Nytt Land often releases albums strictly preserving the ancient traditions of their homeland, like 2025’s Songs of the Shaman, but Aba Khan follows a different path. Picking up the threads first woven on 2021’s Ritual and continued on 2023’s Torem, Aba Khan captures the energy of the shamanic rites of Nytt Land’s native Siberia. Nytt Land doesn’t perform any one specific rite on Aba Khan, but rather, Nytt Land channels their significance, their substance. As such, this isn’t a direct transcription or translation, but a respectful, contemporary interpretation that places listeners in the midst of ancestral proceedings. Produced with immersion in mind, the soundstage is dynamic and beautifully utilized. You can almost smell the clean air and feel the warmth of the bonfire as practitioners’ shifting vocals and well-placed instruments surround you, each given plenty of room to breathe and shine. To get the full effect, headphones are highly recommended here.

Production and mixing would mean little here, were it not for Nytt Land’s excellent performances. Natalia is the centerpiece, providing striking lead vocals and bringing to life the chanting, throat singing chorus of this ceremony (“Aba Khan,” “Taiga”). She and fellow drummer Aleksandr Rosliakov provide the raw, thunderous backbone for the album, stoking ritual fervor and reverence alike (“The Oath,” “Tygir Tayii (Heavenly Sacrifice)”).³ All other instruments are handled by Anatoly. Flutes, both bone and wood, alternate between heraldic (“Totem,” “Mansi”) and musical (“Taiga,” “Mansi”) duties, while strings—like the talharpa—guide Aba Khan through its eight movements. A high base quality means standout moments are few here, but the instrumental bridge of “Taiga,” which features mouth harp, flute, and talharpa all playing different melodies on top of a deep stringed foundation, is noteworthy, as is the absolutely massive, constant thrum of “Prayer.” It’s like listening to a god breathe.

According to the promo sheet, Aba Khan comprises a collection of shamanic vignettes, but it nevertheless possesses a loose narrative flow from one track to the next. This is largely driven by Natalia’s singing. Aba Khan is written entirely in indigenous Serbian languages and Old Norse, but Natalia defies the language barrier through measured swaying (“Taiga,” “Totem”), raw vulnerability (“The Oath,” “Prayer”) and ritualistic staccatos (“Tygir Tayii (Heavenly Sacrifice)”) to sketch the shape and purpose of each movement. I’m normally pretty unforgiving on intros, but “Aba Khan” serves more as an invocation or invitation before the ceremony begins in earnest with “Taiga.” Aside from mid-album snag “Uitag,” which dwells overlong in ambient repetition, Nytt Land moves with purpose through each movement. Aba Khan closes in a whirlwind, shifting from the tension of ceremonial action (“The Oath”) to that of anticipation (“Prayer”), before releasing it in spiraling celebration and catharsis (“Tygir Tayii”).

I don’t think anyone would argue the value of preservation efforts, but I might argue that Aba Khan does something even more important. Whether at a museum or on recordings like Songs of the Shaman, a clinical detachment separates us from feeling the gravity of these traditions as an insider would. Aba Khan annihilates that barrier. Using every tool at their disposal, Nytt Land communicates the emotions, atmosphere, and spirit of Siberia’s shamanic traditions through music, a universal language. This isn’t meant to be known in the mind. It’s meant to be felt in the heart. On Aba Khan, Nytt Land invites you to walk in their millennia-old shoes to a time and place where spirits rule, shamans protect the people, and old gods whisper.⁴

Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Prophecy Productions
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook | Instagram
Releases Worldwide: February 20th, 2026

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Based in Birmingham, UK, Cattle Hammer was formed by vocalist/guitarist Duncan Wilkins (Fukpig, Mistress) in 2023. He’s joined by I Cartwright on drums, J Wyles on guitar, and D Von Donovan on bass. Together, they mix a caustic brew of drone, doom, and sludge, but each track on Dark Thoughts with Lights Out has its own identity. “Gloomsower” leans stony, and Wilkins oscillates between deep roars and strangled croaks reminiscent of Weedeater. “Rotting” features short tremolos, although they don’t do much besides check the “blackened” box on the PR sheet. The ambient, noise-tinged intro to “Watchmen, Alone” caught my attention, but repetition of the vocal sample stunts its ability to build tension. Similarly, “Body Puzzle” ends on some interesting synths, but it’s a tough sell so late in the album. If you can’t tell, I’m really reaching for positives here, but there’s not a one that isn’t ultimately a disappointment.

Every time I thought Cattle Hammer might do something interesting or better texturize Dark Thoughts with Lights Out, they shrank from the occasion. The early lead guitar in “Gloomsower” is a bright change of pace amidst thick, doomy passages, but instead of playing a countermelody or variation on the theme or literally anything else, it just plays the same fucking riff in a higher register. This same-riff-different-instrument/key tactic is fairly common (“Rotting,” “Watchmen, Alone”). Organ (“Watchmen, Alone,” “Body Puzzle”) and piano (“Rotting”) make appearances, but fail to deliver anything justifying their inclusion. Static and feedback crop up frequently, but in Cattle Hammer’s hands, they are merely unpleasant and banal. While I was intrigued by the first sample² and always appreciate Sheri Moon Zombie,³ Cattle Hammer’s sample usage is ham-fisted and melodramatic. Each of these ornaments gave me hope that I might soon feel something besides boredom and frustration, but invariably, Dark Thoughts with Lights Out dashed my hopes and shuffled on.

What astounds me most on Dark Thoughts with Lights Out is how avoidable many of these blunders seem. Percussion is a little lackluster, and the instruments seem a bit compressed in the mix, leaving the vocals too far in front. These aren’t deal breakers, but playing fewer riffs—I’m being generous, calling them that—in 45 minutes than I have fingers is. Structuring the front half of a song to sound like a narrative climax with no build-up or release is (“Watchmen, Alone,” “Body Puzzle”). Rhythmic density rivaling the emptiness of space is. Ambient, feedback-laden outros enough to compile an EP is. This album is ostensibly meant to convey misery and suffering, but devoid of creativity or artistic abstraction, it misses the mark that acts like Primitive Man, The Body, or Sumac hit so well. It’s as if Cattle Hammer has crafted some misguided meta experience, in which the act of listening to the music imparts the misery normally communicated through the music itself.

If there’s one thing Cattle Hammer truly excels at, it’s squandering potential. Every criticism in this review is a place where I saw an opportunity for Dark Thoughts with Lights Out to get better, only for it to stay the course. What’s even more frustrating is that, if any one of these problems weren’t a problem, it could have at least partially salvaged the album. Amidst deeply uninteresting riffs played slow enough for inter-note naps, song constructions that fail to launch, underutilized instrumentation, an impressive lack of variation, repetition ad nauseum, and a totally unjustified runtime, Dark Thoughts with Lights Out isn’t simply unremarkable or uninteresting; it’s a literal chore to listen through. Based on the promo sheet, maybe that’s the point, but whether Cattle Hammer achieved their goal is irrelevant.⁴ Dark Thoughts with Lights Out is a bad album.

Rating: 1.0/5.0
DR: 10 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Road to Masochist
Websites: Bandcamp | Ampwall | Facebook | Instagram
Releases Worldwide: February 6th, 2026

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Standard black metal isn’t dark enough for Gorrch. Stillamentum is about horror and dread. Opener “Nimbus” wastes no time burying you alive in a cramped wooden box. Guitars like clamoring bells ring with sanity-threatening dissonance while pummeling blast beats quickly deplete your limited oxygen. Droich viciously saws at palm-muted strings like the erratic, terrifying sprints of cockroaches exploring what’s in the box (you). A lull at the midpoint ushers in a spiraling riff, rising like your gorge in mortal terror. Heretical Gregorian chanting reveals your captors as zealots, and all hope of seeing the sun again dies. Deranged prayers ripped from Chrimsicrin’s throat (“Vorago,” “Angor”), metallic tones like snapping wires (“Vorago,” “Larvæ”), and ritualistic percussion (“Phlegma”) keep you locked in this waking nightmare. The blasphemous love child of Gaerea and Imperial Triumphant, Stillamentum is cacophonous, claustrophobic, and rapturously disturbed.

Developing and fostering atmosphere through repetition is a common trope in black metal. Stillamentum is no exception, but Gorrch’s approach makes the assessment thereof a bit of a challenge. Each track begins with strong, fast riffs, either searing or psychotic, drawing me in and demanding my attention. Somewhere in the middle third, however, long passages featuring markedly less instrumental variation take over and guide the song to its conclusion. The result is two or three minutes of relatively repetitive instrumentals per track. This was not an issue while running errands or gaming or otherwise spinning Stillamentum in the background—and was in fact a boon—as I enjoyed basking in the consistent atmosphere, but on focused listens, these stretched sections can stall the furious momentum gained earlier in each song.

This same critique can be found mirrored in the structure of Stillamentum as a whole. The front half—“Nimbus,” “Vorago,” and “Larvæ”—as well as closer “Phlegma,” evoke a singular and impressive sense of fear. “Cryptæ” and “Angor,” however, feel less inspired, giving the album’s quality a parabolic shape. They’re not bad songs by any means; there are parts of each I particularly enjoyed. I loved the tempo shift at the midpoint of “Angor” and the clanging, descending riffs in “Cryptæ,” and the synergy between the ritual chanting and Chrimsicrin’s drum work on both tracks is very effective. Even so, they seem closer to boilerplate black metal than the rest of Stillamentum, their teeth notably blunter in comparison. As on the level of individual tracks, this structure works well in the background, but under scrutiny, it highlights opportunities for Gorrch to improve their pacing and direction.

Gorrch shines brightest at their darkest and most unsafe. On Stillamentum, theirs is an abyssal darkness, drenched in formicative³ horror and clothed in perverse piety. At their most oppressive, Gorrch is exactly my kind of black metal: suffocating, malicious, dissonant, and maybe a little blasphemous. Were I grading based on highlights alone, Stillamentum would score much higher. Alas, those peaks are saddled with overlong atmospheric passages, a slight overuse of chanting vocals, and mildly inconsistent quality. If Gorrch can distill their strengths from Stillamentum and hone them to delve even deeper into the void, they’ll unearth something truly unspeakable.

Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: 9 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Avantgarde Music
Websites: Bandcamp
Releases Worldwide: January 30th, 2026

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Old Sorcery is the dungeon synth project of Lahti, Finland-based multi-instrumentalist Vechi Vrăjitor.¹ The Outsider sees Vrăjitor continuing the “Masks of the Magi” trilogy that began with 2025’s delightful and exploratory The Escapist. Small excursions from Old Sorcery’s core sound yielded great results, incorporating sweeping cinematic textures and classical instrumentation. That adventurous spirit lives on here, but The Outsider ranges much further afield. Vrăjitor ventures into territory once explored by early Emperor, but he emerges with a sound more atmospheric and raw. 12-grit tremolo walls, blast beats aplenty, and echoing rasps like howling storm winds provide a base upon which Old Sorcery centers icy synths (“Magick Triumph,” “Barrowgrim Asylum”), folk-minded woodwinds (“The Interior Gates of the True Soul,” “Where Sorrow Reigns”), and the searching reverence of Sojourner or Eldamar. Rather than an end in itself, Vrăjitor uses black metal on The Outsider as a malleable vehicle to further explore the concepts introduced in The Escapist.

The result is a 71-minute behemoth. Following The Escapist’s comparatively trim 50 minutes, The Outsider was a daunting prospect, to say the least. I still think it could lose ten minutes or so—“The Pain Threshold,” early sections of “Innigkeit” and “Magick Triumph,” and the quirky Gothic section of “Where Sorrow Reigns”—but repeated listens showed me that I was missing the forest for the trees. And like the moss that grows on those trees, The Outsider grew on me. Both black metal and dungeon synth are well-suited to fostering atmosphere and emotive landscapes, and Vrăjitor harnesses this shared propensity to his advantage. With turns at times subtle—the synths and guitars shifting into lockstep at the end of “Magick Triumph”—and at others, explosive and invigorating—the phenomenal triple attack of gritty guitar, ephemeral synth licks, and breathy woodwind solo in “Where Sorrow Reigns”—The Outsider is a journey, not a destination.

And it is the compositional vistas and narrative musicality of The Outsider that make it a journey worth taking. The bones of a story are hidden within The Outsider, and Vrăjitor intends them to be found. While there are presumably lyrics to The Outsider, Vrăjitor’s vocals are pushed back in the mix and filtered, allowing this to be a functionally instrumental album. Such Old Sorcery as this will naturally whisper different tales to different listeners, but I defy the skeptic to stand on the moon-kissed snowfields of “Magick Triumph,” tarry by the campfire and tender acoustics of “Innigkeit,”² or emerge from the airy, crystalline caverns “Where Sorrow Reigns” and conjure no dreams of the titular outsider’s adventures. Not merely a pairing, The Outsider weaves wintery synths and raw, blackened atmospherics into a single spell and adorns it with grand, evocative structures and diverse instrumentation to create a story that needs no overt narration, but reveals its bones through music alone.

Established through the excellent “Castle” trilogy,³ Old Sorcery is a mainstay in dungeon synth circles, and if The Outsider proves anything, it’s for good reason. While The Escapist took day trips beyond Old Sorcery’s core sound, The Outsider bravely departs familiar territory while never forgetting its heritage. While there are certainly passages and pathways I trudged through rather than enjoyed, The Outsider is a singular, grand tapestry, cleverly composed and beautifully arranged. Old Sorcery’s latest is a work best basked in and consumed organically, rather than dissected microscopically, and has only gotten better with each spin. Set aside an hour on a cold, snowy day (there should be plenty of them right about now), cozy up with a warm drink, and hear The Outsider’s tale.

Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: 9 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Avantgarde Music
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: January 30th, 2026

Mystikus Hugebeard (a practitioner of old sorcery, as it were)

Whenever the yearning for old-school dungeon synth takes me, Old Sorcery has long been one of my first choices. However, I’m embarrassed to admit that during my preparatory research, I was rather shocked to learn that Old Sorcery debuted as recently as 2017 with Realms of Magickal Sorrow. I’d just assumed Old Sorcery has been around since, I don’t know, time immemorial, only because Old Sorcery so effortlessly plays that sort of raw, old school dungeon synth that you’d find on a cassette tape tucked away next to a Jim Kirkwood or Depressive Silence. I’m grateful that Spicie Forrest clued me in on this release and allowed me to double review with him, such that I could further inform our readers of the truly quality dungeon synth act that Old Sorcery is. This opportunity has not presented itself in a way I’d anticipated, however, because The Outsider is not merely dungeon synth like most Old Sorcery releases, but also an album of raw, wintry black metal.

As The Outsider opens in “Magick Triumph,” rumbling horns and scattered synths set the stage for a classic Swords n’ Sorcery experience typical to the Old Sorcery oeuvre, until a grimy guitar chord descends like a fog. It’s worth mentioning that Old Sorcery has traveled this blackened road before with 2020’s Sorrowcrown, but it’s done exceptionally well here. It’s the kind of frigid black metal you’d hear from Paysage d’Hiver and Lunar Aurora, with a similarly raw production style to boot. An overly raw-sounding mix that sacrifices too much listenability for “authenticity” is an immediate album-killer for me, but The Outsider is in that perfect sweet spot. The tremolos and blast-beats buzz with wintry chill and the vocals are way, way in the back, and the synths are always able to cut through the din. The mix has that nice, approachable sort of buzz, like just a little too much wine.⁴ Still, headphones will definitely be your friend for this album.

Old Sorcery weaves dungeon synth and black metal together such that each is stronger for the other’s presence, effectively playing off each other’s strengths. The dungeon synth elements in The Outsider enjoy an active melodic role in the heavier songs, the inviting, pleasant tones of old-school dungeon synth exuding warmth amidst the cold black metal. It makes for some standout moments, like frostbiting synths fading in and out through stormy guitar riffs (“Magick Triumph”), or a crystalline melody ringing hopeful above rhythmic tremolos and strings (“Where Sorrow Reigns”). “The Interior Gates of the True Soul” is an exquisite blend of synths and metal with an energy that almost reminds of Khonsu, a percussive, mystical synth melody warping, shifting, driving the song forward atop rolling tremolos. There is, naturally, a great deal of care in The Outsider’s construction of atmosphere, but the melodic focus given to the synths in relation to the black metal feels quite refreshing for the genre. As such, The Outsider rarely feels passive even across its length and maintains a strong sense of engagement from moment to moment.

Speaking of length, The Outsider is notably on the longer side, clocking in at over 70 minutes. But I find that Old Sorcery manages the time well with a healthy spread of longer and shorter songs, coupled with their diverse songwriting approach. The Outsider begins and ends with its dramatic epics, as the bulk of the album swirls through cackling, malevolent melodies (“Barrowgrim Asylum”), softer dungeon synth proper (“Innigkeit,” “The Pain Threshold”), and fantastical electronic/metal harmonies (“The Interior Gates of the True Soul”). There’s nary a weak link on the album, but while the staccato, electronic synth tones work wonders in “Magick Triumph” and “The Interior Gates of the True Soul,” I wish they were utilized a bit more in the ambient tracks. “The Pain Threshold” technically fits that bill, but it’s written in such a way that’s more sweeping and orchestral. It would’ve been nice to see the sharper synth tones common to Old Sorcery’s other works explored in a space less dominated by chaotic black metal, that I might appreciate them in clearer focus.

All in all, The Outsider is another rock-solid album by an artist who has consistently delivered great music, even though this album is a rare break from the Old Sorcery mold. It’s well-paced, well-written dungeon synth/black metal that is always good, and often great. I’ve often joked that this hellsite needs more goddamn dungeon synth, and The Outsider is my perfect specimen: just metal enough to bypass Steel’s gaze, yet with enough dungeon synth that I don’t look out of place wearing my wizard robes while listening to it. I furthermore suspect that my Spicie friend has delivered similarly positive tidings, so now that you’ve had two exceedingly trustworthy goobers tell you how good this album is, just go listen to the damn thing.

Rating: Very Good!

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Casket’s death metal may be barebones, but they’re damn good at it. With nary a note of warning, Casket hits the ground running on opener “The Will to Comply.” Vocalist/guitarist Schorsch launches beefy, retro riffs and vicious, descending tremolos while vomiting up chasm-deep vocals like slabs of cement grinding against each other. Casket’s skill and experience are painfully obvious as they rip through track after track of dumb, violent death metal. The low-end heft from Susi Z’s bass makes In the Long Run We Are All Dead feel more like blunt force trauma than a stabbing or a slashing, and drummer Marinko consistently provides just the right tools for his bandmates to inflict maximum damage. This is old school death metal played the way only the old guard knows how.

When I first saw that In the Long Run We Are All Dead boasted a whopping 11 tracks, I was worried it would overstay its welcome. Luckily, that’s not the case. Casket constantly shifts between various iterations of the old school formula. Incantation is the biggest touchstone here, but not the only one. The specter of Bolt Thrower lends its inexorable, crushing riffcraft to “Highest Thrones” and “Fundamental Rot,” and there’s a dash of punk woven throughout, largely driven by Marinko’s drumming (“Highest Thrones,” “Seeds of Desolation”). While Cannibal Corpse’s freneticism shows in tracks like “Hammer, Knife, Spade” and “Mainstream Mutilation,” much of In the Long Run We Are All Dead stalks along at a middle pace, trading speed for power and complementing Schorsch’s demonically low roars. Even when my attention does start to wander by album enders “Strangulation Culture” and “Graveyard Stomper,” Schorsch’s guitar ventures for the first time into higher registers, adding a novel brightness in a final push to the dead wax.

There’s not much to complain about on Casket’s latest. Missteps on In the Long Run We Are All Dead are few and minor, while mid-to-highlights—like the strong conclusions of “Seeds of Desolation” and “Graveyard Stomper,” the instrumental pause in “Fundamental Rot” when Schorsch roars over the gap, or the punky shifts that peak in and out on “Highest Thrones”—are fairly common. I did find the occasional kinetic plucking noise on the bass a little distracting, and I wish the kick drum sounded a little less anemic next to an otherwise robust kit. The opening and recurring riff of “Skull Bunker” fails in repetition and would have served better as a hook. Two tracks are dubiously cut interludes (“Mirrors,” “Necrowaves”), and “Fundamental Rot” takes its time leaving the stage, but at a combined two and a half minutes, none of it is bothersome enough to hit skip, or even properly be called bloat.

In an era of always searching for the next big thing, Casket brutally reminds me of a core life lesson: if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. Casket has been around since the beginning, and they know the basics never go out of style. Sure, there’s a weird riff here, a bad bridge there, but even 36 years in, In the Long Run We Are All Dead is no exception to Casket’s consistent quality and timeless, nuts-and-bolts style. Casket doesn’t do hype or trends; they don’t care about exploring boundaries or subverting expectations. They’re just here to break your skull open with a hammer. Or a knife. Or a spade.

Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Neckbreaker Records
Websites: Official | Bandcamp | Facebook | Instagram
Releases Worldwide: January 23rd, 2026

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New blood or not, HyperioN has a vision for their sound and proudly stays the course. Like previous efforts, Cybergenesis is heavily inspired by the likes of Metal Church and Judas Priest. But thematically rooted in sci-fi territory, HyperioN establishes the futuristic, dystopian backdrop of Cybergenesis’ narrative in much the same fashion that Blaze Bayley did on Silicon Messiah. A neoclassical opening gives way to a “Deafening” detonation of traditional heavy metal, soaring and gritty vocals, and Mozartian fills. HyperioN maintains this momentum with sticky choruses (“Yet We Still Fight,” “Blood over Chrome”), courtesy of new vocalist Max Morelli, and the strong axe work of Cotti and newcomer Francis Dipasquale (“Rewire, Rebuild,” “The Shackles of Chronitus,” “Rhizome Rider”). The potential Eldritch Elitist saw is brutally obvious when the band comes together to exceed their mathematical sum. Moments like the ends of “Grain of Sand”—where a squealing guitar lead cranks up the intensity of the final chorus—and “The Shackles of Chronitus”—where the solo extends to usher Morelli back to center stage—are particularly well done.

From a songwriting perspective, Cybergenesis is largely on par with previous efforts—aside from the baffling spoken word intro on “The Whole of Time”—but it’s not executed as well. Morelli is a fairly good vocalist, but he is much different than HyperioN’s previous vocalist and can’t reach the clean, clear highs of Dangerous Days. Rather than find ways to highlight the registers where he does excel, Morelli struggles to mimic previous efforts and seems shoved into too rigid a box. Bassist Simone Cauli employs a tone notably rougher than before. It’s got a retro sound that feels at odds with the futuristic subject matter of Cybergenesis. Where the bass was velvety on Dangerous Days, it’s much grittier or more textured here. Similar to HyperioN’s debut, drummer Francesco Madonna puts in a serviceable but largely unremarkable performance.

Structurally, Cybergenesis isn’t breaking any new ground. Most songs fall in the 4-5 minute range and follow a standard verse-chorus-verse-chorus pattern. No risks are taken here, and this is a fundamentally safe album. This isn’t a criticism per se—HyperioN’s ability to competently utilize well-established constructions is certainly impressive—but it does hold Cybergenesis back from being greater. To its credit, it’s a pretty lean record, clocking in at just under 40 minutes. The music moves along at a good pace, and there’s no real bloat to be found here. But especially in the back half, Cybergenesis can get repetitive as its lack of originality becomes more apparent, which somewhat counteracts the album’s good pacing and brisk runtime.

HyperioN boasts some great guitar work, especially in solos and hooks and such, but I struggled to find much else on Cybergenesis that stood out. I see the same opportunity for growth that Eldritch Elitist did on their debut, but this feels like a step back. It’s marred by a vocal performance that struggles to match the music and a general lack of novel material. Nonetheless, Cybergenesis is solid meat-and-potatoes fare. It’s good background music and playlist filler, but it’s nothing to write home about. You won’t find any new metal converts worshipping at the altar of Cybergenesis, but for those who dig trad/heavy metal muchly, HyperioN’s newest offering should be plenty filling.

Rating: 2.5/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Fighter Records
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook | Instagram
Releases Worldwide: Jan 15th, 2026

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As far back as 2008, Earlymorn has been playing in various black metal projects, mostly solo, but Through High Holy Haze is a much wider-ranging affair. St. Unholyness does incorporate blackened components in its sound, like the riffing and blast beats in “Hate Response” or the full-fledged black metal passages of the title track and “Alchemist Blues,” but Through High Holy Haze is a stoner record at its core. Injecting a novel grittiness via HM-2 buzzsaw, Earlymorn creates a dirty but pliable foundation to decorate with a myriad of other styles. “Black Tooth Brothers (Abbott Brothers Tribute)” incorporates some groove sensibility, much like a stoned-out Cowboys from Hell, while the macho, brotherhood-centered antics of Manowar or Freedom Call find a place on “Loud and Proud.” “Hate Response” might be the most varied track on the album, oscillating between heavy metal, death metal, and black metal. Through High Holy Haze has a lot going on, and although not all of it fits together well, it speaks to the ambition and raw vision Earlymorn has for St. Unholyness.

Unfortunately, raw drive and interesting ideas don’t make a good record. While Earlymorn is obviously a proficient guitarist—I was particularly impressed by the bluesy hooks and licks on “Through High Holy Haze” as well as the swedeath-influenced riffage on “Hate Response”—but she’s not as talented vocally. Her cleans are stiff and monotone, and her blackened rasps sound weak and half-hearted. From the promo material, I understand the lyrics are deeply personal to Earlymorn, but to do them justice, they needed to be passed off to someone with more range and experience. The same can be said of the programmed drums. A live musician could have breathed life and emotion into an element that, as is, feels like little more than a beefed-up metronome. There are very interesting ideas on Through High Holy Haze, like the way St. Unholyness mixes black metal and stoner metal together or uses a swedeath tone to play stony, bluesy riffs, but they needed more input than Earlymorn’s alone to come to life truly.

A lack of refinement isn’t the only problem plaguing Through High Holy Haze. Artifacts and clipping are pervasive throughout the album, and the mix often fumbles potential high points. “Dampflok des Todes” and “Alchemist Blues” both feature vocals that seem pitched to soar, but in such a flat mix, come across unremarkable at best, weak and poorly written at worst. Carrigan’s bass sounds excellent when it gets some time in the spotlight (“Black Tooth Brothers,” “St. Unholyness”), but otherwise it’s all but buried. The songwriting on Through High Holy Haze is challenging, as well. Mismatches between intros and the meat of songs are frequent, as are mismatches between leads/solos and rhythm sections, creating a dischordant listening experience (“Dampflok des Todes,” “Black Tooth Brothers,” “Alchemist Blues,” “Hate Response”). Bloat is also an issue. “Black Tooth Brothers” and “Alchemist Blues” both feature aimless interludes, and “St. Unholyness” employs a great deal of repetition to fill its six minutes and change.

St. Unholyness’ debut is, start to finish, the product of a single mind. As a result, Through High Holy Haze feels more like a rough draft than a final, polished product. An unfocused approach, poor mixing, and jarring, disjointed songwriting conspire together to utterly hamstring some decent potential. There are compelling ideas here, of that I am sure, but without the support of other skilled artists to workshop, refine, temper, and realize them, ideas are all they’ll ever be.

Rating: 1.5/5.0
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: ~190kbps VBR mp3
Label: Self-released
Websites: Official | Facebook | Instagram
Releases Worldwide: December 25th, 2025

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To assuage any doubts early, crushing despair is still the foundation of Primitive Man’s sound. Observance feels like being imprisoned and forgotten in a lightless pit. In an inverted format reminiscent of funeral doom, vocalist/guitarist Ethan McCarthy’s axe predominantly serves as a foil for others. He lays a nearly riffless foundation of maddening single chords (“Social Contract”) and maggot-infested buzzing (“Devotion,” “Transactional”) upon which bassist Jonathan Campos and drummer Joe Linden drive these sonic interpretations of the abyss. Campos is patient, waiting for the perfect moment to savage listeners (“Seer”) or waterboard them with molten tar (“Natural Law”). Conversely, Linden actively stokes fear through the hunt. Whether invoking the ritualistic horror of Choir (“Devotion,” “Social Contract”) or closing in to suffocate his victims (“Water”), Linden keeps listeners trapped in a waking nightmare. McCarthy’s inhuman bellows, like tortured screams rent from a caged beast, round out Observance, at once malevolent, feral, and seething with impotent rage.

Primitive Man knew it wouldn’t be enough to just shove listeners into that lightless pit; they filled it with fresh horrors, too. Filtered through their singularly despondent style, “Seer” quickly launches into a punky downbeat rhythm before giving way to the Primitive Man’s iconic dissonant hammering. “Social Contract” concludes in similar fashion, but starts with sinister wooden clapping and an ominous sample of an angry mob slowly losing control. After a blackened opening, “Natural Law” unleashes a furious, grinding salvo that’s all the more terrifying for the vicious howls McCarthy weaves through it. Of everything on Observance, it’s a new element that threatens sanity most: McCarthy’s deranged, utterly fucked lullabies (“Devotion,” “Transactional,” “Natural Law”). As if desperately seeking a reprieve that will never come, his guitar screams to itself the nursery melodies that once brought comfort and safety, now tainted and defiled in madness.

Primitive Man’s refinement of their signature death sludge and warped departures therefrom speak to a greater accomplishment: Observance demands your attention for all 68 minutes. By incorporating new elements, Primitive Man makes the style they’re known for shine all the brighter. By slimming down the ambient interlude (“Iron Sights”)³ and spreading it out among the proper tracks, Observance offers moments to reset and pray for salvation between nightmares. Enthralling from end to end, Observance is a harrowing experience that teases the sweet release of silence before dashing those hopes in evil, sadistic brilliance. If you didn’t like Primitive Man before, I doubt anything about this record will change your mind. This is the most Primitive Man that Primitive Man has ever been. But if you, like me, enjoy begging for light and being denied, Observance is your ticket to decadent, hopeless agony.

Tracks to Check Out: “Devotion,” “Natural Law,” and “Water.”

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A warped amalgamation of prog and avant-garde ambition, Fleshvessel occupies the most outer rim of death metal. As on 2023’s Yearning: Promethean Fates Sealed, Fleshvessel ranges far and wide for their vision. To realize Obstinacy: Sisyphean Dreams Unfolded, Fleshvessel calls upon over 20 instruments,² cinematic and literary samples,³ and at least ten different musical styles.⁴ This dizzying array of instruments and influences allows Fleshvessel to create a unique kind of concept album. Rather than telling a single story among several songs, Obstinacy functions as an anthology, each track a vibrant and unique vignette. Even though “Am,” for instance, has a distinctly cyberpunk feel compared to the epic, symphonic bent of “It Lurched from a Chasm in the Sky,” all four songs still orbit the same Sisyphean motif.

Fleshvessel’s ability to beat this chaotic mixture into submission is impressive, to say the least. Each instrument, each musical passage blends and bleeds together with a compositionally brilliant hand. It may not always be subtle, pleasant, or intuitive, but there is an undeniable and masterful flow to Obstinacy. The frenetic death metal that opens “Mental Myiasis” quickly lays down in a cosmic mire, where a guitar solo, spiraling into a tortured register, transforms into synths so subtly that I often missed the transition. Later in the same song, a beautiful, symphonic passage smoothly whips up into psychotic synths, death metal, and a deranged, “Flight of the Bumblebee”-esque piano before ultimately concluding on a bluesy guitar solo served hard-boiled. A mid-song synthwave melody in “Am” heralds the coming guitar riff, while operatic vocals help smooth over the transition and maintain the song’s cybernetic atmosphere. After listening to Obstinacy, I don’t think there’s anything Fleshvessel couldn’t fluidly incorporate into their sound.

Twelve criticized the programmed drums and pacing issues on Yearning, but neither concern is present here. Unfortunately, Obstinacy’s got its own shortcomings. While Fleshvessel’s songcraft is architecturally astounding, that doesn’t necessarily make it enjoyable. “Cessation Fixation” features a bass solo like a Seinfeld transition and some noir ambience reminiscent of Final Fantasy VII, while “It Lurched from a Chasm in the Sky” houses some groovy space jazz and a Middle Eastern percussion solo.⁵ It all fits together from a technical perspective, but such experimental infusions often strain the limits of agreeability. Fleshvessel also introduces a new “heavy metal falsetto” vocal style that feels almost parodic. It’s objectively and intentionally bad. I am quite certain that it’s integral to Fleshvessel’s vision, but to these ears, it’s a bizarre and grating performance. As Mrs Forrest would euphemistically say, “it’s certainly a choice.”

Fleshvessel is unquestionably comprised of exceptional musicians and composers. Lesser hands could never weave such a vast and varied tapestry as Obstinacy: Sisyphean Dreams Unfolded. Gnarly time signatures and polyrhythmic instrumentation smash and stitch together what should be mutually exclusive elements in a beautifully disfigured testament to the human experience. But technically masterful though Obstinacy is, the scope and prevalence of its experimentation greatly hamper its subjective, emotional, or euphonic accessibility. Ultimately, Obstinacy feels like a proof of concept, showcasing the furthest reaches of possibility. Die-hard prog fans and those with a passion for music theory may get more mileage out of Obstinacy: Sisyphean Dreams Unfolded, but for most, this will reinforce that just because you can, doesn’t mean you should.

Rating: 2.5/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 256 kbps mp3
Label: I, Voidhanger Records
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook | Instagram
Releases Worldwide: December 12th, 2025

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Once upon a time, the Son of the Morning and His faithful were banished from Heaven and cast into Pandaemonium below. I suspect Burning Death may have been part of the soundtrack. Rock and Garner launch riff after cataclysmic riff, each seared in the Lake of Everlasting Fire. Whether streaking through the Firmament (“Vengeance of the Inferno,” “Severed”), landing in the underworld and surveying the surrounding horrors (“Death is Salvation”), or convening the first Infernal Council (“Revel in Violence”), Burning Death encapsulates the fervor of these most crucial moments in Christian lore.¹ Infernal skank and blast beats give Gore the means to conduct this tour of the hellish landscape. By lagging or anticipating riff changes, Gore—in concert with vocalist Rock—guides listeners through both Satan’s abyssal Cathedral (“Cold Bite of Steel”) and blasted, Vulcanic wastes (“Lusting for Death”) with a sure and smooth confidence. From the Deathly opening riff of “Genocidal Litany” onward, Burning Death absolutely nails Christ to the cross their intended sound.

At its core, Burning Death’s debut is an act of homage paid. Much like Slayer’s Tom Araya, Rock both channels the wails of the damned and the gruff shouts of their demonic torturers. The controlled recklessness of his style matches his bandmates well, often elevating their performances by underscoring the stygian atmosphere of Burning Death. “Revel in Violence” emerges from Sodom’s shadow, possessing a militaristic and almost classical feel, while the opening riff of “Vengeance of the Inferno” could pass for something on Kill ‘Em All. Insofar as Burning Death’s particular flavor of thrash isn’t something I often hear modernized, this is refreshing. In terms of innovation or originality, however, Burning Death falls short. Burning Death is undoubtedly competent, but there’s precious little here that builds on what’s already established. This isn’t a criticism per se, but it does preclude Burning Death from reaching greater heights.

An album is more than just the band’s ability to write and play music, and it’s in these peripheral aspects that much of my criticism lies. While “Final Sacrament” is a good track in itself, it fails as a closer—title notwithstanding. As Burning Death ends, there’s no sense of closure, and I often accidentally circle back to “Genocidal Litany” before realizing what’s happened. Either “Cold Bite of Steel” or “Revel in Violence” would have been more satisfying conclusions. My second, broader criticism is of the mix. Buried bass aside, instruments and vocals seem to stand side by side throughout the whole album. Unchanging and two-dimensional, the mix reduces Burning Death to its composite elements. A soundstage with more depth would have allowed musicians to pass the spotlight more effectively, creating a more dynamic and compelling experience.

On their self-titled debut, Burning Death has crafted a commendable tribute to early thrash and its more violent, evil iterations. Scorched, descending riffs and tortured howls are stitched together with urgent, almost panicked percussive thread. The risk of following one’s idols so closely is failing to develop your own unique sound, and into this pit Burning Death falls. Combined with a suboptimal song order and a flat, static mix, there’s ample room for Burning Death to improve on future releases. Of course, if you’re in the mood for some new Kreator– or Sarcófago-core, none of this should stop you from picking up Burning Death.

Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Caligari Records
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook | Instagram
Releases Worldwide: December 5th, 2025

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