As Alunea opens on “A Precipice. A Door,” it’s immediately and unmistakably Kardashev. From the swelling wash of synths, through which Mark Garrett’s crystalline cleans and Nico Mirolla’s precise guitar lines slowly surface, to the propulsive, deftly progressive drum work by Sean Lang, I felt like I was on familiar ground. However, as Alunea progresses, it’s clear that the band’s journey is taking them in a subtly new direction. Dubbed as ‘deathgaze’ from an early stage in their career, much of the ‘gaze’ is now gone, with the band focusing on progressive, and even technical, death metal, recalling the likes of Fallujah and Aronious (parts of “Reunion” and “Truth to Form”). Garrett, whom I’ve lauded as one of metal’s most versatile vocalists, rampages through the album’s heavier passages, rasping, snarling, and growling like a man possessed. However, this juts up against fragile, stripped-back melodic passages, which see his soaring cleans, replete with powerful sustains set to rising guitar melodies and Alex Rieth’s liquid bass groove.

At an hour long, Liminal Rite risked faltering under its own weight. The fact that Kardashev reined in this tendency, keeping Alunea to a tight 43 minutes, despite the band’s deeper forays into progressive metal, does them credit. However, the compositions here don’t hold a candle to Liminal Rite or The Baring of Shadows. Meandering, often lacking an obviously discernible structure, Kardashev packed so many ideas in that it’s actually disorienting as tracks lurch unpredictably between frantic techy heaviness, extended melodic passages, or both. At its best, Alunea pulls this off. Lead single “Reunion,” probably closest in tone to earlier Kardashev, is great, while “Seed of the Night” and “We Could Fold the Stars” both showcase what I think Kardashev aimed for throughout: vicious heaviness, borrowing from both post-black and tech death, to create something harsh and crushing, but also complex. This is then played off against soft, but deceptively involved, melodic passages. While there are flashes of brilliance elsewhere (the back end of “Speak Silence,” which sees guest vocals from Genital Shame’s Erin Dawson, being one), much of it falls short.

Too often, Alunea feels like Kardashev exploring partly formed ideas, leaping between them, without taking the time to either fully flesh out what they’ve written or consider logical sequencing. The skill of the musicians involved prevents the record from descending into the chaos it could have been in less capable hands, with transitions smooth, and the musicianship still top tier. But, whether it’s the confused “Truth to Form” or “Edge of Forever,” which simply runs out of energy and ideas around the halfway mark, Alunea lacks both bite and incisiveness. Garrett, so often the band’s MVP, is also clearly trying to further expand his already huge versatility. While his death growls and snarling, blackened rasp remain on point, and his cleans are as gorgeous as ever, he often leans into a heavily distorted bark, which sounds slightly forced and lacking in power. Kardashev did at least learn from the production errors made on Liminal Rite, with Alunea’s soundstage more expansive and the guitars just about in the right place in the mix, likely the work of new engineer Zack Ohren (taking over from Mirolla).

Penning this review of Kardashev’s latest outing has given me even less pleasure than Alunea itself. I was so disappointed by the first few spins that I had to leave it completely alone for a week before returning fresh. Rose-tinted spectacles duly crushed underfoot, I started to see some of Alunea’s qualities (“Reunion,” Seed of the Night” and “We Could Fold the Stars”) but its key shortcoming came into focus also: it lacks structures, which guide the listener through the journey Kardashev want to take you on. They did this very effectively on Liminal Rite, but, in cutting length, they also lost clarity in the songwriting. Alunea has many strong building blocks, but they have been stacked at overly jaunty angles.

Rating: 2.5/5.0
DR: 5 | Format Reviewed: 256 kbps mp3
Label: Metal Blade Records
Websites: kardashev.bandcamp.com | kardashevband.com | facebook.com/Kardashevband
Releases Worldwide: April 25th, 2025

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If you’re looking to place The Spin in Messa’s discography, it’s probably closest in tone to Feast for Water. However, it’s a smoother experience. Rather like using a velvetiser to make your hot chocolate. It’s still hot chocolate. But it’s thicker, richer, and, well, velvet-ier. The Spin has been velvetised in two key ways. First, Sara’s smouldering, siren-like vocals have hit a whole new level, with the power on her sustains (“Fire on the Roof” and “Void Meridian,” in particular) imbuing The Spin with such a sense of power. Secondly, guitarist Alberto has leant harder into the progressive doom of Vanishing Kids, paired with the languid blues of his solo debut (Little Albert’s Swamp King), all buried in a guitar tone that Pink Floyd would be delighted by (“Reveal” and the gorgeous back end of “Immolation”). Where Feast had a slightly roughened, old-school Trouble or Pentagram edge to its haunting, crooning vibe, Messa are now operating in bigger, more expansive—and, frankly, more expensive-sounding—territories, recalling the likes of recent Green Lung (“At Races”) and Beth Hart (“Fire on the Roof” and “Immolation”).

And yet, Messa are still unmistakably Messa. From the yawing electronica that opens The Spin on “Void Meridian,” through The Gathering-meets-psychedelic-lounge-jazz of “The Dress” to the oppressive, brooding heaviness of closer “Thicker Blood,” the constantly shifting sonic palette draws on soundscapes that are familiar from each record in the band’s back catalogue. At the same time, The Spin is more anthemic than previous albums, with almost-nailed-on song o’ the year “Fire on the Roof” leading the way, its huge, trad doom chorus a thing of beauty, while the smoky, mesmerising verses find Sara almost chanting. In fact, “Fire…” is the start of a three-track run that, for me, is pretty well the best material Messa has written, as it leads into the fragile keys and bluesy, cathartic build of “Immolation” before “The Dress” hits. It is this that sets The Spin slightly apart from previous Messa albums, which have an organic flow to them, where this latest offering feels slightly more like a collection of songs.

While The Spin does feel less like a single, flowing composition than previous Messa records, it doesn’t lack cohesion, and the massive, standout highs offer plenty of compensation for that slight loss in flow. This may be explained by the fact that, unlike Close, the band chose to record this album separately, across several locations and periods, with (apparently) a lot of rearrangement of the material to get to the finished record. Messa also focused on simplifying and stripping back the song structures, which makes them more digestible. Although there are no weak songs on The Spin, opener “Void Meridian” lacks bite and never quite hits its stride, while penultimate cut “Reveal” feels like it belongs on an earlier Messa album, particularly in its chugging middle passage. I touched above on the beautiful guitar tone that Alberto and Mark Sade have found, so thick and meaty you can practically bite into it. Apparently, the band focused on using as much original 80s equipment as possible, which could have something to do with it.

At this point, it’s becoming apparent that Messa basically can’t miss. Whatever they turn their hand to, they manage to retain their identity, while writing diverse, interesting and, most importantly, absolutely banging albums. The Spin is no exception, from the bright, propulsive energy of “At Races” to the stark beauty of “Immolation,” Messa have done it again. At a tight 43 minutes, this album races by and, when it finishes, the only reason I don’t simply start it again is that I usually want to listen to “Fire on the Roof” a couple of times first. Less challenging and more immediate than previous records, but no less beautiful for it, The Spin perhaps shows the influence of bigger label Metal Blade on the band. I hope it earns them some deserved dollar bills.

Rating: 4.0/5.0
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 256 kbps mp3
Label: Metal Blade Records
Websites: messa.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/MESSAproject
Releases Worldwide: April 11th, 2025

Dolphin Whisperer

My brother-in-law loves metal, and I don’t think he’d be offended if I were also to say that he’s not particularly invested in finding new metal to listen to in the modern scene. However, on one ride in the car, I had Messa’s 2022 opus Close on at a moderate volume, prompting him to investigate what exactly was enchanting his ears. After that outing, he and my sister returned to their home, another five-plus hour drive, and she sent me a text saying that they binged Messa’s discog a couple times on the way back; he was in love. You see, despite the quirks that give Messa their mystical air, the crafty Italians possess the secret to all great rock music: volume-scaling power, a unique and soaring vocal presence, and big, fat hooks. The Spin, of course, is no exception.

In that regard, Messa follows their own lineage by never delivering the same album twice. The journey from post/drone atmospherics of Belfry to the heavier occult/doom worn Feast for Water to the MENA jazz-loaded snake charming Close, each entry in their catalog serves as an ode to their inherent tendency to experiment while holding true to a base of doom weight and rock attitude. Vocalist Sara Bianchin has transformed alongside Messa’s journey too, with her earliest performances reflecting the youth of her experience in rawer mic reflections. But The Spin leans on sounds from the ’80s, and, in turn, Bianchin’s now studied attack runs recklessly through swirling and swelling layers of echo and shrill serenade. Elsewhere, chorus pedal abuse, gothy reverb, and low-end synth propulsions mark The Spin’s throwback dance in the Messa stride—Disintegration-echoing bass leads (“Void Meridian,” “At Races”) crashing against Tears for Fears brooding throbs (“The Dress,” “Thicker Blood”) running through call-and-response guitar lead explosions (every. song.). It’s easy to fall prey to the sense of nostalgia that such sounds stimulate.

However, in a sense of reverence for the past, not just a wistful longing, The Spin weaves its own home in familiar textures. Messa finds a comfort in dreamy textures indebted to foundational post-punk works—those of The Sound or Joy Division—while still injecting a metallic edge of heavyweight chord drives and aggressive rhythms (“Fire on the Roof,” “Thicker Blood”). Doom anchors the drama, as always, in slow builds and syllable stretches that crawl and lurch against Messa’s chosen palette of Roland-modulated simmers and proto-shoegaze dissonance (“Void Meridian,” “The Dress”). And, of course, Messa lives life in the fast lane switching and melding identities on a dime, with late album cut “Reveal” pairing a heavy blues twang, frantic bursts of blast beats, and Bianchin’s wailing narrative for an anachronistic detour that both upends and upholds The Spin’s playful historical lens.

As Messa’s shortest album to date, The Spin’s seven cuts go down smooth but lacking in the kind of wholeness that other works have held. On one hand, it’s easy to work in The Spin to whatever length of time allows—a quick hit or two of your favorites as you dress for the day ahead, a longer commute as the sun moves from straight in the eyes to waving from the side, a jog around the neighborhood with canine companions. Movement, or rather transience, sits at the core of Messa’s themes here after all: the chase for meaning in a strained world (“Void Meridian”), the weight of choice that can’t decide a push or pull (“Immolation”), and accepting what lurks around the corner (“Thicker Blood”). And so The Spin demands more as an encapsulation of wandering, but it’s a human quest that’s easy to indulge as you see fit.

Neither a slow-burn nor a peel out, The Spin saunters at a breathing, bustling pace that manages to hustle ahead of a growing movement gazey and hazey doom wielders. I, too find solace in genre cousins like the jazzy and equally textured Moths or the pleading missions of Slumbering Sun, but Messa continues to find ways to wield weaponized guitar heroism, fat-bottomed tones, and sultry synthesis in a way that feels true to their growing discography while reaching to new fans and new sounds. Music this powerful stands ready to inspire binge listening, tone envy, and, with any luck, another generation hopelessly addicted to six strings screaming at unadvisable volumes.

Rating: 4.0/5.0

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If you are familiar with Mizmor and Hell’s past works, and can sort of picture what a collaboration focused on psychic distress might sound like, BOOM, you’re right! Alluvion is exactly that. Dense, doom-laden oppression, nuzzling up against moments of surprising delicacy and tenderness, with the latter kicking things off on opener, “Begging to be Lost.” The first two minutes of strings-only tranquillity hint at the rumbling blackened sludge that follows. With both men contributing vocals and guitars (while Hell handles bass, and Mizmor drums), when the hammer does fall, it falls hard. Noting the descriptor that Mizmor & Hell intended Alluvion to act as a means of navigating mental health struggles, I see the shifting moods of the record as mapping onto the ebb and flow of these challenges, from anvil-like oppression, through devastating chaos into exhausted moments of clarity, that border on hopeful. All this and more is packed into the 16 minutes and change of “Begging to be Lost” alone. Something resembling respite is offered by the percussion- and vocal-free “Vision I,” its distorted, reverberating drone cathartic in its simplicity.

As Mizmor & Hell move into standout piece “Pandemonium’s Throat,” the pattern of “Begging to be Lost” is repeated but in amplified form. The gentle opening notes bear hints of distortion, the droning guitar lines offer a rawer, blackened edge, while the vocals (Hell’s, I think) take on a more desperate, rasping edge. When all hell breaks loose—no pun intended—around the seven-minute mark, we find ourselves nudging into stripped back, heavily distorted black metal, with a frantic energy that is almost second wave in its intensity. Going into Alluvion, I’d braced myself for an epic on the scale of Yodh or Cairn, both of which hover around the hour mark. In fact, this comes in a surprisingly compact package, clocking in at just 39 minutes. But nevertheless, and perhaps because of the harrowing journey the listener is taken on, by the time we reach closer, “Vision II,” there’s an exhausted and drawn feel to Mizmor & Hell’s work. It’s that feeling of full-body tiredness we’ve all known at one point or another, where every part of you feels heavy and drained.

All that said, Alluvion isn’t quite as traumatic, nor as soul-destroying, as I’d braced myself for from this Mizmor & Hell combination. There are two reasons for this. First, “Vision I” and “Vision II,” which act as a mid-album interlude and outro,¹ respectively. These serve to both offer up some respite for the listener—leaving to one side the rather unsettling, wordless voices that swirl and clack around you at the end of “Vision II”—but also to significantly lessen the complexity of the album. Comprising over a quarter of Alluvion, they are, on the one hand, welcome for making it an easier listen, and, on the other, a hindrance for somewhat lessening its impact. The other reason for the lower trauma rating is the production. Only managing a DR4, this simply isn’t as rich and textured as I’d hoped it would be, and as I think it needs to be, to fully achieve its creators’ mission.

Alluvion promised a lot and delivered quite a bit, but not the whole package. Its highs, which are basically all of “Pandemonium’s Throat,” are great, building the oppressive tension before unleashing raw catharsis. However, the rest of the compositions from Mizmor & Hell are good but no more. I’m not quite sure how much of this to pin on the expectations that I carried into Alluvion, and which I suspect many who know the solo work by each of these men will also carry. It’s honest, raw, and good, but the fact is I walked away from it relatively unscathed, where I expected to be ruined, face down beside a deserted path.

Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: 4 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3
Label: Gilead Media
Websites: mizmor.bandcamp.com | loweryourhead.bandcamp.com
Releases Worldwide: April 4th, 2025

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Dissocia

Straight out of the gate, the dancing arpeggio-like guitar line and swelling synths that open “Existentialist” make clear that To Lift the Veil is going to be a wild ride. And so it proves. Across a chaotic 41 minutes and change, Dissocia lurch between progressive melodeath, something that approaches deathcore in a few places (“He Who Dwells”), symphonic synth movements, dreamy Unreqvited-esque sequences and more, the whole often set to weirdly discordant, pulsing rhythms that border on industrial groove. All in all, the album’s structures have the same levels of predictability as the movements of a severely inebriated person crossing an ice rink. This need not necessarily be viewed as a bad thing though. Flys is both a talented guitarist and a versatile vocalist, his harsh vox often recalling Gojira’s Joe Duplantier (“Existentialist”), while his surprisingly delicate cleans, which occasionally wander into Caligula’s Horse territory (“Evasion”), offer a much-needed extra dimension. Similarly, Valcázar’s work on drums is stellar and the sheer unpredictability of this record is part of its charm.

The challenge for Dissocia is to somehow tie the numerous threads of To Lift the Veil into a cohesive tapestry, rather than a ball of yarn. At its strongest, they manage this well. There’s a rabid groove to “Samsara” that it’s almost impossible not to enjoy, while the slow build synth opening to “Zenosyne” gradually unfolds itself, the tension building, before the Flys’ guitar lets loose progressive death riffs and Valcázar unleashes overlapping broadsides behind the kit. This flows well into “The Lucifer Effect,” which similarly shifts between soaring moments of chaos and more reflective passages. While the turn-on-a-dime nature of the craziness does in some ways recall Devin Townsend, it’s not until the heavily distorted screams at the midway point of closer “Out of Slumber” that Hevy Devy really shows through in the vocals.

Not everything on To Lift the Veil works though and, at times, it feels like Dissocia are losing their grasp on the myriad elements of the record. “He Who Dwells” is the most obvious example of this, as the progressive extreme elements, which often mirror opener “Existentialist,” stray into deathcore territory, particularly in Valcázar’s drumming. This simply doesn’t gel with the rest of To Lift the Veil. Equally, the drifting moods of “Evasion” seem rather aimless at times, while Flys’ vocals rather get away from him on closer “Out of Slumber,” which by its end feels like someone desperately trying to claw themselves out of slumber and into wakefulness. The production, also handled by Flys, doesn’t always help, with the drums sometimes seeming to disappear down a hole (middle of “He Who Dwells”) before roaring back to the front of the stage, and the whole thing feeling loud and slightly flat, despite the DR6.

You have to admire the vision and ambition on show on To Lift the Veil, which in other hands would likely have been a hot mess. Far from easing themselves into things on their debut, Dissocia have thrown everything at this record and some of it’s really good (“Samsara” and “Zenosyne”). The stunning artwork by Rein Van Oyen (Haken) gives a sense of the surreal, expansive journey you can expect, but perhaps not the chaotic nature of the ride. I hope Dissocia have a second album in them because, with just a little more refinement and focus to iron out some of the inconsistencies, as well as improve the production a little, there is a helluva lot of very interesting potential here.

Rating: 2.5/5.0
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3
Label: Willowtip Records
Websites: dissociaofficial.bandcamp.com/album/to-lift-the-veil | facebook.com/dissociaofficial
Releases Worldwide: March 21st, 2025

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Ok, that was misleading. As far as I know, Thurnin makes no use of lutes on Harmr. Instead, the majority of the work is done by Timmer’s acoustic guitars, adorned by other strings, including violins, and occasional pipes. The guitars are multi-tracked and densely layered, meaning that, despite being both instrumental (a few background vocal effects, like on “Arcturus,” aside) and largely percussion-free (save for “Heortece” and a few moments of “Eitr”), there are multiple layers to this tapestry. Whether one interprets Harmr as depicting sorrow or grief will, I suspect, come down to your own individual perception of those two words. For me, I lean more to the former. The soundscapes conjured on the album feel forlorn and melancholy, imbued with a sense of longing, but not the despair, desperation or hopelessness that I associate with grief.

As Harmr progresses, Thurnin confidently crafts and maintains the mood, its sombre tones resonating across the album’s full 42-minute run. There is something about it that reminds me of an accordion. Not in the sound—no accordions were Harmred, or used, in the making of this album—but in the breathy quality of the music. It almost feels like, track to track, the record in- and exhales, just as the air flows into an accordion, before being slowly expelled again. Perhaps breathing would be a better metaphor because Harmr feels very organic in its flow. The delicate, relatively stripped back notes of “Fylgja” or closer “Folkvangr” are at once notably different in mood from, but clearly belong alongside, the more urgent and insistent refrain of “Heortece” and the backend of “Eitr,” which feature the only percussion (it sounds like it’s probably a handheld drum along the lines of a bhodran) on the album.

Thurnin’s overall approach is perhaps best described as dreamlike. Harmr seems to slowly wander, weaving between moods and pacing, without ever breaking the spell. For me, however, this is both the charm and Achilles heel of this album, and indeed Thurnin’s prior releases. For all its richness of sound and compositional consistency, it also lacks differentiation. The absence of vocals and very limited use of percussion means that the album is crafted using a fairly limited palette, compared to the likes of Wardruna. Moreover, although there are changes in pacing (compare, for example, “Heortece” and “Fylgja”), these are relative, within the spectrum of what Thurnin does. That said, the production here is worthy of a callout, as Harmr sounds phenomenal. Although albums like this, without the backbone of drums, often seem to return high DR scores, the 11 here feels right. Its component parts breathe and sway like the wind-in-the-grass vibes that open “Folkvangr,” feeling rich enough to almost touch.

Harmr is one of those albums where I wish we didn’t give out scores or ratings. Whatever I choose will feel wrong, and mileage will likely vary significantly. On the one hand, Thurnin’s forlorn dark folk is expertly crafted and executed, but on the other, it also feels a bit limited in scope. I find myself largely unable to recall individual moments, left instead with the overall sense and mood evoked by the album, but without any details. Above, I likened Harmr to a dream, and perhaps that intangibility is the epitome of this. Either way, I don’t see myself returning to this album often because, I suspect, its virtues will fade quickly. However, if I find myself listening to it, I will no doubt be borne away again, as I was the first time round.

Rating: 2.5/5.0
DR: 11 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3
Label: Auerbach Tonträger
Websites: thurnin.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/ThurninFolk
Releases Worldwide: March 14th, 2025

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At this point, it feels like Grima’s songwriting is quite deliberate. That may feel like an odd thing to say. Isn’t songwriting always deliberate? Well, yes. And no. Perhaps “reflective” would be a better descriptor. What I mean is that it seems like the brothers take time to digest their last work before tweaking the dials to lock in what worked while refining other parts. We saw the ‘atmoblack’ dial being cranked for Rotten Garden, while it was nudged back down again and the ‘speed’ knob twizzled for Frostbitten. For Nightside, the dial marked “accordion/bayan” has had a damn good thrashing (courtesy of Sergey Pastukh, once again) and, if there were an adjustment labelled “urgency,” that has also hit 11. Nightside feels vibrant, alive and dripping atmosphere (“The Nightside”), with guest drummer Vlad in propulsive gear (“Beyond the Dark Horizon”), while Vilhelm and Morbius’ dual guitar attack channels every crystalline, hoarfrost encrusted tremolo we could want (“Where We Are Lost”).

Taking everything that was great about Frostbitten, Grima has circled back to sweep up some of the more traditional influences on Will of the Primordial, combining them with liquid smooth pacing that shifts perfectly track to track. It seems unnecessary at this point to note that Vilhelm’s harsh vox are among the best black metal rasps available today, marshalling the iciest of tundra winds to shred your eardrums. On “Impending Death Premonition” and “Curse of the Void,” he is joined by guests Savely Nevzorov and Ilya Panyuko, who contribute deep, clean backing vocals that elevate the sound further. Echoing this vocal feel, in the slower moments of Nightside, there’s something teetering on the edge of a symphonic doom sound (the opening to “Flight of the Silver Storm” and mid-sections of “Skull Gatherers”). While, in the faster passages (including the accordion … riff? … that rears up during instrumental “Intro (Cult)”), there is a sort of rabid intensity that hits peak Grima (front half of “The Nightside” and back half of next track “Where we are Lost,” forming a great arc).

Mixed and mastered, as before, by Second to Sun guitarist Vladimir Lehtinen, Grima sound just as good on Nightside as they did on Frostbitten (subject to the caveats around only having a stream, yada yada, etc.). The guitars are quite forward in the mix but their crystalline tone means they don’t dominate, while the accordion is given a lot of space to do its wonderful thing. Vilhelm’s vocals are well-balanced and cut through like the proverbial icy wind, giving the whole an extra bite. Grima’s songwriting continues to progress, and Nightside feels like the most nuanced and best-paced outing to date. If I have one criticism of this record, it’s that I’d like it to just go a little harder in a few places. The one-two of mid-album cuts “The Nightside” and “Where we are Lost” is some of, if not the, best material Grima has ever written, and that is because they go hard.

So, did the stream ruin Nightside for me? Well, no, but it tried its bloody hardest. And I do think that, if I’d been able to enjoy this record’s obvious flow without it constantly stopping, refusing to play, and so on, the score could have been even higher than it is. While that may see Steel celebrating, and I hope the new deal serves Grima well, I don’t know why it’s so hard for labels—if they insist on sharing stream-only promo—to make those streams, I don’t know how to put this, um, work? Since it tends to be higher profile bands that are impacted by this, the labels are only harming their most valuable assets.

Rating: 4.0/5.0
DR: N/A | Format Reviewed: Stream only
Label: Napalm Records
Websites: grima.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/grimablackmetal
Releases Worldwide: February 28th, 2025

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Novarupta

Compared to the ethereal grandeur and restraint of Carrion Movements, there is an instant sense of presence and immediacy to Astral Sands from the off, even on instrumental intro “Ensamstående: Enastående.” The whole record has a heavily distorted sound, that borders on sludge in the atmosphere it generates, without actually delivering sludge in the music (opening of “Seven Collides” or the back half of “Terraforming Celestial Bodies,” for example). In that sense, there’s something of Bossk’s Migration about it. Paired with upbeat drumming that borders on d-beat in places (closer “Now We are Here (at the Inevitable End)” or “The Clay Keeps”), Novarupta has a propulsive energy throughout that is at odds with much of their previous output, which is often ponderous and slow build. Even as Novarupta descend into morose trad doom a la Tiamat (“Breathe Breathe,” with vocals from Patrik Wirén of Misery Loves Co.) there’s a shimmering lightness to the guitars, enhanced by the synths, which slide from left to right and back again in the mix, that keeps the whole surprisingly vibrant.

Inevitably, with an album that changes vocalist on eight of its nine tracks (with one instrumental number), your enjoyment of Astral Sands will vary somewhat track by track, according to whose voice you like best. The indisputable highlight of the piece—at least for me and it’s my review, so it’s indisputable for present purposes—is closer, “Now We are Here (at the Inevitable End),” which finds Martin Wegeland of Domkraft on mic duties. Initially airy, vulnerable, and breathy in his delivery, by the end of the track and, therefore, the album, Wegeland hits the sort of manic intensity and urgency that I look for in the likes of Julie Christmas. Other standouts include the almost poppy “Endless Joy” and “Terraforming Celestial Bodies,” with the latter (featuring Greanleaf’s Arvid Hällagård on vox) nodding towards The Cure.¹

Throughout the shifts in pacing and mood on Astral Sands, driven principally by the ever-changing vocal line-up, there’s a consistency in the sound, which knits together Novarupta’s songwriting. Whether it’s the lush post-metal guitars and bass groove (“Cosmographia”), or the spangly, fizzing synths, there’s a through line to the record that holds it together. It also helps that the various singers adopt a broadly comparable approach, with no harsh vocals on show and most taking a slightly distant, almost 80s-synthwave approach to their delivery. The production throughout, presumably to deliver that earthy feel, leans heavily into fuzz and distortion at the front of the soundstage, even though there’s an almost crystalline quality to some of the soundscapes and melodies behind that.

To be honest, I had no idea what to expect from Astral Sands. I had been tipped off in advance that the vocals were back but had resolutely resisted listening to the singles. And I’ll admit I was nervous. While I enjoyed Marine Snow, for me the highlight of Novarupta’s catalogue was Carrion Movements, where the abandonment of ever-shifting vocalists allowed mainmen Alex Stjernfeldt and Arjen Kunnen to focus on their compositions, which were huge in scope and delicately executed. On Astral Sands, the pair have reverted to their previous model, while learning from what they delivered on Carrion Movements. Although the album is structured as nine tracks, there is flow and a sense of grandeur to it, which builds on Carrion Movements. Even the bookending of the album, with reflected similarities between the start of sonorous opener “Ensamstående: Enastående” and more intense closer “Now We are Here (at the Inevitable End),” highlights this. More than a worthy closing movement in Novarupta’s tetralogy, Astral Sands is the pick of the series.

Rating: 4.0/5.0
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3
Label: Suicide Records
Website: facebook.com/novaruptaband
Releases Worldwide: February 14th, 2025

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Unreqvited

While closer to a traditional album in structure than Unreqvited’s previous output, A Pathway to the Moon gives the impression of a cinematic soundtrack. Flowing between something that, at times, nudges up against Ihsahn territory (“The Antimatter”), synth-dominated ambient work and soaring guitar- and vocal-led pieces that could almost be Caligula’s Horse in places (“The Starforger”), there’s a lot to take in. It’s credit to 鬼 that the album retains a cohesive feel, despite its chameleonic mood shifts. Bookended by the percussion-free dreams of “Overture: I Disintegrate” and “Departure: Everlasting Dream,” A Pathway to the Moon has the feel of a journey, guiding the listener through shifting landscapes. Or moonscapes. For all the lush synth work and keys, there’s something desolate and sad about the album, which has a much more despondent feel to it than 2021’s Beautiful Ghosts.

Perhaps A Pathway to the Moon’s feeling of loneliness is driven by the vocals. It turns out that 鬼’s voice, previously a wordless, howling demon, is actually high, clear, and fragile, with an almost ethereal edge to it, especially when double-tracked (“Void Essence / Frozen Tears”). In places, I was reminded of Mark Garrett’s (Kardashev) cleans, which is a very good thing indeed. While clean vocals now dominate, both black metal rasps and DSBM shrieks have their place in the mix but, from the outset to the close, it’s Unreqvited’s new face that we see the most. Whether set to warbling electronica (“Into the Starlit Beyond”) or dancing guitar lines (“The Starforger”), it’s hard to see the focus as anything but 鬼’s voice. There may be a degree to which this is because A Pathway to the Moon shatters my expectations of what an Unreqvited album is but there is no doubt that, after six albums more or less instrumental albums, 鬼 has found his voice.

The prominent introduction, not just of vocals, but of clean singing, came as a surprise to me. However, on reflection, it is also a natural progression in Unreqvited’s sound from previous outing, Beautiful Ghosts. It also aligns with the shift into being more of a touring band. While 鬼’s (surprisingly) strong voice carries the transition, to a certain degree, the compositional focus has also shifted slightly away from the gorgeous soundscapes that were the hallmark of Mosaic I and Empathica. While “Void Essence / Frozen Tears” showcases all aspects of Unreqvited’s sound to excellent effect, other tracks (most notably “Into the Starlit Beyond”) feel almost like something was taken away to make space for the vocals. To put it another way, rather than the vocals embellishing or enhancing what was great about Unreqvited, what used to be achieved instrumentally, is now achieved through the vocals. It’s still very good but weirdly has the feel of treading water, rather than moving forward. The drums are also pushed way down into the mix to make space for the vox, leaving the percussion lacking a bit of impact.

If that last paragraph reads as heavily critical of Unreqvited, it’s not meant to. I really enjoy A Pathway to the Moon but I’ve been on something of a journey with it. I generally don’t listen to advance tracks of things I know I’m going to review, preferring to come into the album as a whole. This meant the shift to singing caught me off guard. After I got over my surprise, I loved it but, the more time I spent with the album, the more I missed some of the rich textures and dynamics from previous records, some of which were left on the cutting room floor. That said, this is a hugely enjoyable, emotively written record that I thoroughly recommend.

Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3
Label: Prophecy Productions
Websites: unreqvited.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/unreqvited
Releases Worldwide: February 7th, 2025

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From the first notes of intro “Déistin,” with pulsing electronica and deep, thrumming guitars, it’s clear that Níl mo chroí in aon rud is going to be a different record from its predecessor. And so it proves. Fós has focused not just on song structure but also album structure this time, with an overall flow to the music that strives to match the rise and fall of ní Cholmáin’s voice, which soars and dips and twists. Deftly combining everything from post-doom (“Bádaí na Scadán”) and rumbling drone-adjacent noise (“Táim i mo shuí”) to stripped-back neo-folk (“Molly na gCuach Ní Chuilleanáin”), Níl mo chroí in aon rud is a far more accomplished record than Rinne mé iarraidh. This sense is helped by the fact that ní Cholmáin’s voice is ever so slightly deeper and less ethereal (though no less beautiful) than her predecessor’s. Imbued with a rich silkiness, it somehow blends better with the music than Cadden Patel’s did.

The objective Fós set itself of blending traditional Irish folk singing, with a diverse array of almost-metal styles, was no small task. Yet it is one they have come close to achieving on Níl mo chroí in aon rud. Despite the heavy use of throbbing electronica and thudding percussion, there is a somber beauty and resonance to much of the material here, that leaves me with a deep sense of longing and loss after each spin. The album makes use of interludes (“Trua” and “Maolaitheach”), in addition to the intro, something I am not usually a fan of. However, in situ, these feel both integral and necessary to the album, with “Maolaitheach” bridging well from the fire-and-shadow neofolk tones of album highlight “Molly na gCuach Ní Chuilleanáin” to the bright, buzzing edges of album closer “An Mhaighdean Mhara.”

The change in singer, coupled with much more focused songwriting, has done wonders for Fós. Where Rinne mé iarraidh meandered, Níl mo chroí in aon rud feels focused and purposeful. Still tight at only 37 minutes, the clearer structures feel as though they were written with the vocals in mind, rather than simply acting as a sonic backdrop to them. That said, not everything works, with the first half of “Slán le Maigh” feeling aimless. Still, as the rumbling, distended chords give way to brighter synth work, which recalls Unreqvited in places, Fós recapture the magic they conjure elsewhere. Similarly, the down-tuned groove that dominates the first third of “Bádaí na Scadán” is a somehow jarring way to kick off the first song proper but they settle into their rhythm and these are really the only musical missteps on the album. Were the production better, Níl mo chroí in aon rud could have threatened the score safety counter. Although undoubtedly a step up from the last outing, feeling denser and more textured than the last album, the mix is off. The drums, in particular, are too far forward and feel over-defined, threatening to swallow the vocals in the record’s heavier moments (back end of “Bádaí na Scadán,” for example).

When I saw that Fós was back with a new album, I was genuinely pleased. Despite having dolled out a meager 2.5 last time, I found them genuinely interesting and packed with potential. After nearly four years, I assumed that was last we would hear of them. The fact that Níl mo chroí in aon rud not only arrived but delivered on the promise is fantastic. Fós have done exactly what I hoped they would, better blending the music with the haunting, poignant vocals (even if delivered by a new singer) and I hope we get more soon. Please don’t let Murray do the cover design again. I’m begging you.

Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3
Label: Fiadh Productions
Websites: fosmetal.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/fosmetal
Releases Worldwide: January 27th, 2025

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Carcharodon

I’ve been writing here since 2018. This has been the hardest year to date. I feel like I say this every year right around this time but, for whatever reason, I’ve really struggled this year to find the motivation and inspiration to write. Indeed, I’ve often felt that I lacked the passion for the music. Rather than exploring the murkier depths of Bandcamp, I was often to be found in the company of old, non-metal friends like Nick Cave, 16 Horsepower and Tom Waits.

Despite my disappointment with the world, most of which is on literal or metaphorical fire, and my disillusionment with people, whose choices have caused most of that, there were bright glimmers. The phenomenal response to our Gondor-esque call for aid, when Kenstrosity’s life was ripped apart by Hurricane Helene, reassured me there are still a few good people out there, a good number of whom read this blog.

Still, I managed to turn out a few reviews this year, including my first ever 5.0—more of which below—which was worth it for the Steel Ire it evoked alone. And there was the Fifteenalia, a celebration the like of which we will not see again (for obvious reasons), which I had the honour of steering from questionable inception to creaky delivery.

Ironically, despite my struggles on the writing front, This Place has played a significant part in keeping me sane. It’s been tolerable to welcome a few new staffers—some even raised up from the awful Place Below—to our serried ranks, while the older hands feel almost like family at this point, with everything that that entails. As ever, particular thanks go to Steel Druhm for his tireless intimidation, which just about keeps us honest, while Dolph, Dear Hollow, El Cuervo, Grier, Maddog, Sentynel and Thus Spoke, among others, have proved adequate companions for banter and gigs.

And with that, I wish you all the happiest of Listurnalias.

#ish. Pillar of Light // Caldera – A very late entry to this list, Pillar of Light should be a cautionary tale to bands and labels: release your shit earlier! With more time, the stunning Amenra-meets-Cult of Luna post-misery of Caldera could easily have placed in the top half of this list. While I know this is an album I will come to love and fully expect to regret not placing it higher here, the reality is that other entries have had longer to sink their hooks into me. I will just say that, for me, the apparently divisive vocals are a perfect fit for Pillar of Light’s style.

#10. Seth // La France des Maudits – Way back when,¹ French black metallers Seth snuck onto my list of Honorable Mentions with La Morsure du Christ, a fantastic return to form after a lengthy absence. After a short gap, they’re back and this year’s La France des Maudits has cracked the list proper. Melodic, bordering on symphonic with the keys and choral arrangements, but also visceral and feral, Seth dropped an absolute banger. It doesn’t hurt that, as Thus Spoke pointed out in her review, it’s “downright impressive how rich and dynamic this sounds.”

#9. The Vision Bleak // Weird Tales – The Vision Bleak is not, to paraphrase Dr Grier, a band that has ever ‘got’ me. Or perhaps, I’ve never got them. But Weird Tales resonated with me enormously. And perhaps that’s because it’s not really like anything The Vision Bleak has done before. Structuring their gothic black metal (or should that be blackened goth metal?) into a single, flowing song (albeit one broken into parts) got my attention. But they held my attention because they actually managed to pull off this very-hard-to-execute vision. Weird Tales’ Type O Negative / Moonspell-inspired blackened sound clicked into place almost instantly for me and now I need to go back to TVB’s discography with newly-opened eyes.

#8. Necrowretch // Swords of Dajjal – The first 4.0 I delivered in an alarmingly high-scoring year, Necrowretch’s black-death fusion is something that I have returned to again. Hiding beneath the vicious, downright nasty surface of Swords of Dajjal, is a surprisingly subtle and well-crafted concept album. As I said in my review, there is zero bloat or filler on this record, which blazes with intensity, driven as much by the scything, razor-sharp riffs as the rasping, sepulchral vocals. The range of influences cited, both by me and by impressed commenters, shows how many different aspects there are to this killer record.

#7. Panzerfaust // The Suns of Perdition – Chapter IV: To Shadow Zion – After Chapter III: The Astral Drain, I was worried that Panzerfaust were running out of steam and inspiration to close out The Suns of Perdition saga. Thankfully, my concerns were misplaced. To Shadow Zion reeks of doom and destiny. Huge, brooding and intense, it is a captivating listen, with the stunning “The Damascene Conversions” sitting at its heart. From the sulfuric vocals to the masterful drumming, this was a worthy final chapter for The Suns of Perdition, which must go down as one of the best executed, most consistent multi-album concept pieces in metal.

#6. Spectral Wound // Songs of Blood and Mire – Spectral Wound just can’t miss. For a band that, superficially at least, plays fairly old school black metal, songwriting chops paired with brilliant execution mean these guys are anything but derivative. My favourite album of theirs to date, Songs of Blood and Mire is just tons of wicked, nasty fun. It’s hard to say exactly why, but I feel like everything Spectral Wound does has a slight knowing wink to it, which suggests that the band doesn’t take itself too seriously. For me, this is a huge positive, as a lot of black metal is so tediously earnest, where this is unflinchingly harsh, surprisingly melodic and drowning in swaggering groove. Great stuff.

#5. Mother of Graves // The Periapt of Absence – I’m a sucker for death doom. And The Periapt of Absence is some fucking great death doom. Mother of Graves were unknown to me before I stumbled across this album but their blending of old school Opeth (think somewhere between Morningrise and Orchid) with early Katatonia and Paradise Lost, plus a sprinkling of Clouds is stunning. All wrapped up in a pleasingly tight package, Mother of Graves smother the listener in unflinching, heartwrenching misery. And I love every minute of it. It’s that Peaceville Three sound we love, but feeling fresh, vibrant and vital.

#4. Devenial Verdict // Blessing of Despair – Me and death metal don’t always see eye to eye, and the last Devenial Verdict left only a passing impression. But Thus Spoke’s tireless tongue-bathing promotion of Blessing of Despair convinced me to give it a chance. While I enjoy the stomping thuggery of Devenial Verdict’s dissonant death well enough, it’s the sudden mood swings into what TS described as “lethally graceful restraint” that really hooked me. Although worlds apart stylistically, on Blessing of Despair DV achieved what Chained to the Bottom of the Ocean did on Obsession Destruction: knowing precisely how far to push the suffocating, claustrophobic heaviness, before taking their foot off your throat for a minute. Then stamping on it again.

#3. Julie Christmas // Ridiculous and Full of Blood – Maddog predicted that I would lambast him as an underrating bastard for the 3.5 he deigned to award Ms Christmas. And he was quite correct. He’s a charlatan of the highest order. However, even I’m surprised by how high Ridiculous and Full of Blood has landed here. But, as someone not given to overly emotional reactions to music, I’m continually stunned by the reactions Julie—Can I call you Julie? No? Ok—extracts from me. I’m often on the edge of tears by the end of “The Lighthouse,” just like that cad Maddog, while the likes of “Not Enough” and “End of the World” (the latter with CoL’s Johannes Persson) have a scary edge to them, with Christmas at her maniacal, crooning, possessed, unpredictable best.

#2. A Swarm of the Sun // An Empire – Speaking of emotional responses, A Swarm of the Sun’s stripped back melancholy is right up there. If I say that An Empire is brighter and more uplifting than previous efforts The Rifts and The Woods, understand that this is a very relative statement. An Empire is drowning in sorrow and misery, and yet there is just a hint of brightness that shimmers and hovers around the edges, like a lunar halo. Slow and deliberate, haunting and cathartic, A Swarm of the Sun’s latest outing is just beautiful. End of. No discussion.²

#1. Kanonenfieber // Die Urkatastrophe – Y’all know I dropped a 5.0 on Die Urkatastophe, so it’s no surprise to find it here, sitting pretty, atop my list. There’s not much more praise that I can heap on Kanonenfieber’s sophomore record than I already did in my review. For me, it has everything and is more than I dared hope for as a follow up to my beloved Menschenmühle (my album of the year for 2021). It is brutal and vicious (“Panzerhenker” and “Ausblutingsschlacht”), anthemic (“Der Maulwurf” and “Menschenmühle”) and more. Crafted—and yes, that is the correct word—with huge skill and attention to detail, it is the storytelling, based on original source materials, that elevates this record to the next level for me. And if you don’t speak German, or are simply not into narrative in your metal, just go bang your fucking head to “Gott mit der Kavallerie”!

Honorable Mentions

• 40 Watt Sun // Little Weight – Little Weight actually carries a lot of emotional weight. Melancholic, beautiful post-doom and shoegaze, rife with a rough honesty.
• Anciients // Beyond the Reach of the Sun – Long-form (arguably too-long-form in some respects) progressive death, which is wonderfully ambitious and overblown in its scale and delivery.
• Crypt Sermon // The Stygian Rose – Fantastic trad doom, channeling heavy doses of Candlemass. Early in the year, I thought this was top-5 material but it’s uneven, with the back half much stronger than the front, and I’ve cooled on it a touch.
• Nyktophobia // To the Stars – Just great, stomping melodeath. As I said in my review, it’s not massively original but it’s tight and well written, and easy to just kick back to. Sometimes, I don’t need more.
• Silhouette // Les Dires de l’​Â​me – This fantastic post-black album had a place on the list proper until Pillar of Light bulldozed its way in there very late in the day. Haunting, harrowing and beautiful, Silhouette’s debut is Great!
• Sumac // The Healer – Nothing about The Healer makes it an easy listen but Sumac’s fifth record is curiously beautiful for all its wandering, free-form abrasiveness.
• Vorga // Beyond the Palest Star – While it’s hard to disagree with Kenstrosity’s criticism of the production on Beyond the Palest Star, what can I say? I still love it. It’s chunky, well written, well paced and powerful.

Surprises o’ the Year

• Opeth // The Last Will and Testament – It’s been a long time since I was last genuinely interested in an Opeth album (2005’s Ghost Reveries, in case you were wondering). But, wouldn’t you just know it, Mikael Åkerfeldt and co are back (roars and all). I’m not ready to commit to a score for The Last Will (though I think El Cuervo’s was possibly a smidge high) as I’ve not been able to spend enough time with it. But the fact I want to spend more time with it is, after 19 years of having no interest in Opeth’s output, a surprise. And a welcome one.
• Grand Magus // Sunraven – Another Swedish favourite of old, which I’d all but given up on, Grand Magus roared back this year with Sunraven. As an equally surprised Steel Druhm said in his review, this was the album he “feverishly hoped to get from Grand Magus … a grand return to prime form with the fire firmly back in the Balrog … the best Magus outing since 2012’s The Hunt”.

Disappointment o’ the Year

• Zeal & Ardor // GREIF – I’m not angry, or even very surprised, just disappointed.³ While I accept that this is the album of a band in transition, there’s no getting away from the fact that it was a hugely disappointing album from a band that has abandoned the sound that made it what it was. And for what? They have not transitioned to something new and exciting, but with kinks to be worked out. Rather, on this record, Zeal & Ardor became something so pedestrian that any number of post-rock bands could’ve written it and, probably, done a better job. I may have overrated it.

Songs o’ the Year

Cherd

Twenty-twenty-four was certainly a year that followed previous years and will precede still others. When I look back, I’ll likely remember it as the year I discovered the wonders of ADHD medication after decades of non-treatment, the difficult transition my poor Cherdlet experienced from kindergarten to first grade, and the incredible bucket list trip my wife and I took to Toronto to watch our favorite TV franchise filming new content courtesy of my very important Hollywood connections. No, not Robert Downey Jr. Much more important and better-looking. Hmm? Margot Robbie? She wishes. I also had the pleasure of meeting several of my fellow writers in person, and they are all much homelier than they let on with the exception of Madam X, who is a goddamned ray of sunshine.

On the musical front, I was able to check two bands off my “need to see live” list in Judas Priest and Archspire, whereby I discovered that Halford does exactly zero audience banter, and Archspire do nothing but. Fun shows, both. I didn’t listen to as much new music by volume this year than I have in previous years when I’d log between 200 and 400 releases, and that was largely due to my kid’s age and the level of interaction he needs. I have a feeling, however, that 2025 will see an uptick thanks to the new Heavys headphones I got for Christmas this year. As always, I want to thank the editors, particularly Steel Druhm and Doc Grier, for not sending me a mailbomb after all the late reviews I turned in (I’ll work on that in 2025), and the man himself, AMG, for building this community and for agreeing that Deep Space Nine is the best Star Trek show.⁴

#ish. Chat Pile // Cool World – This is what it sounds like when Chat Pile make a “mature” record. As I noted in my October review, some of the most glaring weirdness and black humor the band is known for is missing in Cool World, which is why it’s here on my list instead of matching the lofty heights of my 2022 AOTY God’s Country. That said, this is consistently bleak in a way I like, and it boasts what are in my opinion the two best–if not most memorable–songs the band have written to date in “New World” and “Masc.” I’m a sucker for these Oklahomans and look forward to how their sound evolves from here.

#10. Glacial Tomb // Lightless Expanse – I’ve had an up and down journey with Glacial Tomb’s sophomore record, but that doesn’t mean I don’t still view this as one of the best things I’ve listened to this year. To consider a record this closely means you have to listen to it a lot, and I wouldn’t be surprised if I logged more hours with Lightless Expanse than with any other album. I’ve made a big deal about the one-three punch of “Voidwomb/Enshrined in Concrete/Abyssal Host”, but it bears repeating since it’s my favorite consecutive stretch of death metal in 2024.

#9. Replicant // Infinite Mortality – If you peel back the veneer of disso-death and blackened blasts on Infinite Mortality, you’ll find a pounding hardcore heart comprised of equal parts beatdown and Converge. As technical as this music gets, and there is a lot going on here, Replicant never forget their primary duty as a metal band: snapping necks. On their third album, they’ve exquisitely composed a missive to unbridled aggression. I completely missed their previous albums, so I’m glad our Kenfren wouldn’t shut his excitable yap about this one.

#8. Spectral Voice // Sparagmos – “Alright skaters! This is the end of our free skate period. We’d like to once again thank you for spending your Saturday with us here at Family Fun Roller Rink and Arcade. It’s time to slow things down, down, way down, and you know what that means. That’s right, it’s couples’ skate. So, find that special someone you want to be interred on a cold stone slab with, gaze into each other’s empty eye sockets, and make your way around the rink as wave after wave of Spectral Voice’s death/funeral doom forcefully separates you from any light, hope, or happiness this wretched world might have accidentally given you. Remember, those who survive the next 45 minutes of tectonic plates colliding will get the chance to compete in roller limbo!”

#7. Crypt Sermon // The Stygian Rose – Despite being one of the biggest doom apologists on this site, Crypt Sermon failed to grab me with their highly acclaimed debut nearly ten years ago. I chalk this up to my unfamiliarity with the traditional doom style at the time. In recent years, I’ve binged large amounts of Candlemass, Saint Vitus, Cathedral, Solitude Aeturnus et al., so I finally have the frame of reference to see just how well Crypt Sermon’s third LP captures the swagger, majesty, and grit of a style few contemporary bands seem interested in playing. After the growing pains displayed on The Ruins of Fading Light, these Philly natives have worked out the kinks and delivered an air-tight slab of doomy goodness.

#6. Full of Hell // Coagulated Bliss – I regret waiving my seniority claim to Full of Hell releases, thus allowing Dolph to snap up review duties for Coagulated Bliss. It’s not that he did a bad job of reviewing the prolific experimental grind outfit’s latest. He did great, and he awarded it a deserved 4.0. But then he had the cheek, the nerve, the gall, the audacity, and the gumption to incorrectly lower his score. To make matters worse, it appeared nowhere on his year-end list. Not even a goll dern honorable mention. I’ve told him to his cetacean face that he’s wrong and I’m likely to do so again because this is Full of Hell’s best work since Trumpeting Ecstasy. In fact, it might be better.

#5. Ulcerate // Cutting the Throat of God – For most of their existence, Ulcerate was a highly acclaimed band that I just couldn’t get into. That changed four years ago with the release of Stare into Death and Be Still. Little changed in their intricate approach to dissonant death metal, but there was something warmer and more human to what I had previously considered a rather detached style. That trend continues with Cutting the Throat of God. I find this record best when taken as a whole, letting the experience unfold over the full runtime, like dream-walking through a hedge maze or being trapped in a velvet sack and discovering it’s much larger on the inside.⁵

#4. Thou // Umbilical – I waited a long time for a chance to review a new record by Thou, and when it finally came, they did not disappoint. As I said in my June review, “Like their chimerical American metal brethren Inter Arma, it doesn’t matter how many influences the band stuff into one album. They are all unified in sound under Thou’s banner. Bryan Funck’s acid-bit vocals are unmistakable and apparently unchangeable after 20 throat-shredding years. Also unchangeable? Thou’s ability to craft the most metallic-sounding guitar tone out there. As the standard bearer for…hell, as the entire sum of the second generation of Louisiana sludge, the sound they’ve forged isn’t the kind of sloppy muck you may associate with the term. It’s certainly thick, but it has a quality like two enormous steel I-beams violently striking each other.” If that doesn’t sell Umbilical for you, then here is where our paths diverge.

#3. Devenial Verdict // Blessing of Despair – I didn’t listen to Blessing of Despair for several weeks after it came out in October despite the fact Devenial Verdict’s previous record, Ash Blind, made my year-end list in 2022. When I finally got around to it earlier in December, it threatened to blow the doors right off my still nebulous list, climbing fast and high until ultimately landing here at number three. There is more immediacy than on Ash Blind, which took me a while to warm up to. That doesn’t mean the band skimps on the kind of thoughtful transitions and atmospherics they’ve come to be known for. It’s just that Blessing of Despair HAZ THE RIFFS, including my favorite death metal riff of the year in “Solus.”

#2. Void Witch // Horripilating Presence – When I revisited Horripilating Presence with the purpose of sorting out this list’s pecking order, I expected death-doomers Void Witch to fall mid-to-late top 10. Obviously, the opposite happened. For the life of me I don’t understand how this album didn’t gain more traction amongst the other writers and you, the unwashed commentariat. As I said back in July, “…the material on Horripilating Presence is Mohamed Ali levels of confident. The editing of ideas in each song and across the album’s taut 39 minutes is masterful, especially for a debut. No song hews too closely to any of the others, but all are of a piece, locking comfortably into place like an intricate puzzle box, and Void Witch have such sights to show you.”

#1. Inter Arma // New Heaven – Inter Arma never miss. Aside from being one of the best live acts in metal, every album they’ve released going back to 2013’s Sky Burial has been one successful evolution after another. As a very wise reviewer once said, “They’re the same shaggy beast as ever, but beneath that matted, coarse coat is a rippling form mid-shape shift, stretching, pulling, and crossing back on itself constantly over the course of New Heaven’s shockingly concise 42 minutes…If being all over the musical map sounds like a negative, you’ve probably never heard an Inter Arma record before. It seems whatever they throw at the wall sticks, and the listening experience across their (usually much longer) records never feels uneven. This is because they play everything with the same smoldering intensity and volatile mean streak.” What a record.

Honorable Mentions

• Convulsing // Perdurance – I like this quote from Dear Hollow’s review, so I’ll let him do the talking: “…Convulsing explores every nook and twist of a rhythm and melody until its inevitable conclusion is happened upon in tragic and fatal fashion.”
• Spectral Wound // Songs of Blood and Mire – Pound for pound, Spectral Wound are probably the most consistent no-frills black metal band currently in operation. Songs of Blood and Mire is another rager that’s as melodic as it is acidic.
• Lord Buffalo // Holus Bolus – This record was one redundant instrumental away from landing higher on this list. Looking forward to where these gothic country rockers go next.

Songs o’ the Year

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