You haven’t lived until you’ve heard an Australian recite Dante. Once a niche ritual available only to the geographically privileged, everyone’s somethingth-favorite Australian prog-death band Xenobiotic are using their aptly titled third LP to democratize access to this sonorous phenomenon, and some other sonorous phenomena to boot, familiar to those acquainted with much-lauded sophomore effort Mordrake. The band’s adventurous efforts are well-suited to epic literature, and, as for the subject matter, recall that this is a death metal record. But also recall, if you will, your favorite moment from Mordrake. We’ll need it later.

As expected, Dante is all about drama. Vocalist TJ Sinclair kicks off the record with narration from Inferno, and largely directs the show from there, whether by burly roars or acrid sneers. Guitarist Nish Raghavan’s repertoire of drawn-out arpeggios, palm-muted chugs, and hammer-on grooves tends to take a backseat to whatever Sinclair is doing, but comes out in force when allowed to. “The Slave State” is a mid-album highlight because of his athletic interpolation of Joe Haley and Duplantier, sprinting through hammer-on grooves, then stumbling into syncopation. The following “Dante II: Pariah” gives the whole band a chance to charge together through quick Gorod-ey odd-time riffs and gives new(ish) drummer Matt Unkovich a nice opportunity to step back from the blasts and add a bit of flair, which he pulls off well under a solo from Raghavan and a memorable chorus from Sinclair. Whenever given a chance to hit a big new vocal moment, the band take it, but for all their effort, Dante doesn’t quite land.

Now, for me, the standout moment from Mordrake would be the scrambling tremolo lead from “Light that Burns the Sky.” That whiny, winding melody that ends on such an alarming and unexpected note was a stroke of brilliance that the band integrated perfectly into a dense song with a lot of other things going on. Your favorite moment probably has similar properties; cool alone, brilliant with backup. Like Kardashev, Xenobiotic rely heavily on atmosphere and melodrama, at times propelling their records through orchestration rather than riffcraft. Mordrake suffered a bit from this, but the mass of novel ideas, executed with ample kinetic energy, shot through the fluff and made quite an impact. Danteis lightweight and slow-moving, trying to make up momentum through combinations of interchangeable chuggy riffs, chord-outline tremolos, and heavily produced vocals.

Maximalist production and a compressed master exacerbate these writing faults. High-register guitar leads are muffled by beefed-up kick drums and guitar chugs. Sinclair’s roars, screams and narrations, subject to near-continuous studio embellishments, fight for space with the guitars when double-or triple-tracked. Not much of the contested territory really seems worth the battle. When the group quiet down, as in the subdued guitar solo in the middle of “Dante II: Pariah,” they give themselves enough space for performances to really matter, but they don’t seem to have much panache to lend. Unkovich is bent over blasting at every opportunity and seems religiously opposed to fills, and even when Raghavan’s written something interesting for himself, it’s hard to tell what that is.

I jealously snatched Dante from the promo pit in the hope that Xenobiotic would treat me to another Mordrake. While Dante follows closely in that style, it’s a far less substantial record, too focused on executing its concept to introduce much musical interest and too overproduced to let those scraps of interesting music make an impact. Raghavan’s strong sense of melody keeps a few of the slow-moving leads stuck in my head for a while after the record, and Sinclair’s narration makes for a few emotionally resonant moments, especially in the record’s climax. But after so many listens, I’m left wondering how all of this sound adds up to so little.

Rating: 2.5/5.0
DR: 5 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps MP3
Label: Self-Released
Websites: facebook.com/xenobioticau | xenobiotic.bandcamp.com
Releases Worldwide: March 3rd, 2026

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I’m going to come out and say it. Arch Enemy has done untold damage to female-fronted metal bands. While their influence is undeniable, every iteration of the band has featured monotone vocals, cringe-inducing lyrics, and leather-clad frontwomen. As a woman, I have no issue with these things in a vacuum, but in the larger music sphere, they created simultaneously high and absurdly low standards. Requiring frontwomen to be stereotypically hot, thin, and sport bright hair, while also plummeting standards on the musical side with their milquetoast melodeath slop. This is an ill omen for North Carolina’s Blackwater Drowning, seemingly following in Arch Enemy’s footsteps on a surface level, but do they make the same mistakes from a musical perspective, or are they influenced only in aesthetics?

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Like how tabbies are genetically diverse but visually similar, Malefic’s many ingredients blend into a kind of extreme metal slurry on Impermanence, all present but difficult to identify individually. Sure, some riffs are more typically one thing than another, like the Testament-like thrash chops opening “In Darkest Dreams,” or the Dissectionesque blackened trems on “Blood of the Throne,” or the Opethian deathly grooves of “It Haunts.” But taken as a whole, Impermanence doesn’t lean towards one sub-genre over another. Instead, Malefic’s mutt-metal manifests into an off-kilter, volatile force of hostility, recalling heavily of the genre-blending approach Xoth take. Xoth are actually probably the best comparison to Malefic, as drummer Aaron Baumoel’s rasps and screams sound a lot like both of their vocal duo, and guitarists Jason Davila and Sam Williams’ solos follow the melodically rich, whammy-friendly stylings of Xoth (“Idiocracy”). Bolstered by a rhythm section of Baumoel and bassist Andy McGraw, who both know how to lay down some serious groove when needed (“Deserter”) and a dynamic mix, Impermanence shows that those years of honing their style have paid off for Malefic. It’s a good sound!

But what confuses me about Impermanence is that it feels aimless in many places, but not because Malefic can’t edit. To the contrary, every song on Impermanence is tight and focused, only running past five minutes on “It Haunts.”¹ Malefic also aren’t indulging in extraneous instrumentals or soloing, as songs like “Of Gods and Man” and “Disembodiment” showcase the band’s restraint within their buck-wild playing. The issue is that Impermanence doesn’t stick with an idea long enough. “Blood of the Throne” and “Obsidian Earth” have, like, five riffs in their first minutes or so each; instead of expounding upon a few ideas, Malefic often churns through ideas before they’ve settled into something sticky. This pattern especially stinks when they land on something great and don’t develop it, like the swinging, discordant riff in the second verse(?) of “Echoes of Silence” or the guitar runs opening “Obsidian Earth.” Impermanence sees a band on a mission, but maybe also a band in too much of a hurry.

What this amounts to is that Impermanence possesses a sound I can’t say I’ve heard before, but also, confusingly, one that’s somewhat indistinct from other extreme metal albums. Malefic’s aforementioned style-soup is so dense with expansive inspirations and somewhat progressive tendencies (“Disembodiment,” “It Haunts”) that, besides some serious Xothisms here and there, it adds up to something not exactly like the sum of all of their influences. But at the same time, Impermanence’s loose structuring and lack of purposeful repetition hampers Malefic’s ability to craft lasting hooks. By and large, most songs start with some fanfare, rage for three-to-four minutes straight while Malefic tear through riffs with reckless abandon like a more evil, more succinct Trivium and end with little resolution. It can be very exciting and enjoyable in the moment, but I’m left with little to remember Impermanence by the time it’s over.

But there is nothing wrong with a tabby cat,² and there’s nothing wrong with Malefic. They’ve carved out a great sound for themselves that more purposeful songwriting could harness into a truly hog-wild time. But where Impermanence excels in thrills, it lacks staying power, mostly in part to Malefic’s restless pursuit of riffs above all else. Fans of blackened thrash, blackened death, death thrash or bethrashened black death could do a lot worse than giving Impermanence a spin, but it’s probably not the genre-shaking game changer the band wanted. There’s always the sophomore album, however…

Rating: Mixed
DR: 9 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps MP3
Label: Terminus Hate City
Websites: maleficband.com | malefic.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/MaleficBandATL
Releases Worldwide: February 13th, 2026

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De l’Abîme au Plérôme is melodic black metal largely unadorned. Guitars are reverb-free—for the most part—and riffs, percussion, and roars alike coexist in approximately equal audibility. There is little time devoted to the development of atmospheric soundscapes or grand, poignant climaxes; the melodies herein are simple, sempiternally iterated through slight modifications of a theme played through layered strums and tremolos. With endlessly rolling, galloping drums, refrains are minimally expressed, and the effect is of a blur of onward energy, punctuated by hoarse, roaring screams. Reminiscent in this way of countless like acts, but particularly Woe² (“Sacrifé sur l’autel de la rédemption”), and in the frequent tilt of those roars into a pained kind of wail, Gevurah. Exceptions—mournful and comparatively melodically rich “Thrène pour un monde révolu,” and the unusual sidesteps towards Blut Aus Nord-esque eerieness in the leading air of “Sacrifé sur l’autel…”—only prove the rule. They are folded into the forward momentum and give the overall soundscape the hint of variation that allows it to be, in toto, a singular force.

The album’s power is overt and skilfully demonstrated. Riffs ascend, descend, and persist with malevolence (“Tabula Rasa”), pride (“Rex Hominem,” “Tour d’Ivoire”), or even hope (“Thrène pour…”), their sharpness giving them considerable bite. The rare occasions of layering prominently different guitar lines together are perfected examples of that tried and trve black metal stripped-back break, high strums spidering down amidst the soft crash of cymbals (“Rex Hominem,” “La Lumière de l’Infini”). De l’Abîme… never gets lost in ethereality, focusing on the progression of the next wave of guitars and building drums. This all creates a sense of continuous momentum, and at its best, feels raucously compelling (“Rex Hominem,” “Tour D’Ivoire”). The straightforward nature applies to the overt melody too, outlier “Thrène pour…” rising to an uplifting dénouement that is no less beautiful for being uncomplicated and predictable; in fact, the song is possibly the best of the lot for the way it marries this poignancy with the fire and grit of the remaining material. Echoes of this—in the solos that follow (“Tabula Rasa,” “Tour d’Ivoire”)—elevate their surroundings but don’t reach the same heights. The vocals are the most unusual part of proceedings, since they often transform into higher-pitched, more forceful wails, even at one point a deranged moan à la Dødsengel (“Tabula Rasa”). And the fact that the instrumentation around them remains mostly “still”, in consistent, minimally varied notes and intensity, allows this narration to guide and adorn the rushing compositions nicely.

Yet De l’Abîme is so unindulgent that it treads dangerously close to bland. The moments of melodic/manic coalescence (“Thrène pour…”) and the vicious vocal performance cannot quite hide the fact that an upsettingly high proportion of the runtime seems to be spent in an indistinct blur of similarity, tremolo melodies grey. It is the drums—unsurprisingly—that ultimately come to the rescue, and propel the album into an elevated quality. Though often delegated to the genre’s standard furious charge, Berthiaume takes many chances to shift the rhythmic underbelly to an offbeat, a d-beat, a steady trip, or simply to decorate with flourishing rolls what would otherwise be just an iterated monotony of bass beats. When these accents are combined with the wildest of howls and the most prominent and interesting of melodies, you can see what might have been.

Sanctvs can clearly make very good black metal, and if you’re a purist who prefers their black metal without atmosphere, layers of intrigue, and everything else interesting,³ then this is the album for you. As strong as the performances are, the lack of variety, and often depth, makes De l’Abîme an experience whose impression on you may be fast usurped by something with more character and mystery.

Rating: Mixed
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Osmose Productions
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: January 31st, 2026

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Bitterness plays mid-level neothrash that neither raises nor furrows brows, historically straddling the fence between At the Gates-style melodeath and 2000s-era Kreator-core. Yet, Bitterness has leaned further into its thrashy side since introducing a mascot—enter blindfolded Jesus—on the cover of 2015’s Ressurexodus, and who appears here looking strikingly like Snake Plissken. Frank Urschler’s riffs are plentiful, firing primarily at speeds either breakneck (“WWH8,” “Hallowed Be the Game”) or breakneck (“Hypochristianity”), and his vocals—a hybrid blend of Petrozza (Kreator), Souza (Exodus), and Ellsworth (Overkill)—fit what Bitterness is doing well. Andreas Kiechle blisters the skins effectively enough to keep things on track, while Marcel Konz’s prominently plucked bass lines round out the rhythm section. Thrash’s status quo and the AMG safety counter have nothing to fear from Bitterness. And yet Hallowed Be the Game isn’t completely devoid of enjoyable moments, despite being weighed down by bloat and victimized by its own overt juvenilia.

I respect that Bitterness seems content to exist on the fringe of its chosen scene, with the very front half heavy Hallowed Be the Game—as any eighth offering might—standing as proof they’ll not go gently into any good night. With the very Kreatoric one-two punch of the opening salvo (“WWH8,” “AMOK:KOMA”), Bitterness proves that well-executed riffage can still overcome a dearth of originality: this is also where I find Urschler vocalizing at his most Petrozza-like. And then, in an attempt to bring Teutonic legitimacy to these proceedings, I appreciated the vocal contributions of Tankard’s very own Andreas “Gerre” Geremia to “High Sobriety” about as much as “Hypochristianity” took me back to Pleasures of the Flesh-era Exodus. To be certain, Urschler and company execute their ABC’s and capably deliver on the fundamental tenets of thrash: crack beer, bang head. Despite this, a couple of things really held the album back for me.

Hallowed Be the Game loses most of its muscle mass from fatty back half disease and a we-tried-too-hard style of juvenile delinquency. With a runtime exceeding forty-three minutes, Bitterness could have easily cut the last 10 and left us with a more manageable slab of pseudo-enjoyable, albeit pedestrian, thrash metal. Instead, the nearly eight-minute instrumental “Magnum Innominandum,” its leaden pace and lack of dynamic variability rendering it perfunctory and the even more unnecessary cover of the Graves-era Misfits song “Scream!” remained almost as padding, bringing Hallowed Be the Game to a very underwhelming close. Combine those two, parting flop shots alongside the fact that nearly every song title is a somewhat childish play on words, and the whole Game just felt silly. And not in a good way, as I’d expect from more light-hearted bands like Tankard, Municipal Waste, and others of that ilk.

Neither particularly good nor bad, Hallowed Be the Game is one of those albums that just is, and assuredly isn’t the breakthrough Bitterness may have been hoping for. It’s like that girl you met at Niagara Falls one weekend in college, fun to hang with for a few days, but definitely nothing serious. Ultimately, Bitterness failed to pique my interest beyond writing this review. Die-hard thrashers may get a few miles out of Hallowed Be the Game, but as for me, I’m going to spin Kreator again.

Rating: 2.5/5.0
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: G.U.C.
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook | Instagram
Releases Worldwide: February 6th, 2026

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Experimentally chaotic yet at times catchy and compelling, Backengrillen reaps seeds first sown on Refused’s initial 1998 swan song, The Shape of Punk to Come. Where TSoPtC only dabbled outside traditional punk and hardcore tropes, though, Backengrillen embeds those fringe elements of ambiance, electronics, and jazzy instrumentation as the spine of its soundscape, with Gustafsson carrying most of the weird load. His role as frenetic flautist, huffing, puffing, and grunting violently over his flute’s embouchure like some deranged Ian Anderson (“Dör för långsamt”), and psychotic saxophonist, skronking, squawking, and swooning (“Backengrillen”), counterbalances Backengrillen’s more alt-punk style, homogenizing the whole into something akin to Morphine on meth.

Written during Backengrillen’s first rehearsal, performed live the next day, then recorded the day after that, Backengrillen is a gutsy shot in the dark. As off-the-cuff as it is, there are moments on Backengrillen that came off way more methodical than the nature of their origin would suggest. Launching from a simple, keyed melody, “A Hate Inferior” builds slowly as layers of drums, bass, and smarmy sax eventually coalesce into a scorched-earth sludge bomb that hits around the three-minute mark, and is topped off by Lyxzén’s nuclear scream, whose vocals sound like a mix of Zach de la Rocha and Jello Biafra. From that point on, the track had me rocking a slow and steady stank-faced head bob. Then there’s, at least for me, the humorously titled “Repeater II,” which is the shortest and most traditionally structured of the bunch—clocking in at a brisk six minutes forty-three seconds. A rompy, punk-fueled ditty that sounds like a mix of The Cramps, Dead Kennedys, and Nirvana, with a bit of sax thrown in for good measure, and Lyxzén, at his most Biafra-like, shouting the infectious chorus, ‘Hey, repeat it, repeat it again,’ over and over.

Whipped up quicker than a batch of Mom’s Rice Krispies treats, Backengrillen suffers most from impoverished improvisation. Despite the churlish charm present on the tracks mentioned above, the rest of this five-song, fifty-three-minute monster isn’t nearly as engaging or easy to listen to. “Dör för långsamt,” for example, is just over thirteen minutes of Gustaffson’s squawky, dying-animal sax playing entwined with a bevy of Lyxzén’s screeches, screams, grunts, and queasy, drunken-sounding chorus lines layered over a plodding, tribal bass and drum beat. “Backengrillen” fares no better, eleven minutes of sluggish drum and bass holding up Gustaffson’s breathy, trilly flute and barely tuned saxophone alongside another Lyxzén performance made up of pitchy, swaying chants and lots of grunting screams. And on every play through, by the time “Socialism or Barbarism” rolled around, I was checked out and ready to move on. This made slogging through the tracks’ first three minutes of electronic noise that much harder to digest, let alone the remaining 7.5 minutes.

Had this been recorded as one continuous, fully improvised live set in some Västerbotten County dive-bar, complete with sparse crowd reactions, by four musicians who’d never played one note together, it might have hit different.¹ As it stands, my greatest takeaway from this experience was discovering Refused, which I actually had a lot of fun listening to during my prep. And for those wondering, why no puns, here you go. Ultimately, there isn’t enough meat grillen here to get me to come Backen.

Rating: 2.5/5.0
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3
Label: Svart Records
Websites: Bandcamp
Releases Worldwide: January 23, 2026

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This shouldn’t come as a surprise with a demon at the helm, but Home sounds sinister as hell. With a cinematic flair, Vesseles shares some similarities with the darker symphonic metal of Dimmu Borgir and SepticFlesh, yet they play with a dissonance and malevolence that draws closer comparisons to Hasard. Like with Hasard, guitars play second fiddle to the haunting strings and off-key piano notes. Joel Ferry’s demonic rasps, harsh and high, ooze hatred and venom, while the constant tempo shifts serve to keep listeners off-balance. Home is a concept album about a demon cast from one world she didn’t belong to and into another she’s not wanted. Pietrangelo entangles us in her character’s emotional state, making us feel her rage and malice through the challenging music. She may have succeeded in her approach a little too well—while I appreciate her vision, it can be difficult to enjoy at times.

Home contains some impressive musical passages, and yet the overall style becomes taxing over time. As a result, the front half is much more effective than the back half. Opener “Flesh Throne” establishes a menacing atmosphere with its string compositions, but it’s the piano that steals the show. The dissonant piano and icy riffs on “The Beneath” create an appropriately malevolent atmosphere that’s sure to send shivers down your spine. “Home” opens with a classical-sounding, off-key piano segment that’s moving in its evil intent. “Home” is also where the record’s approach begins to falter and grate—the noisiness and constant tonal shifts take their toll over the span of a too-long six minutes. This comes to a head on the final two tracks, the weakest on Home. “Perpetual Chasm of Black Mirrors” in particular lacks the bits of brilliance of the rest of Home, and the finale, “This Is Not Home,” drags on for too long. The constant shifts—in tempo, volume, and noise levels—grow challenging to tolerate for long periods.

Ultimately, what holds Home back is the production. Vesseles suffers the same issue as Hasard’s debut—their record is just too loud. My poor ears could only take so much, and headphones only compounded the issue. There’s a moment on “Scriptures Etched Into the Mind’s Pillars” where the guitars and rasps become muted in favor of a nice string and drum segment, and I found myself breathing a sigh of relief as my ears were given a brief reprieve from the aural assault. The crushed compression also hurts the instrumentally busier passages; I found it difficult in these moments to appreciate individual performances or make out what’s going on. On one hand, this contributes to the chaotic, unsettling tone that Vesseles appears to be aiming for, but it ultimately mars some impressive songwriting.

Home is simultaneously a remarkable debut and an intolerable one. Pietrangelo successfully carries out her unsettling vision in crafting a sinister tone through complex compositions. Yet the bogeyman of poor mastering hampers her vision. Despite this, the first half of Home is quite strong and took me fondly back to my time reviewing Hasard’s Abgnose. One can only hope that she learns the same lessons Hasard did, as Abgnose’s production was a huge improvement over the debut. I have faith that this demon can wow us with her unique vision yet again, and I look forward to hearing it.

Rating: 2.5/5.0
DR: 5 | Format Reviewed: 256 kbps mp3
Label: Self-Release
Websites: vesseles.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/vesseles
Releases Worldwide: January 16th, 2026

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URNE serves up nearly fifty minutes of Mastodon-infused metalcore on Setting Fire to the Sky. Yes, you read that correctly. Nothing on their third album feels reminiscent of the classic-rock-infused, post-hardcore sludge on their debut, or the post-metal epics on A Feast on Sorrow. Instead, their latest is stuffed with songs that, while expertly played and produced, feel soulless. Joe Nally sounds like a different singer at this point. While his clean singing is infinitely more competent, it sounds too similar to Mastodon’s Troy Sanders. Nally’s basswork fares better, and he manhandles the frets along Angus Neyra’s thrashy riffs and James Cook’s punchy drumming. The trio sounds great, and their work has been honed like a razor, likely due to their time alongside massive acts like Gojira and Mastodon, but they lack the creative bend of either. Setting Fire to the Sky feels meant to cast a wide net, playing arenas and the radio, but leaving much of the spirit (heh) that was present on SPIRIT & SERPENT to wither.

Expectations hurt URNE on Setting Fire to the Sky. After A Feast on Sorrow, I saw a band poised for their best work yet. URNE’s latest shows a tighter band playing well, and the production is much better than their last outing, but nearly every other facet feels weaker. Songs quickly grow formulaic and repetitive, with “Be Not Dismayed,” “The Spirit, Alive,” and “Setting Fire to the Sky” starting with a chuggy opening riff (usually the best part) and slowly morphing into a generic metalcore song. Each features the typical swing back and forth between core-style screaming and harmonized clean choruses that feel hamfisted, with generically uplifting lyrics like “Be not dismayed and carry this torch forward.” The album lacks the flourishes of URNE’s past two releases, and rarely do songs deviate from their repetitive structures.

Setting Fire to the Sky isn’t all disappointing. As previously mentioned, the production is great, and James Cook’s snare sounds wonderful throughout. While formulaic, the album is full of riffs that will at least get you headbanging, even if they are without pathos. “The Ancient Horizon” is an album highlight, featuring a massive lead and a sound worthy of its title while avoiding the pitfalls of the metalcore hole URNE has crawled into. Album closer “Nocturnal Forms” falls on the good side of Mastodon worship, with a chorus that feels like something off Emperor of Sand. A few features appear on the album, like the aforementioned “Harken the Waves” with Troy Sanders. A song that feels somewhat comical given Joe Nally’s clear worship of Sander’s iconic style, making for a feature that feels obligatory but not complementary. The second, “Breathe” with Jo Quail, goes nowhere. An overly sappy tune with bland cleans and cringe lyrics like “I saw the world, before the world saw me.” Neither feature feels necessary, and with the latter, you have a track that could be cut altogether.

I had high expectations, but Setting Fire to the Sky failed to meet them at every turn. The band’s sound changed in a way that many metal fans are familiar with. More generic music, more radio-friendly songs, more clean singing, all the things that make longtime metal fans cringe and flip on a group. While I foresee this album ending up all over year-end lists on the normie sites, this record is a shadow of the band’s clear inspirations and shows a group that should return to what made them stand out in the first place. At least the album artwork is gorgeous.

Rating: Mixed
DR: N/A | Format Reviewed: Stream :(
Label: Spinefarm
Websites: urneofficial.com | instagram.com/urneband
Releases Worldwide: January 30th, 2026

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Despite the shift, Barbarian seem to have lost none of their belligerence. The album’s intro, aptly titled “Warning,” is a reimagining of the intro of the same name from the 1993 Ice-T album Home Invasion, and it helpfully informs listeners that they are listening to a Barbarian LP before instructing them to take out the tape if they are offended by phrases like “may the Almighty choke on all my sins.” From there, the first proper track, “Maxima Culpa,” roars in with burly and unapologetic guitars, throttling drums, and Crossburn’s gruff roars. As before, the sound is regressive, pulling lovingly from speed metal, thrash, black metal, and even bits of classic heavy metal with its brief majestic leads. While not the most memorable cut, it’s clear this unwashed bunch still have plenty of piss and vinegar to offer. The follow-up, “Sledgehammer,” further beats this home, with its big chunky riffs and pummeling proclamation of the track title helping the song live up to its blunt moniker.

Sadly, as Reek of God continues, it starts to stink in ways that perhaps it didn’t intend. It soon becomes apparent that Viperface’s shortage of standout hooks seems to have continued on this album—only here, it’s more of an issue. Viperface still succeeded in spite of that hangup because the songs were well-developed and took interesting turns, even if not everything was the most memorable. Here, however, the band have shortened their average track length to around three minutes, and rather than use that abbreviated format to write tight, catchy bangers, the group instead almost always eschew notable refrains in favor of simply tossing together an assortment of decent, aggressive riffs they seem to have had lying around the practice room. The result feels like an album of brief speed metal vignettes that largely pass by without much note. The production only amplifies this issue, as it sounds like the guitars and vocals are fighting for space in the mix, with the guitars having a blaring tone that I don’t love.

Fortunately, there’s still some good here. The last proper track, “Retrogarde Metal” (yes, it’s actually spelled like that), finally does feature a fun shout-along refrain, and closing the album with the horror-synth instrumental “Crurifragium” was a cool touch. “Freak Magnet,” a cover of the all-female rock band L7, is also a solid cut that adds a bit of punky energy late in the runtime. I also enjoy some of the classic heavy metal licks that appear on “Cancer Cross,” though such ideas generally seem to be less prevalent on this album than on previous ones. Crossburn also delivers some nice attitude in his vocals, with at least one “UGH!” and a self-referential shoutout of “Tell them what’s up, Crossburn!” before a ripping solo.

Overall, though, it’s hard not to be a little disappointed here. By doubling down on their no-fucks-given attitude, Barbarian seems to have taken an even moar primitive and less refined approach, resulting in shorter songs that have plenty of energy but not as much that sticks to the ribs. In their best prior works, the band excelled at combining mighty riffs and melodic leads into wholly engaging compositions. Only time will tell if we’ll ever see them do that again.

Rating: 2.5/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Dying Victims Productions
Websites: linktr.ee/barbarianmetal | facebook.com/barbarianmetal
Releases Worldwide: January 23rd, 2026

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Battering Ram’s fun sound tends to lean more heavy/power than thrash. The riffage of Guillermo Marqués definitely borrows a lot from all over, featuring plenty of variety from ’90s German power metal to ’80s heavy metal to both classic and progressive thrash (“Time Masters (Gods of Soul Deliverance)”). Many of the record’s choices remind me of fellow one-time time travelers in Persistence of Time -era Anthrax. Considering the sci-fi theme, I’d be surprised if some Gamma Ray or Iron Savior influence wasn’t intentional too (“The Persecuted (Back Again)”). The drumming of Benjamín Mateo is lively and energetic, complemented by some fat bass by Francisco Cabañas. Both of them shine best on the album’s thrashiest moments (“Immortality Fed by Death (Unstoppable Train)”), but their performances are solid all around. The songwriting also switches things up plenty outside of just subgenre shenanigans. Straightforward tunes like “The Persecuted” fall between more complex compositions, the 10-minute almost-opener “Unexpected Events (The Beginning of the End)” being a particularly bold choice that ends up panning out well.

While the core ingredients are in place, Time Masters has issues with consistency, direction, and pacing. Take David Ordás’s vocals, for instance. His fun voice works well on occasion but is often at odds with the instrumentation, the epic and melodramatic feel (“Holy Grail (Blood),” “The Persecuted”) suffering from a flat vocal delivery. However, Ordás does improve on the thrashier back half of the record. As for album flow, one of the biggest question marks is the double interlude in “The Prophecy (Revelations)” and “Armageddon Wars (Ragnarök)” towards the end. The tracks themselves aren’t without ideas, but they are oddly constructed and interrupt the flow between the album’s three strongest tracks. Replacing this whole segment with bonus track “Wormhole (Dreaming Eutocia)” could’ve done wonders to make Time Masters a smoother ride, and the same thrash-coded half-instrumental would also give more air time to some of the best aspects of both its guitar and drum work.

Thrash and power metal both perform best at high velocity, and much of Time Masters’ strong instrumentation lacks urgency. The guitars, drums, and bass all sound great and have great players behind them. The riffs have attitude and provide enough variety for the material, and the bass is often cranked loud while playing some really sweet lines. But throughout most of the first half of the album, I’m left desiring a lot more breakneck speed and bite than there is. By the time the potent one-two punch of “Immortality Fed by Death” and “Time Masters” hits your ears, it’s a little too late to salvage the average tempo. The production—while not actively harmful—is also a culprit in removing some Battering Ram’s potential breaching power. But even though the pros don’t outweigh the cons, the good things here are still very much visible. There are no absolute dealbreakers nor terminal issues, and, as mentioned, the very beginning plus the second half of Time Masters offers plenty of material worth checking out.

Despite the album’s drawbacks, there are plenty of neat pieces here Battering Ram can work with. Speeding things up, strengthening the vocals, and refining the songwriting would already make this a much more enjoyable ride. As is, Time Masters has some strong ideas within a very uneven package. Running a tighter ship and improving the production could turn the work presented on Time Masters from a rough but riffy proof of concept into a manic space adventure. I’m eager to await further developments, for the world is in dire need of more power/thrash. Speaking of, where the hell is new Paladin?!

Rating: Mixed
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: WAV
Label: Self-Released
Websites: Facebook | Instagram | YouTube
Releases Worldwide: January 10th, 2026

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