Erbeet Azhak’s black metal is desolate and chaotic, but doesn’t stray far from trails travelled by C.V.B.’s other projects. Still, it finds him further flexing his vocal muscles, which are a mix of everyman blackened rasps alongside tonal shouts and growls that sound a lot like F.O.A.D.-era Nocturno Culto. Even as Erbeet Azhak brings C.V.B.’s own guitar and bass talents to bear, guest musicians S. Iblis’s (Possession) lead guitar, Onbra Oscoura’s (Abyssal Vacuum) bass, and Laye’s (Putrid Offal) drumming flesh out a sound palette that explores several black metal styles. Sargeist lurks in the riffs of galloping melodicism present on “The Wings of Liberation,” just as Blut Aus Nord fans can belly up to a bar stocked with blasting beats and decaying dissonance (“Lecherous Angels,” “Death to the Self”).¹ Further examination finds traces of Aosoth in the near blackened war metal of “Only the Vile Will Remain,” while devotees of doomier plods ala late-era Darkthrone should find comfort in the folds of “Erbeet Azhak.” Despite what seems such a mixed bag, Only the Vile Will Remain encases its twists and turns in a production that provides sonic consistency.

Raw but nuanced, Erbeet Azhak packs as many interesting details into Only the Vile Will Remain as Luciana Nedelea did her excellent cover art. I particularly enjoyed the engaging guitar leads that creep amongst the riffs and blast beats of “The Weakness of Our Cycle” as much as I did the intriguing riff patterns and spacy, atmospheric interlude that hijacks “The Inner Circle” around the 2:45 mark, segueing into a really nice melodic guitar solo. Iblis’s performance warrants particular note, as he peppers the whole of Only the Vile Will Remain with lots of satisfying, melodically intricate solo work not present on most black metal of this ilk (“The Wings of Liberation,” “Death to Self”). C.V.B.’s performance on the mic also deserves a nod. While he’s never contributed in this way on any of the other projects he’s involved with, save Aerdryk, his vocals fit what Erbeet Azhak does well and add a layer of gravelly, gothic tension and menace. The vocal cherry on top, however, belongs to Zd from LVTHN, whose inhuman screeches absolutely haunt the back-end passages of “Lecherous Angels.”

While Only the Vile Will Remain isn’t a sprawling, over-bloated behemoth by any means, it could benefit from a little nip and tuck. Erbeet Azkhak traverses the many planes of its black metal existence with relative ease and is most compelling when song lengths provide enough room for all the transitions to develop. Evident even on the albums second shortest song, “The Wings of Liberation,” which transitions from a galloping mid-pace to a blast-furnace passage before moving on toward a guitar solo flowing with melodicism and then back again, all within the span of 4:06. Ironically, this leaves the 3:46’s of the title track stuck in my craw as the album’s most boring; its straight-forward, blast-beat-overloaded war-metal approach sticking out sorely amidst the much more atmospheric fare on display. Cutting this and the mostly superfluous intro would have left Only the Vile Will Remain a more lethal beast.

Erbeet Azhak hasn’t revolutionized the landscape of black metal, neither in Belgium nor in the broader, raw-as-misanthropic scene in which Only the Vile Will Remain operates. Those intrigued by the name drops above should find something of value here. I know I got more than I was expecting. For now, I’d say there’s a fresh sprout on the Belgian black metal family tree with Erbeet Azhak’s name on it; whether that grows into a sturdy branch or not, only time will tell.

Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3
Label: Amor Fati Productions
Websites: Bandcamp
Releases Worldwide: March 7th, 2026²

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

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

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

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

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

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Monikered after a track from Mental Funeral, it’s unsurprising that Slaughterday establishes its soundation on the works of Autopsy. Avoiding mere clone status, though, founders Jens Finger (guitars, bass) and Bernd Reiners (drums, vocals) also line their sonic quiver with arrows laced with toxic amounts of Massacre, early Death, and Grave. After a doomy, engaging intro, Dread Emperor gets down to thrashy business as “Obliteration Crusade” comes galloping through the gates at full velocity. Showcasing the gamut of talents that Slaughterday wields, the track weaves bouts of blistering speed, salaciously solid solo work, and passages of drunken, doomy Autopsy worship into a skin-sewn tapestry of death, replete with creepy melodicism and a subtle, yet ear-wormy chorus. Finger’s bass lines pop like blood bubbles as Reiners’ brutish bashings bolster the rhythm section, aptly accompanying the man’s beastly roars, a discernibly deathly emulsion of Peter Tägtgren and Kam Lee. This opening salvo encapsulates the Dread Emperor experience, which is one of gut-wrenching goodness, proving that Slaughterday has as many musical tricks up its sleeve as Art the Clown has weapons in his kill sack.

At the heart of Dread Emperor’s success lies Slaughterday’s ability to craft truly great death metal songs. And with this talent, Finger and Reiners pay apt tribute to their deathly influences without slipping into derivative mimicry. Every time the groove settled into a swarming swing full of Autopsy swagger (“Subconscious Pandemonium,” “The Forsaken Ones”), my head was powerless to stop bobbing. While the majestic, Egyptian-tinged melodic leads and girthy, doom-laden death riffs of the title track “Dread Emperor” solidified themselves as the album highlight for yours truly. Dread Emperor also doubles down on a facet of Slaughterday’s previous efforts that, at times, was found lacking: the guitar solo. Fingers leaves no fret untouched, packing tons of excellent, melodic soloing (“Astral Carnage,” “Necrocide”) and loads of haunting lead work (“Rapture of Rot”) into Dread Emperor’s every nook and cranny. This here, boys and girls, is death metal created especially for death metallers, so if it isn’t bringing your raised fist and stank face to the yard, relinquish your fan card to AMG Headquarters.

From its near forty-minute runtime to Pär Olofsson’s ominously perfect cover art, I found little at fault with Dread Emperor. I suppose, if I had to pick at something, I’d say that many of the faster tremoloed sections tended to blend, sharing a marrow of similitude amidst Dread Emperor’s greater skeletal structure, but even that is a minor quibble. All due primarily to Slaughterday’s ability to construct compositions in such a way as to render the many inter-song shifts in style and tempo an organic strength as opposed to a stuttery distraction. Even Slaughterday’s version of Protector’s “Golem” sits comfortably at the end and fits the overall narrative of Dread Emperor well, escaping the fate of feeling tacked on, which is often the case with album-closing cover songs.

Does Slaughterday play meat-and-potatoes death metal? Sure, but this ain’t no watery soup from a can, this is stew like grandma used to make, filled with steamy hunks of fresh potato and chunks of beefy meat, swimming in an ichorous broth worth killing for. I didn’t anticipate how much fun I was going to have with Dread Emperor when I grabbed it, but it does exactly what it’s supposed to do: elicit a smile from my lips, a bang from my head, and Dio’s horns from my fist. Prime Tyme-certified death metal perfect for rotten valentines.

Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320kb/s mp3
Label: Testimony Records
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
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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Tarlung remains devoted to the almighty riff, but with a sound that has become increasingly less fuzzy over the years. Guitarists Rotten and Phillip Seiler deliver massive doses of ear-drum damage via swampy, thick riffs bristling with taut, chuggy muscle (“State Noise,” “Between the Earth and Moon”) and bluesy swagger (“Swans”), which serve as the bong water for most of these melodies to bubble up through. Seiler’s chesty, Akerfeldtian roars are ever-present, which, along with Marian Weibl’s beastly drum beatings, provide the excess sonic weight Tarlung has become increasingly known for. Purveyors of Crowbar, High on Fire, and Dopethrone will find warm pockets of familiarity here. Yet, Axis Mundi indeed signals a progression as Tarlung evolves its sound, introducing elements of refined psychedelia and vocal variation.

Axis Mundi takes marked steps to set itself apart from the rest of Tarlung’s catalog. With an airy, soft-strummed melody and some subdued, clean vocals to start, “Burning Out” evokes a feeling akin to lying alone in a country field, exhaling smoky clouds of organic green and staring at kaleidoscopic prisms of light as they filter through dew drops on sun-dappled daffodils. Even after the track picks up a little steam with a chugging riff that seems to build more speed than it does, and Seiler’s growls return, the warm feeling doesn’t dissipate. Follow-up “Sea of Drowned Souls” continues down an experimental path, as its mournful melodies merge with clean vocals from Thérèse Lanz and Casey Rogers of Mares of Thrace in pensive passages that keep giving me Alice in Chains vibes. Particularly effective here, too, is the vocal interplay between Seiler and Lantz as each takes brutal swipes at the mic; Lantz’s visceral, blackened screams serving as a satisfying counterpoint to Seiler’s guttural grumblings. These two tracks really stood out to me and make up the core of my overall Axis Mundi experience.

Axis Mundi represents Tarlung operating at its most mature. Beautifully simplistic and wildly effective songwriting that, with repeated spins, did nothing but chip away at my critiques. What first seemed like a lagging back half continued to sink its claws into my brain. Before long, I was looking forward to the laid-back melodies of “Full Circle,” where Seiler channels his inner Matt Pike (High on Fire) to significant effect, and anticipating the very Crowbaric pounding of album closer “Axis Mundi.” Running just thirty-eight minutes, it became easier and easier to hit that replay button every time. There are moments when the melodies seem to trip over themselves, like on the bluesy main riff of “Swans,” which gets a bit muddy at times, but not so much that it took me out of the experience.

Fans of Tarlung are in for a special surprise, and if you’re just now getting to the party, Axis Mundi is an excellent place to get started. I hadn’t spent any time at all with this power trio before writing this review, and I can wholeheartedly say Tarlung has won me over. After a more than cursory dive into the bands previous efforts I can say without a doubt, Axis Mundi is the best Tarlung album to date. A slow-paced ride that delivers riffs for days and melodies that settle in, wrapping you in blankets of crushing warmth for one helluva satisfying experience.

Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3
Label: Argonauta Records
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: January 30th, 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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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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Void of instrumental trappings associated with most traditional metal, Antinoë relies solely on Marraco’s beautifully resonant voice and her expansive piano compositions to weave stygian tapestries. Conceptually, The Fold navigates the odyssey of accepting death, inviting listeners to tread a path through the idiomatic depths of grief’s different stages, as it traces the process of ‘folding inward.’ From the outset, as cricket-song fades into “Night Falls,” with its delicately crafted, darkly haunting piano melody and celestial vocals, the track pulls at melancholy heartstrings, drawing you into Antinoë’s dark world and setting the stage for what’s to come. The Fold offers an immersive, piano-led experience, peppered with pummeled ivories that shift with metallic force beneath sustained choral harmonies (“The Devil’s Voice”), as wispy trails of folky, Enya-esque ambiance waft amid airy, Dead Can Dance-like atmospheres (“Når Du Dør”). Not unlike Darkher, Antinoë succeeds at tapping into inscrutable emotion by minimalist means, but where Maiven casts spells webbed in doom, Marraco’s magic leans more toward the black arts.

While Antinoë draws much of its ‘metal’ from lyrical themes that explore the dense nature of grief and death, that doesn’t mean The Fold is musically bereft of heavier fare. Death angels descend on Emperor wings with halos of Dimmu Borgir to hover over the opening chords of “Threshold,” heralding dark omens in a chorus of swarming harmonies, witchy laughter, and raspy breaths, all as Antinoë pounds and trills her way through octaves in true symphonic black metal fashion.² Is it still just a girl and her piano? Yes, but it’s by far the ‘heaviest’ song on the album. Which gives way to the excellently murky pop of “Chaos in the Sky,” another album highlight that had my neck snapped to rapt attention when Marracos, in her smoky voice, opened with “Who the fuck are you? Who the fuck am I?” like some dark-alt Adele, creating another moment more metal than not.

Drenched in warmth, The Fold’s production captures the beauty of Antinoë’s neo-classical elegance and marries it perfectly to its atmospherically blackened weight, providing a full-on musical experience. Whether it’s the delicate last minute of “The Devil’s Voice,” which flirts with a “Lágnætti” melody, off the Sólstafir magnum opus Ottá, or the inquisitive, childlike mystery of the whispers and keys on “Flock,” to the somber dirge of vocals from “Light Bringer,” listening to Antinoë is to become utterly immersed. I have little to critique, so enamored am I by Antinoë’s ability to impart complex ideas in the simplest of terms. I suppose there’s a minute or two that Marraco could have shaved from the two instrumentals, but in all honesty, there’s not a minute of The Fold that I would cut or change.

One of the things I’ve always appreciated about AMG is its fearlessness in shedding light on bands that are categorically not metal. Case in point, among many, is Dolphin Whisperer’s review of Maud the Moth’s excellent The Distaff this year. Antinoë has recorded an emotional album for healing hearts, and as I look back on the last few years of losses I’ve experienced, I’m unsurprised by how impactful it’s been to me. I wasn’t expecting something of this caliber to come sweeping in so close to list season, but here we are. I’ll gladly wrap myself in a warm blanket next to a cozy fire, slip on my favorite pair of headphones, and sip a smoky porter while letting The Fold envelop me against the impending winter’s chill.

Rating: 4.0/5.0
DR: 9 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Dark Essence Records
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: November 21st, 2025

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At first blush, The Dreaming Prince in Ecstasy extends Saturnian Bloodstorm’s thrashing black metal template before wading into waters teeming with new wave and gothic metal elements. Immortal’s influence still lurks amidst M.’s swirling, rapid-fire tremolos and galloping chugs (“Hategate (the Dream-Master’s Realm)”), while twinkling, Këkht Aräkh-like keys lace the guitar-driven melodies on “Forest of Hallucinations,” its intro emitting South of Heaven-era Slayer vibes from the harmonized leads. M.’s vocals, as blackly metallic and viscerally lethal as ever, are dichotomously connected to the music and venture into minimally explored cleaner climes while sharing the spotlight on “A Brute Angel’s Sorrow” with guest vocalist Crying Orc (Këkht Aräkh).¹ For beyond the Nightmare on Elm Street meets Black Aria² vibes of instrumental opener “The Fires of Seduction,” lie the equally moody atmospheres of mid-album interlude “Angelic Vortex,” which serves as a portal, ushering listeners from Lamp of Murmuur’s past into what The Dreaming Prince in Ecstasy represents for the project’s future.

Three-part title track, “The Dreaming Prince in Ecstasy,” is the album highlight. Without jettisoning its black metal roots, Lamp of Murmuur shrouds this triptych in a Sólstafiric, proggy haze of spacy, 70s-style rock guitar solos and cascading Phantom of the Operatic progressions (“Part I – Moondance”), melodic, soaring leads (“Part II – Twilight Orgasm”) and a romping, symphonic paganism (“Part III – The Fall”) reminiscent of early Old Man’s Child. In addition, M.’s broadening, clean vocals inject new-wave intensity into the non-harsh moments of “Moondance,” a Moroder & Bowie “Cat People (Putting Out the Fire)” feel into the latter croons of “Twilight Orgasm,” and an effective, Cattle Decapitation-esque tonal rasp into “The Fall.” I think I had as much fun diving in and out of the waters of this stretch of TDPiE as our beloved sharkster had ingesting the whole of Saturnian Bloodstorm.

As often as dichotomy spearheads musical diversity, however, it can also foster unintended inconsistency, and in the court of The Dreaming Prince in Ecstasy’s case, the latter unfortunately testifies loudest. As many moments of greatness exist on both halves of TDPiE’s whole, so too do some missteps. M.’s first instance of cleans, for example, at the end of “Hategate (The Dream-Master’s Realm)” sound out of tune and pulled me from an otherwise enjoyable listen during every spin. In addition, “Part I – Moondance” contains some awkwardly off-key musical transitions, and at times, the staccato, machine-gun riffage in “Part III – The Fall” feels out of sync with the drumming. And as much as I enjoyed the acoustically well-executed and clean-sung “A Brute Angel’s Sorrow,” its off-putting, last-batter-in-the-lineup positioning completely saps the majesty from the silence left in the wake of “Part III – The Fall”‘s last powerful chord.

A tenet often adhered to despite its obtusity is that broadened popularity for a band that launched its career from the darkened shadows of the kvlt black metal world usually leads to its death or disownment. In the case of Lamp of Murmuur, a forerunner of the current USBM scene, opinions may vary. As it stands, The Dreaming Prince in Ecstasy is a full-length that, if released as a pair of EPs, might have transcended its holistic inconsistencies. I’ve grown past the distaste I felt on initial listens to appreciate both sides of what Lamp of Murmuur has done here and look forward to M.’s continued growth, as should you.

Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: 9 | Format Reviewed: 320kbps mp3
Label: Wolves of Hades
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: November 14th, 2025

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Bastard Cröss play Neanderthalic, throwb(l)ack thrash, and it’s clear they poured every ounce of their blood, sweat, and beers into Crossripper as it sounds like a long-lost 1985 album that would’ve had tape traders salivating back in the day. Forged in fires from an age when Slayer were still Showing No Mercy and Bathory had yet to quaff a drop of Blood Fire or Death, and with a pinch or two of punk attitude ala early Motörhead and Anti-Cimex thrown in as well, Crossripper is robustious and raw. Album opener “Parasitic” sets the table by delivering all the Bastard Cröss goods. Infernal Bastard’s pulse-quickening drum intro gives way to Beheader of Priests’ heaving bass and the satisfyingly speedy, dual guitar mayhem of Blasphemous Axe and Heathen Chevalier, who also share vocal duties. Their approach runs the gamut from Quorthonic croaks and Tom Araya-like wails to everyman gutturals that would complement any would-be death outfit to a tee. Adrift in the sea of metal’s retro movement—more modern comparisons to Nocturnal or Deathhammer are apt—Bastard Cröss stand out by injecting perfect amounts of mayhem and melody into Crossripper’s well-written, tightly executed songs.

Bastard Cröss are nothing if not all-out balls-to-the-wall, horns-held-high fun. Memorable moments abound throughout Crossripper’s easily digestible thirty-seven-minute runtime. Whether plodding forth in Morbid Tales-like fashion before death galloping along (“Crossripper”) or wammy diving your ears into liquified submission (“Lycan Knights”), by the time the beer-can popping sound byte accentuates the punk-in-cheek attitude swarming the start of “Satanic Pandemonium,” you should be thrash-stomping your drunk ass all over the living room and smashing empty PBR cans against your forehead. Bastard Cröss even manage to squeeze in an admirable homage to 80s hair-metal cock rock in the form of “Demons at Midnight,” a song possessed by sleazy riffage and another one of Crossripper’s many catchy-as-hell choruses. I even looked forward to the beautifully executed, acoustically driven outro to the excellent album closer “Behead the Priest,” which features some angelic, cherry-on-top vocal emanations from Marisa Monaco.

Everything about Crossripper oozes speed-laced, devil-metal nostalgia. From the primitive, yet perfectly rendered, Sandy Rezalmi cover art to the cheeky, we-mean-business band aesthetic and appropriately raw, period-style production, Bastard Cröss nail so many things on Crossripper, I’m left with little to complain about. In fact, I can’t look back on any part of my time with Crossripper and say I didn’t enjoy it. I suppose my lone critique would be that if Bastard Cröss continue swimming in the pool of retro-80s speed-blackened thrash metal, it might be a bridge too far for them to cross and achieve any level of innovative greatness. Not that this is a death sentence by any means. Should Bastard Cröss continue to put out this level of quality horror-loving retro metal, they’re poised to enjoy a pretty solid career.

I’m not the biggest fan of the phrase ‘mileage may vary,’ but I feel it’s appropriate when it comes to summarizing the Bastard Cröss experience. Crossripper doesn’t do anything you haven’t probably heard before. But what it does do is pretty damn good. In this digital age, when there’s more music at your fingertips than at any other moment in history, it’s assessing what music warrants your time and, in some cases, hard-earned cash that has become the commodity by which reviewers provide the most value. And I can assure you, spending thirty-seven minutes with Bastard Cröss and Crossripper this Halloween is definitely worth yours.

Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Morbid and Miserable Records
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: October 31st, 2025

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