While Tardigrade Inferno’s sonic formula remains largely the same as it was on Burn the Circus—albeit with the addition of accordions and kazoos and one very unexpected burst of blast beats (“I Am Eternal”)—it’s clear that they moved away from their titular character on Hush. A darkness follows that disappearance, reflected in the dour and morbid attitudes imparted throughout Hush’s 45 minutes (“Dead Fish Smile”). Absent the maniacal main character that gave Tardigrade Inferno’s music life, direction, and purpose, Hush’s storytelling feels aimless and shallow. Thankfully, those trusty hooks, bouncy riffs, and infectious choruses entertained me just enough as I navigated through an uncomfortable grieving period for the Tardigrade Inferno I once cherished.

After a time, I felt ready to embrace Hush, knowing it wasn’t going to offer the same wacky storyline as previous records spun. However, I never escaped my disappointment that Tardigrade Inferno chose an album of vignettes, pulling from a wide gamut of fairy tales and ubiquitous monsters, as their solution. Cuts like “Deadly Fairytales” and “Goor” hammer that generic storytelling home musically as well, though there are small moments in each that make for a great idea or an ear-catching setup (see the howling vox and silent rests in “Goor”). Others like “All in Your Head” and “I.C.D.,” in contrast, expound upon the natural horrors that plague the human mind in the real world. While that topic works quite well in metal writ large, Tardigrade Inferno don’t sell it with the same compelling gravity or subversion as other acts who adopt this exuberant cabaret influence (like Pensees Nocturne or Sanguine Glacialis). Consequently, Hush lacks substance and excitement for a good chunk of its duration.

However, there are a number of cool ideas, new tricks, and fun details found here that Tardigrade Inferno could, and should, take advantage of on future endeavors. The title track is a certified bop, with a bouncy riff backed by fun synths and a sticky chorus that I can’t stop involuntarily repeating. “Subatomic Heist” is a bizarre little number that brims with vibrancy and energy as well, and it’s no surprise that it also calls back to those virtually unkillable microscopic creatures of past installments. Similarly, the proggy and doomy closer “I Am Eternal” foreshadows a tardigrade resurgence inside off-kilter melodies, unorthodox songwriting (for this band, at least), and gorgeous lead guitar work. Naturally, returning to the critters and characters that gave Tardigrade Inferno its primary appeal also gave this song the backbone and direction it needed to feel worthy and interesting. This, in turn, further exemplifies the issues that plague all of the songs on Hush that make no such return.

I’m not normally one to recommend a band revisit past ideas or themes. In fact, I am a firm proponent of a band sticking to their guns and finding their way whenever they make a potentially divisive shift from past work, either musically or thematically. In this case, however, I think killing off their main character and the silliness that came with it—not to mention the dearly missed conceptual storytelling—doomed Tardigrade Inferno’s third outing. Hush isn’t unsalvageable, as it has nifty ideas and some new songwriting tricks and fun instruments that fit well into Tardigrade Inferno’s sound, but it’s missing the direction and compelling arcs that made their first two records successful. My wish for Tardigrade Inferno is therefore to ditch the horror stories and rebuild the circus, for the show must go on!

Rating: Disappointing
DR: 5 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3
Label: Self-Released
Websites: tardigradeinferno.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/tardigradeinfernomusic
Releases Worldwide: March 5th, 2026

The post Tardigrade Inferno – Hush Review appeared first on Angry Metal Guy.

Well, at least they know their way around a riff. Periodic snapshots show Sermon to the Lambs at their proselytizing best, with the occasional moment raising itself to headbangable proportions (“Crowned King of the Worms”, “God Spat and the Man was Done”) with a high octane assault. Slam styles range from the chunkier chromatic walks of Maggot Colony or Condemned, to moodier setpieces near the end of “Clergy’s Malevolence” for tonal shift and a sense of climax to round out the release. Melodies are almost completely excised in favor of a full steam ahead barrage, which rarely tinkers with tempo changes or distinguishing features, placing Sermon to the Lambs as students of the class of professors Disgorge and Gorgasm with regard to their commitment to bludgeoning the listener to death.

Unfortunately, those highlights are few and far between and only serve to exacerbate how unbelievably bland this album is. Vocalist Richard Aguayo falls prey to the maddening trend of not knowing how to let his vocals support the music, choosing instead to slather almost the entire album with belches and brees which possess little sense of diction or phrasing. His gutturals are excellent, but the frustrating insistence on double-tracking them with his more shrill screams is not, and the mix has him pushed so far forward that he frequently drowns out whatever interesting musicality might be hiding underneath. Songs stop and go on a dime, and frequently I’d be surprised to see I was several tracks deeper into a listen than I thought I was, thanks to song conclusions and kick-offs blurring together in composition. Any random 30 seconds chosen to play would certainly unleash an attack filled with energy and enthusiasm, but Sermon to the Lambs is utterly devoid of truly head-spinning moments or anything to warrant repeat listens.

What is the biggest culprit for this? The mix is no help, with all the knobs on the board shoved all the way up to 11, leaving instrument and vocals fighting for attention while the bass’s body is buried in the backyard and forgotten. For the most part, the riffs are no help, a hodgepodge of expected staccato presentations and a beige haze of blasts. The drumming is no help; while skillfully delivered, there are certainly no fills to catch the listener’s attention. Other than the aforementioned moments of semi-memorability in the bookending tracks, there’s definitely no run of riffs to raise horns and toss beer at innocent passerby. Sermon to the Lambs lacks any dose of menace or cinema, though the band definitely tries, taking a page from the book of Brodequin and injecting some Gregorian chant into an intro (“Maximum Apostasy”) before that too devolves into paint-drying and bird watching. The closing track makes a valiant effort to get some real atmosphere with its tempo shifts, and Sermon to the Lambs wisely err on the side of brevity with the releases 30 minute runtime. But ultimately, this is an opaque, textureless, flavorless album, so focused on the brutalizing that it never manages to get out of first gear and approach anything with replayability.

I’ve wrestled for a while on why this is. Objectively, there’s nothing executed that’s “poor” in the literal sense. Instruments are played well, throats are wildly abused, and snares blow out the treble in your speakers with savage glee. One might argue that this was the very vision, and if such monotonous brutality is your jam, you’ll probably find lots more to like here. But slam is capable of its own artistic merit and is more than malleable to compositional adventures, and Sermon to the Lambs is lacking heavily in both artistic vision (beyond “kill”) and compositional adventures. If straightforward jackhammer thrashings are your parish, you’ll find plenty of good word here, but this lion lamb will be attending services elsewhere.

Rating: 2.0/5.0
DR: 4¹ | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Comatose Music
Website: Album Bandcamp
Releases Worldwide: March 6th, 2025

The post Sermon to the Lambs – Sermon to the Lambs Review appeared first on Angry Metal Guy.

I just wish it connected with me as well as The Prowess of Dormition did. Whereas Dormition was melodic black metal with a trip-hop undercurrent, Askdrömmar instead flirts with DSBM, rubbing shoulders with a trippier Lifelover bent. Opener “Mangata” leads off with some ambiance before a simple repeated melody takes over, followed by simplistic programmed drums, and finally other instrumentation. Vaarwel adopts more of a black metal rasp this time around, and just as the song starts to go somewhere, everything fades out, and you hear a sample of a young woman talking. Believing this would build to something, it instead leads into “Bortkastade dödsrunor,” the following track… which leads off with another sample.

The majority of what follows is a “wash-rinse-repeat” cycle among the remaining eight tracks, as they all follow a particular pattern: either a sample or piano twinkling, followed by a riff that’s more than a little reminiscent of mid-era Katatonia (“Kottkvam”), an atmospheric moment that sounds like a tremendous build-up that only goes back to the main riff, and then a sudden ending. Things start to get interesting when “Långt lopp genom mörkret” arrives, with its hyperactive keyboards and lively, energetic rhythms, but that’s track #8 of a nine-track album, and that’s just too far in the tracklisting to turn the ship around. Up until then, it’s just too formulaic and repetitive to leave a lasting mark.

The production also doesn’t help matters any, as it’s squashed and flat. The programmed drums sound like they were mixed a bit too far back, whereas the guitars, keyboards, and vocals are in-your-face, and those sound compressed within an inch of their existences. The biggest hurdle of this album lies in its conception and how it ties in with the Frozen Ocean discography. As a fan of Blut Aus Nord, I know mainman Vindsval will write whatever the fuck he feels like, and because of that, BaN’s discography runs the gamut of sounds and styles. However, the big difference is that you can still hear it’s BaN. Vaarwel doesn’t quite have that distinction when it comes to his music, as his releases are so spread out style- and quality-wise that it’s tough to find an underlying thread connecting any of it.

And that sucks to type, because I remember being impressed by The Prowess of Dormition when it released almost a decade ago. While I wasn’t expecting a repeat of that EP, I also wasn’t expecting to be bored by what’s on offer here. Vaarwel is a talented musician with great ideas, but I’m waiting for those ideas to land. With Askdrömmar, I will continue waiting.

Rating: 2.0/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 319 kbps mp3
Label: Apocalyptic Witchcraft
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: February 13th, 2026

The post Frozen Ocean – Askdrömmar Review appeared first on Angry Metal Guy.

Whatever Coronatus is doing, Dreadful Waters sounds nice doing it. Oscillating between varying degrees of symphonic (“The Siren” and “Die Hexe und der Teufel”) and nautically inclined folk metals (“Southern Cross” and “A Seaman’s Yarn”), Dreadful Waters’ production and mix bring out the best in Coronatus’ instrumentation and give everything a rich openness. Guitars sound chunky and bold while taking on an auxiliary role to the violin and vocals, which are always warm and upfront. Coronatus’ mezzo sopranos bring your typical Tarja-era Nightwish operatics to “The Maelstrom” and “To the Reef!” while Nemesis’ “rock voice” means she brings a Jørn-like grizzled theatricality to her performances on “Dark Ice” and “The Ship’s Cook.” But what really stands out to me is Kurth’s drumming, which is more nuanced than the average symphonic drumming performance. The kick patterns on “Through the Brightest Blue”‘s chorus sound more like a Lamb of God drum track than Nightwish, and “To the Reef!” boasts a palpable jauntiness thanks to the percussion groove. Dreadful Waters is composed of many different pieces, so it’s nice that Coronatus got them all to sound good together.

But symphonic metal lives and dies on its vocalists, and while Coronatus’ singers are skilled musicians, their performances can feel awkward. Each vocalist often brings an almost comical level of warble to their voices, swinging tracks like “Southern Cross” and “A Seaman’s Yarn” towards the ridiculous. Nemesis in particular can overdo it, as her heavy, gravelly vibrato can at times chew the scenery. The mezzo soprano and “rock voice” stylings also sometimes stand at odds with each other, as on songs like “The Siren” and “Dark Ice,” they blend poorly and give off the impression that they weren’t in the studio at the same time. When Coroantus coalesce, like on the album highlight “The Ship’s Cook,” the result is a riveting blend of sophistication and grit that I could listen to all day, but moments like this are unfortunately rare on Dreadful Waters.

The slight vocal issues I see on Dreadful Waters may be a symptom of a larger issue on the album: the lukewarm songcraft. Coronatus’ songs mostly stick to either a slowburn or mid-paced stomp, featuring pretty folk melodies and pleasant orchestrations but little in the way of gripping hooks or powerful performances. Further, vocal melodies are usually played overly straight, throwing few unexpected turns or interesting intervals in favor of a fairly standard symphonic metal play sheet. This makes the more metal-friendly tracks like “The Maelstrom” and “The Siren” come off a bit tepid and, at Dreadful Waters’ worst, its ballads in “Southern Cross” and “Die Hexe und der Teufel” real slogs to get through. Only “The Ship’s Cook” excited me, and that’s because its power metal-adjacent vocal heroics and bouncy chorus melody embody what is woefully missing on much of Dreadful Waters: character.

Dreadful Waters neither sinks nor swims. Far from awful, this record’s shortcomings stem from not doing enough to stand out from the symphonic crowd or playing exceptionally well into its tropes. Less fairweather fans of symphonic metal than I may get more out of Coronatus’ style, but detractors of the style won’t be swayed from their haterdom by it either. Coronatus snagged a real winner with “The Ship’s Cook,” though, so I don’t foresee terrible sailing for the band in their future. But for meeting the need for big strings over my metal, Dreadful Waters doesn’t do it for me.

Rating: Disappointing
DR: 9 | Format Reviewed: 192 kbps MP3
Label: Massacre Records
Websites: facebook.com/coronatusofficial | coronatus.de
Releases Worldwide: January 23rd, 2026

The post Coronatus – Dreadful Waters Review appeared first on Angry Metal Guy.

Crystal Lake

The Weight of Sound is the heft of change and consistency alike for Crystal Lake. A notable change is the departure of long-time vocalist Ryo Kinoshita, who released the debut for his solo project Knosis last year, and was replaced by John Robert Centorrino, former vocalist of The Last Ten Seconds of Life. The band acknowledges that Kinoshita’s shoes are nearly impossible to fill; to supplement, Centorrino is backed by an array of guest vocalists: David Simonich of Signs of the Swarm, Taylor Barber of Left to Suffer and Seven Hours After Violet, Myke Terry of Volumes and Fire from the Gods,¹ Karl Schubach of Misery Signals and Jesse Leach of Killswitch Engage. Consistently, however, the instrumental approach is the same, bringing back the nu-metal-meets-djent-meets-hardcore chugs (whose absence made the last two outings toothless), as well as that trademark ethereal guitar layers. The result, however, falls woefully short compared to Crystal Lake’s landmark albums, as the knuckleheaded overtakes the thoughtful and the vocals become a monotonous muck.

For positives, when Crystal Lake manages to balance the heavy and the atmospheric, tracks can truly soar. Yearning chord progressions, layers of melodies and sustained trills, and desperate vocals combine to add a nice dose of melancholy and fury, accented by the band’s signature guitar tone that balances djent weight with hardcore urgency. Even Centorrino’s cleans are a nice addition throughout these tracks, distant shouts or croons that recall Brett Gurewitz’s guest spot in Parkway Drive’s “Home is for the Heartless:”: tasteful and subtle. These tracks primarily populate the back half, a calm after the storm of metalcore pummeling, complete with a more somber mood (“The Undertow,” “The Weight of Sound,” “Sinners,” “Coma Wave”) that recalls more melodic hardcore-inflected metalcore acts like Counterparts or The Ghost Inside. The patience in the songwriting of these moments is also noteworthy, as movements feel nicely unhurried and appropriately contemplative.

Crystal Lake’s balance of the atmosphere and chug, as well as vocal charisma, have always been assets, but they plague The Weight of Sound. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t love Helix’s more light-and-airy vibe, but too many tracks are just too knuckleheaded here to make a splash, particularly the opening “unnecessary contractions” triptych (“Everblack,” “BludGod,” “Neversleep”), which seem like the band’s metalcore answer to Signs of the Swarm’s To Rid Myself of Truth. Meanwhile, other tracks seem to be wildly inconsistent and are true head-scratchers in terms of placement in the tracklist, featuring bluesy Southern vibes (“King Down”) or awkward shifts between heavy and ethereal (“Dystopia,” “Crossing Nails”). Each placement in the playlist at large feels shoehorned and abrupt, from balls-to-the-wall heavy to southern to ethereal, to confused. For the number of guest vocalists that appear throughout The Weight of Sound, Centorrino’s vocals make them difficult to discern with his smokier and denser presence. It’s unclear if this makes him a better performer or if the production value is just that putrid – or both.

To their credit, Crystal Lake hasn’t had to change up their sound since Kinoshita’s departure, and the balance between ethereal atmosphere and chuggy metalcore remains a formidable asset. However, scattershot songwriting and odd track placement doom effectiveness beyond a few sparse moments to break up the confused, knuckleheaded beatdowns. The Weight of Sound is everything you loved about The Sign eleven years ago, but with less identity and more distraction, chugging along for one song before brutalizing you with breakdowns the next. But most notable is Crystal Lake’s lack of direction: The Weight of Sound is all chugs and atmosphere with no clear purpose.

Rating: 2.0/5.0
DR: N/A | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3
Label: Century Media Records
Websites: crystallake-worldwide.com | facebook.com/crystallake777
Releases Worldwide: January 23rd, 2026

The post Crystal Lake – The Weight of Sound Review appeared first on Angry Metal Guy.

Ferrum Sidereum is a record that revels in texture and rhythm more so than melody. Like ObZen-era Meshuggah, ZU play melodically bare but rhythmically exquisite riffs, with their prog and metal elements manifesting into bouncy, syncopated djent jabs prominent on tracks like “Golgotha” and “Kether.” Guitars are low (“Ferrum Sidereum”), bass is plucked with abandon (“Charagma”), and drums roll with jazz-practiced precision and metal aggression (“La Donna Vestita Di Sole”). Industrial elements and saxophone conspire to either inject a sense of progression to simple riffs (“Hymn of the Pearl”) or, more often than not, tear your ears a new one with punkish, dissonant whines and whistles (“Fuoco Saturnio”). ZU bounce between these loud, crunched moments with Tool-like passages of meditative, methodical calm and repetition with a hodgepodge of percussive additions to fill out space (“Pleroma”). You likely won’t be able to hum anything off Ferrum Sidereum by the end, but it’s undeniable that ZU are very particular about sounding a very particular way.

ZU have the chops to carry the load of a double album, but Ferrum Sidereum unfortunately doesn’t have the substance to fill one. To achieve a sense of spiritual ritualism, ZU obviously had to rely on repetition within songs, but it quickly just gets excessive and bland. Differences between songs—like “AI Hive Mind” and its distinct, mathcore level of scronk in its guitar tone and saxophone or “Golgotha” and its use of ghostly choir to build unnerving atmospheres—get lost in the flood of crushed djenting that better defines Ferrum Sidereum. ZU stick to such a strict palette that following along to the album as a whole becomes tedious, and the lack of melodic leads or even just a singer make Ferrum Sidereum easy to drift away from mentally. Eighty minutes and no hook is a big ask for any listener. Ferrum Sidereum’s uniform construction does lend it a sense of unity, and ZU’s expert musicianship and occasional atmospheres do make the record a good background listen, but for the purpose of intentional, critical listening, it leaves much to be desired.

This is deeply disappointing to me, because Ferrum Sidereum can at times be simply transcendent. When it comes to shaping otherworldly and religious atmospheres, when ZU get it right, they get it right. “La Donna Vestita Di Sole” feels like a festival from another planet with its twisty sax riff, while the conclusion to the closing title track uses the dichotomy of furious palm-muted riffing and complete silence to make an ending both meditative and succinct. The one-two punch of “The Celestial Bull and the White Lady” and “Hymn of the Pearl” sees ZU at their most sublime, awash with delayed clean guitars and tribal drumming derived from the same sacred geometry as Lateralus, both stirring and refreshing to the mind and soul. There’s great material on Ferrum Sidereum, songs so good I can see clearly the greatness that ZU see in it, but material buried under about as much runtime of bloat as well.

I know there’s a world where Ferrum Sidereum clicks with me, but here and now it doesn’t. ZU are wildly talented musicians, and I know there are fans of instrumental metal who will gobble this up, but for me too much of what makes Ferrum Sidereum enthralling (its rich atmosphere and contemplative nature) is sidelined by what makes it boring (djent). “Hymn of the Pearl” may make a reappearance in December for SotY contention, but I think I’ve gotten enough of ZU’s latest as a whole. But I’ll keep an eye out for falling rocks, regardless.

Rating: Disappointing
DR: 5 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps MP3
Label: House of Mythology
Websites: zuhom.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/vajrazu | zuism.net
Releases Worldwide: January 9th, 2026

The post ZU – Ferrum Sidereum Review appeared first on Angry Metal Guy.

House by the Cemetary play drop-of-water-in-a-vast-ocean OSDM, so if you’re looking for something wholly original and mindblowing, you should look elsewhere. Far removed from their HM-2 abusive Rise of the Rotten debut, Disturbing the Cenotaph forgoes the fuzz, supplying a bevy of mid-paced Rogga riffs that Hot Topic kids listening to Six Feet Under or Bone Gnawer might bang their heads to (“Island of the Dead,” “Phantom Intrusions”). Foregoing scalpels, Rogga turns in a solo-less performance that bluntly forces trauma through brute-force chugs, with the occasional wade into melodic waters (“Burial Disturbance”), imparting some level of diversity. And while Rogga handles bass duties as well, there’s not a whole lot on offer that draws my attention to that instrument’s existence on Disturbing the Cenotaph. Meanwhile, Ohlsson does a decent job of keeping everything in line with a serviceable death-metal drum performance. House by the Cemetary relies almost exclusively on tropes to survive, even its influences trodding well-worn horror paths from Fulci, to Night of the Living Dead and Texas Chainsaw Massacre.

Despite House by the Cemetary’s adherence to a strict, almost Lite Brite® death metal template, there were a couple of moments on Disturbing the Cenotaph that drew my attention. One track I gladly revisited was “Massive Cadaver Resurrection,” with its very late-era Carcass vibe filled with a nice groove and some steely melodicism that spilled over into follow-up song “Undead Apocalypse,” which seemed to use the same set of notes as its predecessor but employed them at a slower, doomier pace; the track easily evoking images of a street filled with lumbering zombies. Notwithstanding these two songs, the only ones on the album that flirt around the four-minute mark as well, for what it’s worth, there’s not a lot on Disturbing the Cenotaph that elevates House by the Cemetary out of that vast ocean of also-rans.

Disturbing the Cenotaph is plagued with many of the same flaws as the last Rogga project I reviewed, Leper Colony, which also had a very paint-by-numbers approach. There are a couple of remaining factors, however, that save Disturbing the Cenotaph, albeit tenuously, from suffering a similar fate. For one, Mike Hrubovcak is a hell of a death metal vocalist, and his discernible yet deadly growls, howls, and screams go a long way toward keeping House by the Cemetary from sinking to the bottom of the death metal sea. Second, Håkan Stuvemark’s (WOMBBATH) mix is surprisingly warm and makes Disturbing the Cenotaph a pretty easy listening experience, though, comparatively speaking, “Chopsticks” is still “Chopsticks,” even if it’s mixed with a DR of 11.

There’s nothing wrong with simple. In fact, I love me some simple, knuckle-dragging death metal if, even in its simplicity, it can move me. My problem with Disturbing the Cenotaph, despite its great vocals and warm production, is that it feels lifeless and void of any real power. I’m comforted in knowing I can get a quality fix of Hrubovcak’s vocals by revisiting Monstrosity or Hypoxia, and of Rogga’s riffs, by way of Ribspreader or Paganizer. As it stands, I might throw “Massive Cadaver Resurrection” on a 2025 playlist, but beyond that, I will not be returning to Disturbing the Cenotaph beyond this review’s final period.

Rating: 2.0/5.0
DR: 11 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3
Label: Pulverised Records
Website: Bandcamp
Releases Worldwide: December 12, 2025

The post House by the Cemetary – Disturbing the Cenotaph Review appeared first on Angry Metal Guy.

Equinox marks a clear return to form for Equilibrium after the detour of Renegades. The electronic and metalcore elements from their last record still linger, occasionally poking their neon-tinted heads out, but the heart of the band’s sound is back in full force: that boisterous blend of Finntroll and Ensiferum filtered through the Europower cheese of Rhapsody of Fire, now with a touch of Avatar added. The songs are built on a familiar mix of traditional woodwinds, thick distorted guitars, and gaudy synth lines, with newcomer Fabi’s fearsome growl leading the charge through straightforward verses and repeated choruses. When these ingredients click, and the newer sonic flourishes collide with the band’s classic, folk-driven sense of epic grandeur, the result can be exhilarating. Tracks like “Gnosis,” “Awakening” and “Bloodwood” move easily between core-tinged riffs and massive, sing-along Viking choruses, delivered with the bombast Equilibrium is known for. Unfortunately, the rest of the album doesn’t reach the same heights.

According to the band, Equinox was originally intended as an EP rather than a full-length release, and the pacing issues and filler make that easy to believe. Large sections of several songs feel like padding before the actual track begins. Both “Borrowed Waters” and “Legends” open with long, drawn-out “atmospheric” intros that sap the impact of what follows, and the album includes no fewer than three interludes (“Archivist,” “Rituals of Sun and Moon” and “Tides of Time”). These moments don’t do the record any favors. They’re often delivered through a jarring mix of electronic trap drums, over-the-top synth lines and the band’s more traditional woodwind flourishes, creating a stylistic mishmash that feels pulled straight from a fantasy-themed Fortnite event. At times, these elements collide with simplistic, “tribal,” repetition-heavy vocals (“Earth Tongue”), resulting in something that sounds closer to a hyper-dramatic Nordaboo YouTube montage than classic Equilibrium. Even though the album does contain plenty of fully formed songs, these detours make the overall experience feel uneven and lopsided.

There are moments on Equinox where Equilibrium’s updated approach works despite its flaws. “I’ll Be Thunder” is a concise, effective track that blends electronic and orchestral elements into a tightly written folk-metal package. Even the seemingly toxic trance-metal/rap/metalcore hybrid verse in “One Hundred Hands” is intriguing, though the autotuned chorus and generic breakdown drag the song down. To the band’s credit, the mixing is solid across the album. It’s polished without being crushed by excessive loudness for a Nuclear Blast release, and producer Daniel McCook does an admirable job balancing the electronic, orchestral, and metal components. The result is a surprisingly even production that rewards multiple listens. I just wish there were more aspects of Equinox I could praise without reservations.

Equinox is a difficult album to recommend despite its strengths. Equilibrium have mostly abandoned the divisive sound of their previous record, while adapting its electronic elements in a return to form. The singles here do capture the bombast of their earlier work and are fun enough on their own, but the record around them is inconsistent and, at times, baffling in its execution. Equilibrium could certainly do a lot worse, but this is far from the re-conquest of the folk metal throne it could’ve been.

Rating: 2.0/5.0
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: 256 kb/s mp3
Label: Nuclear Blast Records
Websites: equilibrium-metal.net | facebook.com/equilibrium
Releases Worldwide: November 28th, 2025

The post Equilibrium – Equinox Review appeared first on Angry Metal Guy.

The marriage of black and folk metal can take different forms, with folk infusions coming from instrumentation, melodies, and/or folk and pagan themes. Änterbila offers all of them, but presented disparately as stark components rather than fused together as an interconnected whole. Bookend instrumentals “Låt till Far” and “Eklnundapolskan” feature strings, a bagpipe, and choral harmonies between them, not unlike Saor or Summoning. These tracks conjure rustic firesides with an air of excitement as strange tales are told around them. Avart’s other six tracks are categorically different, hovering between pagan-leaning, late-eighties Bathory (“Kniven”) and the punky pluck of early Vreid (“Jordfäst”). I even catch a whiff of Bizarrekult (“Årsgång”) in the midst. None of the flavors are bad on their own, but without more cohesion, they’re a bit confusing on the same plate.

Avart is a lively affair, with snappy licks, punky riffs, and burbling kick rolls that whisk listeners through half an hour of sprightly black metal. Bandleader and founder Jerff wields axe and vocal duties, with Raamt abetting in six-string antics. The guitars trem pick their way through Avart, embracing an unadorned style that takes a few simple melodies, interchanges them every now and then, and rides through four or five minutes. There’s nothing inherently wrong with this stripped-down approach, but without more distinctive hooks or emotive vocals, the songs bleed together. Drop me in the middle of any of the songs, and I’ll have a tough time naming which one it is unless Jerff repeats the title several times (“Kniven,” “Jordfäst”). Another issue Änterbila grapples with throughout Avart is repetition. Even with such a compact runtime, there’s not always enough substance to justify track lengths. “Jordfäst” could explore its ideas in two-thirds the time, for example, but instead pushes them past optimal duration. As it currently stands, there’s enough material for a solid EP, but relentless refrains without variations make shallow wells, and drawing from them too often becomes tedious.

Änterbila’s strengths lie in creating a dangerously charming atmosphere and not overstaying their welcome. Avart’s old school production underscores its low-fi mood, perfect for settings of yore where things lurking within shadows go bump in the night. Even though the mix isn’t polished, it ably captures Svaltunga’s punchy bass and drummer Monstrum’s quadrupedal onslaught. There flows an energy in the music that crackles with roguish vigor, and it’s here that Änterbila excels. It’s a shame lyrics weren’t included as part of the press kit since dark folklore provides such fertile ground for music. Understanding what the (presumed) native Swedish translates to could have heightened my appreciation for what secrets Avart holds. Still, the runtime is trim and helps deflect some of the monotony of simpler song structures, keeping the overall package easily digestible.

Änterbila possesses all the ingredients for a rollocking good time, but fumbles with the recipe. The folk metal tag is a bit misleading, and given that the folk elements are so well-executed in the intro and outro, it’s disappointing that Änterbila didn’t incorporate them throughout the entire album. Doing so could have thwarted the uniformity across the remaining songs, adding dynamism and a through-line that brings everything together with reinforced congruity. Every time I spin Avart, I hope to find something I’d missed previously, because I want to like it more than I do. Avart seethes with potential, and while I don’t regret any of the time I spent with the album, I don’t expect to return to it, either. Hopefully, the next iteration delivers on the promise Änterbila has established here.

Rating: Disappointing
DR: 9 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Nordvis Produktion
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: November 14th, 2025

The post Änterbila – Avart Review appeared first on Angry Metal Guy.

Old Night certainly has a lot in common with sadboi stalwarts, Dawn of Solace. They mix pensive cleans with harsher growls, leaning much more heavily into the cleans. Songs often begin with melancholic guitar leads, Insomnium-style, and delve into Novembers Doom-esque rhythmic chugs, but Old Night plays at a much slower pace than these other bands. These elements mix nicely on tunes like “Stormbirds,” where an Eastern-tinged melody combines with Hanžek’s solemn tones to tug at the heartstrings. It builds up to an impassioned call to “Unleash the storm / unleash the stormbirds,” among the record’s highlight moments. The formula throughout Mediterranean Melancholy is consistent, but breaks on the finale, “The Loneliness of Lighthouse Keepers.” This song opens with a bit of soft rock arpeggios before Hanžek croons about a lighthouse keeper and a man on the moon. It mixes magical realism with raw emotion and gentle strums with heavy riffs to wring tears from attentive listeners. It stands as the album’s emotional peak.

Compared to the likes of Dawn of Solace, Old Night proves to be a bit rough around the edges. This is most apparent in the vocals. Hanžek sings his heart out, but his pitch is all over the place. He fares better when singing at a lower pitch, such as the beginning of “Chasing Yesterdays,” but at higher volumes, his voice leans more shout-y than sing-y. Luka Petrović’s growls similarly lack the oomph required to be effective. A good growl here and there would certainly help to darken the tone, but it feels like Petrović holds himself back the few times he steps in. Instrumentally, Old Night fares better. On guitars, Bojan Frian and Ivan Hanžek excel at the sort of melodic leads that ooze sorrow. They strum some memorable hooks, though I wish these hooks had more airtime. The production doesn’t often allow Petrović’s bass to make itself known, but he lets loose with a nice bass line on the finale. Similarly, Nikola Jovanović commands the kit with some hefty, slow-paced beats that add to the record’s gravitas. These guys can play, but are let down by production and songwriting choices.

Underwhelming vocals are rarely a dealbreaker for me, but Old Night’s biggest issue lies in its songwriting. While the record wraps up at a tidy 43 minutes, each tune ranges from the seven to nine-minute mark, and not a single one earns its stay. While Mediterranean Melancholy features traditional song structures better suited to four to five-minute bites, Old Night pads each track with tedious instrumental passages and slow, repetitive choruses. Most egregious is “Ghosts,” which gets through its full progression after four minutes but continues on for another five and a half minutes, seemingly in search of a reason to keep going. Only “The Loneliness of Lighthouse Keepers” justifies going beyond six minutes, but even this could benefit from snipping a minute or two off.

Sadly, Old Night doesn’t quite scratch that sadboi itch. The elements are all there: the melodies, the lyrical content, the musicianship. Yet they fall prey to a common pitfall—bloat. With some cutting, Mediterranean Melancholy could have been a serviceable EP. As it stands, the long, meandering songs reveal how tough it is for doom to toe the line between causing listeners to shed tears of sorrow or tears of boredom. Next time I hope they can hone in on their strengths and trim the fat.

Rating: 2.0/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Meuse Music Records
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Site
Releases Worldwide: November 21st, 2025

The post Old Night – Mediterranean Melancholy Review appeared first on Angry Metal Guy.