A warped amalgamation of prog and avant-garde ambition, Fleshvessel occupies the most outer rim of death metal. As on 2023’s Yearning: Promethean Fates Sealed, Fleshvessel ranges far and wide for their vision. To realize Obstinacy: Sisyphean Dreams Unfolded, Fleshvessel calls upon over 20 instruments,² cinematic and literary samples,³ and at least ten different musical styles.⁴ This dizzying array of instruments and influences allows Fleshvessel to create a unique kind of concept album. Rather than telling a single story among several songs, Obstinacy functions as an anthology, each track a vibrant and unique vignette. Even though “Am,” for instance, has a distinctly cyberpunk feel compared to the epic, symphonic bent of “It Lurched from a Chasm in the Sky,” all four songs still orbit the same Sisyphean motif.

Fleshvessel’s ability to beat this chaotic mixture into submission is impressive, to say the least. Each instrument, each musical passage blends and bleeds together with a compositionally brilliant hand. It may not always be subtle, pleasant, or intuitive, but there is an undeniable and masterful flow to Obstinacy. The frenetic death metal that opens “Mental Myiasis” quickly lays down in a cosmic mire, where a guitar solo, spiraling into a tortured register, transforms into synths so subtly that I often missed the transition. Later in the same song, a beautiful, symphonic passage smoothly whips up into psychotic synths, death metal, and a deranged, “Flight of the Bumblebee”-esque piano before ultimately concluding on a bluesy guitar solo served hard-boiled. A mid-song synthwave melody in “Am” heralds the coming guitar riff, while operatic vocals help smooth over the transition and maintain the song’s cybernetic atmosphere. After listening to Obstinacy, I don’t think there’s anything Fleshvessel couldn’t fluidly incorporate into their sound.

Twelve criticized the programmed drums and pacing issues on Yearning, but neither concern is present here. Unfortunately, Obstinacy’s got its own shortcomings. While Fleshvessel’s songcraft is architecturally astounding, that doesn’t necessarily make it enjoyable. “Cessation Fixation” features a bass solo like a Seinfeld transition and some noir ambience reminiscent of Final Fantasy VII, while “It Lurched from a Chasm in the Sky” houses some groovy space jazz and a Middle Eastern percussion solo.⁵ It all fits together from a technical perspective, but such experimental infusions often strain the limits of agreeability. Fleshvessel also introduces a new “heavy metal falsetto” vocal style that feels almost parodic. It’s objectively and intentionally bad. I am quite certain that it’s integral to Fleshvessel’s vision, but to these ears, it’s a bizarre and grating performance. As Mrs Forrest would euphemistically say, “it’s certainly a choice.”

Fleshvessel is unquestionably comprised of exceptional musicians and composers. Lesser hands could never weave such a vast and varied tapestry as Obstinacy: Sisyphean Dreams Unfolded. Gnarly time signatures and polyrhythmic instrumentation smash and stitch together what should be mutually exclusive elements in a beautifully disfigured testament to the human experience. But technically masterful though Obstinacy is, the scope and prevalence of its experimentation greatly hamper its subjective, emotional, or euphonic accessibility. Ultimately, Obstinacy feels like a proof of concept, showcasing the furthest reaches of possibility. Die-hard prog fans and those with a passion for music theory may get more mileage out of Obstinacy: Sisyphean Dreams Unfolded, but for most, this will reinforce that just because you can, doesn’t mean you should.

Rating: 2.5/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 256 kbps mp3
Label: I, Voidhanger Records
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook | Instagram
Releases Worldwide: December 12th, 2025

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With Death Obvious, you can pick out distinct moments of black, death and doom metal bubbling to the surface of Death Obvious’ style-soup. Death Obvious is sworn chiefly to the blackened arts, communicating primarily through Lavey’s hideous rasps and Sioux’s tremolo riffs and blast beats, with second-wave inspired ragers “The Third Eye Burning” and “Mercury Off Axis” making no bones about their caustic, reverb-heavy attack. Death and doom are the more secondary sounds of Death Obvious, with death appearing on the chunkier, mid-paced moments of songs like “Sanctuario” and doom manifesting into spacier, drawn-out passages like the start of “The Great Gate Theory,” which put me in mind, surprisingly, of Khemmis’ Hunted. When Death Obvious’ songwriting clicks, like on album highlight “Sanctuario” or portions of closer “Catechismus for the Plagued,” sounds really do hurtle in exciting, dangerous manners that makes Death Obvious a killer listen.

Most of Death Obvious is indistinct, however, due to Death Obvious’ directionless songwriting and murky production. Death Obvious relishes in dissonance both clean (“Total Heavenly Desolation”) and dirty (“Suffer the Spectacle”). But instead of building tension or suspense, Death Obvious creates tedium through dissonance, leading to neither release nor deeper discomfort but to a monotonous drone of black metal murk. This is exacerbated by Sioux’s guitar tone, which in Death Obvious’ faster moments can sound like a totally nebulous melange of reverb. To their credit, Death Obvious’ bass-forward mixing helps mitigate this somewhat, providing plucky, crunchy bass riffs like on “The Great Gate Theory.” It does nothing, however, for the busy, opaque mix that, damn the DR score, sounds boxed-in and flat. Death Obvious’ noise problem is encapsulated right off with “Mercury Off Axis,” opening with an excruciating, high-pitched drill sound that puts me in mind of the dentist and carries on well past its intro. It’s not pleasant, Obviously the point, but it’s not interesting either.

Death Obvious falters because Death Obvious simply doesn’t bring enough to the table. Not only is structure neglected on Death Obvious, but individual songs largely have little going for them beyond the black metal basics; over-repetition is chronic on tracks like “As Absence Expands over Everything,” and monotony abounds because of it. Beyond rare instances of effective piano and non-dental sound effects, Death Obvious blurs together in limited patterns played ad nauseam, making it an effort for the listener to stay focused throughout. Like how Death Obvious’ style issues were made plain by its opener, its songwriting woes are exemplified by its eight-minute closer, “Catechismus for the Plagued.” Half of “Catechismus…” anyway: the half that is one (1) riff, two (2) chords sharing one (1) root note hammered on and off at straight eighth notes with zero variation in dynamics or accent.³ The other half with creepy keys and an otherworldly soundscape shows what Death Obvious can be when playing inspired material. The one riff is what Death Obvious mostly offers: after a while, it doesn’t really sound like anything.

Death Obvious embodies the obtuse nature of avant-garde music with little of the adventurousness of its best practitioners. Instead of sounding unbound, it feels as though Death Obvious let the songs get away from them. I’m not sure if Death Obvious needs more editing, further drafting or both, but as is I can hardly pay attention for the entirety of one listen through. Death Obvious are a talented duo, and I believe they’ll have better material down the line, as moments throughout their debut hint at better things to come. However, not only did I not go goo-goo over Death Obvious, but I’m sure I won’t be returning to it much at all.

Rating: Bad
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps MP3
Label: Transcending Obscurity Records
Websites: deathobvious.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/DeathObvious
Releases Worldwide: December 5th, 2025

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While the premise of a 48-minute funeral doom song brings to mind other ambitious projects from Bell Witch and Oak, Doubtsower’s The Past Melts Away with a Sneer turns out to be one weird beast. Doubtsower isn’t exactly a funeral doom band, but an experimental doom band. Strangis keeps his one song’s tempo slow—funeral doom slow—yet it has much more in common with the avant-garde music of John Cage than My Dying Bride or Esoteric. It makes use of syncopated riffs that cut short and disorient listeners, as well as some unusual noises, such as static scratches and the clicking and rattling of ratchets. “The Past Melts Away with a Sneer” also makes use of silences, though they’re not as lengthy as “4’33,” largely as a transitional tool. This use of odd sounds, silent moments, and suspenseful repetitions of short riffs creates an unsettling mood early on, and with the mix of sludge, I couldn’t help but think of experimental sludge/horror/doom outfit When the Deadbolt Breaks.

Over the course of its 48 minutes, The Past Melts Away with a Sneer is an ever-shifting amalgamation of styles, an amorphic blob that somehow holds everything together as a cohesive whole. Sounds often shift minute-by-minute despite the glacial pacing. While the early goings have the John Cage thing going, at the 8-minute mark, the track breaks out into the one segment that sounds like traditional funeral doom, with plodding drum beats, crushing guitars, and a low, harsh growl. Yet just as you think this is the direction it’s going, the song goes silent and then shifts into a new form. The extensive use of silence and light droning makes the sudden bursts of energy peppered throughout all the more striking. About 20 minutes in, “The Past Melts Away with a Sneer” morphs into industrial dance, snapping you awake and commanding your body to move. The song morphs yet again, this time into something hopeful and poppy, with light, Weezer-like strums. However, even this segment doesn’t last long, and somehow Strangis is able to convince us that these disparate sounds all form one coherent tune.

It’s pretty impressive how “The Past Melts Away with a Sneer” is able to remain engaging for its entire run, but some moments of repetition do derail portions of the track. This is most egregious at 29 minutes as Doubtsower transitions into a lengthy portion of sludge/doom. Throughout this approximately eight-minute segment, there’s a consistent, repetitive riff that grows tiresome over time. Still, the song rights itself for the finale with the return of a catchy piano/synth melody from the beginning. As this melody begins to fade into silence and lulls you into a sense of closure, the track gains a second wind and hurls forth an energetic set of industrial riffs and blast beats. There’s an unpredictability that catches you off guard and keeps the record fresh.

If the album I described above sounds like a nightmare, that’s the whole point. It’s meant to be a “disorienting descent into a nihilistic free-for-all,” and Strangis succeeds in making that vision come to fruition. It may not always be easy listening, but it’s rarely boring. Having spent some time with the prior Doubtsower records, this one stands out as Strangis’s most engaging and best-written. The Past Melts Away with a Sneer has caused me to question my usually negative relationship with experimental metal. It has left me feeling disoriented, but in a good way, and it’s an experience that I recommend for the curious and lovers of the weird.

Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: WAV
Label: Self-Release
Website: Bandcamp
Releases Worldwide: November 28th, 2025

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Igorrr

Initially sole member Serre has been at this for twenty years, and the evolution of the sound from his early work with Whourkr and demos to now shows this range. The breakcore freakouts of Igorrr’s early albums Nostril and Hallelujah were pure sugar for the brain, the bizarre sounds and novelty the emphasis in their fusion of chaotic breakcore, trip-hop, baroque, death metal, and black metal. In this evolution, Amen feels like a meat-and-potatoes record, a gradual growth since the full band experience of 2017’s Savage Sinusoid that incorporates grandiosity, gravity, and insanity in ways only Igorrr can. The act recorded Amen with a full choir, spotlighting more well-rounded performances warped by otherworldly synths and abstract effects – reverberating with riffs at its core. It’s a reaffirmation of Serre’s genius/insanity and both a heaven of godly power and one hell of a good time.

For all its seriousness, Amen wouldn’t be an Igorrr record without some moments of absolute nonsense – and they’re dead center in the tracklist. While the instruments are immensely layered and it takes some serious ears and repeated listens to deconstruct the noise, some whacky moments swing in like a monkey in a pope hat to steal your banana split and rub its junk in your face. From the blackened blastbeats, classical choirs, and random piano plonks (“Headbutt”)¹ fist fights of death metal, surf rock, and oriental music (“Blastbeat Falafel”), straight-up short-form grind (“2020”), some off-key recorders atop death metal takedowns and breakcore glitching (“Mustard Mucous”), and random electronic farts morphing into wonky rhythms, classical overlays, and full-body assaults (“ADHD”), Igorrr as a full-band unit is committed to the insanity. Vocalists J.B. Le Bail (formerly of Svart Crown) and Marthe Alexandre offer death/black metal range and operatic/mournful drama respectively, while guitarist Martyn Clément (also of HAH) and drummer Remi Serafino (formerly of Ecr.Linf) add a vicious metallic bite that expertly balances silliness, groove, and even reverence. The revolving door of contributors, veterans from Soulfly, Anthrax, and Mr. Bungle, are equally bought into the schtick, making Amen feel surprisingly cohesive.

While hinted at in Spirituality and Distortion and Hallelujah, the liturgical and religious elements of Amen add a darker and more serious tone to and alongside Igorrr’s trademark. These tracks are enhanced by robust and haunting choral arrangements, strings, Arabic microtonal scales, and sharp complex percussion, although central motifs help immensely in establishing what to expect. Riffy death metal beatdowns warped by electronic effects (“Daemoni,” “Mustard Mucous”), haunting lilting vocals atop plodding beats (“Limbo,” “Ancient Sun”), and unhinged vocal attacks (“Infestis,” “Pure Disproportionate Black and White Nihilism”) add darkness and liturgy to the band’s sound. Ascending to the heavens with epic choirs and hinting at mystery with its more enigmatic melodic templates, one certainly unique approach that Igorrr employs is letting the baroque and classical elements breathe rather than Serre being quick to warp them or distort them with effects (highlight “Silence”). This makes the album feel much more organic and significant – nearly a meditation.

Amen is Igorrr firing on all cylinders in its full-band capacity. Death metal vocals, operatic laments, choirs, strings, metallic riffs, and manic drumming fed through the machine of Serre’s electronics has never felt so cohesive in its interpretation of religious and baroque viciousness. Yes, the silliest songs are smack-dab in the middle of the album in quick succession (aside from “Headbutt”), which can feel like a distraction from the more serious bookends, and Igorrr’s music can be alienating at its core. However, Amen is a reaffirmation of the project’s batshit and fun-loving genius as well as a new step forward: haunting, brutal, and otherworldly in a way that we can take seriously.

Rating: 4.0/5.0
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3
Label: Metal Blade Records
Websites: igorrr.bandcamp.com | igorrr.com | facebook.com/IgorrrBarrroque
Releases Worldwide: September 19th, 2025

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When the Deadbolt Breaks

To achieve their core sludge/doom sound, When the Deadbolt Breaks uses fuzzy, trudging guitars and plodding drums. Expect long, drawn-out guitar riffs played at the speed of funeral doom, a la Godthrymm. Aaron Lewis mixes it up, however, by occasionally plucking in a manner reminiscent of Dolven’s acoustic doom or speeding things up with frantic tremolos. The ghostly chanting of Amber Leigh achieves a haunting beauty; she sounds eerily serene as she sings about the coming of death in “The Scythe Will Come.” In The Glow of the Vatican Fire isn’t just another slow, plodding doom record, however. It features lots of tempo shifts. The follow-up to the slower-paced, gentler opening track is a frenzied, chaotic “Deus Vault,” which turns up the dial on the noise and features frenetic drumming from Rob Birkbeck. These tempo shifts are common within songs, switching from breakneck speed to turtle crawl, enhancing their narrative and emotional effects.

In the Glow of the Vatican Fire creates a variety of moods, ranging from hopeful to manic to depressed, thanks to the varied vocal performances of Lewis and Leigh. On “The Deep Well,” the two alternate singing parts, Leigh crooning with a lilting, plaintive voice, while Lewis sounds more pained as he warbles about struggles with depression. Instrumentation is also key in developing mood. When the Deadbolt Breaks frequently builds tension through the use of riffs and drumming that grow in intensity over time, with the tension released in a manic frenzy. Lewis adds to the terror of these instrumental outbursts with menacing, violent growls (“The Deep Well”). Not all choices work equally well. Some songs feature vocal texturing that’s meant, perhaps, to be jarring (“The Scythe Will Come,” “Burning Zozobro”), but it instead serves as a distraction from the story, the same way bad CGI can ruin a movie.

Whenever an album surpasses the hour mark, it can be difficult to justify all of the choices that go into the songwriting. In the Glow of the Vatican Fire consists of eight tracks, half of them over ten minutes long. I enjoyed the long-form songs a little more than the shorter ones because Lewis and company prove to be effective storytellers. However, there are questionable choices made in the name of experimentation. Take “The Chaos of Water” as an example. This tune has some of my favorite and least favorite moments on the record. The opening, thrashy two minutes are tons of fun, and the final four minutes feature Leigh’s best singing. However, the middle portion slows to a crawl while a robotic voice gives a speech over a single, slow riff strumming repeatedly. It kills the narrative on what was otherwise a very compelling song. Sometimes When the Deadbolt Breaks does too much where simpler would be more effective.

I realize that an hour-long sludge record is the true horror for many metal fans. Yet When the Deadbolt Breaks have composed a well-written album that’s worth spending a few hours with. Based on my overview of prior records, In the Glow of the Vatican Fire is also their best. The presence of Leigh is a massive boon. But it’s also clear that Lewis has improved his songwriting acumen. True, he has some work to do in the editing department, but for the most part, the 10+ minute songs earn every second. He proves to be a master of the slow build, and if you have patience, you’ll find the payoff to be rewarding. I hope When the Deadbolt Breaks can return with all members intact and a wiser Lewis penning his tales of existential horror.

Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: 5 | Format Reviewed: 320kbps mp3
Label: Argonauta Records
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: June 27th, 2025

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Southern Progress embodies a rhizomic system of inspirations and influences that, when harnessed by Flummox’s wacky brains, emerges from the soil as something wholly unique in style, sound, and intent. My best attempt to contextualize this material would involve names from the progsphere like Fair to Midland, Native Construct, Pink Floyd, early Queen, and Mike Patton; purveyors of the extreme such as Strapping Young Lad and Slugdge; avant-garde touchstones like Mr. Bungle, Igorrr, and Diablo Swing Orchestra; genre-jumpers such as King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard; and even cinematic composers like Danny Elfman and Hans Zimmer.¹ Ultimately, though, there is no comfortable comparison. Flummox are a singular entity of weird, wild, theatrical metal capable of nailing every bizarre idea they throw at me, such that in less than a week, I had a majority portion of Southern Progress’ 57-minute runtime pinned to my psyche. All the while, its candid exposition of the queer and genderfluid experience in the Bible Belt (“Southern Progress”) struck a chord so rarely plucked by music on this sphere, and its inspired exploration of the neurodivergent experience as one of its parallel plot lines (“Executive Dysfunction”) gave me an easy avenue to resonate even more deeply with its voice.

The tricky reality of Southern Progress is that 750 words is woefully insufficient to encompass all that Flummox achieves, but its primary triumph is in universal songwriting excellence. Music like this marks a once-in-a-blue-moon occasion—and an ambitious undertaking—but Flummox makes it look effortless as they balance the beauty of melodious, theatrical compositions with the livid, frothing rabidity of searing, off-kilter riffs, thunderous rhythms, and revolutionary attitude (“Southern Progress,” “Femto’s Theme,” “Long Pork,” “Executive Dysfunction”). While these elements are familiar to anyone with experience in the metalverse, their twisted forms instead leave a vivid impression of something altogether more eccentric and uncanny (“Southern Progress,” “Nesting Doll,” “Locust Eater,” “Coyote Gospel”). Well-defined structures and concrete themes play their part in making sure these warped representations stick. Presenting every unhinged idea, cynical line, and explosive outburst inside a digestible package makes Southern Progress somehow even stranger and more enthralling for its deceiving accessibility (“What We’re In For…,” “Always Something Going Down,” “Siren Shock,” “Flumlindalë”).

In spite of its unquestionable adoption of metallic methods, Southern Progress is an intensely theatrical affair unfit for the genrephobic, but is nonetheless something everyone should experience at least once. Challenging in a different way than Imperial Triumphant or other known creators of what certain pundits call “not music,” Flummox is similarly fearless in their exploration of style and technique, and equally meticulous in application and execution. To that end, Southern Progress’ music is mutated and maniacal, but grounded through several root elements: emotional depth, societal awareness, thoughtful critiques, and artistic integrity. More than just a vehicle for that cogent societal commentary, the potent passion that each member of Flummox hemorrhaged into Southern Progress is unmatched by all except the unfuckwithable technical quality of their writing and performances. The fact that this intangible factor boasts such strong presence inside of, and coalesces so harmoniously with, the tangible product proves that Flummox’s dedication, attention to detail, and intentional artistry contributes meaningful substance and significance not just to Southern Progress on its own, but also to the greater body of metal as we know it today.

It is for this reason that Flummox’s Southern Progress isn’t just an excellent album, but also an important one. Aside from its high artistic merit, Southern Progress is a timely and fierce challenge against the dehumanization of queer, gender-nonconforming, and even neurodivergent communities across the American South—and, by extension, the country—especially by organized religious (read: Christian) entities. But it’s also a celebration, a triumphant expression of pride and love and resilience that only comes from openly and unashamedly discovering, struggling with, and ultimately embodying all that you are in spirit, body, and mind. Everyone deserves to know this feeling without fear of stigmatization, fetishization, violence, or isolation. Southern Progress is an unorthodox and fun, but wildly effective, advocate for that cause.

Rating: Excellent!²
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3
Label: Needlejuice Records
Websites: flummoxed.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/flummoxband
Releases Worldwide: April 11th, 2025

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Talking to Grymm about An Empire, he said, in that way he has of cutting straight to the core of things, that it’s “incredible how gorgeous it is.” He’s not wrong and, to be honest, I could have left this write-up of A Swarm of the Sun’s latest symphony of depression there. But, perhaps, I should attempt a long-form descriptor of why it’s so gorgeous. As with all previous outputs from Jakob Berglund and Erik Nilsson, the record feels like a single living composition, that moves, flows, and breathes. So, while it technically comprises six tracks, there was really no point in subdividing it, other than to label different movements within the whole. An Empire is not a record you pick a favorite track from to add to a playlist. The movements, spread over 71 minutes, range from sparse, haunting fare (“This Will End in Fire”) to heavier, post-doom (parts of “The Pyre”) and even mesmeric drone (title track). But separating it into its constituent elements somehow diminishes the album, while also failing to convey what it is.

As A Swarm of the Sun wend their way through An Empire, they build layer upon sunless layer. Speaking about the album, the band said that one early direction, when writing it, was to develop the album’s instrumentation purely in terms of texture, and you can hear that. As the instrumentation—which includes everything from guitars, piano, and a variety of organs, through to synths, harmonium, musical saw, and trombone—develops, the textures are so rich, even in the album’s starkest moments, that you can almost bite into them. Consistent across the piece is Berglund’s distinctive crooning, which has a fragile, reedy, Billy Corgan-like (Smashing Pumpkins) quality, but one which is always threatening to crack with emotional strain. For the most part, this is set to stripped-back, ponderous keys, delicately plucked strings, and minimalist percussion falling somewhere between drone and the most post of post-metal.

However, while Berglund’s voice feels like a thread to clasp hold of across An Empire, there are extended instrumental passages to A Swarm of the Sun’s sound, which feel every part as emotive. The heavier, doom-adjacent parts of 18-minute epic “The Pyre,” which are the closest thing to metal on An Empire, build for so long that you’re almost unaware of them, until they break over you like a wave. At which point it’s as though a valve has blown and all the pent-up pressure is released. Similarly, the rumbling drone, breathed into being by the dying gasp of a long sustained note from Berglund, which forms a chunk of the title track feels every bit as much a part of An Empire as the delicate keys that open “Heathen.” It would be easy to underestimate the songwriting skill and confidence that it takes to craft an album like An Empire. But its very simplicity is its haunting, despairing magic.

“It’s incredible how gorgeous it is.” – Grymm.

Tracks to Check Out: No, I’m not doing this, you’ll listen to the whole goddamn thing and you’ll bloody well cry like I did!¹

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While there is no paradigm shift in Five the Hierophant’s sound on Apeiron, there is a clear expansion of vision. Building on the model of Through Aureate Void, the foundation remains one of dark, sprawling atmospheres, pregnant with ambience and pent-up threat (“Tower of Silence I”). The backbone of Five the Hierophant’s sound is built around bass, guitar, drums, and other percussion, apeing the likes of BRIQUEVILLE to create a rich, textured post-metal soundscapes (title track). However, where some bands rely on a vocalist to punctuate and enhance their compositions, Five the Hierophant have Jon’s sax. Crooning, whispering, screaming, the sax commands the sound stage (“Uroboros”), just as it is allowed to do in places on White Ward’s albums also. However, not content to rest on its laurels, the band is ever-expanding its horizons, broadening the already extensive array of tools at their disposal to now include horns, trumpets, gongs, bells, violins, skull shakers, and more.

Apeiron is a Greek word meaning that which is unlimited or infinite. What Five the Hierophant do so well is to capture that sense of both scale and organic fluidity. The overarching drone and ambient elements feel boundless and vast, amplified as they are by not only the horns and violins (“Moon over Ziggurat” and the title track), but also the liberal use of effects (end of “Tower of Silence I” and closer, “Tower of Silence II”). The sax, as well as the trumpet and other adornments, then light up the inky void, sometimes flowing like quicksilver (“Moon over Ziggurat”), sometimes more challenging, insistent, even angry (the opening title track), occasionally recalling the freeform lines of Neptunian Maximalism or an instrumental Pan.Thy.Monium. Even as we slip into looser, more chaotic soundscapes (middle portion of “Initiatory Sickness”), the whole of Apeiron retains an identity and cohesion that does great credit to Five the Hierophant.

A cursory listen to Apeiron might suggest that Five the Hierophant has delivered a freeform creation, light on tangible structures. However, while this may be true using only traditional metal as your reference point, there is a model or blueprint for the material that runs through the record. Each track opens in languid mood and, even where there are threatening or forbidding overtones, the sound is delicate, restrained slow-burn. It then gradually builds towards something more powerful and cathartic, punctuated by chaotic forays along the way. Perhaps this basic mold is responsible for the cohesive feel of Apeiron. However, it also means that, after a few listens, you start to lose the sense of indefinite exploration and feel instead like you are on a moist, well-trodden, slightly predictable path. That said, despite only being four minutes shorter than Through Aureate Void, the material on Apeiron feels significantly tighter and less meandering, with the sole (and unfortunate) exception of “Tower of Silence II.” This was, sadly, entirely the wrong five minutes with which to close the album. If only Five the Hierophant had stopped at the end of “Uroboros” (or, I suppose, swapped the two tracks), this could have been a far superior experience. As it is, Apeiron finishes on a disappointing siding, rather than a triumphant main line.

The production on Apeiron is a significant step up from previous albums. Rich and dynamic, it imbues Five the Hierophant’s sound with genuine power, while the master allows the legion of constituent elements sufficient breathing room. Indeed, it’s not just the production, but also the songwriting that represents a significant step up. Where Through Aureate Void meandered aimlessly, Apeiron feels like a journey, albeit with diversions and detours en route. If Five the Hierophant can now finetune their process to maintain the feel they’ve imbued Apeiron with, while slightly reducing the structural predictability, their next record will be truly masterful.

Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3
Label: Agonia Records
Websites: five-the-hierophant.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/fivethehierophant
Releases Worldwide: October 18th, 2024

The post Five the Hierophant – Apeiron Review appeared first on Angry Metal Guy.

IIII is a very different record from Quelle, although like its predecessor song titles are eschewed in favor of track numbers, which run continuously through that band’s discog. The record as a whole has an even more hypnotic feel than Quelle, with BRIQUEVILLE kicking things off in drone-adjacent territory on “AKTE XVI,” which relies on distended synths and sparse percussion in its opening passages, before the band begin to layer up the distorted, feedback-laden instrumentation, creating a yawing sonic canvas. Any fears that this will be the blueprint for the record can be put to one side, however. While IIII does rely heavily on repetition to conjure its aural landscapes, each track is very much its own beast, but all flow beautifully. Album highlight “AKTE XVIII” builds up an urgent, sawing riff alongside static-laced electronica and almost music-box-like melody and as it goes on, the elements build and build, evolving into a complex, spellbinding wall of sound. while. shortest cut “AKTE XIX” is a more delicate, dreamy affair.

Unlike previous outings from BRIQUEVILLE, IIII is not wholly instrumental, with the creaking “AKTE XVII,” in particular, making use of vocals, although these mostly-wordless invocations have an almost spiritual or ritualistic note to them in places, very much forming part of the band’s toolkit, rather than standing apart as vocals in the usual sense (some short semi-spoken word passages apart). Similarly, swirling clouds of voices on “AKTE XIX” give IIII a haunted note, especially set against the squealing feedback of guitars and eerie synthscapes. The album’s longest cut, closer “AKTE XX,” moves through numerous shades, from light, almost post-rock at its inception, through reflective Tool-like introspection in its mid-passages before hitting a big, hefty post-doom stride by its conclusion. The usual comparisons to ISIS abound but BRIQUEVILLE strikes an interesting mid-way point between the melodicism and experimentation of parts of ISIS’ Wavering Radiant and the slightly disconcerting edge of Celestial. The Pelican and Psychonaut vibes are strong too but BRIQUEVILLE, particularly in its exquisite use of synths and field recordings, has found a voice all its own, blending Bong’s warped sounds into the mix.

What BRIQUEVILLE does isn’t about individual elements or performances, this is very much a case of the sum being significantly more than its parts. Nevertheless, whoever is behind the drum kit is critical to the success of IIII. This is not a record that calls for blast and bombast. What it needs and gets is a rhythmic backbone that, depending on the mood, slips effortlessly between a pounding heartbeat driving the whole forward and much more delicate and progressive touches, that fill the empty spaces around the big post-metal riffs and ever-shifting sea of electronica. While I have to add a slight note of caution to what I’m about to say, because I am working from a stream-only version of the album supplied by Pelagic Records, IIII also sounds gorgeous. Every aspect of the instrumentation has room to breathe and grow as it needs to, even as BRIQUEVILLE layers more and more elements into tracks like the back third of “AKTE XVIII,” everything remains distinct.

Shaving a full 20 minutes off Quelle’s runtime has done wonders for BRIQUEVILLE. At a tight 38-minutes, IIII feels vibrant and flows like quicksilver. As soon as I reach the end, I hit play again, ready to dive back into the eddying soundscapes, equal part dream and nightmare. With two truly stellar tracks in “AKTE XVIII” and “AKTE XX,” and no real weaknesses (perhaps “AKTE XIX” could offer a little more), IIII is comfortably BRIQUEVILLE’s best record to date and marks them out as one of the most interesting instrumental post-metal outfits working today.

Rating: 4.0/5.0
DR: N/A | Format Reviewed: Stream only
Label: Pelagic Records
Websites: briqueville.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/briqueville
Releases Worldwide: November 3rd, 2023

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Cadaver Synod does represent a change of sound and direction for Sylvatica but not at all in the direction I expected. Far from a darker, more atmospheric affair, leaning further into the melodic death metal side of their sound, it goes hard on an almost metal musical vibe in places (“Pope Innocent VIII”). The spangly synth elements remain a key part of the sound, acting like icing on the insanity of the underlying music (“Papa Poltergeist”), which is also punctuated by a Hammond organ (“Song of the Leper”) and the otherworldly theremin (“Scapegoat”). Blasting drums from Jacques Harm Brandt Hauge form the backbone of Cadaver Synod but its hard to focus too much on them, given the swirling cacophony the rest of the band whips up.

Still with something of Stormkeep’s Tales of Othertime in the sound, particularly in the guitar work from Jardén Schlesinger and Christian Christiansen, there is now a lot more going, with the madness of both Trold and even Troldhaugen inhabiting Cadaver Synod. Penultimate track “In the Eyes of God” probably gets closest to what I expected from Sylvatica on this record, setting a furious melodeath pace, with some symphonic ornamentation but the rest of the album, particularly the three-track run of “Papa Poltergeist”-“Titivillus”-“Pope Innocent VIII” is on another plane entirely. The folk elements are dialed in, sitting atop percussive, stomping guitars and swirling, skirling otherworldly synth elements (“Titivillus”), but what really sends Cadaver Synod over the top are the vocals. Schlesinger’s gravelly growl, which often takes on a rhythmic semi-chanted note, is accompanied by leering falsettos, Gregorian chants, husky whispered passages and more (and that’s just on “Pope Innocent VIII”). On “Song of the Leper,” there are ethereal sustained cleans alongside the proggy guitar work, while opener “Strife” sees a sort of call-and-answer chorus thing going on.

In amongst the deranged fun are moments of real quality, particularly in some of the leads from Schlesinger and Christiansen (the back halves of opener “Strife” and “Song of the Leper”). The performance from bassist Thomas Haxen is also strong, particularly on the likes of “Papa Poltergeist” and the (relatively!) restrained “In the Eyes of God.” Sylvatica’s latest incarnation is a lot, frankly. On my first few listens, I was pretty sure I hated it. The more time I’ve spent with it, it’s grown on me and there are a few tracks—”Titivillus” and “Song of the Leper,” in particular—that have wormed their way into may brain. But Cadaver Synod is definitely not an album free of issues. It closes on a particularly weak note, with the dreadful semi-acoustic “Song of the Leper (Acoustic),” while “Strife,” despite the strong guitar work, and “In the Eyes of God” aren’t of quite the same quality and feel like they belong on the band’s last record rather than Cadaver Synod.

While the insanity of the middle portion of the record hangs together better than it has any right to, the issue with Cadaver Synod is that it feels like Sylvatica only really let go there, while holding back maybe 10% in other places. This is a shame because, for this kind of sound to work, you can’t pull your punches, as it just highlights those places where you’ve not fully committed and leaves the record sounding like a bit of mixed bag. At the same time, Cadaver Synod is hella fun, with good production and one of the most unique records I’ve heard this year. At just over 40 minutes, it doesn’t outstay its welcome either. I feel a bit bad about the rating to be honest but such is the life of the overworked, underpaid metal review and don’t forget people, 2.5 is not bad, it’s Mixed!

Rating: 2.5/5.0
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Mighty Music
Websites: sylvatica1.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/sylvatica
Releases Worldwide: October 20th, 2023

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