As an ambient album, Pike Dreams leans heavily towards synth, with touches of piano, barely-there percussion, and heavily-muted guitars. It carries a feeling of nostalgia that manifests dualistically in fuzzed-out soundscapes and grainy warmth à la Boards of Canada (“1066,” “1381”), and on the other through dungeon-synth, and quasi-medieval horns and melodies (“1328”). This seems appropriate given the record’s historical concept. Its modernity surfaces in subtle hints at an industrial edge to riffs that break the surface of haze and resonate between echoing pulses, reminding me fragmentarily of Phal:Angst and Haunted Plasma (“1066,” “1789,” “2026”). What Pike Dreams is most of all, however, is quiet. Regardless of the music’s precise direction, it remains blanketed by fog with every element subdued, magnifying the meaning of the word ‘reflection’ in the album’s description.

The Mountain King take the ‘less is more’ approach not only to volume, but also to the structure of the record and the compositions themselves. Pike Dreams could be described as fluctuating between introspective calm and confident expressiveness, but this translates to a change in intensity from 1 to 1.5 on a scale of 10. Gentle pulses trade places with blunt, horn-accented chugs (“476,” “1789”), strings and tremolo blur together in indistinct softness (“1525,” “2010”), and trap beats support liquid guitar-synth hybrids (“1789,” “2026”). Often, the blurred boundaries of physically and synthetically-crafted sounds are beautiful, melodically and precisely in their dreamlike ethereality (“1066,” “1524”). Often, however, do the persistent understatement of movement and omnipresent muting hamper Pike Dreams’ ability to gain its listeners’ attention. This muffling is no doubt intentional, and does work well at intervals: for instance, in the service of contrast or transition (“2010”); acting as a musing pause (“1524”); or to amplify a melody’s poignancy through almost painful delicacy (“1066”). Yet its unequivocal application to all moments of all songs can make even the grandest passages underwhelming.

In this regard, it’s uncertain how a listener is meant to relate Pike Dreams to its subject matter. On the one hand, the deliberate vagueness of the soundscape mirrors a look back through the mists of time, and allows the audience to project their own sentiments onto its subtle evocation. On the other hand, this same nature prevents the audience from connecting to the music itself, and from connecting the music to its supposed year of reference. More minimalist tracks (“1328,” “1381,” “2026”) may work better when the listener detaches, but more expressive ones (“1066,” “1524,” “2010”) when the listener invests in their refrains—and the ones in those tracks are often very lovely. Whether there’s an issue here will be down to the role one designates to a concept album—especially of the instrumental and ambient kind.

Pike Dreams is as hard to pin down as you might expect from the above and from its appropriately mysterious title. As a whispering, quite beautiful, backdrop, it makes for a soothing and introspective experience that I can’t deny I enjoy returning to. In many ways, it’s a breath of fresh air amidst a constant storm of fast and extremely heavy music that so often fills these halls, and a chance to exhale and let go in a time of conflict and strife. The Mountain King may not have done enough to fully embody their themes or impress their compositions’ identities upon the listener, but how it feels for the duration is worth something.

Rating: Good
DR: 10 | Format Reviewed: VBR mp3
Label: Void Key Recordings
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: March 6th, 2026

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While appearing to be a split, Waters is more of a collaboration as each individual contributes vocal or instrumental talents across multiple songs, including on those they wrote and take the lead in themselves. Spearheading the whole thing are Richard and Alice Corvinus of Swords of Dis, who have a hand in all lyrics and appear on every track. These lyrics, inspired by the words of the epic itself, consist of narration interspersed with dialogue between the various characters, and the five musicians rotate and share roles depending on who is involved in the corresponding part of the story. ² This improves the album’s internal coherence—which might otherwise be hindered in a split format—whilst also allowing each movement to take on the personality of its lead artist. As a form of adaptation, the five tracks of reverb-filled, noisy, strange, melodramatically or demoniacally vocally-led, black-adjacent fringe metal lean into the grand, frightening side to the tale whose gravity us modern-age folk probably can’t appreciate properly. And it’s that excessive, almost absurd commitment to being different, which—and I can’t believe I’m saying this—actually works.

Drama is at the heart of oral poetic tradition, and it’s Waters’ drama that similarly grounds its best aspects. Utmost credit goes to Alice Corvinus and her fierce (“From Egalmah They Rode…”³, operatic (“Araru Births the Lord of the Wilderness,” “From Egalmah…,” “Blood Stains The Altar…”⁴), sometimes eerie (“Into the Wailing Darkness”⁵) vocal performance. Her presence dominates as she provides some narration in addition to voicing every female character (and there are a lot of goddesses involved). Dark, minor tremolo refrains and Middle-Eastern-inspired melodies support her delivery, and the theatrical, flowing style Swords of Dis employ lends itself to this expression perfectly. In a different vein, the inhumanly gurgling snarls of Guillaume Cazalet (Ôros Kaù) make for a barbed contrast to otherwise vague, even beautiful, passages (“Blood…”), and can be genuinely frightening (“Into The Wailing Darkness”). All vocals—clean or harsh—are odd to a degree, sometimes even off-putting (“Araru…”). Yet most breaches of the cringe line are brief, and ameliorated by interesting instrumentation (“Blood…,” “From the Setting…”⁶). Those totally averse to what we anaemically refer to as ‘avant-garde’ in extreme metal can beg to differ, but the back and forth between dissonance and harmony (“Araru…,” “Blood…”), and between uncomfortable slowness and sudden speed (“From the Setting…”), is not only well-performed, it makes sense for the record’s narrative concept. A journey represented through a monotonous pattern (“From Egalmah…,” “From the Setting…”), the fury of a deity by means of an operatic surge (“From Egalmah…”).

Waters embodies the manner of epic poetry so well, however, that its digestibility is harmed as well as helped. Whether appropriate or not, its near-90-minute runtime makes engaging with its entirety a daunting prospect, and this is a record that fares best when you do give it the time and space to immerse you.⁷ The very aptness of the compositional style—long repetitive sections on the one hand, and frequent switches between tempo, melody, and vocalist on the other—which mimics recitation amongst orators, can prove taxing. It creates a dynamic of brilliant moments and stand-out performances, scattered unevenly inside overextended filling. It’s perhaps not a coincidence that the album’s midsection—the two tracks led by masterminds Swords of Dis—is by far the best and most even in quality, whereas its final act—Midnight Odyssey’s—is the least engaging and unable to support its length.⁸

Though Waters cannot escape the idiosyncrasies of the artists behind it—and so inherently restricts its audience—as an expression of this epic poem, these approaches to black metal are surprisingly apt. If you have the time to go on this adventure with Serpent Ascending, Ôros Kaù, Swords of Dis, and Midnight Odyssey, there’s plenty to enjoy. But if nothing else, let it be an excuse to learn about the original myth that inspires such weird, sometimes wonderful music.

Rating: Good(!)
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 256 kbps mp3
Label: I, Voidhanger
Websites: Album BC | Serpent Ascending BC | Serpent Ascending FB | Ôros Kaù BC | Ôros Kaù FB | Swords of Dis BC | Swords of Dis FB | Midnight Odyssey BC | Midnight Odyssey FB
Releases Worldwide: February 13th, 2026

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Though Nattradio don’t skirt the qualifications of a metal band like Sleep Token or Ghost do, I am nonetheless reminded of more non-metal bands/artists than metal ones while listening to The Longest Night. Yes, Nattradio’s closest comparison is Katatonia, as songs like “Sketches from the Dark” and “Shifting Baseline” recall the slow, gloomy riffing of The Great Cold Distance, but The Cure seems to seep into The Longest Night’s formula just as often. Take the electronic drumming and wacky guitar effects of “Dark Streets” or the dreamy, heartbroken strings of “Rainbirds” and tell me you can’t picture Robert Smith listlessly crooning over them. Vocally, Martin Boman doesn’t have the grit typical to metal, but rather sits in the breathy middle of David Bowie and Thom Yorke. When engaged in ambient movements, Nattradio bring out the keys for spacious, dark atmospheres of jazzed-up smoothness that recall Poe and, similarly, could slide into the Alan Wake II soundtrack. Nattradio probably won’t hit for metal purists, but listeners of a wider range of genres might find a delightfully varied affair on The Longest Night.

Nattradio lean into their witching-hour moodiness above all else on The Longest Night. Slow, pensive progressions are imbued with mellow synths and Niklas Brodd’s layered guitars, while cold, bright piano chimes away on the interlude “All for You” and the ten-plus-minute title track. Boman’s high, soft delivery lends a precarious edge to The Longest Night, though his approach can feel unsuited for heavier moments and even plain off-key on “Sketches from the Dark.” Further, the soft vocals paired with Nattradio’s consistent bent towards melancholy mean The Longest Night is short on big, memorable moments. Even on The Longest Night’s most rocking tracks, “Shadow Speaker” and “Alright for Now,” the former featuring brisk double-kicks and the latter playing uber-catchy melodeath riffs that The Halo Effect would peddle, everything slows down eventually, and Boman’s wilting voice always brings back the melancholia before too long. In short, Nattradio’s brand of doom doesn’t dish out the riffs or theming meant to Fvneral Fvkk yov vp, but The Longest Night instead deals in a cozy melancholy, coldness you can settle into for a while.

Nattradio’s greatest strength on The Longest Night, however, is striking a compelling balance between busy and airy passages. Quiet verses and loud choruses are nothing new, but Nattradio always nail its execution, whether it’s moving from thumping bass to fist-pumping arena rock in “Alright for Now,” mournful piano to driving guitars on “The Longest Night,” or minimalist ambience giving way to thunderous tremolos on “Shadow Speaker.” The Longest Night’s dynamic mix really helps this end, allowing the big emotional shifts on “Night” and “The Longest Night” the breathing room needed to make it work. Nattradio know how to pace an album, and The Longest Night runs smoothly through its whole 52-minute runtime. Though lacking in powerful, “there it is” moments, The Longest Night is still an engaging record due to its expert balance not in light and dark but in fullness and ethereality.

The Longest Night isn’t anything to ruin your sleep schedule over, but Nattradio are a good group to turn to if you ever find yourself there already. Easy listening and sweetly sad, this is a record I found myself slightly more eager to get back to for each listen. Fans of Katatonia and anything under Goth’s sequined umbrella should consider checking this out. Nattradio knew what they were doing dropping The Longest Night at this time of year, and I’m sure I’ll return to it on some of my own long nights this winter.

Rating: Good
DR: 11 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s MP3
Label: Darkness Shall Rise Productions
Websites: nattradio.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/Nattradio
Releases Worldwide: December 12th, 2025

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Void of instrumental trappings associated with most traditional metal, Antinoë relies solely on Marraco’s beautifully resonant voice and her expansive piano compositions to weave stygian tapestries. Conceptually, The Fold navigates the odyssey of accepting death, inviting listeners to tread a path through the idiomatic depths of grief’s different stages, as it traces the process of ‘folding inward.’ From the outset, as cricket-song fades into “Night Falls,” with its delicately crafted, darkly haunting piano melody and celestial vocals, the track pulls at melancholy heartstrings, drawing you into Antinoë’s dark world and setting the stage for what’s to come. The Fold offers an immersive, piano-led experience, peppered with pummeled ivories that shift with metallic force beneath sustained choral harmonies (“The Devil’s Voice”), as wispy trails of folky, Enya-esque ambiance waft amid airy, Dead Can Dance-like atmospheres (“Når Du Dør”). Not unlike Darkher, Antinoë succeeds at tapping into inscrutable emotion by minimalist means, but where Maiven casts spells webbed in doom, Marraco’s magic leans more toward the black arts.

While Antinoë draws much of its ‘metal’ from lyrical themes that explore the dense nature of grief and death, that doesn’t mean The Fold is musically bereft of heavier fare. Death angels descend on Emperor wings with halos of Dimmu Borgir to hover over the opening chords of “Threshold,” heralding dark omens in a chorus of swarming harmonies, witchy laughter, and raspy breaths, all as Antinoë pounds and trills her way through octaves in true symphonic black metal fashion.² Is it still just a girl and her piano? Yes, but it’s by far the ‘heaviest’ song on the album. Which gives way to the excellently murky pop of “Chaos in the Sky,” another album highlight that had my neck snapped to rapt attention when Marracos, in her smoky voice, opened with “Who the fuck are you? Who the fuck am I?” like some dark-alt Adele, creating another moment more metal than not.

Drenched in warmth, The Fold’s production captures the beauty of Antinoë’s neo-classical elegance and marries it perfectly to its atmospherically blackened weight, providing a full-on musical experience. Whether it’s the delicate last minute of “The Devil’s Voice,” which flirts with a “Lágnætti” melody, off the Sólstafir magnum opus Ottá, or the inquisitive, childlike mystery of the whispers and keys on “Flock,” to the somber dirge of vocals from “Light Bringer,” listening to Antinoë is to become utterly immersed. I have little to critique, so enamored am I by Antinoë’s ability to impart complex ideas in the simplest of terms. I suppose there’s a minute or two that Marraco could have shaved from the two instrumentals, but in all honesty, there’s not a minute of The Fold that I would cut or change.

One of the things I’ve always appreciated about AMG is its fearlessness in shedding light on bands that are categorically not metal. Case in point, among many, is Dolphin Whisperer’s review of Maud the Moth’s excellent The Distaff this year. Antinoë has recorded an emotional album for healing hearts, and as I look back on the last few years of losses I’ve experienced, I’m unsurprised by how impactful it’s been to me. I wasn’t expecting something of this caliber to come sweeping in so close to list season, but here we are. I’ll gladly wrap myself in a warm blanket next to a cozy fire, slip on my favorite pair of headphones, and sip a smoky porter while letting The Fold envelop me against the impending winter’s chill.

Rating: 4.0/5.0
DR: 9 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Dark Essence Records
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: November 21st, 2025

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Crafting delicate atmospheres remains Tuesday the Sky’s bread and butter. Taking notes from Sigur Rós and Brian Eno alike, Indoor Enthusiast drifts between moods and genres. On the minimalistic end of the spectrum, dreamy and introspective electronica tracks like “Zugzwang” and “The Last Lonely Lamppost” act as the base sound for the album. Drums and guitars provide additional instrumentation as counterbalance in both accentuating and maximalist ways, occasionally entering familiar metal territory (“The Nearest Exit May Be Behind You,” “Set Fire to the Stars”). While Matheos experimented with things like this alongside Kevin Moore in OSI, the material on Indoor Enthusiast is generally more low-key than OSI’s most somber moments. And sans vocals, the onus is even more on the songwriting to prove the album’s worth.

Indoor Enthusiast takes much better advantage of layers and texture than prior works. Drift kept its loadout of strange but exciting ideas separate, and most of The Blurred Horizon stuck to a quiet, minimalistic gloom. In contrast, Indoor Enthusiast fuses its elements together more often in both subtle and unsubtle ways. This leads to a stronger active experience while still making sense album flow-wise. Improved composition allows some of the quieter material to shine and pop (“Get Lost,” “Between Wind and Water”), and “Does It Need to Be So Loud?” even brings back the electronic alt-rock gloom of Disconnected. Deep build-ups lead to satisfying crescendos, with “Set Fire to the Stars” using the record’s full arsenal to make a case for the strongest Tuesday the Sky song yet. Not all of the record’s quirks land equally well. For instance, some of the glitchier effects used (“The Nearest Exit May Be Behind You,” “Memento Mori”) are distracting and take away from the album’s introspective vibe. But overall, Indoor Enthusiast’s songs have both the variety and quality to be distinct and interesting.

The instrumentation of Tuesday the Sky sounds as crisp as ever, a quality expected of Matheos. The rock instruments sound excellent, accentuating the wide variety of electronic effects at the core of the album. The album’s elements combine naturally and have plenty of room to breathe. Though wonderfully produced, it does feel like there is too much downtime between Indoor Enthusiast’s highlights. Matheos’ greatest strength is undoubtedly his tasteful and subtly complex guitar wizardry, and sometimes the nature of a project like Tuesday the Sky gets in the way of that strength—the back-to-back of twins “Ghost Train” and “Zugzwang” slowing down momentum early on. The second half of the album, fortunately, avoids the “background music” pitfall. While I do feel like the album still leaves something on the table, its strong highlights make the record a pleasant experience front to back.

Though wandering slightly off course at times, Indoor Enthusiast is the most cohesive Tuesday the Sky record yet. Its individual ingredients of rock, metal, and ambient electronic mix together better than before, with memorable dynamic shifts keeping things going. Compared to last year’s North Sea Echoes debut, Matheos has certainly improved the minimalistic experimental side of his songwriting; the album as a whole feels like it develops towards something. I do still think he can do even better, but he is making it work. I don’t know what direction Tuesday the Sky will go to next—if any—but Indoor Enthusiast gives this side of Matheos a fresh and solid foundation.

Rating: Good!
DR: 9 | Format Reviewed: 256 kbps mp3
Label: Metal Blade Records
Websites: tuesdaythesky.bandcamp.com | tuesdaythesky.com | facebook.com/TuesdaytheSky
Releases Worldwide: October 24th, 2025

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We won’t know the answer until this article gets published. And when it is, the statistics will be fabricated and obfuscated accordingly. So ignore the death toll and instead peep the haul!

Kenstrosity’s Meanest Meanies

Shadow of Intent // Imperium Delirium [June 12th, 2025 – Self-Release]

For over a decade, Connecticut/Rhode Island melodic deathcore independents Shadow of Intent challenged the standards of the genre by offering album after album of ripping tracks filled with drama, clever songwriting, and demolishing vocal talent. In their catalog, Elegy was the one record of theirs that didn’t stick with me. However, Imperium Delirium rapidly righted the ship with 55 minutes of opulent, evil, and crushing melodic destruction. Raging through its first half without a single misstep, Imperium Delirium is a focused effort chock full of devastating heft, buttery smooth songwriting, and a favorable riffs-to-breakdowns ratio. The back half focuses on drama and orchestration just a touch more, but songs like “Feeding the Meatgrinder,” “Vehement Draconian Vengeance,” and “No Matter the Cost” still bring the violence required to annihilate entire planets. Championing this unending assault of killer tunes, Ben Duerr’s vocal performance is intimidating to say the least, easily reinforcing his rightful place as one of the very best extreme vocalists in the scene today. Of course, the record is still too long by about 10 minutes, and a fair amount of that bloat comes from the slightly overblown self-titled closer. Additionally, while I appreciate the reverent nod to the instrumental talent on “Apocalypse Canvas,” I don’t believe it adds enough to the story of this record. Nonetheless, Imperium Delirium might be one of my favorite Shadows of Intent, and I look forward to where it leads me next.

ClarkKent’s Literary Listen

Nightbearer // Defiance [June 13, 2025 – Testimony Records]

Anyone looking for a mashup of Phillip Pullman’s His Dark Materials trilogy and Gothenburg melodeath, look no further than the latest album from Germany’s Nightbearer. Defiance marks album number three in the band’s repertoire, and a continuation of their worship of fantasy epics.¹ Right off the bat, the catchy harmonic guitar lead of “His Dark Materials” summons Dark Tranquillity and At the Gates. The guitar work by Dominik Hellmuth and Tristan Schubert is fantastic throughout–their creative melodies bring to mind lively outfits like Brymir. Michael Torka’s beastly growls and Manuel Lüke’s thunderous drumming add some brutality and weight to the harmonious riffs. A few songs even go full brutal death metal (“One Church Over All”, “Dying Knows No Bounds”). Perhaps the standout track comes from the 9-minute epic, “Ascension.” It starts with an eerie synth intro before breaking out into some of the best riffs on Defiance. Then, just as things settle down, the song builds back up and explodes into something straight from Blackwater Park-era Opeth. Overall, this is an impressive collection of songs that’s sure to scratch that HM-2 itch.

Tyme’s Juxtaposed Jotting

Lipoma // No Cure for the Sick [June 13th, 2025 – Gurgling Gore]

Melodic gore-grind. Yeah, it’s a thing. And California-based Lipoma’s new album, No Cure for the Sick, proves it’s a pretty fucking cool thing at that—the brainchild of one Max Pierce (aka Dr. Lipoma).² Since going live in 2021, Lipoma has been insanely active, releasing a slew of splits and EPs along with two full-length albums: 2022’s Horrors of Pathology and 2023’s Odes to Suffering. And while Lipoma has steadily worked to make comparisons with fellow purveyors like Carcass, Lymphatic Phlegm, and Pharmacist less relevant, No Cure for the Sick moves things to a different ballpark, one full of Gothenburgian melodicism (“Cult of the Firehealers,” “Glory to the Blade”), post-metallic pop-punk optimism (“Cardiac Scars Forever,” “Psalms of Psoriasis”), indecipherable gurgles, and organ, which is what sets Lipoma’s No Cure for the Sick apart not only from previous efforts, but the pack in general. From the circus-like atmosphere shrouding opener “The Sea Surgeon,” Pierce’s use of organ permeates much of No Cure for the Sick’s forty minutes, buoying the melodic heaviness and excellent solo work with jig-like danceability (“Remedies of Pagan Medicine,” “Last Anatomy of Johan Ziegler,” “No Cure for the Sick”). Pierce’s melodically charged instrumentation, when juxtaposed against his gore-ground gurglings—a combo that works in a way it has no right to—sees Lipoma doing something I find wholly unique, a rarity in today’s digital age. I have had a ton of fun with No Cure for the Sick, and if you’ve not checked it out yet, do so post haste.

Iceberg’s Frosty Forget-Me-Nots

Puppe Magnetik // Laudans Deum [June 6th, 2025 – The Circle Music]

Laudans Deum is not for the faint of heart, if that album cover didn’t quite convince you. The debut compilation of Puppe Magnetik, the record dives deep into the recesses of the human psyche. Aina Virtanen weaponizes industrial metal, ambient, and drone, wrapped up in the stylings of the Weimar Republic. An accomplished classically-trained musician, Virtanen uses her clean vocals sparingly (“Who Will Sing This Sorrow,” “Labyrinth”) but to great effect, reminiscent of Diablo Swing Orchestra. But the accessibility stops there; Laudans Deum’s thirteen tracks are comprised of ambient meditations (“Moritat”), ear-splitting electronic barrages (“Suspendium, Rosarium et Crucifixu”), and mood music fit for a throwback horror movie (“The Pregnant Nun,” “Patient AV”). But within the graveyard are scattered moments of respite; the gorgeously rendered classical guitar of “Timeless Serenade” and the haunting vocals of “Laments From The Desert.” While the album is unforgivingly through-composed, making for an exceptionally difficult first listen, there’s something darkly endearing about it. I’m reminded of Sergei Prokofiev, the Russian composer whose music was often described as both grotesque and starkly beautiful. Puppe Magnetik have produced a challenging record, but it’s worth a listen for those who enjoy avant-garde music and the stranger, more terrifying corners of the aural arts.

All Men Unto Me // Requiem [June 27th, 2025 – The Larvarium]

A little more metal, but a lot more challenging, All Men Unto Me’s Requiem brings to bear the full weight of spiritual suffering. Requiem is a direct interpretation of the Latin Mass for the Dead, it’s eight tracks playing all the hits. Fuzzed out, half-time doom takes a supporting role in a record that heavily features pipe organ, acoustic guitar, and string leads. Rylan Greaves takes a unique approach here, subverting the natural tension and release of the rite by injecting clanging noise into passages normally reverent. Their vocal performance is the unrepentant star of the show, at times crystalline (“Introit”) at others sobbing (“Kyrie”) straining (“Agnus Dei”) and howling (“Sequentia”). The album takes its time to sink its claws into you, with long track lengths and extended droning chords requiring patience. But pay close attention to Greaves’ lyrics and you can’t help but be pulled into the raw, emotional drama of Requiem. The rising, ethereal sunset of “In Paradisum,” the falsetto whisper speaking “God knows what I’d be without you” against an impossibly high, ever so slightly off-key bell-tone. One’s left wondering the true meaning of that line as the track ends, and the dead remain silent. A powerful statement indeed.

Mystikus Hugebeard’s Cybernetic Catalogue

NΞT-RUINΞR / / Prototype [June 6th, 2025 – Self-Release]

I am on a quest, dear reader. A quest to find the most perfect of unions between cyberpunk darkwave—I’m thinkin’ of Magnavolt or Daniel Deluxe—and metal music. This holy quest has led me to the UK’s NΞT-RUINΞR, and thus must I share it with you because their debut Prototype absolutely rules. As it turns out, this slab of cybersynth metalwave belongs to a genre I’ve long enjoyed but never knew had a name: Argent Metal. It’s derived from the modern Doom soundtrack: that kind of djenty, electronic-heavy industrial metal that makes you extremely eager to commit war crimes on demons from hell. Indeed, Prototype swings enough Argent weight around to knock some teeth loose, like in “…Lowlife” and “Supplicant.” But Prototype isn’t just “we have the Doom OST at home,” because NΞT-RUINΞR more vigorously incorporates the straightforward darkwave song structure onto the industrial metal soundscape. I wish more bands did this, because the result is so good. “Infiltrator” and “20XX” are absolute jams that infuse weighty guitars with the pulse-pounding beat of cyberwave synthdark. But the real winner is “Basilisk” where a cyberpunk build-up marches into a standard bass drop, only the bass drop is 20,000 tons of diabolical riff kept at a relentless tempo. Prototype is exciting, accessible, and loads of fun. It has also served as a wonderful gateway to tons of great music that I now have a name for, and I hope it does for you as well. For now, my quest continues; Prototype is thus far the closest to cyberpunk Nirvana I’ve reached, but my heart tells me more is out there.

Killjoy’s Fabulous Find

Fabula Rasa // Tome II: The Beyond [June 13th, 2025 – Self-Release]

The words “fabulous” and “fable” are interconnected, both derived from the Latin word “fabulosus.” And since folk music and power metal draw heavily from fables and myths, the portmanteau Fabula Rasa is a fitting name for a group that blends both genres. Following the lead of forebears Elvenking and early Mägo de Oz, this spirited crew from Düsseldorf, Germany, infuses what would otherwise be standard—but good!—heavy/power metal with lots of violin. The violin and guitar trade off playing the lead melodies, though the former tends to have greater emphasis. But fret not, shred-heads, for the guitar solos are also exemplary in the more power metal-leaning songs, like “Dragon Rising” and “Vengeance Is Mine.” The violin often carves its own folksy space, the cheery, zippy fiddling akin to Dalriada (“At Full Moon,” “Anthem of the North”). Most songs are energetic, but “Burning Innocence” is a pleasant surprise midway through the record, with hand drums and the other band members’ vocal contributions creating an intimate group setting. Don’t miss this charismatic performance from these fabulous musicians.

Maddog’s Sludgy Selection

Dimscûa // Dust Eater [June 3rd, 2025 – Self-Release]

While sludge is a dime a dozen, few bands scratch the same itch as Amenra’s best work. The UK’s Dimscûa aims to correct this oversight. Dust Eater opens with “Elder Bairn,” whose rhythmic riffs evoke the meditative power of LLNN. After this appetizer, the album’s interplay between brawn and heart rivals Amenra. While Dimscûa’s muscular riffs drive the album forward (“Existence/Futility”), Dust Eater stands out through its hypnotic melodies. The heartache in these melodies is palpable, magnified by tortured vocals that recall Julie Christmas. Because of this ebb and flow, the album never feels bloated despite its eight-minute average track length. For instance, “Existence/Futility” abandons and then suddenly resurrects its driving main riff, adding unexpected variety and lodging into my memory. Dust Eater’s climaxes sometimes fall short, like the fizzle-out ending of “The Dusteater.” But despite its imperfections, Dimscûa’s debut is a powerful outing in a neglected style.³

Dear Hollaback’s Ain’t No B-A-N-A-N-A-S

Various Artists // KPop Demon Hunters [Original Motion Picture Soundtrack] [June 20th, 2025 – Republic Records]⁴

Okay, look. Look. K-Pop is not metal, I get that. But the gang over at Sony concocted what just recently earned the title of Netflix’s most watched movie of all time, and holy shit, what a soundtrack.. I’d like to use the classic “my daughter made me do it” schtick but she only likes “Takedown.”⁵ KPop Demon Hunters creates insanely catchy pop music that’s also focused and intentional, a commentary on the rigid and flagellant nature of K-Pop alongside feel-good messages of self-acceptance and healing (“Golden,” “What It Sounds Like”). The focal girl group HUNTR/X does most of the heavy lifting, also tossing in enough pop culture-inclined battle hymns to make the republic jealous (“How It’s Done,” “Takedown”). Their on-screen rivals Saja Boys offer entendre-layered sugary pop (the infamous “Soda Pop”) and sinister Gregorian-influenced choruses (“Your Idol”). Beyond the novelty is intentionality: clever chord progressions that feel continually transcendent rather than stagnantly by-the-numbers (“What It Sounds Like”), diminuendos of authenticity among bombasts of a glossy sheen (“Golden”), touches of dissonance paired with unsettling slant rhymes (“Your Idol”), and rhythmic complexity building to ethereal climaxes of soaring belts (“Free”). While yes, I’m telling you to give it a spin, I am also giving excuses for why my review count dropped to critical this summer. Fuck off, I’m gonna be, gonna be golden.

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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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Watery Grave is atmoblack in the same way The Mantle-era Agalloch and Pursuit of the Sun-era Woods of Ypres were: unpolished, warm, and vaguely folky. It’s also somewhat gazey at times, channeling a little Alcest, albeit through a less glossy production. Coarse growls resonate over the blurred mélange of washing tremolos and pattering drumbeats, and cleans murmur softly over keyboard chords. There is little aggression beyond the harsh vocals and the odd fracas of blastbeats. A linear approach to songwriting, which yet maintains consistent themes, means tracks flow on with only subtle melodic reprises, if any. And on they do run, with half extending past ten minutes, and the closer grazing twenty. This fits with the overall river imagery, and complements the musical style as something to drift off to, as Esox indulges in many a meandering melodic tangent of mellow strums and dreamy synth.

Watery Grave is rough around the edges, but in a charming and organic way confined to its resonant, raw production and unshowy, deceptive simplicity of arrangements. Esox demonstrate a proficiency to craft truly beautiful little worlds of introspection, where gentle melodies weave between washes of tremolo, the harsh and soft styles blending brilliantly in builds and releases (“As I Descend Below the Water,” “Esox Lucius” “The River Nihilist”); it’s amazing how calming it can feel. Sometimes, it’s pure post, gazey, synthy peace (“Walden”); sometimes, more dynamic. Comparatively intense blackened passages give way to gentle ambience and plucking (“As I Descend…” “Livyatan Melvillei”), or melancholic post-metal (“The River Nihilist”), or a solemn, hazy section bursts into a colourful solo (“Esox Lucius,” “The River Nihilist”). The sounds of water, bubbles, and whale song amplify the insulation created by the unpolished master and peaceful themes, and the undulating current between the claustrophobically dense and the meditative spacious is felt dramatically, which deepens immersion. Emotion is tangible at such apexes, and this, in tandem with the sense of serenity, evokes well the notion of our protagonist sinking downwards, coming to peace with the world.

As pleasant to listen to as Watery Grave generally is, it hits a few snags that harm its flow. It seems a tad unfocused, mainly due to an apparent reluctance to edit. Synth-led “The Unbearable Cry of the Sea,” feels like an unnecessary interlude that flattens the impact of brilliant opener “As I Descend…”; continuing directly into “Livyatan Melvillei” would strengthen things substantially. Comparing this track to the other instrumental, “Walden,” it is clear from the latter that Esox can write a beautiful and moving interlude without sacrificing movement and mood. The longer cuts could all stand to lose a few minutes, but in particular, it is closer “The River Nihilist,” that suffers the most for its length. It goes through so many evolutions, via bridges of ambience and samples, that it seems to lose its way. The song’s potent and beautiful segments, which in isolation might be highlights—lose some of their shine, and the progress it does develop is awkwardly obscured. In a similar vein, “Livytan Melvillei” can strike the ears awkwardly in its more aggressive, organ-synth-accented first act, which is all but forgotten by its melodious second; again, it feels like coherence was an afterthought. This all makes Watery Grave a little frustrating, given other stirring and ethereal movements.¹

And yet any imperfections Watery Grave may possess are easily forgivable, because of its poignancy and charm. This is a daydreamer album, and its blurred edges suit that perfectly. What it lacks in immediacy and strikingness, it makes up for in heart. There’s promise in here that I look forward to seeing developed next time Esox pull us underwater.

Rating: Good
DR: 9 | Format Reviewed: wav
Label: Self-Release
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: May 9th, 2025

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Whispering Void

Whispering Void plays a rich blend of folk, prog, and post-rock that conjures to mind a strikingly Norwegian Crippled Black Phoenix. Clear guitar melodies gently propel songs forward amidst ebbing layers of percussion, strings, and vocals. At the Sound of the Heart has a clean prog-rock tone like that of Lunatic Soul while the songwriting builds towards grand, post-y climaxes, with some added ambient influences to enrich the sound. The performances are excellent, obviously, given the pedigree. The instrumentation from Stavestrand and Sandøy is clean and tight, Hella’s expressive vocals are full of emotion, and nobody can do gravelly spoken words quite like Gaahl. It’s not what I would call the most bodacious of supergroups, comprised of larger-than-life personalities, but the musicians of Whispering Void work together well.

Something that struck me early on regarding At the Sound of the Heart that took a while to put into words is how it feels devoid of ego. Supergroups are typically eager to showcase what certain members’ excel at in their own groups to the point of excess, and while Whispering Void does lean into its members’ strengths, it’s subtle and restrained. The music is thoughtfully composed in a way that strives for melodic clarity and atmospheric richness, which rings most clearly through At the Sound of the Heart’s first half. “Vinden Vier” tastefully pairs a beautiful melody sung by Hella with Gaahl’s percussive recitation of the song’s title, whereas “Vi Finnes” gives Gaahl’s vocals a greater spotlight as the haunting chorus escalates through the song. “Whispering Void” is a great track that dynamically leads through a clean guitar melody paired with Hella’s vocals into a chorus where Gaahl’s vocals complement Sandøy’s drumming prowess, culminating in a sublime melodic climax. It’s genuinely refreshing to hear such talented musicians who are all great on their own working together in a way that’s less about showing off and more about creating something unique through a free-form collaborative process.

As At the Sound of the Heart enters its second half, the results of that artistic process grow shakier. It’s tempting to wax poetic about some cerebral, damning problem rooted deep within the album’s second half to justify it, but truthfully, it’s the simple anticlimax of just being weaker than the first half. The songs are less gripping and slowly sink into the background—the melodies aren’t as strong, the song structure becomes predictable, the atmosphere less inviting. The title track and “We Are Here” adopt a gloomy and dramatic veneer that leans into Gaahl’s spoken words, but they’re frequently more of a whisper and the melodies just never really click. “Lauvvind” returns to the clean, prog-rock tone of the earlier songs, but has a jam-session feel that doesn’t quite land. The songs here aren’t even all that unpleasant, but they’re just boring enough. It’s like the first half marries a solid, driving composition with excellent atmosphere, while the second half lets the compositional strength seep away in favor of the vibes. Vibes can be good, but vibes do not a song make.

It is a unique challenge to score At the Sound of the Heart; in many ways, it defies scoring. At times sublime in its composition and at times little more than musicians just shooting the breeze, At the Sound of the Heart is an unobstructed view into an organic, collaborative artistic process that never truly fails, but only occasionally succeeds. The free-form nature of the music is clearly the point, and it would be a loss if Whispering Void abandoned their free-form experimentation for rigidity. I only wish Whispering Void made more stellar songs like those of the album’s first half, but perhaps you’ll feel differently, and I invite you to experience At the Sound of the Heart for yourself.

Rating: Mixed
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps
Label: Prophecy Productions
Websites: facebook | bandcamp
Releases Worldwide: October 18th, 2024

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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

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