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

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

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

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

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Glasgow-based Mrs. Frighthouse consists of wife and wife duo Carys and Luna Frighthouse, known as Mrs. and Mrs. on stage. Featuring an unflinching lyrical attack on misogyny, homophobia, and transphobia, and a musical approach as venomous, it recalls the likes of early Lingua Ignota, Couch Slut, and Julie Christmas. What hooked me was its mastering by Khanate bassist James Plotkin – anything that reminds of the menacing crawl that the drone legends conjure was a perk. However, like any noise album that focuses on ugliness and discordance, the audience is limited, the replay value is near null, and its strengths are a novelty in many ways. Featuring manic vocals both harsh and operatic to contrast with the suffocating noise, Mrs. Frighthouse wins points for charisma, but Solitude Over Control is still very much a noise album.

To my relief, Mrs. Frighthouse utilizes opaqueness and density to its benefit, avoiding the painful awkwardness of Läjä Äijälä & Albert Witchfinder’s trainwreck of a collaboration. Plotkin’s services are put to good use, as the backbone of sound is suffocating and all-encompassing in a way that recalls drone’s colossal density, an expanse of ominous tones upon which Mrs. and Mrs. traverse with their vocal journeys. Throw in some haunting ritualistic drumming patterns and minor organ trills, Mrs. Frighthouse crafts horrific soundscapes using an expert blend of clarity, melody, and discordance to match their surprisingly dynamic foray into noise. This is no Oscillotron – Mrs. Frighthouse knows how to write songs. While at first glance the sea of noise is a constant hum, those willing to delve beneath the surface will find smart songwriting aplenty.

The contrast between clarity and density is a clear priority in Solitude Over Control – which ends up being its most controversial element. From the aggressive industrial pulse paired with thick waves of noise easy to get lost in (“DIY Exorcism,” “White Plaster Rooms”) to more subtle crawling pieces with screeching soprano trills that feel strangely confrontational (“Seagulls” part 1 and 2, “Let My Spit Be Poison”), while creeping melodic motifs are warped and bastardized by the static (“Our Culture Without Autonomy,” “My Body is a Crime Scene”), Mrs. Frighthouse is a tour-de-force of metallic aggression without a riff in sight. Solitude Over Control wears its themes on its sleeves in sometimes awkward forthrightness, as both Mrs.’s spew vitriol over the misogyny, homophobia, and transphobia witnessed and experienced, matching the aggression and viciousness of the music. The closing title track is worthy of mention, because its slow-burning crescendo is a maddening and horrifying end to a maddening and horrifying album – a nerve-frying culmination of Mrs. Frighthouse’s best and worst.

Almost everything about Solitude Over Control feels intentional, but holy shit, is it unflinching and uncomfortable. Mrs. Frighthouse’s two vocals are insanely charismatic in their blend of shrieks, growls, operatic belts, whispers, and shouts, propelling the movement of the noise as it emerges and disappears in the sea of noise. Plotkin’s mastering adds a suffocating and claustrophobic quality that adds to the menace and aggression. Some tracks you’ll find yourself getting lost in the swaths of noise and industrial harshness, others you’ll find yourself blushing in the awkward stark clarity of the vocals. Mrs. Frighthouse offers a better noise album than most and is closer to the ceiling, but due to the divisiveness of the style and the starkness of some of the minimalist pieces, the reception will be mixed. Noise fans rejoice, all others steer clear.

Rating: 2.5/5.0
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: PCM
Label: Self-Release
Websites: mrsfrighthouse.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/mrsfrighthouse
Releases Worldwide: September 26th, 2025

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A leaner and more concise album than even Beastland, Nocturnal Birding is another step from the transhumanism of Author & Punisher’s pedigree into more organic territory – although undoubtedly owing its success to its history. It steps outside Shone’s comfort zone, the composition of Nocturnal Birding revolving around the literal birdsongs of the tracks’ respective namesakes – in a metaphorical homage to the migrants crossing from Mexico to the US and the dangers they face. The album sees Krüller contributor and A Life Once Lost alum Doug Sabolick inducted as full-time guitarist, offering riffs and humanity alike throughout the album’s thirty-four-minute runtime. Revolving around a unique concept that never overstays its welcome, Nocturnal Birding is a romp through everything that makes Author & Punisher unique – and more.

Shone’s dynamics have always been a force to be reckoned with, elevating his already crushing drone/doom/industrial attack to colossal proportions, and Nocturnal Birding is no exception. The introduction of the birdsong adds an intriguing texture to this dynamic, quirky melodics morphing into devastating waves of noise. Author & Punisher offers some of its most accessible content since Ursus Americanus, mammoth dub techno beats guiding the movement between these two extremes. Lulling listeners into a false sense of surreal melody only to blast out the speakers with intense sound, punishing tracks will get your head moving in slow motion weight (“Titanis,” “Black Storm Petrel”), more thoughtful compositions bathe you in off-kilter rhythms and reverb-laden pulses (“Titmouse,” “Titmice”), and crawling brooding flocks offer eerie environs of darkness with Shone’s Reznor- and Peter Steele-influenced cleans (“Meadowlark,” “Mute Swans,” “Thrush”).

It would be tempting to say that if you’ve heard an Author & Punisher album before, you’ve probably heard what Nocturnal Birding has to offer – but 2025 finds the act sounding the most human they’ve ever been. While he exists as mainly supplemental, an added layer to the textured weight of the electronics, Doug Sabolick’s guitar shines as a razor-sharp counterweight to the sludgy downtuned electronic pulses (“Titmouse,” “Rook”) as well as a riffy force to be reckoned with (“Meadowlark,” “Thrush”). Furthermore, the live drums and simmering samples of Indonesian noise artist Kuntari in “Titanis” inject energy, the spoken word of Couch Slut’s Megan Oztrosits takes the creepy mood to haunting lows in “Mute Swans,” and the appearance of French industrial/sludge/death metal band Fange makes “Black Storm Petrel” one of the densest and most brutal tracks. Ultimately, while the synthetic and mechanical hallmarks are very much intact, the inclusion of live instruments adds a genuine feel to the proceedings – a trend that has likewise benefited Igorrr’s latest as the emphasis on solo machine-mongering has faltered.

In his review for Krüller, the illustrious Kronos observed that Author & Punisher albums seem to alternate between anthemic and ambitious. Aside from the foundational birdsong incorporation, Nocturnal Birding finds Shone and company firmly embracing the former – but with a uniquely human touch. This album will mercilessly crush you in the same way Beastland and Ursus Americanus did, as well as the likes of influences Godflesh, Neurosis, and Nine Inch Nails have done for years, and in a way that proposes new avenues for Shone and Sabolick moving forward. Nocturnal Birding is a fist raised to the sky, a poetic eye cast to the wings above, and one hell of a statement.

Rating: 4.0/5.0
DR: N/A | Format Reviewed: STREAM
Label: Relapse Records
Websites: authorandpunisher.bandcamp.com | authorandpunisher.com | facebook.com/authorandpunisher
Releases Worldwide: October 3rd, 2025

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As it turns out, the central sound on Control Your Soul’s Desire For Freedom isn’t quite as mind-boggling as it might seem. I’d place Heathe in the same category as The Body or Swans—sonic provocateurs who rely on oppressive atmosphere in tandem with monotonous repetition while pulling liberally from various musical traditions to convey emotion, often at the cost of songwriting. There are indeed notes of nü metal, gospel, and jazz scattered throughout the album, but they don’t redefine Heathe’s core aesthetic. Instead, these elements serve to augment the central concept or thematic devices of each track. Control Your Soul’s Desire For Freedom is clearly intended more as a listening “experience” meant to illicit powerful emotions than a collection of songs for consumptive pleasure. Each of the 6 tracks offers a different flavor of existential dread, ranging from harsh industrial loops accented by jazzy horns (“My Gods Destroy”) to Massive Attack-like triphop ethereal beats and autotuned choral vocals (“Uproar Taking Shape”). The only constants across them are a throat-shredding screamo wail, which makes up the majority of Heathe’s vocal delivery, ¹ and an almost slavish devotion to repetition.

Each song is built on a distinct rhythmic or melodic idea, repeated ad nauseam throughout its runtime. To their credit, Heathe add nuance by carefully shaping the pacing and delivery of these repetitions. Opener “Black Milk Sour Soil” begins with a cappella screams that persist for several minutes before giving way to subtle synth rhythms, tribal drumming, and ominous group chanting. “Valencia’s Next” employs many of the same elements but builds them around a hypnotic central drum loop, adding and subtracting blasts of harsh noise alongside, yes, jazz flute. Individually, these tracks are compelling and texturally rich. Taken together, however, the elongated song lengths and the band’s preference for atmosphere over traditional song structure can make a full-album listen daunting. Heathe place powerful climaxes at the end of several tracks, ecstatic post-rock crescendos where the horns and choirs break into consonance, but they aren’t enough to entice me back into repeated listens.

In many ways, Control Your Soul’s Desire For Freedom feels less like a conventional album and more like a performance art piece designed for a live audience. Heathe clearly understand how to convey emotional intensity, both uplifting and harrowing, and they wield that skill to striking effect. The final track, “Black As Oil,” is a gorgeous blend of modern classical and ambient, serving as a powerful yet bittersweet resolution after an album steeped in oppressive textures. As the strained vocals fade over shimmering guitar melodies, I’m hit with a wave of emotion—a kind of pained calmness. It’s the same sensation I might get from an avant-garde live performance that’s both awe-inspiring and slightly alienating. There’s real power in Heathe’s ability to evoke that feeling, but as a piece of recorded music, it leaves me wanting just a little more.

Control Your Soul’s Desire For Freedom is a difficult album for me to pin down. As a fan of the autre and experimental, I’ve endured more than my fair share of tuneless dirges masquerading as clever, and Heathe are not guilty of that. Beyond offering genuinely novel and distinctive sounds, there’s a powerful emotional core to this album that I deeply respect, but not one I’m keen to repeatedly partake in. Heathe are a band I’ll definitely be keeping an eye on, and I’d love to experience their brand of sonic alienation in a live setting. For now, though, they fall short of delivering an album that feels truly essential.

Rating: 2.5/5.0
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3
Label: Empty Tape / Virkelighedsfjern
Websites: hethe.bandcamp.com|facebook.com/heathedeath
Releases Worldwide: October 3rd, 2025

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-ii- is not a metal band. They play what they seem to call “ghost wave,” which sits somewhere between post-rock, goth, darkwave, trip-hop, and industrial, at times recalling HEALTH or Nine Inch Nails. If this sounds fairly electronics-heavy, it is. But on Apostles of the Flesh, -ii- eschews the drum machines and some other electronics of their debut in favor of live instrumentation, and it’s a resounding success. With l’Huillier’s lively drumming and Racine’s unique instruments,² Apostles of the Flesh feels alive. This organic improvement over Extinction would be nothing to write home about, however, without the impressive songcraft Racine showcases here. Whether it’s a distorted, electronic bridge amidst tribal yet airy instrumentals (“Lotis”), impactful usage of audio effects (“Pearls Beneath the Embers,” “Virginia’s Mirror”), or shimmering synths draped over wistful strings (“The Fountain of Helicon”), everything fits together and flows effortlessly. Of particular note is “When Beauty is a Crime,” where -ii- mirrors its lyrical violence with a tense and uncomfortable atmosphere that refuses to let the listener move on. Apostles of the Flesh is intentional. It’s meticulously crafted. And metal or not, -ii- undoubtedly possesses the Metal Spirit™.

Two elements in particular drive this album’s high caliber: Ruzic’s vocals and l’Huillier’s drums. By turns conflicted (“The Birth of Venus”), seductive (“Sisyphus in Red”), defiant (“Where the Diamonds are Hurled”), and spiteful (“Under the Skin”), Ruzic guides the listener through an examination of the body and its inextricable link to the spirit. Lyrically, she’s transgressive like Ethel Cain or GGGOLDDD, but less direct. Her delivery hies closer to Chelsea Wolfe or Darkher, although -ii- fosters a greater sense of rhythmic urgency. This is largely accomplished by l’Huillier’s standout performance, both carnal and tribal. Hammering at his kit with artful brutality, l’Huillier drives ritualistic numbers (“Sisters of the Coven,” “Digging for Blood”), stricken passages (“Under the Skin,” “When Beauty is a Crime”), and enraptured crescendos (“The Birth of Venus”) with the same skilled hand. The spiraling climax of “The Fountain of Helicon” is a high point, as l’Huillier recklessly hurtles the listener toward the fabled spring. L’Huillier brings an intensity to Apostles of the Flesh that, combined with Ruzic’s provocative and emotive singing, cements this album not just as a collection of good songs, but as an intense, ritualistic experience.

Not only is Racine responsible for the musical arrangements, but he also handles much of the production. The mix is big and spacious, and each instrument gets plenty of room to flourish. Even in the most chaotic moments of Apostles of the Flesh, when drums, vocals, strings, or synths rise to a fever pitch, each element is clear and vibrant (“The Birth of Venus,” “Lotis,” “The Fountain of Helicon”). His use of the soundstage is equally impressive, and because of this, Apostles of the Flesh excels in a pair of headphones over a speaker system. Quivering strings and ethereal synths dynamically float through the space, creating a lost, forlorn sensation on “When Beauty is a Crime” and “Virginia’s Mirror.” Ruzic sounds so close and so private amid the waves and rainfall of spoken word piece “L’Onde et l’Abysse,” it’s as if she speaks to the listener alone.

Apostles of the Flesh is not an album to play in the background, and it’s not for everyone. It demands both your attention and an emotional investment to shine, but shine it does. Some might balk at a 65-minute runtime or note that several songs go on long after Ruzic is done singing. I consider it a testament to Racine’s compositional prowess that these longer outros feel valuable and that the album holds my attention front to back. Apostles of the Flesh is passionate, vulnerable, and cathartic. For those willing to commit, -ii- offers an intense, surreal journey you won’t soon forget.

Rating: 4.0/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: PCM
Label: Self-Released
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook | Instagram | Youtube
Releases Worldwide: October 3rd, 2025

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Abhorrent Expanse has a solid lineup, including caliber from Zebulon Pike, Celestiial, Obsequiae, and The Blight – even if its sound feels entirely convoluted. Following the controversial debut Gateways to Resplendence, Enter the Misanthropocene is largely the same, but its scope is larger, significantly reducing its drone content in favor of jazzy noodling, grind intensity, sprawling ambiance, and deconstructed death metal jaggedness. The drone that exists within is a short-lived sprawl that pops up periodically, giving a more abstract feel than its predecessor’s “dissodeath meeting drone metal in a dark alley behind the Kmart” vibe. Forty-eight minutes of whiplash-inducing tonal and tempo shifts, off-key twanging, random stoner sprawls, and an undeserved love for improv awaits – and I need a nap.

Say it with me: improv is bad. I get the whole avant-garde approach that John Zorn would drool over, that an improvised performance is a “never see it the same way twice” kind of deal, but that doesn’t mean it’s good. As we’ve seen with typically good bands like Neptunian Maximalism or Bunsenburner, relying on group chemistry instead of thoughtful songwriting to create a singular experience hardly pans out – and Enter the Misanthropocene is no exception. Moments of avant-garde clarity in which the instruments align shine in the twitching obscure grind (title track, “Assail the Density Matrix,” “Dissonant Aggressors”), short-lived minimalist drone (“Praise for Chaos,” “Dissonant Aggressors,” “Ascension Symptom Acceleration”), haunting ritualism (“Waves of Graves”), and ambient calm (“Kairos”). Death growls are sparse. Enter the Misanthropocene is so free jazz and avant-garde it forcibly drags nonconsenting listeners into what seems like obscenely high art…

…Or incompetent musicianship. Much of Abhorrent Expanse’s sound is rooted in utter nonsense, and one that often gets played really fast. While there’s certainly artistic discomfort aplenty to be found on this record, in which I can see some merit (“Waves of Graves,” “Drenched Onyx”), these are scattered moments among what sound like the plonks and twunks of a novice fiddling with a new guitar at Guitar Center. Atonal noodling and off-beat drumming accounts for the majority of its forty-eight minute runtime, sounding entirely random. The drone-doom moments feel off-beat and misaligned (“Praise for Chaos”), some ambient moments are so subtle and minimalist that they just cover John Cage’s 4’33” for a bit before eventually becoming audible (“Nephilim Disinterred”), and by the end of the ten-minute closer “Prostrate Before Chthonic Devourment” you might feel like you’ve been through a prostrate exam.

The promotion around Abhorrent Expanse relies on similarities to dissonant acts like Portal and Imperial Triumphant – but in order to do that, they’d actually have to write some songs first. Gateways to Resplendence was challenging and avant-garde but anchored to a respectable degree; Enter the Misanthropocene is a leaf on the wind, being blown by one avant-garde gust to another with no semblance of gravity to save it. Its high-art status is a divisive issue, as the directionless noodling can be seen as either a challenging piece of art or four dudes who don’t know how to play their instruments. But isn’t that the nature of art itself? Abhorrent Expanse holds a mirror to art itself, making us question what is drivel and what is erudite – through the improvised off-key noodling of someone who has arguably never picked up a guitar before.

Rating: 1.0/5.0
DR: 9 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3
Label: Amalgam Music
Websites: abhorrentexpanse.bandcamp.com
Releases Worldwide: August 15th, 2025

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Blodsträngen blends the grit of punk, the expansiveness of post-rock, and hardcore’s raw aggression into an intensely juxtaposed sound that is dark, abrasive, and dramatic. Guitarist Johan G Winther lays down chunky Mastodon-style motifs (“Copper + Dirt,” “Raised on Graves”), shoegaze melodies (“No Good Things,” “Strings of Red”) and bursts of dissonant chords (“Clean”). Mattias Rasmusson’s booming rock grooves drive moments of Old Man Gloom-like explosiveness, while Erik Skytt’s percussive accents and expressive modular tones—featuring everything from organs, cowbells, and woodblocks to a xylophone—strategically guide listeners through Blodsträngen. Fredrik Karlsson’s powerful voice commands excellent projection, especially during Blodsträngen’s darker verses, alternating between spoken-sung punk vocals reminiscent of The Jesus Lizard or early Killing Joke (“No Good Things,” “Clean”) and throaty, abrasive howls (“Allt Vi Kan Ge Är Upp,” “Strings of Red”). Overall, Blodsträngen sounds massive and confrontational, the instrumentation hitting well above its weight, piercing a bright master that belies its DR score.

Blodsträngen is best experienced as an immersive, uninterrupted ride. Its seven tracks flow seamlessly, shifting moods and textures while progressively intensifying. The record immediately kicks off with its strongest material, showcasing Blessings’ dynamic songwriting and unique sound. “Raised on Graves” quickly establishes its edgy, ominous feel, creating foreboding through Winther’s haunting notes, Karlsson’s growling bass, and Skytt’s tribal accents. Eschewing a predictable crescendo, it cleverly loops back to another verse before diving headfirst into full-blown punk with an insistent tambourine. An isolated cowbell punctuates the track, serving as a stark prelude to “Strings of Red,” which explodes into a hardcore frenzy after spells of tense breaths. Skytt’s suspenseful synth leads and Winther’s aggressive riffing drive the song, which serves as a definitive statement of Blessings’ ability to produce hard-hitting material with intriguing textural elements, despite its meandering finish. Rounding out the album’s robust first third is the ambitious and lengthy “Clean,” one of Blodsträngen’s longest tracks. Highlighted by what might be one of the gnarliest bass tones I’ve heard in ages, Karlsson’s hefty bass line and somber vocal delivery channels a Filter-esque vibe before a devastating breakdown tears through the mix. The song works beautifully once it gains momentum, though its dragging intro and overlong build partially weigh it down.

Blodsträngen starts with incredible momentum and promise, making Blessings’ subsequent struggles to maintain its energy all the more disappointing. While “Allt Vi Kan Ge Är Upp” injects much-needed vigor back into Blodsträngen with its dominant rhythms and exhilarating crescendo, “No Good Things” marks a noticeable dip in energy. The track lacks the compositional ambition of the album’s earlier material, consequently feeling plain as it relies too much on Skytt’s quirky samples and Karlsson’s vocals. “Copper + Dirt” is a short burst of aggressive, riff-driven material that abruptly ends after less than two minutes, a confusing result that feels wholly out of place. Finally, the terrific, harmonized melodies from Winther and Skytt within the first half of “Through Veils of Glass and Silica” suffer, unfortunately, from its excessive length and meandering post-rock sections, which leave Blodsträngen ending on a drawn-out note.

Blessings is a good band, but Blodsträngen is a front-loaded album that left me wishing these Swedes had maintained their peak energy for the entire forty-one minutes. When they’re firing on all cylinders, Blessings crafts unique, powerful, and atmospherically heavy music. Their future success hinges on maintaining their intensity and sharpening their songwriting, steering clear of unnecessary repetition or padding. A great album is potentially waiting in the wings, and Blessings certainly has the talent to deliver. The question is, will they?

Rating: Mixed
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3
Label: Pelagic Records
Websites: blessingsgbg.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/Blessingsgbg
Releases Worldwide: August 1st, 2025

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The path of Swans has been one of blending ugliness with a sheen of pristineness. They’ve had it all, from the ugly industrial sludge of Filth and Cop, the more regal industrial noise rock of Greed and Holy Money, the Gothic rock groovers of Children of God, the lush starkness of White Light from the Mouth of Infinity, the post-rock-imbued apocalyptic prophecies of The Great Annihilator and Soundtracks for the Blind, the trancelike 2010s comeback My Father Will Guide Me Up a Rope to the Sky, the formidably monolithic trilogy The Seer, To Be Kind, and The Glowing Man, to the minimalist folk-embedded Leaving Meaning and The Beggar. If you wanted to devote a week to the Swans discography, have at it. Or get into the process of Birthing.

In spite of its higher focus on more acoustic textures and Michael Gira’s wild baritone, Swans’ use of repetition is a tether to which their grasp of reality is consistently mutilated, interspersed with moments of sparse accessibility. Seven tracks and nearly two hours of content greet the ears with repetition both nauseating and hypnotic, tracks undeniably modern-era Swans: folkier, more acoustic and organic, and retaining that trademark longwindedness and industrial/noise barb, shifting from mood to mood with ease. You’ll hear painful dissonance, ritualistic passages of pounding percussion, Gira’s unnerving vocal lines, and synth-heavy crystalline atmosphere exchanged across mammoth runtimes. Especially in the first act, ugly stretches stitch together more uncanny valley passages of accessibility, like a synth rock jam session with pulsing basslines (“I Am a Tower”), beautiful piano ballads graced by spidery melodies and Jennifer Gira’s haunting vocals (“Birthing,” “Guardian Spirit”), catchy little choral “bum bums” (“The Merge”), and instrumental ambient swells (“The Healers,” “(Rope) Away”).

Gira and company find themselves in an odd predicament: in the shadow of their own influence. Swans has smartly focused on more acoustic and organic textures with their most recent releases, but in comparison to the 80’s and 90’s, and even the 2010s, Birthing cannot hold a candle. No one can do music like Swans, but it feels as though the trilogy of The Seer, To Be Kind, and The Glowing Man was Tsar Bomba, and every subsequent release has been the fallout. Likewise, the raining ash of Birthing is lethal, unnerving, and undeniably Swans, but it doesn’t feel as monumental. The only track that feels crucial is the absolute fever-dream “The Merge” in its wholehearted dive into the abyss. Each track features Swans-isms that sear themselves into your brain if you let them, but therein, very few moments justify why you should devote two hours to listening to them – especially if you are not a fan to begin with. Their focus has never been to be catchy, impress with riffs, or go wild with novelty – as such, the trademark tapestries of droning dissonance (“I Am a Tower,” “Guardian Spirit”), free jazz/industrial noise explosions (“The Merge”) are just difficult – aside from Swans’ inability to edit.

I may be Swans lone apologist at AMG HQ, and maybe I’m insane for it. Birthing is nowhere near the influence of its predecessors – while retaining that noise and industrial sneer throughout, it’s a far more gentle album than the ugly classics of the band’s heyday. However, it’s probably the best of its era, blending its bad temperament with its more post-rock atmospheres and semi-accessible passages that keep listeners this close to insanity. That being said, it’s still Swans. And a whole lot of Swans. Two hours of Swans. Yay/ugh.

Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3
Label: Young God Records
Websites: swans.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/SwansOfficial
Releases Worldwide: May 30th, 2025

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If you are familiar with Mizmor and Hell’s past works, and can sort of picture what a collaboration focused on psychic distress might sound like, BOOM, you’re right! Alluvion is exactly that. Dense, doom-laden oppression, nuzzling up against moments of surprising delicacy and tenderness, with the latter kicking things off on opener, “Begging to be Lost.” The first two minutes of strings-only tranquillity hint at the rumbling blackened sludge that follows. With both men contributing vocals and guitars (while Hell handles bass, and Mizmor drums), when the hammer does fall, it falls hard. Noting the descriptor that Mizmor & Hell intended Alluvion to act as a means of navigating mental health struggles, I see the shifting moods of the record as mapping onto the ebb and flow of these challenges, from anvil-like oppression, through devastating chaos into exhausted moments of clarity, that border on hopeful. All this and more is packed into the 16 minutes and change of “Begging to be Lost” alone. Something resembling respite is offered by the percussion- and vocal-free “Vision I,” its distorted, reverberating drone cathartic in its simplicity.

As Mizmor & Hell move into standout piece “Pandemonium’s Throat,” the pattern of “Begging to be Lost” is repeated but in amplified form. The gentle opening notes bear hints of distortion, the droning guitar lines offer a rawer, blackened edge, while the vocals (Hell’s, I think) take on a more desperate, rasping edge. When all hell breaks loose—no pun intended—around the seven-minute mark, we find ourselves nudging into stripped back, heavily distorted black metal, with a frantic energy that is almost second wave in its intensity. Going into Alluvion, I’d braced myself for an epic on the scale of Yodh or Cairn, both of which hover around the hour mark. In fact, this comes in a surprisingly compact package, clocking in at just 39 minutes. But nevertheless, and perhaps because of the harrowing journey the listener is taken on, by the time we reach closer, “Vision II,” there’s an exhausted and drawn feel to Mizmor & Hell’s work. It’s that feeling of full-body tiredness we’ve all known at one point or another, where every part of you feels heavy and drained.

All that said, Alluvion isn’t quite as traumatic, nor as soul-destroying, as I’d braced myself for from this Mizmor & Hell combination. There are two reasons for this. First, “Vision I” and “Vision II,” which act as a mid-album interlude and outro,¹ respectively. These serve to both offer up some respite for the listener—leaving to one side the rather unsettling, wordless voices that swirl and clack around you at the end of “Vision II”—but also to significantly lessen the complexity of the album. Comprising over a quarter of Alluvion, they are, on the one hand, welcome for making it an easier listen, and, on the other, a hindrance for somewhat lessening its impact. The other reason for the lower trauma rating is the production. Only managing a DR4, this simply isn’t as rich and textured as I’d hoped it would be, and as I think it needs to be, to fully achieve its creators’ mission.

Alluvion promised a lot and delivered quite a bit, but not the whole package. Its highs, which are basically all of “Pandemonium’s Throat,” are great, building the oppressive tension before unleashing raw catharsis. However, the rest of the compositions from Mizmor & Hell are good but no more. I’m not quite sure how much of this to pin on the expectations that I carried into Alluvion, and which I suspect many who know the solo work by each of these men will also carry. It’s honest, raw, and good, but the fact is I walked away from it relatively unscathed, where I expected to be ruined, face down beside a deserted path.

Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: 4 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3
Label: Gilead Media
Websites: mizmor.bandcamp.com | loweryourhead.bandcamp.com
Releases Worldwide: April 4th, 2025

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La Torture des Ténèbres

Episode VII – Revenge of Unfailing Valor deals in a sound that retains La Torture des Ténèbres’ signature style, the vicious rawness and lonely melodic tremolo leads while fusing its two aesthetic influences. 2016 began with the formidably raw and ambient spacefaring canon of Choirs of Emptiness and Acadian Nights,¹ but was reinterpreted by the more dystopian Civilization is the Tomb of Our Noble Gods, which set the tone for the following releases up to last year’s V and The Lost Colony of Altar Vista. In this way, Episode VII – Revenge of Unfailing Valor blends these two themes, dystopian civilizations set amongst the stars, its vast colonies and glorious cities plagued by inequality, sexism, and the hive mind’s whims.

La Torture des Ténèbres lives up to Revenge of Unfailing Valor’s description (“VOLITIONAL EXPLOITATION // SMOULDERING HIVES”) by channeling its trademark melodic template and ambient sensibilities into a fuller sound that amps violence while hinting at a tragic heart beneath machinelike mania. Its trademark is intact: the rawness and utter saturation of rawness is ubiquitous, as even its more placid moments of lonely melodies are scathing. However, one distinction is melodic motifs that tie the album into one cohesive whole: an ascending jazzy synth run (“Vast Black Claws Drag Her Back to Space,” “Metropolitan Warfare,” “Out of All the Years We’ve Come…”) and sanguine synth melodies (“The Second Piscean Abyss,” “Angels”). As always, this is communicated through the ebb and flow of three prongs of scathing second-wave blasting/tremolo/shrieking, lonely tremolo, and distorted vintage samples. This arsenal and dynamic are as intriguing as they are jarring, samples and melodies inviting comparisons to classic science fiction (“Vast Black Claws…,” “The Second Piscean Abyss”) and the roarin’ twenties worship of decopunk (“Breathe in the Fucking Sawdust and Die,” “Yes But Can a Camp Girl Do This”). The first act in particular utilizes a bombast of violent second-wave rawness in contrast with an over-the-top sample presence. A grandiosity pervades in a way that recalls predecessor V, but La Torture des Ténèbres‘ fuller sound adds to the assault – tinnitus is guaranteed.

The second half of Episode VII finds La Torture des Ténèbres taking risks – the samples are fewer, the melodies are far more tragic and empty, and there is rest to be found. The brutal mid-album climax in “The Second Piscean Abyss” allows for reinterpretation for “Metropolitan Warfare” and beyond, trademark and motifs carrying across in emptier and more tragic melodies and moments (i.e. the release of all sound but tinny tremolo and blastbeats in “Traditions” and total collapses into noise in “Out of All the Years…”). This reinforces the need for bulletproof songwriting rather than reliance on samples and jarring movements to do the heavy lifting, and JK is up to the task. “Angels” is placed perfectly, its minimalist, distorted, and aptly angelic sample providing rest for the weary ears – for the first time in La Torture des Ténèbres’ career.

La Torture des Ténèbres will not sway any naysayers of raw black or blackened noise. In fact, many will point to their ringing ears or pinched nerves² and say “See??” after Episode VII concludes with the noise fadeout of “Out of All the Years…”. Those who are willing to endure will find treasures aplenty, an opus of hyper-atmospheric, excessively noisy, and endlessly tragic melodies and motifs. Episode VII – Revenge of Unfailing Valor sweeps you away to a universe yet to be explored; but even in the dead vacuum of space or within mankind’s hive-mind colonies, you can’t escape your humanity.

Rating: 4.0/5.0
DR: 4 | Format Reviewed: PCM
Label: Self-Released
Website: latorturedestenebres.bandcamp.com
Releases Worldwide: March 7th, 2025

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