Granted, the concept of an album where each song tells a story about a distinctive demonic entity with its own unique “physical traits” and “specific weapon” is extremely silly, yet Killerdemons proves to be a catchy and cool affair. Borrower claim Motörhead, Judas Priest, and Dio as their main influences, and they write spare, riff-tastic tunes in their honor. The guitars carry much more heft than their influences, however, with enough reverb to take tunes dangerously close to stoner territory a lá High on Fire and Black Sabbath. This marriage between speed and stoner proves effective. “El Degollador” oscillates between lightning-fast, “Ace of Spades”-inspired riffs and slower, “War Pigs”-style stoner riffs in a performance that’s sure to give you whiplash. Taking a cue from AC/DC, Borrower keeps their song structures simple yet catchy. The rollicking “Stay Alive” best demonstrates this virtue with crisp songwriting and energetic pacing. Each track has distinctive riffs that are far more powerful than the demons it conjures.

In the eight years since their 2018 EP, A Plague Chapter…, Borrower has vastly improved their sound and instrumental prowess. The two Matteos have played a major role in this transformation. Marini’s fuzzy guitar tone adds heft where the EP’s guitars sounded tinny. His blending of Motörhead-style riffcrafting with the density of High on Fire and Mastodon adds an extra oomph to tracks like “Der Todessoldat” and “Tough Fight.” Marzo’s bass takes a commanding presence as well. He adds depth and backbone to the music, making his presence especially felt on the slower moments of “Knocking on the Coffins.” Formoso takes a restrained approach behind the kit, occasionally blasting the cymbals (“Dream on Fire”), but mostly setting the pace with an effective simplicity. The wild card of the group is vocalist Ratano. He seemingly channels Lemmy, Arnold Schwarzenegger, and Fozzie Bear in a truly strange, yet somehow endearing performance. His Italian accent, which drags out the words “kee-ler dee-mons” during the chorus of “Killerdemons,” adds a level of camp that contributes to the goofy fun.

While Borrower keeps Killerdemons to a concise 36 minutes, the record does falter on the two songs that stray from the 3-4 minute range. The first, “Knocking on the Coffins,” has some memorable riffs, including a cool, old school solo, but at over five minutes, it drags on a bit too long. Positioned between the album’s two best tracks, it also proves to be a major momentum killer. The biggest sore thumb, however, is the six-plus minute finale, “A Chaos Vortex.” Not only does it lack memorable riffs, but it falters in its final two minutes as the band sorely misjudges when to best wrap it up. Trimming 2-3 minutes from each of these songs would have immensely improved the album’s otherwise incredible pacing.

As I established last month, metal tends to invite some weird characters, and the killer demon universe created here is certainly an odd one. But that’s also what makes metal so much fun. Bands feel free to try out their off-the-wall ideas, from literary– or video game-inspired themes to the creation of fantasy or sci-fi realms. And sometimes these ideas actually work. Borrower finally sees through their vision, or at least the start of it, and presents it in such a catchy, cool way. I love to see original ideas performed with such care and passion, and I hope these guys continue to cultivate their ideas and musical talents.

Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Argonauta Records
Website: Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Site
Releases Worldwide: February 13th, 2026

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Standard black metal isn’t dark enough for Gorrch. Stillamentum is about horror and dread. Opener “Nimbus” wastes no time burying you alive in a cramped wooden box. Guitars like clamoring bells ring with sanity-threatening dissonance while pummeling blast beats quickly deplete your limited oxygen. Droich viciously saws at palm-muted strings like the erratic, terrifying sprints of cockroaches exploring what’s in the box (you). A lull at the midpoint ushers in a spiraling riff, rising like your gorge in mortal terror. Heretical Gregorian chanting reveals your captors as zealots, and all hope of seeing the sun again dies. Deranged prayers ripped from Chrimsicrin’s throat (“Vorago,” “Angor”), metallic tones like snapping wires (“Vorago,” “Larvæ”), and ritualistic percussion (“Phlegma”) keep you locked in this waking nightmare. The blasphemous love child of Gaerea and Imperial Triumphant, Stillamentum is cacophonous, claustrophobic, and rapturously disturbed.

Developing and fostering atmosphere through repetition is a common trope in black metal. Stillamentum is no exception, but Gorrch’s approach makes the assessment thereof a bit of a challenge. Each track begins with strong, fast riffs, either searing or psychotic, drawing me in and demanding my attention. Somewhere in the middle third, however, long passages featuring markedly less instrumental variation take over and guide the song to its conclusion. The result is two or three minutes of relatively repetitive instrumentals per track. This was not an issue while running errands or gaming or otherwise spinning Stillamentum in the background—and was in fact a boon—as I enjoyed basking in the consistent atmosphere, but on focused listens, these stretched sections can stall the furious momentum gained earlier in each song.

This same critique can be found mirrored in the structure of Stillamentum as a whole. The front half—“Nimbus,” “Vorago,” and “Larvæ”—as well as closer “Phlegma,” evoke a singular and impressive sense of fear. “Cryptæ” and “Angor,” however, feel less inspired, giving the album’s quality a parabolic shape. They’re not bad songs by any means; there are parts of each I particularly enjoyed. I loved the tempo shift at the midpoint of “Angor” and the clanging, descending riffs in “Cryptæ,” and the synergy between the ritual chanting and Chrimsicrin’s drum work on both tracks is very effective. Even so, they seem closer to boilerplate black metal than the rest of Stillamentum, their teeth notably blunter in comparison. As on the level of individual tracks, this structure works well in the background, but under scrutiny, it highlights opportunities for Gorrch to improve their pacing and direction.

Gorrch shines brightest at their darkest and most unsafe. On Stillamentum, theirs is an abyssal darkness, drenched in formicative³ horror and clothed in perverse piety. At their most oppressive, Gorrch is exactly my kind of black metal: suffocating, malicious, dissonant, and maybe a little blasphemous. Were I grading based on highlights alone, Stillamentum would score much higher. Alas, those peaks are saddled with overlong atmospheric passages, a slight overuse of chanting vocals, and mildly inconsistent quality. If Gorrch can distill their strengths from Stillamentum and hone them to delve even deeper into the void, they’ll unearth something truly unspeakable.

Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: 9 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Avantgarde Music
Websites: Bandcamp
Releases Worldwide: January 30th, 2026

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Brutal cold envelops the building as my minions scrape through ice and filthy slush to find even the smallest shard of metallic glimmer. With extensive budget cuts demanded by my exorbitant bonus schedule—as is my right as CEO of this filtration service—there was no room to purchase adequate gear and equipment for these harsher weathers. However, I did take up crocheting recently so each of my “employees” received a nice soft hat.

Hopefully, that will be enough to tide them over until the inclement weather passes and we return to normal temps. Until then, they have these rare finds to keep them warm, and so do you! REJOICE!

Kenstrosity’s Knightly Nightmare

AngelMaker // This Used to Be Heaven [November 20th, 2025 – Self Released]

I’ve been a fan of AngelMaker’s since their 2015 debut Dissentient. The grossly underrated and underappreciated Vancouver septet are a highly specialized deathcore infantry, with their lineup expanding steadily over their career in concert with their ever-increasing songwriting sophistication. Unlike the brutish and belligerent debut and follow-up AngelMaker, 2022’s Sanctum and new outing This Used to Be Heaven indulge in rich layering, near-neoclassical melodies, and dramatic atmosphere to complement AngelMaker’s trademark sense of swaggering groove. With early entries “Rich in Anguish” and “Haunter” establishing the strength of both sides of their sound, it always surprises me how AngelMaker successfully twist and gnarl their sound into shapes—whether it be hardcore, blackened, or melodic—I wasn’t anticipating (“Silken Hands,” “Relinquished,” “Nothing Left”). A rock-solid back half launched by the epic “The Omen” two-part suite brings these deviations from the expected into unity with the deathcore foundation I know AngelMaker so well for (“Malevolence Reigns,” “Altare Mortis”), and in doing so secure their status as one of the most reliably creative deathcore acts in the scene. Nothing here is going to change the minds of the fiercer deathcore detractors, but if your heart is open even just a crack, there’s a good chance This Used to Be Heaven will force themselves into it, if not entirely rip the whole thing asunder. My advice is simply to let it.

ClarkKent’s Sonic Symphonics

Brainblast // Colossus Suprema [November 11th, 2025 – Vmbrella]

A debut album five years in the making from a band formed in 2015, Colossus Suprema is the brainchild of Bogotá, Colombia’s Edd Jiménez. Jiménez turned his passion for and training in classical composition towards his symphonic progressive act, Brainblast. With Bach as an inspiration, Brainblast’s brand of technical death metal has the grandeur of Fleshgod Apocalypse, the speed of Archspire, and the virtuosity of concert musicians. Jiménez’s classical training shows — the compositions have an orchestral feel, only played at insane energy levels. The speed, the depth, and the breadth of the instrumentation are sure to leave you breathless. Nicholas Le Fou Wells (First Fragment) lays down relentless kitwork with jaw-dropping velocity, while Eetu Hernesmaa provides technical fretwork that’ll similarly leave you awestruck. He delivers sublime riffs on “Relentless Rise” and a surprising melodic lead that steals the show on “Unchain Your Soul.” Perhaps most prominent is the virtuoso play of the bass from Rich Gray (Annihilator) and Dominic Forest Lapointe (First Fragment) that is omnipresent and funky on each and every song. To top it all off is the piano (perhaps from Jiménez), giving the music some gravitas with the technical, concert-style playing. This record is just plain bonkers and tons of fun. Given this is the debut from a young musician, the idea that Brainblast has room to grow is plenty exciting.

Gods of Gaia // Escape the Wonderland [November 28th, 2025 – Self Released]

If you’ve been eagerly awaiting the next SepticFlesh release, Germany’s Gods of Gaia have got you covered. Founded in 2023 by Kevin Sierra Eifert, Gods of Gaia is made up of an anonymous collective from around the world, contributing to a dark, heavy, and aggressive form of symphonic metal. Their sophomore album, Escape the Wonderland, features a collection of death metal songs with plenty of orchestral arrangements that add a dramatic flair. Along with crushing riffs and thunderous blast beats, you’ll hear choral chants (“Escape the Wonderland,” “Burn for Me”), bits of piano (“What It Takes”), and plenty of cinematic symphonics. SepticFlesh is the obvious influence, but the grandiosity of Fleshgod Apocalypse flares up on cuts like the dramatic “Rise Up.” The front half is largely aggressive, with “What It Takes” taking the energy to thrash levels. The back half dials down the energy, even creeping to near doom on “Krieg in Mir,” but never pulls back on the heaviness. Cool as the symphonic elements are, the riffs, blast beats, and brutal vocal delivery are just as impressive. Make no mistake, this is melodic death metal above all else, with symphonic seasonings that elevate it a notch. Just the opposite of what the record title suggests, this is one wonderland you won’t want to escape.

Grin Reaper’s Frozen Feast

Hounds of Bayanay // КЭМ [November 15, 2025 – Self Released]

Two-and-a-half years after dropping debut Legends of the North, Hounds of Bayanay returns with КЭМ to sate your eternal lust for folk metal.¹ Blending heavy metal with folk instrumentation, specifically kyrympa² and khomus,³ as well as throat singing, Hounds of Bayanay might sound like a Tengger Cavalry or The Hu knockoff, but you’ll do yourself a disservice by writing them off. Boldly enunciated, clarion cleans belt out in confident proclamations while grittier refrains and overtones resonate beneath, proffering assorted and engaging vocal stylings. Rather than dwelling overlong in strings and tribal chanting, the deft fusion of folk instruments with traditional metal defines Hounds’ sound and feels cohesively integrated on КЭМ, providing an intimate yet heavy backdrop to a hook-laden and alluringly replayable thirty-nine minutes. In addition to the eclectic folk influence, there’s a satisfying variety of songwriting from track to track, with “Ardaq,” “Cɯsqa:n,” and “Dɔʃɔrum” exemplifying the enticing synthesis of styles. More than anything else, Hounds of Bayanay embodies heart and fun, warming my chilly days with a well-executed platter of Eastern-influenced folk metal. Don’t skip this one, or the decision could hound you.

Blood Red Throne // Siltskin [December 05, 2025 – Soulseller Records]

I’m shoving up against the deadline to wedge this one in, but Blood Red Throne’s latest deserves a mention, and bulldozing is just the sort of thing you should do while listening to BRT’s brand of bludgeoning, pit-stomping romp. Back in December, the venerable Norwegian death metal act dropped twelfth album Siltskin, maintaining their prolific and consistent release schedule. In addition to their dependable output, BRT stays the course with pummeling, brutish pomp. In his coverage of Nonagon and Imperial Congregation, Doc Grier drums up comparisons to Old Man’s Child, Panzerchrist, and Hypocrisy, and while I’m not inclined to disagree on those points, I’ll add that Siltskin also harkens to Kill-era Cannibal Corpse in its slick coalition of mid-paced slammers, warp-speed blitzes, and fat ‘n’ frolicking bass. Add to that the sly, sticky melody from the likes of Sentenced’s North from Here (“Vestigial Remnants”), and you’ve got a recipe for a righteous forty-five-minute smash-a-thon. Blood Red Throne’s last few records have been among their best, which is an incredible feat for a band this far into their career. While Siltskin doesn’t surpass BRT’s high-water mark, it keeps up, and if you’re hungry for an aural beatdown, then Blood Red Throne would like to throw their crown into the ring for consideration.

Gotsu-Totsu-Kotsu // Immortality [December 17, 2025 – Bang the Head Records]

I am woefully late to the charms of Gotsu-Totsu-Kotsu, a Japanese death metal outfit prominently featuring slap ‘n’ pop bass. Had it not been for our trusty Flippered Friend, I might have continued this grievous injustice of ignorance, but thankfully, this is not the timeline to which I’m doomed. Immortality is Gotsu-Totsu-Kotsu’s seventh album, and those who enjoy the band’s previous work should remain satisfied. For new acolytes, Gotsu-Totsu-Kotsu grasps the rabid intensity of Vader and Krisiun and imbues it with a funky edge. Meaty bass rumbles and sprightly slapped accents, provided by bassist/vocalist Haruhisa Takahata, merge with Kouki Akita’s kit obliteration to establish a thunderous, unrelenting rhythm section. Atop the lower end’s heft, Keiichi Enjouji shreds and squeals with thrashy vigor and a keen understanding of melody. First proper track “Anima Immortalis” even includes gang intonations that work so well, I wish they were more prevalent across the album. The sum total of Gotsu-Totsu-Kotsu’s atmosphere is one of plucky exuberance that strikes with the force of a roundhouse kick to the dome. Had I discovered it sooner, Immortality would have qualified for a 2025 year-end honorable mention, as I haven’t been able to stop spinning it or the band’s prior releases.⁴ Though I’m still in the honeymoon phase, I expect this platter to live on in my listening, and recommend you not miss this GTK killer like I almost did.

Thus Spoke’s Random Revelations

The Algorithm // Recursive Infinity [November 21st, 2025 – Self Released]

I’ve been a fan of The Algorithm since the early days, back when their electronica-djent was almost twee in its experimental joy, spliced with light-hearted samples. Over the years, Rémi Gallego has tuned his flair for mesmeric, playful compositions to develop a richer, more streamlined sound. Recursive Infinity continues the recent upward trend Data Renaissance began. With riffs and rhythms the slickest since Brute Force, and melodies the brightest and most colourful since equally-prettily adorned Polymorphic Code, it’s a cyberpunk tour-de-force. The wildness is trained, chunky heaviness grounding magnetic melodies (“Race Condition,” “Mutex,” “By Design”), dense chugging transitioning seamlessly into techno (“Advanced Iteration Technique,” “Hollowing,” “Graceful Degradation), and adding bite to bubbly, candy-coloured soundscapes (“Rainbow Table,”). The skittering of breakbeats tempers synthwave (“Endless Iteration), and bright pulses wrap cascading electro-core (“Race Condition,” “Mutex”) and orchestral melodrama (“Recursive Infinity”). It’s often strongly reminiscent of some point in The Algorithm’s history, but everything is upgraded from charming to entrancing. This provides a new way to interpret Recursive Infinity: not just a reference to an endless loop in general, but to Boucle Infinie (Infinite Loop)—Remi’s other musical project—and by extension, The Algorithm themselves. Yet he is still experimenting, including vocoder vocals (“Endless Iteration,” “By Design”) for a surprisingly successful dark-Daft Punk vibe in slower, moodier moments. With nostalgic throwbacks transformed so beautifully, and the continued evolution, there’s simply no way I can ignore The Algorithm now. And neither should you.

Owlswald’s Holiday Scraps

Sun of the Suns // Entanglement [December 12th, 2025 – Scarlet Records]

Bands and labels take heed—We reserve December for two things: Listurnalia and celebrating another trip around the sun. It is not for releasing new music. Yet this blunder persists, ensuring we inevitably miss gems like Sun of the Suns’ sophomore effort, Entanglement.⁵ The record dropped just as the world was tuning out for the year, and it deserves much better. Building on the foundation of their 2021 debut, TIIT, the Italian trio has significantly beefed up their progressive death formula. Mixing tech-death articulation with deathcore brutality, Entanglement ensures fans of Fallujah will feel right at home with its effervescent clean melodies and crystalline textures. Francesca Paoli (Fleshgod Apocalypse) returns to provide another masterclass behind the kit with rapid-fire double-bass, blasts, and tom fills, while guitarists Marco Righetti and Ludovico Cioffi deliver cosmic shredding and radiant solos that are both technical and deliberate. While the early tracks lean into Fallujahian songcraft and Tesseract-style arpeggios, the album shines brightest late when the group largely sheds its stylistic orbit. “Please, Blackout My Eyes” pivots toward a majestic Aeternam vibe with ethereal tech-death incisiveness, while “One With the Sun” and “The Void Where Sound Ends Its Path” hit like a sledgehammer with Xenobiotic’s deathcore grooves. Though Luca Dave Scarlatti’s vocals lack differentiation, the sheer quality of the compositions carries the weight, proving Sun of the Suns are much more than mere clones.

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I swear I’ve seen that saguaro before, in Pima County, standing just off the side of the road, marked among the millions crowding the bajadas. At that size, the sun rising over the Ajos has cast its strange shadow westward tens of thousands of times, yet it’s still young; a few generations removed from a pre-invasion Sonoran desert that thrived before the mountains had Spanish names, before the concept of the gringo, before the thousands of hung-over ones flattened every snake living within half a mile of Highway 85 driving back from “Rocky Point.” Maybe its great-great-grandmother’s seeds were carried by a coyote, lips stained sticky sanguine, slinking under the monsoon clouds when the only people around were O’Odham, themselves too distracted by the bounty to notice her stealing one more fruit from their baskets. Four generations later, a gray fox takes a pit stop under a creosote, setting a lucky propagule up for seventy years of extension, inch by inch, towards the noon summer sun, until a freak event smears its meristem into a radiate new form, ending this lineage forever.

Just after that point, someone takes its picture, and a couple of Italian guys slap it on a black metal album. A black metal album bent on re-orienting the genre away from a frostbitten North and towards an imaginary sun-bleached South, the saguaro being perhaps the most resilient (and, tellingly, clichéd) symbol thereof. Ambitions often crumble against this landscape; the schemes of miners fall through, the hopeful homesteads dry into rubble, at the bodies of desperate migrants collapse in the canyons. Beauty and hostility, available in such great measure here, produce the romance of the desert, the basis for Radici. Diespnea fail to capture either.

Diespnea practice oddball black metal in the Dødheimsgard idiom, attempting to reinvigorate a staid sound with odd and abrupt inclusions. At the end of “Radici,” they iron a bass groove flat onto gridded electronic beats, then gradually build vocals, drums, and guitars back into the matrix in what would be the record’s most memorable section if it didn’t feel almost identical to the ending of “Vultures.” When the tactic comes around yet again in “Mescalynia,” the effect is more of annoyance than interest. When the duo isn’t dabbling in dull electronica, they’re often whooping and cackling in what seems to be an awful pastiche of pre-Columbian musical traditions.

But the core failure of Radici isn’t in its lazy discursions but the soporific black metal that they depart from. Say what you will about 666 International, there’s no denying the intensity on display. Radici’s official kvlt tab book leads are usually played at three-quarters speed, and the spaces between them sag even more in tempo. Creative songwriting on cuts like “Radici” and “Mescalynia” is hard to appreciate when dragged out for six minutes, though tediously predictable guitar work, and the dull production and brickwalled master don’t do the record any favors. It’s a bit too on-the-nose for a band called Diespnea to sound this asthmatic.

Diespnea have the creativity to embark on something adventurous, but lack the curiosity to decide on a destination, instead floating around their “imaginary South” totally insulated from the confrontation with the real. It’s a painful missed opportunity; the places and traditions and feelings that the duo smudge at are truly profound, and Diespnea’s lazy Tintin “South” is at best an obfuscation and at worst a downright parody of the beauty that desert landscapes, their life, and their peoples hold.

The key to survival in the desert is specificity. In the Sonoran desert, oaks cling only to shady canyon bottoms; senitas populate only the hottest, sandiest washes; water scorpions flourish in ephemeral pools the size of bathtubs, and whole biotas erupt and disappear with the summer monsoons. The desert’s beauty comes from millions of years of coevolution, from novelty and extinction and cycles of glaciation that have stripped away that which does not belong again and again until everything that remains has its place and is fighting to keep it. Radici’s vagaries have nothing in common with places like this, and what Diespnea offer beyond those vagaries is just as unconvincing. And so, Radici comes nearly dead on arrival.

Rating: 2.0/5.0
DR: 4 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps MP3
Label: Code 666 Records
Websites: facebook.com/diespnea | diespnea.com | diespnea.bandcamp.com
Releases Worldwide: February 13^th, 2026

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Ferrum Sidereum is a record that revels in texture and rhythm more so than melody. Like ObZen-era Meshuggah, ZU play melodically bare but rhythmically exquisite riffs, with their prog and metal elements manifesting into bouncy, syncopated djent jabs prominent on tracks like “Golgotha” and “Kether.” Guitars are low (“Ferrum Sidereum”), bass is plucked with abandon (“Charagma”), and drums roll with jazz-practiced precision and metal aggression (“La Donna Vestita Di Sole”). Industrial elements and saxophone conspire to either inject a sense of progression to simple riffs (“Hymn of the Pearl”) or, more often than not, tear your ears a new one with punkish, dissonant whines and whistles (“Fuoco Saturnio”). ZU bounce between these loud, crunched moments with Tool-like passages of meditative, methodical calm and repetition with a hodgepodge of percussive additions to fill out space (“Pleroma”). You likely won’t be able to hum anything off Ferrum Sidereum by the end, but it’s undeniable that ZU are very particular about sounding a very particular way.

ZU have the chops to carry the load of a double album, but Ferrum Sidereum unfortunately doesn’t have the substance to fill one. To achieve a sense of spiritual ritualism, ZU obviously had to rely on repetition within songs, but it quickly just gets excessive and bland. Differences between songs—like “AI Hive Mind” and its distinct, mathcore level of scronk in its guitar tone and saxophone or “Golgotha” and its use of ghostly choir to build unnerving atmospheres—get lost in the flood of crushed djenting that better defines Ferrum Sidereum. ZU stick to such a strict palette that following along to the album as a whole becomes tedious, and the lack of melodic leads or even just a singer make Ferrum Sidereum easy to drift away from mentally. Eighty minutes and no hook is a big ask for any listener. Ferrum Sidereum’s uniform construction does lend it a sense of unity, and ZU’s expert musicianship and occasional atmospheres do make the record a good background listen, but for the purpose of intentional, critical listening, it leaves much to be desired.

This is deeply disappointing to me, because Ferrum Sidereum can at times be simply transcendent. When it comes to shaping otherworldly and religious atmospheres, when ZU get it right, they get it right. “La Donna Vestita Di Sole” feels like a festival from another planet with its twisty sax riff, while the conclusion to the closing title track uses the dichotomy of furious palm-muted riffing and complete silence to make an ending both meditative and succinct. The one-two punch of “The Celestial Bull and the White Lady” and “Hymn of the Pearl” sees ZU at their most sublime, awash with delayed clean guitars and tribal drumming derived from the same sacred geometry as Lateralus, both stirring and refreshing to the mind and soul. There’s great material on Ferrum Sidereum, songs so good I can see clearly the greatness that ZU see in it, but material buried under about as much runtime of bloat as well.

I know there’s a world where Ferrum Sidereum clicks with me, but here and now it doesn’t. ZU are wildly talented musicians, and I know there are fans of instrumental metal who will gobble this up, but for me too much of what makes Ferrum Sidereum enthralling (its rich atmosphere and contemplative nature) is sidelined by what makes it boring (djent). “Hymn of the Pearl” may make a reappearance in December for SotY contention, but I think I’ve gotten enough of ZU’s latest as a whole. But I’ll keep an eye out for falling rocks, regardless.

Rating: Disappointing
DR: 5 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps MP3
Label: House of Mythology
Websites: zuhom.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/vajrazu | zuism.net
Releases Worldwide: January 9th, 2026

The post ZU – Ferrum Sidereum Review appeared first on Angry Metal Guy.

Despite the shift, Barbarian seem to have lost none of their belligerence. The album’s intro, aptly titled “Warning,” is a reimagining of the intro of the same name from the 1993 Ice-T album Home Invasion, and it helpfully informs listeners that they are listening to a Barbarian LP before instructing them to take out the tape if they are offended by phrases like “may the Almighty choke on all my sins.” From there, the first proper track, “Maxima Culpa,” roars in with burly and unapologetic guitars, throttling drums, and Crossburn’s gruff roars. As before, the sound is regressive, pulling lovingly from speed metal, thrash, black metal, and even bits of classic heavy metal with its brief majestic leads. While not the most memorable cut, it’s clear this unwashed bunch still have plenty of piss and vinegar to offer. The follow-up, “Sledgehammer,” further beats this home, with its big chunky riffs and pummeling proclamation of the track title helping the song live up to its blunt moniker.

Sadly, as Reek of God continues, it starts to stink in ways that perhaps it didn’t intend. It soon becomes apparent that Viperface’s shortage of standout hooks seems to have continued on this album—only here, it’s more of an issue. Viperface still succeeded in spite of that hangup because the songs were well-developed and took interesting turns, even if not everything was the most memorable. Here, however, the band have shortened their average track length to around three minutes, and rather than use that abbreviated format to write tight, catchy bangers, the group instead almost always eschew notable refrains in favor of simply tossing together an assortment of decent, aggressive riffs they seem to have had lying around the practice room. The result feels like an album of brief speed metal vignettes that largely pass by without much note. The production only amplifies this issue, as it sounds like the guitars and vocals are fighting for space in the mix, with the guitars having a blaring tone that I don’t love.

Fortunately, there’s still some good here. The last proper track, “Retrogarde Metal” (yes, it’s actually spelled like that), finally does feature a fun shout-along refrain, and closing the album with the horror-synth instrumental “Crurifragium” was a cool touch. “Freak Magnet,” a cover of the all-female rock band L7, is also a solid cut that adds a bit of punky energy late in the runtime. I also enjoy some of the classic heavy metal licks that appear on “Cancer Cross,” though such ideas generally seem to be less prevalent on this album than on previous ones. Crossburn also delivers some nice attitude in his vocals, with at least one “UGH!” and a self-referential shoutout of “Tell them what’s up, Crossburn!” before a ripping solo.

Overall, though, it’s hard not to be a little disappointed here. By doubling down on their no-fucks-given attitude, Barbarian seems to have taken an even moar primitive and less refined approach, resulting in shorter songs that have plenty of energy but not as much that sticks to the ribs. In their best prior works, the band excelled at combining mighty riffs and melodic leads into wholly engaging compositions. Only time will tell if we’ll ever see them do that again.

Rating: 2.5/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Dying Victims Productions
Websites: linktr.ee/barbarianmetal | facebook.com/barbarianmetal
Releases Worldwide: January 23rd, 2026

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Let Water Flow sits nicely in the second-wave black metal lane. Perhaps the best touchstone for Moon Wisdom’s sound is Immortal. Similar to Diabolical Fullmoon Mysticism, “Intro” plucks gentle, atmosphere-drenched chords as the lead-in to the first proper song. “As Rain”—one of the advance singles—dashes from Kaelos’s epic riffing to Faith’s sinister screeching and Hexis’s galloping drum work. Tasty solos are a recurring theme across the album, similar to Havukruunu draping classic shred over Immortal black metal (“Frozen Soul,” “Solitude”). “Dark Shades,” the other advance single, demonstrates a more modern version of Moon Wisdom’s second-wave worship. The song’s sparse, textural bridge transforms its evil opening into an affecting gateway for mournful modulations and a furious finale. Throughout Let Water Flow, shifts between macabre delicacy and blackened crudity bring Lamp of Murmuur to mind.

The concise runtime of Let Water Flow cuts like a double-edged sword. It makes the album eminently relistenable but draws attention to inconsistent songwriting. “As Rain,” for instance, opens the album with dynamic concision, but its concluding solo ends abruptly, reading more like a bridge than a destination. “Ashen Winds” suffers a similar fate. It develops an engaging interplay between creepy and pummeling riffs that culminates too soon. Conversely, “Frozen Soul,” the mid-album curveball, could be trimmed. The song establishes an enchanting, melancholic vibe, but redundancy hits in its slow-building rock crescendo. “Dark Shades,” the last proper song, stands as the strongest track on Let Water Flow. It showcases Moon Wisdom’s talent for creating something epic that isn’t overlong. Unfortunately, the album (essentially) ends here; the brief “Lullaby of the Woods” puts the album to bed, but “Dark Shades” sounds like the band finally starting the day.

Let Water Flow possesses compelling qualities that, if accentuated, would cultivate Moon Wisdom’s sound. As mentioned, the band professes a depressive blackgaze influence. Sonically, this mostly unadorned record doesn’t really impart a gaze aesthetic. “Frozen Soul” comes closest to inspiring hypnotic shore-staring, especially in its enticing bass feature.¹ But the song, like the album, embodies gaze less through production effects and more through compositional dynamics. I actually like that Moon Wisdom doesn’t drown their guitarwork in reverb. Still, the sparse sections could be developed to give these songs more character. Moon Wisdom also cites a punk influence, but I didn’t detect much of this across Let Water Flow. Beyond “As Rain,” which contains a d-beat, nothing struck me (musically) as punk. A pretty non-punk element on the album is the violin on closer “Lullaby of the Woods.” More of this would have worked well, especially on the “gaze” sections.²

Let Water Flow—I’m surprised to say—had me experiencing Metal Deficiency.³ I commend Moon Wisdom’s impulse towards brevity, but the album feels like an EP with a short intro/conclusion framework tacked on. The inconsistent songwriting and underexplored derivations keep this debut from feeling vital and fully realized. At only 28 minutes, however, Let Water Flow is certainly worth a spin, especially if black metal is your jam. Moon Wisdom satisfy the second-wave itch while showing potential for more. If properly harnessed, their tendency towards terseness might produce a follow-up combating the scourge of Metal Fatigue.

Rating: 2.5/5.0
DR: 11 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Hypnotic Dirge Records
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook | Instagram
Releases Worldwide: January 16th, 2026

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New blood or not, HyperioN has a vision for their sound and proudly stays the course. Like previous efforts, Cybergenesis is heavily inspired by the likes of Metal Church and Judas Priest. But thematically rooted in sci-fi territory, HyperioN establishes the futuristic, dystopian backdrop of Cybergenesis’ narrative in much the same fashion that Blaze Bayley did on Silicon Messiah. A neoclassical opening gives way to a “Deafening” detonation of traditional heavy metal, soaring and gritty vocals, and Mozartian fills. HyperioN maintains this momentum with sticky choruses (“Yet We Still Fight,” “Blood over Chrome”), courtesy of new vocalist Max Morelli, and the strong axe work of Cotti and newcomer Francis Dipasquale (“Rewire, Rebuild,” “The Shackles of Chronitus,” “Rhizome Rider”). The potential Eldritch Elitist saw is brutally obvious when the band comes together to exceed their mathematical sum. Moments like the ends of “Grain of Sand”—where a squealing guitar lead cranks up the intensity of the final chorus—and “The Shackles of Chronitus”—where the solo extends to usher Morelli back to center stage—are particularly well done.

From a songwriting perspective, Cybergenesis is largely on par with previous efforts—aside from the baffling spoken word intro on “The Whole of Time”—but it’s not executed as well. Morelli is a fairly good vocalist, but he is much different than HyperioN’s previous vocalist and can’t reach the clean, clear highs of Dangerous Days. Rather than find ways to highlight the registers where he does excel, Morelli struggles to mimic previous efforts and seems shoved into too rigid a box. Bassist Simone Cauli employs a tone notably rougher than before. It’s got a retro sound that feels at odds with the futuristic subject matter of Cybergenesis. Where the bass was velvety on Dangerous Days, it’s much grittier or more textured here. Similar to HyperioN’s debut, drummer Francesco Madonna puts in a serviceable but largely unremarkable performance.

Structurally, Cybergenesis isn’t breaking any new ground. Most songs fall in the 4-5 minute range and follow a standard verse-chorus-verse-chorus pattern. No risks are taken here, and this is a fundamentally safe album. This isn’t a criticism per se—HyperioN’s ability to competently utilize well-established constructions is certainly impressive—but it does hold Cybergenesis back from being greater. To its credit, it’s a pretty lean record, clocking in at just under 40 minutes. The music moves along at a good pace, and there’s no real bloat to be found here. But especially in the back half, Cybergenesis can get repetitive as its lack of originality becomes more apparent, which somewhat counteracts the album’s good pacing and brisk runtime.

HyperioN boasts some great guitar work, especially in solos and hooks and such, but I struggled to find much else on Cybergenesis that stood out. I see the same opportunity for growth that Eldritch Elitist did on their debut, but this feels like a step back. It’s marred by a vocal performance that struggles to match the music and a general lack of novel material. Nonetheless, Cybergenesis is solid meat-and-potatoes fare. It’s good background music and playlist filler, but it’s nothing to write home about. You won’t find any new metal converts worshipping at the altar of Cybergenesis, but for those who dig trad/heavy metal muchly, HyperioN’s newest offering should be plenty filling.

Rating: 2.5/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Fighter Records
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook | Instagram
Releases Worldwide: Jan 15th, 2026

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Grave is funeral doom, broadly categorized. It borrows plenty from a cavernous and malevolent doom-death on the one hand, and an almost post-doom ambience on the other. Rather than any of the actual touchstones mentioned, it is Ahab that Dvm Spiro’s music seems to channel most strongly and frequently, the particular rhythm and tone of warm liquid plucks and an intruding sinister melody—combined with the crushing heaviness either side—reminding me in particular of Call of the Wretched Sea (“Indistinta Morte,” “Insoluto D’Anima”). There are also a few hints of the aforementioned Funeral (“Troppo Lente Scendono Le Tue”) and Endonomos (“Dissentimento”). In general, Dvm Spiro largely eschew that grandiose transcendence of synth-forward funeral doom and tip the melodic scales away from mournful beauty in favor of a more unsettling dissonance or uncomfortable modal shifting. There are still majestic, mellifluous moments, but Grave seems intended to trouble its listener more than anaesthetise or provide catharsis.

It’s this subversion of aesthetic expectations that gives Dvm Spiro and Grave their character. On paper, the vocal dynamic between female cleans and male harsh vox in the context of doom suggests an ethereal Beauty-and-the-Beast dichotomy—à la Shape of Despair or Draconian. But Dvm Spiro don’t play into the trope so neatly, elevating tension with multifaceted performances from both vocalists. Valeria De Benedectis’ singing carries some of the record’s most beautiful moments (“Indistinta Morte,” “Troppo Lente…”), but also some of the most discomfiting as her voice lapses into haughty, ardent repetition (“Indistinta Morte”) or turns sharply into a malevolent tone (“Preludio,” “Dissentimento”). Roberto Ripollino’s growls join her sometimes for an undeniably powerful duet of opposites (“Dissentimento”) but so too do Maurizio DeMichelis’s raspier snarls (“Troppo Lente…,” “Insoluto D’Anima”), creating a blunter, less perfect contrast that jostles the emotions. Pianos, strings, and guitars alike flow, strum, and weep with pathos for a phrase (“Troppo Lente…”), a rare rise above the gloom (“Preludio,” “Dissentimento”), or a dreamlike intro (“Indistinta Morte,” “Insoluto D’Anima”); in these moments, you could almost believe you’re in the more comforting, less real world of another, prettier doom. Grave, however, has other designs, shifting into discordance or another key, dropping a strange tritone and an accompanying guitar chord (“Preludio,” “Indistinta Morte,” “Troppo Lente…”), forcing you to confront the negativity.

Grave is thus striking, but not always in a way that works. I couldn’t and won’t argue that metal of any kind must be an unchallenging listening experience, but Dvm Spiro’s choices sometimes go beyond adding nuance and approach confusion. The modulations can be too jarring (“Preludio,” “Insoluto D’Anima”), songs too long without meaningful builds (“Indistinta Morte”), and prevarication around structures and refrains sometimes frustrating (“Troppo Lente…”). There is both too much and too little happening for the album’s epic 75-minute length to maintain the coherence and magnetism that might be added with more flowing compositions that committed more firmly to a sinister dissonance or uplifting pathos through each successive movement. And so multifaceted passages tend to distract, and extended sections pull back the progression of compositions, rather than drive it onwards.

Let it not be said that Grave is thereby a weak record. Its brilliant moments of both harmony (“Troppo Lente…”) and malevolence (“Indistina Morte”) shine and prove Dvm Spiro capable of magnificence in both aspects. There is a peculiar power in the subtleties and variance of their melodic and compositional approaches that may resonate more with some listeners than others. As a whole, it doesn’t possess the magnitude or the mystique to fully envelop right now. Perhaps its strength is far more insidious.

Rating: Good
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps
Label: My Kingdom Music
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: January 16th, 2025

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At its core, Dawn of a Dark Age plays avant-garde black metal with folksy instrumentation, and on Ver Sacrum they set aside the scathing hostility found on earlier works to hone mood and atmosphere. Though the speed varies throughout the album, proceedings mostly stick to mid-paced tempos. Sound-wise, Dawn of a Dark Age sits at a crossroads of influences, eliciting the tribal spirit of Wardruna, the wistful temperament of Primordial, and the post-black pangs of White Ward.³ While these comparisons help orient expectations, Dawn of a Dark Age’s milieu is uniquely their own, and despite some imperfections, the band clearly demonstrates lessons learned.

In addition to supplying much of the instrumentation throughout Ver Sacrum, Sabelli surrounds himself with a strong cast. Drummer Diego ‘Aeternus’ Tasciotti returns, skillfully supporting Dawn of a Dark Age with subdued cymbals and calculated double-bass rolls. In fact, Aeternus’ subtle kitwork deftly boosts the drama as slower passages accelerate and guitars and bass frolic with clarinets and keys. I particularly enjoy the accordion’s role, conjuring vivid Arcadian imagery as its lilting wheeze plays counter to delicate bass grooves and acoustic strums. Most distinctive, though, are the clarinet and bass clarinet. Outside Van Halen’s “Big Bad Bill (Is Sweet William Now),” I don’t recall any clarinet-centric passages in metal, and Ver Sacrum gives the ol’ licorice stick headlining prominence. Mixing clarinets with metal isn’t a combination I’d ever considered, but on Ver Sacrum, Dawn of a Dark Age convinces me there’s plenty of room for its warm, sulky timbre. Atop the music, new vocalist Ignazio Cuga saunters in with a deep, resonant style that ably treads ground covering croaks, growls, and throat singing.⁴ All told, Ver Sacrum creates an evocative atmosphere that mostly enchants with its rustic drones and occasional black metal bursts.

While Dawn of a Dark Age sharply demonstrates invigorated songwriting and improvements on the pitfalls from prior outings, Ver Sacrum still encounters a few snags. The 40-minute album length is just right, but the tendency to linger on passages remains, drawing beguiling moments past their prime. And though the awkward transitions found on La Tovola Osca have been largely addressed, a few are present here. Aside from these, performances sizzle, the production suits the music, and the assorted instruments and pacing concoct an engaging, well-manicured experience. The only thing holding back Ver Sacrum from higher praise is the lack of standout moments. I sink into the music every time I spin it, yet once it’s over, I’m left with impressions of the overall sound, absent specific refrains to call me back. Multiple listens reinforce Dawn of a Dark Age’s understated grace, but transitioning away from passages earlier would help build bigger climaxes and elevate Ver Sacrum’s immediacy.

Over eleven years and nine albums, Dawn of a Dark Age has whetted an uncanny aptitude for creating diverse textures and ambiances. Despite my gripes, Ver Sacrum hits more often than misses, and stands as a solid release in a month where good new music is in short supply. Further, this is a must-listen for anyone who wants to like black metal but generally finds it inaccessible. Dawn of a Dark Age takes harsher components of the genre and softens the edges, creating a concise yet engrossing experience for anyone looking to dip their toes into befolkened black waters.

Rating: Good!
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: My Kingdom Music
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: December 12th, 2025

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