Spanish-born and Scotland-residing, Amaya López-Carromero (also of healthyliving) uses Maud the Moth to flutter her most personal and growth-seeking articulations. Whipping between the alternative bend of a young Tori Amos to a classically-trained operatic wail fit for a sobbing rendition of Bizet’s Carmen as it is for The Distaff’s own wrestled narrative, López-Carromero orates at the center, the thumping heart, of each composition. And about her bled-out words that spell feelings of futility against assumed roles (“A Temple by the River,” “Despeñaperros”) and inherited success metrics (“Burial of the Patriarchs,” “Fiat Lux”), hands, steadied in necessary expression, find a home in rhythmic and romantic piano-led marches. In lyric-driven, macabre-in-nature music, the ivories tend to rest as an accent. But imbued by the impressionist spirit of Debussy and Ravel¹ ravaging through a unique and wild attitude that rests adjacent to extreme, modern sounds, Maud the Moth and The Distaff live a sonic statement all their own.

An elaborate and elegant rhythmic framework—slow, percussive dances of tempered and swelling chords (“Exuviae,” “Fiat Lux”) and masking, playful triplets (“Siphonophores”)—coax a sneaking hypnosis throughout The Distaff. Surrounding these bases, the accompanying cast² finds haunting accents—hissing Moog underlays, bowed cymbal screeches, thundering snare rolls, bellowing guitar crashes—that cut brooding horror across the melody to which López-Carromero maintains steadfast in swaying histrionics and shouting defiance. And in support of this continued desire to find solace in reflective silence and minimal structures, chamber strings³ pair to escalating verses and grand crescendos to make way for peace to come. The gentle sounds of nature (“Exuviae,” “Despeñaperros”) and the calm of a lingering voice (“Burial…,” “O Rubor”)—harmony builds a nest amongst ripples and waves of discord.

In this friction, The Distaff forges a journey of disillusion, awakening, and plaintive realization. Sprouting to life in a hazy, layered fluster (“Cando de Enramada”) and closing with a further (shoe)gazed and drowned recapitulation of a day spent in contest (“Kwisatz Haderach”), its book-ended daze reads as equal parts confessional and hallucinatory. And in this state of fizzling consciousness, Maud the Moth weaves tales of transformation, with the guitar character swinging from crushing and startling in impact (“A Temple…,” “Despeñaperros”) to gentle, fuzzed signals (“Burial…”) and glassy, harmonic companionship (“Fiat Lux”) as The Distaff oscillates between its tragic peaks and sullen lows. Violent vocal colors live in leather-bound creases—cries and wretches buried in hammering chords cracked notes in shivering sustain, piercing lyrics that splinter ethereal leanings like a wound freshly unbandaged. In fitting languid union words read on paper just as intense as their vibrational presence—”The sky wakes to an untouched meal.” (“Exuviae”), “Skin breaks like lace, so bleached, in shreds” (“Siphonophores”), “Blood of the father / Flows through the son / Drips through the fingers, viscous and warm” (“Fiat Lux”)—scenes of progressive and recurring ruminations staining eyes and ears with fragile and tangible tragedy.

As natural as breath to a body gasping, and as natural as my own breath leaving mine with every passing moment, The Distaff rises and falls with a lurch and solemn acceptance of life unfolding. From roots as a rawer singer-songwriter to this full and modern incarnation, Amaya López-Carromero has harnessed Maud the Moth as an effortless yet meticulous extension of her writhing inner existence. And in leaps, The Distaff twists from the play of 2020’s Orphnē to full theater. Whether Maud the Moth’s continued shed and growth will crystalize into an even more brilliant form matters little as The Distaff wears in bold and uncharted tapestry its heart-wrenching endeavors. Without a peer, Maud the Moth threatens to fly freely at the top of its own constructed throne.

Rating: 5.0/5.0
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Labels: The Larvarium | La Rubia Producciones | Woodford Halse
Websites: maudthemoth.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/maudthemoth
Releases Worldwide: February 21st, 2025

The post Maud the Moth – The Distaff Review appeared first on Angry Metal Guy.

Like its predecessor, Die Urkatastrophe (which translates as something like “The Original Disaster”) focuses on the tragedies of the Great War, taking its inspiration from reports, letters, and other documents created by the soldiers who fought in that conflagration. It is uncompromising and brutal. Whether it’s the tale of the suicidal member of a mining team, tunneling under the front (“Der Maulwurf”)² or the grinding battle that saw Austria-Hungary retake Lviv / Lemberg from the Russians (“Lviv zu Lemberg”), there’s an almost frantic energy to Kanonenfieber that is both vicious and beautiful. Simultaneously heavier and more melodic than what went before, Die Urkatastrophe flits between taking in the whole, awful scale of the War, panning across its fronts (“Gott mit der Kavallerie”), while at others zooming in on specific horrors (“Verdun” and its counterpart “Ausblutungsschlacht” ).

Kanonenfieber has developed an immediately identifiable sound and sense of individuality that sets it apart from the many reference points I could cite. Sure, the likes of Bolt Thrower and 1914 still feature strongly in Kanonenfieber’s work but Die Urkatastrophe is much more diverse. A blackened thrash edge creeps into Skeletonwitch territory in places (“Gott mit der Kavallerie”), while “Panzerhenker” and “Waffenbrüder” (the latter featuring Maik Weichert of Heaven Shall Burn) draw Kvaen into the mix. The infectiously catchy “Ritter der Lüfte” evokes Panzerfaust. While all those references and more are valid, the truth is that from Noise’s razorwire rasps and snarling growls—now expanded to include funeral doom-esque roars (“Panzerhenker”)—to his crystalline tremolos and killer death riffs, Kanonenfieber is now a touchstone in its own right. Part of what makes that true, and what distinguished Menschenmühle, is the skillful incorporation of samples and original recordings. These give Kanonenfieber the weight of authenticity, which is taken to the next level on Die Urkatastrophe. The threads of its stories of bloodshed, death, and despair are tied together by perfectly integrated battlefield effects and spoken word pieces, which feel organic and an integral—even essential—part of the whole. The tension built into opener “Grossmachtfantasie,” as the first rumbling riffs rise beneath a crackling recording is enough to give me goosebumps.

Noise’s vocal performance, already a selling point previously, is the strongest he’s ever given. This is amplified by the multi-tracking deployed across the record, as well as adornments, like the choral backing vocals on “Ausblutungsschlacht,” giving its ending an appropriately grand, symphonic feeling, as it details the slaughter at Verdun. As ever, the production is fantastic, although on this occasion Noise had assistance from Kristin Kohle of Kohlekeller Studio. The stellar guitar tone is hard to put into words. Whether it is the tremolo assault of “Menschenmühle” or the gorgeous percussion-free lament two-thirds of the way into “Lviv zu Lemberg” (recalling “Die Schlacht bei Tannenberg” from the previous album), the sound is organic and effortless, like a blackened Opeth in their heyday. The bass is also much more prominent in the mix, which is welcome, adding richness to the sound. My single critical comment is that Kanonenfieber tried to repeat a trick from the last album, ending with an acoustic semi-ballad. However, for me at least, Noise comes up very slightly short here. “Verscharrt und Ungerühmt” from Menschenmühle was lightning in a bottle; it tore out my heart and stamped it into the blood-soaked mud. Here, “Als die Waffen kamen” is a good song in its own right but lightning rarely strikes twice.

Die Urkatastrophe is more than I dared hope for. I’ve had this thing for nearly two months and must have listened to it fifty-plus times. The sole flaw is that its closing track doesn’t quite match the magic of its debut counterpart. Everything else is at least as good, and often better, with “Der Maulwurf,” “Lviv zu Lemberg,” and “Waffenbrüder” forming among the strongest three-track runs I’ve ever heard. The textures Kanonenfieber weaves into the sound, coupled with the subtle tempo and stylistic shifts, give this album an almost languid fluidity and make it a heart-wrenching joy to listen to. The skill and attention to detail that went into crafting this record are outstanding, while the one-man performances by Noise are phenomenal. What makes this record truly iconic, however, is the storytelling and Noise’s ability to tailor his chosen sound to each horror he is conveying, be it the insanity of the war as a whole (“Menschenmühle”), suicidal desperation (“Der Maulwurf”) or otherwise.³

In a review of Non Est Deus, I said that I would, reluctantly, have to pass on the reviewing baton for Noise’s projects. I lied. Obviously.⁴

Rating: 5.0/5.0⁵
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 256 kbps mp3
Label: Century Media Records
Websites: noisebringer-records.bandcamp.com | noisebringer.de | facebook.com/Kanonenfieber
Releases Worldwide: September 20th, 2024

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It is not normal for us to review an album months after its release, but I’ve never been called normal, have I? This album was originally slated to receive the Things You Might Have Missed treatment, but some records simply demand the full-meal deal. This is one of those records.

I lie in restless sleep, dreaming dreams of untold sadness, when suddenly, I’m startled awake. I draw my dagger and prepare to strike out against the hooded presence that has entered my chamber. The intruder makes neither sound nor movement, and a moment’s hesitation is enough for me to intuit that the presence means me no harm. I sheath the dagger as I slowly stand to face my visitor. The figure lowers its hood, and I now stand face to face with a tall man with twelven features. He speaks: ‘2023 is dying. The Shadow is upon us, Holdeneye. The end has come.’ With a dramatic flourish, the man whips aside his cloak to produce a promo housed within an ornate leather scabbard. He offers it to me. I take the precious gift, and after a brief pause, I draw the promo and hold it before me. ‘Towers of Gold, by Sacred Outcry, forged in Greece,’ the man says. Then, with a startling sense of urgency, he peers deep into my eyes and places upon me the following charge: ‘Put aside the underrater. Become who you were born to be.’ My eyes narrow in resolution. I know what must be done.

Full disclosure: I lobbied Twelve pretty hard to be able do this, and with all the grace of an elven sage, he relented, encouraging me to have my way with Towers of Gold. My numerical friend covered Sacred Outcry’s long-overdue 2020 debut and included it on his year-end list that year, but he admitted that this new one wasn’t hitting him as hard. And I totally understand that. This version of Sacred Outcry didn’t immediately impress me either, and as a power metal concept album that clocks in at about 55-minutes long, the album is a slow burner that takes time to work its magic upon the listener. But I’m here to tell you that much like the mysterious forces animating the titular towers in its story, this album will ensnare you if you let it.

Picking an embedded track has been an arduous task. Towers of Gold is a thrilling adventure that begs to be taken in as a whole, and as such, any individual song cannot hope to represent the album’s majesty on its own. So, as usual, I’ve done the foolish thing; I’ve embedded the 15-minute title track for your listening pleasure. This album is a quest, and the title track its climax. Channeling the epic longform glory of bands like Iron Maiden, Iced Earth, Symphony X, and Kamelot, “Towers of Gold” tells its Howard-meets-Lovecraft fantasy-horror tale using a mixture of tempos and styles. You can almost smell the existential dread coming off the story’s main character as they realize how incredibly fucked they are, and it reminds me of the time I got my ill-equipped and under-powered party lost within Durlag’s Tower in the expansion to the first Baldur’s Gate. The track has more twists and turns than a labyrinthine dungeon, and it will undoubtedly be my Song o’ the Year.

I haven’t even mentioned Sacred Outcry’s most potent weapon yet: the vocal talents of one Daniel Heiman (Dimhav, Warrior Path, ex-Lost Horizon, ex-Heed). After the band’s debut, sole remaining original member and chief songwriter George Apalodimas found himself replacing every other person in the band, and I have to say that he did a masterful job. Apalodimas’ music is already top-tier, but with Heiman wailing over the top, it ascends to godhood. Aside from the barn-burning first proper track (“The Flame Rekindled”), much of Towers of Gold tends towards the more mid-paced and moody—not something that most people look for in their power metal. But with Heiman’s divine vocal abilities, even the more standard tunes become legendary. On its surface “The Voyage” is a pretty by-the-numbers power metal track, while “Symphony of the Night” and “The Sweet Wine of Betrayal” are both dark ballads, and they all become album highlights (on an album full of highlights) thanks to Heiman’s dynamic delivery. I just can’t overstate how great he is on this record.

It is without one single ounce of hesitation that I place upon Towers of Gold the highest honor that is within my right to bestow.¹ With this masterpiece, Sacred Outcry (5acred.0utcry) have created an album that I anticipate will still be in my rotation several centuries from now when my consciousness is just one small upload on the great hard drive of humanity.² Stated simply, it’s one of the greatest albums I’ve ever heard, regardless of genre. Now, having won the day and redeemed the year, I go to my fathers,³ Happy Metal Guy and Swordborn, in whose mighty company I shall not now feel ashamed.

Rating: 5.0/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: No Remorse Records
Websites: sacredoutcry.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/sacredoutcry
Releases Worldwide: May 19th, 2023

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On the band’s fourth LP, Disillusion strike again while the iron is relatively hot, drinking from the newfound pool of creativity that blessed us with The Liberation. Rather than marking a radical departure from its acclaimed predecessor, Ayam steadies the ship, while navigating uncharted waters and exploratory progressive realms. There is much to unpack across the album’s nearly hour-long duration; Disillusion’s unique, intelligent and exotic progressive metal is intricately detailed, packed to the hilt with songwriting and musical weapons. The craftmanship, transitional skills and ambitiousness on display offers a rich, memorable and enthralling experience. An excellent production job, Jens Bogren mix, and Tony Lindgren master perfectly complements Disillusion’s sophisticated sound and extra instrumental adornments, including keys, trumpet and cello.

Ayam delivers a bevy of deeply moving, emotive and gripping cuts, swiftly putting to bed any notion The Liberation was going to be an overwhelmingly tough act to follow. All the epic arrangements, technical showmanship, progressive adventurism, and melodramatic bombast from The Liberation are present in spades, yet despite the stylistic similarities, Ayam is no lazy sequel. Leading off with a trio of singles, Ayam hits the ground running. Stunning opener “Am Abgrund” follows the trend of Disillusion nailing the longer-form epic, its dramatic ebb and flow, fluid transitions, stunning vocal harmonies, and darkly authoritative bluster sit comfortably alongside previous triumphs, “And the Mirror Cracked” and “Wintertide.” The fragile build-up on “Tormento” unfurls into the album’s most singularly efficient, riffy and heavy cut, as gorgeous orchestrations mingle with jagged, crushing riffage, complex rhythms, and Schmidt’s outstanding multi-prong vocal attack. Schmidt’s vocal performance on Ayam perhaps marks a career-high. Whether it’s the punchy blows of his quirky growls, dramatic croons, or soaring, layered cleans, the dude is in outstanding form and is responsible for some of my favorite vocal melodies on a metal album in recent years. Bassist Robby Kranz also chips in with backing vocals.

The epic “Abide the Storm” builds on early album momentum; a masterful demonstration of progressive muscle, intelligent songcraft, and unmatched musicianship, capped by one of numerous jaw-dropping solos punctuating the album; heroic, misty mountaintop shreddage of the highest order. Initially the more sedate, progressive forays of Ayam’s latter half took a few extra listens to fully appreciate, especially as the heavier shifts are more sparingly, yet effectively placed. However, repeat listens uncover the rich attention to detail, intricate subtleties and elusive, compelling hooks on songs like the mournfully majestic “Longhope,” and the stirring, uplifting beauty of “From the Embers.” Musically Disillusion push their instrumental skills to the limits. The guitar work is a feast for the ears, expertly balancing complexity and emotion, melody and aggression, and proggy flair with metallic muscle. Schmidt, the departed Sebastian Hupfer, and Ben Haugg share axe duties, while drummer Martin Schulz produces an excellent performance, loaded with technical skill and the ability to seamlessly contour his playing to the shifting progressive tides of the album.

I possibly underrated The Liberation, and definitely under-ranked it in the 2019 list festivities, however, Ayam has its measure and perhaps more. There is little to complain about. Sure a few heavier moments would not have gone astray, while “Nine Days” is not quite as compelling as its counterparts, but these are minor gripes. Although the raw brilliance of Back to Times of Splendor will always be close to my heart, deep into their career, Disillusion are riding a creative peak, a testament to their resilience and willingness to overcome setbacks and push boundaries. Ayam is a triumph on multiple levels, a stunning progressive metal opus that finds Disillusion at the peak of their powers.

Rating: 4.5/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Prophecy Productions
Websites: disillusion-official.bandcamp.com | disillusion.de | facebook.com/disillusionband
Releases Worldwide: November 4th, 2022

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One of the most difficult questions to answer is one of the simplest to ask. What’s your favorite? No matter the subject, be it food or shows or movies, the category is without fail too broad to make answering anything but a Herculean task. But for me, during the last few years, one question has become as simple to answer as a query for the current time. What’s my favorite album? Disillusion’s The Liberation. I declared it a 5.0 in my top 10 list that year, and I still haven’t shut up about it.¹ Which brings us to the next difficult question: how can the band that made My Favorite Album Ever follow up on that?

My trepidation for Ayam was quickly annihilated when I first heard opener and lead single “Am Abgrund.” Mixing the sweeping grandeur of The Liberation with the off-kilter time changes of Back to Times of Splendor, the track represents the best of the band’s past and present alike. It’s heavier and darker than its predecessor’s material, conferring an uneasy atmosphere, whether it blazes through aggressive melodeath riffs accompanied by the blare of brass or dipping into subdued prog rock passages. This sense of bridging the more adventurous, experimental debut and the more sure-footed, unified sound of the band’s post-hiatus era persists on subsequent tracks. “Tormento” is easily the heaviest and weirdest on the album, with jarring shifts in its pacing and driven by a colossal riff while Schmidt bellows ‘I AM YOUR TORMENT!’ “Driftwood” uses smooth strings to expand from a gentle acoustic start into a suffocating gothic chrysalis, and when it finally bursts open it’s one of the most beautiful and satisfying transitions I’ve heard in years.

Like Disillusion’s prior work, Ayam is impossible to appreciate fully on a single spin. The music is simply not direct enough for that; though there’s a spectrum of excellent hooks and riffs, not to mention a glut of truly fantastic solos, they are not the focal point. There is an arc to each individual song. An initial mood is set up, and through its changes in pace, texture, and instrumentation, the composition leads you through dramatically interesting developments. And because this band is so goddamn good at that, nothing feels like filler or waste. “Longhope” and “Nine Days” start at a similar level of intensity, but while the former develops outward, looking for the horizon, the latter feels like a warning, pulling on the dockline before the ship can set off. “From the Embers,” then, is where the wind catches in the sails and all hesitation is cast away as it bursts forth with unbridled spirit, the three guitars weaving together in a storm of joie-de-vivre that knocked the breath out of me the first time I heard it.

Even once Ayam’s been delved into deeply enough to have a solid grasp on the intricacies of its songwriting, further excavations still unearth an impeccable sense of detail. Tiny additions to background layers ensure no moment falls flat, often echoing features more prominent elsewhere in either the same track or a different one, which increases both the unity of the tracks individually as well as the album as a whole. Appreciating such minutiae would hardly be possible without a good production, and thankfully Jens Bogren’s Fascination Street studio has delivered a warm and vital master with enough weight to carry the heavier sections, yet enough detail for the many delicate layers to retain their full impact.

I won’t say I absolutely unquestioningly love every single choice made on every single second of every single track on Ayam. The bridge of “Abide the Storm” is perhaps a tad long, and I’m not overly fond of the tip-toeing vocals used early on in that section. But this is nitpicking beyond nitpicking, and entirely overlooks the colossal achievement that truly matters here. I was completely prepared for Ayam to be a rung below The Liberation, because how likely was Disillusion to make another album as good as that without essentially re-recording the same album? But I was proven wrong. By combining the best of the band’s past and present and wrapping both in that wondrous, impeccable, adventurous songwriting, executed with unfailing precision, Ayam has become a transcendent experience that I can’t give anything less than the highest accolade possible. My only regret is that I will once more need to think and hesitate when that maddening question is asked. What is my favorite album? Well… can I pick two?

Rating: 5.0/5.0

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The Saberlight Chronicles finds success not in turning the genre on its head, but in fusing the best aspects of the modern power metal scene into a potent, maximalist brew. Not as overbearingly bombastic as Twilight Force or as relentlessly fast as DragonForce, Fellowship borrows the prime elements from both bands to strike a precise balance of wonder and excess. What makes The Saberlight Chronicles so successful as an album, then, is that its songs feel completely distinct from one another while maintaining Fellowship’s overarching aesthetic. An outright speed fest (“Oak and Ash”), an Elton John-esque driving bop (“Scars and Shrapnel Wounds”), and a hymn-like bout of Wuthering Heights-inspired folk metal (“The Saint Beyond the River”) are just a handful of picks from the record’s bounty of unexpected turns. Because every single song is completely, utterly excellent while blazing its own distinct trail, The Saberlight Chronicles barely feels half of its hour length.

Fellowship would have a great record on their hands based on its novel songwriting merits alone, but what makes it timeless is its lyrical execution. While other power metal bands endlessly mine the “Eagle Fly Free” blueprint in the pursuit of shallow happiness, The Saberlight Chronicles is positivity manifest. As a concept album, it tells its story not as a literal unfolding of events, but through a vulnerable character study from the protagonist’s perspective. Our hero doubts their bravery, worth, and legacy in ways that are grounded and authentic to the human experience. By the end, they have resolved these doubts in triumphant fashion, through struggles and victories relayed in lyrics that feel more like literature. Passages like “Memories are brittle at their best / Preserve me through my sword and all the songs within my chest” expertly capture the essence of the genre, and make for an experience that is not only engaging, but achingly relatable.

These elements would not come together so successfully were their execution sloppy, and the production and performances of The Saberlight Chronicles are at the top of their class. Gamma Ray, Blind Guardian, and countless other power metal bands didn’t hit “essential listening” status until three or more albums in; Fellowship nails it in one with one of the most professional and consistent power metal debuts I’ve ever heard. The symphonic elements are lush and cinematic without overpowering the proceedings, leaving plenty of guitar crunch and bass thrum to remind the listener that, yes, this is still a metal record at its core. While rhythm guitar work is typically pared back to make room for vocals (though there are exceptions such as the delightfully kinetic ascending riff in “The Hours of Wintertime”), Sam Browne and Brad Wosko’s solos are the most melodious and technical that one is likely to find outside of Galneryus and DragonForce. And those vocals – good god, those vocals – are delivered with aplomb by the distinctly charismatic and professional Matthew Corry. Some will undoubtedly prefer more grit in a singer, but Corry (who is also the sole lyricist) is the voice of Fellowship, and I can’t imagine a better fit for the material.

If The Saberlight Chronicles doesn’t make you want to bounce around and throw your fists in the air like a madman as Corry does in Fellowship’s music videos, then this record likely will not resonate. For many, it won’t; this is unabashedly joyous stuff that I imagine is outside the comfort zone of even some power metal fans. And I love every last second of it. Fellowship’s vocals, solos, and lyrics are among the absolute best to grace the genre in the last decade or so, and even outside all of that, the hooks and constructions of the individual songs ensure that The Saberlight Chronicles has single handedly packed my songs o’ the year list. I’ve listened to so much power metal in my life that even the genre’s greatest albums have me picking out obvious moments where other bands have done the same thing, but better. Not so here; The Saberlight Chronicles is a perfect record, and an instant power metal classic.¹

Rating: 5.0/5.0
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: 160 kbps mp3
Label: Victor (Japan) | Scarlet Records Official | Bandcamp (Rest of the world)
Websites: fellowshipmetal.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/FellowshipUK
Releases Dates: JP: 2022.07.13 | WW: 07.15.2022

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Wilderun’s Epigone marks the band’s first new material while signed to Century Media, but their fourth record. Readers of this website will know that I think they are the best band of the 2010s, having composed progressive, deathly, folksy metal records that will stay with me forever. Their last two albums have both been my record of the year (and AMG Himself’s) and the band continues to accrue acclaim for their incredible sound and talent. Epigone is, without a doubt, an album that comes with high expectations from everyone. It’s interesting to note, then, that the title means “a less distinguished follower or imitator of someone.” And following on the heels of the extraordinary Veil of Imagination and magical Sleep at the Edge of the Earth, one might reasonably expect some falloff; an album that’s maybe not quite as strong as its predecessors. I won’t be coy, though: it is another masterpiece.

When Epigone hits its stride and breaks out the bombast, there really is no one else like Wilderun. They boast an utterly singular blend of extremity, progression and classicism. Veil of Imagination was a darker, more serious affair, but Epigone returns to some of the triumph and levity of Sleep at the Edge of the Earth. The triumphant passages on “Identifier,” “Distraction III” and “Passenger” ensure that each will be on my song o’ the year shortlist come December. “Identifier” builds to a huge finale, bleeding from an uplifting guitar solo into a beautiful melodic reprise, which strongly reminds me of life’s joys. The gently swelling strings on “Distraction III” crescendo to a powerful center-piece, while “Passenger” has a particular turn-on-a-dime transition which bridges harsh growls with a massive choral harmony. There are so many awe-inspiring moments that with 7 weeks of listening I’m confident I prefer it to Veil and that it at least competes with Sleep.

It’s also a record characterized by peaks and troughs. By this I don’t mean in quality; rather in musical contrast. The peaks are the bombastic, grand passages coalescing heavy metal with classical, whereas the troughs are the softer, subtler parts. Epigone is the subtlest and strangest Wilderun album so far, leaning far more on ambience, restrained synths and simple acoustic melodies. It spends comparatively little time in passages of a medium pace and heaviness, favoring dramatic swings between light and heavy. The results are striking and I find myself constantly invested in the music. “Woolgatherer” is an early microcosm for the album as a whole. It opens with soft singing over what sounds like a mellotron and very faint strings, but develops with an oppressive heavy passage ripped straight out of the Veil playbook. It’s densely compacted with orchestrations and has a thick guitar tone to beef up the wall of sound. The intensity is all the stronger for the delicacy which preceded it.

The band clearly agonizes to build each second into a worthwhile contribution to the whole of not just each song but the entire album. Every track is littered with memorable melodies and instrumental embellishments but these work to improve Epigone overall. It tracks a natural but definite course to its conclusion and I sense 3 distinct movements within. The first, across “Exhaler” and “Woolgatherer,” introduces the listener to its sound and sets the scene for the second. This second movement doubles down on everything introduced in the first, building a grand core which demonstrates Wilderun’s spiky song-writing approach. It swings from the most obvious depiction of prior Wilderun (“Passenger”) to the triumphant heart (“Identifier”) to a curious but clever breather (“Ambition”). Finally, the four-part “Distraction” suite closes Epigone, referencing most emotions available to humankind before collapsing with a cacophonous moment of angst.

Epigone also showcases Wilderun raising the bar on their performances. Evan Berry’s clean vocals are more delicate and distinctive than ever, while his growls are truly guttural. He’s matured into one of the most versatile vocalists in metal. Joe Gettler’s electric guitar contributions are generally classy but understated as these are balanced against the vocals and symphonic elements.¹ However, when he has the space to fill with a solo, they’re truly majestic and form some of my favorite parts of the record. Nonetheless, as with Veil, the most exceptional element here is the wonderful orchestrations. With three of the band feeding into this process it would be easy for the classical elements to be overwrought and detrimental to the other parts of the Wilderun sound, but never is this the case. They’re just as precise when strings gently swell behind an acoustic guitar as they are when what sounds like most of an orchestra are thrown into the most intense heavy passages.

I liked Epigone immediately, but I’ve loved it even more over time. It is masterful; each constitute element, from the instrumentation, to the song-writing, to the album’s composition, is thoughtfully arranged and perfectly balanced to forge what must be the most complex yet cohesive record since the last Wilderun record. It seems a ridiculous assertion to make in the first week of 2022 but I have already experienced the year’s best music. Although I stand by my 4.5 for Veil, I knew with retrospect that Sleep merited a 5.0. I didn’t then have the balls to award it, but I won’t make that mistake twice.

Rating: 5.0/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3
Label: Century Media
Websites: www.wilderun.com | wilderun.bandcamp.com | www.facebook.com/wilderun
Releases worldwide: January 7th, 2022

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To be fair, a good amount of songs on Antidote proudly go toe-to-toe with Radiation’s brightest moments. “Vicious” hooks you in with an upbeat groove and driving riff in the verse before the chorus opens up and envelops you, all but ensuring repeated plays. Elsewhere, “Dismantling” and “Midlife Hollow” both possess the dreamy, hazy melodies and passionate choruses that, once again, will have you singing along at the top of your lungs while you bop your head from side-to-side in (dour) happiness. So, rest assured, if you enjoyed Radiation, I’m happy to report that these songs, at the absolute least, will get plenty of replay on your end.

As for the remainder of the songs on Antidote… frankly, they’re a marked improvement over anything found on Radiation in terms of memorability, emotional impact, and the willingness to color outside the lines just a bit. Lead-off single “Gravel,” as a shining example, combines not only atonal riffs and melodies by Schindl and fellow guitarist Diogo Almeida, but one of their best multi-layered choruses where by the time Schindl screams “And we scream and mourn and sing along” at the end, you’re feeling it. As for the variety, both the aforementioned “Dismantling” and “Midlife Hollow” incorporate blast beats and a tinge of black metal shrieking (in “Dismantling”‘s case) to get their points across to chilling effect. Hell, even the short instrumental title track acts as a much-needed pick-me-up late in Antidote’s play time, as the gutwrenching closer “Everything Is Vain” sees Impure Wilhelmina putting their best doomy foot forward, giving modern-day Paradise Lost a run for their money, closing out the album on a suitably down note.

Compared to Radiation, Antidote is also easier on the ears, with the added benefit of everything sounding fuller. You can actually feel Sébastien Dutruel’s contributions this time around, as his note choices on bass help him stand out a lot more than he did on Radiation. Thankfully, Mario Togni’s drumming still remains impactful, driving close to the edge of distortion and overproduction without actually flying over it. Yvan Bing and Ladislav Agabekov did a tremendous job of producing and mixing, respectfully. Their production work, on top of the increased quality of songwriting from Radiation, made a 52-minute album not feel at all like 52 minutes. Everything that I was hoping for in terms of improvements actually came to pass, all while leaving what worked alone. Even then, what worked before also saw a bit of an upgrade, as just adding the right things at the right time worked wonders on here.

I’ve tried to find faults with Antidote during my two weeks spent listening to it. As a reviewer, you try not to jump to any conclusions right away. But when you’re replaying songs after hearing them the first time and not just to offer a critique, but because they’re just that damn good, that’s a sign that you’re listening to something truly special. Antidote is flooded with moments like that. On Radiation, I remarked that they should stand as tall as Katatonia as leaders in terms 80s goth-rock-influenced metal. Here, everyone should be giving Impure Wilhelmina even more of a listen, because Antidote is that much more improved… and Radiation scored a 4.5 from me. I know people will balk at the score below, but given not only the improvements, but also the quality of songwriting here, not to mention how I’ve only just now stopped playing it so I can finally review it, it’s more than warranted. Stupendous job, guys.

Rating: 5.0/5.0
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Season of Mist
Websites: impurewilhelmina.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/impurewilhelmina
Releases Worldwide: May 21st, 2021

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Ad Nauseam

The centerpiece of Imperative Imperceptible Impulse, “Coincidentia Oppositorum” opens with a dusty, parched solo guitar. It is the rambling of a desert rat long starved of human contact, not much in the way of narrative, but it serves as a warning and enticement towards the treacherous landscapes within. Ad Nauseam trace their way along side routes and game trails until suddenly there’s a stumble. A fall; the bass strings clatter against the frets as the guitars tumble like two feet trapped in different landslides. In the gulley below, limbs regroup and wounds are licked. The climb out will be no less trying than the descent.

That challenge is far from singular in Imperative Imperceptible Impulse. “Conicidentia Oppositorum” is almost an album into itself, and any attempt I make to summarize or translate it, or the rest of Impulse, with respect to the musical conventions of metal disintegrates as it flashes onto the page. Sure, there are parallels: the scratchy, knotty black metal of Norse; the sculpted, tonally dense death metal of Baring Teeth; the audacious abstractions of Dodecahedron. Ad Nauseam share outré techniques and shocking sounds with all of them, but Impulse seems to stand apart in the scope and success of its ambitions. Moment to moment, the record is so intractable and detailed that I find myself getting lost in short segments, replaying single phrases over and over to gawk at their shattered rhythms and bent notes.

The complexity and constancy of the guitar interplay on Impulse build on and surpass even the knottiest tech-death records – think Incurso or Relentless Mutation. Right and left guitars unify only for the rarest climax and live under different rhythms, each at times snapping back across measures to cut the other off, at times shading the other’s sprouting melody. Each phrase whips through the air like a willow branch, quivering, shaking, rattling until it is bent back and hangs limp from a strand of green xylem. And yet for each splintered bough a new twig sprouts from the burl to be challenged by yet more contortions, an obstinate thicket against the blasted surroundings. Though ostensibly impenetrable, this density creates moments of sublime beauty. The last three minutes of “Imperative Imperceptible Impulse” sound like an Ars Magna Umbrae record that’s been left out in the sun. While the right guitar repeats a transfixing lead line from several different starting pitches, the left scratches at sparkling chords in a rare moment of placidity.

Capturing each second is a downright staggering recording. Gently distorted guitars bristle and creak under skew chords and simmer in feedback. The bass frets clatter and pop above almost subsonic tones. You can hear every different place a drumstick makes impact and feel the scrape of the brushes in “Human Interface to No God” as they stroke the snare and ripple over the cymbals. You listen inches away from the hot breath behind the record’s screams, roars, and chants. Ad Nauseam didn’t just self-produce, didn’t just self-record; they built their instruments and equipment specifically to capture these sounds and make this album. One can quibble about the band’s decisions – I’d ask for maybe a nudge to the vocals and a stronger bass tone – but never question their competency.

Even as Imperative Imperceptible Impulse fades, it manifests something new and puzzling. “Human Interface to No God” drips to a close with a slick of slinking, caliginous jazz that recalls the eerie dispossession of Joel Fausto and the Illusion Orchestra. It’s totally unexpected, but that contrast deepens the record’s impact. Impulse resists every convention and becomes stronger with each subversion of form. Ad Nauseam put everything they had into creating a record that truly synthesizes and transcends its influences. They succeeded.

Rating: 5.0/5.0
DR: 11 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Avantgarde Music
Websites: adnauseam.bandcamp.com | adnauseam.it | facebook.com/adnauseam
Releases Worldwide: February 12^th, 2021

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Wilderun’s Sleep at the Edge of the Earth was a revelation. The record was a powerful blend of ideas that was as enchanting as it was addictive. It was epic and sprawling and my (and the staff’s) Record o’ the Year from 2015, and it came with an elevator pitch as snappy as: “Opeth meets Turisas.” And while this is a simplification that does not do the brilliance of Sleep at the Edge of the Earth justice, it is a good reference point. Because after four years, with my understanding being that Veil of Imagination was done for at least a quarter of it, this elevator pitch does not seem to have enticed anyone to pick the band up. This is absurd, as even after Sleep at the Edge of the Earth, the band was clearly among the most exciting bands in metal. But on Veil of Imagination, Wilderun has not only grown, but they have raised the bar for what progressive and melodic death metal can be. Veil of Imagination is one of the most imaginative, beautiful and interesting records that I have ever heard.

Veil of Imagination is a complete album that is worthy of its length. While other bands have referred to their songs as “movements,” the term is the only appropriate name for what Wilderun has wrought. From the fourteen and a half minutes of “The Unimaginable Zero Summer” to the out of tune outro on “When the Fire and the Rose Were One,” everything flows with the kind of practiced grace that few bands not named Pink Floyd or Symphony X have ever accomplished. The pacing, when seen from a bird’s eye view, is genius. Whether Wilderun recapitulates a riff which transitions perfectly between songs (“O Resolution!” to “Sleeping Ambassadors of the Sun”), or subtly changes key and feel over the course of three minutes before merging into the next movement (“Scentless Core (Fading)” to “The Tyranny of Imagination”), the transitions are brilliant and seem effortless. Veil of Imagination even has a three act feel. The first three tracks spend most of their time in 6/8; that unmistakably Opethian swing (clearest on “The Unimaginable Zero Summer”). The next three tracks comprise Act II with a majestic and powerful Turisasian flare (“Far from Where Dreams Unfurl”). And finally, Act III is comprised of “The Tyranny of Imagination” and “When the Fire and the Rose Were One,” which emphasize dissonance and consonance. These sounds, of course, blend throughout the album, but each act has its own emphasis.

Talk of “movements” and “acts” emphasizes that Veil of Imagination is a clear development of the band’s sound toward the truly symphonic. While the transitions are one part of this, orchestral arrangers Dan Müller and Wayne Ingram craft fantastic beds of strings and choirs that make Wilderun distinct. Rather than being a metal band playing with an orchestra, the band is part of the orchestra. This is helped by the combinations of piano and violin (“The Unimaginable Zero Summer” or “Scentless Core (Budding)”) which merge into something always more intense and grand (“Sleeping Ambassadors of the Sun”), with plenty of Finnish New English Man Choir to add an extra layer of drama.¹ The band uses a variety of sounds one rarely hears in metal—harps (“O Resolution!”) or fluttering piano and flutes (“When the Fire and the Rose Were One”)—and these give a true sense of orchestral mastery.

The album’s symphonic nature, of course, still contains a metal spine. Wilderun demonstrates this with Evan’s ferocious death metal growl and classic, if idiosyncratic, metal riffing. Aside from the album breaking out the door with blasts and death metal groove, “Far from Where Dreams Unfurl” features noodly melodic death riffs with counter-intuitive harmonies, while “Tyranny of Imagination” starts out with a sinister symphonic death feel. Joe Gettler’s guitar solos (like on “O Resolution!” and “Far from Where Dreams Unfurl”) are a reminder that these guys just have chops. The same is true of Jon Teachey’s drums pushing into blasts at times or tom heavy fills, while the bass features prominently throughout, with Müller delivering a heavy, driving performance that reminds me at times of Martín Méndez (“O Resolution!” and “Sleeping Ambassadors of the Sun”). Yet, never does the symphonic conflict with the metallic, either thematically or sonically; they work in perfect balance.

The genius of this album is the way it balances contrast both in feel and dissonance. What makes Veil of Imagination something more than just a continuation of Sleep at the Edge of the Earth is it has a unique voice which speaks to its concept. And this is where I worry it will lose some listeners. One of the most interesting and sophisticated things about the album is the way that it plays with dissonance and consonance. This can give the feeling to listeners that the melodies aren’t quite as ‘strong’ as on Sleep at the Edge of the Earth. Close listens, however, reveal evocative ideas that sonically represent the album’s concept. For example, they modulate major keys in “Scentless Core (Budding),” never really staying in one place for long—which builds a sense of uneasiness with blaring horns until the fever breaks down to a single piano. The bridge (at about 4 minutes) in “Far from Where Dreams Unfurl” follows a similar pattern, building tension for almost 90 seconds before releasing. But the peak of this is in “The Tyranny of Imagination,” where Wilderun works with half-steps and naturals in order to keep the tension building. At times this approach reminds me of Septicflesh at their best, but unlike Septicflesh, Wilderun balances these moments with ample resolution. In these moments, Evan’s baritone cleans often work with only a piano or acoustic guitar to cleanse the pallet and set the stage for the next burst of color and flavor.

Veil of Imagination is the result of Wilderun masterfully executing its vision through developments in both composition and style. The album speaks to fundamental human struggles and mirrors the tension and release of negative ideation of the future. This can be seen from the cover art, as well. The beating, surreal heart of Veil of Imagination is a twisted tree draped with blooming flowers—where the fire and the rose met, and where “all manner of thing shall be well.”² And time and time again, Wilderun delivered with their aesthetic choices. From a Dan Swanö mix that sounds timeless, to a Jens Bogren master which, while loud, delivers the kind of balance that made his work on Fleshgod Apocalypse and Turisas indispensable. And suddenly, it seems, that Wilderun isn’t just an excellent, if underappreciated band. With Veil of Imagination, Wilderun has arrived at the vanguard of the next generation of progressive and melodic death metal bands. Veil of Imagination raises the bar by delivering an intense, grandiose and sophisticated, yet ultimately human, experience.

Rating: Iconic
DR: 6 | Media Reviewed: PCM (i.e., CD quality files)
Label: Independent
Websites: wilderun.bandcamp.com | wilderun.com | facebook.com/OfficialWilderun
Releases Worldwide: November 1st, 2019

Written By: El Cuervo

It is impossible for me to overstate the excellence of Wilderun’s 2015 record, Sleep at the Edge of the Earth. I was a relative rookie at reviewing but immediately identified it as a special release, escalating it within another year or two to one of the best albums I’ve ever experienced. 2018 rolled around and my feet began to itch; the three-year album cycle in which most modern metal bands operate did not yield a new release and relative social media inactivity led to awful thoughts that I may not hear a successor. To my simultaneous relief and trepidation, I learned of the November release of Veil of Imagination and obtained a review copy shortly thereafter. The relief arose for obvious reasons, but the trepidation perhaps less so. How could it possibly hope to match my sentiment for Sleep at the Edge of the Earth? I tried to quash my expectations but I still took time out from a holiday abroad to download and sit down with it. What were my initial thoughts? What are my thoughts now, 6 weeks later?

Veil of Imagination is not a record repeating the formula of its predecessor; it’s denser, more progressive affair. Opener “The Unimaginable Zero Summer” hits like a truck and is offensively long, terribly progressive and dizzyingly dense. It’s a baptism of fire signifying that Wilderun did not write a record just intending to ride the coattails of former glory. The incredible scope of sounds and instrumentation is even wider and these 14 minutes feature some legitimately heavy, overwhelming passages. Wilderun will cater to no one in executing their vision and do not make things easy for the listener. While Sleep at the Edge of the Earth broke the “Ash Memory” suite into four parts, there’s no bite-sized partitioning on Veil of Imagination. This is symptomatic of the record more widely, which is less catchy and more challenging at first blush. It’s a more somber album overall and a feeling of loss comes through. The band’s approach on Veil of Imagination isn’t inherently a bad thing though; it’s not a record full of hooks, but there are melodies which embed on repeated listens and they’re all the stronger in the long run for making the listener work a little.

Veil of Imagination still features the earthy tone and lyrical themes which tie the sound to folk metal, but is not substantively folk metal anymore. I consider the last record as a folk umbrella, under which resides a fusion of progressive rock, death and symphonic metal. These elements remain but the bouncing, lighter energy has dwindled, replaced with a richer and more cohesive blend which also incorporates black metal, notably on “The Unimaginable Zero Summer” and “The Tyranny of Imagination.” The record is further distanced from Opeth and Turisas as could be heard previously, though fragments surface occasionally. This iteration of Wilderun sounds more unique due, in part, to aesthetic changes. For example, the clean, harmonic, lead guitar tone favored on the band’s 2015 opus arises infrequently, while Evan Berry’s cleans don’t evoke Åkerfeldt as he develops his own, plaintive style.

The greatest change on Veil of Imagination is the development of a more symphonic sound. This is exemplified by the passage beginning at 1:55 on “Scentless Core (Budding).” The transition is literally marvelous; you will truly marvel at it. In this jaw-dropping moment, the penny falls and the listener is wrapped in a hurricane of blasting drums and piano scales, ascending and descending. Wilderun draws their symphonic arrangements, elaborate orchestrations, ridiculous grandiosity and real heaviness into masterful compositions. Not only do they utilize a diverse range of instruments, well outside the purview of the usual symphonic metal ornaments, but more importantly they are arranged with an admirable awareness for dynamics; sometimes utilizing the full orchestra and at other times isolating one or two instruments. I’ve not heard such an excellent integration of classical instruments into metal since Griseus by Aquilus.³ There are many other moments I could detail but, in particular, I want to note the way the strings flutter at the opening of “Sleeping Ambassadors of the Sun” and at the closing of “The Tyranny of Imagination.” These hark back to John Williams when he is trying to convey the sense of wonder in space used on the Star Wars soundtracks, and the effect is similar here.

Veil of Imagination, if it were not already apparent, is epic. It is epic in vision and execution. It’s not just symphonic by using classical instruments. The album is symphonic in the true sense. Each of these songs is so vast, detailed and cohesive that listening to them is more like surveying an intricate map, where the particular journey adopted by the band leads you through a beginning, middle and end. It simultaneously boasts a wider scope than almost any other music, but is also so minutely detailed that you could take a one minute passage at random from anywhere on the record as the basis of an entire descriptive paragraph. And it feels like that could be done for the entire 67 minutes. All parts stand on their own but contribute to the whole, which is the entire objective of the album format.

I’ve already written nearly 900 words and could write many more. I’ve not even mentioned song of the year candidate “Far from Where Dreams Unfurl,” or how the concept and arrangement of the record as a whole influences the sense of cohesion and completeness. But in summary, I’m left with one more question, and one I expect commenters will want to know the answer to: does my heart swell in the same way as it does for Sleep at the Edge of the Earth? Perhaps not. But that’s a verified 5.0 and a true all-timer. So Veil of Imagination is fighting a Sisyphean battle in that sense. It’s a more challenging record and one which has fewer heart-stopping moments on first listen. But what it is, is grand. Pompous. Ridiculous. Overwhelming. Heavy. Subtle. Ornate. Epic. And it’s the best record I’ve heard this year.

Rating: 4.5/5.0

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What Passes for Survival requires more than just a disc or a download to listen to; it absolutely necessitates a lyric sheet. I’ve been calling Doug Moore metal’s best lyricist since I first read the liner notes for The Mother of Virtues, but this album is a different beast; a poetic masterpiece of fractal depth and detail, where poverty, intolerance, and pollution dance in an ecology of corruption. If Moore hasn’t been reading Jason W. Moore¹, I’m sure he’ll start soon. His bitter discontent paralleled only by his ability to express it, Moore runs rampant across this album, each stanza bursting with meaning, entangled in itself. These lyrics adhere to each other so tightly that even when pulled apart, songs have bits of each others’ themes stuck on. “Tennessee” takes on a very human topic, but when it sets the scene, Tennessee is “Where the land rolls rusted / and kudzu strangles the trees in green.” The album’s themes are not quite new for Pyrrhon, but one need not be an astrophysicist to know their inward bend is due to a mass at the center.

Yet What Passes for Survival does not constitute a mere poetry slam². Moore’s dazzling laryngeal legerdemain harnesses text in service of sound, rather than the opposite, making the lyric sheet all the more necessary. Nonetheless, his vocals are only one quarter of Pyrrhon. The real man behind the curtain is guitarist Dylan DiLella, whose inimitable playing style and fervid disregard for conventional tonality make Pyrrhon so fiercely unique. His battered riffs defy simple description, but I can tell you that every one of them is worth hearing. Many a bent note and scraped string spawn his structures, bodies made all of elbows and fingers bent back.

“Tennessee” sees the guitar at its most accessible – if only because it’s slowed down – and serves as a stepping stone into this music. Bassist Erik Malave and new drummer Steve Schwegler kick off with a simple but unsettling groove, and the muddy pace of the following group improvisation allows for a uniquely comprehensible look into the band’s chemistry. Later on in the song, there’s an all-too short solo spot for DiLella, and his sideways acrobatics are turned front and center. Earlier, “The Invisible Hand Holds a Whip,” gives the band a chance to showcase their precision – a word that might as well be Schweigler’s middle name – as they execute odd riffs in odd time. The drumming is tight and busy, and the boisterous fills and rapid-fire snare work sound physically dangerous to play.

The best writing deserves the best production, so Pyrrhon got it. Recording, mixing, and mastering were all handled by Colin Marston and the result is stunning – he’s outdone himself. The sincerity of this production is such that the production itself becomes invisible. Any trace of process is unnoticeable; each note leaps into the air newborn. While The Mother of Virtues and Growth Without End were not ill-produced, they tended towards a sort of frequency clutter that made the sound’s dirtiness seem a bit too caked-on, and intentional rather than organic. What Passes for Survival absolutely hits the mark for balance, clarity and dynamic range. The last album I heard that sounded this rich was Ad Nauseam’s Nihil Quam Vacuitas Ordinatum Est. Metal-Fi, you can stop your yearly search here; this is 2017s best-sounding album.

I’ve been writing about metal here at Angry Metal Guy for a little under four years now. Just after I began in 2013, I heard Altar of Plagues’ Teethed Glory and Injury, an album that I consider to be for all practical purposes perfect. It’s the most recent on the very short list of albums that I have no complaints about. Albums that are uncompromising in their construction and unencumbered in their execution. What Passes for Survival finds itself in such company, and not by accident; it is the result of a confluence of uncanny talent and revolutionary vision, a piece of art that truly expands the canon from which it draws.

Rating: 5.0/5.0
DR: 10 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Willowtip Records | Throatruiner Records
Websites: pyrrhon.com/bandcamp | facebook.com/pyrrhon
Releases: August 11th, 2017

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