The equation above is AMG’s freakishly rigid and completely objective algorithm for scoring albums and determining quality. We incorporate statistics and abstract algebra, which I understand are very complicated mathses, in order to get you the highest quality extreme music this side of the Hudson or Atlantic or Yangtze or wherever the hell you are. The trouble is, you bastards don’t listen to math (i.e. “hurr durr, Wilderun is so much better than this shit.”). So I listen to math because I’m a contributing citizen and patriot – I listen to mathcore for you. I wade through the cesspools of skronk and sass – RYM and Reddit – for the best of the best. I do it for the, like, three of you who dig it and the, like, eight billion of you who yell at teens to turn it off before shuffling back inside for a bowl of Great Grains. What I do is super mathematical, so you know it’s mega serious. Mathcore is about as unlistenable and scathing as it is a total sellout – so you can offend nearly everyone who hears it. Random rhythms, migraine-inducing tempo shifts, painful squeals, no sense of melody or counting, vocals a la cheese grater to the throat – it’s skronk. So enjoy my bounties, you three. The rest of you can fuck right off.

Commence panic chords!!

Deadguy // Near-Death Travel Services – While the mathcore world is deeply indebted to the likes of Converge, The Dillinger Escape Plan, and Botch, New Jersey’s Deadguy is your favorite mathcore band’s favorite mathcore band, and Near-Death Travel Services picks up right where 1995 stylistic landmark Fixation on a Coworker left off. It feels like a throwback to the 90’s, a rough and raw edge and bass-heavy thickness adding to the chaotic hardcore attack, desperate and vicious rhythms (“Kill Fee,” “Barn Burner”) as well as dwelling in the simmering cacophonies (“The Forever People,” “All Stick and No Carrot”). Near-Death Travel Services is a hardcore anthem at heart, with the madness of mathcore’s earliest innovators – it’s a return to form for Deadguy as if thirty years of silence never happened.

The Callous Daoboys // I Don’t Want to See You in Heaven – Everyone loves The Callous Daoboys. If you don’t fuck wit’ Carson Pace, Jackie Buckalew, and company, fuck right off. Compared to its sassy catalog, I Don’t Want to See You in Heaven is much more aggressive and in-your-face. The collective still embraces the wonky jazz- and flamenco-influenced movements and clean vocals (“Tears on Lambo Leather,” “Body Horror for Birds”), 2025 finding more of a traditional emo influence than ever (“Lemon,” “Two-Headed Trout”), the real meat of this album is a kick in the teeth, with a nearly deathcore heaviness assaulting the ears with blistering intensity (“Schizophrenic Legacy,” “III. Country Song in Reverse”). I Don’t Want to See You… feels like pure weaponization, yet it’s undeniably The Callous Daoboys in the best ways.

Pupil Slicer // Fleshwork – Something was missing in Pupil Slicer’s 2023 album Blossom. Whether it be the vulnerable alt-rock influence or more experimental songwriting, it felt like a distinct step down from the mechanical mathgrind insanity of Mirrors. Fleshwork fills that missing piece. Vocalist/guitarist Kate Davies and company, including new bassist Luke Booth, balance the surgical with the accessible through a thick haze of noise rock atmosphere and warm rumbling bass, tracks achieving a striking warmth and disorienting psychedelia through more subdued techniques (“Fleshwork,” “Nomad,” “Cenote”) and a savage blistering saturation in others (“Gordian,” “Black Scrawl”). It’s a simple trick to balance industrial precision with noisy warmth but it pays dividends for the London trio: Pupil Slicer releases its best album yet.

Kaonashi // I Want to Go Home. – TikTok mathcore feels oxymoronic, but Philly’s Kaonashi gained more traction on the platform than any other band of the same ilk.¹ Gaining notoriety from Peter Rono’s controversial vocals – more howl than scream – the act injects a far more prominent dose of post-hardcore, punk, and emo into its story-driven approach. Mathcore’s stinging panic chords and off-kilter arrhythmic chugs are present, but given the vocals and lyrical focuses on mental health, childhood traumas, and relationships, it’s a controversial act to begin with, having more in common in melody and theme with Midwest emo or City of Caterpillar-esque screamo. I Want to Go Home. is a jagged, inspiring, awkward, powerful, and overlong product of a truly unique act with a divisive style.

Theophonos // Allegheny Rains – The man behind the concluded Serpent Column project, Detroit’s Jimmy Hamzey, fuses a scathingly dissonant black metal attack reminiscent of Ceremony of Silence with the hardcore attitude and jagged rhythms of Converge, resulting in a more chaotic, mathier Plebeian Grandstand. Allegheny Rains, his third full-length, continues the distinctly American industrialist soundscape established in Ashes in the Huron River, combining the all-out assaults of pitch-black chaos with whirlwinds of panic chords and pick sweeps (“Death in the Current Year,” “Gray Shovels”) to punky hardcore romps (“When the Future Arrived,” “Fragility of Spring”), and ominous crawls through densely dark textures (“The Fulcrum,” “Edelweiss, My Love”). AI art aside, Allegheny Rains is a dark blaster that serves to get the avant-garde black metal fans some rhythmic chaos and to compel mathcore fans to get some culture for once.

fallfiftyfeet // Counterfeit Recollections – fallfiftyfeet is all about variety. Establishing their sound quietly through a debut full-length four years ago and scattered splits, the West Virginia trio’s foundation of metalcore – yes, the sellout kind – is built upon by post-hardcore vocals, screamo grinds, and mathcore’s warped melodics. Featuring crushing breakdowns and poppy choruses that feel straight outta Hot Topic in 2009 (“Counterfeit Recollections,” “Best Revenge”), ominous clashes of the brutal chugs and dissonant melodics (“Disarrangement,” “Phantom Growing Pains”), and mathy beatdowns (“The Kingsport Curse,” “Horror Tropes”). What’s notable is that fallfiftyfeet doesn’t necessarily fall into the late-2000s metalcore stereotype because their melodic template is rooted in the Botch, even if their songs sound like B-sides of Asking Alexandria. The result is a metalcore album you can feel slightly better about blaring wit’ ur homiez.

Adobe Homes // Años – Albuquerque quartet Adobe Homes is more the screamo side of mathcore you see in bands like Frail Body, Ostraca, or the tragically Dolph-neglected Massa Nera – the line between chaos and yearning is blurred. To be fair, you’d be remiss to turn on a few tracks and hear a screamier rendition of math rock shiftiness in Cap’n Jazz or Pianos Become the Teeth (“Return”), complete with emotional chord progressions, complex layered plucking, desperate shrieks, and melancholy singing. Doin’ my home state proud with the skramz a la mathy rhythms and manic drumming (“Tennamis,” “Satandelay Me¡ White Empress,”² “Pals”), emo anthems fed through the Delta Sleep machine (“Pacheco,” “File Under ‘Heartache’ for 2010-12”) and placid and heartfelt instrumental pieces (“Return,” “Translated into Flesh”). Adobe Homes is gentle and yearning, its mathcore attack more like a pillow fight, but its emotion more than compensates.

The post Dear Hollow’s Mathcore Madness [Things You Might Have Missed 2025] appeared first on Angry Metal Guy.

Crystal Lake

The Weight of Sound is the heft of change and consistency alike for Crystal Lake. A notable change is the departure of long-time vocalist Ryo Kinoshita, who released the debut for his solo project Knosis last year, and was replaced by John Robert Centorrino, former vocalist of The Last Ten Seconds of Life. The band acknowledges that Kinoshita’s shoes are nearly impossible to fill; to supplement, Centorrino is backed by an array of guest vocalists: David Simonich of Signs of the Swarm, Taylor Barber of Left to Suffer and Seven Hours After Violet, Myke Terry of Volumes and Fire from the Gods,¹ Karl Schubach of Misery Signals and Jesse Leach of Killswitch Engage. Consistently, however, the instrumental approach is the same, bringing back the nu-metal-meets-djent-meets-hardcore chugs (whose absence made the last two outings toothless), as well as that trademark ethereal guitar layers. The result, however, falls woefully short compared to Crystal Lake’s landmark albums, as the knuckleheaded overtakes the thoughtful and the vocals become a monotonous muck.

For positives, when Crystal Lake manages to balance the heavy and the atmospheric, tracks can truly soar. Yearning chord progressions, layers of melodies and sustained trills, and desperate vocals combine to add a nice dose of melancholy and fury, accented by the band’s signature guitar tone that balances djent weight with hardcore urgency. Even Centorrino’s cleans are a nice addition throughout these tracks, distant shouts or croons that recall Brett Gurewitz’s guest spot in Parkway Drive’s “Home is for the Heartless:”: tasteful and subtle. These tracks primarily populate the back half, a calm after the storm of metalcore pummeling, complete with a more somber mood (“The Undertow,” “The Weight of Sound,” “Sinners,” “Coma Wave”) that recalls more melodic hardcore-inflected metalcore acts like Counterparts or The Ghost Inside. The patience in the songwriting of these moments is also noteworthy, as movements feel nicely unhurried and appropriately contemplative.

Crystal Lake’s balance of the atmosphere and chug, as well as vocal charisma, have always been assets, but they plague The Weight of Sound. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t love Helix’s more light-and-airy vibe, but too many tracks are just too knuckleheaded here to make a splash, particularly the opening “unnecessary contractions” triptych (“Everblack,” “BludGod,” “Neversleep”), which seem like the band’s metalcore answer to Signs of the Swarm’s To Rid Myself of Truth. Meanwhile, other tracks seem to be wildly inconsistent and are true head-scratchers in terms of placement in the tracklist, featuring bluesy Southern vibes (“King Down”) or awkward shifts between heavy and ethereal (“Dystopia,” “Crossing Nails”). Each placement in the playlist at large feels shoehorned and abrupt, from balls-to-the-wall heavy to southern to ethereal, to confused. For the number of guest vocalists that appear throughout The Weight of Sound, Centorrino’s vocals make them difficult to discern with his smokier and denser presence. It’s unclear if this makes him a better performer or if the production value is just that putrid – or both.

To their credit, Crystal Lake hasn’t had to change up their sound since Kinoshita’s departure, and the balance between ethereal atmosphere and chuggy metalcore remains a formidable asset. However, scattershot songwriting and odd track placement doom effectiveness beyond a few sparse moments to break up the confused, knuckleheaded beatdowns. The Weight of Sound is everything you loved about The Sign eleven years ago, but with less identity and more distraction, chugging along for one song before brutalizing you with breakdowns the next. But most notable is Crystal Lake’s lack of direction: The Weight of Sound is all chugs and atmosphere with no clear purpose.

Rating: 2.0/5.0
DR: N/A | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3
Label: Century Media Records
Websites: crystallake-worldwide.com | facebook.com/crystallake777
Releases Worldwide: January 23rd, 2026

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The Ruins of Beverast

If I’m being honest, I was not a fan of predecessor The Thule Grimoires – not for a flaw on von Meilenwald’s part but of my own preferences. Case in point, its heavier Type O Negative Gothic leanings and interplay of chord structures and themes weren’t necessarily my cup of tea, although they definitely were the gone-but-unforgotten Akerblogger’s brew of choice. Tempelschlaf echoes The Thule Grimoires in psychedelic textures and a more prominent baritone clean vocal presence that conjures a ritualistic madness, streamlined into a stronger crescendo and sense of purpose, as well as its signature breed of atmospheric black-doom with a hint of death metal. Tempelschlaf is exactly what you’d expect from The Ruins of Beverast.

As always, balance and songwriting are The Ruins of Beverast’s priority, demonstrating von Meilenwald’s dedication to both progression and devotion to the blackened arts. As seen throughout the act’s legendary discography, Tempelschlaf features seamless movements from furious blasting to simmering menace to crystalline psychedelia to climactic solos, which is a clear winning formula, bolstered by a dichotomy of plodding black/doom furor and ritualistic placidity. The opening title track is of special note for its shifts and subtlety: blackened intensity is placed in the background in favor of a mammoth and dense foray into doom-saturated goth rock, giving a blackened Depeche Mode vibe with a lack of harsh vocals and instead, baritone sermons atop pulsing ritualistic drums guiding into a dreary and menacing goth verses, drenched in frosted keys and psychedelic textures. It sets the tone for the rest of the album, giving The Ruins of Beverast perhaps their biggest crescendo yet.

While the focus shifts from a mind-altering breed of psychedelic and dense doom metal in the opener, the rest of the album offers no gentle reprieve. While the wavering between the simmering and the searing is an asset for The Ruins of Beverast, it’s far more intense with a trve blackened assault guiding the proceedings (“Day of the Poacher”), but the back half of the album finds the album remarkably cohesive – the collision of ideas creating some of the most epic and grandiose movements since Exuvia. The drums’ mammoth pace, the guitar tone whose heft and barb are equally displayed, the venomous and toxic shrieks, and the otherworldly atmosphere through classic synth textures assemble in a massive sound that already feels like AOTY material (“Cathedral of Bleeding Statues,” “Alpha Fluids,” “The Carrion Cocoon”), interspersed by moments of furious blackened intensity (“Babel, You Scarlet Queen!”) and the lull before the storm (“Last Theatre of the Sea”). These tracks are the exemplar for The Ruins of Beverast’s breed of blackened doom, once again reinforcing itself as the upper echelon through von Meilenwald’s legendary career.

It’s nearly impossible for Beverast to top Exuvia, but without its first two tracks, Tempelschlaf comes damn close. It is not that the title track or “Day of the Poacher” fall short, but rather that their place in the album is to set the stage for the better pieces, complete with more abrupt tonal shifts, heightened melody, and just a bit too much chaos. That being said, von Meilenwald once again outdoes himself with an album devoted to blackened fury, monolithic doom, and otherworldly atmospheric textures, incorporating hints of the psychedelic goth rock of The Thule Grimoires in a far more streamlined capacity. Tempelschlaf is The Ruins of Beverast doing business as usual: growth, experimentation, and excellence.

Rating: 4.0/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3
Label: Ván Records
Websites: theruinsofbeverast.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/the.ruins.of.beverast
Releases Worldwide: January 9th, 2026

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Upon a Burning Body

Blood of the Bull is indeed Upon a Burning Body firing on all cylinders – although its direction remains questionable. Ruben Alvarez’s guitar work is immediately recognizable, a bluesy edge and layered rhythms with manic solos to boot, Tito Felix’s drumming is as unhinged as you’d expect,¹ while Danny Leal’s vocals have returned to peak form, honed mids to complement his vicious lows – even bassist/vocalist Thomas Alvarez’s cleans are better than last go. In Blood of the Bull, poppier choruses contrast heavier to its breakneck riffs and metalcore leanings, leaving it slightly below Fury in its effectiveness but remaining a solid installment in Upon a Burning Body’s rodeo of a discography.

In many ways, Blood of the Bull exists as the band’s most experimental outing. While it channels Fury’s propensity for groove, Thomas Alvarez forgoes on the grungy tone almost entirely for the most soulful choruses the band has ever offered, tracks which often feature newfound synth in creeping intros or interludes (“Daywalker,” “Another Ghost,” “Living in a Matrix”). While the presence of these assets could potentially dull the teeth that Upon a Burning Body’s sound naturally possesses, they refuse to let that stop them. Their cleaner tracks feel bigger and more significant than ever before, albeit imperfect: the soaring melodies can feel shoehorned alongside groove or deathcore beatdowns, although the lyricism (for once) sometimes improves this issue (“Another Ghost”) and ruins it for others (“Reckless Love”). The mariachi returns full-force, a welcome homage to the group’s roots (“Sangre del Toro,” “An Insatiable Hunger”).

If the tracks with clean singing are risks with mixed payoff, then, when Upon a Burning Body conjures syncopated grooves and commanding vocals with memorable one-liners offer the best listening on Blood of the Bull. Furious shredding, wild solos, and Leal’s signature vocal attack offer a trifecta of headbanging goodness. No one growls profanity the way Leal does, and while it was noticeably absent in Fury, the “fucking” one-liners pump adrenaline (“Killshot,” “Curse Breaker”) while other tracks manage to feel kickass and brooding simultaneously (“Hand of God”), highlighting Upon a Burning Body’s vocal return to deathcore’s intensity. It can be odd and off-putting when songs that feature the most intense groove riffs can also feature those soulful choruses (“Daywalker,” “Living in a Matrix”), but aside from the aforementioned, these don’t feel as awkward as I expected.

Upon a Burning Body amps almost everything in its attempt to reconcile the old with the new, and if nothing else, the effort is noted. There is more than enough corny lyrics, ham- beef-fisted anthems, and soaring clean choruses aboard Blood of the Bull, but in this way, it feels more like Upon a Burning Body than they’ve been in a hot minute. Thankfully, if you can look past the flaws, the band’s seventh full-length is at its worst full of crunchy grooves, mind-numbing breakdowns, and jarring tonal shifts, but if that’s its worst – with Danny Leal and Ruben Alvarez leading the attack – that’s a worst I can get behind. Also, highlights like “Another Ghost” or “Daywalker” feel like flashes of potential not yet seen in lyrics or songwriting. For now, it’s Upon a Burning Body, love ’em or hate ’em: a whole lotta bull.

Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: N/A | Format Reviewed: Stream
Label: Self-Released
Websites: uponaburningbody.bandcamp.com | uabbtx.com | facebook.com/uponaburningbody
Releases Worldwide: December 5th, 2025

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While its openers serve to showcase Geese’s two extreme sides in explosively screamy noise rock (“Trinidad”¹) and bluesy pop-country (“Cobra”), the uncanniness of Getting Killed is much more nuanced. Beneath each guitar riff and yearning melody, just as much with its more jagged movements, is a dedication to deterioration. Most tracks begin with a solid funk groove or a predictable chord progression, an undercurrent of dissolution growing over the course of its three-to-six minutes. Unlike the improvised randomness so many artists claim as a reflection of group chemistry, Geese’s movements feel calculated to the minutest detail in the service of a parodied and uncanny version of rock music, such as maddeningly repetitive riffs (“Husbands,” “Islands of Man,” “100 Horses”), repetitive cliche lyrics drawled with irony and apathy (“Cobra,” “Half Real”), and splattered movements guided by heart and hate (“Trinidad,” “Getting Killed”).

The blend of tones that exist here is noteworthy, as the sunny country, groovy punk, and jagged noise movements feel anachronistic on paper yet somehow feel exactly what Geese ought to be doing. Noisier tracks move seamlessly into the more melodic and vice versa (the brooding “100 Horses” to the ethereal “Half Real”; the smooth ballad “Au Pays du Cocaine” to the chaotic and arrhythmic “Bow Down” and explosive “Taxes”), highlighting the intentionality behind the curtain of Getting Killed. Winter’s vocals are initially jarringly loud and off-kilter, but just as the twinkling quality that emerges from asynchronous guitar/piano noodles (“Getting Killed,” “Islands of Man”) or the brass emerges in short bursts like gusts of wind (“Trinidad,” “Husbands”), the drawling baritone stumbles upon vocal lines that get seared into the mind, catchy and seamless in their delivery – although initially feared lazy (“Cobra,” “Half Real,” “Long Island City Here I Come”). Geese, while embodying much more than just noise rock, nonetheless captures lightning in the bottle with its layers of intensity giving way to an uncanny catchiness.

Geese’s more intense moments recall the noise rock/post-punk misanthropy of White Suns or the quirky squonks of Black Midi, but its uncanny country twang recalls the clouded and colloquial conversations of Mark Z. Danielewski’s book Tom’s Crossing: yes, it’s a western, but a caricature of it with a bleak heart beating at its core. Geese embodies rock’s most extreme peripheries in a breed of music that is as alienating as it is catchy, unique and on-brand for a band whose caliber of sound feels uncanny, otherworldly, and delightfully apeshit. Sure, it ain’t metal, but Geese offers some of the most intriguing music of the year regardless.

Tracks to Check Out: “Trinidad,” “Cobra,” “Getting Killed,” “100 Horses,” “Long Island City Here I Come”²

The post Geese – Getting Killed [Things You Might Have Missed 2025] appeared first on Angry Metal Guy.

Glasgow-based Mrs. Frighthouse consists of wife and wife duo Carys and Luna Frighthouse, known as Mrs. and Mrs. on stage. Featuring an unflinching lyrical attack on misogyny, homophobia, and transphobia, and a musical approach as venomous, it recalls the likes of early Lingua Ignota, Couch Slut, and Julie Christmas. What hooked me was its mastering by Khanate bassist James Plotkin – anything that reminds of the menacing crawl that the drone legends conjure was a perk. However, like any noise album that focuses on ugliness and discordance, the audience is limited, the replay value is near null, and its strengths are a novelty in many ways. Featuring manic vocals both harsh and operatic to contrast with the suffocating noise, Mrs. Frighthouse wins points for charisma, but Solitude Over Control is still very much a noise album.

To my relief, Mrs. Frighthouse utilizes opaqueness and density to its benefit, avoiding the painful awkwardness of Läjä Äijälä & Albert Witchfinder’s trainwreck of a collaboration. Plotkin’s services are put to good use, as the backbone of sound is suffocating and all-encompassing in a way that recalls drone’s colossal density, an expanse of ominous tones upon which Mrs. and Mrs. traverse with their vocal journeys. Throw in some haunting ritualistic drumming patterns and minor organ trills, Mrs. Frighthouse crafts horrific soundscapes using an expert blend of clarity, melody, and discordance to match their surprisingly dynamic foray into noise. This is no Oscillotron – Mrs. Frighthouse knows how to write songs. While at first glance the sea of noise is a constant hum, those willing to delve beneath the surface will find smart songwriting aplenty.

The contrast between clarity and density is a clear priority in Solitude Over Control – which ends up being its most controversial element. From the aggressive industrial pulse paired with thick waves of noise easy to get lost in (“DIY Exorcism,” “White Plaster Rooms”) to more subtle crawling pieces with screeching soprano trills that feel strangely confrontational (“Seagulls” part 1 and 2, “Let My Spit Be Poison”), while creeping melodic motifs are warped and bastardized by the static (“Our Culture Without Autonomy,” “My Body is a Crime Scene”), Mrs. Frighthouse is a tour-de-force of metallic aggression without a riff in sight. Solitude Over Control wears its themes on its sleeves in sometimes awkward forthrightness, as both Mrs.’s spew vitriol over the misogyny, homophobia, and transphobia witnessed and experienced, matching the aggression and viciousness of the music. The closing title track is worthy of mention, because its slow-burning crescendo is a maddening and horrifying end to a maddening and horrifying album – a nerve-frying culmination of Mrs. Frighthouse’s best and worst.

Almost everything about Solitude Over Control feels intentional, but holy shit, is it unflinching and uncomfortable. Mrs. Frighthouse’s two vocals are insanely charismatic in their blend of shrieks, growls, operatic belts, whispers, and shouts, propelling the movement of the noise as it emerges and disappears in the sea of noise. Plotkin’s mastering adds a suffocating and claustrophobic quality that adds to the menace and aggression. Some tracks you’ll find yourself getting lost in the swaths of noise and industrial harshness, others you’ll find yourself blushing in the awkward stark clarity of the vocals. Mrs. Frighthouse offers a better noise album than most and is closer to the ceiling, but due to the divisiveness of the style and the starkness of some of the minimalist pieces, the reception will be mixed. Noise fans rejoice, all others steer clear.

Rating: 2.5/5.0
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: PCM
Label: Self-Release
Websites: mrsfrighthouse.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/mrsfrighthouse
Releases Worldwide: September 26th, 2025

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Howling Giant

To address the elephant in the room, Glass Future saw Howling Giant’s progressive tendencies flying their freak flag too much. While attempting to keep the stoner murk and reconcile it with aptly crystalline melody, the band lost what is so great about them: solid songwriting. It’s completely contrary to what gave them the edge over genre mates Sergeant Thunderhoof in their dueling split – their head-first dabbling in more elusive chord progressions felt like a more stoner-inclined dime-store version of Intronaut’s Habitual Levitations. This is what makes third full-length Crucible & Ruin so refreshing:² it’s everything you love about the Nashville now-quartet – and more. The template of killer riffs, soaring choruses, searing solos, and stoner haze is amplified by new guitarist/synth player Adrian Zambrano – adding layers and textures to Howling Giant’s already winning formula.

Howling Giant feels reinvigorated with Crucible & Ruin. Songwriting prowess on full display, the kitchen sink of riff, solo, melody, and catchiness has never looked so clean. While some remnants of Glass Future hang around in more evasive chord structures and emphasis on melody (instrumental “Lesser Gods”), the tracks shift from the anthemic to the kickass, rounded out by the understated Helmet-esque triple-vocal attack – a potentially divisive element of Howling Giant’s sound –³ and that warm stoner haze. Chunky riffs dominate and add a jolt of energy (“Hunter’s Mark,” “Beholder I: Downfall”), while anthemic choruses and transcendent chord progressions take listeners to a psychedelic heaven (“Archon,” “Archivist”). Southern fried bluesy vibes a la All Them Witches also grace the vibe with a backwoods atmosphere (“Beholder II: Labyrinth,” “Melchor’s Bones”), paying homage to their home state of Tennessee. All assets culminate in the two parts of “Beholder,” the Phrygian key giving them a more epic and grandiose feel.

With the addition of Zambrano, Howling Giant has never felt so fleshed out. Compared to the flashy vocals and melodies of Sergeant Thunderhoof, Howling Giant has always been a meat-and-potatoes type of band, but Crucible & Ruin finds the band building upon this template using more versatility in its musical arsenal. Layers of melodic overlays grace rhythmic punch a purpose and intensity (“Canyons,” “Scythe and Scepter”), the tasteful balance between the melodic and the skronky add intrigue and madness (“Hunter’s Mark,” “Archon,” “Beholder I: Downfall”), and ethereal atmosphere is built atop and duels with more downtuned riffs and bass (“Lesser Gods,” “Archivist,” “Beholder II: Labyrinth”). The dueling guitars add a much-needed and ridiculously tantalizing dimension that takes Howling Giant’s already solid sound to new heights.

Howling Giant’s vocal approach of hyper harmonies will remain a divisive element, the central riff and spoken word of “Melchor’s Bones” can get a bit repetitive, and instrumental “Lesser Gods” is a bit questionable, but don’t let that distract you from the fact that it’s the band’s best album to date. Crucible & Ruin distills everything that makes Howling Giant great and beefs it up, weaponizing their already formidable songwriting with Zambrano’s melodic and textural synth and fretwork. Featuring riffs upon riffs with complex songwriting that doesn’t fly over listeners’ heads, relatable vocals that don’t lose their punch, and new guitar work that takes the band to new heights, across a forty-eight-minute runtime that zips by, it’s hard not to bob your head. While comparisons to Mastodon, Baroness, and Anciients are fair, Howling Giant is its own beast, an intersection of stoner haze, riffy intensity, and melodic taste. Crucible & Ruin caught me by surprise in the best way, and is sure to appear at year-end.

Rating: 4.0/5.0
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3
Label: Magnetic Eye Records
Websites: howlinggiant.bandcamp.com | howlinggiant.com | facebook.com/howlinggiant
Releases Worldwide: October 31st, 2025

The post Howling Giant – Crucible & Ruin Review appeared first on Angry Metal Guy.

The title track enters with what I would expect from an early 2010s metalcore band intro,² the Americana cover of 1919 gospel song “I Can’t Feel At Home in this World Anymore” morphing into a full-on dissodeath takedown via a barb of squealing dissonance. While this and the final song, “The World is Not My Home” seem to tie up the album into a thematic deconstruction of religion, Unself is a bit more complex than that. It reflects the journey of vocalist/guitarist Dani Nightingale through an autism diagnosis and discovery of them being non-binary. Similarly reflecting this complexity and remaining incredibly difficult to neatly categorize its sonic assault, Conjurer lays a foundation of post-metal’s meandering rhythmic hulk with death metal intensity, sludge tonal abuse, and a sleek modern production built atop, with – in Unself – hints of black metal. It’s not the second coming of Mire – it’s Unself and undeniably on-brand and completely authentic – and that’s perfectly okay for Conjurer.

Unself’s structure shows Conjurer’s devotion to natural growth, a welcome change from the shoehorned Páthos – largely because Nightingale’s sonic struggles with self-discovery undergird the movements. The two halves of the album are divided into three tracks, bookended by the Huntsmen-influenced thematic motif of the aforesaid “I Can’t Feel at Home in This World” morphed into ugly beatdowns and yearning sadness. The meat of the two suites fall into one of three categories: the relatively traditional post-metal waltzing of Amenra’s heavier moments in sprawling weight (“All Apart,” “Foreclosure”), the yearning chord progressions and melodies recalling Páthos’ emotive emphasis to a more effective degree (“There Is No Warmth,” “Let Us Live”), or the outright assaults of blackened sludge and -core breakdowns (“The Searing Glow,” “Hang Them in Your Head”). As the album progresses, so does the intensity. The latter, the most vicious of the bunch, feel like they nearly boil over, nearly forsaking the post-metal attack for an obscure death metal attack a la Convulsing or Adversarial – making interlude “A Plea” truly the eye of the storm in its minimalist approach, distant vocal samples, and acoustic strumming.

The balance between novelty and songwriting remains an issue for Conjurer. Because of the trichotomy of its sounds, Unself offers different levels of quality. At first, the more traditional post-metal cuts (“All Apart,” “Foreclosure”) feel like absolute bangers, touched with darkness and harmony – but then you hear the other two approaches and they suddenly feel overly long and uneventful in comparison. Likewise, there are several tracks that could stand a good trimming, simply because many feature a singular abrupt tonal shift from melodic to dissonant in its last respective third (“There is No Warmth,” “Let Us Live”). A more divisive take is that Conjurer’s production is very modern and sleek, the down-tuned leads more akin to 2010s metalcore acts like The Plot in You or The Sorrow, an accessibility largely contradicting post-metal’s historic opaqueness (Neurosis) and death metal’s hostility (Bolt Thrower), so while I liked its more “loud and ouchy” tones, others may not be so persuaded.

The novelty and the emotion are resolved in Unself, as Conjurer finally feels authentic and realized. No, Unself is not better than Mire, but it feels more genuine and human than Páthos, offering some of the act’s most intense material to date while chronicling the dismantling of the self into something more authentic. Not only does Dani Nightingale embark on a journey of self-discovery, but Conjurer does too. I’m just happy to be along for the ride.

Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: 4 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3
Label: Nuclear Blast Records
Websites: conjureruk.bandcamp.com | conjureruk.com | facebook.com/conjureruk
Releases Worldwide: October 24th, 2025

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You Are Safe From God Here has its moments of doom and post-metal atmosphere and songwriting, but it feels like the spiritual successor to 2020’s Slow Decay – colossal, dense, and pissed off. The Acacia Strain weaponizes doom and sludge in its devastating guitar tone that swallows listeners whole, guided by Vincent Bennett’s husky roars and Matt Guglielmo’s rabid percussion – all for the service of a more explicitly anti-religious stance. The album title and its tracks reflect this, although Bennett has stated that the idea of “God” has more than just religious connotations: basically, anything that rules a listener’s life, this album offers a safe place from it. In many ways, the album feels a bit like a fusion of Step Into the Light’s brevity and Failure Will Follow’s ambition – weaponized to be Slow Decay’s spiritual successor. You Are Safe From God Here is the hardcore/deathcore heavyweights continually firing on all cylinders, although The Acacia Strain remains hindered by a few habits.

While the one- to three-minute bruisers populate the track list, closer “Eucharist II: Blood Loss” feels like an adherent of the band’s long-form content. This proves to be the most ambitious and the most divisive moment of the album, its almost fourteen-minute length comprising a huge chunk of the album’s thirty-three minute runtime. Featuring vocalist Sunny Faris of hard rock/doom outfit Blackwater Holylight, it wavers between mountainous riffs and Bennett’s commanding roars and ambient placidity and Faris’ vulnerable croons (not unlike iRis.EXE’s performance in “Pillar of Salt”). A highlight of dynamic songwriting, it nonetheless suffers from the thorn in The Acacia Strain’s side: production. While the rest of the tracks are so swallowed in downtuned ridiculousness (positive), the negative spaces of “Blood Loss” highlight the snare’s glaringly compressed and synthetic tone, while the stunning lack of filth belies its dense guitars. A truly frustrating chink in the armor for The Acacia Strain, whose sound is constantly evolving yet is constantly let down by its sterile production.

Blessedly, the groovy short-form tracks that comprise the majority of the tracklist remain unfuckwithable. The Acacia Strain rides the line between speedy blastbeat-guided hardcore sprints and the down-tuned monolithic dirge bruising that have you wallowing in tonal abuse – driven by Bennett’s formidable vocal attack. Intentionality is the name of the game, mindless breakdowns and ominous tones anchored to a strong foundation of groove, feeling like organic progressions rather than the stereotyped beatdowns shoehorned into existential-core crises. The more hardcore-adjacent rippers offer momentum (“The Machine that Bleeds,”¹ “A Call Beyond,” “Aeonian Wrath”), the sludge-steeped tonal seepage allows down-tuned reveling (“Acolyte of the One,” “Sacred Relic”), but the groove-infected tracks prove to be the real winners (“Mourning Star,” “Holy Moonlight,” “World Gone Cold”), balancing dynamic movement between swallowing sludge and raging hardcore fluidly. These tracks feel like an improvement from Step Into the Light in nearly every way: denser, faster, more haunting, and more pissed off.

On almost every level, You Are Safe From God Here is The Acacia Strain’s best album. Retaining that hugeness they are renowned and hated for in equal measure, while fusing its more experimental styles into a cohesive whole guided by a singular theme, the deathcore veterans show willingness to experiment without sacrificing their brand. However, the band’s contradicting proclamations of filth and sterile production do not do it any favors, declawing some of the more vicious numbers and dropping the facade for its more manufactured pieces – keeping the band from the greatness of which they are so capable. That being said, You Are Safe From God Here is a banger for the better.

Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: N/A | Format Reviewed: STREAM
Label: Rise Records
Websites: theacaciastrain.bandcamp.com | youaresafefromgodhere.com | facebook.com/Theacaciastrain
Releases Worldwide: October 24th, 2025

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Wretched

While Cody injected the North Carolina act with a sense of urgency, the return of original vocalist Billy Powers returns Wretched to its more elegant and patient approaches. Although deathcore is on the bill, most of the proceeds recall The Black Dahlia Murder and Inferi rather than the Suicide Silences and Whitechapels of the world – landing somewhere in the core- and melo-realm of Vale of Pnath or early The Faceless.¹ Yes, you’ll find some sticky chugs that punch through periodically, but the emphasis on the interplay between ominous and melodic shines brightest in Decay, reflecting a concept album that returns to the mythological roots as well as its musical roots – serving as a narrative prequel to the concept behind Beyond the Gate. Retaining that chthonic atmosphere, the balance between the light and dark and newfound experimentation are tantalizing, if imperfect, elements in the rebirth of Wretched.

If Beyond the Gate was your favorite Wretched record, Decay is a welcome return. Waltz-like 6/8 timing, drawn-out passages collapsing into Steve Funderburk’s signature melodic cascades, and periodic breakdowns amid the elegiac, adding a necessary spike to the beautiful melodies. Powers’ vocals, as is the case in debut The Exodus of Anatomy and Beyond the Gate, can feel a bit jarring in their raspier tone and regularly impressive range (feeling asynchronous with the elegant instrumental musings) – but he delivers a charismatic performance that drives the music forward. The bookends of Decay find themselves in this realm, balancing melody with chunky bite and shifting tempos (“Decay,” “The Royal Body,” “Blackout”), while more aggressive rhythms and anthemic lyrics offer bouncy fun (“Malus Incarnate,” “The Golden Tide,” “The Golden Skyway”). While this range works, some tracks feel too rooted in the former, relying on overly long and uninteresting sprawls rooted in semi-heavy open strum patterns (“The Crimson Sky”). Taken as a whole, the first act can be a bit too heavy a mood-setter than a series of interesting songs, as well, due to Wretched’s more subdued approach.

The centerpieces of Decay find Wretched tossing out the template and flipping off the comfort zone. Blessedly, the experimentation is not without an adequate transition, as its simultaneously most brutal and most melodic (“Radiance”) appears to move fluidly into the more experimental meat. Grungy clean vocals and wailing guitar solos move through an almost Southern-fried bluesy melodic template (“Clairvoyance”), a heavenly choral interlude gives rest before the journey (“The Mortal Line”), and the longest Wretched track in its discography: the sixteen-minute long “Behind the Glass”² moves between moods of despair, forgiveness, and light through layers of guitar leads, violin, flutes, and even accordion, deteriorating into viciously dark chugs. This is capped off by an unsettling foray into dissonance and jagged rhythms (“Lights”), before returning to the more aggressive third act.

At its worst, Wretched offers either dull shimmies of monotonous strums or a progressive edge so wild it can be disorienting. What’s remarkable, though, is that it nonetheless feels distinctly like Wretched, and a return to the mythological heyday of their sophomore effort – that flexibility has been a strength all along. Sure, Powers’ vocals can feel out of place in the gentler moments, some tracks don’t land, the heft is lacking, and the track list is shaped like an epic with weird-ass moments to shake you loose, but the band’s storytelling through its songwriting is well intact, if not better, than eleven years ago. It’s a welcome return to form for Wretched and speaks to avenues of possibility. The fifth full-length suggests more potential than it achieves but the moral is the same: ironically, no decay in sight.

Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3
Label: Metal Blade Records
Websites: wretchednc.bandcamp.com | wretchedmusic.com | facebook.com/wretchednc
Releases Worldwide: October 17th, 2025

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