Velothian play a folk-tinged, somber kind of epic/ethereal post-black metal that strikes a good balance between distant tranquility and gritty textures. While there’s a great deal of woodsy ambiance and dreamy chants, the metal enjoys a satisfying, weighty presence whether it’s airy, open-note chords à la Alcest (“The Great Forest,” “Forgotten Ruins,” “Mania”) or direct, blasting riffs (“The One From My Dreams,” “Dragonfires”). Mythic Dawn uses its inspiration tastefully to create something all its own, never feeling schlocky or gimmicky like “video-game metal” often does. Speaking of, I was elated to discover some references to the original Oblivion OST throughout Mythic Dawn. For example, the soft piano melody of Oblivion’s “Auriel’s Ascension” translates beautifully into acoustic guitars and serves as a jumping-off point for the sunlit harmonies of “Mania,” and the game’s main theme makes an understated appearance in “The One From My Dreams.”¹ I appreciate that Mythic Dawn never feels like a direct 1:1 of Oblivion’s music or aesthetic, maintaining its own identity and imagery even as it incorporates melodies from the game’s OST such that those unfamiliar with Oblivion won’t feel like they’re missing something.

In Mythic Dawn, Velothian have preserved that expansive yet grounded quality I loved about Path of the Incarnate and even improved on it through tighter songwriting and a more verdant soundscape. One ought look to “The Great Forest” for how Velothian construct atmospheres with intelligence and restraint: softly striking guitars ring between rich arboreal sounds and sparse chanting, blooming into a simple but textured, evocative riff in the verse. “Mania” is another atmospherically decadent track, sustaining nearly every note played to create a dreamy haze above gorgeous chord progressions. Velothian understand the benefit of brevity, never bogging a song down with an excess of mindless riffing or languid ambiance, which keeps a slower song like “Forgotten Ruins” or a more varied track like “Night Mother” engaging throughout. Whereas the textures and melodies paint the vivid imagery, it’s largely the guitar’s mixing that gives the music its tactile, grounded feeling. It’s felt especially strongly in the galloping “The One From My Dreams” where the riffs have a gripping, full-bodied crunch to them that draws you in and directly places you into the world Velothian are evoking.

It’s clear that Velothian have grown a lot in the time leading up to this debut, but that does serve to highlight the few areas that stand to further improve. While the mix is overall an improvement over Path of the Incarnate’s, the cymbals can be a little distracting in the heavier tracks, namely “The One From My Dreams.” Though both “Mania” and “Dragonfires” are well-written, each song ends with non-sequiturs that don’t feel properly fleshed out. “Deadlands” is the only track that actually loses me; the riff-work is solid, and I enjoy how the drums resolve into the chorus, but it lacks the quiet, moving majesty of the other songs that keep me returning to them. But ultimately, these finer details of Mythic Dawn do little to diminish its charm or impact. When Mythic Dawn ends (after a tasteful 40-minute runtime, might I add), the good always shines much brighter than the not-as-good.

I’ve long been excited for what Velothian would do after Path of the Incarnate, and Mythic Dawn has rewarded my patience. This album is an improvement on their previous work in many ways: the songwriting is tighter, the sound is crisper, and the atmospheres more vivid. Velothian are still a little rough around the edges, but Mythic Dawn nevertheless well establishes Velothian’s unique voice and songcraft. This is maturely written, and imaginative ethereal post-black metal that has cemented Velothian as one of the better video-game-based metal bands out there, and I shall be enjoying Mythic Dawn for a long time yet.

Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: PCM
Label: Self-Release
Websites: facebook | bandcamp
Releases Worldwide: February 1st, 2026

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Neverland shifts across a diverse range of moods through its runtime, never quite landing on a single tonal descriptor I might comfortably use to pigeonhole Neverland, which was surely the intention. It’s at times mysterious, brooding, and melancholic, and defiantly optimistic, musically manifesting in a variety of ways. There’s a strong emphasis on richly textured ambiance (“Weeping Stone,” “Horses of the Plough”), there’s a lot of glitchy industrial beats (“They’re Coming! The Birds!” and “Hark! Hark! The Dogs Do Bark!”), and the highlight comes in funky, percussive synthwave (“People of the Hills,” “Fire in the End”). It’s worth noting that apart from some spoken poetry in the opener, Neverland is, in practice, a fully instrumental affair. It’s easy to miss Kristoffer Rygg’s vocals, which were always a highlight of any Ulver record, but Neverland is specifically written in a way that wouldn’t work with vocals. Neverland effectively utilizes free-form compositions, eschewing a structure that would benefit from vocals and focusing on the strength and depth of the musicality.

To that end, Neverland is largely carried by its sound design and tight, snappy electronics. Umpteen albums in and Ulver have fine-tuned their electronic craftsmanship down to a science, keeping Neverland’s percussion straightforward and simple while swathing them in effects and ambiance. Neverland’s songs are generally catchy: the Moonlight Sonata-esque piano sequence that leads into the dramatic, glitchy crescendo of “Elephant Trunk” has stuck with me since my first listen, and “Hark! Hark! The Dogs Do Bark!”‘s bass-heavy beat never disappoints. “People of the Hills” is, for my money Neverland’s strongest song, and one of my new favorite Ulver songs. Staccato synths prelude a disco funk bass-line and grease-slick drums before some guitars drop a ludicrously tasty synthwave chord. It’s a goddamn banger, and like all of Neverland, sounds great, but the sound design is allowed to shine brightest in an ambient track like “Weeping Stone.” It starts with a comfortable rumble of brown noise before the keyboards arrive with grand washes of color and a moonlit melody.

Still, while the ambient tracks sound great, they begin to present an issue in Neverland’s latter half. The momentum constructed in Neverland’s first half falters at the ambient “Horses of the Plough” and “Quivers in the Marrow,” which are placed too closely together, with “Pandora’s Box” in between them. While I like the dreamy feel and slick bass line of “Pandora’s Box,” it begins to drag on repeat listens since the greater part of the song is a lot of build-up. Sometimes I feel that there’s an imbalance between Neverland’s ambiance and beat-driven side. Some of the more immediate tracks, including ones I like such as “They’re Coming! The Birds!” and “People of the Hills,” can feel shorter when I wish they were longer, being slightly padded on either end with ambiance or build-up, which in turn makes the standalone ambient tracks feel longer, inviting impatience for the next, more engaging track. The faltering momentum does frustrate, but I struggle to maintain much annoyance on account of the closer, “Fire in the End.” Tonally similar to “People of the Hills” but injecting a healthy dose of drama into the funk, it closes Neverland on a high note that always leaves me feeling satisfied.

Anyway, pacing quibbles aside, Neverland is all in all a success. It’s an easy album to throw on and just sink into thanks to stellar sound design, with tons of highlight beats that will stick with you. While it’s not a career-defining achievement for Ulver, it is another worthy shade to add to Ulver’s ever-growing sonic kaleidoscope, one I would recommend to any who’s ever enjoyed that distinct, melancholic Ulver flavor in the past.

Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps
Label: House of Mythology
Websites: facebook | bandcamp
Releases Worldwide: December 31st, 2025

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Sixteen songs, sixteen different Socratic dialogues transposed into music. The Trial of Socrates is undeniably high-concept, but Thumos expertly keeps the listener engaged with immediate, yet endlessly thoughtful songcraft. The Trial is full of massive, memorable riffs that hide tons of depth in their execution. “The Parmenides” is a damn strong opener that sets a pensive tone with wistful guitar notes, before leading into a heavy riff that’s carried by a crystalline, piercing guitar melody. The Trial doesn’t typically adhere to traditional song structure, but songs are far from aimless. Oftentimes a single theme will be explored with chorus-adjacent repetition even as various ideas or riffs are added and iterated upon, like in the excellent “The Gorgias,” while other songs take a more progressive approach like the epic “The Apology.” These structures give the songs a conversational cadence, as themes are explored and interrogated with a Socratic thoroughness.

Perhaps Thumos’ greatest achievement here is how they maintain a vital pace across The Trial’s long runtime. Someone more versed than I in Socratic philosophy might be able to recognize something approaching a narrative or chronology across The Trial, but even lacking context, the music alone compensates with excellent pacing and variety. The songs across The Trial shift across a healthy spectrum of fast and heavy (“The Thaeatetus,” “The Philebus”), pointed melody-driven drama (“The Parmenides,” The Apology”) or grand pathos (“The Sophist,” “The Phædo”). Even as individual songs can be lengthy, they’re always followed by something new, up until you reach the sublime end. The climax of “The Phædo” is a resplendent, tragic outpour of emotion that strips away any need for context with sheer force, ushering the end of The Trial in “The Menexenus,” a nigh funeral dirge.

The Trial of Socrates is exactly the kind of metal I love: something that excels in both passive and active listening. The adherence to its source material and striking imagery pokes and prods at your curiosity, encouraging you to wander the labyrinth with the deepest focus, even as the post-doom riff work provides a comfortable space to rest in and bask in the diverse, stellar musicianship. Yeah, it’s long as hell, but to be frank, I grow tired of feeling like I must apologize for The Trial’s runtime, sheepishly imploring you to listen despite it. Thumos has a lot to express about their choice of inspiration, and there is little, if anything, I might suggest be removed. The Trial of Socrates is an intelligent and captivating piece, one that is worth your time.

Tracks to Check Out: ”The Parmenides,” “The Protagoras,” “The Gorgias,” “The Sophist,” “The Phædo”

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Danheim’s music, and by extension Heimferd, is a sonic extension of the version of the Vikings that has embedded itself within people’s imagination and contemporary media: an intoxicating image of a powerful and mysterious people, plunged into a captivating world of violence and mysticism.¹ Most might immediately connect Danheim’s sound to Wardruna (not unjustifiably), but that paints a rather flat picture. The music is cinematic in a way that calls to mind a less avant-garde Heilung, it vibrates with a slightly electronic, tribal weight that, at this point, belongs more to Danheim than any of his peers (but one might still compare it to Vígundr or Heldom), and it’s atmospheric and densely layered like, well, Wardruna. But I believe it’s the simple immediacy of Danheim’s that has made him the Nordic folk titan that he is. It’s just so easy to fall under the spell of electronically augmented droning chants set to the rhythm of deep, beating drums, heard in some form or another in nearly every song on Heimferd.

…and yet, there sadly wafts an air of shallowness across Heimferd. There is an unfulfilled relationship between Heimferd’s sound and its songwriting. Heimferd’s stellar production and the variety of instruments create a captivating soundscape, but so rarely do songs breathe or evolve in a way that gives the songs life. This is felt all throughout Heimferd. “Heljar Skuggar” and “Rúnmyrkr” each utilize engaging, distorted chants in the vein of Heilung, but feel stagnant, without peaks or valleys. Songs are often lacking in stakes or tension, the worst of which is heard in the lifeless “Valvejen” as it flits loosely between tagelharpa melodies and excessive downtime. For songs meant to sound almost hypnotic in their droning, much comes off as forgettable, like “Kominn Dagr” as it switches from monotone chanting into a toothless tagelharpa melody, neither section given ample time to grow or make an impact. Clearly, Danheim places a lot of emphasis on atmosphere, and Heimferd is indeed viking-y at a distance—but up close, there is little to sink your teeth into.

This is not always the case, however, with a handful of songs towering above the rest. The vocal-heavy closer, “Yggdrasil II” (a sequel to “Yggdrasil” from 2018’s Fridr), has a quiet majesty to its rhythmic and beautiful chorus. “Vindfari” is an unassuming song that really sneaks up on you, as the drums march behind a simple chanting melody with a peculiar, percussive vocal delivery to some words that adds unique character to the song. Heimferd’s best song is “Haukadalur,” though. This song moves and breathes like a living thing, as distant haggard exhalations augment a powerful beat which heralds a coarse, dancing tagelharpa. These songs have such richness to their melodies, making the most of Danheim’s accessible and engaging style. It feels as if this has been my experience with every Danheim album: two or three genuinely stellar tracks that speak of an artist capable of amazing things, surrounded by songs that sound great but leave little impression.

Danheim has ever been frustrating for me, and Heimferd reaffirms that feeling. His infectious soundscape sufficiently conjures a Viking-age atmosphere and energy, but with base songwriting that so rarely transforms the music into something lasting or impactful. It’s strange, because my first listen of Heimferd was the most positive one, and I think it’s because Danheim’s style of Nordic folk can be cathartic in a way not many other artists within the genre are. But on each subsequent spin, when I listen closer, probing, pleading for depth, I’m left wanting. Heimferd is the distilled essence of the modern perception of Vikings, but with little drama or tension. It’s fun, but ephemeral.

Rating: Mixed
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps
Label: Season of Mist
Websites: official | bandcamp
Releases Worldwide: October 31st, 2025

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Ah, all in good fun Cea Serin, you proggy boys, you! Anyone who listens to even a moment of The World Beyond would easily clock it as competently written and engaging prog. To steal a term I hadn’t heard before Dolphin Whisperer said it², Cea Serin play comfy jam prog. Cea Serin aren’t quite as twisting or noodling as Haken or Dream Theater, but more riff-forward in the spirit of Vanden Plas and Threshold. The riffs are often aggressive and straightforward, though there’s plenty of complexity in the sinew binding them together to reward active listening. Supporting these comfy jams are two damn good musicians. Rory Faciane’s work on the kit is precise and expressive, and Jay Lamm, who also effectively covers the keyboards, bass, and rhythm guitar, is a thoroughly talented vocalist. His growls get the job done, but his cleans are a soaring delight. He reminds me a fair bit of Avantasia’s Tobias Sammet but with a deeper heft.

Cea Serin earnestly boasts all the trademarks, cliches, strengths and weaknesses, whatever-you’d-call-them of progressive metal. Gargantuan in scope, The World Beyond is 70 minutes spread across six tracks, none of which fall below the 10 minute mark. Each song builds and maintains a fun sense of momentum; an emotive verse drifts into a righteous chorus (“The Rose on the Ruin”), mournful pianos grow into shredding guitars (“All the Light that Shines”), or a keyboard solo shifts into violins and then into a bass solo (“Until the Dark Responds”). In fact, the ludicrous abundance of shredding solos across The World Beyond are easily the album’s strongest aspect, especially how they glide across the riffs from one to the next with such gleeful abandon. These long, winding sequences are all across the album, but they’re particularly memorable in “Until the Dark Responds” and “The Rose on the Ruin.” A whopping eight different musicians are credited as providing solos, and they do excellent work, always keeping me excited for the next bout of wild guitar-work (or violin, in “Until the Dark Responds”).

Since The World Beyond leans so heavily into its progressive nature, so too does it carry the genres downsides. There are standout moments here and there—soaring choruses in “Where None Shall Follow” and “When the Wretched and the Brave Align,” or the slick shredding introducing “All the Light that Shines”—but truthfully, if someone selected any song at random and started playing it somewhere in the middle, it would be difficult to determine exactly which song is playing. Riffs can begin to blur and blend across the album. There are few real surprises or meaningful shake-ups to song structure, and attention can waver by the end. “All the Light that Shines” especially begins to feel long as it barrels through its movements without any falling action since it leads directly into the following song. The momentum is often exciting, but with consecutive songs of such length, more strongly defined peaks and valleys would not go amiss.

Depending on your appetite for capital-P Prog, however, nothing is really a deal-breaker. The World Beyond is, through and through, just plain fun. The World Beyond is best consumed as whole, surrendering to the journey and losing yourself in the swirl of solos and riffs. Cea Serin are talented musicians who’ve crafted a kickass album that’s sure to appeal to any fan of comfy jam prog, and I look forward to their next album.

Rating: Good!
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: FLAC
Label: Generation Prog Records
Websites: bandcamp | facebook
Releases Worldwide: September 12th, 2025

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Not only is Laurentian Blue a dark folk/americana album, it is unapologetic about it. Laurentian Blue is confidently written and deliberate in its minimalism. The instrumentation is kept strictly to the bare necessities: Lunn picks and strums away at his guitar as he sings with the warmth of a crackling fire, with sparse, harmonizing violins as accompaniment. The consecutive exceptions come in the twang of “An Argument with God” (which is also the only song with any percussion) and the bluegrass “Irony and Causality,” which serve as welcome jolts to the pacing, but the bulk of Laurentian Blue is the sort of somber Americana in “Ever North” and “This Mortal Coil’s Rusted.” It reminds one of the Appalachia iteration of Osi and the Jupiter, with a stronger country lilt heard most clearly in “Down Along the Border.” While the guitarwork in Laurentian Blue is enjoyable, whether it takes the form of wistful melodies (“The Poetry in Roadkill”) or steely strumming (“Ever North,”) the focus cannot help but rest on Lunn’s voice and lyrical work.

As always, Lunn is a commanding songwriter fluent in the emotions he wants a song to convey. Nary a note or a word wasted, cutting straight to the heart of what he wants to express. Laurentian Blue is resolute in its deeply depressive lyricism, which becomes inescapable due to the music’s minimalist nature.³ Lines like “And if I needed you to watch me slip away // I’ll find you on the other side some day” (“Down Along the Border”) and “the lie that I forced myself to believe // that I never wasted a breath…” (“Ever North”) carry a catharsis that engulfs you, further strengthened by the preternaturally well-timed violins. Sparse though they may be, they’re beautifully implemented, often swelling at just the right moment like in the chorus of “The Poetry of Roadkill.” With focus this unhindered, lyrics that fail to connect are a greater danger to a song’s impact. The Hemingway-esque bluntness of “And morality ain’t dogmatic // but instead practical // and an individual // type of thing” is compelling, but it lacks the poetry present in the rest of the album, and the accompanying music doesn’t sustain the six-minute runtime.

Through the poetic lyrical work and musical minimalism, Laurentian Blue is emotionally consistent, yet therein lies what also makes it a more challenging album. Lunn’s voice is kept adamantly deadpan throughout, indifferently asking you to engage with Laurentian Blue according to its own terms rather than manipulating your emotions. This can create a disconnect; as the violins swell and the notes ascend when Lunn sings the first “Look for me // ever north,” (“Ever North”), I selfishly feel unfulfilled when the notes dispassionately descend in the second. Other times, his singing style makes for some compelling friction. “Irony and Causality” is easily the most energetic song, and is a fascinating backdrop for the deadpan delivery of “Nothing matters when you die // you can only hope time flies // and someone will visit your grave.” Maintaining such a somber tone across the album is a deliberate choice, one that works through Lunn’s songwriting finesse. But it’s a sadness that’s more aptly felt when you’re already predisposed to such feelings.

Laurentian Blue will not be for everyone. It’s a singular emotional work that doesn’t guide your feelings, but rather presents its own emotions with understated grace and indifference. But it’s only natural that the appeal of a work this personal will ultimately come down to personal preference. Regardless of one’s taste for Americana and dark folk, Laurentian Blue is nevertheless a well-written collection of songs by a well-proven songwriter with a strong connection and understanding of the genre. You might need to be in the right mood for Laurentian Blue, but if that mood should find you, then Laurentian Blue will be a knowing, empathetic embrace.

Rating: Very Good
DR: 12 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps
Label: Bindrune Recordings
Websites: facebook | bandcamp
Releases Worldwide: August 15th, 2025

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As my teeth sink in, it first becomes clear that Mouth of Madness are first and foremost practitioners of death metal. “Sex and Thanatos” opens up the album proper with some swedeath swagger and Morbid Angel chugging, while the following “Year of the Dog” offers a clearer picture of Event Horizon’s style. The guitars riff with thrashy abandon across a blackened tremolo-driven edge, as the drums consistently maintain a blast-beat pace. The lead guitars are sadly given scant little to do, outside of a few fun wails in “Worms.” Event Horizon’s production job is clean and crisp. It eschews the usual blunt force one might typically get with death metal, and I do rather like the soundscape. It feels minimalist in a way I fondly associate with early black metal without sounding like it was recorded in a garbage can, and allows one’s focus to rest squarely on the songcraft.

And yet, under this sharper focus, Event Horizon falls apart. Despite the aggression and fast pace, the riffs of songs like “Year of the Dog” or “Masaan” lack meaningful heft and rarely coagulate into a satisfying whole. Connecting the riffs in Event Horizon is a sea of bloat in the shape of melodically anemic passages that make Event Horizon’s 36-minute runtime feel much longer than it is. The particularly egregious midsection of “Worms” goes nowhere fast with directionless tremolos blazing away and wasting the song’s decent opening. The first half of “Fireborn” carries a similar aimlessness. If the intent of this guitar-work is to create a labyrinthine, snaking sensation across Event Horizon as a whole, then it needs more melodic intention and inspiration. I do like “At the Heart of the Unknown,” where a spartan intro builds black-metal discordance into a truly satisfying riff, although the song does overstay its welcome by about a minute. The ambient “Transhimalaja+,” which is spread across Event Horizon in three parts, is also strong in a vacuum. It’s well-made ambient music, but it’s a tonal clash with the rest of Event Horizon, as if it were from a different album.

Which is because it is! “Transhimalaja+” is a song by the German group Popul Vuh, or more specifically, a song written by Florian Fricke, a founding member of Popul Vuh.¹ Incomprehensibly, Mouth of Madness split Fricke’s six-minute “Transhimalaja+” into three asymmetrical parts and played them in reverse order across the album, entirely unaltered. It baffles me. It doesn’t tie Event Horizon together, since “Transhimalaja+” strikes a mysterious, almost ominous tone that the remainder of Event Horizon barely reflects. It also poorly serves the album’s pacing. “Worms” clumsily transitions into “Transhimalaja+ II” which in turn clumsily transitions into “Fireborn,” and then “Masaan” ends on a flimsy down-note that abruptly jumps to “Transhimalaja+ III.” Mouth of Madness’ implementation of “Transhimalaja+” crucifies Event Horizon on its own promise of originality. I doubt there’s a legal issue—considering that the promo blurb mentioned Popul Vuh, I charitably imagine the label must’ve gotten permission or some equivalent, but the implied legality doesn’t excuse the miserable laziness of it.²

It is a truly joyless endeavor to come down on a band like this, especially one like Mouth of Madness who’ve just released their first LP after over a decade. And yet, I can’t ignore that their inclusion of Florian Fricke’s “Transhimalaja+” is both baffling and insulting, and contributes to a discouraging debut. But I’ve yet to review a band where I don’t yearn for their growth and improvement. While their “curious take on metal” rings hollow, a solid cut like “At the Heart of the Unknown” does demonstrate that Mouth of Madness has potential. As with any artist, I will always want to see that potential realized, and I look forward to the day I can recommend Mouth of Madness to all. But guys, even if it’s as small as an ambient opener or interlude, write ’em yourself, for fucks sake.

Rating: 1.5/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps
Label: Darkness Shall Rise Productions
Websites: facebook | bandcamp
Releases Worldwide: July 16th, 2025

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Sun After Dark

At the risk of oversimplifying the myriad of musical ideas within Tatkraft, I would affectionately classify Tatkraft as blackened gothic metal. The opening volley efficiently demonstrates what Sun After Dark is about. “Dawn and Dirges” opens with a bevy of keyboard effects augmenting the guitars as they grow in intensity, launching into an immensely satisfying riff as the vocals appear. Thomas Helm (Empyrium, and the other permanent member of Sun After Dark) has a rich, operatic croon that contrasts nicely with Matthias Jell’s (Azathoth from Dark Fortress) nastier shrieks. “Waidmanns Hoffnung” shows visions of Tatkraft’s slower side, interspersing long passages of gloomy guitars and electronic drums with brief forays into blackened aggression. Like a medium-rare steak and red wine, the softer and heavier sides of Tatkraft pair deliciously. Tatkraft will often remind one of other bands—the vibes are a little bit The Vision Bleak, there’s some ambient traces of Lunar Aurora to be found, naturally, and Helm’s singular vocals cannot help but evoke Empyrium—but König balances the album’s sonic elements with finesse and creativity such that Tatkraft sounds wholly original throughout.

While the facets of Tatkraft complement each other well, the album’s greatest strength lies in König’s inspired songwriting; the mashed potatoes with our steak and wine, if you will. Gnashing guitars (“Dawn and Dirges”), emotionally rich melodies (“Leaving Metropolis”), or folksy energy (“Schlittenfahrt”) hooks the listener straight away, until repeat listens reveal the layers of depth König has hidden behind the musicianship. In this regard, Tatkraft’s keyboards rival Atlas in weight carried. Flanging and warbling keyboards form a swirling tempest around the guitars in “Dawn and Dirges,” “Burning Blue,” “Antarctic Morning,” or they eke out a siren’s droning hum in “Waidmanns Hoffnung,” or any of the other infinite tiny tricks heard across the whole of Tatkraft. It’s all subtle and unobtrusive, and it’s a great way to utilize the negative space that makes for some wonderful moments like the blaring emergency honks atop chugging guitars towards the end of “Antarctic Morning.” The mix, by Victor Bullok of Triptykon, enables this depth to shine through while the moment-to-moment experience remains immediate and engaging.

What ultimately holds Tatkraft back from the higher score it deserves is a matter of focus. König is undoubtedly a talented songwriter with solid songcraft ideas, but these ideas infrequently culminate into a single, structurally satisfying whole. What highlights this are the sheer strength of “Burning Blue” and “Antarctic Morning,” where each sequence seamlessly flows into the next until reaching the climax. These songs do wield some of the strongest material in Tatkraft, so perhaps they’re unfairly advantaged. Still, there is a clear-cut and engaging progression to each song’s flow, which in turn highlights the opposite in “Ohne Grab” and “Schlittenfahrt.” Each song is similarly laden with strong ideas—I love the raking guitars that open “Ohne Grab” and the polka-inspired riffs of “Schlittenfahrt” (featuring Mosaic’s Martin Falkenstein) are a blast in a vacuum—but the flow is absent. The individual sequences in “Ohne Grab” are starkly different from one another, and the transitions between them lack any grace, while “Schlittenfahrt,” despite a strong core riff, feels incomplete, as if it were missing its second or third act. But ultimately, these rough edges do feel earned, not so much subtracting from the big picture but adding texture. No song on Tatkraft lacks in inspiration or sincerity, and boredom will be a foreign concept during your listening experience.

In the end, Tatkraft has made me an eager fan of Sun After Dark. There are a few things here and there to be ironed out, but I feel genuinely excited for Sun After Dark’s future. I shall be recommending Tatkraft to like-minded individuals, but when the day arrives, we get an album full of “Burning Blue”‘s and “Antarctic Morning”‘s, no god nor king could stop my blackened gothic crusade from spreading Sun After Dark to all.

Rating: Good!!
DR: 5 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Hammerheart Records
Websites: facebook | bandcamp
Releases Worldwide: June 13th, 2025

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When I first snagged Idag, I was struck by Witchcraft’s label change from Nuclear Blast to Heavy Psych Sounds, but it becomes immediately apparent as to why upon first listen. Idag is notably fuzzier than Witchcraft’s previous work, leaning heavily into the stoner-doom sound. In some cases, this manifests as Pentagram-adjacent chugging doom in the beefy riffs of “Burning Cross” or the slowly building grooves of “Idag.” The Coven-meets-Sergeant Thunderhoof nature of proto-Witchcraft is still present in the faster grooves of “Drömmar Av Is” and “Drömmen Om Död Och Förruttnelse,” though they haven’t escaped a healthy coat of fuzz. Some moody Black Metal acoustics return as well, given a refreshing shot of vigor without sacrificing atmosphere like in “Christmas.” Idag is all around well-produced and well-performed; it’s easy to buy into Idag, whether you’re a newcomer or returning fan.

Then again, it’s never been hard to buy into Witchcraft, because Witchcraft have long since established a pattern of writing rock solid music, and that’s exactly what Idag is: rock solid. The best songs in Idag will often find a strong core groove and then let it carry the bulk of the weight. “Drömmar Av Is” is a punctual tune that lands on a critically funky groove right out of the gates and hammers it home with minimal distraction. This song contrasts well with the more varied tunes like the eight-minute opener, “Idag,” which follows a similar philosophy of sticking to strong core ideas, all of which are given appropriate time to germinate with a delightful tempo increase in the latter half to keep the song from stagnating. Idag’s riffs might not always be the most audacious or inventive riffs ever made, but they’re effective and catchy. Then again, Idag is undeniably elevated by Pelander’s killer pipes. He’s the sort of singer you could recognize in anything, and his rich voice adds a lot of character to the music. Unintentional or not, I enjoy the detail of his voice sounding oh-so-slightly off-key with some of the guitars in “Om Du Vill.” It’s a nice touch of authenticity and reintroduces some of the vulnerability from Black Metal.

That authenticity also strikes at the chord of what makes Idag work for me; to my ears, from a songwriting standpoint, Idag is the sort of thing one might hear blasting from a garage, whereupon you’d find a couple of lads bangin’ on their instruments in ways that Just Sound Neat. That unrefined quality, that coarseness, is something I cherish, and Idag scratches that itch. The lead guitars across Idag howl with warbling feedback, and I love the unrestrained summer fun of the drum and guitar fills in “Irreligious Flamboyant Flame.” It is a bit of a double-edged sword, though. I appreciate the grime, but I also recognize that Idag lacks the consistency and focus to truly hook me like Legend did. It’s not like Witchcraft are suddenly a “jam band” on Idag, but it’s giving the moniker some funny looks. There are just enough frustrating oddball choices to be noticeable. As a comparatively longer song and practical closer, “Spirit” lacks the escalation that made “Idag” work, and the chorus in “Irreligious Flamboyant Flame” is a bit limp. Furthermore, both “Gläntan (Längtan)” and the actual closer “Om Du Vill (Slight Return)” feel out of place and borderline pointless.

I was lukewarm on my first spin of Idag, but it has grown on me. It might not be the most essential Witchcraft record, but it is nevertheless worth the time of any Witchcraft fan or purveyor of fuzzy stoner jams. But no matter how I felt about Idag, it wouldn’t have been a more potent feeling than my relief that Witchcraft is still making music. I will always look forward to their next release.

Rating: 3.0 / 5.0
DR: 10 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Heavy Psych Sounds
Websites: facebook | bandcamp
Releases Worldwide: May 23rd, 2025

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Anyone who’s heard NFO before already knows what to expect on Give Us The Moon, but allow me to break it down for any newbies who, having never heard NFO, have probably never felt joy a day in their life: NFO plays extremely fun rock n’ roll pulled straight from the 80’s, characterized by infectious energy, memorable choruses, and the killer vocals by Bjorn “Speed” Strid.” An arbitrary but fun trend I’ve noticed in determining the quality of an NFO album lies in how hard a respective album’s third song goes. In the past we’ve had iconic jams like Amber Galactic’s “Gemini,” Sometimes The World Ain’t Enough’s “Paralyzed,” and Aeromantic’s “Divinyls.” Give Us The Moon earns its place alongside these albums with the instant classic “Like The Beating of a Heart” (since I don’t count the scene-setting intro song). The synth intro bursts into a deliriously funky synth/guitar line, leading into a verse where the drums maintain a momentum that keeps your head nodding like clockwork. Then the chorus explodes with an unforgettable melody, the kind where you can’t help but try and sing along despite not knowing a damn word. It’s fun, it’s exciting, it leaves me with a stupid grin; it’s NFO, baby!

The entirety of Give Us The Moon basically feels like a smorgasbord of the many hats (or aviators, I guess) NFO wears with extreme style. You’ve got tracks that ooze with romantic camp (“Paloma,” “Runaways,” “Way to Spend the Night”), straightforward rock n’ rollers (“Stratus,” “Melbourne, May I?”), or songs that dial up the funk to reach critical funk (“A Paris Point of View,” “Miraculous”). The album’s first single, “Shooting Velvet,” is a particularly kickass tune with a lethally catchy chorus and a tasty guitar solo I wish was about four times as long. “Paloma” is an instant winner as well, with a dramatic escalation of big guitar chords and synths sounding like the climactic catharsis of that scene in the romance movie where they finally smooch. The consistently high quality of Give Us The Moon’s tracklist makes it exceptionally easy to just throw on without a second thought and before you know it an hour has passed.

Speaking of an hour passing, if I were to complain about anything in Give Us The Moon, it’s that it does feel just a little long. Even though there’s never really a point in Give Us The Moon where I feel compelled to skip, I do struggle to retain some tracks like “Miraculous” or “Cosmic Tides” even after several listens. Furthermore, I’m a little torn on Give Us The Moon’s closer, “Stewardess, Empress, Hot Mess (and the Captain of Pain).” In addition to it’s ultra tubular title, it’s a dynamic and adventurous track that unquestionably ends the album on a high note. But I find it lacks the staying power and hyper-catchy hooks that enamored me to practically any of NFO’s previous closing songs. But as basically anyone who’s reviewed NFO before me has expounded upon, NFO at their worst is still pretty damn good.

Give Us The Moon is everything I want from an NFO record, and was a blast of excitement after I was a little underwhelmed with Aeromantic II. Once Give Us The Moon is over, the only thing I’m thinking is a resounding “fuck yeah, dude.” It’s the product of a band who has nailed their sound and songwriting down to an extremely sexy science and is bound to contain a couple of favorite tunes for any NFO fan out there. And if this is your first NFO album, I’m glad to be the one to deliver joy unto you for the first time.

Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: n/a | Format Reviewed: Stream
Label: Napalm Records
Websites: official | facebook | bandcamp
Releases Worldwide: January 31st, 2025

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