Among the myriad sub-genres influencing Remorse of Conscience, Agenbite Misery’s bread and butter is a complementary fusion of sludge and black metal. Songs like “Bellwether and Swine” and “Mnesterophonia” swing between second-wave blackened intensity and a washing of Acid Bath grime, while “Telemachean Echoes” wrecks house through hardcore-flexing sludge brutality and “Circe” bestows an atmospheric dreariness similar to Hexrot. This works: Agenbite Misery’s sludge influence adds weight to their blackened riffing while their black metal influence helps keep their sludge from plodding too long. Elsewhere, Agenbite Misery throw their weight around in “Cascara Sagrada” with Portalesque disso-death depravity, engage in melancholic electronic atmospherics on “The Twice-Charred Paths of Musing Disciples” and get downright danceable Crippling Alcoholism-style on the post-rock, synth-heavy “Whatness of Allhorse,” which sounds like something Blade would kill a roomful of vampires to. Remorse of Conscience rarely sits still, and with Agenbite Misery’s expert songwriting everything they try comes together cohesively.

Balance is the key to Agenbite Misery and Remorse of Conscience’s success. Every song is crafted with superb dynamism, whether it be in “Circe”‘s shifting speeds, “Mnesterophonia”‘s oscillating sense of airiness and crushing oppression or “Whatness of Allhorse”‘s gradual escalation of heaviness. Vocally, Agenbite Misery mix it up between the three bandmates with shrieks, roars, squeals (“Bellwether and Swine”), barks (“Telemachean Echoes”) and (competently performed!) spoken-word passages (“A Charitable View of Temporary Sanity,” “Whatness of Allhorse”), suiting whatever mood the songs demand. The pinnacle of Remorse of Conscience’s balancing act is “A Charitable View of Temporary Sanity,” which across its over-thirteen-minute runtime swings from thoughtful, quiet bass arpeggios against sparse guitar notes to titanic doom riffs, from funeral dirge tempos to double-time death marches. Sometimes quietly disturbing, sometimes manically depressive, variety in style and approach keeps Remorse of Conscience from ever being boring.

Remorse of Conscience remains compelling through its entirety because of Agenbite Misery’s greatest balancing act: blending immediacy within slow-burn constructions. Despite the thematic density derived from its source material, Remorse of Conscience opens with a simple rager in “Telemachean Echoes” and loads “Whatness of Allhorse” and “Circe” with hooky synth and guitar leads respectively, affording the album casual listening appeal. Then there are Agenbite Misery’s epics in “A Charitable View of Temporary Sanity” and “Mnesterophonia,” which eschew conventional song structure for slow, Isis-like post-metal waves and sludgy, noise-rock menace, easy to become lost in as a listener. Both modes keep the pacing of Remorse of Conscience fresh, and the mix of short songs (“Telemachean Echoes,” “The Twice-Charred Paths of Musing Disciples”) with longform ones further dispels any threat of monotony creeping in. Both song-wise and album-wide, Remorse of Conscience is not only a rich, thoughtful exploration of guilt and turmoil but a really, really fun record, too.

“What if it sucks?” What if, indeed. Having spent so much time with this record, my old concern of winding up disliking Remorse of Conscience was replaced with the new anxiety over whether I’d gas up Agenbite Misery and Sam too much and come off as committing inter-AMG favoritism. To combat that fear: “Whatness of Allhorse” and “Mnesterophonia” get a bit long in the tooth,³ “Bellwether and Swine” ends a bit anticlimactically and the drum kicks and snares could be much punchier overall. But this is water under the bridge for a great album defined by adventurous songcraft and deep atmospheres. Even if you’ve never read a word of Joyce’s Ulysses, Agenbite Misery and Remorse of Conscience is worth the effort. It’s a lot easier to finish than Ulysses, at the very least.

Rating: Great⁴
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps MP3
Label: Independent
Websites: agenbitemisery.com | agenbitemisery.bandcamp.com | ampwall.com/a/agenbitemisery
Releases Worldwide: February 6th, 2026

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In the first half of What Happened In Roundwood, Under establishes their own distinct style that sits nicely in conversation with their American contemporaries. The foundations of these songs are built on angular sludge riffs over looping odd time signatures and off-kilter rhythmic patterns, like if a more avant-garde Melvins crashed into a version of Swans that was capable of editing. Bassist and vocalist Matt Franklin anchors the music with simple but weighty low-end riffs, locking tightly with drummer Andy Preece’s commanding, hypnotic grooves. Guitarist Simon Mayo fills in the gaps with jagged riffs and layers of dissonant, skronk-heavy leads. Franklin lends a sneering, British rasp to the endeavor, guiding the songs with an impassioned vocal performance that successfully conveys the aural depravity on display. This formula is deepened with the addition of menacing choral vocals and harmonies (“Ma,” “The Alchemist”), swirling guitar cacophonies (“Tantrum), and even Primitive Man-tinged, slow noise bursts (“Isaac”). It’s an effective and thoroughly unsettling display with just enough variety in its execution to keep things exciting until the B-side obliterates any sense of normalcy.

In the second half of What Happens In Roundwood, Under undergo a dramatic sonic shift, and the results are thrilling. The final stretch of the album leans heavily into exploratory, avant-garde jazz-influenced territory, with the tracks flowing seamlessly into one another like a three-part suite. These songs stand out as the album’s clear highlights. The sequence begins with “Rings,” which unfolds in a state of subdued horror, slowly building tension through sparse instrumentation before reaching a blissful climax. This transitions smoothly into “Roots and Limbs,” a jazzy, post-hardcore-like track that increases the tempo and intensity, providing a sense of release after several slower songs. All of this builds toward the closer, “Felling.” The final track plays out like a fever dream, reprising key moments from earlier in the album and reshaping them into a chaotic haze of noise. When the music finally collapses into rich choral vocals, it feels like the calm at the center of a storm. A perfect ending to a bold and striking second half.

This places What Happens in Roundwood in a peculiar position. The second half of the record explores markedly different sonic territory than the first, and is stronger for it. Under’s more standard sound, showcased on the first five tracks, is engaging, but compared to the highs of the final three, it falls a little short. Repeated listens leave me wanting just a bit more grit or memorability in the more straightforward sludge riffcraft before it gives way to the more exploratory material. I appreciate the band’s efforts to vary their noise-rock/sludge approach through vocal layers/embellishments or a Southern tinge (“Escape Roundwood”), but I find myself largely whelmed by the opening salvo. This isn’t a major mark against the record; the album is solid throughout. Still, it keeps the work from standing quite as tall alongside some of my favorites in the style.

With What Happens In Roundwood, Under have delivered a solid sludgy noise rock record with plenty of autre appeal. I wish the impressive oddity were distributed a bit more evenly throughout the album’s runtime, but it’s still an enjoyable listen that carves out its own unique niche within the broader style. The next time the UK group revisits their brand of sinister sludge, I’ll be excited to listen.

Rating: Good!
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3
Label: APF Records
Websites: understockport.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/understockport
Releases Worldwide: January 23rd, 2026

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Each song on Bible Songs 2 adapts short Old and New Testament passages, turning some of the Bible’s darkest verses into miniature noise-rock payloads, modernizing the language and maximizing each piece’s impact with deranged noise-rock instrumentation. Foley’s acerbic spoken delivery covers verses about the vicious destruction and suffering of Jerusalem during the Babylonian siege (“Lamentations 4:7—11”), the condemnation of man by God for his failures (“Joshua 7:6—26”), and the ultimate biblical reckoning at the end of days (“Revelation 8:7—13”). Each line is spewed with a sort of sarcastic vitriol that at once recognizes the horror of its subject matter, while also poking fun at its absurdity. Individual lines alternate between exaggerated humor, ¹ and cosmic consequence. ² Through it all, Foley’s personality and keen sense of phrasing contribute to no shortage of incredibly memorable couplets that have stuck with me all year since I first heard them.

Bible Songs 2 features exclusively guitar, bass, and a drum machine, yet The Austerity Program uses this sparse palette to create expansive canvases that both excite and disturb. Calabrese’s bass provides the record’s most recognizable element, a chunky, mid-pushed growl reminiscent of imperial-era Ministry or The Jesus Lizard, forming the backbone of most songs alongside the band’s signature drum machine grooves. That drum machine feels uncanny in its force and precision, functioning less like traditional percussion and more like an inhuman engine driving each track forward. Foley’s guitar operates primarily as a shrill, siren-like effect, recontextualizing riffs, adding rhythmic accents, and pushing the music into the liminal space between noise and composition. These elements converge across six tracks built on hypnotic, repeating rhythms that expand and contract between subdued chaos and total aural devastation. “Judges 19:22—29” and “Luke 3:4—9” exemplify this, but there are also more even-tempered pieces like the bass-led “Joshua 7:6—26,” the slow-build of “Zephaniah 3:1—7,” or the sonic journey of “Lamentations 4:7—11.” This is all in preparation for the closer “Revelation 8:7—13,” whose urgent tremolo riffs, inhuman snare patterns, and final burst of dissonance convincingly soundtrack the end of days. ³

Bible Songs 2 is an absolute triumph of a record. It builds on the immense strengths The Austerity Program has demonstrated in the past and weaponizes their unique brand of unsettling noise rock for a set of timely compositions that showcase just how powerful the combination of music and a fully-realized subject matter can be. It’s one of my favorite records of the year, and I’ll be quoting notable lines and blasting it for years to come.

Tracks to Check Out: “Lamentations 4:7—11,” “Judges 19:22—29,” “Joshua 7:6—26,” “Revelation 8:7—13”

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While its openers serve to showcase Geese’s two extreme sides in explosively screamy noise rock (“Trinidad”¹) and bluesy pop-country (“Cobra”), the uncanniness of Getting Killed is much more nuanced. Beneath each guitar riff and yearning melody, just as much with its more jagged movements, is a dedication to deterioration. Most tracks begin with a solid funk groove or a predictable chord progression, an undercurrent of dissolution growing over the course of its three-to-six minutes. Unlike the improvised randomness so many artists claim as a reflection of group chemistry, Geese’s movements feel calculated to the minutest detail in the service of a parodied and uncanny version of rock music, such as maddeningly repetitive riffs (“Husbands,” “Islands of Man,” “100 Horses”), repetitive cliche lyrics drawled with irony and apathy (“Cobra,” “Half Real”), and splattered movements guided by heart and hate (“Trinidad,” “Getting Killed”).

The blend of tones that exist here is noteworthy, as the sunny country, groovy punk, and jagged noise movements feel anachronistic on paper yet somehow feel exactly what Geese ought to be doing. Noisier tracks move seamlessly into the more melodic and vice versa (the brooding “100 Horses” to the ethereal “Half Real”; the smooth ballad “Au Pays du Cocaine” to the chaotic and arrhythmic “Bow Down” and explosive “Taxes”), highlighting the intentionality behind the curtain of Getting Killed. Winter’s vocals are initially jarringly loud and off-kilter, but just as the twinkling quality that emerges from asynchronous guitar/piano noodles (“Getting Killed,” “Islands of Man”) or the brass emerges in short bursts like gusts of wind (“Trinidad,” “Husbands”), the drawling baritone stumbles upon vocal lines that get seared into the mind, catchy and seamless in their delivery – although initially feared lazy (“Cobra,” “Half Real,” “Long Island City Here I Come”). Geese, while embodying much more than just noise rock, nonetheless captures lightning in the bottle with its layers of intensity giving way to an uncanny catchiness.

Geese’s more intense moments recall the noise rock/post-punk misanthropy of White Suns or the quirky squonks of Black Midi, but its uncanny country twang recalls the clouded and colloquial conversations of Mark Z. Danielewski’s book Tom’s Crossing: yes, it’s a western, but a caricature of it with a bleak heart beating at its core. Geese embodies rock’s most extreme peripheries in a breed of music that is as alienating as it is catchy, unique and on-brand for a band whose caliber of sound feels uncanny, otherworldly, and delightfully apeshit. Sure, it ain’t metal, but Geese offers some of the most intriguing music of the year regardless.

Tracks to Check Out: “Trinidad,” “Cobra,” “Getting Killed,” “100 Horses,” “Long Island City Here I Come”²

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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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Row of Ashes delivers raw, suffocating intensity through guitarist Will Duffin’s low, harsh distortion, Dan Arrowsmith’s bruising rhythms and bassist/vocalist Chris Wilson’s striking shouts. The threesome excels at crafting intense crowd-movers with stomping, crushing finales like “Immortalist” and “Icon,” while also evidencing their aptitude for tension and release with ominous, somber post-hardcore interludes such as “Coda” and “Wake.” Wilson’s and Duffin’s guitar and bass seamlessly meld into a thick, impervious wall of hard-hitting riffs, often creating an oppressive, gnarly buzz that rattles in unison, driving Tide into Ruin’s grim atmosphere. Wilson’s delivery is fierce and confrontational—his versatile range jumping effortlessly between British punk (“Fracture”), Mike Patton-like shrieks (“Leveller”) and blood-curdling hardcore screams (“Icon,” “Tide”), tearing through Row of Ashes’ heavy instrumental underbelly. Despite some mixed songwriting, Row of Ashes lets loose a surprisingly immense and pulverizing sound that defies their lean lineup.

Centered around Wilson and Duffin’s deep, sludgy distortion, Row of Ashes skillfully imbues Tide into Ruin with dynamic contrast, shifting between pummeling riffs and dissonant bursts, punctuated by softer, mournful interludes. The peaks and valleys of “Immortalist” and “Tide” demonstrate this with tender, forlorn passages squeezed between mammoth, plodding breakdowns. “Leveller’s” and “Icon’s” swarming guitar lines, sprayed with shoegaze-tinged high dissonance ebb and flow effortlessly, opposing crushing heaviness with momentary breaths that fuel the album’s brooding mood. Showcasing Row of Ashes’ more experimental side, “Imber’s” quirky beginning—featuring frantic guitar rises and feedback squeals—aptly conveys its anxiety through chaos before an eventual bone-crushingly heavy close. While the payoff takes a bit too long to arrive—even though Tide into Ruin’s stronger tracks feel too brief at times—this experimental flavor helps prevent the album from becoming a repetitive sludge-fest, pushing Row of Ashes’ sound beyond Bleaching Heat’s more straightforward style.

At the same time, this more experimental side also leads Row of Ashes astray. Interlude “Lille’s” ambient serenity and French spoken word is just short enough to work after the record’s strong first half, but “Wake” fares less successfully. Its length, repetition and close to forty-five seconds of nothing but feedback thwart its attempt to build pressure—alternating between quiet, eerie arpeggiated sections and heavier, distorted parts (including “Lille’s” spoken word). This same issue reappears later with “Coda.” The track’s somber, clean guitar notes and harmonics, coupled with Arrowsmith’s delicate cymbal work, create a foreboding and somber atmosphere that would have made for a much better closer if not for three minutes of cavernous ambient noises and static, rendering that portion of the song skippable. While interludes like these can be beneficial in a live setting, their inclusion here detracts from Tide into Ruin’s strength and cohesion, leading to more frustration than anything else.

Though the songwriting occasionally detracts from an otherwise solid effort, Tide into Ruin still contains some of Row of Ashes’ most potent material to date. And its relentless intensity—fueled by crushing riffs, fierce vocals, and raw energy—is amplified by a lively, organic mix that conveys the band’s vision. Row of Ashes’ affinity for crafting dynamic, atmospheric post-hardcore is sure to appeal to a wide range of fans, and the stage is set for them to realize their considerable potential. With continued refinement, Row of Ashes is poised to fully break through—building on their momentum and paving the way for a future brimming with possibility.

Rating: Mixed
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Road to Masochist
Websites: rowofashes.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/RowofAshesband | instagram.com/rowofashesband
Releases Worldwide: June 13th, 2025

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Noise rock n00bs

Bacon Wagon in 2025 sounds like an early-aughts garage band trying its best to channel the raucous, late-80s, early-90s-era milieu dominated by Steve Albini projects and the Am Rep roster. Whipped up with equal parts Hammerhead flour, Melvins sugar, Butthole Surfers butter, and Black Flag eggs, baked, then paired with a cold glass of Cows milk, Trauma Cake is a rowdy period piece reflective of its ingredients. Album opener “Tar Salad,” with its screechy, feedback-as-riff intro that gives way to a chest-beating rocker that serves as an aperitif, foreshadowing much of what Trauma Cake has to offer. Marcus Kinberg’s guitars, awash in reverb and fuzz, sans any stoner entanglements, bounce around with Kristoffer’s punk-bully bass lines with loads of King Buzzo-like, grunge-sludgy goo (“Lady Cramps,” “Honey! (I’m Home),” “Bear of a Man”). Johansson pounds the skins with Crover-Grohl power, beating both on and off-tempo beats while keeping things in line. Brothers Kinberg share the mic and steep the Bacon Wagon vocal blitz in loads of sarcastically pompous smarm and snarkumstance. Bacon Wagon keeps its tongue firmly cheeked with an immature attitude that conjures some fun moments, but I’m just not convinced 2025 is the most relevant time for Trauma Cake.

Dumb in a way that doesn’t necessarily mean bad; there’s nothing Bacon Wagon does on Trauma Cake that will have you diving deep into the recesses of your psyche looking for answers. Low-brow and unthought-provoking tracks pulse with punky, chunky energy (“A Voodoo That Actually Works,” “I-Beam”) and lurch about like drunken college students after too many cheap keg beers. Bacon Wagon plays music perfect for sweaty basement venues shrouded in clouds of cigarette smoke, besotted with puddles full of piss and solo-cup spillage. With little in the way of innovation, it’s as though Bacon Wagon recorded Trauma Cake in a time capsule, keeping any modernity at arm’s length while embracing a musical period in time that did not need a retro movement, thereby tapping into a mysterious, underground zeitgeist, like some pre-Sub Pop Nirvana demo.

While the grungier side of Trauma Cake mostly works, the noisy parts detract and, in some cases, are just downright annoying. The biggest offender, “Love Blister,” is as painful to listen to as it would be to pop. With its slow plod of overly fuzzed bass work, Kinberg-squared’s vocals are cartoonishly swoopy and out of tune, as are most of the guitar chords and leads, which screech along before the song ends in a grinding, sustained vocal that recalls Jim Carey’s ‘most annoying sound in the world’ from Dumb and Dumber. And while Trauma Cake only clocks in at a lean thirty-three minutes, by the time “I-Beam” squeals to a close, giving over to the shrieky feedback of “Brown Gravy,” it feels like you’ve spent a lot more time with Bacon Wagon than you have. Lacking any real dynamic detours, the constant and deliberate songwriting approach and execution cause ear fatigue to set in, further blurring the lines of what Trauma Cake is doing into a fuzzy slog.

Better served had it been released in the early 2000s, Trauma Cake is an excellent example of too little, too late. Bacon Wagon‘s wheels have been rolling in the same direction since 2003, and while they aren’t a bad band, they’re just not bringing anything original or exciting to the table. Fans of the mentioned bands will get some enjoyment from Bacon Wagon. But for a genre and era of music that has yet to experience a renaissance, Trauma Cake will not be the record to revitalize it.

Rating: 2.5/5.0
DR: 9 | Format Reviewed: 320kbps mp3
Label: Reptile Records
Website: Bandcamp
Releases Worldwide: June 6th, 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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With short-form, snakey Quicksand grooves and a ‘tude set to Courtney Love covering Facelift,² Tonguecutter certainly thinks their debut splash serves more than just an upstart homage. Though not quite the polyrhythmic doom-lurch of Confessor or the demented grunge-sludge of Acid Bath, Minnow stirs in waters informed by the same ideas of stuttering low-end grooves and sassy, alt-coded diatribes. With punky odes to bodily autonomy (“Big Ol’ Tree”) and tongue-out anthems to perseverance (“Do You Play Leads, “Bitch Ass Energy”), it’s clear that Tonguecutter prizes the clarity of a sneering message over a technically indulgent plot. And though a little time signature trickery adds a jaunty bounce to many a number, Minnow never feels caught in the weeds of calculus-minded sleights of riff.

However, Tonguecutter holds tight the importance of narrative without searching for diversity in play, ringing stale in a tale as old as punk. For most of the intros, at least, Tonguecutter finds a strong enough footing to churn a wanting pit, with fervent d-beat runs (“Dust Collector,” “Big Ol’ Tree”) and bellowing floor tom struts (“Do You Play Leads,” “Antipode”) following a hefty bass pulse to curled and cawing choruses. But in many scenarios, these repetition-anchored refrains die on the vine of a bridge that does little to flip the riff in an interesting way. Neither embracing the brutality of a hardcore breakdown nor wankery of a metallic shredfest,³ just about every track comes to a tepid—if fun in spirit—cross of the finish that leaves Minnow feeling brief in an unfulfilling manner.

In part, and with some success, Tonguecutter does look to create a rich tonal tapestry to accentuate their low-frills attack. In sludgey and noisy waters, like those you might hear in a driving Thou or swinging Couch Slut piece, leaning on amp booming or mic frying tone hammers sits integral to the music’s intensity. Minnow may not stir quite in that stream, humming about more of a Petrol Girls lean fighting aura, but a rattling bass (“Urgency,” “Do You Play Leads) and a bluesy guitar crush (“Bitch Ass Energy,” “Yarn Horse”) take center stage alongside Chantal Roeske’s defiant tirades at the album’s finest bursts. Again, though, an adherence to the simple groove of each number keeps any one track from escaping the “now playing” screen into my wanting memory. Well, except for the guest flute solo on “RATAP,” anyway—you can take the boy out of prog but not the prog out of the boy.⁴

When I encounter acts like Tonguecutter, acts who promise brutal brevity and math-timed malediction, I hope to be tossed around with frightening and enlightening precision. The world can be a deeply frustrating place, and I want to get close to feeling the passion stowed away in vocalist Roeske’s pen—this gal’s got heart and riffs. Yet, Minnow, for as exacting as its efforts ring, skirts around these mission statements with a timid toeing about their extreme nature. And while it’s true that Tonguecutter hasn’t set out to become a new darling of dissobros lurking about the niche realms of inaccessible metal strongholds, whatever comes after Minnow will have to swim a little bigger with abrasiveness or catchiness to find where it does belong in the modern scene.

Rating: 2.5/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Learning Curve Records
Websites: tonguecutter.com | tonguecutter.bandcamp.com
Releases Worldwide: May 8th, 2025

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I was shocked when my helmet light sputtered out while spelunking some of the sump pit’s darker, less-traveled caverns recently. As I waited for my eyes to adjust to the gloom, I noticed something bright and pink glimmering in a recess of mossy rock. That ‘something’ was

Meatwound generally plays a form of hardcore-tinged, boisterously dissonant noise-rock that, on Macho specifically, is combined with some electronic industrialism. Once best described as a mix of The Jesus Lizard and Sepultura, Meatwound themselves aren’t sure what they sound like these days and are content, even amused, to hear what bands the critics and fans compare them to. For my money, think what a collaboration between Unsane, Whores., and Godflesh might sound like, and you’d be in the ballpark here. The core of Meatwound‘s sound remains rooted in Mariano Iglesias’ driving, punky bass lines coalescing with the dissonantly noisy chords and riffs of Ari Barros’ garage-band-on-GHB guitar work, and there’s plenty of both on Macho (“Mount Vermin,” “Europa”). But there are also pulse-pounding synth beats, percussive samples, and some power electronics (“Barking Dogs As Plot Device”) at play that, when added to the mighty, hardcore-esque roars of Daniel Wallace and the steady-handed pounding of new drummer Dimitri Stoyanov, make it tough to beat Meatwound for blunt-force trauma. Interestingly, the hybrid tracks on Macho, molding the old ways with the new approach, are most compelling.

Building off Culero‘s experimental track “Elders,” Macho‘s expansion into the industrial reflects a Meatwound that’s doing what they want, listeners be damned. Album opener “Compressed Hell” introduces us to Meatwound‘s hybrid experiment right out of the gate, as it builds off of pulsing synths with layers of stick-snapping tom beats and Dan’s screaming snarls before transitioning into full Meatwound mode, a cacophonous swirl of noisy riffs, drums, and punchy bass. Similarly constructed and even more effective is the album highlight “Frank Stallone.” A most Godfleshic track that starts with deeply ominous synth tones, delicately percussive samples, and Dan’s aggressive, vacuous shouts before blowing up like a trailer park meth lab in explosions of beasty bass, swirling dissonance, and dentist-drill guitar shrieks; a perfect example of how Meatwound can successfully mix the two elements like mad chemists, yet not all the elixirs worked.

Two and a half minutes of Macho‘s preciously short thirty-three-minute runtime don’t land, tipping the experimental scales too far. “Barking Dog As Plot Device” is two minutes of a statically constant, power-industrial noise tone accentuated with periodic, heartbeat-like, bassy synth beats underneath Dan’s wailing hardcore shouts. The track seemed out of place and distracting but not as off-putting or momentum-disrupting as the thirty-one-second “Chunk”² which, as far as I can tell, is either some random field recording or otherwise meaningless electronically created bit. Produced by Ryan Boesch, who also owns and operates freshly launched label partner Threat Collection Records, Macho is loud. However, the mix and master fits Meatwound‘s style and harnesses their chaotic energy effectively.

Made up of former members of acts like Combatwoundedveteran, The Holy Mountain, and Headless Dogs, Meatwound has spent the better part of a decade carving their niche into the metalverse. By and large, and in exponential fashion, they’ve succeeded. With no real expectations, I was pleasantly surprised by Meatwound’s Macho, and aside from a couple of minor missteps, it works. It’s worth a listen, and, if nothing else, Macho‘s hot-pink aesthetic might help guide you out of any unexpected darkness you might find yourself in.

Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320kbps mp3
Label: Threat Collection Records
Websites: Bandcamp | Meatwound.com
Releases Worldwide: May 9th, 2025

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