Worm

Necropalace is instantly identifiable as a Worm album: disEMBOWELMENT-esque cavernous doom-death, a dungeon-synth level of fondness for keyboards, and surprisingly beautiful lead guitars all echoing in a cavernous mist. However, following the trajectory set by the interim EP and split, the music now channels a different subgenre of horror. The grandiosity is more theatrical than imposing, the tone is haunting not by a sense of dread, but by an almost camp spookiness, and more time than before is given over to explosive forays into faster tempos. That may sound bad, but it’s brilliant. This expansion into pretty much all black metal has to offer musically gives Worm’s signature interweaving of sinister heaviness and eerie echoey melody room to spread its wings and express all the otherworldly magic and brooding drama it always teased. In Necropalace, Worm transform fully from the swamp beast of yore into the haunted-castle-guarding dragon out of some weird dream nightmare.

Everything unique and great about Worm finds a new, more vibrant side on Necropalace. The drawling doom is gloomier; the guitar melodies more exuberant; the reverb and distortion more huge; the atmosphere richer; the synths, ominous choirs, and bells, and distortion more delicious. Guitarist Wroth Septentrion—a.k.a Philippe Tougas of First Fragment—holds nothing back. Dazzling flourishes (“Halls of Weeping”) and lush, crooning refrains (“The Night Has Fangs,” “Blackheart”) spill across the resonant black(ened doom), and arc upwards in great swoops (“Necropalace,” Witchmoon: The Infernal Masquerade”). It’s the most beautiful Worm has ever been, yet retains that layer of grime Worm is so recognisable for. It works so well thanks to supernaturally perfect interplay between keyboard and guitar, where each is expressive and layered in their own right (“Gates to the Shadowzone (Intro)”), and picks up or embellishes the other’s lines. A vibrant dance of strings comes naturally from tense chords of choir (“The Night Has Fangs”) or piano cascades out of dirt-laden riffs (“Necropalace,” “Witchmoon”), and the purring rhythms of synth bleed seamlessly into extreme metal (“Necropalace,” “Dragon Dreams”). The crashing drums and clattering swords, rising synths and bold keys, and the way Phantom Slaughter’s shrieking or apathetic spoken-word echoes phantasmally—all folded into these strikingly melodic forms—together create a kind of operatic melodrama that is endlessly fun to experience.

At this point, I’d normally be adding a caveat, and I’m not starved for choice, in theory. Necropalace is just over an hour long, which might be too much time in the Shadowzone for some, but the time absolutely flies by. A reluctance to edit is also implied by the typically unpopular use of an intro with instrumental “Gates to the Shadowzone (Intro),” which—unlike on Foreverglade³—actually is a shorter track. As its title implies, however, its ominous dungeon synth and shimmering soloing work well to induct the listener into the weird world that follows. And the guitarwork of Marty Friedman—who guests on closer “Witchmoon”—fits so brilliantly with everything Worm has crafted up to this point that it acts as a final, epic flourish that more than capitalises on his—and every member’s—skill.

Despite committing so fully to the spooky and loosening the reins on compositional structure and melody, Worm has not lost their grip on writing heavy, engaging songs. With its bombastic sense of fun and theatricality and a beauty that stays firmly entrenched in the dark and dirty, Necropalace shows Worm evolving in a way that magnifies rather than dilutes their personality. If more people hear it due to signing with a bigger label, then that’s only a good thing. I can’t stop listening myself. This is the album Worm was born to create.

Rating: Excellent
DR: ?⁴ | Format Reviewed: Stream
Label: Century Media
Website: Bandcamp | Instagram
Releases Worldwide: February 13th, 2026

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Grave is funeral doom, broadly categorized. It borrows plenty from a cavernous and malevolent doom-death on the one hand, and an almost post-doom ambience on the other. Rather than any of the actual touchstones mentioned, it is Ahab that Dvm Spiro’s music seems to channel most strongly and frequently, the particular rhythm and tone of warm liquid plucks and an intruding sinister melody—combined with the crushing heaviness either side—reminding me in particular of Call of the Wretched Sea (“Indistinta Morte,” “Insoluto D’Anima”). There are also a few hints of the aforementioned Funeral (“Troppo Lente Scendono Le Tue”) and Endonomos (“Dissentimento”). In general, Dvm Spiro largely eschew that grandiose transcendence of synth-forward funeral doom and tip the melodic scales away from mournful beauty in favor of a more unsettling dissonance or uncomfortable modal shifting. There are still majestic, mellifluous moments, but Grave seems intended to trouble its listener more than anaesthetise or provide catharsis.

It’s this subversion of aesthetic expectations that gives Dvm Spiro and Grave their character. On paper, the vocal dynamic between female cleans and male harsh vox in the context of doom suggests an ethereal Beauty-and-the-Beast dichotomy—à la Shape of Despair or Draconian. But Dvm Spiro don’t play into the trope so neatly, elevating tension with multifaceted performances from both vocalists. Valeria De Benedectis’ singing carries some of the record’s most beautiful moments (“Indistinta Morte,” “Troppo Lente…”), but also some of the most discomfiting as her voice lapses into haughty, ardent repetition (“Indistinta Morte”) or turns sharply into a malevolent tone (“Preludio,” “Dissentimento”). Roberto Ripollino’s growls join her sometimes for an undeniably powerful duet of opposites (“Dissentimento”) but so too do Maurizio DeMichelis’s raspier snarls (“Troppo Lente…,” “Insoluto D’Anima”), creating a blunter, less perfect contrast that jostles the emotions. Pianos, strings, and guitars alike flow, strum, and weep with pathos for a phrase (“Troppo Lente…”), a rare rise above the gloom (“Preludio,” “Dissentimento”), or a dreamlike intro (“Indistinta Morte,” “Insoluto D’Anima”); in these moments, you could almost believe you’re in the more comforting, less real world of another, prettier doom. Grave, however, has other designs, shifting into discordance or another key, dropping a strange tritone and an accompanying guitar chord (“Preludio,” “Indistinta Morte,” “Troppo Lente…”), forcing you to confront the negativity.

Grave is thus striking, but not always in a way that works. I couldn’t and won’t argue that metal of any kind must be an unchallenging listening experience, but Dvm Spiro’s choices sometimes go beyond adding nuance and approach confusion. The modulations can be too jarring (“Preludio,” “Insoluto D’Anima”), songs too long without meaningful builds (“Indistinta Morte”), and prevarication around structures and refrains sometimes frustrating (“Troppo Lente…”). There is both too much and too little happening for the album’s epic 75-minute length to maintain the coherence and magnetism that might be added with more flowing compositions that committed more firmly to a sinister dissonance or uplifting pathos through each successive movement. And so multifaceted passages tend to distract, and extended sections pull back the progression of compositions, rather than drive it onwards.

Let it not be said that Grave is thereby a weak record. Its brilliant moments of both harmony (“Troppo Lente…”) and malevolence (“Indistina Morte”) shine and prove Dvm Spiro capable of magnificence in both aspects. There is a peculiar power in the subtleties and variance of their melodic and compositional approaches that may resonate more with some listeners than others. As a whole, it doesn’t possess the magnitude or the mystique to fully envelop right now. Perhaps its strength is far more insidious.

Rating: Good
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps
Label: My Kingdom Music
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: January 16th, 2025

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On The Convalescence Agonies, Weeping Sores level up by scaling back. False Confession established that Moore and Schwegler of Pyrrhon fame could successfully craft a more plodding, brooding death metal, sounding like Morbid Angel making proclamations to My Dying Bride. At 56 minutes with multiple 9- and 10-minute songs, however, the album definitely fatigues. In comparison, The Convalescence Agonies clocks in at 43 minutes, energizing the listener by lurking towards its epic compositions. Moore’s climbing guitar and anguished screams in “Arctic Summer” segue into “Empty Vessel Hymn,” a heater showcasing Schwegler’s jazzy hands. The mid-album climax, “Sprawl in the City of Sorrow,” spreads chunky, blasty, and militaristic riffs across 9 breezy minutes. “Pleading for the Scythe” mixes delicate chords, lumbering beatdowns, and off-kilter shredding, setting the stage for the title track. “The Convalescence Agonies,” a 14-minute monster, boasts the stankiest, dumpiest chuggery on the entire album. Without compromising the scope of its songwriting, Weeping Sores have crafted a tighter, better-paced album than the debut.

False Confession stans might weep when learning that the violin of Gina Hendrika Eygenhuysen does not appear on The Convalescence Agonies. In its place is the cello of Annie Blythe, which directs a broader ensemble of ancillary instrumentation. Like Eygenhuysen’s violin, Blythe’s cello often occupies center stage, dramatizing sparse verses (“Arctic Summer”) and blasty tremolos (“The Convalescence Agonies”). Arguably, the deeper tone of the cello better suits the music, feeling like an extension of the scooped guitar tone. Weeping Sores also incorporate keyboards from Brendon Randall-Myers (Scarcity), which add a refined, almost proggy aura to caveman breakdowns and hyperspeed chugging (“Pleading for the Scythe”). There’s even banjo in “Sprawl…,” commingling with Blythe’s percussive cello to make a demented guitar lead far more unsettling.² Some listeners will miss the brighter, more melodically commanding presence of the violin. The Convalescence Agonies more than makes up for Eygenhuysen’s absence, however, with its wider array of sonic textures.

As Moore howls on the title track, the body’s pain ‘teaches nothing…no gift / But the passion of transfiguration.’³ Pain may not teach anything to the suffering speaker or Moore himself, but The Convalescence Agonies teaches us that Weepings Sores is one of the most promising contemporary death-doom projects. Moore and Schwegler have transfigured False Confession into something more beautiful without sacrificing their disgustingly awesome death metal core. Sadly, this TYMHM treatment may not arrive in time to register during Listurnalia. Consider, then, The Convalescence Agonies an honorary Honorable Mention for me (and several others around here, I suspect).

Tracks to Check Out: “Arctic Summer,” “Sprawl in the City of Sorrow,” “The Convalescence Agonies”

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Desprins is transportive not simply as a continuation of Clouds’ endless journey of despair, but as an extension of it. Heavier and simultaneously more reflective than Despǎrțire, it channels the group’s black, choked funeral doom through a spacious synth veil recalling their earliest material, but now more confidently and atmospherically woven. The duality between the heaviest and gentlest aspects—a tension Clouds have always experimented with—is sharpened. The grittiness of the metal, the plaintiveness of the singing, and airiness of the acoustic instruments are more stark, but in a way that balances the musical and emotional waves of tension and release. In a limbo of atmosphere, Daniel Neagoe tells us in solemn whispers what he elsewhere expresses with pained cries and guttural roars; heavy riffs lift and drums slip away at bar’s end for a piano to take the lead; quiet softly crescendoes back on the ascent of a flute: all flow and fade inevitably out of each other.

One could argue that the congruence of Desprins’ apparently disparate musical elements owes its existence to how straightforwardly, heartbreakingly beautiful the melodies thus forged are. Whether first announced by a flute (“Disguise”), a piano (“Unanswered”), synth (“Life Becomes Lifeless”) or a guitar (“Chain Me,” “Chasing Ghosts”), all players pull on the thread of the theme before long. The chasms that come from marrying guitar chords with flute (“Life Becomes Lifeless,” “Forge Another Nightmare”), and opening out to stripped-back synth and apathetic cleans, when you can hear every touch on the keys and feel the impact of every drumbeat, are profound musically and emotionally. These are the kinds of passages designed for wistful staring into the middle distance, whose pathos is so acute, it’s almost unfair. “Life Becomes Lifeless,” “Chain Me,” and the finale of “Chasing Ghosts” are especially potent. With a seemingly more sparse soundscape, they achieve what Shape of Despair do with a more grandiose one. I am, admittedly, a crybaby, but Clouds’ ability to bring me to tears in a more melancholic frame of mind is something I hold in high esteem.

Perhaps more so than before, Clouds’ latest incarnation is something that either really works for you or really doesn’t. I’m obviously in the former camp. Like other funeral doom acts, and analogously dolorous music, the portal of sadness they create is effective only insofar as it can pull its listener in. Desprins sees a doubling-down on everything that might make Clouds hard to listen to—the misery, the polarity between the crushing and uplifting—but its execution only makes this project more unique and more uniquely captivating.

Tracks to Check Out: ”Disguise,” “Life Becomes Lifeless,” “Forge Another Nightmare,” “Chasing Ghosts.”

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We tend to use the word cavernous a lot when describing death-doom, but the very compositions of Dreaming Delusion evoke an actual cave. This is particularly true of the guitarwork. Solitary notes and arpeggios trickle like drips of water from stalactites (“An Eternity of Complete Acquiescence”). The jagged death-doom surfaces melt into melodies that are smooth as the glassy surface of a subterranean lake (“Luminary Dissolution”). The lush yet explosive guitar solo midway through “Dreaming Delusion” hits like a sudden burst of sunlight after a rockfall, reminiscent of the fretwork in Worm’s Foreverglade. The sum total could very well be a sibling of Dream Unending’s dreamy despondency.

Yet, unlike Dream Unending, Gloombound seeks to crush the listener’s spirits just as much as their eardrums. Dreaming Delusion tantalizingly oscillates between despair and hope. The two vocalists, Mina Halvorsen and Emma Theneus Sønstebø, form a twisted, echoing call and response before the music slips into a psychedelic pool of keys and fretless bass (“At the Precipice to Longinquity”). These quieter, contemplative moments are crucial beyond merely adding beauty. Far from a meaningless acoustic guitar interlude, “Salvation” is instead a welcome respite from the psychic assault, for which the listener is punished more intensely by the rattling riffs and growls of “Luminary Dissolution.” Over the course of 44 minutes, the hope for escape gradually drowns, giving way to anguish and finally blossoming into serene acceptance during the final notes of concluding track “Dreaming Delusion.”

Dreaming Delusion is as psychological as it is emotive. It truly feels like the mental unraveling of a soul trapped in a metaphorical cave. Every element of the instrumentation, from the guitar structure to the haunting organs to the fretless bass, combine to create a rich sound that is somehow both full and cavernous. The vocals are both oppressive and harrowing, with lots of variation and expressiveness. I’m impressed by how mature Gloombound sounds in both songwriting and performance on their first attempt. What do you do when your mind betrays you? Dreaming Delusion offers no answers, only catharsis.

Tracks to Check Out: “An Eternity of Complete Acquiescence,” “Dreaming Delusion”

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Sun of the Dying borrow from across the spectrum to craft their compositions, creating richly layered soundscapes. Gracing soaring melodies with dolorous piano, they channel Swallow the Sun on the highs, and Endonomos on the lows. Sweetly sad strings and soft singing recall My Dying Bride, and a duet over warm, vibrating chords and resonant atmosphere Draconian.¹ But all this familiarity detracts not one iota from the authenticity of A Throne of Ashes; if anything, it makes it easier to love. By combining the best aspects of these influences with a heavy dose of character, Sun of the Dying make them their own, constructing a powerful whole that simply oozes feeling and personality.

As an indicator of how well A Throne of Ashes communicates emotion by way of staggering death-doom, it contains not just one, but two Song-o-the-year list contenders. Contender one, opener “Martyrs,” had me sitting back in my chair completely still, to give it my full attention. Its graceful dynamism between uplifting guitars and hushed cymbal, narrated by Eduardo Guilló’s beautiful singing and untempered roars, is matched for pathos only by fellow highlight “House of Asterion.” The latter leans into the orchestral more heavily, accenting melancholy descents with ever more dramatic flourishes of strings in a way designed to stamp them into the listener’s heart. These two exemplify Sun of the Dying’s knack for creating depth of feeling and composition with careful weaving of delicacy and sturdiness— the mark of all great doom. As refrains pass between piano, synths, and guitar, they wax, wane, and build gracefully. Spacious resonance over which solo piano (“With Wings Aflame,” “Of Absence”) or strumming, or the sounds of someone sobbing (“Of Absence”) float over and bleed into, prefigures or breaks the gradual escalation into screaming strings (“The House of Asterion”), or white-hot tremolo (“Martyrs”), or the blows of shuddering riff and cymbal (“The Longest Winter,” “Of Absence”). The fullness of even the quieter moments, with bittersweet melodies detailed with touches of choir and orchestrals and multi-tracked vocals and the warm heartbeat of percussion, makes the experience powerfully immersive, heightening the climaxes and deepening the nadirs.

So strong is Sun of the Dying’s ability to draw its listener in and wring their heart out that one almost forgives their occasional structural missteps. Advance track “Black Birds Beneath Your Sky” is a crushing slab of comparatively aggressive doom-death whose string-swelling, group-sung chorus yet exemplifies most explicitly the anthemic feel that other songs hint at. It’s a good song—particularly in its more soaring second act—but it sits awkwardly between the mournful “Martyrs” and “With Wings Aflame,” suddenly brushing aside the rapturous mist of sadness only for it to descend again right after. Its mood-breaking grit is echoed, albeit faintly, by “The Greatest Winter,”‘s more grey and stolid riffing, and there’s the quiet sensation that the pair don’t quite belong with their more sombre companions. Without them, however, the album would be very short, and so rather than removing them, their use of dark and light, soft and heavy elements might simply need to be adjusted.

Even if its atmosphere isn’t perfectly sealed, A Throne of Ashes proves transportive and engrossing all the same. Heartfelt and compelling, it distils an ideal of modern doom and had me scrambling to hear Sun of the Dying’s back catalogue. Don’t let the year end without a walk on a grey day and A Throne of Ashes in your ears.

Rating: Very Good
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320kbps mp3
Label: AOP Records
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: November 21st, 2025

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At last, a burst of cool calms the blood after a brutal summer, and the leaves are turning. Which means I was able to recruit a bunch of grubby little leaf-lookers off the highway to serve as minions to my ever-needy Filter! With a temporarily replenished staff of fools who are unwittingly risking their lives for mere nuggets, I conduct with renewed vigor the search for quality finds.

Today, I bring you those finds, in all of their sparkly glory. WITNESS THEM!

Kenstrosity’s Jaunty Juke

Jordsjuk // Naglet til livet [September 19th, 2025 – Indie Recordings]

The lack of conversation I’ve seen surrounding this Norwegian black metal riff machine is highly disconcerting. Brought to my attention by my wonderfully wise—and devilshly handsome—owlpal¹ from… GASP… another blog, Jordsjuk’s debut LP Naglet til livet has my spine whipping to a fro from the onset of ripping opener “Kollaps.” The whiplash doesn’t stop there as thrashy numbers “Grovt skadeverk” and “Skreddersøm” body me against several walls and even a couple of ceilings. For 36 relentless minutes, with only one song pushing the four minute mark, Naglet til livet is an unqualified triumph of editing and tight, effective songwriting. My immediate comparison is 2007-2013 Skeletonwitch, but some of these riffs, like the turbobangers on “Parasitt,” “Rottebitt,” “Klarhet og dybde,” and “Rennestein,” give those hallowed skellybois a serious run for their money. When they aren’t thrashing, Jordsjuk shift into a dour, but still ravenous black metal shadow. Wraiths like “Riv skorpen av såret” and “Svikter din neste” showcase this looming character quite well, and prove Jordsjuk to be dynamic, versatile songwriters. In short, Naglet til livet is a raucous good time for anyone craving black metal with sharp teeth and limitless energy.

Baguette’s Bouncy Blessing

Arjen Anthony Lucassen // Songs No One Will Hear [September 12th, 2025 – Inside Out Music]

A year without an Arjen record would be a much lesser one. It’s not often the crazy Dutchman reuses a non-Ayreon project title, but here we have his fourth solo album becoming the second under the full Arjen Anthony Lucassen name! Dropping 13 years after the previous one, Songs No One Will Hear announces the end of the world is a mere five months away, its tracks depicting the resulting stages of chaos, disarray, and human silliness. It doesn’t fall far off the catchy and melodic Arjen tree but casts a wider net than prior prog rock adventures. Much of the record reflects different eras of Ayreon, including the ’70s prog whimsy of Into the Electric Castle (“Dr. Slumber’s Blue Bus”) and the fun ’80s metal edge of The Source (“Goddamn Conspiracy”). Closing epic “Our Final Song” is a microcosm of his musical breadth, shapeshifting from Jethro Tull flute shenanigans to analog synth ambience to dramatic riff bombast at will. But it’s “The Clock Ticks Down” that steals the spotlight, marking a brief return to the dark, somber grit of Guilt Machine and 01011001. It’s an unusually normal-sized album from Mr. Lucassen as well, the regular, unnarrated version being only 46 minutes and change. A condensed, jovial jack-of-all-trades showcase with many of the usual great guest musician and vocalist selections! And it’s always nice to hear him sing more, too.

Thus Spoke’s Lurid Leftovers

Fauna // Ochre and Ash [September 26th, 2025 – Lupus Lounge/Prophecy Productions]

It’s been 13 years since Cascadian black metal duo Fauna released Avifauna, to quiet yet great acclaim. Given their preoccupation with human prehistory, they might just be operating on a larger timescale than you or I. Ochre and Ash—the two main ingredients used in ancient cave paintings—is an attempt to invoke the spirit of forgotten ceremonies during which the stories of the people were immortalised on stone. Building on an atmospheric black metal base familiar in their better-known exemplars Wolves in the Throne Room and Agalloch, Fauna give Ochre and Ash a distinctive edge by roaming further afield into the experimental. For every metal-dominated track (“Nature & Madness,” “Labyrinths,” “Eternal Return”), there is an ambient, decidedly unsettling counterpart (“A Conjuring,” “Femoral Sun,” “Mockery”), and the latter are not interludes, but integral parts of the ritual. Each infuses skin-prickling drone with eerie chimes and rattles, and uncomfortable vocalisations ranging from moans and wails to laughter and the howling, yipping cries of animals—or humans mimicking them. In their repetition of haunting, hollow sounds, they are both frightening and trance-inducing. Ochre and Ash’s metallic segments are no less ominous, treading as they do between confrontationally turbulent atmoblack² and diSEMBOWELMENT-adjacent death doom that puts me right back in the void of madness last year’s Spectral Voice generated. This is not a casual listen, and Fauna could have helped it a bit with some editing, as the weirdness combined with an excessive 70-minute runtime makes some longer passages feel tired and could be off-putting to some. Still, it’s an experience I’d recommend trying at least once.

Spicie Forrest’s Sautéed Surplus

Piece // Rambler’s Axe [September 5th, 2025 – This Charming Man Records]

Finding gym metal has always proven difficult for me. It’s not about the fastest or loudest, but about striking a balance between weight and pace. Rambler’s Axe fits the bill nicely. Influenced by the likes of Crowbar and High on Fire, these Berlin-based doomsters peddle raucous and sludgy heavy metal. There’s a bit of Conan in Piece’s DNA, too, making sure to worship each riff long enough for you to make it through any given set. Beefy basslines and aggressive, chiseled drums make it easy to drop into a groove and get your pump on. Faster cuts like “Demigod” and “Rambler’s Axe” go great with chest flies and leg press, but they’ve got tracks for bench press and deadlifts too. “Bastard Sword” and “Owl Eyes” rumble forward like the slow but inevitable rise of the barbell at max weight. Whether marching or running, baritone shouts like tank treads hang over riffs just looking for an excuse to blow off steam. Whatever your reason for visiting the glorious house of gains, Piece has your soundtrack covered.

Heruvim // Mercator [September 12th, 2025 – Self-Release]

As each passing year leaves the almighty Bolt Thrower further in the past, the yearning for that sound grows. I was quite surprised to find a small amount of solace in Heruvim, hailing from Odesa, Ukraine. I say small solace, because debut LP Mercator is more than just a clone. Augmented with the unsettling atmosphere of early Pestilence and the vocal malevolence of Sinister, this platter of old school death metal carves its own niche in a storied scene. Off-kilter leads bubble up and spew out of a murky, tarred rhythm section like prehistoric gases in a primordial soup (“Gnosis,” “Lacrimae Rerum”). Lachrymose, doom-laden passages and violent death threats trade back and forth, anchored by volatile blast beats and percussive assaults in the vein of Cannibal Corpse (“Nulla Res,” “Mercator”). Stitched together with eerie, short-and-sweet interludes, Mercator’s lean 30 minutes fly by and always leave me itching for more. Heruvim riffs on a slew of classic sounds, creating a casual brutality and primal barbarism that is both compelling and uniquely their own.

ClarkKent’s Melodic Monstrosities

Galundo Tenvulance // Insomnis Somnia [September 17th, 2025 – Spiritual Beast Records]

Falling somewhere between symphonic deathcore acts Assemble the Chariots and Grimnis enters Japan’s Galundo Tenvulance. On their second full-length LP, Insomnis Somnia, the sextet demonstrates raw power and frenetic energy throughout its 41-minute runtime. Songs are anchored by catchy melodic leads, atmospheric symphonies, and punishing, relentless kitwork (no drummer is credited, so hopefully it’s not programmed). Galundo Tenvulance’s new vocalist, Sao, delivers the goods, bringing a spirited energy to her performance that elevates the already terrific material. While the symphonics don’t quite elevate the music the same way they do for Assemble the Chariots, it’s the melodic riffs that make these guys stand out. “Noble Rot” is the highlight, with a killer lead riff that uses harmonics to add just that extra bit of oomph. Other highlights include the catchy “Regret Never Sleeps,” evoking Character-era Dark Tranquillity, and “In The Realms of the Unreal,” which demonstrates their ability to transform solos into surprising melodies. This might be too good to have landed in the filter, but with my TYMHM slots filled up, it’s better than nothing.

Mortal Scepter // Ethereal Dominance [September 9th, 2025 – Xtreem Music]

As if we didn’t have enough thrash floating in the filter, French outfit Mortal Scepter finds itself as yet another piece of thrash dredged from the muck. This quartet has been around since 2012, yet Ethereal Dominance is only their second full-length release. Their sound lands somewhere between the melodic thrash of Bloodletter and the mania of Deathhammer—though a touch less zany. The persistent level of energy these bands can maintain never ceases to amaze me. While the constant beat of drum blasts threatens to make thrash songs sound too similar, the variety of melodies Mortal Scepter delivers ensures that things never grow repetitive. They have a raw, blackened sound that feels immediate and in your face. Drummer Guillaume keeps an impressive pace with fresh-sounding, nonstop blast beats, while vocalist Lucas Scellier snarls with enthusiasm, with a voice comparable to Deathhammer’s Sergeant Salsten. However, it’s the guitars by Maxime and Scellier that really bring the band to life, from the noodly melodies to the dynamic, lengthy, and impressive solos on each song. These guys prove they are more than just simple thrash metallers on the epic thrash, ten-minute finale, “Into the Wolves Den,” which uses a mix of tempo shifts and hooky melodies to make the song just fly by. With this second LP under their belts, these guys have proven themselves an exciting newish band on the thrash scene.

Grin Reaper’s Woodland Windfall

Autrest // Burning Embers, Forgotten Wolves [September 5th, 2025 – Northern Silence Productions]

Burning Embers, Forgotten Wolves merges atmospheric black metal with nature, resuming Autrest’s vision from debut Follow the Cold Path. Like Saor or Falls of Rauros, stunning melodies play across untamed backdrops that stir heartstrings in unexpected ways. Ethereal keys, mournful strings, and rapid-fire tremolos impeccably capture Burning Embers, Forgotten Wolves’ autumnal artwork, bringing Autrest’s imagery to life. Harsh vocals sit back in the mix, evoking windswept trees as cool harvest gusts leach branches of color, while sporadic baritone cleans add variation. “Lobos (Offering)” sets the stage with melancholic guitar plucks bolstered by forlorn strings, giving way to a controlled spark as “Ashes from the Burning Embers” ratchets up roiling vigor. Through forty-two minutes, Autrest expertly guides listeners across shifting landscapes that are delightful in their earnestness. Mastermind Matheus Vidor establishes himself as a preeminent architect of mood, channeling transitions from gentle, wonder-filled serenity to unyielding wrath. The dynamic between aggression and introspection is marvelous, permeating the album with emotion. While I could understand a complaint that some songs blur together, the spirit of Burning Embers, Forgotten Wolves is never stale or disposable. Rather, Autrest has taken what began two years ago and enriched it, composing an ode to self-discovery and transformation.³ My own experience with the music conjures wilderness’s last hurrah before succumbing to winter’s embrace. As days grow shorter and temperatures drop,⁴ I encourage you to seek refuge and draw warmth from these Burning Embers.

Dolphin Whisperer’s Very Not Late Novella

Sterveling // Sterveling [September 26th, 2025 – Self Release]

Between the world of atmospheric and post-tinged black metal, there exists a twisted form of progressive music that teeters about brooding moods and crackling tones to explore shrieking sadness and profound sorrow. Michiel van der Werff (Prospectors, Weltschmerz), primary Dutch proprietor of Sterveling, places his expressive guitar runs and lurching rhythm clangs in the company of trusted friends to carry out his tortured, baroque vision of black metal. Against the hissing design of synth maestro and Prospectors bandmate Matthias Ruijgrok, a fullness and warping warmth pervades the spacious amp textures and muscular rhythmic framework of each piece. And through the bloodied cries of Weltschmerz bandmate Hreim, a vocal lightning flashes to illuminate the nooks between pulsing synth lines and deathly bursts of full tremolo assault. In three longform pieces, all still totaling a generous forty-two minutes, Sterveling tints a monochrome narrative with vibrant shades from thoughtful tones and well-timed, emotional escalations. Committed to each careful iteration on a melody, the woven Sterveling web grows ever stickier with every passing moment, none of the ten-minute-plus excursions ever feeling even close to their declared runtimes. And with a sound construction that hits delicate yet forceful, creaking yet incising, it’s easy to wander through several journeys on this debut outing before realizing what time has passed. Fans of equally forlorn acts like Tongues or Andalvald will feel more at home here than others. But with a tonal palette that’s as inviting as it is crushing, Sterveling should attract the ears of fans across the extreme spectrum.

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1914’s brew of blackened death/doom returns in full force on Viribus Unitis, delivering the potent cocktail of history and metallic fortitude we’ve come to expect. As Holdeneye keenly observed in prior coverage, the Bolt Thrower-meets-Asphyx intersection remains apt, as well as Amon Amarthian melodic sensibilities. The opening to “1914 (The Siege of Przemyśl)” would slot perfectly into Fate of Norns, for instance. And anyone paying attention to WWI-centric bands writing songs from the Central Powers’ perspective won’t be surprised by Kanonenfieber comparisons, both in subject matter and determined sonic fervor. Besides the interplay of titanic riffs and melodic leads, listeners are thrown into samples of period-specific soundbites, such as the clip at the beginning of “1917 (The Isonzo Front).” Throughout Viribus Unitis, snippets like this further ensconce listeners in the milieu of the time.

Everything that worked well for 1914 on Where Fear and Weapons Meet has been dialed up on Viribus Unitis. The crushing bulk of blackened sludge, the biting edge of bitter melody, and the tinny clips of a bygone era construct a vivid portrayal of life and death on the front lines. It’s at once addictive and morose, and genuine in a way that transcends surface-level storytelling. Gang choruses weave in with Ditmar Kumarberg’s blackened rasps (“1915 (Easter Battle for the Zwinin Ridge)”) to create a soundscape on two fronts, one unhinged by the chaos of war and the other a united fellowship forged in the fires of man-made hell. Another crucial layer that elevates Viribus Unitis is the guest vocals. Christopher Scott (Precious Death), Jérôme Reuter (Rome), and Aaron Stainthorpe (High Parasite, ex-My Dying Bride) inject variety and character to support 1914’s intricate aural campaign. Stainthorpe’s contribution on “1918 Pt. III: ADE (A Duty to Escape)” haunts with magnetic resonance as his cleans detail the inner monologue of the escaped protagonist while Kumarberg’s snarls narrate a harrowing getaway. This is pure SotY fodder and a must-listen for anyone reading. “1919 (The Home Where I Died)” follows, where a slightly distorted piano adds a warbling surrealism to the dirge. In it, Reuter’s tender croon recounts reuniting with his wife and daughter before the heartrending decision that he must leave once more.²

1914 wields thunder and riffs instinctively, ruthlessly bludgeoning with devastating grooves and cutting with calculated precision. Rostislaw Potoplacht’s³ drumming hypnotizes with martial rolls and implacable plods while Witaly Wyhovsky and Oleksa Fisiuk’s dual-guitar tandem electrifies with fiery trems and viscous atmospherics. All the while, Armen Howhannisjan holds down the bottom end on bass, adding texture and balance to the inexorable heft of Viribus Unitis. The sum total conjures vivid auditory experiences where each track breathes and bleeds with vitality and earnestness. And while no song sounds alike, all are undeniably 1914.

There’s little doubt that 1914 has delivered the most realized and important album of their career so far. Viribus Unitis is a masterclass in no-bullshit metal storytelling that feels authentic, intimate, and anthemic for the entire runtime. The sweeping story of a solider’s struggle through injury, capture, and escape is enough to satisfy, but viewed through the lens of the ubiquity of loss and love makes Viribus Unitis even more profound. 1914’s preceding LPs are fantastic, and their newest platter unequivocally entrenches the band as a premier act with a unique voice and relevant commentary on the human condition and how violence always leaves scars. Viribus Unitis is a must-listen for fans and newcomers alike, and missing this one is sure to leave you shell-shocked.

Rating: Excellent!
DR: NA | Format Reviewed: Stream
Label: Napalm Records
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: November 14th, 2025

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While many complain about instrumental openers, “Denial” does a good job of prepping listeners emotionally and musically for what’s to come, with doleful keyboards and guitar licks. However, Serpent God truly establish their ability to pen infectious leads with the two gut-wrenching pieces of melodic doom that follow. “Beneath” evokes My Dying Bride with its combo of sorrowful melodies, slow and thunderous drumming, and vocalist Samu Mänikkö’s low, deep growl (something that becomes more of a rasp on later songs). Just when they’ve gotten you all buttered up, Serpent God then drive a stake through your heart with the lovely melodic lead on follow-up “Repent,” a killer tune that’ll go down as one of the best pieces of doom this year. Both tracks are on the long side, averaging seven minutes, but their progressive structures and shifts in tempo ensure that they remain compelling throughout. With such a great start, you understand why these guys didn’t want to leave these songs in the trash bin.

Serpent God harness all of their tools to try to squeeze tears from their listeners. Along with the evocative melodic leads described above, Mänikkö, who is also the guitarist, creates plaintive refrains using tremolos similar to those played by To Escape and Winds of Tragedy (“Alive,” “Sermon”). Mänikkö’s gently plucked arpeggios provide a reprieve from the heavier material during the bridge (“Repent,” “Revelation”), or as a way to pluck heartstrings from the start (“Beneath,” “Alive,” “Oblivion”). Vocally, Mänikkö shows less variety, largely sticking with his blackened rasps, but occasionally he surprises with cleans that accent the woeful guitar tones. Lush production values help the instruments evoke their melancholic tones, though there are a few questionable choices. The drums and bass lack the oomph of the guitars, but even worse is that nearly every time the keyboards play alone, there’s a distinct and annoying hum in the background.

At 50 minutes, and with most songs in the six-minute range, Denial does start to grow wearying as it approaches its end. While Serpent God do make use of tempo shifts, particularly on the energetic and effective “Sermon,” to break up the dourness of the surrounding material, the final three songs do not live up to the quality of what comes before. They feel like B-sides the band should have cut. These tracks feature awkward riffs, whispers, and spoken word portions—something that plagues other songs as well—that, combined with a lack of strong hooks, leaves the final fifteen minutes underwhelming. The three-minute conclusion, “Void,” ends the album with a series of tinkling, crystalline synths that feel anticlimactic compared to some of the big emotions evoked on prior tracks.

Clearly, the extra stuff leftover from Se, Josta Ei Puhuta’s Gehenna provided plenty of material to record a solid album. With Denial, Serpent God’s three members have proven they can write potent melodies, and they know how to hit you right in the feels. There’s enough quality music on Denial to have written a very good album, if only its arteries weren’t clogged with too much doomy fat and B-side material. It’s a shame, because there are some great songs, and for that, I do think this is worth a listen, even if I don’t recommend Denial as a whole. If anything, they have proven themselves to be a group to keep on your radar.

Rating: 2.5/5.0
DR: 9 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Inverse Records
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: October 10th, 2025

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Dwelling Below was a filthy slab of long-form deathened doom, and Wearisome Guardians offers much of the same. Look at that cover art. It sounds exactly how you’d expect: like bathing in stagnant catacomb water. Cavernous, mad, and malevolent, Moran echoes through abandoned tombs, disturbing centuries of eight-legged architecture. On the skins, he nearly wakes the dead with frenetic onslaughts of double bass and unsettling cymbals. Turner’s guitar stillbirths an unholy union of Saint Vitus and Autopsy. Warped and abrasive riffs lumber forward, inexorable and lethal as a cave-in, while tormented leads scream psychosis from a neighboring cell (“Terminal Experiments,” “Sacraments”). Ever-so-slightly discordant basslines weave and coil around your ankles as Wheeler encourages a reexamination of your sanity. Like meeting a skinwalker, you know something’s off, but it’s hard to describe, and it’s fucking terrifying.

It’s a little oxymoronic to call 1.) dissonant 2.) death/doom 3.) metal accessible, but Wearisome Guardians is perhaps Moran’s most approachable offering yet. His aforementioned acts all shove their base genres through the same twisted, dissonant lens, but compared to Hierarchies or Acausal Intrusion, Dwelling Below is almost melodic. Between chaotic, atonal passages and vicious whammy abuse, Turner employs more traditional riffcraft learned long ago at Candlemass (“Wearisome Guardians,” “Terminal Experiments”). Leads in “Unfolding Universe” and “The Altar” reveal traces of Brocas Helm and Cirith Ungol, while “Sacraments” reaches further back, unearthing the legendary B.B. King for a solo, soulful, bright, and blue. These ancestral trappings are strung with care and shine brilliantly against Dwelling Below’s murky core. Wearisome Guardians offers these moments of reprieve from its oppressive violence, like guiding lights coaxing you deeper into the dark.

At 51 minutes, Wearisome Guardians isn’t terribly long for the genre, but with an average track length of ten minutes, it certainly isn’t a casual listen. Luckily, songcraft is not a weakness Dwelling Below suffers. Far from sedentary, Wearisome Guardians is in constant motion. Most riffs only linger a few moments before evolving into something new or reverting to a main throughline. Even when a riff tarries longer, the bass, drums, or vocals twist and shift, keeping things fresh and engaging throughout. More than this, each song seems built around clearly defined movements. Even on a first listen, I could guess my place in a song fairly well. There’s an intuitive logic to each track’s pace, allowing Wearisome Guardians to feel lean and efficient with no real fat to trim. Even the 90-second “Interlude” belongs. What initially feels like a respite reveals itself to be just as unsettling as the rest of the album. Bright and metallic, this moment’s tainted rest doesn’t let you forget what’s on the other side.

I wished for some grimy, cavernous filth, and I got it. Wearisome Guardians is a menace to experience. I honestly thought it hyperbole when Thus Spoke said their debut induced fear, but exaggeration it was not. Even with bright moments that fractionally lessen the tension, Dwelling Below is still deeply unnerving. These casket campers know what they’re doing, and they’re good at it. Wearisome Guardians is a strong success on both atmospheric and compositional fronts. Dwelling Below doesn’t just want to show you the dark. They want to leave you there without a torch and seal the tomb. This sophomore effort is claustrophobic, sepulchral, and evil. Wearisome Guardians is viscerally unsafe, and it’s here to break you if you’ve got the nerve to let it.

Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: 10 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Transcending Obscurity Records
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: October 31st, 2025

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