Like how tabbies are genetically diverse but visually similar, Malefic’s many ingredients blend into a kind of extreme metal slurry on Impermanence, all present but difficult to identify individually. Sure, some riffs are more typically one thing than another, like the Testament-like thrash chops opening “In Darkest Dreams,” or the Dissectionesque blackened trems on “Blood of the Throne,” or the Opethian deathly grooves of “It Haunts.” But taken as a whole, Impermanence doesn’t lean towards one sub-genre over another. Instead, Malefic’s mutt-metal manifests into an off-kilter, volatile force of hostility, recalling heavily of the genre-blending approach Xoth take. Xoth are actually probably the best comparison to Malefic, as drummer Aaron Baumoel’s rasps and screams sound a lot like both of their vocal duo, and guitarists Jason Davila and Sam Williams’ solos follow the melodically rich, whammy-friendly stylings of Xoth (“Idiocracy”). Bolstered by a rhythm section of Baumoel and bassist Andy McGraw, who both know how to lay down some serious groove when needed (“Deserter”) and a dynamic mix, Impermanence shows that those years of honing their style have paid off for Malefic. It’s a good sound!

But what confuses me about Impermanence is that it feels aimless in many places, but not because Malefic can’t edit. To the contrary, every song on Impermanence is tight and focused, only running past five minutes on “It Haunts.”¹ Malefic also aren’t indulging in extraneous instrumentals or soloing, as songs like “Of Gods and Man” and “Disembodiment” showcase the band’s restraint within their buck-wild playing. The issue is that Impermanence doesn’t stick with an idea long enough. “Blood of the Throne” and “Obsidian Earth” have, like, five riffs in their first minutes or so each; instead of expounding upon a few ideas, Malefic often churns through ideas before they’ve settled into something sticky. This pattern especially stinks when they land on something great and don’t develop it, like the swinging, discordant riff in the second verse(?) of “Echoes of Silence” or the guitar runs opening “Obsidian Earth.” Impermanence sees a band on a mission, but maybe also a band in too much of a hurry.

What this amounts to is that Impermanence possesses a sound I can’t say I’ve heard before, but also, confusingly, one that’s somewhat indistinct from other extreme metal albums. Malefic’s aforementioned style-soup is so dense with expansive inspirations and somewhat progressive tendencies (“Disembodiment,” “It Haunts”) that, besides some serious Xothisms here and there, it adds up to something not exactly like the sum of all of their influences. But at the same time, Impermanence’s loose structuring and lack of purposeful repetition hampers Malefic’s ability to craft lasting hooks. By and large, most songs start with some fanfare, rage for three-to-four minutes straight while Malefic tear through riffs with reckless abandon like a more evil, more succinct Trivium and end with little resolution. It can be very exciting and enjoyable in the moment, but I’m left with little to remember Impermanence by the time it’s over.

But there is nothing wrong with a tabby cat,² and there’s nothing wrong with Malefic. They’ve carved out a great sound for themselves that more purposeful songwriting could harness into a truly hog-wild time. But where Impermanence excels in thrills, it lacks staying power, mostly in part to Malefic’s restless pursuit of riffs above all else. Fans of blackened thrash, blackened death, death thrash or bethrashened black death could do a lot worse than giving Impermanence a spin, but it’s probably not the genre-shaking game changer the band wanted. There’s always the sophomore album, however…

Rating: Mixed
DR: 9 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps MP3
Label: Terminus Hate City
Websites: maleficband.com | malefic.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/MaleficBandATL
Releases Worldwide: February 13th, 2026

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An undertaking like Overspace & Supertime demands top-notch performances to survive: Cryptic Shift couldn’t have done much better. Keeping true to the mix of Atheistic death, Vektorian thrash, and King Crimsonian progressive sensibilities that made the debut a knockout, Cryptic Shift have opened another wormhole of technical death/thrash immensity. But if you’re imagining Visitations II: Eldritch Boogaloo, stop. Overspace takes what made Visitations great and kicks it into warp speed. The guitar duo of Xander Bradley and Joss Farrington (Cryptworm)² tear through an embarrassment of mind-bending, neck-breaking riffs across Overspace, bending across their whole fretboards, soloing on “Stratocumulus Evergaol” and putting their entire asses behind the chugged-up “Hyperspace Topography.” Drummer Ryan Sheperson pummels his kit in time I can only guess at on “Overspace & Supertime” while bassist John Riley fretlessly glides over “Cryogenically Frozen” into solos traded off between the guitars, amounting to a finessed, yet relentless attack. Topped off with Bradley’s cavernous bellows, Overspace & Supertime is a tour de force of musical expertise.

What carries Cryptic Shift’s longform songwriting is that their music is always in flux. Whenever the band seems lost in their own prog-sauce—like in the effect-heavy openings of “Hexagonal Eyes (Diverity Trepaphymphasyzm)” and “Cryogenically Frozen”—they always swing back with a bruiser riff that helps keep Overspace more approachable than it ought to be. Like on Visitations, Cryptic Shift employ clean guitar passages and eerie atmospheres to outline the heavy bits. But on Overspace, they are woven smoothly into the distorted parts to create dynamic passages, like the shimmering clean strums between monstrous death hits on “Stratocumulus Evergaol” or the blackened surf-rock tremolos of “Hyperspace Topography.” But Cryptic Shift’s greatest dynamic on Overspace is that of light vs. dark. While their debut was a pitch-black exploration of space-born horrors, Overspace injects a healthy dosage of awe into their mix, including strangely bright conclusions to “Cryogenically Frozen” and “Overspace & Supertime” and a passage at ~16 minutes into “Stratocumulus Evergaol” that’s so boppy that it could pass for Rise Against. It’s in the name: Cryptic Shift change in some strange ways over the course of Overspace & Supertime, and I’m here for it.

And this leads me to the true wonder of Overspace & Supertime and where its immensity is most benefited: the beauty of the off-kilter. This is an album of purely aggressive, dissonant, esoteric, and oddly-timed stuff; Cryptic Shift made no obvious move, and they’re clearly not gunning for radio play. So why is it so beautiful? Solos that effortlessly slide from Slayer-like chromatic bullshittery into soaring melodicism. Patient ambiances both tranquil and unsettling, belligerent thrashing as exhilarating as it is hostile. The brilliant production best described by Dolphin Whisperer as “tone porn,” where all cleans are crystalline, and everything dirty is disgusting. How easy it is to fall under Cryptic Shift’s spell and let the freeform journey take you on its many twists and turns. The fact that Overspace & Supertime gets weird and takes its precious time doing so allows the listener to immerse themselves in Cryptic Shift’s world, making for a simply sublime experience.

In retrospect, Visitations from Enceladus feels like Cryptic Shift’s proof-of-concept for Overspace & Supertime. Yes, this is an exhausting record. Trying to catch everything on it during your first listen could make you go blind. Maybe 80 minutes is too damn long. But Overspace & Supertime is a better record than my wildest expectations, six years in the making, ever dreamed up. Like Frank Zappa at his best, Cryptic Shift on Overspace left me frequently confused, sometimes just plain tickled, but never unmoved before their showcase of the bizarre and the otherwordly. In the stranger aeons Cryptic Shift occupy, anything has happened.

Rating: Excellent
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 256 kbps MP3
Label: Metal Blade Records
Websites: cryptic-shift.bandcamp | facebook.com/crypticshift
Releases Worldwide: February 27, 2026

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Stylistically, not much has changed since Grim1. Necrosexual still play a comedic, sleazeball form of blackened punk-thrash that sounds something like a snottier version of early Celtic Frost or a PG-13 version of Shitfucker. On songs like the opener, “High Times in Hell,” the band deliver big, confident riffs over battering mid-tempo drums, all while The Necrosexual delivers his sneering roar. A few tracks also feature brief forays into genuine black metal, complete with frosty riffs underlaid by blast beats. In a move that vaguely calls to mind Devil Master, much of the album also features twinkling synth lines in the background, an effect that makes the second track, “The Brimstone Brothel,” sound like a Venom-inspired carnival ride from hell.

For all my gripes about Grim1, variety wasn’t one of them, and Road to Rubble features a similar level of diversity with a much higher level of quality. “Kiss the Knife” stands out with its catchy, sinister verses that feature the track title sung in a King Diamond-style falsetto, while the more straightforward “Lubricator” sounds like an alternate version of Morbid Tales where the dethroned emperor has become a sex slave. As the album progresses into its final third, things get more rock-esque, with the rhythms getting stompier, the leads getting more flamboyant, and the vocals getting more adventurous. “Damned Romance,” for example, is like a blackened 80s cock rock anthem that culminates with a chorus of deep crooning cleans that are impossible not to sing along with. The closer, “Hard Leather Woman,” gives off similar vibes while reminding me of Midnight with its gruff, semi-clean vocals.

If there’s any gripe I have with Road to Rubble, it’s that stacking so many slower songs in the album’s second half saps a bit of the energy generated by the quicker songs earlier in the record. By the time I’ve reached the eighth of these nine tracks, hearing another slow song like “Nocturnal Ignition” isn’t going to make me have a nocturnal emission anytime soon. Fortunately, the stellar production outweighs this quibble, with the guitars sounding full and vibrant, and the overall sound having a slightly raw edge while balancing everything well. The guitar solos are plentiful, colorful, and rocking, and the band sound like they’re enjoying the hell out of themselves over the entirety of these 35 minutes.

In revisiting Necrosexual with Road to Rubble, I initially wasn’t sure whether my taste had gotten worse or the band had gotten better. Turns out, it’s probably a little bit of the former and a whole lot of the latter. With this album, the band has maintained their penchant for variety while stepping things up in every way, with better songs, better performances, and a better production job. Beyond all that, this album just feels incredibly endearing, with a genuine, fun, and oddly timeless quality that makes Necrosexual sound like a band you want to both listen to and root for. For those who don’t mind a little humor and playfulness in their blackened thrash, I’d say this Road to Rubble is worth taking a ride down.

Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: PCM
Label: Black Metal Archives
Websites: necrosexual.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/grimmestofalltime
Releases Worldwide: February 27th, 2026

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Dissecting the Leech sets the thrashy tone with some sweet riffs and thumping blast beats on opener “Under the Sun.” Hanchuck collaborates with a long list of guest guitarists, such as Chris Poland (ex-Megadeth) and Mike Gilbert (Flotsam and Jetsam), to ensure a never-ending supply of fresh, exciting riffs, solos, and other guitar antics. As in prior outings, Wreck-Defy plays largely in the Testament mold with a few Megadethian flourishes. However, it’s not all pedal to the medal—plenty of songs vary in tempo, like the melodic, mid-paced “Millenial Dystopia” and the near-ballad “The Path.” While retaining their core identity, Wreck-Defy manage a varied sound throughout Dissecting the Leech, with tunes lasting anywhere from the blink-of-an-eye at three-and-a-half minutes (“Do It Again”) to the progressively-paced six-and-a-half minutes of “I Don’t Care.”¹ The latter flexes creative songwriting similar to last year’s Helms Deep, with a mid-track portion that unexpectedly rockets off into a shreddy solo that’s absolutely riveting.

While Hanchuck and Christian prove to be the heart, the two new players more than hold their own. Greg Wagner has the grizzled voice of an old soul and brings a level of grit to the music. Yet he’s no one-trick pony, occasionally rising to the falsetto of many power metal vocalists, not to mention taking a few stabs at King Diamond shrieks. His surprise melodic lilt on “Another Day” proves to be one of the record’s highlights.² David Allan proves to be quite effective behind the kit as well. His opening kicks to “Under the Sun” establish a fiercely energetic tone that resonates throughout much of Dissecting the Leech. Perhaps my favorite moment comes from “The Haunting Past,” a completely bonkers track that sounds like its instruments have gone haywire before delivering a blitzkrieg of thrashy riffs and blast beats powered by Allan’s jaw-dropping performance.

Wreck-Defy power their thrash into social critiques that prove forceful behind their spirited performances. They tackle environmental, political, and generational issues, casting a gloomy pall over modern events. On “Under the Sun,” they lament the degradation of our planet through warfare (“Look at the damage we’ve done”) and warn, “we’ll all die under the sun.” Concern turns towards the younger generations on “Millenial Dystopia,” where Wreck-Defy observes that “there’s no room to grow old,” leading to a “generation of no hope.” All people want, according to “Another Day,” is “air to breathe / just let me live another day.” Considering critiques from Steel and commenters over juvenile lyrics from Powers That Be, Wreck-Defy appear to have matured in their storytelling and thematic content. They offer a coherent narrative, even if it just boils down to “the world is a mess,” and mankind is facing “a dark, dismal future” (“Revolt”), and end on the hopeful message that they’ll “keep on fighting” for what’s right (“Apocalypse of Hope”).

Like Steel before me, I had never heard of Wreck-Defy before taking this promo, and I’m impressed. Dissecting the Leech is proving among the best in a rather good year for thrash so far, though a few things do hold it back. At 48 minutes, it’s a tad long, but considering its progressive leanings and the impressive musicianship, that’s a minor issue. A couple of songs don’t fit in as well as the rest (“Dissecting the Leech,” “The Path”), proving to be weak links amidst a great set. “The Path” is particularly puzzling, appearing to serve as the evening wind-down music to help settle the kids and old-timers for bedtime. But you’d better hurry because the ironically-named finale, “Apocalypse of Hope,” serves a jolt of caffeine to keep the party going. If you like thrash, you’ll have a good time with Dissecting the Leech.

Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 256 kbps mp3
Label: Massacre Records
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: February 20th, 2026

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Dormant Heart was the closing chapter on a trio of unfuckwithable albums that deftly melded viscous thrash, modern core sensibilities, and instrumental tangents with guitar heroics rivaling the best bands out there. Post 2020 put the band on a new path, and The New Flesh offers a continuation and evolution of their previous record. For a band with so many past members, their latest shows zero signs of flagging. Clearly, Middleton’s direction has been a north star for the band, and nothing on The New Flesh will surprise longtime fans.

Sylosis’s obsession with riffs remains intact, and The New Flesh is chock-full of them like every record before it. Middleton’s vocals are as powerful as ever, and his range remains impressive. The band seems almost always to avoid the worst parts of metalcore clean singing, and there is so much pathos in his delivery that you can hear the venom dripping from every word. “All Glory, No Valour” is a drumming tour de force for Ali Richardson, whose feats keep up with Middleton and Conor Marshall’s barreling riffs. It isn’t all roses, though, and Ben Thomas’s low end gets lost in the overly clean modern metal production. While there is enough there to give the riffs proper weight, the bass only occasionally shines and is rarely present without straining your ears.

The New Flesh’s creative focus only occasionally falters, and any song that has one or two individual weak spots has twice as many head-banging turn-arounds. The slightly uninspired chorus of “Erased” is quickly forgotten amid the song’s infectious groove, chest-thumping ethos, and refrain of “Here’s your parting gift,” before it drops into delirious riffing and devastating pick-scraping. Album closer “Seeds In The River” features a bit of tired metaphor, but also has some of the best riffs on the record, and more than enough to keep listeners coming back. The only real blemish on The New Flesh is a tale as old as time, a misplaced ballad. While Sylosis has never shied from clean singing or big melodic swings, “Everywhere At Once” may be the band’s first true “ballad,” and it shows. It lacks the atmosphere of similar songs on past albums like Dormant Heart’s “Quiescent” or the soaring riffs and bombasticity of “Abandon” on Cycle of Suffering. It is entirely skippable, with generic musings about missing family when touring that feel trite compared to Sylosis’ usual lyrical targets and vitriolic delivery.

Outside of those few stumbles, The New Flesh is nearly spotless. “Circle Of Swords” feels like a makeup track after dropping a ballad on the listener, giving some much-needed headbanging whiplash. “Beneath The Surface” kicks things off in wild fashion, “Lacerations” is a stadium melter, and “Spared From The Guillotine” is one of Sylosis’ most unhinged tracks in the last decade. Sans ballad, The New Flesh, is ten tracks of furious, solid, and infectious metal that feel essential in an era lacking in just good old-fashioned headbangers. The band finds a spot where the speed and technical sensibility of thrash meld with the belligerent energy of core and the hooky riffs of groove metal. For modern metal fans, Sylosis deserves a spot at the forefront. Where older acts like Lamb of God seem to have basically lost the creative energy that originally drove them, The New Flesh is here to offer up a no frills heavy metal record that leaves all pretense at the door after kicking it down. Sylosis has more than earned its seat among the modern metal greats, and The New Flesh only further cements that legacy.

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A lot of bands aren’t good judges of their own sound, but Teutonic Slaughter deliver what’s on the tin with Cheap Food: no-nonsense German thrash built to bash your bratwurst in forthwith. Teutonic Slaughter riffs without restraint or mercy, drawing from the melodic but near-death metal aggressiveness of Kreator (“Redistribution,” “Hostage”) as vocalist Phillip Krisch rasps and growls with the volatility of Sodom’s Angelripper and the band tears through tracks in reckless, Tankardesque good-times-lovin’ fashion (“Witches Rock ‘n’ Roll,” “Give em Hell”). Krisch and Jan Heinen’s guitars are hefty and lacerated on Cheap Food, bolstered by drummer Christian Vollmer’s thunderous kicks and an even heftier bass presence from Fabian Kellermann. The power chord rules on Cheap Food, but Teutonic Slaughter mix it up whenever necessary, like on the twisty leads of “Cheap Food,” the arpeggios kicking off “Redistribution” or the harmonics-laden chorus of “Witches Rock ‘n’ Roll.” Teutonic Slaughter promised nothing but good, archetypal German thrash and Cheap Food has that in spades.

But more impressively, Cheap Food also delivers in hashing out good thrash to the masses by means of lean songwriting, blistering energy and vicious vocals. Though songs frequent the thrash iffy-zone of five-plus-minutes, Teutonic Slaughter serve riffs and ideas economically, letting nothing wear out and keeping energy squarely at eleven. Besides the back end of “Eviscerating Surgery” and the dead minute-and-a-half of “Intro,”² Cheap Food is spry at 36 minutes and flies by in a head-banging haze. Teutonic Slaughter sound one volt from exploding on Cheap Food, baring teeth on “Redistribution” and “Fight the Reaper” with crossover levels of hardcore intensity reminiscent of Municipal Waste.³ Personally, I think it’s Krisch’s animal-like mic job that gives Cheap Food its meanest bite, lathering songs with deathly howls (“Eviscerating Surgery”), blackened roars (“Witches Rock ‘n’ Roll”), hardcore gang shouts (“Hostage”), and just some of the gnarliest barks and shouts this side of Sodom. Gnarly vocals on top of fatless, relentlessly aggressive songs is foam crowning Cheap Food’s beer stein, and brother, it’s flowing over.

Teutonic Slaughter made a simply fun album. You’re not getting any radical surprises out of Cheap Food, and that’s by design. Instead, Teutonic Slaughter delight through expert performances of well-trodden thrash staples. Heinen provides the dive-happy, shredful soloing you expect and demand from the genre, leaving everything he has on closer “Give ’em Hell” in a no-holds-bar display of guitar belligerence. Thematically, when not dealing in societal or political issues (“Cheap Food,” “Redistribution”), Teutonic Slaughter revel in the schlocky macabre (“Witches Rock ‘n’ Roll,” “Eviscerating Surgery”) and fist-pumping motivation (“Fight the Reaper,” “Give em Hell”). It’s not meant to be complicated. Teutonic Slaughter aimed to pound your brain to spätzle with Cheap Food, and if you give it a spin, they’ll have succeeded handily.

Worthy of their countrymates’ thrash legacies, Teutonic Slaughter produced an incredibly enjoyable album in Cheap Food. Riffing heavy, fast, and without stop, it’s a record that’s here for good times and for making good times. Perhaps it gets a bit played out by the end, repeating a short list of moves for half-an-hour, but Cheap Food proved to be a surprisingly compelling listen that only further endeared itself to me with every listen. Obviously, if you like thrash, I’m going to recommend you give Cheap Food a spin. If not, don’t let the door hit your lederhosen on the way out. Mahlzeit!

Rating: Very Good
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps MP3
Label: Iron Shield Records
Websites: facebook.com/teutonicslaughter | teutonicslaughter.bigcartel.com
Available Worldwide: January 30th, 2026

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Things open with the aforementioned “V.H.S.” which pays homage to all those “found footage” horror gems of the 90s and 00s while walking a fine line between an all-out thrash ethos and the over-the-top speed-power of Agent Steel. The guitar work is crisp, sharp, and reeks of early days Annihilator as frontman Tolis Mekras goes ALL in with his ample high-pitched vocal destruction. His enthusiasm and commitment to excess make the song all the more entertaining, especially as things speed up to the point where the band seems as if they’re losing control. After this jolt of high voltage, the pace dials back for the riffy and still quite zippy “Summoning the Dead,” before launching into the extra fun Agent Steel meets Savatage charge of “The Visitors,” which finds Tolis doing some Jon Oliva-esque oddball screams. This one is irresistible fun for one and all and I keep going back to it again and again.

The album’s big centerpiece is the 7-minute mega-epic “Children of the Beast,” where all restraint is jettisoned in favor of MOAR. Moar large scale vocals, moar guitar solos, more unchained emotions, moar of every fucking thing. And you know what? I like it! It rocks that same regal coolness that early Queensrÿche and Crimson Glory exuded back in the day, and it’s even more of a spectacle than Holdeneye at an $8 all-you-can-eat BBQ stand after a 3-day juice cleanse. Tolis delivers the goods with an emotionally-charged performance, building peaks and valleys as the guitar work impresses with its scope and scale. The last 2 minutes are like a rocket ride to Valhalla with an overserved Thor fighting a much drunker frost giant in the backseat while you’re trying to navigate, and you know that’s a good time! Elsewhere, “Crimson Eyes” sounds like something Sumerlands could have included on their debut, and “Something Wicked (This Way Comes)” sounds a whole lot like it fell off Agent Steel’s debut Skeptics Apocalyse. With no dead space or filler, the skinny 37-plus minutes of Violent Horror Stories is a fast-paced, high-octane spin with little getting in the way of a good time unless you struggle with high-register vocal antics.¹

Tolis Mekras is the center of the Leatherhead experience, with his impressive, if not always completely controlled, vocals injecting themselves into your ears like an overpowered mining laser. He reminds me of Arthur W. Andersson of Trial at some points, and Alpha Tiger’s Stephan Dietrich at others, but the main point of reference has to be the ever-mysterious John Cyriis of Agent Steel. As with any vocalist of this ilk, he’ll be a love or hate factor, and he’s sure to alienate those who want everyone to sound tired and listless at the mic. Keeping up with Tolis, guitar tandem Thanos Metalios and Jim Komninos bring Olympian thunder down with a never-ending stream of 80s-centric speed, thrash, and classic metal riffs loaded with big hooks. There’s a lot of Jeff Water-esque noodling and speed-pluckery in the material, and it makes me wish Waters was able to write songs this entertaining after 1990.

Violent Horror Stories sounds like a bunch of friends having an absolute blast making unhinged metal for the filthy masses. Leatherhead have chops and an ear for hooks, and you will be entertained by the glorious end product of their labors. This pairs well with bands like Ambush, so don the appropriate headgear, put this on blast, and start smashing your skull into the wall in the name of all things metal. You won’t be sorry, but you may be unconscious.

Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: No Remorse
Websites: leatherheadgr.bandcamp.com/album | facebook.com/leatherheadofficial | instagram.com/leatherhead_band
Releases Worldwide: February 13th, 2026

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Bitterness plays mid-level neothrash that neither raises nor furrows brows, historically straddling the fence between At the Gates-style melodeath and 2000s-era Kreator-core. Yet, Bitterness has leaned further into its thrashy side since introducing a mascot—enter blindfolded Jesus—on the cover of 2015’s Ressurexodus, and who appears here looking strikingly like Snake Plissken. Frank Urschler’s riffs are plentiful, firing primarily at speeds either breakneck (“WWH8,” “Hallowed Be the Game”) or breakneck (“Hypochristianity”), and his vocals—a hybrid blend of Petrozza (Kreator), Souza (Exodus), and Ellsworth (Overkill)—fit what Bitterness is doing well. Andreas Kiechle blisters the skins effectively enough to keep things on track, while Marcel Konz’s prominently plucked bass lines round out the rhythm section. Thrash’s status quo and the AMG safety counter have nothing to fear from Bitterness. And yet Hallowed Be the Game isn’t completely devoid of enjoyable moments, despite being weighed down by bloat and victimized by its own overt juvenilia.

I respect that Bitterness seems content to exist on the fringe of its chosen scene, with the very front half heavy Hallowed Be the Game—as any eighth offering might—standing as proof they’ll not go gently into any good night. With the very Kreatoric one-two punch of the opening salvo (“WWH8,” “AMOK:KOMA”), Bitterness proves that well-executed riffage can still overcome a dearth of originality: this is also where I find Urschler vocalizing at his most Petrozza-like. And then, in an attempt to bring Teutonic legitimacy to these proceedings, I appreciated the vocal contributions of Tankard’s very own Andreas “Gerre” Geremia to “High Sobriety” about as much as “Hypochristianity” took me back to Pleasures of the Flesh-era Exodus. To be certain, Urschler and company execute their ABC’s and capably deliver on the fundamental tenets of thrash: crack beer, bang head. Despite this, a couple of things really held the album back for me.

Hallowed Be the Game loses most of its muscle mass from fatty back half disease and a we-tried-too-hard style of juvenile delinquency. With a runtime exceeding forty-three minutes, Bitterness could have easily cut the last 10 and left us with a more manageable slab of pseudo-enjoyable, albeit pedestrian, thrash metal. Instead, the nearly eight-minute instrumental “Magnum Innominandum,” its leaden pace and lack of dynamic variability rendering it perfunctory and the even more unnecessary cover of the Graves-era Misfits song “Scream!” remained almost as padding, bringing Hallowed Be the Game to a very underwhelming close. Combine those two, parting flop shots alongside the fact that nearly every song title is a somewhat childish play on words, and the whole Game just felt silly. And not in a good way, as I’d expect from more light-hearted bands like Tankard, Municipal Waste, and others of that ilk.

Neither particularly good nor bad, Hallowed Be the Game is one of those albums that just is, and assuredly isn’t the breakthrough Bitterness may have been hoping for. It’s like that girl you met at Niagara Falls one weekend in college, fun to hang with for a few days, but definitely nothing serious. Ultimately, Bitterness failed to pique my interest beyond writing this review. Die-hard thrashers may get a few miles out of Hallowed Be the Game, but as for me, I’m going to spin Kreator again.

Rating: 2.5/5.0
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: G.U.C.
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook | Instagram
Releases Worldwide: February 6th, 2026

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But we didn’t come here to praise Dave or Megadeth, we came to bury them (the latter anyway). Megadeth is allegedly the last album we’ll get from Dave’s passion project, and after 16 albums and a career of loud public living rife with infamously endless beefs, this finale will be both mourned and welcomed depending on where you sit on the spectrum of Megaopinions. Personally, I loved all the early days material, but I’ve run warm and cold on much of what came after Youthanasia. Even though I haven’t spent much time with Megadeth’s post-2000 output, I admit to feeling bittersweet emotions as their career arc finally comes to a close. I’ve even found myself going back through their discography and reminding myself what I loved, what I didn’t, and discovering several of their albums are better than remembered. I suspect I won’t be alone in doing so these next few weeks either.

Though I had planned to cover Megadeth myself, it began to feel like too big a moment in metal history to hoard for myself, so I reluctantly opened things up to a rowdy Rodeö of unwashed opinions from the filthy AMG staffers. Dave deserves his special day, and now it will be spent ringside at this cock and bully show. Brace for the full Mustaine experience: hot takes, bad taste, and tiny kernels of wisdom. Rodeös sell, but who’s buying?

–Steel Druhm

AMG Himself: It just seems so fitting that Dave Mustaine would want to get in the last word before retiring. My impression of the man has always been that of a cantankerous, moody, and ultimately difficult guy blessed with golden picking discipline and riffs coming out the wazoo. The mythology of Megadeth is, in a sense, told by the joke Steel Druhm has been making behind the scenes by referring to the band as Megadave. Yet, my jaundiced eye sees in Megadeth a story made up of the personnel Mustaine has worked with. It’s no surprise that when the band reached its initial peak of global acclaim, Dave was working with a genuine guitar virtuoso. Again, when Endgame exploded unexpectedly onto the scene—resulting in my youthful 4.5 rating—it was Chris Broderick who really made the record shine. Yes, of course, Dave has always had riffs, but Broderick executed with a flex and a grin. So, too, does Megadeth draw its real strength from Teemu Mäntysaari, whose genuine chops have carved him a niche as a professional second fiddle to crabby, unpredictable frontmen. Between Dave’s riffs and Teemu’s execution, Megadeth lands on its feet. With only one song I dislike (“I Don’t Care,” which is truly a stinker), the tone throughout Mustaine’s last dance is mid-paced, strongly melodic, surprisingly hooky, and has just enough swagger to remind you who you’re dealing with. Still, plodders like “Hey God!” and “Another Bad Day” are saved by great solos and interesting countermelodies. And when tracks do peak into thrashy Megadeth fare (“Made to Kill,” or the delightful “Let There Be Shred”), Hevisaurus’ shining light adds brilliance and creativity, raising the level across the board. That may seem like a backhanded compliment, but I think, rather, that it’s just fitting.¹ Dave gets one last go-round on his own terms—a thing he may well have thought would never happen—and we get to talk about the legacy of this legendary thrash pioneer. That’s a good outcome. – 3.0/5.0

Steel Druhm: Megadeth have been a semi-loyal companion since 1985. Over the decades, I loved, hated, and forgave them more than once. Now, after 41 years and 16 albums, Dave’s winding down his flying circus with the eponymously titled Megadeth. So where does the road end for the band that helped define thrash and gave metal its most mercurial leading man? Megadeth is an entertaining tour through the various eras of the band, with Dave being MegaDave. He’s older and wiser now, though, and smartly sticks to what he does well here. Opener “Tipping Point” is the best Megadeth song in years, with the band rediscovering the beefy thrash sound that’s been missing since Peace Sells. From there, Megadeth takes you through the many faces of Deth, from the annoyingly catchy cheeseball anthems like “I Don’t Care” and “Hey, God,” to the solo-heavy speed bombing of “Let There Be Shred.” There are some really good songs here, with only a few that don’t completely work. The album hits a stride late from “Made to Kill” onward. “Made” approaches vintage thrash levels, evoking a badass, nostalgic energy. “I Am the War” is blunt, burly shit, and closer “The Last Note” delivers Dave’s sneering signoff in grand form. It’s an appropriate exit for a pioneer and legend. Dave’s renewed focus on what he does best pays dividends as he crafts an album’s worth of decent to very good songs with moments that remind me, oddly enough, of classic Metallica. Speaking of which, I even like the bonus cover of “Ride the Lightning” more than expected. The fretboard pyrotechnics between Dave and Wintersun‘s Teemu Mäntysaari are hot and noodly, with scads of smoking riffs and solos in every nook and cranny. As his killing business is shuttered for good, Dave leaves behind a legitimately entertaining album, and it’s nice to see him go out on a high note. Goodbye to Vic Rattlehead and company. Thanks for the memories and the music. I can’t wait for the project with Jason Newsted called Fuck You, Lars!² 3.0/5.0

Saunders: I’m saddling up for this high-profile rodeo special as a rank Megadeth novice. Due to cutting my teeth as a metalhead on other influential old school thrash bands of the era, Megadeth’s blockbuster career largely slipped by me. I gradually developed a strong appreciation of their selected early albums, largely overlooking much of MegaDave’s tumultuous career path of the past couple of decades. Megadeth’s seventeenth and final album, a fittingly self-titled effort, finds Mustaine rallying his troops for one last go-around. Mustaine and his accomplished brigade of hired guns get back to basics, peeling off a warts-and-all, weathered, yet undeniably energetic swansong. Minus the bonus track, Megadeth clocks a refreshingly lean 41 minutes and comes packed with a decent grab bag of catchy anthems, crunchy riffs and often inspired shredding from Mustaine and co-axeman Teemu Mäntysaari. However, expectations should be tempered; this is not exactly a callback to their classic era, but rather a fun romp as feisty geezer thrash and anthemic hard rock collide. Featuring punchy, high-octane thrashers (“Tipping Point,” “Made to Kill”), big dumb fretboard frying jams (“Let there Be Shred,” “Obey the Call”), hooky mid-paced rockers (“Puppet Parade,” “I Am War”), and an unsubtle sentimental farewell (‘The Last Note”), enough fuel burns in the tank to offset the album’s weaker moments and missteps. Dave’s trademark punkish snarl sounds in good form, albeit crippled by simplistic and often hamfisted lyrics, including the worst offenders, “I Don’t Care” and “Another Bad Day.” Regardless, Megadeth could have wound up an overcooked, indulgent mess, rife with questionable ideas and ill-advised risk. Although lyrically, it’s often clunky, leave your brain at the door fare, Mustaine and co. sign off with a respectable collection of infectious, no-frills tunes, providing reasonably satisfying closure for longtime fans. 3.0/5.0.

Holdeneye: As long as I’ve liked metal, I’ve had a soft spot for Dave Mustaine and Megadeth. I mean, can you have a more comic-book-villain-origin-story beginning than this band? Yeah, Dave has routinely proven himself to be a megadick, but maybe it’s his unabashed commitment to being nothing other than himself that brings a smile to my face whenever I see him (it was fun to see him play the role of Max Mayfield in Stranger Things). Megadeth was one of my first deep discography dives when I’d officially sworn my vow of un-silence to metal, and the punky swagger into which Dave dipped his thrash has always hit the spot for me. I consider Endgame to be one of the band’s finest moments, but I’ve been rather disappointed with much of Megadeth’s most recent output. In fact, I don’t think I ever even listened to 2022’s The Sick, The Dying… and the Dead!. So imagine my surprise upon hearing the band’s self-titled swan song for the first time. As soon as the first real thrash riff hit on opener “Tipping Point,” I was sold. There’s not a bad song on Megadeth, and there are even a couple of great ones. I don’t even mind Dave’s version of “Ride the Lightning,” but I wish he’d recorded it 40 years ago—I can only imagine how the piss and vinegar would have flowed! Overall, Megadeth is a worthy sendoff for Megadeth. I didn’t realize how hard it would be to say goodbye to one of metal’s favorite heels, but here I am. Thanks, Dave, for giving us some killer records and for meting out the punishment we’ve all been due. 3.0/5.0

Dolphin Whisperer: I don’t care about Dave writing rock licks. I don’t care about a new guitarist. I don’t care about Megadeth playing old tricks. I don’t care—I just want some thrash hits! That’s been my mantra for a new Megadeth album since I can remember, as I didn’t come of age in the glory days of thrash. Post the release of Endgame, I’ve been wondering, with caution, whether each successive album would bookend in lacking the style of the Megadeth catalog. For better or worse, Megadeth gives about as fitting a farewell as Mustaine can manage at this juncture. Between flaccid-mic spats of straight-to-VHS quality camp (“I Don’t Care,” “Let There Be Shred”), Honest Dave emerges in both an aching humility (“Hey God!”) and tattered bravado (“Puppet Parade,” “The Last Note”). Over forty years, seventeen albums, and an undeniable mark on metal history, it can be hard to view Mustaine as the working-class underdog that he continues to wear across character pieces (“Puppet Parade,” “Another Bad Day”). But at least Megadeth doesn’t hammer heavy any ham-fisted conspiracies or stay in any one place too long. Yet, for every moment that Hevisaurus wunderkind Teemu Mäntysaari saves with an interjecting, slippery neoclassical lead, Mustaine sputters in—no nuance, all withered-face exasperation—about how upset he is, how much he doesn’t care, or how life has worn him down. Much of the riff-base, in similar slogging fashion, feels caught in middling churn of not-quite-thrash but heavier-than-rock pomp of Youthanasia or Cryptic Writings-era works, though an aged punkiness presents itself in refreshing ways, if not always enjoyable (“Tipping Point,” “I Don’t Care,” “Obey the Call”). In his determination to disappear from the limelight, Mustaine’s cobbled comfort sells Megadeth as Megadeth in a manner that will leave fans not upset, not enthralled, but at an expected ease with the curtain drawn to a close. 2.5/5.0.

Thyme: Megadeth has been an integral part of my metal upbringing, so to say it was easy gathering my thoughts on their eponymous last album, let alone the band itself, would be a lie. At times insufferable, yet ever unapologetic, Dave Mustaine has always seemed like the Frank Sinatra of heavy metal to me. Why? Because he has always done shit his way. And, as the man prepares to shutter a chapter of his life over four decades in the making, I’m happy to report Megadeth is going out on a high note. Megadeth has a little bit of everything: the straight-up thrashers (“Tipping Point,” “Let There Be Shred,” “Made to Kill”), the bruisers (“Obey the Call”), the melodious (“Puppet Parade”), the introspective (“Hey God!), and the reflective (“The Last Note”), which I’d be lying again if I said that last track didn’t have me a little misty-eyed. Even “Ride the Lightning,” though no “Mechanix,” works well as a bonus track. Further illustrating Dave’s knack for great guitarist collabs, Teemu Mäntysaari (Wintersun) is a breath of fresh air, masterfully shredding and noodling his way across Megadeth’s very digestible forty-seven minutes. I’m a little sad we won’t get more Teemu-deth, to be honest. Verbeuren’s skinwork shines again, while a trio of bassists (LoMenzo, DiGiorgio, and Rakestraw) capably fill the low end of this Mustaine/Rakestraw production, which sounds great, landing sonically between Countdown and Youthanasia. It’s no Peace Sells, but it doesn’t have to be. For a man who’s survived addiction, a potential career-ending injury, and cancer(!), I think Dave’s earned the right to lay down his guitar. Time, as we know, waits for no man. While it will be weird living in a world without Megadeth, I’ll cherish the music and memories. Thanks, Dave. I can’t wait to catch you on the road one… last… time… 3.0/5.0

ClarkKent: After 43 years in the biz, Megadeth is sadly calling it quits, but at least they’re going out with a bang. Megadeth is fresh, energetic, and disciplined in ways the big four haven’t sounded in some time. The thrash cuts “Tipping Point” and “Let There Be Shred” don’t sound like a decades-old band trying to stay relevant. They sound like a vigorous young band carrying a swagger and a chip on their shoulder. Megadeth provides equal measures of pure thrash and melodic heavy metal, but keeps everything to a tight 3-4 minutes (at least until the final two tracks). Dave Mustaine proves a capable storyteller, with lyrics that feel personal and autobiographical. There’s the confessional “Hey God!” turning to his relationship with religion; “Puppet Parade,” my personal favorite, looking back at his struggles with alcoholism; the tongue-in-cheek “Let There Be Shred” building up a heavy metal mythos around Dave; and finally “The Last Note” giving fans a fond farewell. The latter also provides a rather poignant summary of his career: “I came, I saw, now I disappear.” It’s true that not all songs land, such as “I Don’t Care,” with lyrics that sound like a defiant adolescent wrote them, and the middling “Obey the Call,” which lacks any memorable hooks. “Ride the Lightning” also sounds too similar to its source, but at least it provides Dave with closure over his feud with Metallica. As sad as I am to see Dave hang it up, thankfully, he provides one final thrill in the Megadeth discography. 3.5/5.0

Owlswald: As Dave Mustaine closes the book on his legendary career, Megadeth’s swan song makes it clear that Mustaine intends to leave the same way he entered: loud and unmistakably himself. The self-titled record starts hot with “Tipping Point,” a fast, grinding riff assault that recalls Megadeth’s classic openers. “Let There Be Shred” leans into old-school speed metal while “I Don’t Care” delivers its punk-ish energy despite terrible lyrics. New guitarist Teemu Mäntysaari steps seamlessly into the void left by Kiko Loureiro, immediately asserting himself with playful solos, sweeping leads, and fretboard fireworks that stretch his guitar to the limit. Dirk Verbeuren remains rock‑solid, delivering galloping rhythms with sharp tom rolls and double-bass that echo Nick Menza’s punishing style. “Puppet Parade” nods to both Cryptic Writings and Countdown to Extinction, evoking “Almost Honest” in its opening and “Foreclosure of a Dream” in its clean bridge. Mustaine’s gruff, sneering delivery is classic Megadeth here—very “Sweating Bullets”—even though the chorus doesn’t land. The record stumbles temporarily with “Another Bad Day,” a forgettable rocker dragged down by weak songwriting and more bad lyrics, and “I Am War,” which feels generic and overly reliant on thin vocal hooks. But “Obey the Call” and “Made to Kill” fare better, with Mustaine returning to his lower register that fits more naturally within the outstanding instrumental performances. The finale turns somber. “The Last Note” finds Mustaine confronting his legacy and the approaching end of his career, followed by an unnecessary cover of “Ride the Lightning”—a final smirk³at his long history with Metallica. Flawed but unexpectedly solid, Megadeth’s final album plays like an autobiographical reflection from a metal legend. It’s hard to ask for much more at this point and is a worthy send-off. Good.

Grin Reaper: Going out on your own terms is not a decision every band gets to make, and when the news broke that Megadeth would hang up the ol’ guitar strap, the news struck bittersweet. Dave Mustaine and his revolving cast of support have been steady companions through my major milestones, providing a symphony for construction as I assembled my adult life. But what can you expect from Megadeth’s last words? Megadeth is, most of all, a celebration. Seventeen albums over forty years deserve a bit of revelry, especially considering the heights of Megadeth’s career. Though Megadeth doesn’t threaten to dethrone their best material, it’s a major success for latter-day Deth and boasts concise track lengths and carefree fun. Most importantly, the mantra of “Let There Be Shred” isn’t limited to just that song as Dave and Teemu Mäntysaari (Wintersun) trade fiery leads throughout (“Tipping Point,” “Made to Kill”). Dirk Verbeuren once again avails himself behind the kit, effortlessly pummeling with mechanized precision (“Tipping Point”) and snappy punk rolls (“I Don’t Care”). Though I would prefer another technical smorgasbord à la Rust in Peace, there’s a fair offering of mid-paced tracks more in line with the Youthanasia and Cryptic Writings school of radio-friendly jams (“Hey God!,” “Another Bad Day,” “Obey the Call”). Songs like these are among my least favorite on Megadeth, but credit to Dave—they’re short and feel genuine. The honesty of Megadeth’s curtain call is a final triumph, a fist raised in the air signifying that after a career of proving to listeners and himself that he earned his place in the pantheon of metal, Dave Mustaine gets to end his game his way. May he retire in peace—now go rattle your goddamn head! So Far, So Good!

Baguette of Bodom: After the massive disappointment that was The Sick… and the embarrassing hilarity of “I Don’t Care” earning meme status, I was prepared for a real stinker. But it was not meant to be, for Megadeth’s self-titled swan song surprised shockingly. Do not expect a fast-paced thrasher, though; this last hurrah harkens back to various eras of the band, mostly the better ones even! While there’s a bit of Killing… and Rust in Peace in “Made to Kill,” many songs here resemble the simpler but effective ethos of Countdown. Tasty, melodic ’90s lead guitar hooks (“Another Bad Day,” “I Am War”) result in Mustaine occasionally sounding the best he has since Thirteen, and Dirk Verbeuren’s drums deliver plenty of fun fills throughout (“Made to Kill,” “Hey God!”). Teemu Mäntysaari is clearly the star of the show. He complements Dave’s playing with classic ‘Deth tones, and I’m glad his tasteful riff and shred craft have a place to truly shine front and center (“Puppet Parade,” “Let There Be Shred”). Despite a rough opening duo, the record recovers quickly, with the back half being particularly impressive for a band I had largely given up on. Overall, Megadeth is a solid Dystopia-tier album in a tight 41-minute package. It won’t make any respectable year-end lists, but I’m glad this long and mightily uneven career ends on a positive note, except for the tacked-on “Ride the Lightning” bonus. It’s a decent enough rendition of a decent enough song,⁴ but why hold a grudge over young and stupid egos for 40 years? It’s not even faster or angrier, which used to be the selling point. “Mechanix” made “The Four Horsemen” better; this one makes a great opening riff worse. Take relationship counseling notes from Helloween. – 3.0/5.0

Double Bonus Megaopinions from Infamous Former Staffers:

Doc Fisting: In an era where no band ever truly stops, I approach Megadeth’s impending retirement with an apprehensive sense of closure. If Dave Mustaine feels that this album is his last, he’ll get no argument from me whatsoever. The songwriting is weak throughout Megadeth, often feeling like mismatched parts forced together on some producer’s laptop. The lyrics aren’t much better, ranging from good ideas executed poorly (“Puppet Parade”) to steaming hot garbage (“I Don’t Care,” ”Let There Be Shred”). A few tracks approach classic Megadeth’s speed, if not its quality, but much of the record goes by at a Cryptic Writings-esque midtempo pace. Even compared to Megadeth’s last couple of albums, this one feels especially low-effort and low-energy. Mustaine’s ability to craft memorable guitar parts seems to have departed, as nothing here shows a trace of the creativity or technical skill he was once known for. Time has sandblasted his vocal range down to almost nothing, and he relies heavily on his “hello me, it’s me again” shtick as a result. Closing track “The Last Note” crosses the line into self-parody, closing the band’s career on a low note.* New guitarist Teemu Mäntysaari attempts to patch the holes, delivering ripping solos where riffs or vocal hooks belong. Drummer Dirk Verbueren similarly tries to inject some Gar Samuelson-style energy. Unfortunately, the material here doesn’t give them much to work with. Make no mistake — Dave Mustaine is one of the architects of thrash metal, and deserves credit for it (just ask him). His contributions to the genre from 1983 through 1991 are essential, and nothing can take that away. But Megadeth feels less like a triumphant farewell and more like a necessary one.⁵ 1.5/5.0

Ferrous Beuller: The end is nigh. Time to Ragnarockoutwithyour”Glock”out for that final full stop in the Apocellipsis. After 40-plus years, Megadeth have bowed out with a final self-titled trip down the riff river. What does this mean? It means another release that is indistinguishable from every post-Youthanasia Megadeth album. For decades, Mustaine has released self-derivative records whose highlights might occasionally tickle a playlist. Megadeth does not deviate from this formula. If you’re hoping for a grab bag of sanitised thrash riffs and intangible mid-pacers, then you’re in luck. But make no mistake, this is not Risk. Those particularly fond of albums like Cryptic Warnings or even Th1rt3en will find something to like here. Dave can surely write this kind of material with his eyes closed by now, and it shows. It feels rote because, by this point, that’s exactly what Mustaine’s creativity has become. As just another Megadeth album, this is as redundant as the irrelevant marketing strategy Metallica cover. As a goodbye, Mustaine has always done things his way, so I guess this, too, is by design. Decades of treading tepid water can never change the fact that Megadeth embodies a foundation of metal. This swan song won’t sully that reputation. But, given the finality of it all, I can’t help but wonder what might have been. Well, Megadeth, thanks for the memories. Someday, other bands will know your pain, but few will smile that once-black-toothed grin. May you rust in peace disgracefully. If anyone needs me, I’ll be busy pretending they split after 1994. 2.0/5.0

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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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