While No Peace manifests many upgrades from their (admittedly good) debut, the biggest win might be that No/Más firmly institutes their identity. The change isn’t drastic, and No Peace is a natural progression from Consume/Deny/Repent, but the sophisticated onslaught supplied on this sophomore sweep oozes with sneering confidence. Following in the footsteps of Nails, No/Más balances grindcore, death metal, and hardcore/crust tendencies with playful intelligence, weaving together Full of Hell’s caustic bite, Napalm Death’s thuggish simplicity, and Jungle Rot’s warped melodicism into a densely packed third of an hour. And if those touchstones aren’t enough, No/Más unleashes Sepultura-informed grooves and a slow leak of Pro-Pain into their secret sauce. Not to fret, though, because despite all the influences, No Peace presents as a unified vision, and one that will rouse languid listeners into a frothing fancy.

No/Más’ instrumentation on No Peace sets a high bar with energetic performances, snapping necks with whiplash-inducing riffs and a license to thrill. Joe Vasta’s bass bounces and chugs with in-your-face rumbles throughout No Peace (“Abolition,” “Cycle of Sacrifice”), wielding a thick, surly tone that’ll rabbit punch you into head-banging if you’re standing still. Drummer Henry Everitt wallops the skins hard enough to rattle your ear bones, battering with furious fills (“Abolition”) and dropping to half-time backbeats (“No Peace”) as songs demand. It’s not all about the beatdowns, though, as No/Más injects a welcome helping of melody into No Peace. John Letzkus’ guitar slices through the faff to drench the album in a satisfyingly saturated buzz (“Act of Killing,” “Spineless”), though he also takes the reins and dazzles with efficient, arpeggiated leads (“Leech”) that I wish appeared more. Vocalist Roger Rivadeneira rounds out the quartet, shouting, growling, and screeching in a varied attack that demonstrates a willingness to experiment that was largely absent from Consume/Deny/Repent. In total, No/Más fires on all cylinders throughout No Peace, and never gives you a moment to come up for air.

With only twenty-two minutes on tap, No/Más leaves no room for inessential slop. And besides the half-minute intro flush with wall-of-sound static and indistinct yelling, they wildly succeed. As you’d expect from any decent grindy endeavor, no song pushes past its distilled essence, staying just long enough to rip and bludgeon before getting the fuck out of the way for the next track to exact its toll. No song eclipses the three-minute mark, and each exudes a rabid savagery that seethes with conviction. Additionally, No Peace sounds great—sure, the dynamic range scores low, but it’s exactly how this brand of overstimulating ass-kicking should sound. It’s well-mixed, abrasive, and highlights the rhythm section without sacrificing the sparse six-string fortitude. I wish there were a few more songs like “Leech,” partly because No/Más excels with the tunefulness, but also because I think it would address the biggest opportunity with No Peace—the compact composition allows little room for songs to establish unique flavors, leaving them to sometimes blur together. In the end, though, this is only a minor quibble, and there are many great moments to appreciate.

No/Más hasn’t redefined the DNA of deathgrind with No Peace, but they have contributed a worthy addition to its annals. Corrosive, pummeling bangers streamlined with minimal frills sum up to a blistering platter I’ve quite enjoyed. While I haven’t had the pleasure of seeing No/Más live, this crew boasts the hallmarks of a band that whips a crowd into a frenzy and ends with a broken bone or missing tooth. With twelve tracks running so lean, No Peace is helplessly easy to spin again and again. If they keep pumping out tunes this good, I can’t wait for what comes next. No más? No. Más.

Rating: Very Good!
DR: 5 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Redefining Darkness Records
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: March 13th, 2026

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You haven’t lived until you’ve heard an Australian recite Dante. Once a niche ritual available only to the geographically privileged, everyone’s somethingth-favorite Australian prog-death band Xenobiotic are using their aptly titled third LP to democratize access to this sonorous phenomenon, and some other sonorous phenomena to boot, familiar to those acquainted with much-lauded sophomore effort Mordrake. The band’s adventurous efforts are well-suited to epic literature, and, as for the subject matter, recall that this is a death metal record. But also recall, if you will, your favorite moment from Mordrake. We’ll need it later.

As expected, Dante is all about drama. Vocalist TJ Sinclair kicks off the record with narration from Inferno, and largely directs the show from there, whether by burly roars or acrid sneers. Guitarist Nish Raghavan’s repertoire of drawn-out arpeggios, palm-muted chugs, and hammer-on grooves tends to take a backseat to whatever Sinclair is doing, but comes out in force when allowed to. “The Slave State” is a mid-album highlight because of his athletic interpolation of Joe Haley and Duplantier, sprinting through hammer-on grooves, then stumbling into syncopation. The following “Dante II: Pariah” gives the whole band a chance to charge together through quick Gorod-ey odd-time riffs and gives new(ish) drummer Matt Unkovich a nice opportunity to step back from the blasts and add a bit of flair, which he pulls off well under a solo from Raghavan and a memorable chorus from Sinclair. Whenever given a chance to hit a big new vocal moment, the band take it, but for all their effort, Dante doesn’t quite land.

Now, for me, the standout moment from Mordrake would be the scrambling tremolo lead from “Light that Burns the Sky.” That whiny, winding melody that ends on such an alarming and unexpected note was a stroke of brilliance that the band integrated perfectly into a dense song with a lot of other things going on. Your favorite moment probably has similar properties; cool alone, brilliant with backup. Like Kardashev, Xenobiotic rely heavily on atmosphere and melodrama, at times propelling their records through orchestration rather than riffcraft. Mordrake suffered a bit from this, but the mass of novel ideas, executed with ample kinetic energy, shot through the fluff and made quite an impact. Danteis lightweight and slow-moving, trying to make up momentum through combinations of interchangeable chuggy riffs, chord-outline tremolos, and heavily produced vocals.

Maximalist production and a compressed master exacerbate these writing faults. High-register guitar leads are muffled by beefed-up kick drums and guitar chugs. Sinclair’s roars, screams and narrations, subject to near-continuous studio embellishments, fight for space with the guitars when double-or triple-tracked. Not much of the contested territory really seems worth the battle. When the group quiet down, as in the subdued guitar solo in the middle of “Dante II: Pariah,” they give themselves enough space for performances to really matter, but they don’t seem to have much panache to lend. Unkovich is bent over blasting at every opportunity and seems religiously opposed to fills, and even when Raghavan’s written something interesting for himself, it’s hard to tell what that is.

I jealously snatched Dante from the promo pit in the hope that Xenobiotic would treat me to another Mordrake. While Dante follows closely in that style, it’s a far less substantial record, too focused on executing its concept to introduce much musical interest and too overproduced to let those scraps of interesting music make an impact. Raghavan’s strong sense of melody keeps a few of the slow-moving leads stuck in my head for a while after the record, and Sinclair’s narration makes for a few emotionally resonant moments, especially in the record’s climax. But after so many listens, I’m left wondering how all of this sound adds up to so little.

Rating: 2.5/5.0
DR: 5 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps MP3
Label: Self-Released
Websites: facebook.com/xenobioticau | xenobiotic.bandcamp.com
Releases Worldwide: March 3rd, 2026

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I’ll give Temple of Void some credit for spicing up their recipe this time out. Opener “Poison Icon” is a hard-rocking death-meets-stoner-doom meat paste that’s bright and upbeat while managing to remain pretty damn heavy. There’s a rowdy urgency to the riffs that doesn’t fit neatly into death or doom camps, and the segues into hard rock stanzas with guttural death vocals over the top remind me of various melodeath Rogga products and the recent works of Hooded Menace. It’s not the nasty Temple of Void that I long for, but it’s entertaining nonetheless. “Godless Cynic “moves into darker, more grotesque death-doom territory with riffs that slither and snake all over, and when teamed with really hostile death vocals, things feel threatening and dangerous. It’s one of the album highlights, and it reminds me of the long-forgotten, criminally underrated Dutch doom band Another Messiah, which is a win in my book. ¹ The title track is classic death-doom designed to pulverize and pummel. It does the job well, and the riffs are grisly fun as they swing from death stomp to doom plod.

Things also heat up on “A Dead Issue,” as discordant leads and eerie keyboards conspire to create an ominous, unsettling soundscape. The dreamy, ethereal guitars that weave in and out add another layer and make for a dynamic listen. The 7:41 closer “The Twin Stranger” is ferocious, with huge riffs dropping from the sky like spiked anvils. There’s enough forward momentum tank chugs to recall the glory days of Bolt Thrower and the pacing keeps the song from feeling as long as it is. Not every track is as successful at world-building, though. “Thy Mountain Eternal” attempts to cram an epic Viking metal element into the death-doom foundation, but ultimately ends up sounding more like recycled Omnium Gatherum than Ereb Altor, and at just under 7-minutes, it drags on too long. At 41-plus minutes, The Crawl is just about the ideal length for this kind of fare, and though there are moments of bloat to be found, most of the tracks are fairly fit and spry. The production gives the guitars enough raw power to intimidate, and those death vocals will shake the molars out of your head.

The Temple of Void edifice is highly reliant on the riff firepower brought to bear, and Alexander Awn and Michael Erdody bring enough explosives to flatten a small city. Yes, they dabble in outside influences, but this is a death-doom album at heart, and the bulldozing leads aim to harm. The rock, Goth, and other outside elements decorate the riffs, but they don’t replace the hammer and axe. There are many hook-tastic leads and smoking solos to absorb, and the diversity keeps things from feeling like a monolithic slog. Erdody’s large-scale death roars are highly effective, and he keeps things heavy no matter what genre the guitars decide to visit. It’s really the writing that elevates The Crawl beyond what was heard on Summoning the Slayer. This is a much more ambitious, adventurous outing, and it sounds like the band felt more confident and free to develop their sound this time out.

I came into The Crawl concerned that Temple of Void was going to evolve right into an early grave, but the material here is full of life, liberty, and the pursuit of the best bits of death and doom. There’s variety and inventiveness, but it will still flatten your ass regularly. I doubt they will ever give us another Lords of Death, but this ain’t so bad in its stead. Visit the newly renovated Temple.

Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: NA | Format Reviewed: Fucking STREAM!!
Label: Relapse
Websites: templeofvoid.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/templeofvoid | instagram.com/templeofvoid
Releases Worldwide: March 6th, 2026

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Like how tabbies are genetically diverse but visually similar, Malefic’s many ingredients blend into a kind of extreme metal slurry on Impermanence, all present but difficult to identify individually. Sure, some riffs are more typically one thing than another, like the Testament-like thrash chops opening “In Darkest Dreams,” or the Dissectionesque blackened trems on “Blood of the Throne,” or the Opethian deathly grooves of “It Haunts.” But taken as a whole, Impermanence doesn’t lean towards one sub-genre over another. Instead, Malefic’s mutt-metal manifests into an off-kilter, volatile force of hostility, recalling heavily of the genre-blending approach Xoth take. Xoth are actually probably the best comparison to Malefic, as drummer Aaron Baumoel’s rasps and screams sound a lot like both of their vocal duo, and guitarists Jason Davila and Sam Williams’ solos follow the melodically rich, whammy-friendly stylings of Xoth (“Idiocracy”). Bolstered by a rhythm section of Baumoel and bassist Andy McGraw, who both know how to lay down some serious groove when needed (“Deserter”) and a dynamic mix, Impermanence shows that those years of honing their style have paid off for Malefic. It’s a good sound!

But what confuses me about Impermanence is that it feels aimless in many places, but not because Malefic can’t edit. To the contrary, every song on Impermanence is tight and focused, only running past five minutes on “It Haunts.”¹ Malefic also aren’t indulging in extraneous instrumentals or soloing, as songs like “Of Gods and Man” and “Disembodiment” showcase the band’s restraint within their buck-wild playing. The issue is that Impermanence doesn’t stick with an idea long enough. “Blood of the Throne” and “Obsidian Earth” have, like, five riffs in their first minutes or so each; instead of expounding upon a few ideas, Malefic often churns through ideas before they’ve settled into something sticky. This pattern especially stinks when they land on something great and don’t develop it, like the swinging, discordant riff in the second verse(?) of “Echoes of Silence” or the guitar runs opening “Obsidian Earth.” Impermanence sees a band on a mission, but maybe also a band in too much of a hurry.

What this amounts to is that Impermanence possesses a sound I can’t say I’ve heard before, but also, confusingly, one that’s somewhat indistinct from other extreme metal albums. Malefic’s aforementioned style-soup is so dense with expansive inspirations and somewhat progressive tendencies (“Disembodiment,” “It Haunts”) that, besides some serious Xothisms here and there, it adds up to something not exactly like the sum of all of their influences. But at the same time, Impermanence’s loose structuring and lack of purposeful repetition hampers Malefic’s ability to craft lasting hooks. By and large, most songs start with some fanfare, rage for three-to-four minutes straight while Malefic tear through riffs with reckless abandon like a more evil, more succinct Trivium and end with little resolution. It can be very exciting and enjoyable in the moment, but I’m left with little to remember Impermanence by the time it’s over.

But there is nothing wrong with a tabby cat,² and there’s nothing wrong with Malefic. They’ve carved out a great sound for themselves that more purposeful songwriting could harness into a truly hog-wild time. But where Impermanence excels in thrills, it lacks staying power, mostly in part to Malefic’s restless pursuit of riffs above all else. Fans of blackened thrash, blackened death, death thrash or bethrashened black death could do a lot worse than giving Impermanence a spin, but it’s probably not the genre-shaking game changer the band wanted. There’s always the sophomore album, however…

Rating: Mixed
DR: 9 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps MP3
Label: Terminus Hate City
Websites: maleficband.com | malefic.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/MaleficBandATL
Releases Worldwide: February 13th, 2026

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Kicking off with the blistering “Unsafe at Any Speed,” Exhumed pull no punches in a typically exuberant, brutal yet wickedly infectious style. The riffs rip and burn with reckless abandon, drums set a scorching tempo, while the dueling vox, trade-off solos, and gut-punching grooves land vital blows of awesomeness. It feels familiar yet fresh and the right amount of pungent. Striking a balance between the sharp melodicism and grooving charms of modern classic Necrocracy, mutated with the blunt force savagery of Horror, and a dash of the more primitive goregrind stylings of their early days, Red Asphalt finds Exhumed subtly tweaking their formula to remain vibrantly dangerous deep into their career. Through modern refinement and sharp, technical execution, Exhumed maintain their gritty, no-frills edge and slick but organic sounding production, while the grindy, blast-riddled attack and sick dual vox ensure these old dogs still pack a brutal, unhinged punch.

Careening recklessly from one gnarly, adrenaline-fueled incident to the next, Exhumed mostly jam the gears high and slam the pedal to the floor, weaving twisted cables of melody through mangled wreckages of deathgrind mayhem and gore-soaked grooves. “Red Asphalt” unleashes thrashy uppercuts and Heartwork-inspired melodeath flair to killer effect. More measured cuts (“Shovelhead,” “Death on Four Wheels”) detonate slower, crushing devices, bloodied riffs, and dicing solos to slamming impact. When Exhumed are not grinding and pummeling with deathly intent, their thrashy tendencies take hold, offering a trademark punky, turbo-charged counterpoint on numerous high-octane scorchers (“Shock Trauma,” “The Iron Graveyard,” “Symphorophilia”). “Shock Trauma” deftly incorporates screaming, emergency siren solos into an explosive barrage of searing deathgrind battery, showing Exhumed can still blast and brutalize with the best of them.

Performances are uniformly tight and deranged, Harvey again proving an elite riff meister, sharpening his tools of the trade to whip up a frenzy with Philips, including a generous bounty of killer, infectious riffs and tasty, slashing solos. The shredding is top-grade stuff, adding a wild and reckless melodic edge to the album (check the ripping axe pyrotechnics on “Death on Four Wheels” and “Crawling from the Wreckage”). Vocally, Harvey and Sewage sound as savage as ever, forming one of the best dual vocal combos this side of Dying Fetus, albeit a gentle push forward in the mix would have been welcome. At a taut thirty-seven minutes, Red Asphalt blasts by in an efficient, addictive fashion, by the time “The Fumes” engulf your senses to close out the album. Aside from a couple of stock moments, Exhumed’s songwriting sounds energized and inspired, nearly thirty years since they dropped their debut.

Red Asphalt stands up to scrutiny as another high-quality modern platter to add to Exhumed’s ever-impressive repertoire. Exhumed rarely miss, testament to their dedication and skilled craftsmanship in remaining a bulldozing force in the modern death metal arena, carrying the Carcass-inspired torch, yet transcending the influence of their forebearers. Exhumed’s timelessly fun and feverish brand of old school brutality, filtered through a modern lens, and packed with sharp riffs, sharper hooks, is a thrashing, grooving, blasting good time. Red Asphalt arguably edges the past couple of Exhumed albums, resulting in a bloody crash course in deathgrind lunacy, grisly grooves, and melodic smarts.

Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: N/A | Format Reviewed: Stinking stream
Label: Relapse Records
Websites: exhumed.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/exhumedofficial
Releases Worldwide: February 20th, 2026

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Aside from overall recording quality and songwriting polish—both of which have improved significantly over the course of seven years—Post Luctum are exactly as I remember, just more refined. Like a friend for whom time apart never creates a mire of awkwardness at the point of reunion, mastermind Ian Goetchius’ slow and steady despair rings with the same earnestness that made After Mourning such a striking proof of concept. At once, I feel comforted and warmed by Timor Lucis’ Slowed melodies, chilled by its Altars of Grief-like eulogy, and heartened by post-metallic touches that evoke hints of In Mourning or Latitudes. It’s a reliable sound that should be familiar to anyone who partakes of the funeral side of the doom spectrum, and Post Luctum applies it with poise and passion.

As the crooning cleans of “Approaching Light” give way to the lumbering march of the deadly “Shrouded by the Sea,” Timor Lucis envelops me in a kind of sorrow that pulls me into full immersion with an uncanny ease. Almost an autonomic response beyond my control, this immersion feels akin to immediacy in the context of this music, where memorability is found not so much in individual notes and compartmentalized verses, but rather in moods and moments of emotional significance. Even as songs gently coast from a desperate roar to a delicate breeze (“Sunken Fate” into “In Water”) to form notable highlights, I always recall the moment I heard it—where I was, what I felt, what visions these sonic waves summoned from my thoughts—more vividly than the music’s corporeal form. A different impression than what many artists design for their audience, this experience is its own kind of magic. Difficult to conjure and even trickier to master, Post Luctum struck the right balance of texture, timing, and feeling to invoke such magic and impose its power on my mind, revealing Timor Lucis’ greatest strength.

Curious, then, that once the final note fades into the ether, I struggle to find that pull which brings me back into Timor Lucis’ loving, tear-soaked embrace. As I continued my tenure with this record, I wondered if the root of that struggle was familiarity. Songs like “Disavowed,” “A Curse Now A Plague,” and “I Welcome In the Cold” reminded so strongly of the core of my funeral doom rotation (Slow, Un, Woebegone Obscured) that Post Luctum inadvertently guided me directly into their clutches, and I found myself forgetting about Timor Lucis. I realize now that this is the double-edged sword of the aforementioned strength this record holds. Immersive as it undoubtedly is, and as reliable as its writing is in achieving that immersion minute-to-minute, Timor Lucis simply isn’t bold enough as a distinct entity to draw me away from those acts it resembles with which I enjoy a deeper, more established relationship.

This dichotomy exposes one of the greatest challenges not just in reviewership, but also in songwriting from the perspective of the listener. A record is not made unworthy strictly because it is familiar, nor is my enjoyment of this material lessened by my personal history with the genre. Chances are good that I will return to Timor Lucis with a willing and eager heart over the course of the year. Equally, I acknowledge that it will never meaningfully challenge those records I deem the highest order in the style. On the other hand, you, the reader, might find this is your highest order. Regardless, Post Luctum deserves a chance to take you into its heart, and in the spirit of that truth, I offer my warm, albeit moderated, recommendation.

Rating: Good!
DR: 9 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3
Label: Meuse Music Records
Websites: postluctum.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/postluctum
Releases Worldwide: February 6th, 2026

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But rest easy—no HM-2 pedals were harmed in the making of The Eternal Hunger. Instead, Harrowed delivers enough primitive-drenched filth to satisfy any SweDeath devotee craving the crunch. Alpadie’s serrated tremolos and lacerating riffs cut like rotary blades, while Lindmark’s feverish blasts and tribal tom rolls drench highlights like “Blood Covenant” and “The Cold of A Thousand Snows” in a heavy layer of cavernous abrasion, tearing through the speakers with surgical precision. The Stockholm sound’s hardcore punk DNA is also front and center, as the duo rips through tracks like “Ultra Terrene Phantasmagoria,” “Bayonet,” and “The Reins” with high-octane skank beats and wailing dirges. Lindmark’s vocals are a caustic mix of barbaric regurgitations, adding formaldehyde-infused dressing on Harrowed’s cadaver sandwich. Tied together by a punchy production that preserves the weight of the muddy sound of yore while also maintaining a modern, nimble edge, every disgusting note on The Eternal Hunger lands with maximum impact.

The Eternal Hunger channels the spirit of ’90s-era Entombed, yet Harrowed also weaponizes influences from far beyond Swedish borders. The duo frequently abandons standard old-school formulas to explore a diverse palette of unbridled savagery. On “Blood Covenant,” Lindmark’s stampeding, guttural-punctuated rhythms and turbulent transitions coalesce with Alpadie’s blazing fretwork, leaning closer to classic thrash than typical SweDeath. Pivoting from there, “Ultra Terrene Phantasmagoria” and “The Cold of A Thousand Snows” embrace a blackened speed identity where icy tremolos, demented double-bass attacks, and progressive ride patterns imbue a sinister edge outside typical HM-2 purism. Harrowed also pulls from the American scene. “The Eternal Hunger” mirrors the swampy, gore-soaked roots of early Autopsy and Death, while the haunting, clean arpeggios driving the title track and “The Haunter” resurrect Slayer’s “Seasons in the Abyss.” Strategic moments of suspense, where the duo strips away the distorted crust in favor of suspenseful intros and bridges, only make the final blows feel more devastating as hammering half-time grooves (“Blood Covenant”) and esoteric patterns (“Formaldehyde Dreaming,” “The Reins”) work well to keep the listener off-balance.

While Harrowed’s varied songwriting is largely airtight, certain songs reveal minor cracks. “The Reins” suffers from a disjointed bridge that briefly stalls the track’s momentum, though Lindmark’s technical drumming and visceral vocal attack do well to anchor the chaos. There are also occasional moments when tracks feel like retreads, suggesting Harrowed may have hit the bottom of their bag of tricks. “Formaldehyde Dreaming,” for instance, relies on a riff set strikingly similar to those found in “Bayonet” and “The Cold of A Thousand Snows,” while the clean intro of “The Eternal Hunger” echoes “The Haunter.” Furthermore, the title track’s brooding build-up fails to deliver a proportional payoff, indicating the track would have benefited from more editing. Despite these slip-ups, however, The Eternal Hunger remains 36 minutes of grime-soaked efficiency that favors memorable songwriting over high-concept filler.

Harrowed successfully pays homage to the Swedish spirit without merely exhuming its grave. By channeling a wide-reaching spectrum of influences and pushing them through a modern SweDeath filter, they’ve created a record that is easy to like and refuses to grow stale. Much of The Eternal Hunger’s success stems from Harrowed’s balanced and varied songwriting, with Lindmark and Alpadie both pulling their weight equally to flex their creative muscle and produce material that sounds both familiar and surprisingly fresh. A debut with this much power is impressive, especially coming from only two people. If this is what the new wave of SweDeath sounds like, I’m on board—and you should be too.

Rating: Very Good!
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3
Label: Dying Victims Productions
Websites: dyingvictimsproductions.bandcamp.com/album/the-eternal-hunger | facebook.com/harroweddeathmetal
Releases Worldwide: February 27th, 2026

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Puns aside, NON frequently oscillates between melodic death and symphonic black metal. Tracks like “Corporealisation Threshold,” “Deadened and Scarified” and “Excoriating Reality” channel the guitar-forward spirit of Omnium Gatherum or Mors Principium Est, while others are forged in the cold 90s-era symphonic black mold of yore (“Black Dawn,” “The Befouled Ziggurat of Non”). Desoration even finds room to pepper in the punchy, rhythmic grooves of Lamb of God (“Beyond the Veil of Sleep”) or the operatic brutality of Fleshgod Apocalypse (“Singularity Ritual,” “Interitus the Herald of Ruin”). Regardless of NON’s stylistic lean, Desoration fortifies every note with pinpoint accuracy, as high-velocity picking, assaulting blasts and syncopated chugging underpin dramatic synchestral flourishes. The orchestral arrangements act as NON’s nexus, fueling the record’s kinetic energy with both urgency and dramatic intensity. Though Desoration’s sound doesn’t break new ground, the formula works as a whole, relying on instrumental prowess to keep the listener locked in.

Great albums live or die by their songwriting, and the writing on NON is solid. “Singularity Ritual,” “Those Who Dwell in Darkness” and “Interitus the Herald of Ruin” thrive on sharp hooks, cavalry-charge gallops and solos brimming with bright, sweeping scales that put Desoration’s talent on full display. “Corporealisation Threshold,” in particular, reaches its zenith during a synchronized closing battery of percussive riffing and double-kick work. It’s a necessary jolt of energy that arrives just in time, delivering the adrenaline spike I found myself chasing through the preceding tracks. While the writing isn’t perfectly consistent across all eleven songs—”Beyond the Veil of Sleep,” for instance, lacks hooks and “Black Dawn” is far too long—NON overcomes these lulls through Desoration’s sheer talent and an obvious command of the melodic death sound.

Favoring a synthetic sheen, NON’s main weakness is its production. While a sterilized production style is a common aesthetic that many bands seemingly adopt for convenience, here it results in an overly digitized sound that quickly becomes tiresome. In fact, I spent my entire time with NON craving the dynamics Desoration abandoned in the editing room. Aean Campbell’s vocals are adept and hit all the standard death beats, but they sit so far forward in the mix that they drown out much of the instrumental nuance, particularly the guitars. The biggest tragedy, however, is the drums. Bennett Jones’ performance itself is stellar, but the tones are a disaster. The toms sound thin, and the cymbals are a wash of static. It honestly sounds like they plugged in a Roland electronic kit, hit “record” and called it a day. It’s a shame that low-effort tones bury such high-level playing. I understand the necessity of working within tight constraints to achieve a pro sound on an indie budget, but production this over-processed takes a toll on my feathery ears.

Desoration is a young act that radiates promise and NON proves these Kiwis possess the pedigree to compete globally. It’s frustrating that the production prevents the album from reaching its full potential. However, if you can look past this blemish, you’ll find a good melodic death record with solid songwriting and impressive performances full of symphonic carnage. NON firmly establishes Desoration as a group to watch.

Rating: Good
DR: 5 | Format Reviewed: PCM
Label: Self-Released
Websites: desoration.bandcamp.com | desoration.com | facebook.com/desorationmetal
Releases Worldwide: February 6th, 2026

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If you give me a word to sum up Polish metal, I’ll say ‘conviction,’ which Wrathcult oozes with calculated rabidity. Whether brandishing steady chugs, rapid-fire trems, or slinky, groove-infested crawls, Shine feels focused and frothing with finely-tuned fire. Dobrzeniecki’s description of the music and lyrics pins the overarching inspiration of Wrathcult on pre-Christian beliefs and the arcane powers of primeval mysticism, specifically calling out the intersection of ‘Germanic, Norse, and Slavic mythology.’¹ While it’s not a theme I would’ve divined on my own, this context adds helpful color once Shine shows me where to look. In particular, the clean singing (“The Lamb Against the Wolf”) and chanting (“The Horror of the Night”) sprinkled throughout Wrathcult often give proceedings a ritualistic zest, culminating in one of my favorite tracks, “The Necklace with Runes.” The clean drawl at the beginning is underscored by finely crafted, deeper vocal layers, and while I’m generally unmoved by rhythmic spoken word, singer Marek Krajcer’s performance reads as a ceremonial incantation, reinforcing Wrathcult’s primordial basis.²

Musically, Shine exhibits a cunning understanding of the crossroads between death metal, black metal, and melody. Besides the cleans, Krajcer projects a deathly growl that’s at once confident, scathing, and commandingly effective throughout Wrathcult. Guitarists Tomasz Dobrzeniecki and Mateusz Waśkiewicz supply equal doses of second-wave fervor and dulcet leads that are as barbed as they are captivating. Mid-album song “Oddajcie co moje” sports not only the hookiest melody of the bunch, but also contains one of the best bass grooves. Though subtle, Wojciech Gąsiorowski’s ambling bass-lines burble and thump with delightful heft, solidifying a resonant dimension on tracks “The Lamb Against the Wolf” and “Wrath of the Hammer.” With the high caliber of musicianship featuring on strings, an anemic drum performance could dull the entire showing. Thankfully, Paweł Duda seizes the opportunity with gusto, lashing his kit with precision strikes. Overall, Shine lays me on the ground with meaty, well-executed performances that belie Wrathcult’s debut status.

While many moments on Wrathcult fly me in the sky, a few aspects creep in and dim the power of Shine’s light. The production bolsters strong performances across the album, allowing proper room for each instrument to gleam—especially the bass. The forty-six-minute runtime keeps Wrathcult digestible, although riff repetition presents an opportunity to trim thirty-to-sixty seconds from several tracks for a tighter experience. And while Shine serves up several great jams on Wrathcult, a few weaker cuts create dips between the peaks of its strongest material. To be clear, there are no bad or inessential songs that I skip,³ but I do find myself waiting out some moments to get to better ones. Still, there’s variety in the songwriting that keeps affairs engaging and blood pumping through Shine’s blackened heart.

Shine’s Wrathcult should garner its fair share of devotees, living up to the high expectations of Polish blackened death. It’s taken many spins to unlock Wrathcult’s otherworldly secrets, and I’m of a mind that there are even more treasures to unearth. Anyone looking for melodious fury and a band with possibilities on the horizon should be paying attention. When I snatched Shine’s debut, I asked myself, ‘What will I find? Will love be there?’ While I can’t guarantee the same results for you, my answer is a resounding, ‘Yeah.’

Rating: Very Good!
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Dark Descent Records
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: January 30th, 2026

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While early Phasma works boasted a songwriting style and sound that evoked a grotesque Whitechapel/Vampire Squid lovechild, Purgatory is a charred and venomous affair of only a tenuous relation to that concoction, and all the better for it. Conjuring a vision where Vimur, Harms Way, and Crypts of Despair’s first two albums merged into one mangled mass, Purgatory writhes and slithers through an unholy collection of brutal riffs, immolating tremolo flares, and swaggering grooves. While Phasma’s vocal approach largely carries over from early works, pairing a guttural roar with piercing screeches, but minimizing previously prevalent items like subterranean gurgles and glass-shattering squeals, it takes on an altogether more intimidating character here. Instead of showing off the full range of technical skills and range as this unit had to prove on their self-titled debut, Phasma took Purgatory as an opportunity to be as mean and concise as possible.

Simplifying their song structures, doubling down on memorable hooks, and restricting technical expositions to a minimum helped Phasma achieve their goal, resulting in a work that feels genuinely terrifying. Opening duo “I” and early highlight “II” prove this within thirty seconds of their introduction, but also create a delightful deviation from the usual songwriting tricks I expect from one phrase to another. For example, “I” makes me think a huge breakdown is about to drop right at the start, only to blast into the shadowed iciness of black metal, then dive seamlessly into a gym-ready hardcore groove. Subverting my expectations becomes a regular occurrence in Purgatory. “II,” “III,” and “VI” all venture deeper into doom-laden dungeons than I would’ve ever anticipated from a record as evil and high-energy as this. Harmonized melodies and layered guitar pyrotechnics only enhance this effect when things transition between paces and moods in a snap (“II”). By thusly offsetting their stripped-down writing with constant fiery twists and gnarly turns, Phasma crafted a remarkably exciting and rich experience that is an absolute joy to experience over and over again.

Despite its truncated 27-minute runtime, Purgatory burgeons with invigorating ideas all meticulously arranged, but initial spins suffer at the hands of a production of unforgiving loudness. “IV” in particular challenged my ability to appreciate the fantastic lead-into-chug-triplets and Vampire Squid riffs that bulge out from densely packed bass rumbles and glassy cymbals, in no small part because everything is so in-your-face as to flatten entirely. “V” feels a similar impact, though an eerie, bass-driven atmospheric break and subsequent Atrae Bilis-esque bridge briefly alleviates that effect. Understanding that the intended purpose of Purgatory is to oppress and destroy, a little more headroom in the mix and master would’ve allowed Phasma to hit harder and better highlight the myriad clever details distributed throughout.

Thankfully, the production isn’t so ruinous as to make my experience with Purgatory anything less than a delightful treat. As I spent more time with it, I loved it more, craved it regularly, and found additional moments to take home. Memorable beyond what I anticipated, and more engaging than I dared hope, Purgatory is a resounding success in all areas other than engineering. In some circles, that one weakness won’t matter much. In the end, it didn’t matter much to me either, such is the strength of Phasma’s songwriting.¹ This is one trip to limbo you won’t want to miss!

Rating: Great!
DR: 5 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3
Label: Transcending Obscurity Records
Websites: phasmaproject.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/PhasmaProject
Releases Worldwide: February 20th, 2026

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