#whiteward — Public Fediverse posts

Born of the ashes of former project Messenger, UK post-rock duo Liminal Sky, comprised of Jaime Gomez Arellano and Daniel Knight—and featuring Mat McNerney (Hexvessel, ex-Beastmilk), Kristoffer Rygg (Ulver), Anders Møller, Karin Park (Årabrot), Daniel O’Sullivan, Lars Horntveth, Alicia Nurho, Tore Ylwizaker, Ole Alexander Halstensgård, and Matt Rozeik—represents the next chapter in Arellano’s and Knight’s creative vision. Occupying a desolate space in the post realm that I haven’t covered in an official capacity since Latitudes dropped Part Island, upcoming debut All Tomorrow’s Darkness struck me in much the same way. Beautiful, inconsolable, tender, and graceful, Liminal Sky tugged at my heartstrings and called to my spirit.

An emotional and loving affair, All Tomorrow’s Darkness owes its gravity and poignancy to primary vocalist and lyricist Mat McNerney, impassioned by the recent loss of his mother. While it’s very clearly heard in McNerney’s vocal delivery across the record, Liminal Sky’s songwriting too reflects that heartbreak with crystalline clarity. Especially in their longer form compositions (“In Some Secret Universe,” “Algebra of Unknowing,” “All Tomorrow’s Darkness”), sweeping arcs and delicate plucked melodies inform the shape of mourning, of catharsis, of release, and of loss that All Tomorrow’s Darkness embodies. Its more energetic cuts (“A Solitary Future,” “Forget Me Not”) don’t disturb that shape, but rather recontextualize it as if to emphasize the unpredictable nature of grieving. As a whole, All Tomorrow’s Darkness represents a highly intelligent, deeply thoughtful, and highly resonant experience that offers its heart to those who would hear it, in the hopes that they would hold it with warmth and understanding.

Nowhere is this intimacy more effectively conjured than in centerpiece “Penance,” featuring Karin Park’s soothing croon. It is a stunning work, reminiscent of White Ward and Latitudes at their softest, but especially sorrowful, almost regretful. There’s a pain to this song which echoes some of the hardest processes that come with mourning the loss of a loved one, and it brings greater substance to its more energetic companion piece, “The Weight of Heaven.” In some strange alchemy, hookiness and subtle bounce fit “The Weight of Heaven” like a glove, almost as if the upshot of weathering the storm is clarity, acceptance, even hope. And yet, existential uncertainty and an ominous foreshadowing persist as undercurrent through songs like “Algebra of Unknowing” and “Oar on the Mooring” to remind the listener that clarity, that acceptance, and that hope is fragile. To further personify this message, All Tomorrow’s Darkness glides gently through all of these movements with a floatiness that belies its forlorn, heavy heart.

As a result of such fluidity, my perception of All Tomorrow’s Darkness’ hour-long expanse warps and shrinks. This, in turn, makes what should be a difficult, emotionally taxing experience remarkably easy to revisit. Its accessibility granted by direct, uncomplicated songwriting also affords a certain approachability that helps open up a listener not only to receive something so deeply steeped in pain and anguish, but also to respond in sympathetic release. That same simple songwriting, while effective and inviting, also results in some lightly recycled instrumental ideas. Across All Tomorrow’s Darkness, melodies, rhythms, and pacing occasionally reach a level of homogeneity and eerie familiarity such that every now and again I lose my place. I imagine that this might be on purpose, perhaps to reinforce an impression of liminal space and limbo that often manifests in the grieving process. If so, I’m not certain that Liminal Sky’s songwriting scaffolded that concept—outside of standout examples in “In Some Secret Universe” and “Algebra of Unknowing”—well enough to have the desired effect. Instead, and especially after multiple spins, it negatively impacts recall and weakens the album’s memorability.

Liminal Sky rekindled something inside me that I had forgotten after years apart from this little corner of the post world. In spite of its slow and soft approach, All Tomorrow’s Darkness strikes the spirit with accuracy and emotional heft. What few minor songwriting weaknesses it displays on occasion constitute an easily overcome obstacle to my appreciation of the experience. If anything, those very flaws help showcase how well-conceived and thoughtfully executed Liminal Sky’s debut is everywhere else. Imperfect, but easy to listen to and devastating to hear, All Tomorrow’s Darkness bears the soul of its creators with a candid vulnerability worth taking to heart.

Rating: Very Good!
DR: 9 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3
Label: Karisma Records
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: June 19th, 2026

One of the paradoxes of living in a large city is the tendency of its inhabitants to feel isolated despite being surrounded by millions of people. Something of a “water, water, everywhere but not a drop to drink” phenomenon. It seems—at least to me—that this theme frequently surfaces within the post-black metal subgenre. Callous Faulter was founded by J. Angus in Melbourne, Australia, in order to give sonic form to urban loneliness. Their mission statement is succinct and straightforward: “Modern life is hell and Callous Faulter provide the soundtrack.” And considering that this is a debut record, Callous Faulter is quite a potent soundtrack indeed.

If the weather where you live has become uncomfortably hot and sunny, Callous Faulter is more than willing to conjure dour moods and dismal days. This flavor of downcast post-black bears a passing resemblance to that of White Ward, but whereas White Ward tempers their bleak outlook with pensive, jazzy sections, Callous Faulter presents an unflinching and unrelenting emotional assault.1 Another way to contextualize Callous Faulter would be to hollow out Cave Sermon’s2 melodic textures and fill them in with Aversio Humanitatis’s dissonance and Altar of Plagues’s sinister, oppressive atmosphere. The structure of Callous Faulter comprises only two tracks (“The Isolationist” and “Ocean Views”), which are between 16 and 18 minutes each for a total runtime of 35 minutes.

Callous Faulter employs an extraordinary array of tools to kindle unease in the listener. Sometimes torpid, discordant guitar notes meld with slow, syncopated drum rhythms. Other times the guitars buzz and drone like an angry swarm of wasps, or clanging chords twist together with tremolos to form a grotesque melodic bouquet. All the while, blast beats intermittently pound away like a jackhammer to the nervous system. Speaking of drums, R. Stone’s performance is incredible. The contrast between the intensely complex rhythms and the minimal post-metal guitars and howled vocals does much to keep the compositions from fading into background noise. It’s particularly powerful when the drumming steadily ramps up in intensity towards the end of “The Isolationist” amidst a few stray screams like the last gasps of a drowning person before the song cuts off with a decisive snare hit.

However, Callous Faulter doesn’t always make the most of its lean runtime, particularly during the second track. “Ocean Views” begins promisingly with an energetic intro reminiscent of Dawn of Ouroboros, but towards the midpoint, it slips into a languid and repetitive loop that lasts far too long. In contrast, Callous Faulter utilizes repetition better in “The Isolationist” by breaking the ruminative reprieve before tedium can set in. Things do eventually liven up again in the final few minutes of “Ocean Views,” but not in a way that makes the listless stretch make sense in retrospect. Even so, this could be an instance of a record that might have been stronger if longer, since having so few minutes means that each one matters that much more to make an impression.

As bleak as Callous Faulter is, I can’t deny that it holds a kind of enigmatic allure, its desolate setting calling me back again and again. The first track “The Isolationist,” is a great proof of concept, while “Ocean Views” doesn’t quite hit the mark. As a whole, it doesn’t feel like Callous Faulter has enough time to thoroughly articulate what it wants to say, though there are certainly worse criticisms than wishing for more of it. There is plenty of potential here, and I will be keenly interested to hear Callous Faulter further expound upon this established style in the future. In the meantime, know that if you ever feel bereft of companionship where you live, you can at least count on this collective of misfits within the online community at Angry Metal Guy for support.

Rating: 2.5/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 192 kbps mp3
Label: Gutter Prince Cabal
Websites: callousfaulter.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/people/Callous-Faulter
Releases Worldwide: June 1st, 2026