Converge owe nothing to anyone at this point, and they really have nothing further to prove. They’re one of the most important and influential heavy bands of the past three decades, and they remain one of the most intimidating yet volcanically loose and welcoming live acts going. So, when they release new music, you pause what you’re doing and listen.

“Love Is Not Enough” is the band’s 10^th record as a band (11^th if you count the amazing “Bloodmoon: I” collaborative project) and their first as a quartet since 2017’s “The Dusk in Us.” So, it’s been nearly a decade since we got new music from the core of vocalist Jacob Bannon, guitarist Kurt Ballou, bassist/vocalist Nate Newton, and drummer Ben Koller, and no one is getting any younger. Uh, this 10-track beast might prove that false and that they’re aging in reverse. Or just not aging. This album runs about 31 minutes, and the first handful of songs sound like a hungry band out for blood, refusing mercy, needing to prove themselves. The back end finds them exploring more, but with ferocity, showing just how far they’ve advanced.

The title track opens and wastes no time punching with grime and power, howls searing as a simple, but effective chorus lands hard. The vibe is raw and fiery, Bannon’s yelps sounding cleaner than before, the playing spiraling and brawling to the end. “Bad Faith” is another ripper, crunching and sludging, Bannon’s voice ratcheting up a level, lumbering as gang shouts dress the chorus. The playing then surges, wrecking and leaving destruction behind. “Distract and Divide” is one of the faster and most urgent songs in the band’s catalog, the title spat repeatedly, ferocious jackhammering overwhelming, guitars flexing. The bass coils and strikes, and everything blasts to a furious end. “To Feel Something” is gutting, howls wrecking shop, the playing engulfed in flames that grow rapidly and shockingly. The drumming turns everything to dust, guitars charring as the band thrashes with atomic force. “Beyond Repair” is an instrumental that basks in strange sounds, eerie guitars, and scrapes and echoes, industrial force grinding and marching into eternal gloom. The first half of this record blasts by in 11 minutes. 

“Amon Amok” opens the second half, which is twice the length and a different vibe in spots, this one hitting a slower, yet just as explosive pace, the heat hanging overhead as the roars crush. The playing is heavy and pounding, stretching its heat as the vocals batter. “Force Meets Presence” bludgeons and mashes, delivering metallic riffs that crawl up your spine, racing energetically. Newton’s unmistakable wail can be heard backing Bannon, the band nearing death metal territory in its assault. “Gilded Cage” has guitars plodding and the bass chugging, Bannon’s singing registering higher, the chorus hammering in the nails. Cloud coverage increases as humidity smears ash, roars hammer, and the last gusts level everything. “Make Me Forget You” opens with drums mauling, and the riffs feeling catchier, more of a rock feel injected into the formula. “I never said what I meant to,” Bannon laments, something he repeats, his talk-yelling overpowering, the anguish flooding. The intensity turns into a psychedelic burn, simmering into closer “We Were Never the Same” that Newton’s bass leads into the fray. Bannon’s screams belt as the playing trudges, a simple chorus blazing and feeling like something to scream back live. Guitars race as the band gets its final diatribe ready to spew, pressing on every nerve ending before the track comes to a blazing end.

“Love Is Not Enough” packs some early Converge manic energy and speed with their more experimental bends on an album that flies by like a lightning bolt. There is a menace, a passion, and an emotional tumult woven into these songs that feel like a legendary band making an urgent new statement in tumultuous times. This is heavier and more savage than most might expect, even based on their track record, and this is a raging fire feeding off a full fuel tank that never seems to lose a drop. 

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

To buy the album, go here: https://converge.ffm.to/loveisnotenough

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

The album title “Thick as a Brick” is already taken and far too distinctive to repurpose for a record in the year 2026. Sorry, Coscradh, because their new album “Carving the Causeway to the Other World” easily could have snagged that as a title and no one would have batted an eye otherwise.

But that title would be a fitting descriptor of the music itself and not the lyrical content contained within, which deals more with heritage and mysticism, stuff that’s steeped so far in the past it’s only really accessible in books or movies or records such as these. Instead, the band went with “Carving the Causeway to the Other World,” which also works. The band—vocalist/guitarist Ciarán Ó Críodáin, bassist/vocalist Hick Ó Aodha, guitarist/synth player Jason Keane, drummer Boban Burger—treats these tracks like a war god seeking vengeance on humanity. Could you blame them? The playing is relentless, impenetrable, often hard to predict, which makes this one that challenges your expectations and psyche. Don’t expect catchy riffs and sing-along choruses. Do expect to be beaten to a pulp.

“Five Fifths Awaken” creaks, settling into sooty guitars and the start of a viscous obliteration that sprawls over the entire record. Howls circle, the humidity rises, and the intensity burns with menace into “Carving the Causeway to the Otherworld” that retches and rattles bones. The playing engulfs, guitars scorching, the speed hitting harder, melting with volcanic power. The pressure assaults brains, feeling like a force that cannot be halted, making psyches burn intensely. “Adhradh Dé Ghoac” has guitars stirring and the vocals torching, racing to buzzing ferocity that suffocates. The pace chugs and warps, spilling relentlessly as the beating continues with no end in sight, speed eventually defacing before spacey strangeness lands. The path pummels, a mass of chaos surrounding and increasing the temperatures, wild screams burning into your brain. “Caesar’s Revelation (Hibernia L. VI V. XIV ad XVI et XXIV)” zaps to life, fast and monstrous, howls hitting crazed levels as the strangling leads unload. Whirry synth takes over, the tempo hitting new levels of ferocity, stampeding and fading into a ghostly fog. 

“The Calling” is a quick breather that very much is needed at this point, considering the war-torn chaos that preceded this, bringing you back with horns, eerie and dusty melodies, and a phantom heading into “Scythe of Saturn” that wreaks and breathes fire from the start. Guitars explode, a nasty flash that temporarily robs of sight, gurgling growls spitting venom. The playing gets even more aggressive, mentally and physically slaughtering, hazy guitars sinking into the mix, the battle re-opening and delivering merciless devastation. “Badhah’s Shadows” fires up, the vocals choking, guitars torching as they overpower. The playing gallops harder, bringing pressure that squeezes life from your lungs, agitating audio violence that spirals in a flurry and ends in steely madness. Closer “Opening the Gates to Styx, Nix, Kerberos and Hydra” runs 9:33, the longest track here, and it opens with guitars boiling, the growls engorging, and a speedy dash electrifying. The pace comes unglued, zany terror raining down, then it’s on to a tempered section where you might get a breath but still face brutality. Tornadic storming activates as the final moments succumb to otherworldly soundscapes, disappearing into a snarling fog.

“Carving the Causeway to the Other World” is dense, violent, and flooding with ancient mythology and relentless war, an album that might take several tries before it sinks in. Coscradh doesn’t spoon-feed catchy riffs and memorable hooks; they drag you deep into the past when wars were fought under the guise of the gods, and many warriors bled out in the dirt. This album feels like witnessing those battles again, leaving you breathless and bruised once this destroyer comes to an end.

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

To buy the album, go here: https://www.20buckspin.com/coscradh

For more on the label, go here: https://www.20buckspin.com/

I get a lot of advanced promos from bands and labels, dozens a week at least. I’ve racked my brain, but I don’t ever remember the subject of an e-mail noting a band as male-fronted. I even did a quick search, because I’m bad at deleting e-mails, and I cannot find that term. But I got a ton calling out female-fronted bands, as if that’s some novelty. Oh, there’s a girl in this one! I find it disrespectful and silly.

So, none of “The Calling From the Depth,” the debut full-length from grim black metal power Fayenne touches on that subject at all. But, the band—vocalist/guitarist Andréa Hillgren, bassist Mikaela Åkesson, drummer Martin Wahlberg—centers on female domination, destruction even, along with elements of nature and creaky second wave raw thunder. Thrusting that into what’s still a heavily male world establishes their own dominance, no matter their sex, because they bring a smothering hell with them that defaces and destroys. While it’s their first record, it hardly seems the work of mere novices, and this is a band that I’ll be excited to hear morph into their next form.

“The Calling From the Depth” blasts into existence, guitars spiraling and shrieks flying, melodic leads flooding the senses. The pace is fluid as the guitars bubble to the surface, the vocals pierce, and tornadic riffs bring this to a smoking end. “Sulfur and Mercury” mashes with humidity, drums pounding as shrieks retch, leads slicing into black metal permafrost. The pace jolts as guitars lead the charge, exploding into a harsh new reality. “Black Haze” battles through the fog, guitars slicing, the pace galloping with a sense of urgency. The playing rampages, causing ample bruising, storming off into oblivion. “Unholy Rebirth” has heated leads and screams battling through layers of ice, catchy riffs adding new colors to the blackness. Shrieks shred sanity as the fluid pace leaves extremities tingling, an abrupt end wrecking.

“Waters of Ancient Blood” floods, the drums mashing, screams picking at your fragile psyche and disconnecting wiring. The pace bursts with a gasp of new life, blasts loosening tectonic plates, the playing coming unglued before burning to its final rest. “Serpents Order” brings fiery guitars and a frantic pace, screams belting and opening up fresh wounds. Guitars unload a flurry of riffs as the drumming blasts through the surface, strangling with power. “Primordial Surface” rumbles over the earth, the vocals smearing blood, a speedy, catchy tempo taking over and making adrenaline gust. Guitars sweep as the speed gains traction, ending with rippling screams. Closer “Melas Khole” is steamy, a flurry of guitars stabbing into the cloud coverage, screams scorching as the battering continues. The pace then gets more volcanic, ramping up and making hearts race recklessly, a metallic surge combusting and resting in fallen ash.

“The Calling From the Depth” is a burst of black metal that ties tradition with modern development, never adhering to a particular era and stretching their manic power through the eons. Fayenne’s chaos is not polished or pristine, nor was it meant to be, as their darkness reigns in lesser explored terrains and far from where most minds tend to wander. This is a wrenching experience that reveals itself more with each listen and reveals chaos that only comes to those who commit to the journey.

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

To buy the album, go here: https://voidwanderer.com/product/fayenne-the-calling-from-the-depth-mc/

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

There is something about when a record feels more like an event than a collection of music from the same recording cycle. Grandiose explosions of creativity and mad dashes toward drama don’t come every day, even in a genre that is known for going over the top. These bands and albums feel there isn’t a stage big enough for them.

For the type of music Worm, the Florida-based avant-garde death/black/doom metal duo of vocalist Phantom Slaughter and guitarist Wroth Septentrion, create, it doesn’t seem like something arena-ready. Nor should it be. But on their fourth full-length “Necropalace,” Worm expand their virtuoso-blazed guitar work, eerie environment, and horror movie aesthetics not just to a major metal label in Century Media but also their own universe they’ve created. It also might take a few tries for this to fit. As much as I enjoy the band’s entire catalog, this has even more ambition and manic terror, there are more twists and turns to navigate. But the work is worthy, especially on that listen when it finally lands.  

“Gates to the Shadowzone (Intro)” starts with thunder and dramatic synth, guitars open and soar, and everything burns into the title track that is a total force. Guitars blaze as the vocals scorch, keys storming and adding a dose of regality to the madness. Slaughter’s vocals hit a desperate creak as the vicious, active tempo sprawls, the power gets grittier, and then the tempo ravages, keys flooding before disappearing into a shadowy darkness. “Halls of Weeping” has keys pumping and drifting, warmth melting ice layers, mucky playing clogging, and the cries retching. The playing cools as howls ravage, and guitars enter a mysterious fog, marring your psyche. The might punches out of the vortex, melodic leads gush with effusive emotion, and moaned howls slip under the flesh, the horrific aura spreading dangerously. “The Night Has Fangs” opens with warm leads that dizzy, and then the mid-section is split apart, crazed fury spilling generously. Guitars flurry as the synth lines dare, stabbing into heated soloing that hypnotizes and excites. The vocals scrape over metal as the tempo bursts, cutting a path while crushing dreams, a smokescreen obscuring sight.

“Dragon Dreams” is the second-longest track, running 12:06, and it starts clean and hazy, like a dream that lingers through the night, and then electricity strikes. Keys storm as vile wails collect, the playing temporarily going cold before melting in an instant. Gothy clouds amass as the vocals punish, and the leads bleed openly, keys glazing and congealing wounds. Melodies glisten as calls bellow, and an immersive, tornadic force drags everything into oblivion. “Blackheart” locks psyches in a vice, the humidity generating uncomfortable air, disorienting as the keys hypnotize. The guitars get catchier as keys drip, and manic cries burst, torching and fraying nerve endings. Closer “Witchmoon – The Infernal Masquerade” features guest guitar work from the legendary Marty Friedman, who more than makes his presence felt with his masterful soloing that fits in this strange world rather perfectly. The guitars blow open, the screams hanging onto bruised flesh, the solos trading off and generating total delirium. Organs sprawl as the pace sludges and chars, an onslaught of power riveting, making blood race through your veins. Keys take over as the swampiness floods and the dueling guitars dazzle, bringing the record to a massive, fire-breathing end. 

Worm’s jump to metal’s major labels will be interesting to watch as records such as “Necropalace” need time to sink in fully, and there is so goddamn much going on, it could be frustrating for some. But no concessions appear to have been made musically, and this band’s vision has grown more ambitious and mystifying since “Foreverglade” and “Bluenothing.” This one took me a few times to fully acclimate to Worm’s universe in 2026, and those excursions have more than paid off, as this is bound to be one of the most challenging and mesmerizing records of this year.

For more on the band, go here: https://www.instagram.com/wormgloom

To buy the album, go here: https://centurymedia.store/collections/worm

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

Living. It’s kind of not that fun right now. Having to wake up every day and be who we are while countless state-sponsored crimes surround us, people are struggling to see doctors and just fucking eat, and there’s no one coming in for the save. We have to just exist in these meat containers, taking it all in, knowing what we know.

“Archatron” is the debut full-length from Chicago’s Embittered, themselves a strange entity based primarily on death metal but with plenty of other tentacles wrapped around it for good, warped measure. They named their record after the entity from Cormac McCarthy’s novels that is an all-knowing force with knowledge of good and evil, language, emotion, death, etc. that hovers over threateningly, with whoever is encountering realizing they are carrying the true weight of existential dread. It’s why feeling alive right now is so fucking painful. The band—vocalist Samu Rahn, guitarist/vocalist/electronics master  A.V. Bach, bassist/drum programmer Austin Smith, drummer Jason Nitts (live drums will be handled by Rodrigo Garcia)—centers on that anxiety and frustration, destroying mentally and physically over 10 tracks that will test your will. They’ll also blacken your heart.

“Kind Master” crumbles open, instantly punishing, the roars mauling with a hellish intensity that is present through the whole record. The playing gets more gargantuan and filthy, suffocating with hellish intent, boiling monstrously as it ends. “The Caveman Cometh” is perfectly titled due to its slow-moving brutality, heated growls strangling, menace pounding as hard as humanly possible. The energy feels feral, leads melting and going more violent, a massive force bludgeoning as the vocals gurgle. “Fractal Autopsy” destroys with grime and thrash, blistering as the howls leave bruising, the leads going off and accelerating the heat. The punishment amplifies as unhinged cries slash, the drums blast ferociously, and one final assault blackens skies. “Archatron I: Astral Predation” starts with static before the steam thickens, pushing forward with might and a deliberate pace. The low end chugs as guitars hang, and the growls obscure, the drubbing disorienting even as strong melodies aim to stop the bleeding. The final minutes are blown forward with speed, smearing wails, and an encircling attack that spills into “Archatron II: Chrysalis,” an instrumental piece built with cleaner guitars, a calming atmosphere, and all elements slipping into the cosmos. 

“Flesh Prison” gallops, harsh sentiment spat dangerously, smashing into a hazy aura that feels odd, but it’s a misdirect as the leads erupt around that, the band adding tumult to the violence. The playing is gutting from there, growls engorging as the final moments burn. “(I) the Bornless” quivers in doomy pools, growls snarling as dramatic gushes make hearts race, howls curdling and adding to the nausea. The leads melts minds as a lumbering death march threatens to pull you under, clobbering with little concern for your safety. “Ereshkigal | Cauldron of Becoming” features guest vocals from Stavros Giannopoulos (Atlas Moth, Motherless) and is named after the Mesopotamian goddess of the underworld. Clean playing starts and glazes as the bass plods, and the playing crushes, the vocals leaving ample scarring. The guitars take flight, leaving thick, heavy exhaust behind, boiling as the earth quakes, and a muddy attack makes breathing nearly impossible. “Thalidomidia” is a quick interlude featuring icy guitars and steam thawing your psyche, heading into closer “In the Congress of Sand & Rain” that bursts from the gates. Howls lash as heated leads burn fuel, the bass coils, and the road to destruction narrows. Electricity spills, every microorganism feeding off of that, energy pulsating through nervous systems. Jarring playing loosens screws as corrosion eats into bone, the drums gut, as you’re left gasping.

The darkness in which we live and that encompassed us for generations never has been more tangible than it is right now, and “Archatron” certainly embodies that grisly hopelessness and despair. Embittered pour industrial-grade misery into this record, making each step of the way harrowing, a constant reminder that every day we wake, we tread through muck. The burdens of being can often be too much, and this music helps encapsulate that and hopefully helps harden us for the tasks ahead.

For more on the band or to buy the album, go here: https://embittered1.bandcamp.com/

Dreams don’t have to die, and even stitches of our past that have been covered over due to time can be dug up and made prominent parts of our lives again. Likely those elements slowly have been pushing back up on their own, even unconsciously, until they’re too vibrant to ignore. 

Bergtagen is a project Jon Rosenthal (vocals/guitar/bass who you know from Starless Domain, Boreal, Twilight Falls and many more) worked on two decades ago, battling teen angst and getting more involved in taking on woodsy, atmospheric black metal that was blooming pretty hard at that time. Now, 20 years later, Bergtagen resurfaces with Rosenthal joined by Anthony W. (acoustic guitars, drums, bodhrán) to bring two of these tracks back to life with new, more mature recordings on “In Forests Eternal.” They also include their take on an Agalloch classic, which very much fits the vibe and sound of their original material. It’s a really immersive collection, one that shows you where Rosenthal’s musical brain was years ago and how that translates today. Plus, with the hint of more music from this project ahead, this is an ideal place to burst the first buds on the way to full explosion of life. 

“In Forests Eternal” opens with clean guitars flowing, drums booming, then the whole thing coming to life, soaring with engulfing melodies. Howls ensnare, Rosenthal howling, “Flying, feel the weight of the skyline, falling as the sky turns to black,” clean tributaries combining with explosive gusts, the drumming barreling into glimmering leads. The energies swim though the clouds, acoustics join in a wider flow, cold guitars leaving flesh chilled. “Oak Horizon” is steely and crashes to the earth, Rosenthal calling, “Empty, nowhere is this cold place, clutching closer, worthless, nothing.” Leads jar and dash, taking over your imagination, leading your psyche into thinking of cold walks along half-frozen streams. Immersive playing takes over, pushing blood into your heart, Rosenthal urging, “Feel this cold among the graves, hold this warmth in your heart,” as thorny chaos and rushing power mangles to the end. “You Were But A Ghost In My Arms” in the band’s take on Agalloch’s track from their 2002 album “The Mantle,” and it’s both a relatively faithful version but one that also has some of the band’s own strains and colors worked into the piece. Like, you’ll definitely recognize it when you hear it, but you also can’t miss their personal imprints they put on a song for which they obviously hold much reverence.

Bergtagen’s resurrection comes at a time when chaos has been sowed and division is reality, so “In Forests Eternal” gives us a major boost of something positive to follow into the future. This batch of revived songs has a wild spirit and brings a different energy into the era in which we’re participants, both musically and existentially. This collection proves no idea is ever dead, and it takes is the right inspiration to act as a spark.

For more on the band, go here: https://ampwall.com/a/bergtagen

To buy the album, go here: https://ampwall.com/a/bergtagen/album/in-forests-eternal

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

It’s going to be a while before cold winds return to destroy summer, when spookier tales come back into focus for so many people. For others, those visions always are in their heads, swimming through their bloodstreams, coming out in their art. The three members of Hoaxed very much seem like those type of people.

Their second record “Death Knocks” feels like it’s trying to be a serial monster-of-the-week adventure, and over these nine songs, the band—vocalist/guitarist Kat Keo, bassist/vocalist April Dimmick, drummer Kim Coffel—puts forth an effort that is as thought-provoking musically and is it visually. It gives a little something extra than most records you’ll hear, and their dark rock that veers ever so closely to metal sounds more realized than what’s on their debut and constantly keeps you engaged.

“Where the Seas Fall Silent” starts with a creaking ship, waves lashing, and then the adventure opens, the singing soaring, and a sweltering fog hanging over driving guitars. The bass prowls as harsh cries belt, the storm and thunder subsiding. “Kill Switch” chugs, the vocals feeling more hushed but direct, guitars scathing. “Here they come again,” Keo howls as bass plods, and then she continues with, “Out here, everything hurts, everything’s poison,” all musical elements swirling away. “Promised to Me” has darker leads, the melodies pulling back a bit, shadowy singing blending with the atmosphere. The pace builds up and numbs, strong singing whipping, burning into the clouds. “The Fallen” opens with battle cries, a synth glaze blinding, the signing pushing as the temperatures scorch. The drums rumble as the chorus rushes, hitting harder as layered singing mesmerizes, slipping into psyches.

“Looking Glass” is an interlude with synth and elegant sounds, fantastical playing sounding like a film score, moving into “Dead Ringer” that feels ashen at the start. The singing numbs as darkness grows thicker, a strong chorus adding muscle. Harmonized voices dash emotion as everything subsides to orchestral mist. “Wretched” has the bass galvanizing, the singing tingling nerve endings, the tempo growing tougher and more bruising. The band hits even harder, mashing as the drums pummel and wild cackling haunts. “The Family” is catchy and energetic, singing flooding and feeling more forceful, the chorus bursting with electricity. Blood pulses as the drums steady the attack, the guitars burning before disappearing into smoke. Closer “Killing Stone” has guitars flooding and the verses feeling jerky and fun. “Three knocks upon the stone, three knocks from a source unknown,” Keo wails, spilling spooky darkness into the room, the spirits rising and leaving this plane.

“Death Knocks” feels cinematic in a way that’s rough around the edges and constantly keeps you guessed both musically and thematically. Hoaxed are a tighter, more focused beast on record two, sounding even more confident and comfortable in this frame of mind. The promise they showed on their debut is feeling more realized on a record that can keep you engaged musically and visually.

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

To buy the album, go here: https://www.relapse.com/collections/hoaxed-death-knocks

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

I had an experience right after the holidays that made me realize what a strange thing the passage of time really is. You live these chunks of years, grow, change, hopefully become a better version of yourself, and you don’t even realize. It also puts the future in more focus that the time from here to the end isn’t necessarily happening in a flash.

Listening to “Subglacial,” the fifth record from Ashbringer, made me think that. It felt like it was just yesterday their debut “Vacant” arrived, but in reality, it’s only been a decade. The six tracks on this album are noticeably less polished and also brimming with such primal emotion that it’s impossible to shake. The band—vocalist/guitarist/synth player Nick Stanger, guitarist/synth player/vocalist Jackson Catton, bassist Nathan Wallestad, drummer Andy Meyer—sounds like their most genuine version, the realization of a  journey they have been on that hits with atomic impact. That time has been well spent. By the way, this record is being released by Bolverk Collective, a label run by some of the folks from Brimming Horn Meadery in Milton, Del., a pretty great place you could drive by and miss.

“My Flesh Shows Its Weakness” opens with keys stretching, conjuring atmosphere before the stormfront explodes, riffs pounding as howls lash. Speed jets as the energy is daring and darting, guitars layering sheets of ice, and a rawness digging into your ribs, Stanger wailing, “Longing for release, my mind holds on, my flesh gives in.” “Waning Conviction” brings guitar ache and flexible howls, a rustic thread moving through the song’s heart, acoustics washing in before the shots echo. The tempo blisters as the wails peel back flesh, the guitars explore the skies, and colors explode in unpredictable forms. The title track opens with acoustics breezing, tranquil waters flowing as drums tap, stirring open and pouring lava. Fluid leads and furious cries unite, ripping with an acidic attack, later unloading steamy leads that leave thick condensation. The playing surges as the vocals wrench, the melodies flood, and final gusts lead to a woody ambiance.

“Fleeing into Portals” is moody and warm, organs gushing, guitars bubbling to the surface as the heat cracks through the crust. The emotion is thick enough to cut, sorrow floods the senses, and drums blister, the vocals echoing in the atmosphere, the intensity jolting before subsiding. “Send Him to the Lake” starts with bleary guitars before destroying, anger cresting, the vocals gutting as the guitars chug harder. The playing is volatile and even leans toward death territory, mashing as the pathway warps, icy danger piercing and ushering in a sense of psychedelics. Chaos erodes as the screams lash, the forceful recitation of the title pounds away, and everything comes to a smashing end. “Vessels” ends the record, sprawling and spreading delirium, a melodic, progressive push making heads spin. “I am not just my trauma, I am not just my scars,” Stanger wails, a sentiment that hits home, and that leads to a tidal wave of emotion, downright Rush-like basslines that thrill, and a fiery pulse at the end.

“Subglacial” sounds like a record that has Ashbringer’s time as a band imprinted in it deeply. The roots of their atmospheric black metal to the experimentation the last few years have congealed here, its raw sound also a testament to their journey. This is both a return to form and a refusal to adhere to any rules. As a result, it’s one of the more exciting Ashbringer releases in total, and it’s a bright light in the dark.

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

To buy the album, go here: https://www.bolverkcollective.com/ashbringer

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

Can you fucking believe this place? This country in which I and a lot of people live, is in fucking disarray. It would be funny if it wasn’t actual reality and people weren’t bleeding and dying in the street. There probably are going to be more intros like this as long as this activity lasts, so, you know. Just start with graph 2.

California-based crust maulers Arüspex are living in this hell as well, and while the music on “The Death Instinct” may not be inspired by the past few weeks, it has the volcanic reaction that this insanity deserves. Over nine hellacious tracks, the band (I cannot find a lineup anywhere) bulldozes through the forces of oppression, smothering with dashes of punk, hardcore, and metal, leaving no sonic stone unturned as they pave their own path of destruction toward justice.

“The Pyre” opens with drums rampaging, guitars surging, and beastly wails, punk fire making this thing go. Nasty fire spits as the fury hits a fevered pitch, blistering to the end. “Elegant Decay” is sooty and melodic, vicious, infernal energy sparking veins, melting into colder guitars that bring a freeze. Then the piece comes unglued, speed taking over and torching, riffs spewing urgency, and a finish that spirals out. “Wither” starts with punchy, catchy playing, howls scarring, the energy turning deeper toward hardcore. The vocals go off as the pace tramples, leaving everything under inches of smoldering ash. The title track blows through the doors, drums crashing, chilling guitars leaving shivers, the vocals tearing open congealing wounds. A breath of calm takes over as guitars swim through muck only to find detonation on the other end, blackness blasting through raspy wails and explosives that make the ground shake.

“In the Black” opens with a clip about global economic greed, and then it works into a hypnotic pace, the growls menacing, a sense of rawness reddening flesh. Guitars charge but also flow cleanly, the cries rippling over top, burning brightly. “The Only Constant” starts more calmly, but it isn’t long until the vocals are tearing through the earth, the bass thickening, and metallic bursts igniting and spitting cinders. The playing jolts as the pace grows more channeled, wails wrenching over an ashen ending. “Ask Your God” brings nasty guitars, wild cries, and the pace breaking apart the earth, stunning as drums punish. Leads glimmer as the bass tramples, the wails of, “We will get what we deserve!” resonating deep within the bones. “Modern Conditions” has the bass clobbering, punk energy driving, and heat hanging in the air. The tempo rips sanity apart, raspy howls make direct impact, and melodies trample, bringing this to a dusty end. Closer “Despair Is a Weapon” is electric and monstrous, bringing ferocity and active guitars, blazing a scorched trail. The playing races even harder as howls lash at muscles, the tempo uproots, and everything dissolves into a strange time warp.

Arüspex show no sonic mercy on “The Death Instinct,” an album that should jar awake anyone who somehow has slept through tyranny. Their crusty, deathy, punk-driven ferocity is infectious and volatile, which should be a warning sign to any who oppose them. This is an era that needs music as pissed off as many of us, and Arüspex deliver that with blood and fire.

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

To buy the album, go here: https://aruspexcrust.bandcamp.com/album/the-death-instinct

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

Being high is a journey for me, and it typically only happens when I’m at home at night when I have time to venture in my head. If I put on a metal record and it takes me to relatively the same place mentally, that thing sticks with me. It’s not often I get that experience, maybe a handful of times a year, and it’s always powerful.

“From the Temple to the Grave” is Hieron’s first record, but right away it turned into fodder that provides a perfect escape. This isn’t the atmospheric cosmic stuff, which usually does the trick. Instead, it’s a little more straightforward from these nameless ghouls with a  miasma of nightmare mixed in to make the visions stain your psyche a little more effectively. The record is into a darkness so thick, you can never hope to see again. Its nature is to drive you through the layers of madness and into a reality unforeseen.

“Act 1: God’s Acre” whips in orchestrally before unleashing furious howls and a drilling force, the leads swelling and taking over. Brutal howls fire up a wintry front while a brief calm turns back into volcanic activity, roared words and boiling hell slamming the door closed. “Act 2: Reverence Lost” drives in, melodic blazes spreading, howls charring, the pace rushing harder as progress unnfurls. The ground rumbles as speed becomes a greater factor, electricity flowing and encircling, the drums mashing over a disorienting finish. “Act 3: Penetralia” starts with winds whipping, birds cawing, and then an eruption that tramples, howls washing over a storm front. Foggy echo immerses as vile howls and metallic might become a mightier foe, the intensity spiking over epic energy. Wails thicken as the playing buzzes, drums leave everything in the dust, and all elements rise for a blackened end. 

“Act 4: Forever Scorned” washes in liturgical organs, battle sounds clang in the background, and throaty cries attack as guitars swell. The tempo gets faster as the leads ignite and fire up fully, battering and bringing relentless pressure, finally choking out in fumes. “Act 5: Unholy Immolation” has a lacing pace and a melodic gush, the vocals strangling as the playing strengthens and rattles bones. The leads tangle as the heat grows unmanageable, burning and blasting, dashing strange colors across the horizon. Closer “Act 6: From the Temple to the Grave” brings a guitar gush and shrieks and growls mixing, an active pace keeping blood charging through veins. The playing turns forceful and catchy, a brief calm slipping into power reverberating, bells chiming, and strange chants icing your thrashing psyche.

“From the Temple to the Grave” is a pretty powerful debut for Hieron, one that takes familial black metal forms and injects their own spirit into the DNA. The madness and fury emanating from these tracks get inside you easily and transport you to experiencing a vortex with little to no hope that might mirror where we are now. This is a band on which to keep tabs as they seeps into black metal pools and continue to grow this beast from here.

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

To buy the album, go here or for more on the label, go here: https://vendetta-records.bandcamp.com/