Fortunately, the first few minutes of Rituel : Initiation act as an interesting microcosm for its whole: “Une Pleine Absence” lulls you in slowly with heavy atmosphere, wordless sighs, throat singing (I believe from lead vocalist Sébastien Defabiani), and acoustic passages, slowly building in intensity. It does this so effectively, in fact, that when the guitars do arrive, they feel overly jagged, loud, and harsh. I signed up for a post-black metal album—I expected loud. But De l’Abîme Naît l’Aube do somber atmosphere very well, and they do post and black metal well, but it’s interesting how the two can be at odds with each other in this style. Ten minutes later, this moment is forgotten, and the guitars sound as natural as anything else. “Une Pleine Absence” is still going, incorporating tremolos and depressive shrieks as a heavier atmospheric element, and you know well what to expect over the rest of Rituel : Initiation.

This intersection of rough-around-the-edges post metal, black metal aggression, and atmospheric melancholy seems to define both Rituel : Initiation and De l’Abîme Naît l’Aube. “Le Vertige d’une Descendance” is similar to the intro in that it starts slowly and gives bassist Valerian Burki a moment to shine. It leans more post than black, with some strong riffs that give the song groove and, if you’ll forgive a technical term, head-nod factor. “Un Sanctuaire de Cendres” is much more blackened than post, but when Fantine Schütz’s clean singing soars through the gloom, it’s a genuinely touching moment. Tremolos towards the end from guitarists Dominique Blanc and Kilian Caddoux counterbalance nicely with Valentin Boada’s frantic drumming, and here, the intersections work very well.

If I were to criticize one thing about Rituel : Initiation, it’s that the blended styles don’t allow for a ton of memorability. There are great moments throughout the five tracks—I’ve mentioned a few already, and want to highlight the slow march riffing around the midpoint of “Un Sanctuaire de Cendres” as well. But generally, Rituel : Initiation does not feel very strongly structured as an album. Songs, all but one over eleven minutes long, move from one idea to the next coherently and naturally, but in such a way as to evade hooks or moments of particular catchiness or impact. I always enjoy listening, but after the fifty-three minutes are done, I don’t have much impression of specific songs I liked; rather, it’s moments here and there that I know were early or late in the session. This makes sense of the style De l’Abîme Naît l’Aube play, but it also gives the impression of a dense album that I perhaps still need to spend more time with to truly crack.

Still, I like what De l’Abîme Naît l’Aube are doing here. Cold, regal, aggressive, anguished, and balanced on a knife’s edge—there’s some good metal here! As “Une Absolute Prèsence” builds to the album’s climactic end, I can’t help but be impressed. I wouldn’t have hated more editing—there’s a lot of metal here too—but too much of a good thing isn’t a bad thing. Rituel : Initiation is, in my mind, an exciting debut, the kind that speaks of genuine potential. Color me intrigued.

Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 192 kbps mp3
Label: Hypnotic Dirge Records
Websites: danapostmetal.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/dana.postmetal
Releases Worldwide: February 13th, 2026

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State Dependent Memory crackles with gritty, asphaltic energy, casting Unmother as conscientious agitators, decrying societal urban decay in veins similar to acts like Chat Pile or Ashenspire, even if avoiding any direct auricular comparison. Departing from the rawer, denser claustrophobia of Lay Down the Sun, Unmother sought slightly warmer sonic climes on State Dependent Memory, weaving undulating post-metal textures into its mostly traditional black-metal framework. Sure, plenty of blast beats and tremolos (“My Armor,” “Bear Hug”) remain, courtesy of drummer B. and guitarists Azoso and Declwa (who also handles bass). Still, it’s what Unmother does with the spaces between that adds the most character, which begins with the varied vocal approach of V., who, like Attila Csihar, possesses a wider range of barks, croaks, shouts, and screams than his more one-dimensional predecessor, whose hissier, raw-blackened rasp overpowered much of Lay Down the Sun for me. Without dulling any of the sharp edges that, well, make them edgy, Unmother benefits from their take on “post” as a counterpoint to tradition.

State Dependent Memory tips the scales of orthodoxy with atmospheres that are as hypnotizing as they are abrasive. Pensive and creepy, the leads that skulk through the shadowed alleys of “Modern Dystopia” are effective and shroud the track with an almost Marilyn Manson-like pall, while Declwa’s bass notes thrum and throb like slow-strobing traffic lights on a dark, misty night. Venla makes a guest appearance here as well; his croaking rasp at this dose ups the fear factor and complements V.’s tortured delivery. Satisfying, too, is the eerie, haunted-jewelry-box melody and desperate howling of V., which make up the slower-paced interlude within the trad-black assault of “Bear Hug,” offering a sprinkling of Shining-like glitter. Ironically, the most black metal track on State Dependent Memory is Unmother’s cover of “Αττική – Βικτώρια” (“Attiki Victoria”) by Greek synthwave outfit ΟΔΟΣ 55, which distills the eight-minute-long original’s main melody down to a viscerally efficient, tremolo-forward beast. It’s poppy, new-wave-esque movements, filled with an almost hopeful melodicism, are set effectively against V.’s pleading screams and shouts.

Angeliki Mourgela’s mix and Roland Rodas’ master capture the essence of Unmother’s talents. With a foggy production that reminded me of Mayhem’s Ordo ad Chao, I enjoyed Lay Down the Sun but had to strain to pick out much of its instrumental intricacy. State Dependent Memory doesn’t suffer the same issue, as each instrument glows brightly in its own space, with B.’s varied drum performance and Declwa’s excellent bass work being the biggest beneficiaries. And while I can’t say Unmother wasted any of State Dependent Memory’s thirty-eight-minute runtime, closing the album with the no-burn instrumental “Magda” was a miss. The track fades in with some reflective, organ-like synths, foreign-spoke voice samples,⁴ and gently plucked guitar lines bolstered with tension-building but delicately strummed chords, which all continue to build slightly over the next four minutes and twenty seconds only to fade out again. No satisfying payoff, just a segue to silence. Whether this move was intentional or not, the addition of another well-executed track proper could have avoided such a deflating ending.

Acerbically moody, Unmother possesses a maturity that belies their short existence. This quartet of relative unknowns continues to carve their mark into the U.K.’s underground metal scene, and if State Dependent Memory is any indication, they may not be toiling down there for long.

Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: 9 | Format Reviewed: 320kb/s mp3
Label: Independent
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: February 20th, 2026

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Herezjarcha—

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.

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

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Among the myriad sub-genres influencing Remorse of Conscience, Agenbite Misery’s bread and butter is a complementary fusion of sludge and black metal. Songs like “Bellwether and Swine” and “Mnesterophonia” swing between second-wave blackened intensity and a washing of Acid Bath grime, while “Telemachean Echoes” wrecks house through hardcore-flexing sludge brutality and “Circe” bestows an atmospheric dreariness similar to Hexrot. This works: Agenbite Misery’s sludge influence adds weight to their blackened riffing while their black metal influence helps keep their sludge from plodding too long. Elsewhere, Agenbite Misery throw their weight around in “Cascara Sagrada” with Portalesque disso-death depravity, engage in melancholic electronic atmospherics on “The Twice-Charred Paths of Musing Disciples” and get downright danceable Crippling Alcoholism-style on the post-rock, synth-heavy “Whatness of Allhorse,” which sounds like something Blade would kill a roomful of vampires to. Remorse of Conscience rarely sits still, and with Agenbite Misery’s expert songwriting everything they try comes together cohesively.

Balance is the key to Agenbite Misery and Remorse of Conscience’s success. Every song is crafted with superb dynamism, whether it be in “Circe”‘s shifting speeds, “Mnesterophonia”‘s oscillating sense of airiness and crushing oppression or “Whatness of Allhorse”‘s gradual escalation of heaviness. Vocally, Agenbite Misery mix it up between the three bandmates with shrieks, roars, squeals (“Bellwether and Swine”), barks (“Telemachean Echoes”) and (competently performed!) spoken-word passages (“A Charitable View of Temporary Sanity,” “Whatness of Allhorse”), suiting whatever mood the songs demand. The pinnacle of Remorse of Conscience’s balancing act is “A Charitable View of Temporary Sanity,” which across its over-thirteen-minute runtime swings from thoughtful, quiet bass arpeggios against sparse guitar notes to titanic doom riffs, from funeral dirge tempos to double-time death marches. Sometimes quietly disturbing, sometimes manically depressive, variety in style and approach keeps Remorse of Conscience from ever being boring.

Remorse of Conscience remains compelling through its entirety because of Agenbite Misery’s greatest balancing act: blending immediacy within slow-burn constructions. Despite the thematic density derived from its source material, Remorse of Conscience opens with a simple rager in “Telemachean Echoes” and loads “Whatness of Allhorse” and “Circe” with hooky synth and guitar leads respectively, affording the album casual listening appeal. Then there are Agenbite Misery’s epics in “A Charitable View of Temporary Sanity” and “Mnesterophonia,” which eschew conventional song structure for slow, Isis-like post-metal waves and sludgy, noise-rock menace, easy to become lost in as a listener. Both modes keep the pacing of Remorse of Conscience fresh, and the mix of short songs (“Telemachean Echoes,” “The Twice-Charred Paths of Musing Disciples”) with longform ones further dispels any threat of monotony creeping in. Both song-wise and album-wide, Remorse of Conscience is not only a rich, thoughtful exploration of guilt and turmoil but a really, really fun record, too.

“What if it sucks?” What if, indeed. Having spent so much time with this record, my old concern of winding up disliking Remorse of Conscience was replaced with the new anxiety over whether I’d gas up Agenbite Misery and Sam too much and come off as committing inter-AMG favoritism. To combat that fear: “Whatness of Allhorse” and “Mnesterophonia” get a bit long in the tooth,³ “Bellwether and Swine” ends a bit anticlimactically and the drum kicks and snares could be much punchier overall. But this is water under the bridge for a great album defined by adventurous songcraft and deep atmospheres. Even if you’ve never read a word of Joyce’s Ulysses, Agenbite Misery and Remorse of Conscience is worth the effort. It’s a lot easier to finish than Ulysses, at the very least.

Rating: Great⁴
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps MP3
Label: Independent
Websites: agenbitemisery.com | agenbitemisery.bandcamp.com | ampwall.com/a/agenbitemisery
Releases Worldwide: February 6th, 2026

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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.

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”

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Atlantic alternates between atmospheric post-black metal and a much more poppy-style of black rock. The three longer tracks hue more towards the atmospheric (“Weathered,” “Underside,” “Spirit Trails”), but rather than atmoblack of the depressive variety, this is more of an uplifting form. Hoy’s guitar tones ooze feel-good vibes along the lines of Countless Skies, but with plenty of blackened reverb. These lengthier songs have a lot in common with the black metal of Starer and the black/shoegaze of Deafheaven. On the other end are the shorter tracks (“Timeworn,” “Voyages”), which sound almost like pop/rock songs, only with heavy reverb and dark growls. There’s a feeling of joy in the instrumentation that takes me back to Torche’s Harmonicraft. The drums by Milan Jejina bring out the pop with simple yet powerful beats that’ll get you bopping along. The combo of kitwork and catchy riffs make “Voyages” one of the most memorable tunes of the year.

There’s something about all of the performances that make Timeworn so pleasing to listen to. Hoy makes heavy use of tremolos to keep up a feeling of constant kinetic motion. The jubilant tone of the tremolos is pleasant enough, but the way Hoy blends melodies with the atmospherics elevates the music. The melodic elements also make the lengthier passages on songs like “Spirit Trails” work—they keep you engaged for every second. Hoy’s vocal performance is also nothing to sneeze at. His growls are guttural rather than the piercing screamo style of some shoegaze, and he has a surprisingly melodic cadence that helps fill up every second with satisfying, catchy sounds. Atlantic features very little cleans, but they do complement the growls on “Underside” and reveal just how versatile an artist Hoy is.

Timeworn is an impressive achievement, the mark of a young talent with strong songwriting clout. While most of the songs pass the seven-minute mark, they never meander or feel boring. Hoy mixes in the shorter, poppier tracks to create a varied and powerful listening experience. Atlantic blew me away when it crept into my Bandcamp feed back in April. Hoy has created something special that I think even those who don’t love atmospheric or post-black metal can appreciate. Given that it’s just a bite-sized 34 minutes, there’s no reason not to give it a spin—and then another as it calls to you like a siren luring unwitting sailors into the sea. But don’t worry, there’s no danger here, just some pleasant earworms.

Tracks to Check Out: “Underside,” “Voyages,” “Spirit Trails”

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

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

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

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

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

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One thing I can say for certain is that Hope Scars stands head and shoulders above Vandampire’s previous EPs. Past releases certainly contained all the elements on display here, but Hope Scars sees Vandampire mixing those sounds in elegant fashion. Where once sludge and post-metal stood apart or minimally integrated, here they are inseparable, a cohesive whole. Crushing, abrasive guitars (Joseph Siddons, Matthew Billingham) dance and thrash over basslines (Michael Edmonds) three c’s thiccc. Drummer Mark Litchfield, rather than simply keeping time, enunciates and elevates his bandmates’ performances. The result is tonally sludgy, like Kowloon Walled City, but softened by the patient, thorough sensibilities of post-metal songcraft. In keeping with this description, Billingham utilizes hardcore shouts and screams, but is smartly pushed back in the mix, so his vocals feel more like an instrument than a focal point. His delivery occasionally fails to capitalize on Hope Scars’ more emotive landscape, but it’s generally well-suited to the style. The Vandampire of Hope Scars is unmistakably the Vandampire of early EPs, but the maturity and nuance on display here is astonishing by comparison.

As noted in their promo material, Vandampire’s core weapon is The Riff™, and Siddons and Billingham wield it well. They oscillate between stone and sludge with surprising dexterity, riffs effortlessly flowing from one to the next (“Ultralow,” “A Promise”). Vaunted lead guitars soar over a dense rhythm section (“Hope Scars,” “Let Ruin End Here”), reminding me of Explosions in the Sky and the erhu played on Deadly Carnage’s Endless Blue. Those leads are my favorite thing on the album, searingly bright amidst the sludge. Siddons and Billingham, in concert with Edmonds’ teeth-rattling bass and Litchfield’s lively and energetic drums, weave a spell both heavy and heartfelt, hopeful and tragic. Like a metal Mogwai, Vandampire ties your feet to a sinking anchor but always makes sure you can see light on the surface.

Vandampire’s evolved style on Hope Scars fails to avoid the bloated and poorly paced pitfalls of the genre. Hope Scars’ two interludes break the album into three digestible parts, but ultimately prove frustrating. “In Ascension” builds beautifully in the back half, but fades out and misses the opportunity to lead into “Eaves.” I enjoyed the Americana tone of “I Will Miss Everything I Forget,” but this is also a standalone, and at three minutes each, these interludes linger entirely too long for what they are. The biggest bloatual offenders, however, are “Eaves” and “Let Ruin End Here.” The former fades out halfway through its five-minute runtime, leaving me with ambient noises and muffled conversation that suggest they just…forgot to turn off the mic. The latter begins to wind down a full three minutes before the end of its 12-minute runtime and concludes with 80 seconds of bird sounds. All told, Hope Scars could stand to lose at least ten minutes.

Vandampire’s vast improvement over previous efforts and an instrumental section that’s absolutely locked in make for good, engaging music. There’s a lot of great playlist fodder on here, but playlist fodder doesn’t make a great album. Roughly a quarter of Hope Scars is fluff, and while some of it—the interludes—could have been better utilized, at least half of it just wastes time. Vandampire has come a long way since they started in 2018, and if Hope Scars proves anything, it’s that they have the chops to go much further. I’ll just have to wait until next time to see if they get there.

Rating: 2.5/5.0
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Ripcord Records
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook | Instagram
Releases Worldwide: October 31st, 2025

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Astronoid

The core sound of Stargod is unmistakably Astronoid, but this time the group leans further into pop-focused songwriting. Their trademark mix of prog, shoegaze, and post-rock remains intact with all the familiar hallmarks: gleeful blast beats, major-key harmonies, soaring choirboy vocals, and buoyant synths. However, they’re used in the service of sharper, chorus-driven compositions that rely on dynamics and layering to strengthen their saccharine, high-energy attack. Slower, ballad-like tracks such as “Stargod” and “Beneath the Lights” exemplify this approach, building evocative, vocal-centered songs on synth-forward grooves while guitar harmonies are added or stripped away for maximum impact around a memorable chorus. These are nicely balanced by more immediate up-tempo cuts which swirl around a hypnotizing central synth motif (“Explosive”) or follow a pop-punk tinged guitar charge (“Dream Protocol ’88”) which melds the band’s familiar sense of high-energy elation with this record’s improved sense of dynamics and hooks. Stargod is a thoroughly pleasant and varied record—balanced, uplifting, and easy to throw on to just bathe in Astronoid’s signature jubilance.

Part of Stargod’s shimmer comes from the newfound confidence radiating from Astronoid’s vocalist, guitarist, and principal songwriter, Brett Boland. His ethereal tenor has always been central to the band’s sound, but here it shines brighter than ever, carried by lush vocal harmonies that elevate every track. Beyond his usual roles, Boland also handles drums on this record and co-mixed the entire album with bassist and synth player Daniel Schwartz. The result is Astronoid’s best-sounding release yet. The synths, in particular, stand out—glowing with both playful innocence and heartfelt emotion—while every element, from the warm, nuanced drumming to the crunchy, reverberant guitar leads, feels immediate and expressive. Mid-tempo rockers like “Third Shot” and “Sabian” land especially hard, gliding between soaring choruses, restrained verses, and climactic solos. Altogether, Stargod feels like the complete, uncompromising realization of a band finally confident in pursuing their true sound.

My biggest critique of Stargod might seem like a bit of a cop-out, but my favorite tracks are the ones that most closely resemble the blast-heavy style of Air. The opening tracks, “Embark” and “Love Weapon,” bring back the high-energy, blast-driven sound of Astronoid’s debut, but with tighter songwriting and immaculate production. This style makes a return on the closing track, “Arrival,” which ends the album with a stunning climax. On repeated listens, I find myself feeling slightly underwhelmed by the middle section of Stargod as it relaxes its grip on the throttle. While those middle tracks are still beautiful and engaging in their own right, I do find myself longing ever so slightly for more blast beat goodness and it’s a bit disappointing that my favorite moments still come from the songs that echo the band’s earlier sound. That said, taken as a whole, Stargod is still a remarkable accomplishment.

With Stargod, I see Astronoid in a position similar to where Leprous found themselves with Malina. While I miss the sheer bombast of Astronoid’s earlier sound, I can’t help but admire the impeccable craftsmanship on display as the band continues to evolve. Stargod is packed with intelligently written, dynamic pop songs that capture the magic of what made Astronoid special in the first place, while confidently showcasing the sonic maturity they’ve developed over the years. Is Stargod a true sequel to Air? Not at all—but it doesn’t need to be. It stands as an impressive record that thrives on its own strengths.

Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3
Label: 3DOT Recordings
Websites: astronoidband.com | facebook.com/astronoidband
Releases Worldwide: November 7th, 2025

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Like its namesake, Umbra is dark, but in a soft, dreamlike way. The reverberant atmosphere slips between airy weightlessness and dense gravity, as stripped-back liquid plucks and keys trade places with downtuned riffs, and Elisa’s singing also slips between ethereal and ardent. Her voice—along with the music’s overall vibe—recalls some mixture of Darkher, Halsey, and Draconian’s Heike Langhans, and against the smoky backdrop, adds to the music’s shadowy mystique. Sometimes creeping along with shuddering gravity (“An Avalanche of Shudders,” “Crawl”) or weightlessly (“Swallowed & Disguised”), sometimes bursting forth with spirited post-black or post hardcore energy (“Irreversible,” “The Veil of Your Death”), the album ebbs and flows to the fading and resurgence of cymbals, the final breaths of a vocal line, and the gentle crescendo of synth. While traversing several moods in this manner, Ellereve’s heart stays front and centre, making every resonant strum and note, and every switch up into heavier riffs and faster drums ring with honest emotion.

Umbra is an album of opposites, again embodying the metaphor of the shadow that exists only because of the light. Through this, the music possesses a staying power that’s subtle but powerful. The melodies are melancholic and yet often hopeful, as the notes lift an octave, and ambience, or an uptempo, seeps in. This is a synecdoche for the album’s theme, which surrounds the darkness of loss and trauma, but looks to the light on the other side of the pain. Many songs begin with the stillness of hanging plucks, distorted synth, or stripped-back lamenting, but end with uplifting refrains or assertive heaviness—relative to what came prior (“Funeral,” “Irreversible,” “Trauma”). Other songs showcase the duality in a more blended form. This could be through energetic tempos and brighter chords that transmit strength belying their lyrical solemnity (“Like a moth to a flame,” “The veil of your death”),¹ or through the severe pathos of mournful tremolo and hanging plucks as the emotive singing delivers lyrics of finding strength and purpose (“Unravel,”² “Trauma”). Some songs are even palpably onomatopoeic with quavering chords (“An avalanche of shudders”), strange, creeping synth-percussion patterns (“Crawl”), or heartbreakingly sad gaze (“Lost in Longings”) aptly embodying their title. Things thus feel dynamic but not scattershot, expressive but not overwrought.

I didn’t realize it, but Ellereve is exactly what I needed to hear. Their particular sound, blurring of elements from doom to post to gaze and more, while not totally novel, is magnetic in its distinctiveness. I feel like I know who Ellereve is, because their music communicates it so well. This is only helped by a strong production that emphasises the space created through any reverb, and centres the vocals without burying the instruments. That said, Umbra is hindered ever so slightly by Ellereve’s ambition, covering a lot of ground and in quite rapid succession, as songs all span three to five minutes. Honing in a little tighter, potentially by expanding material into longer tracks, is all it would take to reach greatness.

With Umbra, Ellereve step confidently out of the shadows. As a first transition into post-metal proper, it’s impressively well-crafted and is compelling in its own right. Both deeply emotional and easy to listen to repeatedly, it signals potential for brilliance in the artist’s future.³

Rating: Very Good!
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Eisenwald(EU/ROW) | Eisenwald (US)
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: November 7th, 2025

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