Keeping everything pent up inside is an awful idea. You’re going to blow. It’s only a matter of time, and when it does occur, you have to hope you have enough sense to contain yourself to a healthy outburst. Whatever the fuck that is. If you have a creative valve to release, that’s probably best for you and everyone around you.

Minneapolis-based death manglers Nothingness luckily can emote through their art, and their third record “Godslaughter” helps them quell what’s gathering and release it in their spattering music. The band refers to its music as “digressive,” and that’s certainly fair as their lashes splash all over, easily catching you with their blades even if you manage to duck the first few swings. If you’ve been alive for the last decade, especially in this country, you will understand the bloodletting and the infernal heat coming from this beast—vocalist Barclay Olson, guitarist/synth player/vocalist Alex Lewandowski, bassist Jon Grandel, drummer Jason Hirt (guitarist John Hancock and effects master Xen Hartzell have joined since the recording). It’s a mind fucker, and it’s probably good for you to experience that.

“Incinerated Immediately” fucking trucks right out of the gates, growls mauling as the playing gets faster, battering and blinding in just over a minute and a half. “Convulsing Putrefaction” is tricky and brutal, the growls tunneling into the dirt, sinewy, rubbery playing making your brain smoke. Guitars slither as the fists fly faster, screams dig under nails, and everything ends abruptly. “Skull Evulsion” is a smothering force, maniacal screams ringing in the night, the terror building in form. The drums destroy, the pace adding devastation, everything ending in a pile of rubble. “Trenchant Glunch” drubs, growls retch, and a monstrous force tries to pull you under, the guitars adding lightning to your veins. The tempo gets meatier as tortured howls shake your psyche, creating a tornadic force that drags you through a million blows greeting your head. “Vanquishing Providence” is doomy and muddy before exploding, the drums crushing as the band trudges into pooled blood. The pace comes unglued, howls scar, and the guitars create a thick steam that feels feral.

“Divine Irresponsibility” is the longest track here, running 6:59 and immediately rocketing the temperatures to dangerous highs. Death ruptures as the growls dig under flesh, doom bells echo in the distance, the guitars gut. The intensity spills over as your nerve endings tingle, a slow-driving tempo twists the screws, and everything ends in a buzz. “Incredible Violence” opens with a Kurt Vonnegut quote from Slaughterhouse Five as the playing swings hammers, chugging and slashing, ramming through walls of rock. The riffs encircle and confound, throaty growls threaten, and the blood smears in mouths, leaving a metallic taste. “Umbral Spear” is cold, synth gathering like a cloud, start/stop mashing shaking your brain in your skull. Growls slash as the band goes harder, techy soloing giving this horror some added prowess, the energy sprawling before cresting. Closer “Novus Hegemonikon” buzzes as the growls scathe, burly melodies locking your head in a vice, mashing as the atmosphere turns chilling. Spooky guitar work haunts as psychedelic strains infect, and final shots arrive slowly, mightily, putting out your lights.

Nothingness send their vitriol into the world and beyond with “Godslaughter,” another solid building block in their death metal foundation. They also manage to add interesting twists and color dashes in their otherwise skull-dusting music, a testament to their creativity and madness. This is a really enthralling album that hopefully doesn’t fly under the radar based on the glut of great death metal releases we’ve already had this year. For sure, this is one of them.   

For more on the band, go here: https://nothingnessmn.bandcamp.com/

To buy the album, go here: https://everlastingspew.com/search?controller=search&orderby=position&orderway=desc&search_query=NOTHINGNESSGODSLAUGHTER&submit_search=

For more on the label, go here: https://everlastingspew.com

I have a pretty major claustrophobia gene, never looking when I’m locked into something tight and dark, wondering how many breaths I may have left. It’s unreasonable to have that phobia, because how often are you really going to find yourself locked into that situation? Yet, the fear lurks and sometimes rises in unexpected ways.

For instance, tackling “Monument aux morts,” the second album from French maulers Viande, can make listeners feel like they’re trapped underground, the weight of the dirt getting heavier, the stress on the lungs taking a greater impact. The band—vocalist J, guitarist/synth player B, bassist O, drummer I—employs a form of blackened death that shrouds sight and feels like it is trying to push every gasp of breath from your body. It’s harrowing and heavy, dark and foreboding, a collection of songs that prod your fears.

“Linceul immense” opens with noise scrawling, the power bristling as the growls thicken, the energy pounding away with dusty fury. Guitars spindle as the damage spreads, darkness thickening, the chaos pounding its way into “Sacrifice ardent” that pummels with extra strength. Growls pour blood as the playing stabs into metal, snarling, infernal heat pressuring, riffs snaking through a slow burn. Shrieks erupt as the playing builds faster, mangling and wrecking minds. “Germes de mort” pounds with viciousness, striking like a battering ram, growls gurling as if underwater, the tempo hulking with ferocity. Shrieks maim as the guitars challenge psyches, quaking with seismic force, scorching to the end. “Monolithe de chagrin” is caked in filth, savagery swelling as a fiery gust torches flesh, then the vocals get uglier and more oppressive. Battering, binding playing squeezes your chest as the growls swelter, a relentless push powdering bones.

“Cercueil de vase” enters amid a thick fog, the playing disorienting and causing your blood pressure to drop, strange leads mystifying and testing wills. Deliberate strikes open flesh as the drums echo and stomp, piercing your ribs as the sounds fade. “Une cage d’os” trudges and quivers, the ugliness clobbering, warping darkness as the wails torch. Strangeness spreads as a Portal-style attack smothers brain pathways, the vocals wrestling you to the ground and making you eat dirt. “L’esprit cachot” has the vocals tearing through shadows, the guitars chugging, the riffs bending your thoughts against your will. Growls crawl through muck, the playing spattering torment and then spiraling into mud, the smoke thickening and making breathing impossible. “Austérité maximum” is a brief interlude that has noise melting, demonic screams terrifying, and everything spilling into a seemingly endless tunnel toward closer “L’homme Brasier.” Drums batter as the guitars push your face to a hot grill, the playing smearing your thoughts. Guitars stain as your mind shatters, and humidity increases dangerously and compromises your respiratory system.

Viande’s heaviness must be experienced as explaining it in writing doesn’t quite do the trick. “Monument aux morts” challenges you mentally and physically, each track pushing you to your limits and making your brain wonder what it did to deserve such anguish. That’s actually a good thing as this band and record make you see nightmarish visions you didn’t know were possible, and that’s fun for everyone.  

For more on the band, go here: https://viandeband.bandcamp.com/

To buy the album (U.S.), go here: https://us.tometal.com/

Or here (Europe): https://eu.tometal.com/

For more on the label, go here: https://transcendingobscurity.bandcamp.com/

So, spoiler alert, we’re all going to die at some point. We can’t avoid that reality, and while we may be able to extend our lives through science and medical advancements, we are not immortal forces. Yet if someone or something could intervene on your behalf and let you draw breath and remain alive longer, what would be your price?

Nordic death power Horrifier examine that very scenario on their second record “Revelations of Gore.” This is a concept piece that focuses on a person at the end of life who is offered a chance to keep existing with the nominal fee of human sacrifices in return. But that whole agreement turns obsessive for the character as the stack of bodies builds to gruesome levels. The band—vocalist/guitarist Adrian Risøy, guitarist Sander Halvorsen, bassist Erik Krokan, drummer/vocalist Andreas Langås—comes at you with a storm of insanity and intensity, feeling like something doused in decades-old blood and rotting flesh as they pull you into the race to remain on this plane of existence, no matter what.

“Voices” is a swirling, strange intro track, snaking into “Compelled to Slaughter” that sweeps in with a doomy pall. The playing erupts as howls scar, sooty guitars clog the gears, and then fires blaze, the bass stomping harder. The playing tangles as the vocals choke, the and the leads electrify before frying eternally. “Human Butchery” is snarling, ransacking as scathing guitars boil blood, doomy lathering foaming with charcoal, everything combusting before speed ignites. Animalistic fury strangles as things spill over rapidly, the guitars darken, and strange smoke billows to the sky. “The Ingestion” is heated, slowly battering, charring as the dust collects, nastiness multiplying as throaty wails explode. Guitars hang in the air before a sudden burst, the soloing flooding wildly, melodies bending and leaving the room spinning.  “Rejoice, Children of the Flesh” has guitars scraping as the pace explodes, the temperature spiking, Risøy howling, “Relentless torture forever!” The pace pummels as the wails blister again, a calculated beating pelting.

“Body Hoarder” is relentless, exploding with violence, the pace drubbing as grisly growls retch. The pace speeds up as energy storms harder, the leads take off, and a fiery finish explodes with ash. “Morbid Lust” slaughters, the vocals spat like poison, dusting hard as the guitars unite and take over the flight. The bass trudges as the tempo becomes even more aggressive, the guitars blaze even harder, burning off into oblivion. “The Final Oblation” ignites with finger-tapped guitars, the bass coiling, spilling over and savaging with power and beastly growls. The pace engulfs, the riffs flex muscles, the vocals mangle, and everything crumbles into dust and fades. “Blood for Ascension” brings back the doom storms, jetting with power, howls smashing before calm slips into the room. Leads whir as dark winds gust, the wails sicken, and humidity smothers, fading into chaos.

The bodies pile up quite high on “Revelations of Gore,” a hammering second spell from Horrifier that leaves death metal choking from black-coated lungs. This is a massive beast that’s out for blood, but it’s also a blast to experience, especially if your roots go back to death/doom’s origins. This concept piece leaves you battered and bruised, giving you an excursion that peels off flesh and douses wounds with salt.

For more on the band, go here: https://horrifiermetal.bandcamp.com/

To buy the album, go here: https://www.personal-records.com/product/pre-order-horrifier-revelations-of-gore-cd/

For more on the label, go here: https://www.personal-records.com/

Outside my house at the moment, the world is shrouded in smoke from Canadian wildfires, so much so that the horizon is invisible, and even the amusement park a few blocks from my house seems to have disappeared entirely. It looks like the world settling from Armageddon, the aftermath of a battle that had few, if any, survivors.

The first demo from one-man war machine Horns of Abomination, leaves a similar impact after its three tracks have ravaged you. The amalgamation of death and black metal that very much sparks visions of all-out war is impossible to survive without taking on mental wounds. The tan-and-red cover art isn’t as ominous as the music inside, so it might throw you off a little bit going into your first experience. But it’s harrowing, fucked up, sometimes barely forming a solid entity and acting instead as a phantom ready to devour.

“Horns of Abomination” opens and could be a mission statement song, piercing right off the bat and pouring endless blackness over all it encounters. Sooty chaos destroys as the warped screams swim in interference, sounding inhuman, and then the playing grinds psyches. The power spreads its grip as noise fries your senses, everything ending in blood. “Necrogoat” is perversely aggressive, sinister riffs carving pathways, barbaric vocals sounding authoritative and detached. Filth crumbles under pressure and creates a toxic soot, the final sparks threatening refiring. Closer “Black Blood Offering” lets guitars spill in, the drums batter, and the growls melt any sense of sanity, beastly tensions rising. Demonic heat spikes to torturous levels, the words barely are decipherable, as if the message is for the damned, and the playing retches, leaving blood slicks behind.

Horns of Abomination have almost no trail of information about the sole creator of this madness, so we only can draw conclusions with the music, which is the way it should be anyway. This feels like wars waged in your mind, a mental damnation that should not be survivable. We have but three shots fired from this project here, and if these are any indication of what the future holds, expect it to be volatile.

For more on the band, go here: https://hornsofabomination.bandcamp.com/

To buy the album, go here: https://sentientruin.com/releases/horns-of-abomination-horns-of-abomination

For more on the label, go here: https://sentientruin.com/

A decade ago feels like a completely different existence. For example, the U.S. was not locked in the clutches of authoritarianism, and a larger-than-comfortable swath of people were not under the spell of the least competent cult leader ever. We were years before a crippling pandemic. We just lost Neurosis. It was a world not ready for what was to come.

It also was the last time we heard from Chilean thrash/death hybrid Ripper, as they had unleashed “Experiment of Existence.” A full 10 years later, we finally have the band’s third record “Towards Rebirth,” a fitting title and a proper reintroduction to a band that always kept their brand of thrash thornier and bloodier. On these 10 tracks and 42 minutes, the band—vocalist/guitarist Patricio Spalinger, guitarist Nicolas Young, bassist Tomas Barriga, drummer Javier Buzeta—sounds like as well-oiled machine, poised to strike early and often, adding more vitriol to the South American brand of this style of metal which always was heavier, meaner, and brasher than other continents.

“The Secular Awakening” is a strange, whirring intro that bathes in synth and fantasy elements, leading the way toward “World of Darkness” that snarls and hammers with speed. Heated howls lash as the pace bruises, a simple, but effective chorus gets blood flowing, and the bass chews wires. The playing lays waste as the soloing erupts, punishing and leaving space for one final chorus to jet past. The title track mashes, the leads snaking, the pace trucking, leads bending around corners. The tempo storms harder as guitars twist brain tentacles, a burst of savage vocals punching out. “Final Hologram” takes off and shreds, the vocals spat like poison, guitars blinding as the screams ravage. The intensity crests as the bass charges, sparking a fury, a thrashy attack and throaty calls driving. “Into The Coldness of Land of Dead” opens with the drums decimating, a relentless attack angling toward you as guitars boil, and speed becomes a greater factor. The chorus jolts as everything hits a little harder, and then everything comes unglued, the playing decimating, savage power warping as bone spurs spray.

“The Source Exterminator” fires up, animalistic vocals striking, the leads smoking as melodies flex. The soloing melts before calm arrives, and out of that the energy powers anew, monstrous howls pelting and opening wounds. “Messages From the Other Side” scrambles, the intensity scathing, guitars storming harder, attacking as the vocals land. The pace turns everything to dust, blinding with chaos, the pace shifting to a vicious end. “The Secret Dawn” has the bass chugging and squeezing, guitars forming dark clouds, melodies slithering through the dirt. The playing detonates as leads flood, the guitars take off, and the bass buries into your chest, bringing a crazed finish to this instrumental.  “The End of Universe” unleashes, raw wails destroying, the guitars hitting a frenzy, wails combining with raspy shouts. The pace races as the screams peel paint, the soloing combusts and shakes bones, jolting bruised flesh before fleeing. Closer “Procession to the Eternal Rest” has guitars racing, scratchy howls battering, the pace coming to life and quaking. There’s a slight Maiden feel melodically, and then the winds become more violent, slamming into you as animalistic cries leave you gasping for breath.

It may have taken a decade to get “Towards Rebirth,”  but that wait was more than worth it as Ripper have returned with … a ripper. For those who like their thrash metal and little more feral, this record should land particularly hard, delving, as they do, toward the brink of death. This is one hell of a beast, a real scorcher arriving in the dead heat of summer.

For more on the band, go here: https://ripperdeathrashchile.bandcamp.com/

To buy the album, go here: https://www.darkdescentrecords.com/shop/?s=ripper&post_type=product

For more on the label, go here: https://www.darkdescentrecords.com/

Life has its way or carving away at you, leaving you a husk of your former self if you’re not careful. For some of us, misery always seems around the bend, haunting, waiting, lurking only too lustfully to peel back anything that makes existence worthwhile. How many times must one get up off the ground, dust off, and expect to proceed forward with hope?

Brazilian duo Litosth—multi-instrumentalist Maicon Ristow and bassist Wendel Siota—have abandoned silver linings and gone all in on skullduggery and misery with “Dreaming,” their fourth record. The title is misleading, as you will find exploring these eight tracks and 46 minutes is not going to whisk you away on a wondrous excursion, even when their music leans more melodic and pulsing. Instead, this is an unraveling, a mental breakdown after one too many gashes that leaves nothing but darkness and pain behind.

“Defy” gets off to an eerie start, guitars opening as the synth swirls, howls storming from the outer edges. Majestic fury releases its spirit, synth gliding along jagged edges, melodic grimness exiting. “Ruin” starts with keys dripping, and then guitars storming, viciousness crumbling your mental state. Icy leads take off, bells chime to usher in the end, and a beastly gush brings the monster back to life. “Eclipse” enters darkness before the playing rips, monstrous howls arresting, a path into wonder making the fury that much heavier. Keys rain as shrieks rip, a even-tempered pace cooling before keys plink like glass.  “Abyss” rises as organs swell, the pace ravages, and synth swirls in your mind. The drums stampede as dramatic strikes send electricity, and smothering blows end the misery,

“Monolith” starts as a cold, clean ghoul, driving through searing howls, storming with great energy that jabs. The playing is catchy and thorny, beastly and spacious, a massive finish pinning you to the earth. “Iconoclast” unfurls in battery, the soundwaves ripple, and the vocals ravage, smoking and choking out lungs. The force pounds away, spacey keys work through the stars, the leads spiral as the vocals emit heat. “Nadir” basks in a synth cloud before blood pours from the cloud, a vicious attack stabbing toward you, melodies sweeping as the growls sicken. The pressure scrapes flesh as dramatic gusts pummel, the howls carve at muscle, and the final strains inebriate. Closer “Gólgota” has leads lightning the way, growls snarling, and colors zapping, synth lathering and creeping toward a blistering force. The guitars tangle as the playing makes blood race through veins, the howls lashing as everything washes away.

“Dreaming” is a sinister yet adventurous record, a darker turn from Litosth than we’ve previously heard. The lack of hope and the callouses that experience builds make it impossible for light to get through in any way, and that’s what this album sounds like it’s conveying. This is music that won’t make you feel better when it’s done. If anything, it’ll leave your insides a little blacker.

For more on the band, go here: https://www.facebook.com/litosthofficial

To buy the album, go here: https://www.personal-records.com/product-category/our-releases/

For more on the label, go here: https://www.personal-records.com/

As our personal and societal darkness thicken, one should not be surprised that bands and records will follow that and wallow in the misery. It’s not that our current environment never has happened before, but it’s the first time it’s happened to a lot of us. The downward slopes in our lives, as a result, feel more pronounced, and recovery comes much slower.

Death/doom hybrid Solystalgia emerge with a self-titled debut record that dig into loss, atrocities and the weight we carry from these things, and that power spreads over 37 economical minutes like a heavy gloom blanket. We said doom/death, and while your mind might wander to My Dying Bride or Paradise Lost, this band is doing something much different with similar elements. This is even darker stuff, heavier, tilting more toward the death aspect, which only makes sense considering we’re mining morose territory. The band—vocalist Paul Black, guitarist/bassist Wilco, drummer Austin Wheeler (Tanner Anderson joins on guest vocals)—never pulls back on their expressions, both musically and emotionally, and everything that you hear makes you pay a toll that could help alleviate the emotions inside of you that have left existential bruising.

“Procession”  is an orchestral, moody opening, a quick introduction to set the scene, moving into “Funeral”  that instantly pours doom smoke. Howls wrench as the sooty underbelly spreads, the playing slipping into a frozen gaze, the guitars spiraling and attacking. The pace trudges as the growls bury, and then everything explodes into dust, the energy moving into the clouds. “Wake” is an instrumental bridge, the atmosphere swelling, stars mixing into the clouds, fading into “Conflagration” that’s instantly dour. The guitars attack as the chugging pace crushes rock, a gasp of calm gushing as the soloing catches fire. The guitars turn into isolated sorrow, and then the howls crash, the pace picking up and unleashing electricity, the playing cascading into a tingling end. “Reflection” is a third, final instrumental with sounds basking in light, echoes shattering, voices warbling in your mind, clouds spreading through the skies.

“Collapse” opens with the drums rousing, guitars flooding, howls wrenching as your skeletal structure ruptures. The vision crystalizes and moves into black metal territory, creaky howls lash, and tornadic forces uproot trees, the drums mashing and a metallic glow warming. “Entropic” is the longest track, running 10:25, turning up the heat, howls crushing and smearing, the guitars circling as they swim through psychological pain. Ashen guitars spread as melodies flood, the force leaves you dizzy, and the screams lash from the shadows. Doom spills guts as dual guitars melt, psychedelic waters trickle, and the mood drains stars. Closer “Acceptance” opens with acoustics and softer singing, the guitars beginning to buzz, a folkish surge dousing with rustic spirits. Leads burn brightly as the guitars simmer, voices murmur as the growls mix with clean singing. Guitars cut as chatter settles, outdoor noises bleeding through the speakers, fading into time.

Solystalgia are off to a promising start with their stunning self-titled debut record, and adventure that rouses and carries you through the woods and streams, fresh, cold air in your lungs. The dark subject matter is woven generously into these songs, helping you feel every bit of what went into creating these eight songs. This has power you can feel in your mind and body, and it has a lot of offer emotionally that it could help release the pressure valve inside of you.

For more on the band, go here: https://solystalgia.bandcamp.com/

To buy the album, go here: https://namelessgraverecords.com/collections/nameless-grave-records-releases

For more on the label, go here: https://namelessgraverecords.com/

From the beginning, Belgian force Emptiness has been an enigma. There are bands that change their stripes now and again, adding parts or influences long lingering. It’s not uncommon. But this entity is different, adhering to no set structure, operating without any boundaries, and refusing apologies along the way for anyone they isolated.

“Nowhere Speaks,” their seventh album, is about as close as one can get to Emptiness’ earlier years, when there was more of a black metal bend and unforgiving distortion that always bent a little awkwardly. It’s a very major departure from 2021’s “Vide,” their most polarizing record to date, but it also isn’t a return to anything really. The band—vocalist/bassist Jeremie Bezier, guitarist/synth player Olivier J.L.W., guitarist Simon L., synth player Dea Hydra, drummer Laye Louhenapessy—basically punches holes through eras and tunnels to wherever it takes them, and this record, while more in line with, say, “Error” or “Nothing But the Whole,” isn’t wholly familiar. It might seem that way on the surface, but digging deeper reveals that DNA has completely changed. Again.

“Nothing But the Whole (Part 2)” warbles in noise and slow-driving crumbling, falling into “The Threat” that hammers right away, Bezier’s speak-growling pressing. Darkness spreads generously, washed-out worlds spiraling, strange echoes meeting up with charnel winds that smear grease. “Nowhere Speaks” is punchy, the vocals snarling as the playing spellbinds, raining down as Bezier’s howls dig under the skin. Guitars veer off and paint outside the lines, sounds briefly calm before reengaging, and the drums hammer, voices chilling and trailing off. “Darkness Commands” is an interlude with guitars gathering into a sound halo, sprawling toward “Words to Wind,” the longest track, running 8:24. The atmosphere is stormy and impossible to navigate, hiss vocals washing over, an elegance spreading that rolls in soot. The playing blackens minds, cluttering and adding commotion, guitars rising as the gloom settles. Smothering growls call as the guitars scorch, slipping into eternity and letting its ghost expire.

“One Must See All” is a final interlude, sounds gushing, guitars gazing, and a lifeless sky opening, lathering your brain. “When the Whole Arrives” has the bass striking, whispers sending chills down the spine, the pace bursting open and reveling in its thickness. Warbled words spread as the guitars boil, the drums send spatter flying, and the final moments melt away everything. “The Clash of Forces” basks in synth beams before clobbering, the vocals pressing on your carotid artery, the guitars charring. An entrancing fog spreads, chilling the air, the riffs trudging out. “Next in Line” feels bizarre when it starts, unsettling even, gentle guitars luring you in, voices making your mind flip. Things pick up as whispers creep, the drums drive through your chest cavity, and the doom pall leans into closer  “All for Nothing” that hangs in pulsing guitars. Warped vocals make things nausea-inducing, the drums pounding as the guitars sting. Balmy air and mysterious shadows unite, melody floods through corroded gaps, and everything piles on top for suffocation.

“Nowhere Speaks” is another curveball from Emptiness, and the only reason it is one is because the music stretches back closer to the band’s origins. These are the sounds that helped put them on the map, but with strains of their experimentation threaded into the whole. This is another new era for these beasts, albeit one that’s a bit familiar, even if the surroundings are warped in a way on which you can’t place your finger.

For more on the band, go here: https://emptiness.bandcamp.com/

To buy the album (North America), go here: https://shopusa.season-of-mist.com/list/emptiness-nowhere-speaks

Or here (Worldwide): https://shop.season-of-mist.com/

For more on the label, go here: https://www.season-of-mist.com/home/

There is evil among us that deserves to experience a devastating end, a humiliating demise that could spread some semblance of joy among so many people who have been hurt. But reality rarely seems to punish the unjust—it always seems the opposite is true—so we have to delve into fantasy sometimes to get a modicum of satisfaction.

Dustin Cleary helms blackened doom project Blackstaff, and on the EP “Drowner,” he imagines a tale where night travelers follow a light path into the swamp, either reaching their demise or finding their parts resurfaced for a greater beast. He’s purposely vague about the inspiration though does say the concept piece is inspired by a major news story about a helper for the rich and famous who “met a conveniently untimely demise before his day in court.”  Pretty sure I know who he means. Anyway, the piece itself is raucous, atmospheric, and adventurous, a thunderous new curve in Cleary’s path.

“Swamp Lights/Drowner” runs a little over 10 minutes, and sounds ring out and sting ears, trudging and smothering, the guitars taking on a Celtic Frost feel. Shrieks mar as the ferocity spikes, slowly adding pressure and spilling into an atmospheric gush, choked with clouds. The bottom gets torn out as the playing thrashes harder, screams ripple as the heat melts metal, the energy warbles and bleeds into “Godlike” that sickens with moaning doom. Guitars smoke and chug as the aura gets gnarlier, the darkness contorting into ashen devastation, masking bones. Guitars spit and make your ears ring, drums kick harder, and we push into closer “Flesh Golem” that basks in wilting heat. The playing jars as eeriness spreads, haunting as the ground quakes, growls menacing, synth leaving strange scars. Screams boil in acid, and the pace comes unglued, crushing with mangling force, combusting as the growls bury teeth in muscle, the final moments bleeding away.

“Drowner” is a powerful EP from Blackstaff that also has strange storytelling that lurks beneath the chaos. This is an adventure that, while appetizer sized, pulls you through the darkness and into the swamps to figure out what fate awaits. And let’s be honest: What’s on the other side likely isn’t welcoming, this metallic beast luring you to the end.   

For more on the band, go here: https://blackstaff.bandcamp.com/

To buy the album, go here: https://blackstaff.bandcamp.com/album/drowner-ep

It’s going to be 97 degrees tomorrow (which apparently will feel like 106), and the air conditioning just died. At 9 p.m. When it’s really easy to get service to come out, especially when your neighborhood is considered dangerous because non-whites live around here. I am baking alive in a house with poor air circulation, sweating out each minute.

Wailin Storms’ fifth record “The Arsonist” certainly delivers similar physical heat, but it also grinds your mind down into sweat and grit. The band’s doomy, thunderous, fiery rock is dragged through Southern dust, tossed with Gothic colors, and spit back out as ready-to-use fuel. The band—vocalist/guitarist Justin Storms, guitarist/Rhodes organist/piano player/vocalist Ben Melton, bassist Steve Stanczyk, drummer Mark Oates—dashes through tales, confessions, and diatribe dripping with gas, ready for a spark to send it blazing into the night sky. It’ll make you sweat mind and body.

“Dead End” starts with the guitars smoking, the singing clouding, a dusty, driving pace kicking things into high gear. The intensity peaks as screams ripple, coldness sneaking up on you, the guitars flexing as the power feels like a lather strap across your back. “Heart of Mine” quivers as it emerges, feeling like a rattlesnake sending warning, clawing as Storms calls, “Can’t we understand that all the problems start with man?” No arguments there. The playing unleashes sunburst, keys melt as the guitars char, striking until the bitter end. “You Never Answered” punches in, howled words bruising with balled fists, Storms declaring, “I’m not dead … yet!” On/off thrashing makes blood race, Storms insisting, “I tried to call, but you never answer,” acoustics adding texture to the volatility. The title track starts with Storms howling, “Lover, you’ve got me shaking,” moodiness sweeping into guitar echo, the playing weeping through static-filled punches. The calm rebounds as slide guitar glistens, the calls reaching out desperately, Storms leveling, “You always had a hold on me.”

“Never Rest” has the guitars agitating and chugging, a Zeppelin-style stomp leaving boot marks, drawing blood and choking on mud. “I get no rest ever,” Storms sings, “please give me peace,” as the playing ignites, the volume doing ample damage. “I’ve seen it all before, fuck your fucking war,” Storms stings before repeatedly yelling, “Die! Die! Die!” as molten anger flows like a river. “Saved” steams, a calculated pace pushing, the singing prodding as the guitar work gets thicker. Things get burlier as the vocals spit nails, the energy stretches, and everything melts in the hot sun. “Patient Night” has guitars striking and the bass coiling, the playing feeling blistering and then pillowy. The chorus rouses and washes over you, the pace pummels, and the fluid chaos pools like blood. “The Wind” is swampy and heavy, trudging over hot pavement, Storms calling, “Shame shame, see your eyes start to change, shame shame, how our mind starts to fade.” The playing rips apart, slide guitars heating up, the playing trucking before hitting a brief bit of calm. The mood feels like it’s locked in the desert, howls rising as the darkness bends, bleeding into silence. Closer “It’s All Dark Now Where Your Eyes Used to Be” lets piano drip, the discomfort sprawl, and tensions rise. Apocalyptic visions ooze, foreboding spirits make your muscles shake, and Storms calls, “Your reflection only says one thing, there’s a hole where your heart’s supposed to be,” as everything washes into the horizon.

Wailin Storms have a heaviness that’s both physical and psychological on “The Arsonist,” a record that’ll choke your lungs with dust and thick blankets of smoke. This is very human music, the type that results from heartbreak, anger, and frustration, sending warning that the emotions have coiled and are ready to strike. This music weighs on you, it batters more than just your ears, and it leaves you buried in the dirt, heaving.

For more on the band, go here: https://wailinstorms.bandcamp.com/

To buy the album, go here (U.S.): https://shopusa.season-of-mist.com/list/wailin-storms-the-arsonist

Or here (International): https://shop.season-of-mist.com/

For more on the label, go here: https://www.season-of-mist.com/home/