2024’s Doom Rules Eternally introduced founding member Kostas Salodmidis’ new project to the world and established Distorted Reflection’s core of doom. Combining Candlemass riffs with Sorcerer drama and a touch of Sorrows Path shred, that core carries over unchanged into Doom Zone. Kostas’ beefy riffs and screaming solos remain as present as ever, and so does his shaky baritone croon. Vangelis gains greater presence with his bass here, which is a welcome improvement over the debut, burbling in lockstep with riffs and offering counterpoint during solo breaks. Filling out the lineup, Thomas Zen pounds the skins with a swinging stomp that suits this doom-laden material like a fitted suit, classy and reigned into the pocket at all times. It might not be the most exciting or unique formula, but it works.

Unfortunately, Doom Zone lacks the one thing that made Doom Rules Eternally worth covering: charm. Doom Zone isn’t completely soulless, but its flaws dominate my experience, leaving very little room for Distorted Reflection’s earnest delivery and competent riffcraft to shine. Evident from the onset of opener “3000 A.D.” and unrelenting throughout the runtime, Kostas’ vocals conspire to distract and detract at almost every opportunity. Unstable vibrato, strained upper range¹, abysmal growls and repetitive melodic phrasing make tracks like “My Second Father,” “Gates of Paranoia,” “Tower of Dreams,” and “Morbid Reality” difficult to enjoy. Doom Zone’s songwriting is also noticeably weaker, suffering from a deeply repetitive structure and monotonous pacing that inevitably stalls any momentum individual elements (riffs, solos, choruses) initiate (“Asphyxiation,” “The Final Attempt”). It’s a good thing, then, that Doom Zone is short, clocking in at a responsible 39 minutes. Even so, it drags such that I routinely check my playback to see if I’m close to the end.

This is a shame, because Distorted Reflection are gifted musicians with great potential. Kostas filled Doom Zone with an arsenal of chunky riffs and high-octane solos (“3000 A.D.,” “Certain Death,” “Diminished,” “Morbid Reality”), many of which aptly reference the great works of the doom metal scene, though perhaps a bit too closely. Zen’s drumming is a perfect fit for this sound as well, and Vangelis’ bass noodling is a delight to hear with such clarity. More importantly, everybody understands their role and can play their instruments well enough to attract the spotlight without having to force it away from someone else. The overarching problem ultimately lies in the songwriting. With the exception of a few solid tracks at the album’s midpoint, like “Diminished,” Doom Zone wholly lacks the dynamics, the creativity, and the voice it needs to succeed.

Charm can go a long way to make me like something I would otherwise pass up. Distorted Reflection almost instantaneously lost the charm they once had after my time with Doom Zone. Unmemorable, uninspired, and at times downright irritating, Doom Zone fails to exhibit Distorted Reflection’s strengths in a way that overshadows their flaws. Instead, it accomplished the inverse. Flaws glare, making the process of picking out highlights a grind, and the experience of enjoying the good a chore. I still have hope that they can turn it around with album three, but as it stands, my recommendation is to leave Doom Zone behind while you traverse the doom zone.

Rating: Bad
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3
Label: Iron Shield Records
Websites: distortedreflectiondoom.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/distortedreflectiondoom
Releases Worldwide: February 27th, 2026

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Glasgow Grin channels a red-hot, violent anger through a mix of groove metal, hardcore, metalcore, and nu-metal. This anger emanates from Karzis’s loud, punky vocal style. He shouts all sorts of angry, violent proclamations, letting us know he’s “ready for war / It’s time to fight” on opener “Glasgow Grin.” On “No Gods, No Chains,” he sounds like an angry version of the Beastie Boys when he shouts, “every breath I take, it just fuels my / Rage.” There’s a sort of macho nihilism in the lyrics as Karzis portrays a world requiring violence, or the threat of it, in order to survive. This comes off in the straight-for-the-throat instrumentation as well, with mid-paced blast beats pounding mercilessly and guitars buzzing angrily. Full House Brew Crew unsuccessfully emulate the swagger of Pantera with lines like “Welcome to the other side / You fucking bitch” used as a mic drop (“The Other Side”). The anger often serves less as a cathartic outlet than an expression of meanness.

Full House Brew Crew struggle to write any hooks to help the music stand out. Right off the bat, “Glasgow Grin” sounds like little more than a mood piece lacking melody and structure. Not only that, but many of the songs are surprisingly low energy for material that’s so irate. Glasgow Grin also provides a mixed bag in the chorus department. Some songs sound so uniform that the chorus goes by without notice (“The Tear”), or they have a clear chorus that’s just not very good (“The Other Side”). “No Gods, No Chains” has some success with its memorable, chant-y chorus, and there are moments where Full House Brew Crew shows flashes of hooks, such as the guitar lead on “No Gods, No Chains” and some djenty riffs that channel After the Burial and Born of Osiris (“The Tear,” “Distant Star”). Unfortunately, these moments are few and often fail to land.

The second half of Glasgow Grin starts off as though it’s going to redeem the record’s rather bland first half. Two tunes, “Rain” and “Distant Star,” make use of cleans for some pretty catchy choruses that break up the monotonous rage. Full House Brew Crew is also more experimental on these tracks, going into some progressive spells with a warbly, dreamy solo on “Rain” and an arpeggiated bridge on “Distant Star” that reveal some depth to their songwriting. “From the Gutter” probably best demonstrates where the band could succeed with its more aggressive songwriting. It has a lively, energetic feel missing on much of the album, but unfortunately, it fails to stick the landing when the final minute devolves into random, Gojira-style harmonics. From there, Glasgow Grin struggles to find its footing again. “Crawling” plays a grating guitar tone for almost its entirety, and “Reign of Terror” has a weird breakdown in its final moments that concludes the record on a deflatingly flat note.

Rather than a grin, this risks painting a permanent Glasgow Scowl on your face. Fortunately, Full House Brew Crew cuts enough fat that the album’s over in a brief 34 minutes. There are certainly glimpses here and there of where they could take their groove metal in a more successful direction. However, the pure rage channeled through piss-poor production values often feels like an angry version of Steve Carell mindlessly yelling, “I love lamp.” Maybe there’s some catharsis, but mostly it’s just a headache.

Rating: 1.5/5.0
DR: 4 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Roar! Rock of Angels Records
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Site
Releases Worldwide: February 6th, 2026

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As far back as 2008, Earlymorn has been playing in various black metal projects, mostly solo, but Through High Holy Haze is a much wider-ranging affair. St. Unholyness does incorporate blackened components in its sound, like the riffing and blast beats in “Hate Response” or the full-fledged black metal passages of the title track and “Alchemist Blues,” but Through High Holy Haze is a stoner record at its core. Injecting a novel grittiness via HM-2 buzzsaw, Earlymorn creates a dirty but pliable foundation to decorate with a myriad of other styles. “Black Tooth Brothers (Abbott Brothers Tribute)” incorporates some groove sensibility, much like a stoned-out Cowboys from Hell, while the macho, brotherhood-centered antics of Manowar or Freedom Call find a place on “Loud and Proud.” “Hate Response” might be the most varied track on the album, oscillating between heavy metal, death metal, and black metal. Through High Holy Haze has a lot going on, and although not all of it fits together well, it speaks to the ambition and raw vision Earlymorn has for St. Unholyness.

Unfortunately, raw drive and interesting ideas don’t make a good record. While Earlymorn is obviously a proficient guitarist—I was particularly impressed by the bluesy hooks and licks on “Through High Holy Haze” as well as the swedeath-influenced riffage on “Hate Response”—but she’s not as talented vocally. Her cleans are stiff and monotone, and her blackened rasps sound weak and half-hearted. From the promo material, I understand the lyrics are deeply personal to Earlymorn, but to do them justice, they needed to be passed off to someone with more range and experience. The same can be said of the programmed drums. A live musician could have breathed life and emotion into an element that, as is, feels like little more than a beefed-up metronome. There are very interesting ideas on Through High Holy Haze, like the way St. Unholyness mixes black metal and stoner metal together or uses a swedeath tone to play stony, bluesy riffs, but they needed more input than Earlymorn’s alone to come to life truly.

A lack of refinement isn’t the only problem plaguing Through High Holy Haze. Artifacts and clipping are pervasive throughout the album, and the mix often fumbles potential high points. “Dampflok des Todes” and “Alchemist Blues” both feature vocals that seem pitched to soar, but in such a flat mix, come across unremarkable at best, weak and poorly written at worst. Carrigan’s bass sounds excellent when it gets some time in the spotlight (“Black Tooth Brothers,” “St. Unholyness”), but otherwise it’s all but buried. The songwriting on Through High Holy Haze is challenging, as well. Mismatches between intros and the meat of songs are frequent, as are mismatches between leads/solos and rhythm sections, creating a dischordant listening experience (“Dampflok des Todes,” “Black Tooth Brothers,” “Alchemist Blues,” “Hate Response”). Bloat is also an issue. “Black Tooth Brothers” and “Alchemist Blues” both feature aimless interludes, and “St. Unholyness” employs a great deal of repetition to fill its six minutes and change.

St. Unholyness’ debut is, start to finish, the product of a single mind. As a result, Through High Holy Haze feels more like a rough draft than a final, polished product. An unfocused approach, poor mixing, and jarring, disjointed songwriting conspire together to utterly hamstring some decent potential. There are compelling ideas here, of that I am sure, but without the support of other skilled artists to workshop, refine, temper, and realize them, ideas are all they’ll ever be.

Rating: 1.5/5.0
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: ~190kbps VBR mp3
Label: Self-released
Websites: Official | Facebook | Instagram
Releases Worldwide: December 25th, 2025

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Picture a generic Rogga record and you’ll get a good idea of how This Life is a Grave sounds. Dead Sun leans more melodic, along the lines of Rogga Johansson or Eye of Purgatory, yet this is stripped down, bare bones, no nonsense melodeath. It has a muscular feel with pummeling blast beats and powerful, heavy guitar tones reminiscent of Bolt Thrower. Despite the bite-sized songs, each in the three-minute range, the sound is huge thanks to the big production values. Each track features a distinct melodic lead as well as Rogga’s formidable growls. Pair this with the same formula across nine songs and, unfortunately, you have a recipe for some uninspired melodeath.

Dead Sun does nothing to mix up their sound across the record’s entire runtime, and Rogga is seemingly allergic to breaking things up with anything as simple as a quick guitar solo. On a casual listen, the songs blend into one another because there are so few standout moments to perk your ears up. One of these standouts is “Nighttime Butterfly.” It has a solid melodic riff and also the only catchy chorus on the record. It is pure Rogga poetry. He growls, “Nighttime butterfly / Your time has come to die / Nighttime butterfly / Now is not the time to ask why.” Using a butterfly as a metaphor for death is an inspired choice that should have our staff Reaper grinning ear to ear. Unless I’m misinterpreting the lyrics, and the one whose time to die is the nighttime butterfly. In which case, I do want to ask why. Joking aside, it’s a solid song and the one highlight amidst some very forgettable material.

This Life is a Grave makes for fine background listening. For those times you don’t really want to pay close attention to what’s playing in your ear pods but want something heavy and meaty blasting your eardrums, this’ll do. On occasion, the album rewards you with some decent melodies (“Embraced by the Succubus,” “Your Life is a Grave”) and energetic drum blasts courtesy of competent kit work from Thomas Ohlsson (House by the Cemetary, War Magic). The mid-tempo pace makes for good music to lift to, as songs rarely pick up or slow down the pace to throw off your rhythm. Dead Sun is consistent, if a little too consistent—it feels like Rogga’s just phoning it in. Where’s the inspiration, the creative spark that would allow the band to go off script or to at least play something that feels alive and not like it was just plugged into a formula and spit out?

It’s pretty sad that I’m ending 2025 by dishing out my lowest score of the year, and for an album that drops less than a week before Christmas no less. I can appreciate Rogga’s impulse to create, create, create because I also have that same impulse when I dive into something I enjoy. 2026 will likely see nine more Rogga projects—the man is a machine. For his sake, I hope he gets what he needs from this prolific musical output. For the sake of listeners, I hope next time he writes something more inspired than this.

Rating: 1.5/5.0
DR: 11 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Emanzipation Productions
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: December 19th, 2025

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With Death Obvious, you can pick out distinct moments of black, death and doom metal bubbling to the surface of Death Obvious’ style-soup. Death Obvious is sworn chiefly to the blackened arts, communicating primarily through Lavey’s hideous rasps and Sioux’s tremolo riffs and blast beats, with second-wave inspired ragers “The Third Eye Burning” and “Mercury Off Axis” making no bones about their caustic, reverb-heavy attack. Death and doom are the more secondary sounds of Death Obvious, with death appearing on the chunkier, mid-paced moments of songs like “Sanctuario” and doom manifesting into spacier, drawn-out passages like the start of “The Great Gate Theory,” which put me in mind, surprisingly, of Khemmis’ Hunted. When Death Obvious’ songwriting clicks, like on album highlight “Sanctuario” or portions of closer “Catechismus for the Plagued,” sounds really do hurtle in exciting, dangerous manners that makes Death Obvious a killer listen.

Most of Death Obvious is indistinct, however, due to Death Obvious’ directionless songwriting and murky production. Death Obvious relishes in dissonance both clean (“Total Heavenly Desolation”) and dirty (“Suffer the Spectacle”). But instead of building tension or suspense, Death Obvious creates tedium through dissonance, leading to neither release nor deeper discomfort but to a monotonous drone of black metal murk. This is exacerbated by Sioux’s guitar tone, which in Death Obvious’ faster moments can sound like a totally nebulous melange of reverb. To their credit, Death Obvious’ bass-forward mixing helps mitigate this somewhat, providing plucky, crunchy bass riffs like on “The Great Gate Theory.” It does nothing, however, for the busy, opaque mix that, damn the DR score, sounds boxed-in and flat. Death Obvious’ noise problem is encapsulated right off with “Mercury Off Axis,” opening with an excruciating, high-pitched drill sound that puts me in mind of the dentist and carries on well past its intro. It’s not pleasant, Obviously the point, but it’s not interesting either.

Death Obvious falters because Death Obvious simply doesn’t bring enough to the table. Not only is structure neglected on Death Obvious, but individual songs largely have little going for them beyond the black metal basics; over-repetition is chronic on tracks like “As Absence Expands over Everything,” and monotony abounds because of it. Beyond rare instances of effective piano and non-dental sound effects, Death Obvious blurs together in limited patterns played ad nauseam, making it an effort for the listener to stay focused throughout. Like how Death Obvious’ style issues were made plain by its opener, its songwriting woes are exemplified by its eight-minute closer, “Catechismus for the Plagued.” Half of “Catechismus…” anyway: the half that is one (1) riff, two (2) chords sharing one (1) root note hammered on and off at straight eighth notes with zero variation in dynamics or accent.³ The other half with creepy keys and an otherworldly soundscape shows what Death Obvious can be when playing inspired material. The one riff is what Death Obvious mostly offers: after a while, it doesn’t really sound like anything.

Death Obvious embodies the obtuse nature of avant-garde music with little of the adventurousness of its best practitioners. Instead of sounding unbound, it feels as though Death Obvious let the songs get away from them. I’m not sure if Death Obvious needs more editing, further drafting or both, but as is I can hardly pay attention for the entirety of one listen through. Death Obvious are a talented duo, and I believe they’ll have better material down the line, as moments throughout their debut hint at better things to come. However, not only did I not go goo-goo over Death Obvious, but I’m sure I won’t be returning to it much at all.

Rating: Bad
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps MP3
Label: Transcending Obscurity Records
Websites: deathobvious.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/DeathObvious
Releases Worldwide: December 5th, 2025

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It’s difficult to know where to even begin with The Hermetic Way, and its brand of wisdom. At every turn, things somehow go wrong. The core sound is something akin to Esoctrilihum—barking screams, twisty guitars, and a propensity for echo on everything—only with a mix you’d barely forgive a bedroom project for, and a compositional style that makes said Esoctrilihum sound catchy. Tzevaot jumbles synths, piano, and guitars that seem to hit upon a genuine groove of Emperor-esque theatrics or Absu-level style completely by accident; the fact that the best melodies are never reprised only supports this theory. The drumming—which may well be a machine for all I can discern³—is flat and dull, buried by the wall of heavy reverb between the sharp stab of the vocals and the other instruments. This intensifies the feeling of aggravated confusion that defines the listening experience, as one struggles to keep up with the nonsensical rhythmic trades, sudden inclusion of solo synth or piano, and yet more spoken-word. This is not the nuanced placelessness of an intelligent, complex extreme metal, where discordance and strange rhythms develop impossibly but seamlessly into new forms; this is a mess.

As with many similar works of art, all of The Hermetic Way’s failures arise from the hubris of their creator. The indulgence of every idea, at the expense of their development, integration, and refinement, causes the record to swing pendulously between mind-numbing boredom and toe-curling cringe. Without fail, songs go in the most annoying possible direction, dropping tension like a hot potato and throwing out a rare good musical passage in favour of the most jarring refrains (“Solve et Coagula,” “Pyres of Meaning Light the New Aeon’s Way”), or another arrangement of noise to a jaunty tempo that makes a mockery of the previous composition (“Zosimos the Alchemist”). Elements are often so poorly integrated, that sections clearly designed for drama—stripped-back keys or solemn recitations—fail to land; the sample of famed occult author Lon Milo DuQuette is barely audible past the fickle interchanges of organs, riffs, and drums. The Oracle persistently delivers vocals in a monotonous, rapid-fire bark that gets grating fast, particularly when combined with Tzevaot’s fondness for stacking tempos and synth accompaniments like dominos one after another. But I would listen to hours of all the above barks rather than sit just once more through horror show “The Hero of Megiddo,” a skin-crawling ditty whose redemptive brevity is made moot by its being the only thing on the record with a memorable tune, causing the perverse singing and jangling chords to turn around in your brain like an inescapable merri-go-round.

Most painful of all is that The Hermetic Way could have been so much better. Tzevaot might try to borrow the label of “jazz” to elevate whatever’s going on with piano and cymbals at various points. While that’s not really justified, it’s nonetheless striking that every single isolated passage of good music on The Hermetic Way involves piano⁴ (“The Emerald Tablet of Thoth,” “Air Fire Water Earth,” “Metempsychosis”). These fleeting moments, which comprise approximately five percent of the runtime combine key slides and arpeggios in a stylish, interesting way that’s very cool, and variously reminiscent of Wreche, Vengeur, and once again Emperor. In an hour of music that is otherwise so exhausting, this is obviously not enough. By the time the best parts of the album arrive in closer “Metempsychosis,” you’re likely too checked out to care, if you’re even still listening.

The Hermetic Way’s title is apt. Not only as it divulges supposed profound truths through the visionary teachings of the self-imposed hermit, who has reached enlightenment through years of solitary contemplation. But also because that’s quite a good analogy for the solo metal musician of the esoteric bent. Maybe Tzevaot harbors real genius, and I’m simply too blind and deaf to see or hear it in their work. More likely it’s another case of talent foiled by delusion.

Rating: Bad
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: 265 kb/s mp3
Label: I, Voidhanger
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: November 14th, 2025

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If my description of War and Peace put you in mind of a certain other Swedish war-themed power metal band, you’re not far off: it does sound like Civil War! From mid-paced stompers like “Barbarossa” to double-kick speedsters like “Gustav Vasa,” Johansson belts over crunchy, synth-laden power metal keen on getting lodged into the listener’s noggin like shrapnel. Hooks are aplenty on War and Peace, particularly poignant on the high-energy “The Great Wall of China” and the Wuthering Heights-folksiness of “Prodigal Son.” Songwriting is tight, keeping tracks around four or five minutes with little in the way of gratuitous soloing or meandering instrumentals. War and Peace does nothing groundbreaking, but on a genuinely delightful ditty like “Prodigal Son” or a fist-pumping rager like “Barbarossa,” how much does that matter?

Well, unoriginality matters when most of the songs aren’t very good, either. Nils Patrik Johansson packs few weapons in their war chest for War and Peace, and what few they possess have some defects. When War and Peace slows down, like on the overwrought “Stay Behind” or the throwaway instrumental opener “Himalaya,” things build up to nothing and stay there, making for lethargic and unfun listens. When speeding up, Johansson doesn’t always deliver when it matters, like on the bare-bones chorus of “Gustav Vasa” or the tuneless belting of the “Hungarian Dance” refrain. The streamlined songwriting also tends towards the formulaic. Almost every song has the standard pop structure and a bookend/closing instrumental “tag” that feels superfluous, like the “Star Spangled Banner” Hendrix rip finishing “Stay Behind” or the tokenized Chinese string and choir motif in “The Great Wall of China.” Overall, most of War and Peace feels hollow, taking the shape of good songs but lacking substance.

Beyond its structural issues, War and Peace is just an awkward listen. NPJ’s vocals are proficient and enjoyable, replete with his iconic warbling vibrato and snarling Dio-isms, but he leans into these techniques so much it can come off as campy. This is particularly bad in the quieter moments of War and Peace, like the piano bridge of “Gustav Vasa” or the verses of “Stay Behind,” where his deliveries are so exaggerated they can feel like caricature. Similarly, what’s being said can be hard and/or regrettable to follow. The final trio of songs exemplifies the lyrical woes of War and Peace: over-repetition (“Hungarian Dance,” “Two Shots in Sarajevo”) confused messaging (“Hungarian Dance,” “The Great Wall of China”), and clumsy wording (“The Great Wall of China,” “Two Shots in Sarajevo”).² When the songs aren’t very good, these kinds of concerns grow from minor quibbles to major issues rapidly.

Surrender is never an option, but War and Peace is no victory for Nils Patrik Johansson. Too often, War and Peace is too overwrought, too underwritten, and too derivative of both other bands’ and Johansson’s own works. Toss in some wince-able lyricism, and you’ve got yourself a tough listen. But even when making a bad album, NPJ can still drop bangers like “Prodigal Son” and “Barbarossa,” so it’s not a complete loss. However, as a complete work, I’m peacing out on War and Peace.

Rating: Bad
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3
Label: Metalville
Website: facebook.com/nilspatrikjohansson
Releases Worldwide: October 10th, 2025

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If you clued in that Stare into the Seething Wounds looks like a Korn album cover, complete with warped symbols of childhood fed through the Tim Burton-on-weed machine, you’re dead-on. More than other “nu” acts like ten56. or Motionless in White, Idaho’s Extortionist sounds like these “on the kob” legends or Alice in Chains in its more subdued moments – complete with wonky guitar effects and vocalist Ben Hoagland’s best impression of Jonathan Davis. However, its less restrained identity enacts a brand of brutality seen in Bodysnatcher or The Last Ten Seconds of Life, weaponizing belligerent roars that recall Upon a Burning Body’s Danny Leal atop crushing breakdowns and thick riffs. Layering nu-metal’s wonky effects and lazy vocals with deathcore’s fat-bottomed tone abuse one song after another with the band’s signature drum production, the two faces of Extortionist are initially appealing, but by the end of Stare into the Seething Wounds, you’ll want to slap them both.

The subtler side of Extortionist is a more atmospheric and deadlier version of Korn’s melodies and Nirvana’s watery effects, focusing on drawling baritone vocals and short-lived random explosions into metalcore chugs. Achieving a sort of sonic haze through these means, the potential resemblance to Deftones in its layers of opaque instrumentals and minor chord progressions is a tempting one that ultimately falls flat. The dynamics are simply not there, as Extortionist will shift from the Davis drawl to a chuggy deathcore breakdown with Hoagland’s vocals providing the only crescendo. If heavier combinations of “Freak on a Leash” and “Come As You Are” sound like a good time to you, these tracks might satisfy (“The Break I Couldn’t Mend,” “Submit to Skin,” “Dopamine,” “Low Roads,” “Do You See It?”) – even if the band at large sorely lacks the charisma or songwriting chops to pull it off. These tracks end up being dull interludes between the slightly more interesting core exposés.

If being bored to tears is not your game, Extortionist’s numbskull brutality might appeal to you. Channeling a nu-metal-influenced, deathcore-forward breed of intensity that recalls early Crystal Lake or Alpha Wolf, the straightforwardness is at least unpretentious. Even then, some timing issues, usually tempo disparities between breakdown callouts and the breakdowns themselves, keep some tracks from achieving the soundtrack to the pit they so desperately strive for (“Cycle of Sin,” “Starve”). Even the more bulletproof metalcore/deathcore tracks (“Aftermath of Broken Glass,” “Detriment,” “Invisible Scars (Part III)”) offer no reason to listen to Extortionist compared to the plethora of -core rip-offs – these tracks are fast and solidly composed, featuring bone-crushing breakdowns but that’s about it: better incarnations exist in early The Plot in You and Loathe. A blessing and a curse, drummer and keg abuser Vince Alvarez’s performance is the clear highlight amid the sea of boredom and monotony, but that signature production and reverb manage to inflate the mix to something that clashes with the breakdowns and riffs, feeling lazy in the busy, overfilled attack.

For a very bloated forty-eight minutes, Extortionist blurs the lines between nu-metal, metalcore, and deathcore – their stark dichotomy of grungy drawling and brutalizing breakdowns ultimately boils down to boring and monotonous. However, if you ever forget that this is deathcore or metalcore, there will be a ten-ton breakdown to remind you. If you ever forget this is nu-metal, Hoagland will growl some off-beat “oh-oh,” “fuck,” or “yeah” faster than you can say “da-boom-da-da-mmm-dum-na-ee-ma.” All this to say, maybe I should have left Extortionist back in 2015 – peel away the cringe and novelty of Stare into the Seething Wounds and what looks so strong, so delicate.

Rating: 1.5/5.0
DR: 5 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3
Label: Unique Leader Records
Websites: extortionist.bandcamp.com | extortionist.co | facebook.com/ExtortionistNW
Releases Worldwide: October 10th, 2025

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With a new lead guitarist, Terra Atlantica finds themselves armed with a more folk-driven base that sends their sea-faring stories even further into open water than ever before. Veering into jaunty pirate metal territory, Oceans boasts a wide variety of baubles and decorative deviations scattered around their cookie-cutter power metal foundation. Terra Atlantica’s unusually reedy vocals carry over from the last record, evoking a certain Muppet-y personality that I don’t hate, but which many could. Canned strings and horns make a resurgence as well, pushing Oceans deeper into symphonic territory. In short, Oceans is as cheesy a power metal record as can be without being Fellowship, only without even half the songwriting acumen.

In fact, songwriting is Oceans’ greatest downfall. Numbers that could’ve been great on their own merit find themselves stranded by downright infuriating choices. The greatest offenders are “Hoist the Sail,” ruined almost immediately once Terra Atlantica cribs the legendary “The Rake Hornpipe” for an overlong bridge and solo; and overblown closer “Oceans of Eternity,” which once again copies and pastes more than one segment from a piece of well-known classical music¹ to pad its runtime without doing anything meaningful with them. Outside of those rage-inducing moments, though, there’s still very little substance to Oceans. Due to its dogged reliance on basic genre building blocks and banal lyrics, Oceans is effectively wall-to-wall tropes and fairytale pirate stereotypes (“Back to the Sea,” “Where My Brothers Await,” “Land of Submarines”).

Indeed, Oceans reminds me of a metallized The Muppet Treasure Island soundtrack, minus that masterpiece’s compositional excellence. Nonetheless, flashes of brilliance give me some hope that Terra Atlantica have the potential to write showstoppers worthy of positive comparisons to that iconic OST. “Raven in the Dark,” for example, might be the album’s strongest whole song, pumping a stadium-ready melody and boasting a sticky chorus and fun hair-metal solo. “Caribbean Shores,” too, maximizes its fun factor with a novel bit of tropical songwriting not often heard in power metal, unless you are Twilight Force. Additionally, I do appreciate the injection of real heft and a vaguely thrashy personality in “Turn of the Tide.” If these novelties and convincing attributes were integrated more successfully into a greater portion of Ocean’s runtime, the record would feel quite a bit different than what metal fans have been taught to expect from the symphonic power scene.

Unfortunately, Terra Atlantica only reinforce what metal fans learned to dread. To wit, a dearth of musical creativity in relation to material density, an overt abuse of classical standbys in the place of what should be original material (or at least a creative use of reference), and clear and present stereotyping in writing, theme, and lyrical content. What little hints of potential Terra Atlantica leave for listeners across Oceans’ relatively tight 49 minutes do not make up for the burden of uninspiring, sometimes outright annoying, material offered. Steer clear of this if you know what’s good for you, lads!

Rating: Bad
DR: 5 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3
Label: Scarlet Records
Websites: terra-atlantica.de | facebook.com/terraatlantica
Releases Worldwide: September 26th, 2025

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In many ways, To Rid Myself of Truth is the part 2 of predecessor Amongst the Low & the Empty, but the Pittsburgh quartet has never quite hammered down what their trademark approach to deathcore is. From the slammy gurgles of CJ McCreery’s troubled tenure in Senseless Order and The Disfigurement of Existence, to the husky roars of David Simonich in his contributions to discography highlights Vital Deprivation and Absolvere, Signs of the Swarm has latched onto Low & Empty’s template in being as brutally downtuned and chuggily cutthroat as possible. To Rid Myself of Truth continues the toe-dipping into djent and industrial for maximum heft and devastation, and while it’s better than its predecessor, it still begs the question why you should go out of your way to rid yourself of truth.

To Signs of the Swarm’s credit, To Rid Myself of Truth is a little more than the one-trick pony fucking shit up in the pit the way its predecessor was. Techier flourishes, rabid blastbeats, and rhythmic warbling offer reprieves in the muck, while better songwriting doesn’t end every track with ten-ton demonic breakdowns. Pinch harmonics add a dimension of madness to the already insane brutality (“Natural Selection,” “Iron Sacrament”) and jerky djent rhythms add a bit of variety (“Scars Upon Scars”), while a neat lil’ groove spices things up (“HELLMUSTFEARME,” “Chariot”). Once again, Simonich delivers an absolutely monstrous performance, his horrifying vocals an easy highlight amid low and empty chuggery, including some tasteful grunge-influenced cleans atop eerie industrial-influenced plucking and atmospheric tremolo picking (“Forcing to Forget”). Guest vocalists show up in tasteful areas, including the man, the myth, the Lorna-man Will Ramos (“Clouded Retinas”), Whitechapel’s Phil Bozeman (“Iron Sacrament”), 156/Silence’s Jack Murray, and Prison’s Johnny Crowder (“Fear & Judgement”), providing a bit of reprieve to Simonich’s all-consuming roar. To Rid Myself of Truth can feel like a honed version of Amongst the Low & Empty, utilizing the same tools but with tighter performances.

To Rid Myself of Truth has all the ingredients to a solid album – as Signs of the Swarm has always possessed – but the execution of excessive brutality and stuffy production makes it into a messed up deathcore duck-cake.¹ While it felt like Amongst the Low & Empty had almost infinite breadth in its production and mixing, To Rid Myself of Truth is majorly compressed and condensed, perhaps lending itself to the tight galloping of Absolvere. But we can’t have our duck cake and eat it too, because the mix is absolutely suffocating trying to remedy the two approaches. As such, like you insulted Signs of the Swarm’s mother, you’ll be hit with so many concussions in sheer amount of breakdowns and venomous attacks, it’ll be hard to keep track (“HELLMUSTFEARME,” “Chariot,” “Sarkazein” all come to mind). Many of these tracks likewise follow a similar pattern, opening up with the title of the song roared, followed by bone-crushing breakdowns, too often adhering to the “To the Hellfire” formula of “yuuuuuuge” concussive chugs and Simonich sounding as animalistic and demonic as possible.

To Rid Myself of Truth is catharsis for Signs of the Swarm,² a streamlined potpourri of no-frills deathcore that continually beats you over the head with “ze brootalz.” If this is your bread and butter, then feel free to rid yourself of truth – this album was written for you. Signs of the Swarm, as in the case with Amongst the Low & Empty, constantly impresses with its trendiness and novelty: a relentless breed of brutality with a consistently impressive vocal performance. However, once the novelty wears off, you’re left with brickwalled production and copied-and-pasted brutality. To Rid Myself of Truth? More like To Rid Myself of Tooth.³

Rating: 1.5/5.0
DR: 3 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3
Label: Century Media Records
Websites: signsoftheswarm.bandcamp.com | signsoftheswarm.com | facebook.com/signsoftheswarm
Releases Worldwide: August 22nd, 2025

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