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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But rest easy—no HM-2 pedals were harmed in the making of The Eternal Hunger. Instead, Harrowed delivers enough primitive-drenched filth to satisfy any SweDeath devotee craving the crunch. Alpadie’s serrated tremolos and lacerating riffs cut like rotary blades, while Lindmark’s feverish blasts and tribal tom rolls drench highlights like “Blood Covenant” and “The Cold of A Thousand Snows” in a heavy layer of cavernous abrasion, tearing through the speakers with surgical precision. The Stockholm sound’s hardcore punk DNA is also front and center, as the duo rips through tracks like “Ultra Terrene Phantasmagoria,” “Bayonet,” and “The Reins” with high-octane skank beats and wailing dirges. Lindmark’s vocals are a caustic mix of barbaric regurgitations, adding formaldehyde-infused dressing on Harrowed’s cadaver sandwich. Tied together by a punchy production that preserves the weight of the muddy sound of yore while also maintaining a modern, nimble edge, every disgusting note on The Eternal Hunger lands with maximum impact.

The Eternal Hunger channels the spirit of ’90s-era Entombed, yet Harrowed also weaponizes influences from far beyond Swedish borders. The duo frequently abandons standard old-school formulas to explore a diverse palette of unbridled savagery. On “Blood Covenant,” Lindmark’s stampeding, guttural-punctuated rhythms and turbulent transitions coalesce with Alpadie’s blazing fretwork, leaning closer to classic thrash than typical SweDeath. Pivoting from there, “Ultra Terrene Phantasmagoria” and “The Cold of A Thousand Snows” embrace a blackened speed identity where icy tremolos, demented double-bass attacks, and progressive ride patterns imbue a sinister edge outside typical HM-2 purism. Harrowed also pulls from the American scene. “The Eternal Hunger” mirrors the swampy, gore-soaked roots of early Autopsy and Death, while the haunting, clean arpeggios driving the title track and “The Haunter” resurrect Slayer’s “Seasons in the Abyss.” Strategic moments of suspense, where the duo strips away the distorted crust in favor of suspenseful intros and bridges, only make the final blows feel more devastating as hammering half-time grooves (“Blood Covenant”) and esoteric patterns (“Formaldehyde Dreaming,” “The Reins”) work well to keep the listener off-balance.

While Harrowed’s varied songwriting is largely airtight, certain songs reveal minor cracks. “The Reins” suffers from a disjointed bridge that briefly stalls the track’s momentum, though Lindmark’s technical drumming and visceral vocal attack do well to anchor the chaos. There are also occasional moments when tracks feel like retreads, suggesting Harrowed may have hit the bottom of their bag of tricks. “Formaldehyde Dreaming,” for instance, relies on a riff set strikingly similar to those found in “Bayonet” and “The Cold of A Thousand Snows,” while the clean intro of “The Eternal Hunger” echoes “The Haunter.” Furthermore, the title track’s brooding build-up fails to deliver a proportional payoff, indicating the track would have benefited from more editing. Despite these slip-ups, however, The Eternal Hunger remains 36 minutes of grime-soaked efficiency that favors memorable songwriting over high-concept filler.

Harrowed successfully pays homage to the Swedish spirit without merely exhuming its grave. By channeling a wide-reaching spectrum of influences and pushing them through a modern SweDeath filter, they’ve created a record that is easy to like and refuses to grow stale. Much of The Eternal Hunger’s success stems from Harrowed’s balanced and varied songwriting, with Lindmark and Alpadie both pulling their weight equally to flex their creative muscle and produce material that sounds both familiar and surprisingly fresh. A debut with this much power is impressive, especially coming from only two people. If this is what the new wave of SweDeath sounds like, I’m on board—and you should be too.

Rating: Very Good!
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3
Label: Dying Victims Productions
Websites: dyingvictimsproductions.bandcamp.com/album/the-eternal-hunger | facebook.com/harroweddeathmetal
Releases Worldwide: February 27th, 2026

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After a rousing, table-setting intro, you’re launched into “Witchking” and greeted by classic 80s guitar lines with a burly trve vibe sure to get your lust for battle growing. When Isak Neffling starts singing, those familiar with the Mercyful Fate demos and the original EP will hear a notable similarity to an early-day King Diamond. I don’t mean the high-pitched falsettos, but the ominous baritones he used regularly before he became a faux-evil cartoon character. One could also say Isak also reminds of The Night Eternal’s Ricardo Baum, who borrowed a lot from Mr. Diamond vocally himself. Either way, it makes for an interesting listen as Isak sings of Tolkien baddies, swords, and sorcery. “Excalibur” is all beef and chest-pounding bravado with a galloping pace, scrotal power to spare, and a chorus that feels just epic enough. It hits all the nostalgia bells and feels ancient as fook, but it can still beat your ass like a back-alley thug.

Elsewhere, “Exiled in Fire” is fast, fist-pumping classic metal with sweet guitar work and a rowdy, rough edge that takes me back to the dirty, unpolished NWoBHM days. “Shipwreck” is another riffy good time with a vague In Solitude vibe, and “White Wolf” is about as epic 80s metal as it gets without lapsing into Spinal Tap levels of parody. At a tight 40 minutes and with all songs contained in the 4-5 minute window, there’s not much fluff or blubber on the compositions. The only drawback is that the writing routinely sits in that “good and almost very good” pocket, never fully reaching that next level of badassery. It’s an easy, entertaining spin, but it won’t blow anyone’s mind or make many end-of-year lists. The production is painstakingly designed to sound rough and vintage, and it does hit that 1980-1982 aura with a warmth and texture that modern recordings often lack.

Gustav Harrysson and Teddy Edoff bring the sounds of proto and epic 80s metal to the Great Hall, cleaving closely to the NWoBHM blueprint but always injecting that grand and glorious edge to their playing. I hear many hints of early Mercyful Fate and Satan in their choices, and the Manilla Road-isms are there too. I don’t know if Isak Neffling was trying to channel King Diamond, but he certainly does, and that adds to the nostalgic appeal. Listen to “White Wolf,” and you hear the earliest days of Mercyful Fate, and that’s undeniably cool. His vocals don’t always work, though, and things get especially weird and awkward on “The Sorceress.” In toto, Isak gives Templar an X factor the band wouldn’t have otherwise, and that certainly works in their favor despite a few misfires.

Conquering Swords is an interesting and engaging debut from a band that have the potential to be much more. There are moments scattered across the album that hint at greatness, and maybe with more time and effort, those parts lead someplace special. As things stand, Templar are a good throwback band with one foot in the past and the other looking for the next place to stomp. Where they go from here will prove interesting. Worth checking out for the love of Diamond and rust(ed swords).

Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: 9 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Jawbreaker
Websites: facebook.com/templarsweden | instagram.com/templar.band
Releases Worldwide: February 27th, 2026

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Experimentally chaotic yet at times catchy and compelling, Backengrillen reaps seeds first sown on Refused’s initial 1998 swan song, The Shape of Punk to Come. Where TSoPtC only dabbled outside traditional punk and hardcore tropes, though, Backengrillen embeds those fringe elements of ambiance, electronics, and jazzy instrumentation as the spine of its soundscape, with Gustafsson carrying most of the weird load. His role as frenetic flautist, huffing, puffing, and grunting violently over his flute’s embouchure like some deranged Ian Anderson (“Dör för långsamt”), and psychotic saxophonist, skronking, squawking, and swooning (“Backengrillen”), counterbalances Backengrillen’s more alt-punk style, homogenizing the whole into something akin to Morphine on meth.

Written during Backengrillen’s first rehearsal, performed live the next day, then recorded the day after that, Backengrillen is a gutsy shot in the dark. As off-the-cuff as it is, there are moments on Backengrillen that came off way more methodical than the nature of their origin would suggest. Launching from a simple, keyed melody, “A Hate Inferior” builds slowly as layers of drums, bass, and smarmy sax eventually coalesce into a scorched-earth sludge bomb that hits around the three-minute mark, and is topped off by Lyxzén’s nuclear scream, whose vocals sound like a mix of Zach de la Rocha and Jello Biafra. From that point on, the track had me rocking a slow and steady stank-faced head bob. Then there’s, at least for me, the humorously titled “Repeater II,” which is the shortest and most traditionally structured of the bunch—clocking in at a brisk six minutes forty-three seconds. A rompy, punk-fueled ditty that sounds like a mix of The Cramps, Dead Kennedys, and Nirvana, with a bit of sax thrown in for good measure, and Lyxzén, at his most Biafra-like, shouting the infectious chorus, ‘Hey, repeat it, repeat it again,’ over and over.

Whipped up quicker than a batch of Mom’s Rice Krispies treats, Backengrillen suffers most from impoverished improvisation. Despite the churlish charm present on the tracks mentioned above, the rest of this five-song, fifty-three-minute monster isn’t nearly as engaging or easy to listen to. “Dör för långsamt,” for example, is just over thirteen minutes of Gustaffson’s squawky, dying-animal sax playing entwined with a bevy of Lyxzén’s screeches, screams, grunts, and queasy, drunken-sounding chorus lines layered over a plodding, tribal bass and drum beat. “Backengrillen” fares no better, eleven minutes of sluggish drum and bass holding up Gustaffson’s breathy, trilly flute and barely tuned saxophone alongside another Lyxzén performance made up of pitchy, swaying chants and lots of grunting screams. And on every play through, by the time “Socialism or Barbarism” rolled around, I was checked out and ready to move on. This made slogging through the tracks’ first three minutes of electronic noise that much harder to digest, let alone the remaining 7.5 minutes.

Had this been recorded as one continuous, fully improvised live set in some Västerbotten County dive-bar, complete with sparse crowd reactions, by four musicians who’d never played one note together, it might have hit different.¹ As it stands, my greatest takeaway from this experience was discovering Refused, which I actually had a lot of fun listening to during my prep. And for those wondering, why no puns, here you go. Ultimately, there isn’t enough meat grillen here to get me to come Backen.

Rating: 2.5/5.0
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3
Label: Svart Records
Websites: Bandcamp
Releases Worldwide: January 23, 2026

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For the brand of ultra-modern nü-deathcore they play, Bite Down clearly know what they’re doing. Violent Playground is largely made up of short, 2–3 minute bludgeon-fests that deploy every tool in the contemporary heavy music arsenal to maximize mosh appeal. These are straightforward songs built on simple core riffs and stacked with multiple breakdowns, all pushed to their absolute limit and enhanced by smart production choices. Subtle synths and electronic textures thicken the riffs, while bass drops and vocal layering ensure that every breakdown lands with maximum violence. The band blends the nü-metal-tinged bleeps, bloops, and Digitech whammy abuse of Darko US with the over-the-top brutality of Dealer, delivering it all with the unapologetic ignorance of stylistic forebearers Emmure. For the most part, this results in an effective—if predictable—modern core assault, though it isn’t without its missteps.

Violent Playground is a short, nine-track release, and on roughly half of those songs, Bite Down are firing on all cylinders. Tracks like “Self Inflicted,” “Bury You,” “Paralythe,” and “Bound to Nothing” highlight the band’s knack for crafting vicious, crowd-ready violence, hurtling between kill riffs and breakdowns under the guidance of vocalist Hampus Ströberg’s venomous delivery and misanthropic lyrics. Unfortunately, these highlights are offset by several tracks that lean more heavily into hip-hop influences, disrupting the album’s momentum. The title track detours into a brief rap verse before circling back to a final breakdown, while “Deadweight” spends much of its runtime riding a trap-style instrumental alongside a rap feature. These moments aren’t disastrously executed—“Wastage,” in particular, effectively uses a restrained hip-hop intro before fully kicking in, but they’re less compelling and feel out of place on such a concise tracklist.

The core issue with Violent Playground is that it doesn’t quite register as a fully realized album. With the inclusion of the interlude “Exit Out,” Bite Down are left with only eight full songs, two of which are partially sidelined by less engaging rap sections. On a record that barely cracks the 20-minute mark, this has a noticeable impact, making the release feel more like a slightly beefed-up EP than a cohesive full-length. Combined with the lack of a clear flow or overarching thematic thread, the album falls short of elevating its strongest moments. The standout tracks are undeniably effective, but they aren’t enhanced by the context surrounding them, and that’s ultimately a missed opportunity.

On Violent Playground, Bite Down show that they’re plenty capable of making effective and devastating nü-deathcore bangers, but not of making a cohesive album. The standout tracks here (“Bury You, “Paralythe,” and “Bound by Nothing”) hit hard enough to justify the buzz and will almost certainly thrive in isolation, primed for gym playlists, breakdown compilations, and bite-sized algorithm fodder, but I’d be hard-pressed to revisit the full album instead of just listening to my preferred songs. Bite Down clearly understand how modern heavy music circulates and succeeds online, but until that singles-first mentality is translated into a more holistic artistic vision, this debut feels less like a complete album and more like a well-executed content drop for the feed.

Rating: 2.5/5.0
DR: 5 | Format Reviewed: 160 kb/s mp3
Label: Prime Collective
Websites: bitedownmusic.com| facebook.com/bitedownband
Releases Worldwide: January 9th, 2026

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Picture a generic Rogga record and you’ll get a good idea of how This Life is a Grave sounds. Dead Sun leans more melodic, along the lines of Rogga Johansson or Eye of Purgatory, yet this is stripped down, bare bones, no nonsense melodeath. It has a muscular feel with pummeling blast beats and powerful, heavy guitar tones reminiscent of Bolt Thrower. Despite the bite-sized songs, each in the three-minute range, the sound is huge thanks to the big production values. Each track features a distinct melodic lead as well as Rogga’s formidable growls. Pair this with the same formula across nine songs and, unfortunately, you have a recipe for some uninspired melodeath.

Dead Sun does nothing to mix up their sound across the record’s entire runtime, and Rogga is seemingly allergic to breaking things up with anything as simple as a quick guitar solo. On a casual listen, the songs blend into one another because there are so few standout moments to perk your ears up. One of these standouts is “Nighttime Butterfly.” It has a solid melodic riff and also the only catchy chorus on the record. It is pure Rogga poetry. He growls, “Nighttime butterfly / Your time has come to die / Nighttime butterfly / Now is not the time to ask why.” Using a butterfly as a metaphor for death is an inspired choice that should have our staff Reaper grinning ear to ear. Unless I’m misinterpreting the lyrics, and the one whose time to die is the nighttime butterfly. In which case, I do want to ask why. Joking aside, it’s a solid song and the one highlight amidst some very forgettable material.

This Life is a Grave makes for fine background listening. For those times you don’t really want to pay close attention to what’s playing in your ear pods but want something heavy and meaty blasting your eardrums, this’ll do. On occasion, the album rewards you with some decent melodies (“Embraced by the Succubus,” “Your Life is a Grave”) and energetic drum blasts courtesy of competent kit work from Thomas Ohlsson (House by the Cemetary, War Magic). The mid-tempo pace makes for good music to lift to, as songs rarely pick up or slow down the pace to throw off your rhythm. Dead Sun is consistent, if a little too consistent—it feels like Rogga’s just phoning it in. Where’s the inspiration, the creative spark that would allow the band to go off script or to at least play something that feels alive and not like it was just plugged into a formula and spit out?

It’s pretty sad that I’m ending 2025 by dishing out my lowest score of the year, and for an album that drops less than a week before Christmas no less. I can appreciate Rogga’s impulse to create, create, create because I also have that same impulse when I dive into something I enjoy. 2026 will likely see nine more Rogga projects—the man is a machine. For his sake, I hope he gets what he needs from this prolific musical output. For the sake of listeners, I hope next time he writes something more inspired than this.

Rating: 1.5/5.0
DR: 11 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Emanzipation Productions
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: December 19th, 2025

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

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

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

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

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

Maddog

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

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

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

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

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

Rating: 3.5/5.0²

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House by the Cemetary play drop-of-water-in-a-vast-ocean OSDM, so if you’re looking for something wholly original and mindblowing, you should look elsewhere. Far removed from their HM-2 abusive Rise of the Rotten debut, Disturbing the Cenotaph forgoes the fuzz, supplying a bevy of mid-paced Rogga riffs that Hot Topic kids listening to Six Feet Under or Bone Gnawer might bang their heads to (“Island of the Dead,” “Phantom Intrusions”). Foregoing scalpels, Rogga turns in a solo-less performance that bluntly forces trauma through brute-force chugs, with the occasional wade into melodic waters (“Burial Disturbance”), imparting some level of diversity. And while Rogga handles bass duties as well, there’s not a whole lot on offer that draws my attention to that instrument’s existence on Disturbing the Cenotaph. Meanwhile, Ohlsson does a decent job of keeping everything in line with a serviceable death-metal drum performance. House by the Cemetary relies almost exclusively on tropes to survive, even its influences trodding well-worn horror paths from Fulci, to Night of the Living Dead and Texas Chainsaw Massacre.

Despite House by the Cemetary’s adherence to a strict, almost Lite Brite® death metal template, there were a couple of moments on Disturbing the Cenotaph that drew my attention. One track I gladly revisited was “Massive Cadaver Resurrection,” with its very late-era Carcass vibe filled with a nice groove and some steely melodicism that spilled over into follow-up song “Undead Apocalypse,” which seemed to use the same set of notes as its predecessor but employed them at a slower, doomier pace; the track easily evoking images of a street filled with lumbering zombies. Notwithstanding these two songs, the only ones on the album that flirt around the four-minute mark as well, for what it’s worth, there’s not a lot on Disturbing the Cenotaph that elevates House by the Cemetary out of that vast ocean of also-rans.

Disturbing the Cenotaph is plagued with many of the same flaws as the last Rogga project I reviewed, Leper Colony, which also had a very paint-by-numbers approach. There are a couple of remaining factors, however, that save Disturbing the Cenotaph, albeit tenuously, from suffering a similar fate. For one, Mike Hrubovcak is a hell of a death metal vocalist, and his discernible yet deadly growls, howls, and screams go a long way toward keeping House by the Cemetary from sinking to the bottom of the death metal sea. Second, Håkan Stuvemark’s (WOMBBATH) mix is surprisingly warm and makes Disturbing the Cenotaph a pretty easy listening experience, though, comparatively speaking, “Chopsticks” is still “Chopsticks,” even if it’s mixed with a DR of 11.

There’s nothing wrong with simple. In fact, I love me some simple, knuckle-dragging death metal if, even in its simplicity, it can move me. My problem with Disturbing the Cenotaph, despite its great vocals and warm production, is that it feels lifeless and void of any real power. I’m comforted in knowing I can get a quality fix of Hrubovcak’s vocals by revisiting Monstrosity or Hypoxia, and of Rogga’s riffs, by way of Ribspreader or Paganizer. As it stands, I might throw “Massive Cadaver Resurrection” on a 2025 playlist, but beyond that, I will not be returning to Disturbing the Cenotaph beyond this review’s final period.

Rating: 2.0/5.0
DR: 11 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3
Label: Pulverised Records
Website: Bandcamp
Releases Worldwide: December 12, 2025

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Though Nattradio don’t skirt the qualifications of a metal band like Sleep Token or Ghost do, I am nonetheless reminded of more non-metal bands/artists than metal ones while listening to The Longest Night. Yes, Nattradio’s closest comparison is Katatonia, as songs like “Sketches from the Dark” and “Shifting Baseline” recall the slow, gloomy riffing of The Great Cold Distance, but The Cure seems to seep into The Longest Night’s formula just as often. Take the electronic drumming and wacky guitar effects of “Dark Streets” or the dreamy, heartbroken strings of “Rainbirds” and tell me you can’t picture Robert Smith listlessly crooning over them. Vocally, Martin Boman doesn’t have the grit typical to metal, but rather sits in the breathy middle of David Bowie and Thom Yorke. When engaged in ambient movements, Nattradio bring out the keys for spacious, dark atmospheres of jazzed-up smoothness that recall Poe and, similarly, could slide into the Alan Wake II soundtrack. Nattradio probably won’t hit for metal purists, but listeners of a wider range of genres might find a delightfully varied affair on The Longest Night.

Nattradio lean into their witching-hour moodiness above all else on The Longest Night. Slow, pensive progressions are imbued with mellow synths and Niklas Brodd’s layered guitars, while cold, bright piano chimes away on the interlude “All for You” and the ten-plus-minute title track. Boman’s high, soft delivery lends a precarious edge to The Longest Night, though his approach can feel unsuited for heavier moments and even plain off-key on “Sketches from the Dark.” Further, the soft vocals paired with Nattradio’s consistent bent towards melancholy mean The Longest Night is short on big, memorable moments. Even on The Longest Night’s most rocking tracks, “Shadow Speaker” and “Alright for Now,” the former featuring brisk double-kicks and the latter playing uber-catchy melodeath riffs that The Halo Effect would peddle, everything slows down eventually, and Boman’s wilting voice always brings back the melancholia before too long. In short, Nattradio’s brand of doom doesn’t dish out the riffs or theming meant to Fvneral Fvkk yov vp, but The Longest Night instead deals in a cozy melancholy, coldness you can settle into for a while.

Nattradio’s greatest strength on The Longest Night, however, is striking a compelling balance between busy and airy passages. Quiet verses and loud choruses are nothing new, but Nattradio always nail its execution, whether it’s moving from thumping bass to fist-pumping arena rock in “Alright for Now,” mournful piano to driving guitars on “The Longest Night,” or minimalist ambience giving way to thunderous tremolos on “Shadow Speaker.” The Longest Night’s dynamic mix really helps this end, allowing the big emotional shifts on “Night” and “The Longest Night” the breathing room needed to make it work. Nattradio know how to pace an album, and The Longest Night runs smoothly through its whole 52-minute runtime. Though lacking in powerful, “there it is” moments, The Longest Night is still an engaging record due to its expert balance not in light and dark but in fullness and ethereality.

The Longest Night isn’t anything to ruin your sleep schedule over, but Nattradio are a good group to turn to if you ever find yourself there already. Easy listening and sweetly sad, this is a record I found myself slightly more eager to get back to for each listen. Fans of Katatonia and anything under Goth’s sequined umbrella should consider checking this out. Nattradio knew what they were doing dropping The Longest Night at this time of year, and I’m sure I’ll return to it on some of my own long nights this winter.

Rating: Good
DR: 11 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s MP3
Label: Darkness Shall Rise Productions
Websites: nattradio.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/Nattradio
Releases Worldwide: December 12th, 2025

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Skogskult studied their forebears closely, as anyone who blindly tangles with Skogskult won’t need long to guess its genre. Many moments are saturated with indica atmospherics thick enough to induce contact highs. Hypnotic plods (“Lyktans Låga”), mid-paced gallops (“Pakten”), and the occasional stirring solo (“Snöblind”) furnish an assortment of backdrops and give individual songs enough character to prevent them from blurring together despite the pervasive gloomy fuzz. Cutting through said fuzz is vocalist Simon Rosengrim, who pierces the dense haze with tempestuous conviction, antithetical to the indolent trappings of stereotypical stoner doom. All told, Skogskult begets a familiar soundscape even casual fans of the genre will at once recognize, molding a unique personality alongside influences and reference points.

Skogskult’s merger of buzzing heft and raw emotion concocts powerful moments across their debut. Opening duo “Lyktans Låga” and “Turs” conform to genre conventions, grooving with ponderous mass as Samuel Nordström and Albin Kroon lumber along on guitar and bass. In fact, most of Skogskult is blanketed in wool, though “Sol” acts as a crucial change-of-pace, offering reverb-drenched strums and echoey vox that recall Sabbath’s “Planet Caravan.” Central tracks “Jag Ger Mig Av” and “Pakten” embolden Skogskult with lively frills, such as the stark baritone vocals midway through the former and the catchy-as-hell 90s post-grunge lilt of the latter. Pulling away from direct inspirations allows Skogskult to forge an identity all their own. In a genre where bands closely adhere to stoner doom’s core sound, it’s not a coincidence that Skogskult’s best moments occur when the album extends past them. In particular, Rosengrim’s performance electrifies when grit and pathos dial to eleven. His singing forgoes the comparatively mellow rhythms and measured deliveries associated with Sleep, Dopelord, and others, instead penetrating stoner doom’s miasma with immediate and undeniable passion. While this ingredient sets Skogskult apart from other outfits, it’s not quite enough to overcome Skogskult’s deficiencies.

Though many of Skogskult’s songwriting tendrils take root, some flounder for purchase. The juxtaposition of urgent vocals and hypnotizing grooves spellbind in a broad sense, but focusing just on the instrumentation reveals a lack of consistency over the entire album. Though flush with talent, Skogskult’s penchant for repeating riffs too often over six to seven minutes erodes some of its charm, which is further exacerbated over repeated listens. Bluesy solos and accelerated tempos afford welcome breaks, but more variety through the refrains would invigorate Skogskult’s musical backbone; without more riff diversity, shrinking song lengths could help remedy the repetition. Still, Skogskult boasts plenty of successes, as well. The production is a triumph, with each instrument (and vocals) afforded ample space in the mix. The only understated element is drummer Alexander Söderlund, who supports the band ably within a restrained pocket. Also, Skogskult deftly constructs tension throughout entire songs. Even if each track could lose thirty to sixty seconds, every payoff satisfies through unhurried climaxes and hints at a higher ceiling for the band’s songcraft.

Skogskult is a young band brimming with potential. They guide listeners through the murky fog of stoner doom that cloaks the forest they inhabit, shining a light on the path while allowing listeners to glimpse the dangers just off of it. Skogskult isn’t perfect, but Skogskult impresses with accessible retrofuzz, standout highlights, and a powerhouse vocalist. If they can refine the songwriting approach for their sophomore album while preserving what makes this one special, our next trip through the cult’s forest might just convert us.

Rating: Good
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Bonebag Records
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: December 5th, 2025

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