#thingsyoumayhavemissed2025 — Public Fediverse posts

Speak to enough musicians in the underground who favor the sonically depraved, and you might hear word of two New Yorkers, who emerge now and then from the doldrums of normal life to unleash their unique brand of sonic chaos upon the unsuspecting masses. I’m talking, of course, about The Austerity Program, the criminally underrated duo of Justin Foley and Thad Calabrese who have delivered some of the greatest noise rock records of the 2000s. Their signature sound of “Big Black meets unhinged mathy industrial” has always been simultaneously entertaining and hideous to behold, but it was 2019’s Bible Songs 1 that took them to another level. The Austerity Program’s songs have always unfolded like twisted fables, but with Bible Songs, their subject matter took on a new gravitas, as the duo rendered the darkest moments of the Old Testament in their sardonic snarl. Bible Songs 1 is a stunning synthesis of literature and music that gives me chills with each listen, so 6 years after the fact, I was a little apprehensive about its sequel being able to live up to my expectations. Bible Songs 2 not only meets them, but exceeds them.

Each song on Bible Songs 2 adapts short Old and New Testament passages, turning some of the Bible’s darkest verses into miniature noise-rock payloads, modernizing the language and maximizing each piece’s impact with deranged noise-rock instrumentation. Foley’s acerbic spoken delivery covers verses about the vicious destruction and suffering of Jerusalem during the Babylonian siege (“Lamentations 4:7—11”), the condemnation of man by God for his failures (“Joshua 7:6—26”), and the ultimate biblical reckoning at the end of days (“Revelation 8:7—13”). Each line is spewed with a sort of sarcastic vitriol that at once recognizes the horror of its subject matter, while also poking fun at its absurdity. Individual lines alternate between exaggerated humor, 1 and cosmic consequence. 2 Through it all, Foley’s personality and keen sense of phrasing contribute to no shortage of incredibly memorable couplets that have stuck with me all year since I first heard them.

Bible Songs 2 by The Austerity Program

Bible Songs 2 features exclusively guitar, bass, and a drum machine, yet The Austerity Program uses this sparse palette to create expansive canvases that both excite and disturb. Calabrese’s bass provides the record’s most recognizable element, a chunky, mid-pushed growl reminiscent of imperial-era Ministry or The Jesus Lizard, forming the backbone of most songs alongside the band’s signature drum machine grooves. That drum machine feels uncanny in its force and precision, functioning less like traditional percussion and more like an inhuman engine driving each track forward. Foley’s guitar operates primarily as a shrill, siren-like effect, recontextualizing riffs, adding rhythmic accents, and pushing the music into the liminal space between noise and composition. These elements converge across six tracks built on hypnotic, repeating rhythms that expand and contract between subdued chaos and total aural devastation. “Judges 19:22—29” and “Luke 3:4—9” exemplify this, but there are also more even-tempered pieces like the bass-led “Joshua 7:6—26,” the slow-build of “Zephaniah 3:1—7,” or the sonic journey of “Lamentations 4:7—11.” This is all in preparation for the closer “Revelation 8:7—13,” whose urgent tremolo riffs, inhuman snare patterns, and final burst of dissonance convincingly soundtrack the end of days. 3

Bible Songs 2 is an absolute triumph of a record. It builds on the immense strengths The Austerity Program has demonstrated in the past and weaponizes their unique brand of unsettling noise rock for a set of timely compositions that showcase just how powerful the combination of music and a fully-realized subject matter can be. It’s one of my favorite records of the year, and I’ll be quoting notable lines and blasting it for years to come.

Tracks to Check Out: “Lamentations 4:7—11,” “Judges 19:22—29,” “Joshua 7:6—26,” “Revelation 8:7—13”

Moron Police is an odd band, if the moniker didn’t give it away. The first few albums were very comedy-oriented, but A Boat on the Sea suddenly saw the band tackling anti-war themes, without giving up the bright melodic sound that draws from progressive rock and anime soundtrack J-rock alike. Production on Pachinko was already on the way when drummer Thore Pettersen died in a car accident. After taking the time to mourn their friend, Moron Police soldiered on, aided by Dillinger Escape Plan drummer Billy Rymer. The result is an astounding album in every regard, an experience unlike anything I’ve heard in years. It’s also a concept album about a dude getting turned into a sentient gambling machine in Tokyo. Huh?

Pachinko by Moron Police

Everything about Pachinko is larger than life. It’s as colorful as its gorgeous cover, full of energy and possessed of an indomitable spirit, a quirky sense of humor, and endless love and compassion. The narrative, which seems to be inspired by isekai anime,1 is merely a vehicle for philosophical ruminations on the nature of life, fate and human connection in a world designed to wear you down to apathy. No two songs are alike or tackle these subjects the same way, and you can get snippets of darker lyrics dressed in bright colors (“King Among Kittens”), pure silly nonsense (‘Meee, I’m a techno boy’ in “Pachinko Pt. 1”) or melancholy reflections on the follies of power (the brilliant “The Apathy of Kings”).

Despite its colorful outer layer, Pachinko is more than just feel-good vibes. It’s a masterwork of both composition and technical wizardry. The melodies are intricate yet catchy, and never go exactly the way you expect. Nor do the songs themselves, because the way they weave together different moods, genres, and tempos is nothing short of staggering. Violins over blastbeats in “Cormorant,” melancholy synthpop in “Okinawa Sky,” jazzy whirlwind intro leading into big band brass for “Alfredo and the Afterlife.” And the title track suite turns it up to eleven for a combined 16 minutes of head-spinning avant-garde genre-hopping madness.

Yet for all this craziness, it’s remarkable how tightly woven and cohesive the hour-long album is. Songs frequently cross-reference each other to really emphasize the album experience, with “Pachinko Pt. 1” even referencing A Boat on the Sea directly. This peaks with the magisterial finale, which effortlessly binds snippets from across the album together into a gorgeous feast of reprise. It doubles as a heartfelt farewell to Thore, whose drums are used for the outro. Moron Police has taken their grief and turned it into a grandiose, madcap celebration of life and friendship with a wink, a smile, and a tear. An instant classic and one of the best albums I’ve heard this decade.

Tracks to Check Out: All of them, front to back.



Say one thing about the AMG readerbase, say that they harbor absolutely zero ambiguity within themselves as to what kind of music they’re not interested in. I anticipate that some who wander these halls will gawk at Thumos’ The Trial of Socrates: a colossal two-hour, fully instrumental collection of doomy post-prog metal. Indeed, it’s not what I’d call the most accessible album I’ve written about, so who am I to judge? However, if I were to say another thing about the AMG reader base, I’d say that they can appreciate artistry more than the average listener. To that effect, I believe that those who attend The Trial of Socrates will discover an album that is intelligent, creative, and captivating.

Sixteen songs, sixteen different Socratic dialogues transposed into music. The Trial of Socrates is undeniably high-concept, but Thumos expertly keeps the listener engaged with immediate, yet endlessly thoughtful songcraft. The Trial is full of massive, memorable riffs that hide tons of depth in their execution. “The Parmenides” is a damn strong opener that sets a pensive tone with wistful guitar notes, before leading into a heavy riff that’s carried by a crystalline, piercing guitar melody. The Trial doesn’t typically adhere to traditional song structure, but songs are far from aimless. Oftentimes a single theme will be explored with chorus-adjacent repetition even as various ideas or riffs are added and iterated upon, like in the excellent “The Gorgias,” while other songs take a more progressive approach like the epic “The Apology.” These structures give the songs a conversational cadence, as themes are explored and interrogated with a Socratic thoroughness.

The Trial of Socrates by Thumos

Perhaps Thumos’ greatest achievement here is how they maintain a vital pace across The Trial’s long runtime. Someone more versed than I in Socratic philosophy might be able to recognize something approaching a narrative or chronology across The Trial, but even lacking context, the music alone compensates with excellent pacing and variety. The songs across The Trial shift across a healthy spectrum of fast and heavy (“The Thaeatetus,” “The Philebus”), pointed melody-driven drama (“The Parmenides,” The Apology”) or grand pathos (“The Sophist,” “The Phædo”). Even as individual songs can be lengthy, they’re always followed by something new, up until you reach the sublime end. The climax of “The Phædo” is a resplendent, tragic outpour of emotion that strips away any need for context with sheer force, ushering the end of The Trial in “The Menexenus,” a nigh funeral dirge.

The Trial of Socrates is exactly the kind of metal I love: something that excels in both passive and active listening. The adherence to its source material and striking imagery pokes and prods at your curiosity, encouraging you to wander the labyrinth with the deepest focus, even as the post-doom riff work provides a comfortable space to rest in and bask in the diverse, stellar musicianship. Yeah, it’s long as hell, but to be frank, I grow tired of feeling like I must apologize for The Trial’s runtime, sheepishly imploring you to listen despite it. Thumos has a lot to express about their choice of inspiration, and there is little, if anything, I might suggest be removed. The Trial of Socrates is an intelligent and captivating piece, one that is worth your time.

Tracks to Check Out: ”The Parmenides,” “The Protagoras,” “The Gorgias,” “The Sophist,” “The Phædo”

Say one thing about the AMG readerbase, say that they harbor absolutely zero ambiguity within themselves as to what kind of music they’re not interested in. I anticipate that some who wander these halls will gawk at Thumos’ The Trial of Socrates: a colossal two-hour, fully instrumental collection of doomy post-prog metal. Indeed, it’s not what I’d call the most accessible album I’ve written about, so who am I to judge? However, if I were to say another thing about the AMG reader base, I’d say that they can appreciate artistry more than the average listener. To that effect, I believe that those who attend The Trial of Socrates will discover an album that is intelligent, creative, and captivating.

Sixteen songs, sixteen different Socratic dialogues transposed into music. The Trial of Socrates is undeniably high-concept, but Thumos expertly keeps the listener engaged with immediate, yet endlessly thoughtful songcraft. The Trial is full of massive, memorable riffs that hide tons of depth in their execution. “The Parmenides” is a damn strong opener that sets a pensive tone with wistful guitar notes, before leading into a heavy riff that’s carried by a crystalline, piercing guitar melody. The Trial doesn’t typically adhere to traditional song structure, but songs are far from aimless. Oftentimes a single theme will be explored with chorus-adjacent repetition even as various ideas or riffs are added and iterated upon, like in the excellent “The Gorgias,” while other songs take a more progressive approach like the epic “The Apology.” These structures give the songs a conversational cadence, as themes are explored and interrogated with a Socratic thoroughness.

The Trial of Socrates by Thumos

Perhaps Thumos’ greatest achievement here is how they maintain a vital pace across The Trial’s long runtime. Someone more versed than I in Socratic philosophy might be able to recognize something approaching a narrative or chronology across The Trial, but even lacking context, the music alone compensates with excellent pacing and variety. The songs across The Trial shift across a healthy spectrum of fast and heavy (“The Thaeatetus,” “The Philebus”), pointed melody-driven drama (“The Parmenides,” The Apology”) or grand pathos (“The Sophist,” “The Phædo”). Even as individual songs can be lengthy, they’re always followed by something new, up until you reach the sublime end. The climax of “The Phædo” is a resplendent, tragic outpour of emotion that strips away any need for context with sheer force, ushering the end of The Trial in “The Menexenus,” a nigh funeral dirge.

The Trial of Socrates is exactly the kind of metal I love: something that excels in both passive and active listening. The adherence to its source material and striking imagery pokes and prods at your curiosity, encouraging you to wander the labyrinth with the deepest focus, even as the post-doom riff work provides a comfortable space to rest in and bask in the diverse, stellar musicianship. Yeah, it’s long as hell, but to be frank, I grow tired of feeling like I must apologize for The Trial’s runtime, sheepishly imploring you to listen despite it. Thumos has a lot to express about their choice of inspiration, and there is little, if anything, I might suggest be removed. The Trial of Socrates is an intelligent and captivating piece, one that is worth your time.

Tracks to Check Out: ”The Parmenides,” “The Protagoras,” “The Gorgias,” “The Sophist,” “The Phædo”

Say one thing about the AMG readerbase, say that they harbor absolutely zero ambiguity within themselves as to what kind of music they’re not interested in. I anticipate that some who wander these halls will gawk at Thumos’ The Trial of Socrates: a colossal two-hour, fully instrumental collection of doomy post-prog metal. Indeed, it’s not what I’d call the most accessible album I’ve written about, so who am I to judge? However, if I were to say another thing about the AMG reader base, I’d say that they can appreciate artistry more than the average listener. To that effect, I believe that those who attend The Trial of Socrates will discover an album that is intelligent, creative, and captivating.

Sixteen songs, sixteen different Socratic dialogues transposed into music. The Trial of Socrates is undeniably high-concept, but Thumos expertly keeps the listener engaged with immediate, yet endlessly thoughtful songcraft. The Trial is full of massive, memorable riffs that hide tons of depth in their execution. “The Parmenides” is a damn strong opener that sets a pensive tone with wistful guitar notes, before leading into a heavy riff that’s carried by a crystalline, piercing guitar melody. The Trial doesn’t typically adhere to traditional song structure, but songs are far from aimless. Oftentimes a single theme will be explored with chorus-adjacent repetition even as various ideas or riffs are added and iterated upon, like in the excellent “The Gorgias,” while other songs take a more progressive approach like the epic “The Apology.” These structures give the songs a conversational cadence, as themes are explored and interrogated with a Socratic thoroughness.

The Trial of Socrates by Thumos

Perhaps Thumos’ greatest achievement here is how they maintain a vital pace across The Trial’s long runtime. Someone more versed than I in Socratic philosophy might be able to recognize something approaching a narrative or chronology across The Trial, but even lacking context, the music alone compensates with excellent pacing and variety. The songs across The Trial shift across a healthy spectrum of fast and heavy (“The Thaeatetus,” “The Philebus”), pointed melody-driven drama (“The Parmenides,” The Apology”) or grand pathos (“The Sophist,” “The Phædo”). Even as individual songs can be lengthy, they’re always followed by something new, up until you reach the sublime end. The climax of “The Phædo” is a resplendent, tragic outpour of emotion that strips away any need for context with sheer force, ushering the end of The Trial in “The Menexenus,” a nigh funeral dirge.

The Trial of Socrates is exactly the kind of metal I love: something that excels in both passive and active listening. The adherence to its source material and striking imagery pokes and prods at your curiosity, encouraging you to wander the labyrinth with the deepest focus, even as the post-doom riff work provides a comfortable space to rest in and bask in the diverse, stellar musicianship. Yeah, it’s long as hell, but to be frank, I grow tired of feeling like I must apologize for The Trial’s runtime, sheepishly imploring you to listen despite it. Thumos has a lot to express about their choice of inspiration, and there is little, if anything, I might suggest be removed. The Trial of Socrates is an intelligent and captivating piece, one that is worth your time.

Tracks to Check Out: ”The Parmenides,” “The Protagoras,” “The Gorgias,” “The Sophist,” “The Phædo”

Say one thing about the AMG readerbase, say that they harbor absolutely zero ambiguity within themselves as to what kind of music they’re not interested in. I anticipate that some who wander these halls will gawk at Thumos’ The Trial of Socrates: a colossal two-hour, fully instrumental collection of doomy post-prog metal. Indeed, it’s not what I’d call the most accessible album I’ve written about, so who am I to judge? However, if I were to say another thing about the AMG reader base, I’d say that they can appreciate artistry more than the average listener. To that effect, I believe that those who attend The Trial of Socrates will discover an album that is intelligent, creative, and captivating.

Sixteen songs, sixteen different Socratic dialogues transposed into music. The Trial of Socrates is undeniably high-concept, but Thumos expertly keeps the listener engaged with immediate, yet endlessly thoughtful songcraft. The Trial is full of massive, memorable riffs that hide tons of depth in their execution. “The Parmenides” is a damn strong opener that sets a pensive tone with wistful guitar notes, before leading into a heavy riff that’s carried by a crystalline, piercing guitar melody. The Trial doesn’t typically adhere to traditional song structure, but songs are far from aimless. Oftentimes a single theme will be explored with chorus-adjacent repetition even as various ideas or riffs are added and iterated upon, like in the excellent “The Gorgias,” while other songs take a more progressive approach like the epic “The Apology.” These structures give the songs a conversational cadence, as themes are explored and interrogated with a Socratic thoroughness.

The Trial of Socrates by Thumos

Perhaps Thumos’ greatest achievement here is how they maintain a vital pace across The Trial’s long runtime. Someone more versed than I in Socratic philosophy might be able to recognize something approaching a narrative or chronology across The Trial, but even lacking context, the music alone compensates with excellent pacing and variety. The songs across The Trial shift across a healthy spectrum of fast and heavy (“The Thaeatetus,” “The Philebus”), pointed melody-driven drama (“The Parmenides,” The Apology”) or grand pathos (“The Sophist,” “The Phædo”). Even as individual songs can be lengthy, they’re always followed by something new, up until you reach the sublime end. The climax of “The Phædo” is a resplendent, tragic outpour of emotion that strips away any need for context with sheer force, ushering the end of The Trial in “The Menexenus,” a nigh funeral dirge.

The Trial of Socrates is exactly the kind of metal I love: something that excels in both passive and active listening. The adherence to its source material and striking imagery pokes and prods at your curiosity, encouraging you to wander the labyrinth with the deepest focus, even as the post-doom riff work provides a comfortable space to rest in and bask in the diverse, stellar musicianship. Yeah, it’s long as hell, but to be frank, I grow tired of feeling like I must apologize for The Trial’s runtime, sheepishly imploring you to listen despite it. Thumos has a lot to express about their choice of inspiration, and there is little, if anything, I might suggest be removed. The Trial of Socrates is an intelligent and captivating piece, one that is worth your time.

Tracks to Check Out: ”The Parmenides,” “The Protagoras,” “The Gorgias,” “The Sophist,” “The Phædo”

Say one thing about the AMG readerbase, say that they harbor absolutely zero ambiguity within themselves as to what kind of music they’re not interested in. I anticipate that some who wander these halls will gawk at Thumos’ The Trial of Socrates: a colossal two-hour, fully instrumental collection of doomy post-prog metal. Indeed, it’s not what I’d call the most accessible album I’ve written about, so who am I to judge? However, if I were to say another thing about the AMG reader base, I’d say that they can appreciate artistry more than the average listener. To that effect, I believe that those who attend The Trial of Socrates will discover an album that is intelligent, creative, and captivating.

Sixteen songs, sixteen different Socratic dialogues transposed into music. The Trial of Socrates is undeniably high-concept, but Thumos expertly keeps the listener engaged with immediate, yet endlessly thoughtful songcraft. The Trial is full of massive, memorable riffs that hide tons of depth in their execution. “The Parmenides” is a damn strong opener that sets a pensive tone with wistful guitar notes, before leading into a heavy riff that’s carried by a crystalline, piercing guitar melody. The Trial doesn’t typically adhere to traditional song structure, but songs are far from aimless. Oftentimes a single theme will be explored with chorus-adjacent repetition even as various ideas or riffs are added and iterated upon, like in the excellent “The Gorgias,” while other songs take a more progressive approach like the epic “The Apology.” These structures give the songs a conversational cadence, as themes are explored and interrogated with a Socratic thoroughness.

The Trial of Socrates by Thumos

Perhaps Thumos’ greatest achievement here is how they maintain a vital pace across The Trial’s long runtime. Someone more versed than I in Socratic philosophy might be able to recognize something approaching a narrative or chronology across The Trial, but even lacking context, the music alone compensates with excellent pacing and variety. The songs across The Trial shift across a healthy spectrum of fast and heavy (“The Thaeatetus,” “The Philebus”), pointed melody-driven drama (“The Parmenides,” The Apology”) or grand pathos (“The Sophist,” “The Phædo”). Even as individual songs can be lengthy, they’re always followed by something new, up until you reach the sublime end. The climax of “The Phædo” is a resplendent, tragic outpour of emotion that strips away any need for context with sheer force, ushering the end of The Trial in “The Menexenus,” a nigh funeral dirge.

The Trial of Socrates is exactly the kind of metal I love: something that excels in both passive and active listening. The adherence to its source material and striking imagery pokes and prods at your curiosity, encouraging you to wander the labyrinth with the deepest focus, even as the post-doom riff work provides a comfortable space to rest in and bask in the diverse, stellar musicianship. Yeah, it’s long as hell, but to be frank, I grow tired of feeling like I must apologize for The Trial’s runtime, sheepishly imploring you to listen despite it. Thumos has a lot to express about their choice of inspiration, and there is little, if anything, I might suggest be removed. The Trial of Socrates is an intelligent and captivating piece, one that is worth your time.

Tracks to Check Out: ”The Parmenides,” “The Protagoras,” “The Gorgias,” “The Sophist,” “The Phædo”

Primitive Man – Observance [Things You Might Have Missed 2025]

By Spicie Forrest

It’s been a decade since Primitive Man last graced these halls with 2015’s tepidly received Home is Where the Hatred Is, but they haven’t been idle. In the meantime, the Denver trio has released 2 LPs, a full-length EP, a split with Unearthly Trance, and a collab with Full of Hell.1 Those ten years were spent experimenting, learning, and honing their sound into something so incredibly bleak that not even the promo pit could contain such hopeless darkness.2 Released on Halloween, Observance sees Primitive Man both doubling down and branching out to offer their darkest work yet.

To assuage any doubts early, crushing despair is still the foundation of Primitive Man’s sound. Observance feels like being imprisoned and forgotten in a lightless pit. In an inverted format reminiscent of funeral doom, vocalist/guitarist Ethan McCarthy’s axe predominantly serves as a foil for others. He lays a nearly riffless foundation of maddening single chords (“Social Contract”) and maggot-infested buzzing (“Devotion,” “Transactional”) upon which bassist Jonathan Campos and drummer Joe Linden drive these sonic interpretations of the abyss. Campos is patient, waiting for the perfect moment to savage listeners (“Seer”) or waterboard them with molten tar (“Natural Law”). Conversely, Linden actively stokes fear through the hunt. Whether invoking the ritualistic horror of Choir (“Devotion,” “Social Contract”) or closing in to suffocate his victims (“Water”), Linden keeps listeners trapped in a waking nightmare. McCarthy’s inhuman bellows, like tortured screams rent from a caged beast, round out Observance, at once malevolent, feral, and seething with impotent rage.

Primitive Man knew it wouldn’t be enough to just shove listeners into that lightless pit; they filled it with fresh horrors, too. Filtered through their singularly despondent style, “Seer” quickly launches into a punky downbeat rhythm before giving way to the Primitive Man’s iconic dissonant hammering. “Social Contract” concludes in similar fashion, but starts with sinister wooden clapping and an ominous sample of an angry mob slowly losing control. After a blackened opening, “Natural Law” unleashes a furious, grinding salvo that’s all the more terrifying for the vicious howls McCarthy weaves through it. Of everything on Observance, it’s a new element that threatens sanity most: McCarthy’s deranged, utterly fucked lullabies (“Devotion,” “Transactional,” “Natural Law”). As if desperately seeking a reprieve that will never come, his guitar screams to itself the nursery melodies that once brought comfort and safety, now tainted and defiled in madness.

Primitive Man’s refinement of their signature death sludge and warped departures therefrom speak to a greater accomplishment: Observance demands your attention for all 68 minutes. By incorporating new elements, Primitive Man makes the style they’re known for shine all the brighter. By slimming down the ambient interlude (“Iron Sights”)3 and spreading it out among the proper tracks, Observance offers moments to reset and pray for salvation between nightmares. Enthralling from end to end, Observance is a harrowing experience that teases the sweet release of silence before dashing those hopes in evil, sadistic brilliance. If you didn’t like Primitive Man before, I doubt anything about this record will change your mind. This is the most Primitive Man that Primitive Man has ever been. But if you, like me, enjoy begging for light and being denied, Observance is your ticket to decadent, hopeless agony.

Tracks to Check Out: “Devotion,” “Natural Law,” and “Water.”

#2025 #AmericanMetal #Choir #DeathMetal #DoomMetal #FullOfHell #Noise #Observance #PrimitiveMan #RelapseRecords #Sludge #ThingsYouMayHaveMissed2025 #TYMHM #UnearthlyTrance