Anyone unfamiliar with Lovebites can approximate their sound as an all-female version of Galneryus,² although Lovebites is much more than a clone of a great band. Their full-length debut Awakening from Abyss dropped in 2017, with subsequent albums Clockwork Immortality and Electric Pentagram released in 2018 and 2020, respectively. Both follow-ups impressed, but nothing quite reached the heights of their debut until fourth album Judgement Day hit shelves in 2023. Introducing new bassist Fami,³ Judgement Day honed Lovebites’ attack to a lethal edge, and with even more time spent sharpening their craft, Outstanding Power cuts deeper than ever.

Lovebites’ stable lineup exudes an electrifying chemistry throughout Outstanding Power. Each component of the band’s auditory milieu complements the others, whether it’s the blazing guitar tandem of Midori and Miyako, Haruna’s meticulously mechanical drumming, or Fami’s low-end purr and incredibly hooky countermelodies. Musically, Lovebites has never been this exacting. From the calculated rhythms in “Silence the Void” to the galloping rolls in “Blazing Halo,” Haruna’s drumming goads songs with an unflappable urgency that’s simultaneously composed and tempestuous. Meanwhile, Fami’s bass flexes mondo swagger that recalls Geddy Lee’s aggressive plucks and twangs (“The Castaway”) as well as Flea-bitten flourishes (the intro to “Blazing Halo”). In fact, the bass’s expanded role on Outstanding Power defines what elevates the album above the rest of Lovebites’ already first-rate output. Besides trading vicious solos and captivating riffs with fellow axe-bearer Midori, Miyako supplies the keys, channeling duel-lead, arpeggiated runs à la Children of Bodom (“The Castaway”) as nimbly as she blankets moods with Sonata Arctica-informed synth and piano (“Eternally,” “One Will Remain”). Atop it all, singer Asami coos, belts, and wails with a voice that some may find an acquired taste with her heavy use of vibrato, but is powerful and unique. Overall, the songwriting on Outstanding Power synchronizes into lock-step bombast, where each track dazzles with its own fully-fleshed identity and laser-honed melodies.

Though not without fault, Outstanding Power unequivocally claims the top spot in Lovebites’ catalog (so far). No small part of this is thanks to Fami and Haruna, who bring the rhythm section to the fore with undeniable performances that match the high-flying axe-work besieging previous releases. The biggest strike against Outstanding Power is the album’s sixty-four-minute runtime, which the sharp songwriting mitigates with infectious melodies and perfectly executed instrumentation. Even Outstanding Power’s weakest cut, seven-minute ballad “Eternally,” contains good moments despite fumbling Lovebites’ momentum down the home stretch. Add in the surprisingly spacious mix⁴ that gives the band ample space to pop and you’ve got yourself a bona fide power metal classic on your hands.

Power metal presents a challenge to rate, as its natural optimism and oft-cheesy tropes can be at odds with what typically engenders high scores and opinions, and makes Outstanding Power the most difficult score I’ve assessed up to this point. Throughout, Lovebites exemplifies power metal ethos, unleashing high-octane shredded cheese with a flagrant nonchalance that is shamelessly irresistible. With Outstanding Power, Lovebites not only delivers their greatest achievement so far, but the best power metal release I’ve heard in over a year. Relentless riffs, grooves, and fills assail listeners with flamboyant moxie and technical ecstasy, defining an album I haven’t been able to put down since I got my grubby mitts on the damned thing. If fun won’t kill you, give Lovebites’ opus a spin. Or maybe give it a listen anyway, because what’s life without a little Love?

Rating: Great
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 256 kbps mp3
Label: Napalm Records
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: February 18th, 2026

Maddog

Much to her chagrin, Thus Spoke and I share many things in common. Chief among them is our anaphylactic allergy to major scales; being the two resident vegans, we struggle with cheesy music.⁵ While this has made power metal a difficult subgenre, Lovebites is an exception. Our coverage of this Japanese juggernaut has been scarce, but I gave 2023’s Judgement Day a tempered positive filter review. Outstanding Power has the same foundation as Lovebites’ prior work, but with a beefier rhythm section, more variety, better riffs, hookier hooks, and more cohesive songwriting. It’s a fantastic record.

Outstanding Power is textbook power metal, in the same sense that Rust in Peace is textbook thrash. The centerpiece is Asami’s vocal performance, which is appropriately over-the-top but steps back to let the instruments shine. Lovebites’ most visible weapon is their dual-guitar assault. Across theatrical leads, deathy riffs, and unrestrained solos, guitarists Midori and Miyako display a mastery of melody. Even with such stiff competition, Lovebites’ rhythm section stands out. Fami’s bass plays every part it can, with blistering riffs, playful lines that recall a young Steve Harris, and explosive additions to choruses. Haruna’s drumming is a gem, especially when her lavish fills and opening salvos help stitch the album together. Both the bass and the drums peak when their respective musicians take the songwriting reins; Fami’s collaborative composition “Blazing Halo” features irresistible dueling bass and guitar solos, while Haruna’s “Forbidden Thirst” highlights her grooviest drum work. No member of Lovebites ever fades into obscurity.

Outstanding Power holds me rapt throughout. Across their hyperactive leads, 1980s virtuoso shredfests (“One Will Remain”), and fanciful Mark Knopfler-style (Dire Straits) joyrides (“Wheels on Fire”), guitarists Midori and Miyako don’t miss a beat. Their dominance becomes clearest when they join forces. Lovebites’ harmonies recall Iron Maiden, and the guitarists’ knack for separating and rejoining makes “The Castaway” an early contender for Song o’ the Year. Asami’s vocals aren’t bulletproof, particularly in her higher register. Still, the vocals and the guitars forge an ironclad alliance that raises Outstanding Power to new heights. The guitars’ imitation of the vocal shouts on “[Grin] Reaper’s Lullaby” makes me grin every time, while the orgiastic leads that accompany the final chorus of “Out of Control” remind me of Madonna’s classic “Burning Up.” Even the ballad “Eternally” is a triumph. While its vocal melodies are memorable, “Eternally” takes a cue from Gamma Ray’s “Lake of Tears” in delegating much of the heavy lifting to the weepy guitars. These ingredients make Outstanding Power a wellspring of enormous climaxes. The guitar solos are at once emotive and explosive (“The Eve of Change”), and each song ends with pizzazz (“Silence the Void”). In short, Outstanding Power is a goddamn pleasure.

Outstanding Power is such a spectacle that I can’t even begrudge its excess. I hear Sunburst in the chugging riffs of “Blazing Halo.” I hear Riot in the downright rowdy “Silence the Void.” I hear 1980s electronica interspersed with chest-thumping power metal in “The Eve of Change.” I hear Symphony X in the vocal melodies and the atmosphere of “Forbidden Thirst.” I hear Kryptos’ heavy metal revival in the rockin’ ruffian riffs of “Out of Control.” I hear blackened melodeath in the vicious “Reaper’s Lullaby,” contrasting with the heart-rending ballad “Eternally.” Most importantly, I hear Lovebites in every moment. All five band members sustain the album’s shifts while sticking to their signature styles. With its balance of variety and continuity, Outstanding Power feels half as long as its 64-minute runtime. Due to the album’s wide emotional range, I even grew to love its more upbeat tracks. Criticizing Lovebites for sounding cheerful seems akin to criticizing Monet because you don’t like yellow water lilies; sometimes flowers are yellow, you twit! Outstanding Power tries to do a lot, and it nails every piece.

As I struggle to process this album, I’m reminded of Eldritch Elitist’s review of Imperial Circus Dead Decadence. Yes, Outstanding Power is self-indulgent; what’s your point? Lovebites paints their variegated image of power metal with five brushes and five million colors, and the result is astounding. It isn’t perfect, and the crushed master makes it harder to appreciate the album’s finer features. But Outstanding Power easily won over my shriveled heart. While major scales make me gag, these ones just feel like the crest of a wave. While I tend to balk at hour-long albums, this one goes by in a heartbeat. Power metal isn’t my usual fare, but Lovebites has created a masterwork.

Rating: 4.5/5.0

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An undertaking like Overspace & Supertime demands top-notch performances to survive: Cryptic Shift couldn’t have done much better. Keeping true to the mix of Atheistic death, Vektorian thrash, and King Crimsonian progressive sensibilities that made the debut a knockout, Cryptic Shift have opened another wormhole of technical death/thrash immensity. But if you’re imagining Visitations II: Eldritch Boogaloo, stop. Overspace takes what made Visitations great and kicks it into warp speed. The guitar duo of Xander Bradley and Joss Farrington (Cryptworm)² tear through an embarrassment of mind-bending, neck-breaking riffs across Overspace, bending across their whole fretboards, soloing on “Stratocumulus Evergaol” and putting their entire asses behind the chugged-up “Hyperspace Topography.” Drummer Ryan Sheperson pummels his kit in time I can only guess at on “Overspace & Supertime” while bassist John Riley fretlessly glides over “Cryogenically Frozen” into solos traded off between the guitars, amounting to a finessed, yet relentless attack. Topped off with Bradley’s cavernous bellows, Overspace & Supertime is a tour de force of musical expertise.

What carries Cryptic Shift’s longform songwriting is that their music is always in flux. Whenever the band seems lost in their own prog-sauce—like in the effect-heavy openings of “Hexagonal Eyes (Diverity Trepaphymphasyzm)” and “Cryogenically Frozen”—they always swing back with a bruiser riff that helps keep Overspace more approachable than it ought to be. Like on Visitations, Cryptic Shift employ clean guitar passages and eerie atmospheres to outline the heavy bits. But on Overspace, they are woven smoothly into the distorted parts to create dynamic passages, like the shimmering clean strums between monstrous death hits on “Stratocumulus Evergaol” or the blackened surf-rock tremolos of “Hyperspace Topography.” But Cryptic Shift’s greatest dynamic on Overspace is that of light vs. dark. While their debut was a pitch-black exploration of space-born horrors, Overspace injects a healthy dosage of awe into their mix, including strangely bright conclusions to “Cryogenically Frozen” and “Overspace & Supertime” and a passage at ~16 minutes into “Stratocumulus Evergaol” that’s so boppy that it could pass for Rise Against. It’s in the name: Cryptic Shift change in some strange ways over the course of Overspace & Supertime, and I’m here for it.

And this leads me to the true wonder of Overspace & Supertime and where its immensity is most benefited: the beauty of the off-kilter. This is an album of purely aggressive, dissonant, esoteric, and oddly-timed stuff; Cryptic Shift made no obvious move, and they’re clearly not gunning for radio play. So why is it so beautiful? Solos that effortlessly slide from Slayer-like chromatic bullshittery into soaring melodicism. Patient ambiances both tranquil and unsettling, belligerent thrashing as exhilarating as it is hostile. The brilliant production best described by Dolphin Whisperer as “tone porn,” where all cleans are crystalline, and everything dirty is disgusting. How easy it is to fall under Cryptic Shift’s spell and let the freeform journey take you on its many twists and turns. The fact that Overspace & Supertime gets weird and takes its precious time doing so allows the listener to immerse themselves in Cryptic Shift’s world, making for a simply sublime experience.

In retrospect, Visitations from Enceladus feels like Cryptic Shift’s proof-of-concept for Overspace & Supertime. Yes, this is an exhausting record. Trying to catch everything on it during your first listen could make you go blind. Maybe 80 minutes is too damn long. But Overspace & Supertime is a better record than my wildest expectations, six years in the making, ever dreamed up. Like Frank Zappa at his best, Cryptic Shift on Overspace left me frequently confused, sometimes just plain tickled, but never unmoved before their showcase of the bizarre and the otherwordly. In the stranger aeons Cryptic Shift occupy, anything has happened.

Rating: Excellent
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 256 kbps MP3
Label: Metal Blade Records
Websites: cryptic-shift.bandcamp | facebook.com/crypticshift
Releases Worldwide: February 27, 2026

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Worm

Necropalace is instantly identifiable as a Worm album: disEMBOWELMENT-esque cavernous doom-death, a dungeon-synth level of fondness for keyboards, and surprisingly beautiful lead guitars all echoing in a cavernous mist. However, following the trajectory set by the interim EP and split, the music now channels a different subgenre of horror. The grandiosity is more theatrical than imposing, the tone is haunting not by a sense of dread, but by an almost camp spookiness, and more time than before is given over to explosive forays into faster tempos. That may sound bad, but it’s brilliant. This expansion into pretty much all black metal has to offer musically gives Worm’s signature interweaving of sinister heaviness and eerie echoey melody room to spread its wings and express all the otherworldly magic and brooding drama it always teased. In Necropalace, Worm transform fully from the swamp beast of yore into the haunted-castle-guarding dragon out of some weird dream nightmare.

Everything unique and great about Worm finds a new, more vibrant side on Necropalace. The drawling doom is gloomier; the guitar melodies more exuberant; the reverb and distortion more huge; the atmosphere richer; the synths, ominous choirs, and bells, and distortion more delicious. Guitarist Wroth Septentrion—a.k.a Philippe Tougas of First Fragment—holds nothing back. Dazzling flourishes (“Halls of Weeping”) and lush, crooning refrains (“The Night Has Fangs,” “Blackheart”) spill across the resonant black(ened doom), and arc upwards in great swoops (“Necropalace,” Witchmoon: The Infernal Masquerade”). It’s the most beautiful Worm has ever been, yet retains that layer of grime Worm is so recognisable for. It works so well thanks to supernaturally perfect interplay between keyboard and guitar, where each is expressive and layered in their own right (“Gates to the Shadowzone (Intro)”), and picks up or embellishes the other’s lines. A vibrant dance of strings comes naturally from tense chords of choir (“The Night Has Fangs”) or piano cascades out of dirt-laden riffs (“Necropalace,” “Witchmoon”), and the purring rhythms of synth bleed seamlessly into extreme metal (“Necropalace,” “Dragon Dreams”). The crashing drums and clattering swords, rising synths and bold keys, and the way Phantom Slaughter’s shrieking or apathetic spoken-word echoes phantasmally—all folded into these strikingly melodic forms—together create a kind of operatic melodrama that is endlessly fun to experience.

At this point, I’d normally be adding a caveat, and I’m not starved for choice, in theory. Necropalace is just over an hour long, which might be too much time in the Shadowzone for some, but the time absolutely flies by. A reluctance to edit is also implied by the typically unpopular use of an intro with instrumental “Gates to the Shadowzone (Intro),” which—unlike on Foreverglade³—actually is a shorter track. As its title implies, however, its ominous dungeon synth and shimmering soloing work well to induct the listener into the weird world that follows. And the guitarwork of Marty Friedman—who guests on closer “Witchmoon”—fits so brilliantly with everything Worm has crafted up to this point that it acts as a final, epic flourish that more than capitalises on his—and every member’s—skill.

Despite committing so fully to the spooky and loosening the reins on compositional structure and melody, Worm has not lost their grip on writing heavy, engaging songs. With its bombastic sense of fun and theatricality and a beauty that stays firmly entrenched in the dark and dirty, Necropalace shows Worm evolving in a way that magnifies rather than dilutes their personality. If more people hear it due to signing with a bigger label, then that’s only a good thing. I can’t stop listening myself. This is the album Worm was born to create.

Rating: Excellent
DR: ?⁴ | Format Reviewed: Stream
Label: Century Media
Website: Bandcamp | Instagram
Releases Worldwide: February 13th, 2026

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Mayhem

Before Mysteriisly disappearing, Diabolus in Muzaka astutely observed in Daemon’s review, ‘Mayhem’s career is an anthology, not an arc.’ This neatly summarizes the band’s approach, as they take their time to craft each album around a central motif. Sure, there’s been discourse around the direction they take at times, and while not every album pleases every fan, I can’t deny that each time Mayhem releases a new LP, I’m reliably presented with a fully committed statement. On Liturgy of Death, Mayhem unravels the threads of mortality and, from various perspectives, examines fate’s inexorable call, confronting one of life’s unifying truths with cold clarity.

Musically, Mayhem is in top form throughout Liturgy of Death, with each musician discharging devastating drama. Attila Csihar delivers an inspired performance, croaking and growling in animalistic throes and belting out grandiose, operatic cleans that are jarring yet effective (“Despair”). His diverse stylings cover an extensive array of emotions surrounding death’s isolating embrace, from primal denial to stoic acceptance, and throughout Attila oozes poise and pathos. Instrumentally, Mayhem’s rhythm section drives Liturgy of Death’s momentum with unabashed candor, rarely reaching for frills or frippery while impressing with unapologetic assuredness. Hellhammer pounds and pummels with punishing grooves, maintaining steady blast beats for herculean stretches (“Ephemeral Eternity,” “Aeon’s End”) and bursting forth with exacting fills and skull-battering rolls when needed (“Propitious Death”). Necrobutcher wields the bass with a malicious punch, rumbling with dour fluidity and occasionally thrumming into the spotlight (“Realm of Endless Misery”). Guitarists Teloch and Ghul torch proceedings with six-string truculence, whipping out spidery riffs (“Weep for Nothing”) in between furious, second-wave trems (“Funeral of Existence”) and erratic solos (“Aeon’s End”). Liturgy of Death culminates in “The Sentence of Absolution,” Mayhem’s most powerful closer to date. After a slow-build intro, dissonant guitars bleat as Hellhammer’s calculated fury propels the track into swirling, hypnotic rhythms that fade into tribal drumming and chanting, climaxing in a restrained denouement that’s unparalleled in Mayhem’s oeuvre.¹

Considering the strength of Mayhem’s thematic and musical execution, Liturgy of Death leaves little fault to find. At a reasonable forty-nine minutes, the Norwegian outfit’s latest offering crams in oodles of ideas and perspectives. Given the aural onslaught on tap, the mix affords ample space to discern what the guitars, bass, and drums are doing while the vocals retain presence and coherence. At its busiest, Liturgy of Death can sound compressed and overloud, but these moments are rare and don’t distract or overwhelm.² Otherwise, the only drawback to a composition this dense is that it’s easy to let Mayhem’s subtle wiles slip past during casual spins. I enjoyed Liturgy of Death from the outset, but only after multiple active listens did I come to truly appreciate its dizzying ambition. This ultimately acts as a boon for Liturgy, as dedicated time with it rewards listeners with a surfeit of concepts and conclusions, and leaves me wanting to replay it once more as soon as the last track ends.

With Liturgy of Death, Mayhem presents a tightly wound and philosophical composition on one of life’s most unsettling inevitabilities, and in doing so continues to defy AMG’s Law of Diminishing Recordings™. Above all, Mayhem endures, reaffirming their place amongst metal’s most lionized acts, bearing a relevant and thought-provoking theme that’s as inescapable as it is multifaceted. Never content to compromise, Mayhem once again demonstrates why they’re the standard so many black metal bands are measured by. It’s always refreshing to see influential bands muster this kind of success so far into their careers. Don’t take my word for it, though—grab your corpse paint and go get liturgical!

Rating: Excellent
DR: N/A | Format Reviewed: De Misery Dom Streamthanas
Label: Century Media Records
Websites: Website | Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: February 6th, 2026

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Hällas

Panorama deftly delivers Hällas’s now-familiar take on heavy, psychedelic prog rock. Indeed, these Swedes still sound like Uriah Heep counseling Iron Maiden. Pre-release single “The Emissary” and closer “At the Summit” best encapsulate classic Hällas. On these tracks, Rickard Swahn and Marcus Petersson bounce between wee-da-lee guitarmonies, Ren-faire acoustic plucks, and driving riffage. Nicklas Malmqvist supplies texture via sparkling synthesizers and percussive organ. It is the infectious guitar/key interplays, however, that define Hällas. Towards the end of “At the Summit,” Swahn, Petersson, and Malmqvist unite for delicious harmonized noodling, building drama before a serene denouement. Wrapped in warm, 70s-sounding production fans have come to expect, Panorama supplies some of the strongest Hällas tunes yet.

Panorama’s experimentations, however, make it Hällas’s most singular statement. Its boldest innovation is “Above the Continuum,” a 20-minute, 7-part suite akin to the eponymous openers of Rush’s 2112 and Yes’s Close to the Edge. On this cinematic saga, Hällas brings Gregorian chants, strings, and horns to their brand of synth-rock. Floydian voice-overs materialize Panorama’s somber narrative, in which a hermit laments encroaching dystopia atop his tower. An imperceptible escalation that finally burrowed under my skin after ten or so listens, “Above the Continuum” is an early Song o’ the Year candidate.³ How does one follow such a sprawling epic? With a trotting jam, of course. On “Face of an Angel,” another pre-release single, drummer Kasper Eriksson rides a sleazy Thin Lizzy groove with bassist/vocalist Tommy Alexandersson, who lays down a droningly hooky chorus. Hällas has dropped crowd pleasers before (“Star Rider,” “Carry On”), but “Face of an Angel” is their poppiest ditty yet and the perfect counterbalance to the opening beast. It is “Bestiaus,” though, that truly spotlights Alexandersson’s vocals. His smoky baritone and booming bellow sit center stage on this affecting piano ballad, standing alone in Hällas’s catalogue.

Five scenes spliced into one holistic picture, Panorama is a grand album, which might not register when glancing at the runtime. Like every Hällas record, Panorama clocks in at just under 45 minutes, yet its more limited track count (5, instead of 7–8) renders every song utterly distinct. There is zero filler here, only questionable moments. “Above the Continuum” has abrupt transitions in its opening minutes, but they don’t hinder the track as a whole. Additionally, the immediate fadeout on the punk ending of “The Emissary” always frustrates me. Frustration is surely the intended effect, but Hällas could have stretched the part a few measures and achieved the same. And “Bestiaus” itself feels a little like a moment, striving for songhood but not quite reaching it. Still, it’s an elegant setup for “At the Summit”—an epic but unprotracted finale.

With Panorama, Hällas has delivered (why not?) their most adventurous album, but it’s also their best work to date. Excerpts hinted at excellence—Panorama achieves it. Per its namesake, Panorama provides a virtually seamless showcase of all that Hällas has done while splendidly surveying new terrain. A fun yet serious record, Panorama puts an angelic synth-rock face on a devilish narrative circulatory system. It’s only January, but these Swedes may have already dropped the neo- proto-metal album of 2026 (and a list-topping contender for yours truly).

Rating: 4.5/5.0
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Äventyr Records
Websites: haellas.bandcamp.com | hallasband.com | facebook.com/haellas
Releases Worldwide: January 30th, 2026

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1914’s brew of blackened death/doom returns in full force on Viribus Unitis, delivering the potent cocktail of history and metallic fortitude we’ve come to expect. As Holdeneye keenly observed in prior coverage, the Bolt Thrower-meets-Asphyx intersection remains apt, as well as Amon Amarthian melodic sensibilities. The opening to “1914 (The Siege of Przemyśl)” would slot perfectly into Fate of Norns, for instance. And anyone paying attention to WWI-centric bands writing songs from the Central Powers’ perspective won’t be surprised by Kanonenfieber comparisons, both in subject matter and determined sonic fervor. Besides the interplay of titanic riffs and melodic leads, listeners are thrown into samples of period-specific soundbites, such as the clip at the beginning of “1917 (The Isonzo Front).” Throughout Viribus Unitis, snippets like this further ensconce listeners in the milieu of the time.

Everything that worked well for 1914 on Where Fear and Weapons Meet has been dialed up on Viribus Unitis. The crushing bulk of blackened sludge, the biting edge of bitter melody, and the tinny clips of a bygone era construct a vivid portrayal of life and death on the front lines. It’s at once addictive and morose, and genuine in a way that transcends surface-level storytelling. Gang choruses weave in with Ditmar Kumarberg’s blackened rasps (“1915 (Easter Battle for the Zwinin Ridge)”) to create a soundscape on two fronts, one unhinged by the chaos of war and the other a united fellowship forged in the fires of man-made hell. Another crucial layer that elevates Viribus Unitis is the guest vocals. Christopher Scott (Precious Death), Jérôme Reuter (Rome), and Aaron Stainthorpe (High Parasite, ex-My Dying Bride) inject variety and character to support 1914’s intricate aural campaign. Stainthorpe’s contribution on “1918 Pt. III: ADE (A Duty to Escape)” haunts with magnetic resonance as his cleans detail the inner monologue of the escaped protagonist while Kumarberg’s snarls narrate a harrowing getaway. This is pure SotY fodder and a must-listen for anyone reading. “1919 (The Home Where I Died)” follows, where a slightly distorted piano adds a warbling surrealism to the dirge. In it, Reuter’s tender croon recounts reuniting with his wife and daughter before the heartrending decision that he must leave once more.²

1914 wields thunder and riffs instinctively, ruthlessly bludgeoning with devastating grooves and cutting with calculated precision. Rostislaw Potoplacht’s³ drumming hypnotizes with martial rolls and implacable plods while Witaly Wyhovsky and Oleksa Fisiuk’s dual-guitar tandem electrifies with fiery trems and viscous atmospherics. All the while, Armen Howhannisjan holds down the bottom end on bass, adding texture and balance to the inexorable heft of Viribus Unitis. The sum total conjures vivid auditory experiences where each track breathes and bleeds with vitality and earnestness. And while no song sounds alike, all are undeniably 1914.

There’s little doubt that 1914 has delivered the most realized and important album of their career so far. Viribus Unitis is a masterclass in no-bullshit metal storytelling that feels authentic, intimate, and anthemic for the entire runtime. The sweeping story of a solider’s struggle through injury, capture, and escape is enough to satisfy, but viewed through the lens of the ubiquity of loss and love makes Viribus Unitis even more profound. 1914’s preceding LPs are fantastic, and their newest platter unequivocally entrenches the band as a premier act with a unique voice and relevant commentary on the human condition and how violence always leaves scars. Viribus Unitis is a must-listen for fans and newcomers alike, and missing this one is sure to leave you shell-shocked.

Rating: Excellent!
DR: NA | Format Reviewed: Stream
Label: Napalm Records
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: November 14th, 2025

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Two key differences distinguish The Womb of the World from Poison Palinopsia. Firstly, it consists of four epics instead of two, clocking in at a comparable net runtime of 50 minutes. Secondly, Qrixkuor’s trademark orchestrations are performed by The Orchestra of the Silent Stars, which means every instrument and voice you hear is the genuine article. From there, much of the sound and style you’ve heard from Qrixkuor before carries over to today. Cavernous, horrific, bizarre and beautiful, The Womb of the World splits open a cosmic gash from which endless unknowable terrors spill forth in uncontrolled hemorrhage. Head-spinning arpeggios, cascading chromatics, unrelenting riff barrages, and dramatic orchestral hysteria coalesce into a barely ordered chaos that tests my sanity with every phrase. A deformed maze of unhinged twangs, discordant choirs, and reckless blasts guides me but refuses to hold my hand, leaving me to get lost in a miasma of ghastly visions the likes of which only nightmares conjure. With this deeply disturbing methodology, Qrixkuor once again invokes a singular beauty from viscous tar most foul.

Just as was the case for Poison Palinopsia, The Womb of the World isn’t a record of immediacy, but rather one of tricky depth and exceptional layering. With every revisit, compelled as I am to return to something as disturbingly alluring as this, new petals unfurl, additional barbs prick the skin, and my mind falls further down Qrixkuor’s abyss. One example out of countless multitudes, epic 17-minute closer “The Womb of the World” disguises vampiric organs underneath glistening strings and serrated death metal riffs and rhythms. Eventually, those more dominant elements spread out, allowing dramatic pipes to fill the void left between; only to be once more superseded not only by a prolonged and intensely satisfying guitar solo that I’d sooner expect from a much sleazier act, but also the record’s most ascendant orchestral climax. In another case, a torturous chaos howling throughout “And You Shall Know Perdition as Your Shrine” obfuscates all forms that would dare stand behind it, but as the perilous brambles shift and writhe, I start to see an underlying order emanating from within. Suddenly, guest vocalist Jaded Lungs’ (Adorior) hellish utterances and S’s complex guitar work and lush orchestrations ring with a definition and clarity I couldn’t acquire before. That gentle order which Qrixkuor wields so well ensures that The Womb of the World twists and slides through such tumultuous environs as these with uncannily fluidity—act to act, song to song, verse to verse, measure to measure—leaving behind nary a single wasted second.

The Womb of the World is undeniably memorable in a way Poison Palinopsia never quite achieved. I am loath to call anything Qrixkuor pens accessible, but opener “So Spoke the Silent Stars” launches the record with such incredible power and propulsion—exhibiting, largely through D’s fantastic drum performance, a deathly muscularity fortified by the grace and flexibility of a far more lithe and lean figure—that it embeds deep within my psyche. “Slithering Serendipity” pulls off the same feat, albeit through a more emotional appeal. Emotive and exuberant soloing, inspired choir bursts, and deceptively simple lead-guitar/piano core melodies peel back the calloused flesh that shields The Womb of the World’s bleeding heart. Thus, it invites me to fall hopelessly in love with that which should revolt and repulse. Whatever flaws that seemed to exist up to that point fall away into nothingness, made meaningless by the passion and commitment Qrixkuor poured into every curled note.

But I must remember, flaws are the essence of true beauty. For The Womb of the World, those flaws are more often than not ones of production as opposed to performance. Most notably, the drums. D’s performance is nothing short of staggering, but his snare is muffled, his cymbals a touch glassy for my taste, and his bass drum just muddy enough to congeal in moments of extreme rapidity. Yet, it’s hard to imagine that The Womb of the World would sound the way it should if Qrixkuor erased those blemishes. In any case, it’s safe to say that Qrixkuor outdid themselves. Their sound and style won’t find fans in every corner. In fact, I’d go so far as to say The Womb of the World is liable to weed out prudish listeners more harshly than Poison Palinopsia already had. But it is an unqualified success all the same, a mastapeece for those to whom sanity is immaterial. Should you be of that sort, The Womb of the World is essential.

Rating: Excellent!
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3
Label: Invictus Productions
Websites: qrixkuordeath.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/qrixkuor
Releases Worldwide: November 7th, 2025

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Cam Girl isn’t concerned with what musical box they may or may not fit, but rather with crafting unforgettable, addictive songs written specifically to infect your brain—permanently. To that end, Cam Girl pulled out all the stops in songwriting, performance, and production. Flesh & Chrome builds around the infallible backbone of Kozy Kozette’s simple, but wildly effective guitar lines, exuberant riffcraft, and rich harmonies. Topping that rock-hard instrumental foundation, Lily Larceny’s vocal performance demonstrates a remarkable uptick in skillset, versatility, cadence, and potency from previous efforts. The rhythm section then sculpts heft and power, allowing Flesh & Chrome access to a greater breadth of audiences. But that’s just the tip. In the same way that notable pop songwriters of the 80s used innuendo and sheer metaphors to subvert most public audiences’ tolerance for the risqué, Cam Girl’s lyrics do the inverse. Unabashedly sexual, confrontational, and unflinching in their simplicity and irreverence on the surface, these lyrics present a multifaceted and timely commentary. Instilling messages of empowerment and self-actualization; dispensing of arbitrarily dictated societal, gender, and sexual roles; and rebuking all forms of misogyny and gender discrimination/fetishization, Flesh & Chrome nonetheless makes no sacrifice to irresistible, kinky fun, and therein lies its magic.

Whether it be the stadium-ready “Bubblegum Revolution,” the sassy “Girls Gotta Eat,” or the one-two-three-four-five punch that lights up an unstoppable run from “I Want Your Rock!” to the awesome self-titled closer, Flesh & Chrome offers an endless supply of killer material and no filler across a tight 32 minutes. In the early stages of Flesh & Chrome’s progression, familiar listeners might recognize a similar cocktail of Turbonegro/Blondie touchstones that Untucked showcased. However, hero anthems “Girls to the Top” and “Bubblegum Revolution” rouse the spirit higher with tighter, more focused writing and invigorating choruses. “Face the Facts” and “Stand Back” use that initial push to load in a rebellious Rise Against spirit with more impactful musical energy and lyrical candor than ever. And how can I forget the organ-soaked “Back Sabbath,” a whimsical bit of devilish levity that bisects the record with a summoning of a powerful ass demon for the expressed purpose of dealing for a bigger ass?²

Whatever actually transpired during that “Back Sabbath” worked wonders for Cam Girl, because Flesh & Chrome’s back half is stunning. Even factoring in the occasional—but thankfully brief—in-your-face spoken word verse³ in “I Want Your Rock!” and “Sugar Rush,” the songs burst with vitality and stick with fierce adhesion. Furthermore, bouncy synths bubbling in the background of these tracks provide a new instrumental element that doubles down on chipped tuneage through yet another chorus hero, “Ice Cream N’ Soda Pop.” Reminiscent of a much more adult Wreck-It Ralph OST, these new instrumental baubles complement Kozy’s increasingly metamorphic riffs, leads, and solos across all manner of references and inspirations. But, in no way do these novel excursions across the frets pull away from Cam Girl’s core sound or unmistakable identity. In fact, they reinforce and elevate it. This, in turn, sets up closing duo “Plastic Princess” and “Flesh & Chrome” to gleam as stellar culminations of every songwriting development Cam Girl exhibits across Flesh & Chrome. Boasting fun lyrics, brilliant guitar work,⁴ and spine-tingling choruses featuring some of Lily’s finest exhibitions yet, these B-sides demand my undivided attention so raptly that I fantasize about listening to them again, even before they end.

There’s so much more about Flesh & Chrome that I desperately want to highlight in greater detail. Lily’s bang-on Agnete Kirkevaag (Madder Mortem) vocal tone when she sings more melodic phrases; bassist Robbie Forbes’ throbbing low end counterpoint; Kozy’s sneaky Iron Maiden gallops, and her cool artwork and layout;⁵ Matt Langston’s and Jeremy SH Griffith’s punchy production;⁶ I could go on. And yet, it still feels like Cam Girl is only getting started. If their goal is to become a phenomenon, Flesh & Chrome makes for one helluva launch!

Rating: Excellent!
DR: 5 (Digital mp3) | Formats Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3 | Physical Vinyl
Label: Self Released
Websites: camgirlband.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/camgirlband
Releases Worldwide: June 27th, 2025

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The seamlessly flowing sermons that comprise Catechesis are both discomfiting and alluring. Churning riffs and undulating waves of percussion, though sinister and often dissonant, mesmerize through hypnotic recurrence, as Patristic sway and lurch between moments of eerie calm, and punishing violence. And the whole evolves gradually through repeated returns to restless drum patterns, and passages of tense atmosphere, cataclysmic blackened-death assaults, and imposing, frightening melody. As with all the best dissonant extreme metal, Catechesis is intense without being totally overwhelming, and beyond this, is haunting in its particular approach to the interplay between spaciousness and crushing density. In this—particularly a disposition towards dark layers of guitar, and a reverberating quality to the vocals (“A Vinculis Soluta II,” “Catechesis I”)—the closest comparison is Verberis,¹ though Patristic craft a drama that is very much their own.

Catechesis can and should be seen as one piece; you could say, one instruction, one imparting of sacred knowledge or dogma. Without lyrics, much is hidden, but as the album progresses, one gets the sense of approaching order by means of violence. The grand refrain that first emerges towards the end of “Catechesis II” comes to fruition with yet ominous finality in closer “Catechesis IV,” and this ultimate reprise echoes the subversive creep of themes through Catechesis. The music’s stream allows the ebb and flow of elements to layer, rise, and fade away with grace that borders on predatory, melodies teased in fragmentary glimpses (“A Vinculis Soluta I,” “Catechesis IV”), or their aura turned back from menacing to mournful (“A Vinculis Soluta II” “Catechesis III”). Riffs overlap in uneasy syncopation, hum malevolently, or chime emphatically in a reverberant chorus with rasping and cavernous bellows, and cello²—played in shuddering vibrato³—weaves through the darkness to amplify tension, and eerie beauty (“Vinculis Soluta II,” “Catechesis I,” “Catechesis II”). Driving the whole through union and separation is a current of mesmerizingly fluid and dynamic drumming, which heightens the already portentous atmospheres and pulls you deep into the writhing mass of it all.

The convergence of the many thematic and percussive threads across the album is impressive in its scope and deceptive ease; it is seamless, beautiful, and often frightening. Patristic also achieve the practically unachievable by using spoken word to add powerful gravitas, which increases rather than lessens the song’s impact (“A Vinculis Soluta I,” “A Vinculis Soluta II”). And speaking of impact, the drum performance, courtesy of Sathrath, deserves particular praise for being one of the most insane of its kind I have ever heard.⁴ It’s impossibly delicate in shivering cymbal taps, lethally fast in split-second rollovers and fills, and ruthless in its sharp, brutal cascades of double-bass. Everything, drums included, is produced perfectly to allow the convulsing lows to reflect and resonate in a cavernous, immersive portal of grinding guitar and bellowing howls, and the stalking highs dip chillingly below and above its surface.

With such immensity, it’s easy to see how Patristic got a signing with Willowtip so soon; I struggle to believe that these musicians have been playing together for less than five years. So arresting is Catechesis, so layered and immersive, that it threatens to overshadow all other extreme metal this year—if not all metal, period. This is a teaching that all acolytes of the dark and dissonant, and hell, maybe even the crucified Lord, need to hear.

Rating: Excellent
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Willowtip
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: June 20th, 2025

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Fragile Wings is instantly recognisable as Cave Sermon, but rather than simply being Divine Laughter part two—not that I would have complained about that—it is tonally quite different. Different, but with the same dreamlike longing at its core. Whereas its predecessor felt nihilistic and angry, Fragile Wings is a little more vulnerable, a little sadder, and more wistful. This shines through the now more prominent melodies, which feel playful and exuberant, in the beguiling way that characterises Cave Sermon’s sound. Fluid layers of liquid strums, riffs that vibrate alternately with urgency and mirth (“Hopeless Magic,” “”Moloch”), and tremolos that burr and hum as much as they warble like songbirds up and down scales (“Three-Headed Moth,” “Ancient to Someone”). The untamed tempos that lead tracks through a series of stomps, sways, charges, and thoughtful pauses are more mischievous than before, in a way that makes explicit the spirited defiance that bubbled within Divine Laughter. Park’s vocals work just as well as Miguel Méndez’s did, if not better, against this vibrant backdrop, and there’s an additional weight given to the already strange and touching lyrics because their author is now delivering them himself.

Fragile Wings is stirring and vivacious, and somehow outdoes Divine Laughter in its sparkling dynamism and bright unusualness. After arresting with odd, colourful arrangements, Cave Sermon looks wryly over at the listener and says, “watch this,” as some effervescent lead comes frolicking in (“Moloch,” “Three-Headed Moth”), or an already satisfying groove switches to a new dance with a flick and a crash (“Hopeless Magic,” “Ancient for Someone”); you can’t help but smile back. The very way guitars are distorted, and the atmosphere surrounding their notes and the here-skittish, there-assertive percussion, is…different. And this is all charming because it’s not self-indulgent; not weird and challenging and complicated, but refreshing, like a splash of cool water to the face on a hot day. All the more so given how Cave Sermon makes it look easy, creating a soundscape that seems simpler than it is, managing to presage and reprise melodies and rhythms in a way I can only describe as “very cool.” Interwoven strands of ethereal ambience—warm strums and purring high notes (“Arrows and Clay,” “Sunless Morning”)—violent sludgy riffs and a tripping, resonant drumbeat (“Moloch,” “Ancient for Someone”); symphonies of burbling tremolo and synths (“Hopeless Magic,” “Ancient for Someone”); and the delicate assuredness of wavering melodies, each are so carefully placed, but weightless, as though carried by some spirited wind that breezes through each track.

In this organic, careless novelty and expression, Fragile Wings continues what Divine Laughter established, but does it better. Not only is it more poignant, it flows with a more tangible through-line, and even cleverer rhythmic interplay. There is no track-length ambient noise here; this tendency is relegated to the faded conversation that closes “Arrows and Clay,” and the birdsong scattered over the serene first act of “Sunless Morning.” The difference is that these are not divorced from the music, but part of it, contributing to its sense of nostalgia, and sombre reflectiveness. A harsher version of me would still argue that the first half of “Sunless Morning” is a bit too slow of a build, but another would gesture fanatically at the song’s second act, with its quaking bass refrain and heartfelt tremolo descent melody that might actually be the best on the album, before it enters another wild dance I won’t spoil. Cave Sermon has refined their ability to transition between energies and styles whilst keeping the tone consistent. So seamless is the integration that it no longer feels like multiple genres are in play, but like a new one entirely.

Fragile Wings confirms what I had secretly hoped, that Divine Laughter was not just lightning in a bottle. If anything, it only raises the bar. Cave Sermon create music that is some magical combination of emotionally stirring, endlessly engrossing, and completely unique. There is simply no other artist in metal making music like them.² You have to hear this.

Rating: Excellent³
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Self-Release
Website: Bandcamp
Releases Worldwide: April 16th, 2025

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