Night of the Vampire’s take on blackened darkwave is oodles of fun. Across Enchanting Winds, songs are led by gaudy synth lines atop simple distorted guitars, classic 80s drum patterns, and finished with a blackened rasp. This is an effective formula that’s as fun as it is addictive, evoking the playful jubilance of vintage synth-led sounds and sharpening it with black metal’s frostbitten cudgel. The result is campy and over-the-top, but Astral Shadow has plenty of tricks up their satin sleeve to make this formula more delectable. Whether it’s adding tasteful lead guitar and campy clean vocals (“Children of the Immortal Blood”) ¹, going full Simple Minds with a driving synth pop rocker (“Sacrificed to the Night”) or deploying some ignorant mid-tempo chugs underneath the ocean of synth (“Casting Shadows in an Ocean of Time”), there’s no shortage of clever adornments to spice up the core blackened darkwave sound. Night of the Vampire might sound more like Depeche Mode than Darkthrone, but that’s fine when this pernicious platter is this delectable.

Enchanting Winds provides meaningful variety in its execution, keeping this rave from getting too stale. Night of the Vampire goes full Blade nightclub with “The Cosmic Darkness Calls me,” a delightful goth rager which ditches the guitars for a throbbing synth bassline and icy, programmed drums. The faster tempo of “Mother Moon of the Astral Dawn” is a nice, energetic break from the dancefloor, utilizing effective drum pullbacks to keep its forward momentum, and “Misty Illusions” is a solid dungeon synth closer that eases you out of the whole vampiric experience. With relatively short song-lengths and a curt 30-minute runtime, this is also a record that doesn’t overstay its welcome, allowing for repeated spins without running the risk of blood withdrawal. Enchanting Winds is an enjoyable, blackened journey from start to finish. I only wish it set its sights a little higher.

The main thing preventing Night of the Vampire from reaching sanguine ecstasy is the relative lack of ambition in Enchanting Wind’s songwriting. Astral Shadow’s approach is simple: latch onto a catchy synth melody and then ride it for the song’s entire duration, with minor variation for choruses. This works exceedingly well on shorter pieces or in conjunction with more inventive additions, but falls a bit short when it’s the only tactic on display. As a result, songs built almost entirely around a single synth line, like “The Prince of Many Faces and the Lady of the Night” or “Beyond the Howls of the Celestial Wolves,” end up feeling one-note, with little development or variation. Once you notice this pattern across the record, the impact of individual tracks diminishes. That’s especially frustrating given that “Children of Immortal Blood,” with its contrasting choruses, proves Astral Shadow is capable of writing dynamic, multi-part songs with distinct elements. As it stands, the straightforward songcraft doesn’t prevent these tracks from being exciting in the right context, but it does keep Enchanting Winds from evolving beyond its initial premise.

The Enchanting Winds of the Dreamweaving Masquerade is a charming debut from Night of the Vampire. The essential idea of “black metal meets 80s synths” is effective, entertaining and often moves beyond the simple proposition, even if the straightforward songcraft detracts from my enjoyment at times. I’ll gladly place Night of the Vampire alongside their unserious contemporaries in my “kvlt cheese-maxing” playlist and look forward to whatever Astral Shadow produces next.

Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Profound Lore Records
Website: nightofthevampire.bandcamp.com | Instagram
Releases Worldwide: February 6th, 2026

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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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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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Dawn of the Iron Shadow rides straight out of the gate with its heart on its banner. Opener, “Parley at the Gates,” sets the precedent for frequent bouts of booming, solemn narration as the speaker entreats mysterious lords for their service to a malevolent leader. We later get midpoint exposition (“Bauglir”) and the final lines of closer “Death Wing, Black Flame” are spoken with gravitas over the rumbles and crashes of thunder. Harplike, flutelike keys and soft horns playing quaint refrains, and syrupy synth choirs interrupt or duet with the tremolos, pushing percussion down to a tempered crashing, and planting the vibe firmly in the medieval camp.² The echoing roars, variously jaunty and galloping tempos, in combination with the above, are indeed reminiscent of Stormkeep, while some more theatrical tendencies dimly recall Dimmu Borgir, and more explosive guitar melodies Mare Cognitum. Much like the tales of magical quests and battles it outlines, Dawn of the Iron Shadow is event-filled, grand, and charming, sustaining its audience with well-crafted music, and an uplifting sound.

One of Nine capture the spirit of their conceptual world and the listener’s attention by integrating their musical threads brilliantly. Dungeon synth elements are woven seamlessly into the fabric of the soundscape, prefiguring a theme (“Behold the Shadow of my Thoughts,” “Quest of the Silmarilion”), enhancing drama or emotion (“Dreadful Leap,” “Death Wing, Black Flame”), or just adding that extra flair (“Age of Chains”) to create passages that make you smile and take a guitar line from vanilla to vibrant. But it’s not as though the tremolo melodies themselves are even that plain, as One of Nine wring an impressive amount of expression from such refrains, which, emphasised by their keyboard companions, are downright anthemic; “Dreadful Leap” stands out in particular here. The effect of these predominantly cheerful—dare I say major—melodies, whether chimes sprinkled amidst the drums, or a plinky upbeat interlude, is that even the most mournful of tremolos herein becomes uplifting and hopeful. These songs sound like fantasy quests, and the narration, the shift between marching and galloping tempos (“Desperate Valor”), the group chants (“Death Wing Black Flame”), the horns and the harps, all work together to make it happen.

Dawn of the Iron Shadow is epic in nature, but it is not epic in length, and that makes it even more digestible. The music is so endearing in its sweeping soundscapes and so-serious commitment to its subject matter, that it ends far sooner than anticipated. This is excellent for replayability, but also works against the record’s overall impact if you’re not overly invested in the story or listening actively enough to pick up on One of Nine’s idiosyncrasies. That isn’t to say you won’t have a good time—you probably will. But a lack of big stand-out moments like those in “Dreadful Leap” and “Death Wing Black Flame” means that while the songs are enjoyable and the atmosphere is impeccable throughout, it doesn’t demand attention not willingly given.

I say all the above as someone with a layman’s interest in the source material. The music speaks for itself, and there’s plenty to enjoy for any fans of the hearty, happier side of black metal. Whether you come for the stories or not, the dreadful Nine’s tales of Middle-earth are fun and winsome enough to make you stay.

Rating: Very Good
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: 320kbps mp3
Label: Profound Lore
Website: Bandcamp
Releases Worldwide: October 31st, 2025

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Cycles of Extinction is steeped in lore billions of years old, telling stories of peoples and times spanning aeons and light years—which may or may not be plotlines from many cherished video games—and sporting a runtime spanning an hour. Old Machine’s chosen format could perhaps best be described as being to symphonic death metal what Old Nick is to raw black metal.² The bulk of the music is led by the keys, which do not attempt to disguise their jam-core sound that fluctuates between dungeon-synth camp and the kind of ambient sound-healing hum you’d get at the end of a yoga session in 2002. Guitars largely follow the rhythm and timbre of the synths—with many a hammer-on and pull-off ascending and descending alongside the identically clambering keys—if they don’t chug and gallop along to the next dramatically marching beat. There are some acrobatics, but they never usurp that keyboard’s position at centre-stage. Fast and mostly straightforward drumming keeps things at a vibrant up-tempo, with just a hint of thrashy energy, and croaking snarls share roughly equal space with booming spoken-word narration. It’s uncomplicated, but not without a certain charming passion and weirdness.

If nothing else, Cycles of Extinction sounds like Old Machines had a lot of fun making it. The tongue-in-cheek melodrama of the unadorned keyboard swooping through a movement, whilst the drums batter and riffs riff meanly, (“Glory to the Terrans of the First Contact War”) like something out of an N64 game fight scene (“The Sundering of the Irradiated Sons, and the Rebellion Sparked by the Gene-Plague”) is so silly it kind of works. There are moments where it’s almost genius: the deceleration and acceleration of “Cycles of Extinction,” complete with well-timed spoken word and manic screams; or the sudden vivacious grace of the guitars on “They Are Legion: The Tragic Exodus of the Veiled Creators ” that breaks the mould and outdoes the keys for just a moment, before the twain tumble back down a scale together. The first (“Cycles of Extinction”), and maybe even the second (“Extinguishing the Light of the Preludian Empire (Upon the Apex of Their Glory)”), time you hear that choir effect, played in an on-off jaunt that betrays their origin as having nothing at all to do with a human voice, it’s nigh impossible not to smile. But the question is: at what point are you no longer laughing with Old Machines, but laughing at them?

Unfortunately for Old Machines, the very synthetic-sounding synths with their repeated use of the same effects, chuggy, fast guitars, and prevalent spoken-word gets old. The pattern changes but little until the final two tracks “They Are Legion…” and “Glory to the Terrans…”—which in fairness do account for nearly a quarter of the runtime—when all of the best riffs, melodies, and moments are hastily stuffed in next to all the above. This is odd enough, and yet far more baffling is the decision to include two extended passages of ambience. The first one opens the album on a decidedly slow and tonally incongruent note as the first third of the 11-minute opener “Twilight of the Old Gods and the Dawning of the First Cycle.” The other slams the breaks on mid-album for a full eight minutes and 38 seconds of uneventful vagary (“Dark Space and Beyond – The Continuance of the Evolution of the Final Cycle”). If you were vibing with Old Machines’ weird keyboard blackened death metal before, then this ice cold shower kills the mood and exacerbates the irritation of following track “Crescendo of Carnage: Warsong of the Singing Swarm (Swarm Wars I)” and its especially jerky, stabby riff and key combos.

At the end of the day, Old Machines had an idea, and they ran with it. Maybe it’ll tickle some listeners enough in just the right way, because it is at times kinda fun. But even looking past the goofiness, the album’s structural issues—the monotone ambience and behemoth length—are sure to test the most saintly of patiences. If we can believe the band, The Cycles of Extinction is only the beginning; we’ll just have to wait and see whether Old Machines double down on the cheese, or evolve.

Rating: Mixed
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: 320kbps mp3
Label: Self-Release
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: August 22nd, 2025

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Fittingly for a prequel, Chapter Three sounds like a direct ancestor of the diverse array of influences that defined One and Two. The synths exhibit the timidity of a hero at the beginning of their journey, a far cry from the assertive melodies that almost single-handedly carried many of the music passages in Chapter One. But where the synths’ boldness falters, the guitars pick up the slack, alternating between icy tremolos and classic heavy metal hooks with practiced aplomb. While Chapter Three is a return to meloblack emphasis, it retains some of the exuberant guitar leads of Chapter Two. The common thread between the three chapters is Leleth’s dry rasps, which usher the narrative forward with surprisingly high intelligibility.

Chapter Three is the closest that Ancient Mastery has ever been to “traditional” melodic black metal. This is largely due to the increased investment in the guitar riffs, which are considerably more developed and striking. From the rollicking intro of “Behind the Walls of Urduk” to the crooked, menacing tune of “The Dread of Xul’Gothar,” they bring a lot of personality and energy. The drumming has also leveled up, with Jöschu Käser (Aara) lending his talents behind the kit. Album opener “Impending Shadows” is representative of this evolution, beginning with slow, deliberate percussion which gradually increases in tempo over the course of the song, culminating in intricate double bass-centric rhythms for the final verse. As a result, Ancient Mastery now sits closer to the midpoint between the synth-shrouded riffy intensity of Stormkeep and the ambient leanings of Summoning, a nice sweet spot for fantasy black metal.

As welcome as the improvements are, they seem to have cost a bit of Ancient Mastery’s core identity. Chapter Three is darker and more cavernous in tone and atmosphere, which can sometimes be an effective aesthetic, but here it often feels empty rather than imposing. The soft atmospheric sections have inexplicably become the thorn in the side of the album’s overall pacing, with nearly every song abruptly halting to shoehorn a quiet synth interlude. Aside from being out of place, they tend to consist of barely discernible notes (“Impending Shadows”) or empty oohs and ahhs (“Behind the Walls of Urduk”) that add little to the music. Thankfully, the songs recover their momentum and finish strong, so these are ultimately minor—albeit frequent—hiccups. Additionally, it’s hard not to miss the female guest vocalists who previously added such depth and feeling to the storytelling, particularly in Chapter Two.

With three chapters now under his belt, Erech Leleth has demonstrated an aptitude for adopting diverse musical approaches that all sound like Ancient Mastery. It took a little longer to grow on me, possibly due to preconceived expectations, but I expect Chapter Three to be a key entry point for potential new fans. The guitar-driven, synth-supported strategy and liberation from mid-paced tempos were exactly what the project needed to sustain a sense of progression. My hope for Chapter Four, though, is for these new traits to be joined more equally with the shrewd dungeon synth that originally earned Ancient Mastery my endearment. Until then, grab a goblet and witness the wonders of Xul’Gothar.

Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: 190 kb/s VBR mp3
Label: Self Release
Websites: ancientmastery.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/Ancient-Mastery
Releases Worldwide: April 4th, 2025

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Invaded by a Dark Spirit is characterized by two main facets: punky attitude and crusty sound—though it’s not exactly crust-punk stylistically. While there are hints of Wormwitch here and there, this is combined with an old Immortal vibe about the riffs and vocals, as well as frequent use of hurdy-gurdy. Rambunctious rhythms and refrains abound (“Dungeon Metal Punks Besieging Digital Castles,” “Warrior Jar,” “In the Poison Swamp”). The record maintains this rough and ready tone throughout: while there is a subtly different flair to individual tracks, there’s not a lot to actually distinguish them. Opener “Don’t Go Hollow, You Have Steel,”³, showcases everything you will hear for the rest of the record, with the exception of vocals, which here are restricted to the occasional snarled “eaaaagh!” The low-fi production which brings the fuzz and distortion, and that faraway washy quality to the vocals, contributes to the album’s coarseness and the sense of a gutsy spirit. But it equally brings the above uniformity into the realm of the problematic, as well as generating some problems of its own.

Rawness itself is not the issue, it’s how this rawness negatively affects Fell Omen’s compositions. Good raw black metal is a biting assault that can be beautiful or brutal. But in the case of Invaded by a Dark Spirit, the grittiness makes everything bland or bothersome. Hurdy-gurdy, sitting right at the front of the mix, wailing its refrain through the cellophane wrapping of the master, like a fucking kazoo, is jarring in a way I had not experienced before. And it is used a lot. That being said, the actual guitar is also prone to flights of wobbly fancy that imitate the hurdy-gurdy’s mannerisms in a way that blurs the line between them. This guitar sound could be cool, and in fact sometimes actually is (“Dungeon Metal…,” “In the Poison Swamp”), but the milquetoast package it comes in saps that coolness away. Programmed and acoustic drums alike sound akin to a stock keyboard ‘drum’ noise and are thus indistinguishable. Pointlessly brief flashes of synth get thrown in for no identifiable reason other than a whim (“Dungeon Metal…,” “Forlorn Knights and Strange Flasks”, tricking the listener into thinking that something interesting might be about to happen. Even setting aside particular noises that might be personal triggers, the songs are boring: monotonous in their vaguely repetitious way and stultified by the veil of grime.

While there are some admittedly catchy grooves sprinkled around Invaded by a Dark Spirit, the above problems block proper enjoyment of them. “In the Poison Swamp” is the closest thing to a “banger” with its infectious rhythms and well-timed “rawwrr”s working well off of the bendy guitar lines. It’s a shame it comes last. Others (“Don’t Go Hollow…,” “Warrior Jar”) can get your head bobbing well enough, and if you strain your ears just right, the whining melodies (hurdy-gurdy or otherwise) sound almost gnarly. Yet nothing is gripping; nothing is sufficiently slick, raw, or savage enough to capitalize on the low-fi sound and make this the rollicking riot it could so easily have been. Rather, it all feels anodyne, distant, and placid.

For an album that only lasts around 20 minutes, Invaded by a Fell Spirit is a drag to get through; unless, that is, you just ignore it, which is relatively easy to do. Fell Omen can craft some fun grooves, and there is some cool stuff going on with the guitar distortion and hurdy-gurdy, but these are superseded by the monotony and paradoxical blandness of it all. You can have a good time with selected tracks, but it doesn’t diminish the fact that Invaded by a Dark Spirit is nothing like the boisterous, epic tale it pretends to be.

Rating: Disappointing
DR: 5 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3
Label: True Cult Records
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: February 14th, 2025

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This is a cozy album of warm, lush instrumentation, and is a real pleasure to listen to. The album evokes a lively medieval fantasy aesthetic through harpsichords and a live string quartet while maintaining the campy aura of old-school RPG’s with MIDI instruments. The MIDI soundscape of Gielinor II is similar to that of Quest Master, while the string instruments and songwriting lend the music a delightful whimsy akin to The Shakespearean Frog. Look to “For Guthix (Charge!!)” for Gielinor II at its best: a marching drum rhythm propels a triumphant MIDI melody and harpsichords that are somehow both powerful and utterly doofy, like a glorious brigade of funky little polygonal gnomes. The production is pleasantly lo-fi; the MIDI keys and the harpsichords are warm and soft, the strings sound clean and vital, and the drums, notably far back in the mix, are gentle and unobtrusive.

Nostalgia for bygone nights spent eating pizza and gaming runs deep within Gielinor II, but thankfully the music isn’t dependent on nostalgia by cynically asking the listener “man, remember Runescape?” Rather, Gielinor II stands strong due to its joyful songwriting and musicianship. I even logged back into Runescape to compare Gielinor II with the game’s soundtrack, which I have plenty of nostalgia for. Gielinor II is more energetic and richly layered. “Scuzz and Flame” harmonically weaves a harpsichord and MIDI melody together, building into a joyous fanfare. “Silly Beast” is a playful waltz that closes with a stringed instrument refrain that always seems to surprise me with how emotional it makes me. That live-string quartet is such an effective aspect of the music. When the strings are paired with the simple strength of Gielinor II’s melodies in the swelling peaks of “Morning in Catherby,” “All is Not Quite Lost,” and “Halfway to Isafdar,” the album’s nostalgic heart resonates in a way that goes beyond memories of Runescape and strikes a deeper, more profound chord.

Gielinor II is an easy, unassuming listen that doesn’t ask much of you. The album spans an unintimidating 30 minutes, segmented across 14 bite-sized songs, where the longest track doesn’t even break three minutes. No song outstays its welcome, and it’s only a few short moments before the next quaint idea begins if you ever find yourself disengaged from a song. Rarely did I find myself disengaged, but it did happen; the fuzzy bass guitar in “Gaunt’s Chapel” is a singular sonic departure that, while not unpleasant, somewhat clashes with the rest of the album’s vibe. “Gods in the Keller” is perfectly fine whenever I play it alone, but I’ve found my mind often glazes over it, perhaps because it’s the only neutral point in an otherwise stellar second half. This is fairly minor, but I think “Roots in the Rafters” is an unnecessary 21-second prelude to “Gielinor Hardcore” that easily could have been absorbed into the latter and still end up under 2:30. But really, there’s nothing that hurts the overall experience, which has remained consistently positive after many replays.

It isn’t lost on me that Gielinor II is a fairly severe departure from the usual AMG fare, and the margin of interest in a hyperspecific genre like Comfy Nerd Synth is probably narrow. It could be said that if you haven’t acquired a taste for dungeon synth, Gielinor II won’t be the album to change your mind, but I invite you to prove me wrong. Gielinor II is a delightful, easily digestible platter of strings, MIDI synths, and whimsy that revels in nostalgia without drowning in it. It’s the perfect soundtrack for 30 minutes of wearing a smile.

Rating: Good!
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Self Release
Websites: Bandcamp | Runescape
Releases Worldwide: September 6th, 2024

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As someone who thoroughly enjoys atmo-black, blackgaze, and funeral doom—none of which are known for their immediacy—and appreciates dungeon synth, take it from me: Evigt Frä​mmande, Evigt Fj​ä​rran is boring. There is a vast swath of distance between creating an atmosphere and creating music so tentative and vague it stops being background noise and actively becomes grating. Ambient music is not designed for drama but should be evocative in its ambience to weave a strong mood. To this end, Evigt… only partially succeeds. At its best moments, the record does channel appropriately nostalgic, dreamy moods that are subtly mournful and quite pleasant (“Världsalltets stränder blinka,” title track). But these moments are spread too thinly and watered down through repetition. The main problem is the lack of evolution, running in tandem with a scarcity of strong melodies and a tendency to underplay the layers that could construct feeling, whilst overplaying undeveloped refrains.

Örnatorpet‘s musical style remains much the same, with a little more emphasis on floaty, ethereality than before. From this sensibility come both the strongest and weakest aspects of the album. Warbling, mournful horn (“Midnattens Mara är över oss fallen,”) and floating melodies and chimes (“Fientliga stjärnor stiga,” “Människornas hav,” “Världsalltets….,” title track) channel quiet yearning. Delicate keys and chime whooshes are wistful, if a little new-age-crystal-healing-shop-core (“Lyss till den röst som sjunger”). This is true until they drag on beyond reasonability, perhaps most frustratingly on the closing, title track, which is the best-constructed, most medievally evocative, and beautiful of the lot, its central theme losing its power as its layers of surging, and chiming synths fail to expand. Even though its melodies grow tired, they are nonetheless, pretty. At least, that is, until they aren’t.

Underpinning most of the music’s dreaminess is a non-committal flimsiness that on the one hand saps the power and atmosphere, but on the other lends a weird intensity to precisely the wrong elements. Opener “På jordrygg ett slott är rest,” is placid and dull, with a tune that feels underdeveloped—a problem repeated later (“Midnattens…,” “Den nya tiden blickar ned på jorden”). But the following track “Likt ett rött sken ur fjärran” lurches from the former’s dungeon synth into creepy electronic dissonance, the warped notes prominent and grating in their fickleness. In a similar fashion, the comparative lack of real presence forces the listener (if not to tune out entirely) to hone in on any layers and melodies there are. The omnipresent, reverb-soaked spoken word that floats awkwardly around makes it hard to focus on either, the mix fluctuating between favoring one or the other. While the placidity of the music works for this approach sometimes (“Lyss…,” “Fientliga…”), at other times, an otherwise fine melody, already fading with repetition, is marred by the rising and fading speech that fights for position.

Not all music needs to grip you, and especially not self-described ambient music. But there are aspects of Evigt… that do, if only briefly. The subtle evocations of “Midnattens…” and the title track show a proficiency for atmospheric narration. This is what makes the record frustrating. With a stronger lean into the weaving of layers and melancholic melodies, perhaps album number eight will realize this promise. I won’t hold my breath though.

Rating: Disappointing
DR: 9 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Nordvis Produktion
Website: ornatorpet.bandcamp.com
Releases Worldwide: May 5th, 2023

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There’s a deceptively broad palette of styles roiling under the grimy surface of The Abyssal Plain. Most identifiable are crust punk and traditional black metal, but there’s a good dose of raw black and dungeon synth as well. That said, vocalist/guitarist/synth, uh, -ist Claire Nunez’s key work is more sophisticated than your average dungeon dweller. And while not full-on raw, the production here is atmospherically claustrophobic, with plenty of reverb on Nunez’s sharp yelps to give that aquatic cavern feel. Speaking of, there are a couple moments when cavernous death metal creeps into the mix, as on “Bottomfeeder,” but the dingy black metal more often gives way to punk, as on “Loki’s Castle” or “Brine Pool Aberration.” The scorching “Trenches” even takes a swerve into straight d-beat, but that doesn’t mean this isn’t a black metal record through and through, with songs like “Pompeii Worm” delivering all the acidic black fury one could hope for.

The best trick Dryad pull on The Abyssal Plain is maintaining a balance between this sustained fury and the atmospherics required to properly pull off the album concept. It’s pointless to call out any particular song as an example because every track that isn’t a synth interlude sustains the same ramshackle, ears-pinned-back energy. These Iowans go hard, bringing an ideal mix of scuzzy punk swagger and black metal menace. This is the kind of energy you want to hear on a band’s debut; the kind you can’t buy with bigger budgets and better production three or four records into a career. Add to this the eerie synth work and occasional sound bites of Jacque Cousteau waxing poetic about the abyss that enhance rather than slow down the album flow and you’ve got a winning combination. It’s easy to imagine each interlude as a vignette showing the lair of some unspeakable bottom-dwelling beast stalking the inky depths.

The Abyssal Plain is a stylish album, meaning Dryad has come out of the gate with a well-developed style that they play with gusto. What it doesn’t have relative to this strong sense of style is songwriting highlights. The riffs are solid, but solidly utilitarian. The synth interludes are each enjoyable, but also interchangeable. “The Abyssal Plain,” “Pompeii Worm” and “Trenches” stand out slightly from the rest in memorability, but it took several listens for me to pick them out of the lineup. Separating good albums from the great ones usually comes down to songwriting. I enjoy Dryad’s songs, but I enjoy their style more. Once I can say the inverse of that, they’ll have something really special.

Philosophizing about criticism aside, this is a rip-roaring oceanic expedition of an album. It’s the kind you should listen to in one go, and at only 35 minutes, this is easily done. Having lived my entire life in the states surrounding Iowa, I consider it my backyard, and I’m pleased to find the Hawkeye State producing good metal music. I’ll be watching Dryad going forward.

Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Prosthetic Records
Websites: dryad.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/dryad.us
Releases Worldwide: January 20th, 2023

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