument substitutions (“Us vs Them,” “Revolution”).

Stunning compositions are only part of a successful prog equation, though, and unfortunately, Grace Hayhurst is an unengaging vocalist. The vocal parts themselves are all competently written, but vocally, she lacks the power or personality necessary to lead songs consisting of big hooks and dramatic peaks. Her vocal delivery is breathy and devoid of emotion. This makes the more chorus-focused songs (“The World Is Dying,” “It’s Our Fault”) significantly weaker, as each song’s repeated centerpiece falls flat. This isn’t helped by uninspiring lyrics throughout, which are presented with crystal clear audibility due to the production style. The record is entirely about humankind’s destruction of the Earth and the lack of consequences for those in power who have caused this. Yet, there’s no use of metaphor or abstraction in dealing with this potentially rich topic, just relatively plain language doled out in obvious rhyme schemes. After repeated listens, I find myself constantly pulled away from the tension created by lush instrumentation when what should be a memorable vocal moment fails to land.

When the vocals aren’t centered, The World Is Dying is loaded with engaging compositions, replete with musical layers and countermelodies that elevate an already-strong instrumental core. The individual sections themselves can sometimes veer into predictable, generic prog territory, but there is no shortage of textural flavor or variety, which adds nuance and replayability to several tunes. Nature sound effects are used to strengthen the concept while deepening the sonic space (“Our Forest, the Earth”), slap bass is employed for some funktastic groove changeups (“Us Vs. Them”) and guitar/synth melodies are embellished with tasty, doubled harmonies or added strings and orchestral flare (“Take Off”). On the vocal end, there are efforts made with layered harmonies and vocoders to make things a bit more interesting by pulling the focus away from a single vocal performance. Even harsh vocals are deployed at a few key moments, such as the end of the 13-minute “Revolution,” to great effect. Although on the track list, this is followed by an interlude and then the album closer, “Absent Futures,” a vocal-led acoustic ballad that falls flat due to its form.

The World Is Dying displays plenty of promise, but its potential is hampered by one unfortunately lackluster element. As a lover of prog, Grace Hayhurst’s debut is almost filled with enough whimsy and clever songwriting to excite me, but is ultimately held back by its weak vocals. I could see Hayhurst functioning well as the primary composer for a prog metal band with a dedicated singer. She still has some growth before carrying a full band on her own. For now, this album finds itself in the same predicament as its cover art: a competent package whose thematic cohesion is displaced by one disappointing component.

Rating: 2.5/5.0
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Independent
Websites: gracehr.st| gracehrst.bandcamp.com
Releases Worldwide: June 27th, 2025

#25 #2025 #DreamTheater #GentleGiant #GraceHayhurst #Haken #Jun25 #ProgressiveMetal #Review #Reviews #SelfReleases #StevenWilson #TheWorldIsDying

Acidsloth – Acidsloth Review

By Thus Spoke

Can you guess what genre Acidsloth plays? Yes, that’s right, it’s thrash! Ok, no, obviously not, it’s stoner doom—what else with a name that’s a portmanteau of a drug and a notoriously slow-moving animal? Kicking1 around since 2021, Kraków’s Acidsloth already have two LPs to their name, but it’s their third that they bestow the honor of being self-titled. The reason is that this time, they’re a “full band” (to use their own terminology), totaling eight(!) musicians, five of whom perform vocals. In this sense, Acidsloth is kind of their debut. With a charmingly against-type depiction of their token animal, and the promise of “Eyehategod-level aggression mixed with Conan’s heaviness and Electric Wizard’s psychedelic weight,” Acidsloth are out to show they mean business.

Acidsloth’s more-is-more approach to vocalists sees them hand the mic to a new player on (almost) every track.2 This is a cool and unique way to inject a bit of flavor into what is an infamously monotonous subgenre, as we swap between the shriekier (Julia Markiewicz, Radosław Bury), hoarser (Jan Gajewski, Mateusz Zborowski) and the growlier (Patryk Kozera) interpretations of the sludge scream. Beyond this, their compositions follow a common trajectory, often beginning with atmospheric, slightly ominous plucking and spending most of their time brooding in distorted sludgy chugs to a sedated beat. It’s certainly solid (in literal density as well as aesthetic quality), and sometimes it’s even slick thanks to some beautifully-timed transitions and an elusive solo. But as a whole, it fails to have the weight it needs to support its posture.

The thing about having different vocalists on different songs is that it’s quite important to be able to hear them well enough to appreciate their individual skills. Unfortunately, Acidsloth’s vocal track is so low in the mix compared to the instrumentation that the shouts and screams are often lost in the fuzz and bang of guitar and bass drum (particularly on “Float” and “Sin”). Given this, you’d hope the riffs would make up for it, but here too, Acidsloth fumble the ball. Outside of two pretty sweet solos (“Hole,” “Puke”) the guitars only hint at interesting melodies with some hanging plucks (“Hole,” “Free,” “Puke,” “Satan”), and interspersed passages of up-or-down-tempo strumming (“Float,” “Satan”). There are little moments of brilliance where it seems Acidsloth finally finish coming up and deliver—brutal, sledgehammer sludge screams (“Float,” “Free”); that solo (“Hole”); groovily-tapping post metal tension (“Free,” “Satan”); moody liquid plucks (“Sin”). But it’s at these times when Acidsloth’s odd compositional habits truly hamstring what strength they gained. Frequently, songs switch gears midway, and then again, and yet manage to reprise the least-interesting elements of monotony; the cool parts not given time to command the space they deserve (“Hole,” “Free,” “Sin,” “Puke”). The worst case is “Free,” which could have Amenra-esque levels of bite and solemnity, if the mid-tier galloping sludge didn’t smother the harrowing howls, and the anticipatory build that interrupts it set the tone instead.

Doom of any kind, and sludge for that matter, is at heart designed to be uncomplicated, but its presence—whether through emotional depth or sheer magnitude—is what makes it powerful. Alternatively, maybe it can just make you feel good with some psychedelically lush soundscapes. Acidsloth has no presence beyond its literal noisiness, and there’s but a glimmer of color in the melodies. The near-inaudibility of the vocalists is made worse by the frequent use of reverb, and what is either multi-tracking or group shouts (their muddiness makes it hard to tell). The music isn’t “boring,” as such, it’s just draining to listen to, as all the best riffs, screams, and good use of rhythm and atmosphere are quite quickly ironed over with a return to the plod and a sheen of humming feedback. One thus ends up walking away with the unfair impression that there’s simply nothing going on in the entire record. Even in active listens, I struggled to cling to the positive vibes.

As a stoner doom album, maybe Acidsloth is standard fare, but I would like to think not. As a sludge album, it fares better, thanks to an emphasis on chunky—albeit mostly dull—riffing and the fact that at least some of the vocalists seem to have promise. Acidsloth are finding their feet as an ensemble, and if they can pool their assets, I think they could make something pretty juicy. Hopefully, they make the move faster than the animal they’re named for.

Rating: Disappointing
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Willowtip
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: June 20th, 2025

#20 #2025 #Acidsloth #Amenra #Conan #CultOfLuna #DoomMetal #ElectricWizard #Eyehategod #Jun25 #PolishMetal #PostMetal #Review #Reviews #SelfReleases #Sludge #StonerDoom

Stellar Blight – Eventide: Synod of the Dying Stars Review

By Thus Spoke

Contact form promos are a high-risk, high-reward option when it comes to choosing a review candidate. The unsigned artist(s) behind the enthusiastic prose could be overselling an undercooked bedroom project, or understatedly presenting shockingly good music that makes you want to shake record labels and say “sign these guys, goddammit!” Stellar Blight, happily, are of the latter breed, though this fact is unsurprising. Comprised of the vocalist from Mānbryne (and Blaze of Perdition); the guitarist from Shodan; and the drummer from Owls Woods Graves, the trio have plenty of experience. With their debut, Eventide: Synod of the Dying Stars, they blend each of their primary styles: taking mystique, progressiveness, and punky energy from them, respectively, and creating a dynamic, raucous, and characterful blackened heavy metal that’s hard to forget.

Eventide is defined by its spiritedness; something that hits all the harder for the way Stellar Blight set the scene. First track “The Portent,” uses its time to create genuine anticipation for the rest of the album with a gallant melody that gives way to rolling drumbeats and chants. The smoke has barely cleared before the band launch into white-hot ripper and instant Heavy Moves Heavy frontrunner “Doves into Serpents”. This dynamic opening duo provide a taste of the flavours to come, elements and quirks that will recur over the remaining runtime. Riffs that enter with a satisfying slide and croon with assuredness (“Second Death,” “Stellar Blight”); group chants (“World Wide Woe”) and call-response lyric delivery (“Second Death”) black ‘n’ roll swagger meeting coercively snappy d-beats (“Weaponised Compassion”), and sulky black metal sway (“Maggots in Awe,” “Unsung”). Throughout it all, Stellar Blight maintain their identity, whether snarling in defiance or murmuring in brooding black moods—always consistently fierce, and with barely a shred of atmosphere anywhere in sight.

This ferocity peaks at moments on Eventide when the band pull the most electric aspects of their stylistic pool into one thrilling package. Wailing leads, soaked in a heavy metal richness, warbling alongside a tempo you feel in your bones, all three members roaring in unison and you grinning like a maniac (“Doves into Serpents,” “Second Death,” “Stellar Blight”). Or, taking it down a gear, folky—acoustic even—strumming weaving through ballad-like steadiness, chants backing up the blackened narration of a beautiful, but very trve sort of ballad (“Maggots in Awe”). And even outside of these passages, Stellar Blight sprinkles in spiky off-beats, smooth, slidy solos, and infectiously fun gang vocals into an ostensibly black metal template, much like fruit, nuts, and chocolate chips in the generously filled brownie batter of addictive heavy music they have crafted.1 It culminates in a viciousness devoid of malevolence, a brazenness entirely unpretentious, which carries the spirit, if not the letter of traditional black and heavy metal, and all while feeling fresh, thanks to Stellar Blight’s creative interpretation and execution.

If Stellar Blight could sustain their highest quality, they would be unstoppable, but as it is, they stumble a little. The overall pace literally begins to slow over the album’s back half, beyond the sinister and mournful “Maggots in Awe,” which justifies its tone change with an anthemic feel that sounds like Seth and Mānbryne mashed together. The weakest cuts, “Unsung,” and “Sisyphean Prestige,” follow back-to-back, and eat away at the exhilaration created by the prior material. Their melodies are comparatively unsubstantial, and disconcertingly major in key; the bite of the snarls weaker, and the chanting less inspiring; the tempos milder. Closer “Weaponised Compassion” makes up for some of this deficit, but it lacks the commanding presence highlights like “Stellar Blight” or “Doves into Serpents” have in droves, and its movements are less interesting versions of the better songs’ themes. There’s also instrumental “Eventide” sitting between it and “Sisyphean Prestige,” which is in itself good, and probably contains the best solo guitar of the lot, but at this point, it’s hard not to resent what feels like stalling before Stellar Blight get back on their game.

Gripes aside, there’s no denying that Stellar Blight are working with something very cool. It might need some refining, but the way they are already integrating black and heavy metal is distinctive and dynamic. With a consistent voice, the delivery of an all-around fun listening experience (even at the lower points), and two songs in contention for Heavy Moves Heavy, Eventide was a high-reward choice for me. Now we just have to wait and see what Stellar Blight do next.

Rating: Good!
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Self-Release
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: June 13th, 2025

#2025 #30 #BlackMetal #BlazeOfPerdition #DeathMetal #EventideSynodOfTheDyingStars #HeavyMetal #Jun25 #Mānbryne #OwlsWoodsGraves #PolishMetal #Review #Reviews #SelfReleases #Seth #Shodan #StellarBlight

Fleshspoil – The Beginning of the End Review

By Tyme

Troy, New York’s Fleshspoil, may be new to the NYC metal scene,1 but its constituent members certainly are not. Vocalist and guitarist Jeff Andrews (The Final Sleep, Armor Column) and drummer Mike Van Dyne (The Final Sleep, ex-Arsis) have joined forces with Bay Area bassist Dan Saltzman (Illucinus) to wade into the crowded waters of the blackened death metal pool with their self-released debut album, The Beginning of the End. I wondered what Fleshspoil had in store, mainly what Andrews and Van Dyne, given their pedigree, would do to set themselves apart in a genre rife with stiff competition. Would this trio assemble and make The Empire City proud with The Beginning of the End, or, as their moniker might suggest, would they just plain stink?

Fleshspoil tosses progressive atmospherics, dashes of doom, darts of dissonance, and even some metalcore peppercorns into its death metal pot. With as much elusive consistency as The Final Sleep‘s Vessels of Grief, Andrews and Van Dyne have crafted another, albeit deathlier, sonic buffet. Representing a winding path of genres, The Beginning of the End sees crushing, Immolation-esque death metal mix with atmospheric lap-steel guitar and drum interludes (“Bleed Through This Life”) and softer, near post-metal riffs merge into Bleeding Through-like metalcore replete with shimmery clean choruses before ceding direction to a dissonantly black end (“Skies Turn to Graves”). Andrews’ ten tons of riffage serve the material well, and trading his mostly clean vocal delivery ala The Final Sleep for deathlier growls, shouts, and shrieks is a point in Fleshspoil‘s favor. Saltzman’s reserved bass work, a departure from the brutal death slams of his day job, combined with Van Dyne’s expert drumming, has no problem corralling all of The Beginning of the End‘s competing directions. Fleshspoil certainly isn’t afraid to stretch the boundaries of what’s possible, and when it works, it’s good, but it doesn’t always work.

Fleshspoil is at its best when weaving the apocalypse of their death metal with dissonance, melodicism, and progressive atmospheres. These elements are alive and well in the aforementioned “Bleed Through This Life,” which also contains some chaotic solo work courtesy of Kyle Chapman (Aethereus).2 Further success lies in the disso-chords and quirky time signatures of eponymous track “Fleshspoil,” which wanders into some atmospheric guitar and bass noodling, then trundles into a Paul Westerberg alt-rock passage that could have landed on the soundtrack to Singles. All this before ending with some mid-paced death metal riffs, screamed vocals, and marching order snares. Add the growls, shrieks, and Halford-esque cleans over the majestic doom-blackened deathliness of charred and chugging riffs on “A Frail Demise,” and The Beginning of the End finds Fleshspoil fine-tuned to decimate. If it were all within these veins, things would fare better.

I’m a fan of Fleshspoil‘s willingness to experiment, but not all results hit the mark. Time is not a factor as The Beginning of the End clocks in at a trim and tidy thirty-seven minutes. Overwrought transitions and wasted time hurt Fleshspoil the most. I found the pendulum-swinging transitions of “Skies Turn to Graves” too jarring, rendering the song more a distraction than a complementary piece of the whole. Throw in the under-developed, three-plus minute “Walking Dead” and the momentum-crushing boringness of album closer “Born Into Despair,” an alt-rock snoozer that fades in on some guitar-lite strumming and bass work and sustains shimmering guitars under shouts and clean vocals before mercifully fading out again with twenty seconds of vinyl scratches and pops. With this song, Fleshspoil completely took me out of the mood set by “A Frail Demise” and had me yawning rather than reaching for the play button again.

Fleshspoil‘s debut, The Beginning of the End, represents a promising entry into the NYC metal pantheon. Andrews’, Van Dyne’s, and Saltzman’s metal credentials are unquestioned. Fleshspoil has a lot of great ideas and the ability to execute its vision, as half of The Beginning of the End suggests. Leaving its softer sides for other projects and flexing its stronger, more progressive melodic death metal muscle should see Fleshspoil do good, even great things in the future. I will be waiting and watching to see what comes next.

Rating: 2.5/5.0
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320kbps mp3
Label: Self-Released
Websites: fleshspoilofficial.bandcamp.com | instagram.com/fleshspoil
Releases Worldwide: March 28th, 2025

#25 #2025 #AmericanMetal #Arsis #BlackMetal #BleedingThrough #DeathMetal #Fleshspoil #Immolation #Mar25 #MelodicDeathMetal #Review #SelfReleases #TheBeginningOfTheEnd #TheFinalSleep

À Terre – Embrasser La Nuit Review

By Thus Spoke

There’s nothing wrong with sticking to an established genre template, but it’s interesting when a band opts to mix things up. Bordeaux’s À Terre could be said to go a step further, claiming the musical DNA of their debut Embrasser La Nuit was guided by the provocative question, “Is making Cult Of Luna or Converge really that original these days?” As a sludge/post-metal ensemble, the group’s self-awareness about their debt to the big names, leads them, in Embrasser La Nuit, to sprinkle in a handful of other influences, mainly from the French rap and hip-hop scene.1 But the real question isn’t whether or not what À Terre have created makes for a novel take on post-metal or sludge. Instead, it’s a question of whether or not what they have created is good, regardless of its callbacks or imitations.

There is certainly an air of uniqueness about Embrasser La Nuit. A trap-beat-led, post-metal version of rap (“Tous Morts,”) is not something you hear often. But À Terre don’t settle into any one distinctive style so much as flick between them, and not unnaturally. Classic sludgy trudges marry well with the hardcore stompiness that rears its head on multiple occasions (“Paris sous les Tombes,” “L’Appel de la Nuit”). The post-metal leanings lend themselves by default to the passages of ambience (“ÂCÂB,” “Presque Morts,” “Nous Sommes la Nuit”), which itself pairs as easily with rap-style delivery as harsher rasps. Flashes of greatness come in the form of a cascading pattern of synths smartly woven into an escalating build (“ÂCÂB”), or an alarm-bell riff playing to the tune of a -core/sludge mash-up (“Paris sous la Tombes”). À Terre play their interpretations of these blended genres well, but as as the elements continue to brush shoulders with one another within songs, the energies give way to indistinctness. And there grows an uncomfortable sense that it all amounts to another less-than-memorable iteration of a subgenre’s core sound.

À Terre can write sludge and post-metal. They know how to craft some battering riff-rhythm patterns (“Paris sous les Tombes,” “Nous Sommes La Nuit”), throwing in some group, and layered vocals for that satisfying touch of aggression. Their atmospheric tendencies are also appropriately sombre, and chilling, particularly as they tend towards the stripped-back-to-slow build style that marks some of the best of post-metal’s traits (“ÂCÂB,” “Prophétie”). In reminding the listener of greats like Amenra, Cult of Luna, Isis, and more, passages—and by extension, tracks—gain familiarity and the halo of quality shines on them. Yet, when I hear the pained, atonal screams over minor synths and the tides of gritty chugging (“Prophétie,” “L’Appel de la Nuit”), it’s like hearing Amenra with 90% of the emotion stripped away. The gradual increases in tension and intensity that rise and fall (“ÂCÂB,” “Presque Morts”) are not unaffecting, but their impact is greatly softened by À Terre’s tendency to force, rush, or otherwise fail to properly capitalise on them. They are at best simply inserted, if still decent (“Prophétie”) and at worst, totally undeveloped (“Paris sous les Tombes,” “Presque Morts”). Likewise, the bite of the surrounding sludge feels relatively toothless thanks to the fact that the impatience that characterises the hardcore stylings infects even the stiller moments: off-the-cuff edginess bringing angsty riffage too soon, and ambience breaking sludge far too frequently and abruptly. What results are compositions lacking in conviction, possessing none of the rawness or introspection that they ought to, combining to form something awkwardly bland.

Embrasser La Nuit thus makes for a surprisingly uneventful listening experience; surprising, because everything is technically good, and yet somehow anaemic. The glimmers of brilliance are good only insofar as they are imitations, while the exceptions to the established formula in the form of ‘experimentation’ (“Tous Morts,” and, at a stretch, a more synth-heavy approach in spots across the record) are vastly too brief to create any meaningful intrigue or spice. Leaving individual tastes aside, this kind of music should never be boring, and in fairness, calling Embrasser La Nuit boring would be overly simplistic; it’s too uneven for that. There are stretches of atmospheric musing (“Prophétie”) and snappy boisterousness (“Paris sous les Tombes”) that are, in isolation, good. Their collection nonetheless leaves more than a little to be desired.

À Terre speak to the concept of originality, but ultimately, their debut does not suffer because it lacks it. It suffers because À Terre’s homages to genre mainstays fail to elicit the profoundly affecting responses in their audience that their incarnation demands. The music is a surface-level representation of its inspirations, with only glimpses of depth. With relatively little raw humanity, despite its literal components, and a lukewarm commitment to the true presence of its pugnacity and its magnitude, Embrasser La Nuit makes only the barest of impacts.

Rating: Disappointing
DR: 5 | Format Reviewed: wav
Label: Self-Release
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: January 24th, 2025

#20 #2025 #ÀTerre #Amenra #CultOfLuna #EmbrasserLaNuit #FrenchMetal #Isis #Jan25 #PostMetal #Review #Reviews #SelfReleases #SludgeMetal

Cave Sermon – Divine Laughter [Things You Might Have Missed 2024]

By Thus Spoke

When I finally heard Divine Laughter, it was closer to January 2025 than it was January this year, when Cave Sermon released it. This temporal technicality turned out to be trivial because its brilliance was immediately obvious. Divine Laughter traverses death, black, sludge, post, ambient, and more, exploring further, and committing harder to mania—as I later discovered—than debut Memory Spear, which I also devoured eagerly. There is primarily just one person behind Cave Sermon, Aussie musician Charlie Park, and until now, the project was instrumental. Miguel Méndez’ vocals—with an impressively versatile, unhinged, and savage performance—are a perfect accompaniment to what appears to be Cave Sermon’s signature abstract and interpretive compositional style, channeling a kind of musical stream of consciousness that must be experienced to be understood.

To say that Divine Laughter is affecting would be criminal understatement. The lyrics alone are touching in a sense totally devoid of sentimentality, reflecting a singularly modern capitalist loneliness, a hatred of human apathy, and a guilt in one’s complicity. But it is the truly magnificent way in which Parks tells (and Méndez narrates) this story musically which makes it so arresting. It feels, at its core, refreshingly and exhilaratingly organic; vibrant and smart and true. Reprises feel like the returning edges of a persistent thought, percussion is as often a tech-death texture as a sludgy battering ram (“Crystallised”), or a vague tap in a noisy void (“Birds and Machines in Brunswick,” “Divine Laughter”); barks pitch upwards into howls in sudden gasps of the realization of some depressing, mundane, and fearful reality (“Liquid Gold”). Quieter moments of almost folky naïveté brush up against acerbic sludginess, alien synth, and the pseudo-chaotically mixed nuts and bolts of razor-sharp death and black metal with a facile deftness I’ve not heard outside of Vicotnik’s work.1

With so few words, how can I convey Divine Laughter’s mania? Comparisons feel stale. The through lines, like paint in abstract art,2 play with and subvert the expected course of a given genre’s template. Energetic black(ened death)3 (“Beyond Recognition,” “The Paint of An Invader”) comes as a thrillingly uneven rain of vitriol. Angular, dissonant extremity tumbles into echoing industrialism, or dizzy ambience (“Beyond Recognition,” “Divine Laughter”); sludgy death remains off-kilter and wild, while charging prog-death rhythms stumble suddenly, (“Crystallised”) and spiraling solos precipitate turns to gazey post (“Liquid Gold”), and every other influence on display. Though there’s a rawness and frightfulness about the relentless transformations of guitar, vocals, and tempo, the use of synths and atmosphere, they remain surprisingly alluring thanks to the powerful emotions bubbling up in subtle resurgences of themes. A lot of this has to do with Méndez’ incredible vocal performance, another lot are these tangled, gorgeous compositions. There are so many of these beautiful, cathartic rises of yearning, urgent melody, and many of them come with the unforeseen force of involuntary emotional reaction (“Beyond Recognition,” “Liquid Gold,” “The Paint of An Invader”), though multiple listens show their edges were presaged.

The only potential stumbling block for Divine Laughter I can concede, is the noisy, sample-spliced “Birds and Machines in Brunswick.” Transitioning into the rather terrifying opening to “Divine Laughter” with its almost Portal-esque bellows, its five minutes stick out perhaps a little too much from the rest. It’s clear that this is an experiment, taking place in a transition period for Cave Sermon. Given the excellence of everything else about Divine Laughter, it is very easy to forgive this trifle. I can truly say that no album—at least in recent years—has so instantaneously affected me, smashing down the doors of my musical perception, and settling deep in my soul. Cave Sermon may have received shockingly little recognition so far,4 but they will no doubt soon be a name on the lips of many in whatever strange sphere of metal we find ourselves in.

Tracks to Check Out: Every one except “Birds and Machines in Brunswick” is mandatory listening.

#2024 #AustralianMetal #BlackMetal #BlackenedDeath #CaveSermon #DeathMetal #DivineLaughter #ExperimentalMetal #PostMetal #SelfReleases #Sludge #ThingsYouMightHaveMissed #ThingsYouMightHaveMissed2024 #TYMHM

Witnesses – Joy Review

By Thus Spoke

Since their inception in 2016, New York’s Witnesses have been a fluid entity. A constantly shifting lineup, held together by sole permanent member and mastermind Greg Schwan, where a small collection of artists lend their voices and instrumental talents to the equally shifting sounds of each album—ambient, post-metal, and doom. Joy sees Witnesses—this time as a trio, with Simon Bibby (of Thy Listless Heart) providing vocals, and Angel Hernandez percussion—turn to doom. And doom is the purported heart of Witnesses, as they claim to take primary inspiration from the British early Peaceville era of the sound. But if their past is any indicator, it would be unwise to put Witnesses in a box, because Joy leans as heavily into prog and post as it does into anything else.

Joy is comprised of five songs (plus the short “Interlude”) mysteriously described as “deeply contradictory compositions about self-actualization.” Each named “Joy,” but with a different subtitle,1 they could effectively be seen as different interpretations of the titular emotion. Joy does not sound, in general, particularly joyful, but it is not gloomy and despairing like you might expect. It is variously introspective (“Like a River”), triumphant (“I See Everything”), and dramatic (“Safety in Me”) with a blunt, clean kind of openness to the compositions, hiding nothing, transitioning crisply, but not without grace. To my ears, the likeness that strikes most strongly is to Wilderun, albeit a more pared-down version, as Bibby’s croons launch themselves upwards alongside major-modulated blackened swooshes, pounding fills, and subtle flourishes of violin. At other times, however, the doom footprint stamps itself firmly before you in the string-accented, sweetly sad sways (“Like a River”), the drooping chords pulled out in downtempo dips (“The Endings”), and the very My Dying Bride-esque spoken word (“Beyond the Sound of My Voice”). These threads combine to form a unique concoction of bare emotions and increasingly ephemeral through-lines, harder to grasp than let slip by.

Two main attributes form Joy’s strength and downfall: raw emotionality and dynamism. The first is largely down to Bibby’s vocal performance, which is at turns wistfully melancholic (“Like a River”), and commanding (“I See Everything,” “Safety in Me”). But instrumentation also plays a significant role, in doomy weepiness (“Like a River,”), or more post-metal mournful meanderings (“I See Everything,” “Interlude”). The second is gained through the aggressive progressiveness of Witnesses’ compositional style, and the impeccable percussion of Angel Hernandez. Where the former is overt—the music moving relentlessly between assertive bombast and ethereal gentleness—the latter is insidiously omnipresent; electric with shifting energies. Yet, while the force of feeling can be resonant, it frequently approaches the abrasive as the cleans are so forceful as to nearly be shouted (“I See Everything,” “Safety in Me”), or dwells in the dreaded major key. These tendencies are made unpleasant not because intense cleans and major keys are bad in themselves,2 but because they are paired with an overly gymnastic approach to songwriting, where Witnesses leaps jarringly from one mood to another, tarring the brilliance of individual passages. The most blatant example, “The Endings,” transitions through silence between styles so disparate that it wasn’t until I began more active listening that I realized this wasn’t a new song. Equally discombobulating is the sudden pathos at the endings of “I See Everything,” and “Safety in Me,” where a short passage of gentle, mournful melody and singing comes abruptly from nowhere. But this proclivity is ubiquitous and ruins many genuine moments of beauty and poignancy. The group yanks bouncy exuberance out of plaintiveness; juxtaposing half-major, half-dissonant riffs with pared-back post-metal. They repeatedly lurch from a harmonizing serenade into uncomfortably flat intonation.

It is thus the two subtler elements of Joy’s feeling and flexibility that are to be praised: those beautiful melodic moments, and the brilliant drumming. The opening track “Like a River,” arguably presents the best of the former, and is arguably the best track on the album. When it comes to percussion, it is the many, elastic fills, tumbling rollovers, and vibrant use of cymbals that provide the majority of the album’s true feeling. The drums greatly benefitted from a production that puts them right near the front of the mix but tends to relegate the guitars to a background role, draining their potency and leaving little to distract listeners in the moments when the singing—also front and center—dominates the sound palate, overly zealous.

Witnesses lives up to their name; their music feels like the stories of varied voices, potent, but unharmonised. The gorgeous, deceptive simplicity of “Like a River” gives way to a record too emotionally and tonally scattershot to stick, and it’s an immense disappointment. Those with a high tolerance for whimsical, uneven prog may find much to appreciate, but for the rest of us, there’s not an overabundance of Joy to be had.

Rating: Disappointing
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Self-Released
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: November 8th, 2024

#20 #2024 #AmericanMetal #DoomMetal #Joy #MyDyingBride #Nov24 #PostMetal #ProgMetal #Review #Reviews #SelfReleases #Wilderun #Witnesses

Griefsoul – Extreme Northern Griefmetal Review

By Steel Druhm

Written By: Namesless_N00b_87

Extreme Northern Griefmetal, the debut full-length from Finnish melodic death metal project Griefsoul, is the result of measured evolution. The creation of solo artist Emppu Kinnaslampi, the Finn has spent the past four years carefully shaping his take on the infamous Finnish melo-death sound, drawing inspiration from the frigid, dark, and unforgiving Northern winters by partially writing, composing, and experimenting with his self-described and ambitiously titled “grief metal orchestra” from the confines of a snow-covered woodland cabin. Since its meteoric rise at the beginning of the new millennia, no other genre has arguably been more consistent than Finnish melo-death, using its tried-and-true formula of thrashy, power metal-influenced riffs and harmonies, coupled with atmospheric, soaring, orchestral refrains, to drive melancholic and melodic soundscapes. So, when Extreme Northern Griefmetal fell into my lap, I was eager to find out if Griefsoul could capture the raw power and intensity of the genre and possibly even deliver a fresh new take.

Griefsoul partially fulfills my hopes. Predictably, Extreme Northern Griefmetal is heavily steeped in the well-known stylings of genre legends like Children of Bodom, Mors Principium Est, and Norther, replete with the same combination of aggression and power, catchy lead-driven hooks and breakdowns, and epic symphonic propositions that one would expect. Kinnaslampi’s talent is obvious, not only in his virtuosity on the fretboard but with his varied vocal delivery, bouncing between an abrasive fry to a blackened rasp at will. Machine-driven drum arrangements that jump between relentless double bass (“Northern Cradle”), up-tempo gallops (“Vagary,” “Meant to Be Broken”), intermittent blasts (“Twilight Flame,” “Soulburial,” “The Melancholist”), and half-time slams (“Ends in Grief”), work overtime with the systematic bass to intensify the collection of Kinnaslampi’s impressive riffing and tasteful symphonic arrangements. These elements combine to create an accessible, albeit sterile and inconsistent, melo-death album that will appeal to a broad audience.

Kinnaslampi’s exceptional talent shines through in Extreme Northern Griefmetal. His ability to blend his instrumental prowess with majestic symphonic arrangements to create intricate, rich, and atmospheric compositions is striking. From the technical interplay in the bridge of “Heart of Eternal” or “Northern Cradle,” to neo-classical overtures in “Soulburial,” or the feudal sounds that anchor the chorus in “Vagary,” Kinnaslampi assures Griefsoul’s instrumentation of thrashy melodic riffs and melancholic synths dance elegantly or deconflict altogether. Kinnaslampi’s guitar performance itself is particularly impressive, with blistering tremolos (“Soulburial,” “Heart of Eternal”), extreme power riffs (“Twilight Flame,” “Northern Cradle,” “Made to Be Broken”), and technical melodic leads and hooks (“Twilight Flame,” “Soulburial,” “The Melancholist”) that provide the aggression and power I require for melo-death to hit. Top things off with a smattering of head-banging breakdowns and blood curdling screams (“Ends in Grief,” “The Melancholist”) for good measure, and all the ingredients are in place for Kinnaslampi’s “grief metal orchestra” to really shine.

Although Extreme Northern Griefmetal is a solid melo-death release, it fails to break new ground and Kinnaslampi’s songwriting could benefit from further refinement. The album’s eight tracks follow a repetitive approach of heavy verses, melodic choruses, and breakdowns that are as methodological as they are predictable. The album’s formula becomes clear as soon as the fading solo in “The Melancholist” ends, subsequently making the album’s second half difficult for me to fully engage with. Additionally, the harmonic that concludes “Soulburial,” or the short arpeggiated chord that closes “Meant to Be Broken” are awkward, evidencing Kinnaslampi’s songwriting could use more polish. Furthermore, Extreme Northern Griefmetal’s production compounds its monotony. The overly sterile and synthetic mix— while featuring plenty of bass— lacks dynamics and is dominated by high frequencies. The drums sound artificial and lifeless, lacking variation, heft or natural feel with lackluster fills and cymbals that sound like a static wash. Even the guitar tone sounds overly mechanical at times (”Meant to Be Broken,” “Northern Cradle,” “The Melancholist”), thereby undermining one of Extreme Northern Griefmetal’s primary strengths. A real band behind Kinnaslampi would have added a much-needed organic feel to Griefsoul’s sound.

Extreme Northern Griefmetal is a promising debut, showcasing Kinnaslampi’s talent for crafting atmospheric, powerful, and aggressive melo-death. Although the album delivers on many fronts, it ultimately falls short of the fresh approach I was hoping for with too much formulaic songwriting and uninspiring production. Nevertheless, Extreme Northern Griefmetal is an encouraging start for Griefsoul and all signs point to greater successes by Kinnaslampi in the future.

Rating: 2.5/5.0
DR: NA | Format Reviewed: 24 Bit 44k WAV
Label: Self-Released
Websites: griefsoul.bandcamp.com | griefsoul.com
Releases Worldwide: October 10th, 2024

#25 #2024 #ExtremeNorthernGriefmetal #FinnishMetal #Griefsoul #MelodicDeathMetal #Oct24 #Review #Reviews #SelfReleases

Outer Graves – Terminal Limit Review

By Steel Druhm

It’s nearly October, which means it’s time to unpack the outerwear, and just in time, unheralded Wisconsin death crew Outer Graves drop an abrasive piece of outer space-themed death metal called Terminal Limit to chill your sunny disposition into a wintery pale. Their recipe is vintage death force-fed through a grind filter with touches of black metal madness crisping the edges. The result is uniformly caustic, savage, and chaotic, without a trace of melo or prog to be found. This indicates the experiment was at least a partial success and the brew master should be awarded a large hog and a flagon of the most vile beer cheese the Badger State has available. At a skinny 27 minutes, there may not be much meat on the gravebone, but what is here will fuck you up like a space chicken and stow you away bloody and bruised. Is this a good or a bad thing though?

The sound harnessed by Outer Graves is akin to an electrified power hammer set to “Smash the Poser” and left to run amok over a holiday weekend. Opener “Scavenger” sets a grueling pace with ragged, distorted guitars grinding your ears into ass-dust as Kate Coysh screams bloody murder with some of the most uncomfortable vocals you’ll hear this year. She sounds like she’s in the grips of a hefty demonic possession while also trying to shake off an Alpha strain of Covid, and at no point does she approach human. Battering ram grooves arrive to breech your ear gates and make off with your wax booty and everything feels excessive and over the top.1 You might not realize that “Scavenger” ends ” and “Hostile Anomaly” begins as they are so similar. It’s another skull-dusting dose of merciless, oppressive grooves, pounding toms-foolery, and wretched vocals and by the end, you’ll start to feel quite on edge.

The major weakness of Terminal Limit is that a listener is liable to reach their own terminal limit before the 26-minute mark. While “Distress Beacon” is a highlight where they dial things back, it’s around this time that I began to feel hemmed in and agitated by the record’s relentlessly one-note bone smash broth. Outer Graves has good elements, but the writing is so static and unidirectional that it gets tedious and oppressive (not in a good way). Taken in isolation, you can find strengths in individual cuts. “Seismic Scourge” is an absolute cesspool of slithering Incanto-lation riffs with suckers that bite. “Re-Entry” is one filthy, brutal groove stacked atop another and the whole thing feels unsafe. And the aforementioned “Distress Beacon” has a mid-paced feel that spotlights Kate Coysh’s truly insane vocals, which rip and rasp and sound like a rabid raccoon stuck in barbed wire. The fact that all the songs are in the 3-to-4-minute window is good, but given the toxic quality of the material, they could stand to pare songs back even more in the future.

If there’s one overriding reason to hear Terminal Limit, it’s for the unvarnished and savage performance by Kate Coysh. Her sick blackened death wails and roars are unpleasant and unsettling. They will likely be love or hate for most, and as impressed as I am with them, they do wear thin after a while. Zachary Muffett brings the death hammer down with plenty of jagged, ragged riffs and locks into mammoth grooves that test the will to endure. He’s good at bringing pandemonium to your brain waves, but more diversity in approach would be a great blessing. Ryan Shaw’s rumbling bass is a welcome presence when it comes forward and more of that would also be welcome.

Outer Graves are the new kids on the chopping block and they do enough good things on their Terminal Limit debut to get me interested in seeing how they evolve. That said, I likely won’t be spinning the album much in toto though I will grab the best lifeforms for my Soundtrack for the Alien Apocalypse playlist.2 Aural masochists may get more mileage out of this than me, finding something interesting in development here, but Terminal Limit needed extra time in the polishing vault.

Rating: 2.5/5.0
DR: NA | Format Reviewed: Fucking Soundcloud!
Label: Independent
Websites: outergraves.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/people/outer-graves | instagram.com/outergravesofficial
Releases Worldwide: September 20th, 2024

#25 #2024 #AmericanMetal #DeathMetal #MorbidAngel #OuterGraves #Review #Reviews #SelfReleases #Sep24 #TerminalLimit

Eyes of the Oak – Neolithic Flint Dagger Review

By Steel Druhm

Written By: Nameless_N00b_90

One look at the cover of Neolithic Flint Dagger, the second album by Eyes of the Oak, and it should be no surprise that they play a mix of psychedelic doom, stoner rock, and traditional metal. That means fuzzy guitars, gruff cleans, and brief psychedelic passages of the kind that Pink Floyd plays on Dark Side of the Moon. These Swedes have previous experience in genres ranging from black metal to power metal, yet you’ll hear nary a trace of either on Neolithic Flint Dagger. Instead of high energy and soaring choruses, you’ll find an album with a mellow, laid-back sound that can sometimes pack a wallop. Is this a recipe for a good time, or does this drug-influenced concoction risk becoming overcooked?

Eyes of the Oak sounds like a mix between Somnuri and old-school Black Sabbath. Yet they are not as consistently high energy or heavy as Somnuri, and they’re not as exploratory or psychedelically weird as the classics. I found them most enjoyable when taking the heavier route, but their ability to blend styles adds a lot of depth to their overall sound. Guitarist Holger Thorsin, whose past work includes thrash (Chaosys) and black metal (Noctes) shows here that he has the chops to play any style. Drummer Hugo Thorsin (Noctes) shows off his work with an impressive intro on “Way Home.” Andreas Sjöström, who has experience on guitar with a couple of power metal bands (Wyvern, Diverge), contributes the necessary layers and rhythm that give the songs a little extra seasoning. Despite their disparate backgrounds, these musicians sound right at home playing stoner doom.

Whether Eyes of the Oak plays fast and heavy or takes it nice and slow, this album is fun. Opener “Cold Alchemy” is a heavy, rousing track that is sure to get your blood pumping, and it builds momentum for the first half of the album. “The Burning of Rome” is the other heavy hitter, combining wobbly guitars with a surprisingly bruising chorus. It’s the sort of song that will have you alternating between a gentle head sway and a forceful headbang. The mellower tracks, such as “Way Home” and “In the End,” reward patience and repeat listens, while “Night Visions” has a surprisingly catchy chorus. The variety within songs helps keep them fresh and enjoyable, even as most fall into the 5-6 minute range.

The second half of Neolithic Flint Dagger does suffer from uneven songwriting, however. Closer, “Offering to the Gods,” is the only song to extend past the six-minute mark, and while it does have some nice ideas, they are not developed enough to fill up the song’s nine-minute length. But the worst offender is “The Masters Hide.” This song doesn’t feel as cohesive as the other tracks, and the album’s vocal weaknesses are most pronounced here. Vocalist Andreas Sjöström does have a voice well-suited to the genre, and for the most part, he’s on point. However, his execution is inconsistent: sometimes flat, sometimes sleepy, sometimes talky.1 The promo materials for Eyes of the Oak say they recorded their debut album, The Stone Vortex, live in a studio. I wonder if they did the same here, and perhaps this approach puts a strain on Sjöström’s vocal cords.

Eyes of the Oak play a fun, accessible form of psychedelic rock mixed with stoner doom. From the giant glowing dagger on the album cover, you get the sense they don’t take themselves too seriously, and the album sounds like the band had fun recording it. It helps that they have some great ideas and capable musicians to carry out their vision. There may be a few kinks to work out, but I look forward to seeing how they develop their sound on future albums. So sit back, relax, and get high on… life? as you absorb the music of Neolithic Flint Dagger.

Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: X | Format Reviewed: Stream
Label: Self-Release
Websites: eyesoftheoak.bandcamp.com | eyesoftheoak.com
Releases Worldwide: August 23, 2024

#2024 #Aug24 #BlackSabbath #EyesOfTheOak #NeolithicFlintDagger #PinkFloyd #PsychedelicDoomMetal #Review #Reviews #SelfReleases #Somnuri #StonerDoom #SwedishMetal

The Mercury Impulse – Records of Human Behaviour Review

By Thus Spoke

Drone is an exceptionally difficult genre to analyse. By its very nature, it resists structure, memorability, and conciseness; its forms are indiscrete; monotony is a feature. Chicago duo The Mercury Impulse intensify and deepen this trait by channelling their drone through a noisy medium with a subtle undercurrent of dark ambient. Debut Records of Human Behaviour thus stands as a kind of mood music indifferent to musical norms and tangible emotions. A duo of musicians known for Wrekmeister Harmonies and BLOODYMINDED respectively, the pedigree behind The Mercury Impulse is one of harsh, uncompromisingly shrouded sound steeped in atmosphere. But here they take it to a whole new level, implementing compositional notions from ambient and post-metal worlds in a way that makes them almost unrecognisable as anything more tangible than amorphous smoke.

Records of Human Behaviour is so subtle that it’s hard to talk about, and hard even to listen to attentively. So hazy and indistinct throughout, that my partner thought I was listening to some trendy binaural white noise when he walked in on one occasion. So monotonous that it borders on the truly hypnotic (in the sense of being sleep-inducing). Relatively long track lengths, and a predisposition to recurring, simplistic patterns give the impression of infinity, only further enhanced by the extreme levels of ebbing, flowing feedback. An ideal backdrop for focusing at work perhaps; a nightmare to deliver your full attention to. Noise and drone aren’t typically known for being exciting, so I won’t use the “b”-word. Yet the album delivers so little in the way of anything that even my notes are sparse after many drawn-out, toneless listens.

This is not to say that there are zero things to praise here. Sometimes the quiescence provides a stage for beauty, as agonisingly soft chords of synth play a delicate, muffled refrain over a trembling, bassy ground (“Remanded to the Back of a Mirror,” “Infinite Repetition”). Sometimes also, the burr of omnipresent noise allows the spectres of dissonant notes to jab and ring to genuinely unsettling effect (“Keeping My Second Self Invisible,” “I Heard the Earth Falling”). And close listening at several points will be rewarded by a powerful sense of dread, (“Keeping…,” “Remanded…”) closer in its gut-clenching grip to dissonant death metal than anything in the realm of electronica. In this vein, one can see how cuts like “Primitive Instincts” with its clipped, inaudible voice samples, and aggressively cold and buzzing “Miles of Smouldering Trash” cleave closer to an extreme metal template in many respects. Inherently dense and suffocating, the music is brought to new depth by a relatively spacious master which deepens the already abyssal lows, and brightens albeit without sharpening into clarity the jarring, uncomfortable highs.

But despite its dark, painfully cool aesthetic, Records of Human Behaviour as a whole is a mass that swallows its distinctive passages and ultimately leaves an inappropriately light impact. “Keeping my Second Self Invisible” and “Primitive Instincts” are both unsettling, but while the former has just enough edge to be interesting, the latter is almost instantly grating. Other cuts prove themselves to be quite aptly titled as their immobility (even relative to their peers) is suffocatingly tedious (“Behind Dull Glass,” “Lessons Of Apathy”). It’s easier to view the album favourably if one imagines it to be the soundtrack to a modern psychological horror. Then at least the crescendoing waves of dissonant synth (“Remanded…” “Lessons of Apathy”) and flickering hums of feedback (“Keeping…,” “I Heard…”) could associate themselves with brutal revelations and creeping tension. As a drone album, this might even be a fairer way to assess it. But ultimately, the music does not come with an accompanying film.

Tolerance for drone varies widely, and appreciation for Records of Human Behaviour will extend about as far as one’s patience for its stubborn understatedness. When even the most interesting tracks (“Remanded to the Back of a Mirror” and “Infinite Repetition”) grow a little stale before their time, there’s little to motivate repeated listens. If you’re a massive fan of drone, or want something to help you sleep, give it a spin, but this probably won’t be creating any converts for the genre, eerie though it can be.

Rating: Mixed
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320kbps
Label: Self-Release
Website: Bandcamp
Releases Worldwide: August 23rd, 2024

#25 #2024 #Ambient #AmericanMetal #Aug24 #Drone #Noise #NotMetal #RecordsOfHumanBehaviour #Review #Reviews #SelfReleases #TheMercuryImpulse