Genre definition, of course, doesn’t matter in the face of potent music. On this iterative path toward simplicity—one carved first in large part by Lykaia’s jagged riffage over lockstep rhythm converging with Ekelöf’s growth as the focal point of all crescendos—Soen’s trajectory of snappy runtime, stadium-sized concoctions eschews definitive purity for incessant melody. Enlisting Tony Lindgren again on the board, Reliance mirrors the heavier guitar crunch from Memorial and cements itself with a dual-tone personality—one chunky, modern, a-djent-cent thump (“Discordia” in particular) and another bright, stadium harmonizing wail (“Mercenary,” “Axis,” “Unbound”). In both, Reliance wields immediacy and an ability to frame Ekelöf’s ascending runs in a package trimmed of distracting adornments. This does mean, unfortunately, that returning bassist Stefan Stenberg (last featured on Lotus) finds his spot in the roster less as a Tool-leaning jammer and more of a felt guitar-backing pulse.

Absent a warbling 4-stringer¹ in its svelte existence, Reliance lands self-similar at its heaviest moments, rendering these intensity climbs rather flat. To the seasoned Soen enjoyer, an air of familiarity surrounds the crawling bounce of “Mercenary” (or “Primal” or “Axis” or “Unbound” or “Draconian”).² With Ekelöf falling in greater rhythm with the kick-riff patterns that adorn Soen’s compositions, Reliance slides from start to finish with an unsettling ease, these familiar flickers creating a near sense of déjà vu. From the intro whammy dive that explodes against alternate-picked strut to the delicate and multi-tracked vocal harmony that closes “Draconian,” a collage of fist-pumping anthems and lighter-waving crooners flood and fade and only threaten to tether to memory in their low differentiation presentation. Closer “Vellichor,” in that sense, feels awkward in its throwback to a more progressive attack, despite its Floydian guitar weeping and sonorous background accompaniment. Yet its ability to stand out in this presentation, along with other slower tracks like the arena-booming “Huntress” or the ode to angsty heartbreak “Indifferent,” gives Reliance a fighting chance for replayability.

Soen presenting unmistakably as Soen, however, allows Reliance to take chances on lower density arrangements with highlight details that will reward those who do latch on to its vision. Ekelöf himself sits central to many of these diversifying blips, with seconds-long tricks like letting out the gruffest ough in Soen history (“Primal”), pulling higher grit power punches with subtle underlying harmonies (“Discordia”), and finding a goofy smirk in an extra poppy pitch-shifted vocal doubling (“Drifter”). All of these techniques, to those old and new in Soen fandom, spell the potential for differentiation and attachment in a playing field that may appear uniform at first. And, of course, Soen continues to lean on the blaring talents of lead guitarist Cody Ford, whose varied bluesy aplomb never fails to tickle the “classic big solo” part of my listening brain.

Reliance continues to try to paint Soen as a gritty rock band with enough heart and lush detail to carve a unique spot in the popular realm. Soen’s energy still remains in this pursuit, even if the peak tracks of this outing don’t swing as hard as I’d hoped. This sort of comfort, though, keeps Reliance from ever firing a dud, which is an accomplishment now seven albums in. And with warmer and more expressive production than a major act like Alter Bridge³, and with more energy than a related act like Katatonia, Soen exists in a middle-ground identity primed for being a bridge to a wide rock-loving audience, even if Reliance leaves me just to the side nodding in appreciation and curiosity to see who crosses over.

Rating: Good.
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Silver Lining Music
Websites: soenmusic.com | facebook.com/soenmusic
Releases Worldwide: January 16th, 2026

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Though it may present a bit hyperbolic to say that Poland’s black and death metal scenes trample those of many other countries, the tension of young fervor and tradition weighs heavy in the hearts of riffslingers with something to say. We don’t wish turmoil on anyone, but with great struggles often comes an urge for loud, clear, and calamitous expression. New to the scene, Tarnobrzeg’s Blindfolded steps forth with their debut full-length What Seeps through Threads, a culmination of deathly tactics learned and refined over the course of their six years as a band. Boasting a range of influences from the swinging low-end drama of Gojira to the tumultuous fretboard fire of Decapitated, Blindfolded has a vision for something new from paths well-loved in the listening community. The Rodeö, however, is unforgiving. But every now and then, something comes out of left field to spark our spurs with fascination. – Dolphin Whisperer

Blindfolded // What Seeps through Threads [July 1st, 2025]

Gardenstale: This year’s Dormant Ordeal is an easy lister in my books, so it should come as no surprise that a Rodeö candidate using a pretty similar sound with a proggy twist elicits a big FUCK YEAH from me. Blindfolded brings an ingenious, potent mixture of Polish death metal with winding, labyrinthine structures, plenty of melodic licks, and burly, Vader-esque vocals. No fear of getting lost in wank, these guys hijack the hippocampus and the frontal cortex alike. “Frenzy of Exultations” alone should provide you with enough neck-snappery to use your vertebrae for confetti. It’s one of those rare albums that manage to unite groove, melody, technical chops (including an excellent drummer!), and sheer blunt brutality. And though it starts strong, it only gets better as it rolls on, with “Gates of Janus” building to an unforgiving steamroller with a hypnotic Gojira-esque riff and what might be the solo of the year. Death metal shouldn’t be too polished, but apparently, it can never be too Polish.¹ 4.0/5.0

Dolphin Whisperer: One part ambitious song structure and one part ferocious death metal groove, the young Polish Blindfolded strikes a hook-loaded balance of Oldpethian grandeur and riff-aggressive PolDeath whiplash. And, as a culmination of this fusion, a churning atmosphere embodies the acoustic intros and amplified tear-aways that propel What Seeps through Threads across a generous and genre-honing fifty-some-odd minutes. While retaining a modern compression in guitar attack and drum composition that helps throttle knotty fretwork into headbanging ears (“Great Day of His Wrath,” “Uneasy Absence of Fair Judgement”), the nimble troupe finds expressive string jangle in the longform lurches, like expositional title track or closing hop of “Gates of Janus.” No matter how long any track extends here, with the stankface-loaded “Frenzy of Exultations” even pushing the ten-plus minute mark, Blindfolded retains a sense of smart riff development, coordinated phlegmy mic assault, and punchy rhythmic adornments that keeps What Seeps stepping ever closer to greatness. Blindfolded hardly sounds like an act whose deathscapades totaled a mere ten minutes before this full-length sweep. And with as weighty a sound as they’ve assembled, it’s only a matter of a little refinement in transition and spaciousness in sound capture that sees the young Poles going toe-to-toe with their celebrated countrymen and hyped deathmongers alike. 3.5/5.0

Alekhines Gun – What a debut! Forming in 2019, Blindfolded seek to make a serious impression in their first outing. What Seeps through Threads is a well-crafted release which manages to meld theatrical songwriting with a Blood Mantra-era Decapitated sense of frantic assault. Weaving Opeth song structures throughout, Blindfolded manage to shift from chug-riddled pain-bringing (“Aeonian Lie”) to the moody solos which lend pathos and dynamics in song structure. A spacious mix lets everything ring out, from bass warbles to Bartłomiej Fucia’s gruff vocals, which maintain an understandable intonation instead of leaning in on sheer brutality. Despite all of the songs being rather lengthy, (the shortest coming in at just shy of six minutes), a healthy ebb-and-flow throughout keeps riffs from repeating often or devolving into monotony. What Seeps through Threads nails the “album as a journey” aesthetic, rendering its near-hour-long runtime far shorter than it sounds. A keen sense of drama in the composition imbues each song with its own identity, while still serving the greater album narrative. I don’t know if this was a concept album or not, but if it isn’t, Blindfolded should certainly pursue such ideas as they have the talent and skill for a high-class of aural storytelling. In the meantime, come and enjoy a remarkably mature release from Poland’s newest offspring. 3.5/5.0

Thyme: When it comes to death metal, I’m like Lynyrd Skynryd, which is to say a “Simple Man.” Give me a heaping plate of meat ‘n’ taters death and I’m good to go, but that’s not to say I can’t enjoy a platter requiring a more refined palate. With debut album What Seeps through Threads, Blindfolded, and not that bunch guided sightlessly into the forest, offer a plate full of progressive death metal requiring me to dress nice, sit up straight, and know which is the fucking salad fork. Hailing from Poland, these five relative unknowns are poised to crash my impending end-of-year party with their Opeth-meets-Archspire brand of techened death. Kacper Wąsik and Marcel Kucharski present a shredding tour de force, showcasing myriad guitar skills comprised of massive, vicious riffs and a maelstrom of solo work that flows from the technically precise to the emotionally melancholy (“The Great Day of His Wrath,” “In The Eye of Maelstrom”) and, for some added spice, silky smooth jazz-guitar interludes (“Uneasy Absence of Fair Judgment”) that you won’t see coming but won’t kick out of bed. Bartloniej Fucia’s voice—a perfect blend of Mikael Åkerfeldt and Oliver Rae Aleron—complements the instrumentation, rounded out by Zygmunt Haliniarz’s bass and Kacper Rajfur’s stellar drumming. From the opening piano strains of “What Seeps through Threads” to the impeccable closer “Gates of Janus,” Blindfolded presents an album full of dramatic tension and incredible performances. Beautifully brutal, What Seeps through Threads was not on my 2025 bingo card, but it’s likely you’ll see Blindfolded’s name pop up again, at least for me, come list season. 4.0/5.0

Creeping Ivy: They may be a progressive death metal rookie, but on their debut, Poland’s Blindfolded shows the patience of a seasoned veteran. What Seeps Through Threads immediately commands attention with its blasty yet melodic chugging, recalling the work of its high profile country mates (Decapitated’s Organic Hallucinosis, Behemoth’s Evangelion). Vocalist Bartłomiej Fucia also creates urgency, overlaying the music with powerful, articulate gutturals. Blindfolded truly earns its spot on the team, however, by attending to album craft across the 53-minute runtime of What Seeps Through Threads. As a pseudo-overture, the title track hints at threads that will reemerge. Its haunting piano chords echo in the macabre guitar arpeggios of “In the Eyes of the Maelstrom.” Its flamenco-adjacent noodling foreshadows a fuller exploration of material akin to Atheist’s Elements on “Uneasy Absence of Fair Judgment” and “Frenzy of Exultations.” And its simple, almost doomy main riff reverberates in the monolithic monster that concludes “Gates of Janus.” As a whole, What Seeps Through Threads implies summits more than it scales them. The songcraft also isn’t perfect; Blindfolded occasionally hang onto a riff for too long (“The Great Day of His Wrath,” “Uneasy Absence…”). Nevertheless, this Polish fivesome has put together a cohesive, confident, and well produced rookie campaign. Blindfolded will definitely be higher in my lineup card for next season. 3.5/5.0

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While the aged gap between albums presents as a hurdle to momentum, Coroner hasn’t been dormant leading up to Dissonance Theory, a healthy festival and gig routine since 2010 stoking their creative flame. And cornerstone guitarist Tommy Baron has remained engaged in studio management while weaving through extra-Coroner band activities over the years, like his brief stint with fellow thrash legends Kreator in the late ’90s² or his more modern chug-a-lug with the alternative/industrial-laced 69 Chambers. Along this timeline, then, it makes sense that Dissonance Theory presents not as a widening of the take-it-or-leave-it Grin but as an exploration of how history has shaped their own interpretation of their sound. Lower-tuned tap ‘n’ go strides follow the splinter that spiraled dark groove machines like Nevermore and Morgana Lefay (“Consequence,” “Symmetry,” “Renewal”). Heavier anthemic numbers mirror the booming stadium feel of modern Kreator (“Sacrificial Lamb”), even verging on Lamb of God thrash-thuggery at its most simple (“Crisium Bound”). Many faces have worn Coroner over the years, but Coroner wearing them back reveals new wrinkles.

Yet Dissonance Theory hits what makes modern Coroner a force when layered guitar textures and screaming solos have space to warp and twist about dips into classic thrash breaks and screaming solos. Baron has always been an expressive guitarist. But in the long road since the Celtic Frosted days of RIP, he’s found a way both to whip the frenetic scramble of a pit-ready bridge into heroic fretboard gymnastics (“Consequence,” “Symmetry”) and drop jaws with melodic, bluesy tone-wailing (“Transparent Eye”). Likewise, jangling chords find resonant space and careful modulation in pocketed drum rhythms and steady, growling bass, showcasing the careful ear for harmony that Coroner has always endorsed (“The Law,” “Transparent Eye”). And though a couple tracks may use their space less effectively than others, finding a slight meandering in their joy of sound, Dissonance Theory breezes by in a veteran flex of songwriting maturity.

However, I take some issue with the ways in which the Bogren production job bolsters Coroner into the modern day. Again, part of what makes Coroner, well, Coroner is a vibrant guitar identity that twangs and twirls and cuts with buttery precision. And while a nasally compression still helps to define the chatter of Dissonance Theory’s most thrashing moments (“Consequence,” “Symmetry”), more weight finds a home in a thick and pulverizing rhythm tone. Ron Royce’s thick-stringed assault, naturally, finds a happy home with the lean into low-end emboldening, and that partnering with the muddier rhythm tone finds a unison richness on certain brooding runs (“Sacrificial Lamb” through “Symmetry”). Furthermore, new drummer Diego Rapacchietti finds a powerful march and kick clamor that creates a playful propulsion against bright, palm-muted runs (“Sacrificial Lamb,” “The Law”). Against the flat rhythm guitar characterization, alas, all of these production accents don’t always add up to song sections that feel distinct over the whole of the album.

Coroner’s influence continues to ripple through thrashy and deathly forms alike despite the current day being far removed from their initial declarations. But more importantly, Dissonance Theory proves that in 2025, Coroner has been paying attention to their progeny in order to shape a new face for the flock of hopefuls to follow. I don’t think Dissonance Theory carves quite as deep a notch as the Swiss stalwarts had hoped, though in its collective wisdom, it can be hard to put down. As first steps in a new direction, Dissonance Theory fills me with hope that a Coroner second coming will bear fruit at least once more with a greater level of determination.

Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Century Media Records | Bandcamp
Websites: coronerofficial.com | coronerofficial.bandcamp.com
Releases Worldwide: October 17th, 2025

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Possessing both the prowess to open Then the Darkness with a blistering cry (“Thousand Year Storm”) and approach its close with a near lullaby (“(Untitled)”), Gratz and Grayceon continue to find a necessary diversity in their growing body of work. And in the capable engineering hands of trusted partner Jack Shirley,² Gratz’s lilting vocal lure against counterpoint chamber-influenced swings find an increasing warmth against thick, finger-picked guitar runs and long-drawn crescendos. Time has weathered Gratz’s voice into a full crackle and alto croon that reflects the kind of mystical incantation that you might hear in latter-day Sabbath Assembly, as well as providing room for growth in harsh screeching accompaniment reminiscent of the minstrel Jekyll and Hyde performances of early Ludicra. Yet Grayceon remains in their own element first, even weaving moments of self-referential melodies throughout the back half of Then the Darkness to root deeply the recurring nature of the traumas each of their works explore.

As an exercise in textural excellence, though, Then the Darkness would struggle to entertain through its mammoth eighty-minute sermon if not backed by its aching heart narrative. With themes revolving around the complex nature of evolving relationships—between parent and child, between friends, between partners, between society and its most downtrodden—Gratz navigates each sorrowful tune with a warbling pathos that reads full and earnest in its many cracks. And while this downcast reading flows through much of the journey, the long fadeout from “Mahsa” to instrumental segue “Then the Darkness” renders most of the C-side (“Then…” through “Song of the Snake”) far more placid and buried than the lively bounce that “Holding Lines” provides to the closing chapters. It’s hard to escape the “what if” in terms of what could happen in a more streamlined experience—despite the high quality of Grayceon’s strongest offerings, the slightest dip or departure feels like a missed opportunity where their other works to date have chosen a lighter load.

However, Grayceon’s mastery of studio play emboldens simple structures with deft attacks to fuel the craveability of Then the Darkness. With the ebb and flow of a jam session, quicker cuts fill the air with rockin’ riffs, tight rhythms, urgent melodies, and a classic, volume-driven tone (“One Third,” “3 Points of Light,” “Holding Lines”). And while it’s up front harmonic excess in plucked guitar ascensions that collide with sliding bow tension pepper these tracks with short-term pleasure, it’s the subtle double-punched lines and diverging, hard-panned cello-guitar fill flickers that stimulate an urge to devour all nooks of sound available. And as buttery-yet-jagged riffage finds a crooked home between layered cello stabs (“Thousand Year Storm”) and slithering, off-kilter refrains (“Song of the Snake”), each cut in careful construction escalates to crescendos coordinated in explosive and sullen moods. The longest track, “Mahsa,” cranks all of these techniques to keep each recursion along a gentle climb rather than a flat stroll.

If providing an audience with a plate too full to finish was the goal, Then the Darkness has more than fulfilled the task. From humble roots as a scrappy power trio to this newest incarnation as presence-demanding storytellers, Grayceon’s path of human travail has brought about a gargantuan work that demands attention and dedication. In its four-sided tale, Then the Darkness strikes with an undeniable, hook-laden melancholy when its fire burns brightest. In isolation, no track falters. And though a waning intensity keeps it from being a masterpiece, Grayceon offers enough top-shelf material to make a long service worthwhile.

Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: 5 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Translation Loss Records | Bandcamp
Websites: grayceon.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/grayceon
Releases Worldwide: July 25th, 2025

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In an extension of A-Z’s mission of looking to write a diverse array of heavy metal cuts, A2Z² doubles down on the depths of tone throughout. The guitar duo of Van Dyke and Mularoni shifts from burly chords and knotty fills (“Fire Away,” “I Am Numb”) to slippery Steve Vai-leaning histrionics (“Nothing Is Over,” “Now I Walk Away”) to chiming melodic builds (“A Wordless Prison,” “This Chaotic Symphony”) on the turn of a blaring amp. And Alder, in turn, embodies through his chiseled-by-age gruff croon an expressive range from schmaltzy, forlorn ballad (“Wordless Prison” is a classic fit for this mode) to fist-raising, powerhouse crowd-movers, with the opening trio of tracks scorching hot in his lyrical fury. Of course, the cherry on top will always be Zonder’s progressive and playful Peart-indebted² percussion, with capricious chatter laced in e-tom boings, hi-hat stutters, and tilted-frame shuffles that always move the music forward.

Despite this constant momentum within each track, A2Z² has a tricky flow between its aggressive and contemplative moments that presents as a barrier to easy full attachment. A-Z sticks to a formula—the classic verse-chorus ABABCB rock platform imbued with sick solos and hooks that reach for the stickiness of an act like Toto. And likewise, in this heavy stride, Alder finds a power and grit on aggressive numbers that matches so well the beefier guitar presence and pulsing rhythms (“Fire Away,” “Running in Place,” “I Am Numb”). But A2Z², being an experience built on the power of individual songs, runs into a momentum issue trudging through three slower songs, either ballads or mid-paced thumps, smack dab in the middle of the album (“A Wordless Prison,” “Reaching Out,” “The Remedy”). The professional ensemble of A-Z ensures that these songs are still good, of course—I never press skip. But the back half does feel hidden while trying to digest this run on early listens.

Alas, A-Z’s ability to pepper simple structures with colorful sonic texture and virtuosic aplomb continues to be a treat to harmony-seeking ears. Once you do hit side B, lush vocal layers against prog/power giddy-up (“I Am Numb”), dancing cello builds (“This Chaotic Symphony”), and slow burn-to-stewed solo extravagance (“Now I Walk Away”) land hit after hit on an audience looking for accidental displays of public karaoke and air shredding. A2Z² has no issue cranking the heat, starting from the get-go with scorching heavy metal and escalating in progressive play to the very end. And even at its weakest moments, both Alder and Zonder can use their talents in hot honey verse and tap-happy navigation, respectively, to fill a lull with a couple standout moments (“Wordless Prison,” “Reaching Out”).

Oftentimes, with this many Iron Chef cooks in the kitchen, an act of the collective talent that A-Z possesses can flounder out in noodle-forward instrumentation and gutless yet pretty refrain. However, A2Z² solidifies that when legacy artists form under a mission to create bold songs in an elevated, tangible package, great things can happen. A-Z isn’t revolutionary—nor do I think Zonder and co. are aiming for that kind of stamp on the heavy metal community. But A2Z², steeped in targeted chorus, searing leads, and stimulating percussive strut, remains a modern pleasure in its tried, true, and tricky demeanor.

Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320kbps mp3
Label: Metal Blade | Bandcamp
Websites: a-zband.com | facebook.com/AthruZBand
Release Worldwide: June 6th, 2025

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More so than any other one thing, passion drives the underground. And within this world of passion, like-minded individuals find their partners in expression—or at least helping hands. Often, this can lead to us as hungry consumers to find out new acts via association. In fact, I stumbled upon the Chicago-helmed Empyrean Sanctum via research into associated acts of Katagory V vocalist Albert Rybka. And my intrigue grew further in reading that captain of the riffs Justin Kellerman had contracted the extraordinary rhythm duo of Hannes Grossman (just read his credits) and Alex Weber (Exist, WAIT, and more) for this sophomore Detachment from Reality. With a keen sense for guitar crunch, and a strong individual spirit as a guide, could Empyrean Sanctum’s progressive power charms win over our staunchy Rodeö crew? Follow passion down the sci-fi dystopia rabbit hole… – Dolphin Whisperer

Empyrean Sanctum // Detachment from Reality [April 18th, 2025]

El Cuervo: It may not be my first pick — as it might have been 15 years ago — but I always have time for progressive power metal. It’s a sub-genre that oozes immediacy, from crunchy guitars to energetic singers to vibrant synths. Empyrean Sanctum tick these boxes and further dare to border real brutality to gild their heaviest moments across Detachment from Reality. “Lifeless Death” is the easy highlight, boasting uplifting synths and the heroic guitar solos that these guys evidently enjoy playing. However, I find the songs — and as a consequence the album overall — to be interminable. It’s the type of release where I check how many tracks have passed, but it’s only been four minutes and I’m still on the same one. The bookends (“Heart of Gold” and “Elation”) are the longest, which makes starting and restarting the album more arduous than it should be. And the production is also a thick shield to my listening pleasure. The master is obnoxiously loud, and the instrumental tones have a ‘clacky’, inorganic sound that’s anathema to my ears. There’s solid music buried here, but it’s just too difficult to access. 2.0/5.0

Dolphin Whisperer: In a genre so overtaken by re-amped chug-a-lug polyrhythms, it’s refreshing to hear Empyrean Sanctum’s adherence to the melodic backbone of ’00s progressive power metal.¹ You know the kind—wailing, synth-backed, bright riffage championed by titans like Threshold or Anubis Gate and glued together with knotty Petrucci (Dream Theater) energy. At least that’s where I feel main mind, Justin Kellerman lives in composition. And in this lane, Detachment from Reality swaggers through riff after riff in an elegant manner, both wearing its length on tracks that ring slower to bubble and burst (“Transparency,” “Lifeless Death”) and sauntering through groovy growth and reprisal with ease (“Heart of Gold,” “Age of Innocence,” “Refinement”). But even when its over-chorused character—Albert Rybka (Katagory V) often finding a classic nasal croon and tasteful falsetto crescendo—hits a touch long in the tooth, Kellerman’s ear for a fitting riff transition alongside Hannes Grossman’s urge to progress and explode his thundering skins keeps the lull at bay. Many of these touches are subtle though, as Kellerman does not guide Empyrean Sanctum via guitar flamboyance and solo trade-offs—guest soloist Per Nilsson (Scar Symmetry, Kaipa) provides just about the only mark in that lane throughout (“Age of Innocence”). This straightforward and tuneful nature, however, plays enough as a successful choice rather than an unintentional miss on the noodle front. And if Kellerman and Empyrean Sanctum ever look to swing for the fences again with a heavier hand in wanksville, his slick compositions may land with an extra imprint and oomph. 3.0/5.0

Mystikus Hugebeard: As it stands, Detachment from Reality is a cool album. The problem is that it’s on the cusp of being an absolutely fuckin’ radical album, and falls just short. To their credit, Empyrean Sanctum nails the rhythm section. Dynamic bass-playing and inventive drum lines augment the guitars, which strike and strike in a percussive heartbeat. “Descent” is a particularly gripping track, a straightforward melody and powerful chorus over a ceaseless chug and strum. The production also lends a beefy heft to the guitars, empowering the riffs in a way that reminds me of the best parts of Hemina without the debilitating stench of cheese. The sticking point is how Detachment from Reality always teeters on the edge of inventive, daring song-craft, but never seems to commit. Apart from some slick guitar work in “Heart of Gold” and the delicious Per Nilsson guest solo in the title track, the lead guitars are rarely allowed the space to do anything befitting the virtuosity of the rest of the music. The songwriting feels more satisfied to shuffle from one riff to the next without erupting into something truly dynamic and challenging, resulting in a dearth of moments that stand out in my memory. It’s like the soundfont of a progressive song structure applied to something less audacious, which really drags the repetition of “Lifeless Death” and “Elation” into an unflattering light. Ultimately, it’s less a fundamental flaw as much as it is untapped potential. Complain though I might, Detachment from Reality deserves your listen. 3.0/5.0

Clark Kent: Empyrean Sanctum’s Detachment from Reality is everything that I love about metal. The album has meticulously crafted long-form songs that seamlessly weave from movement to movement so they never overstay their welcome. Empyrean Sanctum borrows their sound from latter-day Blind Guardian and Symphony X, but without the bombast. There’s a restraint and maturity to the songwriting that makes it feel comforting. In fact, even Mrs. Kent, who usually despises my music, gives her stamp of approval. Detachment from Reality features symphonic progressive metal with orchestration and synths used as an accent rather than the main feature. You get the feeling of joy and composure from all the players: when Albert Rybka’s gruff cleans belt out the chorus of “Age of Innocence,” or Justin Kellerman moves from rhythm to fancy fretwork, or Hannes Grossman provides mid-tempo drumming that serves as a steady beacon throughout the album. I found plenty to enjoy on each song: excellent solos, moody synths, emotive singing, and surprises like the piano on “Lifeless Death” and the heart-pumping riffs on “Refinement.” One might scoff at the length, but it’s so easy to get lost in the mesmerizing melodies that the hour just flies by. With the album’s spacey synths, intergalactic riffs, and out-of-this-world vocals, this makes me feel right at home. 4.0/5.0

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The Rodeö is full of surprises. Today’s potential riff trap hails from the arid lands of Aguascalientes, Mexico, known most famously for its array of hot springs and National Museum of Death. Yes, in death Kalaveraztekah revels, and not just in a death metal groove indebted to the jagged scrawl of Morbid Angel or the destructive howl of early Behemoth. With a healthy inclusion of pre-Hispanic, indigenous instrumentation alongside their chunky and pinch-addled drive, Nikan Axkan churns and tumbles through chants and thunderous drum roll to shine a light on the Mexica culture and history of sacrifice and spirit world. To excavate the wonders that the adventurous Kalaveraztekah holds hidden in the underground, we’ve assembled a crack Rodeö crew, including an appearance from The Man, The Myth, The AMG Himself. Surely that means that everyone followed the word count, right? – Dolphin Whisperer

Kalaveraztekah // Nikan Axkan [May 2nd, 2025]

AMG Himself: Kalaveraztekah’s Nikan Axkan represents hopes and dreams that I have harbored for years. When will we finally get the seminal piece of Aztec-influenced extreme metal that will whet my appetite for both death metal and Mesoamerican history?¹ With aplomb, these astonishingly unsigned Aguascalientes-ites² do the fine job of balancing two equally vital parts of a single sound. Kalaveraztekah hits like a ton of bricks, dealing in death metal that’s neither old nor school, it’s just brutal and grindy, tempered only by peyote-fueled excursions into the netherworld. The core of their sound is brutal Mexican death metal replete with blasts and machine gun kicks, neck-damaging riffing, pig-squealing guitars, brutal growls (and occasionally less-brutal screamies) synced with the snare, and an intensity that I associate with writing reviews of bands like Vomitory or Crypta. It’s got the riffs and intensity with just a touch of melody, and I bask in its brutality and shreddy, squealy solos. Kalaveraztekah’s particular innovation in this sphere is the successful inclusion of traditional folk elements from the indigenous people located throughout Mexico, but which is today used almost exclusively for the Mexica people of Tenochtitlan (which is modern-day Mexico City).³ Kalaveraztekah’s focus on “Aztec Cosmogony” lends itself perfectly to the second part of their unique sound: dreamy folk soundscapes that they adapt seamlessly—and convincingly—when they shift gear. Driven by reverb-soaked soundscapes, Spanish guitars,⁴ and what I assume is a tlapitzalli (flute), the band lends atmosphere and dynamics that are necessary to offset a style of death metal that at times can risk monotony. And when they meet, these two sounds crash into each other like storm fronts, creating something beautiful and terrible to behold, simultaneously brutal and thoughtful, grindy and melodic, atmospheric and immediate. I fuckin’ love this shit.

Next up on my befolkened death metal bucketlist: the Olmecs! 4.0/5.0

Dear Hollow: What’s great about Kalaveraztekah is their ability to channel their heritage into an homage to the Mexica that sounds ancient, cosmic, and brutal. Featuring a blend not unlike the formidable shaman-themed Hell:on, the lethal fusion of cutthroat death metal and folk instruments offers balance: wild guitar solos, haunting flutes, terrifying death whistles, and ritualistic drums shine amid the no-frills Sulphur Aeon-esque riffs. While similarities to other Mexico-based Aztec- or Mayan-themed groups are unavoidable, Pre-Hispanic folk instrumentation is not mere novelty like it is for Ocelotl or Eunoë, nor is it an atmospheric saturation of bloody sacrifice in the manner of Aztlan or Cemican – rather, Kalaveraztekah uses ritualistic and ceremonial elements to amplify the cyclical cosmic grandiosity of the Five Suns in an album of both creation and devastation. Nikan Axkan offers riffs galore (“Tlazolteotl,” “Xiuhtekuhtli Weweteotl”), haunting overtures with spoken word that recall sacrificial ecstasy and the vast rotting realms of the gods (“Yowaltecuhtli,” “Illwikatl Meztli”), and just enough techy flavors of soaring intensity and dissonant menace to warrant diversity and complexity (“Xolotl Axolotl,” “Xiuhmolpili”). While the album is a tad overlong at nearly fifty minutes, Kalaveraztekah’s approach straddles the line between violently visceral and gloriously colossal – truly “el amanecer del nuevo sol” indeed. 4.0/5.0

Iceberg: I love it when an album requires me to do some research to unwrap its mysteries. Before I came across Nikan Axlan I had precious little knowledge of Aztec mythology. But now, thanks to Aguascalientes natives Kalaveraztekah, I can confidently tell my Xolotls from my Axolotls. Kalaveraztekah’s sonic template skews more groove than death metal, but the inclusion of a host of traditional instruments keeps the music refreshing and thoroughly unnerving. The tribal drums and wind instruments maintain a constant otherworldly atmosphere, and the extraneous vocal additions are excellent (the frantic spoken word of “Yowaltekuhtli” and the Wilhelm screams of “Xolotl Axolotl”). Kalaveraztekah aren’t content to sit in any one corner with their instruments either. The trebly blues tone of “Yowaltekuhtli” feels ripped from a Los Lonely Boys album, and the sweeping neoclassical riff that forms the backbone of “Xiuhmolpilli” screams symphodeath BOMBAST.⁵ The biggest drawback for me here is that in leaning so far into the groove metal style, the BPM goes stale in its mid-paced swagger. Given everything else that Kalaveraztekah unleashes on Nikan Axkan, I’m left wondering what this band would sound like if they really stepped on the gas and hit that NOS button (although the opening riff of “Wewekyotl” gets pretty damn close). That quibble aside, Nikan Axkan is a compelling and replayable record, and a great trip into the dark, bizarre world of Aztec mythology. I highly recommend this album for those looking for some tasty groove metal with a bit of strange on the side. 3.5/5.0

Alekhines Gun: Move over Tzompantli, there’s a new band in town. Channeling the instrumental flourishes of Nechochwen filtered through something adjacent to The Zenith Passage in production,⁶ Kalaveraztekah have presented a slab of agave scented folky melodic death so meticulously constructed and well produced that I’m actually stunned it’s an independent release. From the triumphant flourishes dotting the leads in “Yowaltekuhtli” to the thunderous tribal percussion-laced breakdowns in “Xiuhtekuhtli Weweteotl”, Nikan Axkan never wants for a variety of gripping moments. A sense of propulsion flows through the album, rendering the occasional interludes atmospheric rather than momentum-killing. Songs like “Xolotl Axolotl” feature heaps of skronk and tawngy tech only to instantly be offset by indigenous instruments and melodic atmospherics in equal measure. True, each individual track feels a bit long in the tooth and seem as though they could benefit from some editing, and I wish the bottom end didn’t sound so artificial. Nevertheless, every time I found myself thinking such thoughts I was suddenly blown away by some excellent new riff or lovely melody from wood instruments or percussion, slotting neatly into the album’s reasonable runtime. Nikan Axhan is an album with a remarkably matured and well-executed vision, and has been a gripping, engaging listen with each spin. Support this album. 3.5/5.0

Thyme: Most bands continually seek ways to bring originality into their work. For Aguascalientes, Mexico, five-piece death metal outfit Kalaveraztekah, that originality comes in the form of heaving helpings of Mesoamerican folk instrumentation, expertly woven into the deathly fabric of their sophomore album Nikan Azkan. Right off the bat, I felt transported to the middle of a Mexican rainforest as tribal drums and folkish guitar lines cede their delicate grip to Behemoth-like death riffs and a hellish vocal attack that rivals Nergal’s (“Nikan Axkan (El Aquí y El Ahora)”). When Nikan Azkan isn’t channeling Demigod levels of viciousness, its hybrid form of folk death conjures Roots-era Sepultura with sludgily dirty riffs, primitive death chants, and a plethora of indigenous instruments ranging from ocarinas to Aztec death whistles (“Xiuhtekuhtli Weweteotl (El Fuego Ancestral),” “Wewekoyotl (El Coyote Viejo)”). Kalaveraztekah brings loads of atmosphere to Nikan Axkan, especially on “Yowaltekuhtli (Un Sueño En La Oscuridad),” with its haunting instrumentation—the guitar work is top notch here—and the desperate, breathless pleas of the narrator conjuring tons of dramatic tension. On repeated spins, the magic within Nikan Axkan continues to unravel. While the meshing of Kalaveraztekah’s death metal—standard as it may be—with its folk-forward instrumentation tends to blur tracks together, enjoyment didn’t dissipate the more I listened. Fans of what Tzompantli are doing would be hard-pressed to miss this, and I suggest they don’t. 3.0/5.0

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Taking pleasure in the brighter vibrations of an extended-range string supply, founding guitarist Scott Carstairs, in closed-eye bends and chord quivers, defines the breathy ambience of Fallujah’s jittery developments. Not world’s away from 2023’s Empyrean, Xenotaph finds a harmonic shell in lush guitar layers that skirt the line between deep atmosphere and technical bounce. And breezing through with a trim song set that navigates a bevy of Cynic-coded trickling riffage (“Labyrinth of Stone,” “The Crystalline Veil”) and kick-saturated sprints (“Kaleidoscopic Waves,” “Xenotaph”) alike, Fallujah weaves a through line of sticky guitar candy. Returning vocalist Kyle Schaefer continues to be a chameleonic—if polarizing to the oldest fans—presence that stitches with aggressive, pitched yells, towering, gruff barks, and glistening, melodic core cleans, allowing Xenotaph to saunter down a familiar but kindly bent road.

In turn, guitar pyrotechnics come stock in the Fallujah package. Carstairs and new recruit Sam Mooradian (Inhale Existence) use their fiery and slippery talents to skew Xenotaph toward flypaper melodies and crunchy atmosphere rather than directionless, shreddy excess. Whether at the twinkle of gentle reverb on clean drives (“In Stars We Drown,” “A Parasitic Dream,” “The Obsidian Architect”), dancing play of panning refrains (“Kaleidoscopic Waves,” “Step…,” “Xenotaph”), or furious tremolo-bouncing riffage, this well-practiced duo makes every stutter-loaded passage feel buttery. In response, the inherent wandering nature of a soundscape that threatens the relaxing alien jazz of a Holdsworth¹ finds a grounded landing in Thordendal (Meshuggah, Fredrik Thordendal‘s Special Defects) solo bleating (“Xenotaph”) and the kind of staccato The Faceless riffage that has defined a generation of low-gain, techy endeavors. In a slight step back on the production front, Xenotaph sees bass virtuoso Evan Brewer (Entheos,² ex-Animosity) relegated to popping backing on skronky chord stabs, muffled boom alongside pitter-patter kick, and light rumble accent. The Otero compression method does succeed, though, in ensuring that each and every guitar passage cuts and twirls and dives with all the precision required to bore deep into a tablature-gawking mind.

Even if some tones find too much restraint, the endless and lush guitar layers that scaffold Xenotaph add to a rewarding, repeatable listen. While Fallujah hasn’t ever dabbled fully in the concept album world, recurring melodies flicker and warp and recontextualize throughout, tying tight pseudo-suites between Xenotaph’s strongest moments (“Labyrinth…” through “Step…,” “A Parasitic Dream” through “Xenotaph”). With this kind of blended and moment-blurry track timeline, though, placing an exact finger on the pulse that penetrates through to memory can be tough. It’s easy to get stuck in which rapid fire kick run³ was it that built tension before a wild solo, or which bent and wobbled dreamy lead carried that choppy riff to another choppy riff or which breakaway melodic chorus punched away to a meditative bridge. But Fallujah revels in extreme detail—the choral recollection that both opens and closes Xenotaph in loop, the chewiest melodic chorus this side of peak Tesseract (“The Crystalline Veil”), the flippant vocal modulations that run wild (“Labyrinth…, “The Obsidian Architect”). In novel pleasantries, Xenotaph finds a comfortable and developmental home.

Fallujah wears a collected calm and fun that can be hard for a veteran tech act to maintain. In Carstairs’ unique and effortless play—the backbone of all this act’s modern efforts—high note count riffage and solos find space to expand and nestle, and flourish. And in his reliable supporting cast, one seemingly cultivated of friendship, Xenotaph follows that same sentiment despite seeing Fallujah again fall into modern production stylings that raise more philosophical sound debate than I’d prefer. But if these are the kinds of questions Fallujah has to ask of their sound to keep growing, I’m content to bear witness to the fruits of their particular brand of floating and flamboyant internal dialogue.

Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: 5 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Nuclear Blast | Bandcamp
Websites: fallujah.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/fallujahofficial
Releases Worldwide: June 13th, 2025⁴

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Freshly onboarded axeslingers Nico Elgstrand (ex-Entombed A.D.) and Sebastian Svalland (Letters from the Colony, ex-In Mourning) harbor a burly guitar edge that’s a pleasure to hear—in vicious solo (and oh what solos!) or thunderous riff. And continuing the same stadium-minded attitude that pervaded every chorus of 2023’s Sky Void of Stars, booming builds and sticky-smooth serenading coat just about every nook of Nightmares. None of this rings that new for Katatonia, of course—2009’s Night Is the New Day cemented this lane of stream-of-conscious verse work that bubbles and broods to a Renkse-helmed croonfest. And since 2016’s iconic The Fall of Hearts idealized the mesmerizing rhythms and nature-fueled ambiance that serve modern Katatonia best, subsequent releases have strayed too wandering in electronica or comforting in safe songcraft to stand up against a loaded catalog. But the new blood and immediate stance in attack gives Nightmares a fighting chance in memory.

Given that Renkse has been the majority songwriting stakeholder over the past fifteen years, familiarity plays a hefty role in both the draw towards and push away from Nightmares. Yet, ever seasoned in crafting slinky vocal hooks, Renkse peppers lyrical spats like “Assemble a temple of steel / To stand on top of that building” (“Wind of No Change”) and “I wait for falling snow [dramatic shuffling break] You wait for me to go away” (“The Light Which I Bleed”). These goth night beat poetics add welcome color to melodic backdrops that sound like so many that have come before them. Does “Warden” waltz along that buttery line more like “Ambitions” or “Rusted” or “The Longest Year”—you decide. But against the locked-in, tom pounding struts (“The Liquid Eye”) and bouncing wah-chord hypnosis (“The Light…”), Katatonia possesses all the necessary parts to rope in prospective sadpeople looking to sway and bob in well-toned melancholy.

While cozy, crunchy riffs can go a long way in keeping Nightmares above water, its patchwork, song-based construction gets in the way of easy, straight-through enjoyment. From the get-go, the transition from a straightforward churner (“Thrice”) to a classic Renkse whimsical lilt (“The Liquid Eye”) to a sure-to-be arena staple (“Wind…”) feels like a stuttered exposition rather than a shared experience. And later, Renkse pulls out a Eurovision-ready, dim lights, full Swedish language synth pop ballad in “Efter Solen,” which struggles to justify its cost of admission as the longest, slowest, and guitar-void track on Nightmares. With as fragile a voice as ever in his native language, though, it’s hard to discount its charm, and repeated listens (as often is the case with a Katatonia) see it flowing better through my ears and heart. However, after the long fadeout of “The Light…” and before the radical, creaking blues pick-me-up of “In the Event of,” “Efter Solen” still feels as though it could have fit better as a separate bonus track.

Alas, at forty-six minutes composed of quality songs, Nightmares as Extensions of Waking State pushes through its lesser attributes as another Katatonia album with plenty of room to grow and revisit. In the hands of the hard-working engineering duo of Adam Noble and Robin Schmidt, who have most notably tackled the past few Leprous releases, Nightmares shows a contemporary gloss with an amplified edge while maintaining a wobbly buzz and pop in the additional electronics. Whether it’s the exact order or the songs themselves, this newest Katatonia outing stands in the shadow of any number of albums that someone calls their favorite—and a true favorite Nightmares is not likely to be. As an iterative entity that has lived rather well in its late stages, though, Katatonia holds the power to shine brighter with these same parts, even if this arrangement is plenty fine on its own.

Rating: Good.
DR: N/A | Format Reviewed: Sadboi Stream
Label: Napalm Records
Websites: katatonia.com | katatonia.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/katatonia
Releases Worldwide: June 6th, 2025

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In the collision of these two thick-stringed giants, Tetradōm weaves and wobbles in delectable harmony. The role of bass in rock and metal arrangements rarely settles into that of the lead. But with conductors of this caliber on fretless, and extended-range bass devices,² nasally slides, flatulent thumps, and snarling shuffles rumble about this airy but grounded soundstage. Despite the low-end firepower at play, each accompanying performer brings flair and experience to their respective lanes. Guitarist (and engineer for Tetradōm) Eve (Kaathe) brings a flowing touch and additional melodic guide—opener “Moksha” even leads with her crystalline phrasing—that borrows from her tenure with instrumental progressive outlet Myth of I. And kitmeister Yuma van Eekelen has a storied rhythmic history with understated bands Our Oceans and Exivious that allows his textural phrasing to embolden the space between flying frequencies. No shortage of talent befalls Quadvium’s calculated stride.

Though a tag of supergroup may follow Quadvium, Tetradōm leads with an ear for the tasteful and impactful rather than one deafened by excess. All members of Quadvium possess an overwhelming prowess and creativity that edges toward the funky fresh technicality of a fusion act like Tribal Tech. Yet, with a djent-like groove, Quadvium reclaims the sterile nature of scooped drop-F chugging against glitchy electronic backings with panned wide, warm bass massaging (“Apophis,” “Adhyasa”). Popping harmonics blare³ in a glory as flighty interruptions amongst Animals as Leaders-knotted riffage, all while capturing the exploratory jazz feel of the iconic and influential Jaco Pastorius (“Náströnd”). Howling and whinnying melodies signal a path around which Eve and van Eekelen can prance in touch-and-go solo flutters and cymbal-savvy atmosphere (“Sarab,” “Eidolon”). The breadth of techniques and tones on display requires an open and engaged mind to enjoy. But Quadvium’s resonant, interwoven throughput tied fast to ever-unfolding refrains never drifts into solo-laden, wandering note tedium.

Such a bass-forward presentation—and not in the subwoofer booming way that modern hip-hop or electronic music can be—requires a listening setup with an extra oomph through the low and mid range. I remember the first time I listened to Gordian Knot’s “Arsis,” a subtle solo bass intro to 2003’s classic, Emergent, I could have sworn nothing emerged from my crackling Logitech speakers, its subtle hum nary an auditory blip. Quadvium doesn’t render their instrumental dialogue quite as soft-spoken, with performers’ metal edges and jazzy chatter (and Eve’s cybersynth sound design) filling the room with bright, up-front, persistent movement. But to hear the nuances, and fall into a fuller love with Tetradōm, you may have to reach for your richest listening mode so that you lose neither the delicate drum teasing intro to “Ghardus”—and the bass duo’s subsequent descent to the lowest range of the experience—nor the delicate floor-scraping harmonies of “Apophis.” Of course, you could just crank that volume knob, lay out on the floor, and let the braying call-and-response bends of “Sarab” or the modulated stacked-track bliss of “Eidolon” vibrate your being to a higher existence.

Without a single word, Quadvium manages to conjure the esoteric nature that Tetradōm and its philosophy-inspired titles promise. Its strike, though, takes full shape, eschewing the potential for amorphous free jazz tone flexing that fusion music can embody. DiGiorgio and Thesseling have a vision of what bass can be in a rock and metal context, and Tetradōm realizes that with every squeaking slide, pattering finger roll, cascading chord. Masters don’t always produce hungry music, but Quadvium has shown their appetite remains growling.

Rating: 4.0/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 256 kbps mp3
Label: Agonia Records | Bandcamp
Website: facebook.com/quadviumofficial
Releases Worldwide: May 30th, 2025

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