I’ve heard the adage, “People aren’t angry enough,” so many times, that it is getting depressing. So many people are too comfortable in their own predicaments that they don’t spare a thought toward others. Some actively root for marginalized people to be further oppressed. I can’t imagine I share and earth with these people, but reality is brutal.

“Witch Wife in an Alien World,” the soaring third record from Canadian/American power metal force Smoulder, certainly acknowledges those circumstances but stands defiant against hopelessness. Vocalist Sarah Ann, whose voice needs to be experienced to be believed, took inspiration from her forestal residence in Finland and the improvements to her life from the healthcare system to reliable public transit to glorious outdoor spaces. It’s something that gives her comfort and relief and that she wants for other people. Imagine that in 2026. It’s enough to make you heave with emotion because the sentiment has become so rare. Rounding out this beast are guitarists Shon Vincent and Collin Wolf, bassist Adam Blake, and drummer Kevin Hester, who help make this record something that grabs your attention and refuses to relent until the final note. It fucking rules.

“Water Wars” charges open, Ann’s vocals storming and howling, the playing halting as she wails, “Cacophony of horrors, flutters beyond sightless eyes.” The fires gust again, the bass gets steely, and the soloing takes off, firing before a rousing end. “Shadow of the Vulture” trudges, classic riffs raining, the singing boiling. “Blood, fire, death, mirthlessly she laughs,” Ann calls, the leads glowing, the pace belting. The chorus burns as the punches land harder; the catchiness thickens as the band ends in full command. “Noitien Loitsu” opens with guitars scorching, a strong bassline flexing, the singing vibrating before the leads glow gloriously. The pace trudges as the playing goes harder, landing shots as the singing swelters, charring to a finish. “Crush the Neophytes” brings blazing guitars and an infectious flood of melodies, group singing rousing as the guitars give folkish vibes, albeit in electric fashion. The singing drives, the bass buzzes, and a mystical sheen spreads, giving off a “Seventh Son” vibe. The leads smoke, and Ann’s voice barrels through barricades.

“Empathy’s Wrath” has riffs riding into the fire, a thrashy beast flailing about, the singing stinging as the drums rumble. The soloing seers as the power comes to life, Ann howling, “Remember the fallen, remember to stand up.”  “Their Name Lives On” delivers burning guitars and vocals that grab you by the throat, a calculating pace boiling in place, the bruising slowly marking flesh. The pace grows more forceful as the singing digs deeper, the guitars blend, and the final notes dart toward hearts. “Cathedral of the Trees” ignites as the pace lumbers, the singing rises, and more folkish melodies enter the fray. The force makes blood pump, a darker form sneaks into the room, and the power peaks, the last strains blending into earth. Closer “Smouldering Remains” steams and explores, blistering as the singing scorches, Ann wailing, “Forceful expulsion of invaders is nigh, the heat of veined wings.” The soloing spills as the title is repeated, the intensity builds dangerously, and the guitars encircle, the power dashing and scorching flesh.

“Witch Wife in an Alien World” is a title that should grab your attention, then Smoulder get their hands on you and shake you to your foundations. Having a vocalist as unique as Ann already is a step up for the band, but then they pound you with traditional power metal grit that keeps your juices flowing. On top of that is a message of positivity and hope amid a world in chaos, and we could use any bit of good energy that we can find.

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

To buy the album, go here: https://www.cruzdelsurmusic.com/store/

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

Making it through each day the past, oh I don’t know, decade, has been a slog, and it feels heavy every single day not knowing what inexplicable horse shit awaits. That’s just in this country, and things are pretty harrowing in most other places, so trying to find strength and thrive in the face of misery and decay very much is an accomplishment.

“Helios,” the expansive fifth record from German force Firtan, focuses on enlightenment and the thorny path we must take to get there sometimes. The music and approach are more ambitious than ever before, presenting the fullest version of the band, proving they survived any bumps and bruises over the years to thrive in this environment. The band—vocalist/guitarist/keyboard player Phillip Thienger, guitarist Chris S., bassist/vocalist Oliver König, violin player/vocalist Klara Bachmair, drummer David Kempf—excels over these 12 tracks and 63 minutes, exploring different sounds and textures that make their style of black metal even more colorful.

“Himsa” is a brief opener with strings and woodwinds, pushing into “Kalika’s Tongue” that feels like it arrived from space before howls and clean singing bustle, and drama claws its way into your psyche. Guitars stagger as strings sweep, group chants rouse, and the final moments batter. “Ambrosia” wallows in darkness, creaky talking sneaking, the pace pummeling, howls striking chests before a sense of cold arrives. Growls battle as detached singing gives a haunting feel, keys glimmer, and group calls prod. “Solis Currus” drips, taking a calculated pace, roars arriving as the strings ache, the ambiance getting airy before ugly. The playing slips into the shadows, helping the drama thicken, howls stretching as a morbid finish sinks. “Ascension” has strings gathering, beastly growls alongside them, attacking, cooling, and torching again. The melodies glow before the center combusts, dual voices carrying the message, a dreaminess luring you beyond. “Wide Open Eye” barrels and blasts, the playing storming with fury, guitars tangling and trudging. The pace unglues, guitars torching as the speed increases, a frantic pace rising then busting.

The title track is immersive, liquifying as growls strike, strings dizzy, and we flow into a gentler section, guitars stirring before the pace guts again. Growls smear as group singing feels like it’s arriving from a fever dream, guitars then picking up the pace. The footing gets muddier, heat rises, and the guitars stagger, the heat thickening before relenting. “The Form Revealed” blisters, speedy guitars driving, black metal riffs taking flight. Steam threatens as howls engulf, a monstrous tempo taking hold, bristling and punching out. “Revealing Prana” is an instrumental interlude, acoustics echoing as your blood pressure normalizes. “The Hierophant Way” features James McClellan Dorton III of Ne Obliviscaris and runs 11:42, stirring and storming as howls mash, chants stinging as the mists grow more ominous. The playing then trudges, growls crashing as melodies drip, an animalistic burst coming to life. Speaking mesmerizes as the band unloads, devastating before going cold. Bachmair’s singing haunts, the track taking on ice, chilling before the power stabs, howls stretching into bells and winds whipping. “Shadows of a Dawn Unborn” guests Christian Höll of Vinsta, and acoustics brush, Bachmair’s singing soothing, strings gathering as a chambery note strikes, horns glaze, and the final moments settle. There also is a cover of Bathory’s “Man of Iron,” and they add their own charismatic stamp to this black metal classic.

“Helios” is a rare metal album in 2026 that goes the enlightenment path, when destruction would be so easy. Firtan instead take the pathway toward bettering oneself, trying to get stronger and more resilient as the world around you gets increasingly more chaotic. It’s an album to which you can devote an hour and come out with a clearer mind.

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

To buy the album, go here: https://shop.aoprecords.de/gb/

For more on the label, go here: http://www.aoprecords.de/

As we advance in our lives, things that once were incredibly memorable fall by the wayside over time for whatever reason. People in our lives are the same way. One of my best friends from childhood I don’t even associate with now; one of them is a constant friend. Our interests also crumble gradually. Sometimes along with that, we also fall apart.

“Thoughtless/Dreamless” is the second record from West Coast Portland’s Semuta who deliver a four-track, 40-minute dreamer that feels like a thunderous sky prepared to douse the earth. The duo of vocalist/guitarist/bassist Benjamin Caragol and drummer/synth player Ben Stoller centers on the parts of our lives that fall apart as we age, be it relationships or communities or interests. It can take its toll on us and erode our psyches, driving us into potential darkness at a time when the world feels at its bleakest.

“Slow Decay” opens with drums rousing, the playing trickling, singing stretching across valleys, the playing trudging as the leads bend. We hit a progressive shift as colder playing swirls, the power builds, and the vocals swim through murky waters, keys adding new colors before combustion. A strong pace flexes its muscles as the guitars sprawl through an inventive pocket of playing, battering and lashing, bleeding into “A Relic” that flows gently. Guitars prick as a post-punk cloud thickens, the singing surges, and a tricky attack makes your brain work overtime. “Just a memory washed away,” Caragol calls, guitars jolting as the pace drills harder, the pressure levels off, and the temperature drops, coating with strange energy and creating a pathway.

The destination is “The Well” that vibrates bones, drums coming to life, the vocals soothing, flooding with sun beams and a dreamy ambiance. The playing also gets steely, bubbling as breezier singing chills, and then things toughen, a doomy battle mounted as things speed up considerably. The blows land harder as the intensity cools, sounds drip, and we’re headlong into the closing title track that hovers before slowly dawning. Guitars mar vision as the singing slinks, Caragol warning, “No illusions, no escape,” as the track burns in its tracks. The pace tears open as Caragol wails, “Dilated! Wide awake!” as the leads smoke. A jazzy turn dizzies, and growls enter the mix, the late brutality bringing an apocalyptic feel, the playing thundering before slamming the door shut.

All of us are dealing with something even past the world crumbling at our feet, and Semuta put a human, emotional mark on that journey with “Thoughtless/Dreamless.” The tumult and fire contained within these songs are easily relatable as our own nervous systems can thrash out when we’re feeling particularly vulnerable. This is music that feels fitting when navigating the darker times, knowing there are ways through we just have to find.

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

To buy the album, go here: https://www.accidentprone.com/product/semuta-thoughtlessdreamless-pre-order

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

Death metal that feels like it crawled out of hell’s furnace can be the most satisfying to absorb, depending on your frame of mind. Every form of the style has its merits (well… deathcore) and can dig deep into your guts to intoxicate you. But when it’s grisly, brutal, and raw, it sounds like the most genuine form.

Mexico City-based beast In Obscurity Revealed fits the bill for sure, and their second record “Caustic Maelstrom” feels like a building coming down on you, the growls and barbary stabbing through the wreckage. The band—bassist/vocalist F.M., guitarists K.V. and D.A., drummer E.C.—digs cleavers into your shoulders and pins you against a tree, devastating your senses. This is primal, furious death that burns you to a crips.

“Engulfed in Caustic Maelstrom” unleashes pure death, pounding as scathing growls batter you, guitars catching fire and spilling smoke. The pace bruises as the vocals smear thoughts, beastly pressure accumulates, and everything blinds, bringing the track to a furious end. “Obsidian Bleeding” opens and engulfs, chugging and choking on dust, crazed wails scratching your back with sharpened claws. The feeling is suffocating and infernal, slowing and torturing before brutality reigns again, the leads disappearing into hell. “To Death, in Fire” fires up, growls scraping, the fast, fluid fury gaining on you, clubbing ferociously. The band thrashes with spite while chewing muscle, spitting fire, forcing you to take cover or perish. “Necrotically Gray Hand” swelters, throaty howls clubbing, an unhinged attack taking you to the ground, crazed guitars stinging and torching. The playing flattens bodies as growls scrape, and the leads light torches, letting the blades fly.

“Phlegm Filled Chalice” (gross!) spirals, guitars combust, and the speed becomes a factor, the soloing exploding and leaving blisters. The pace gusts as the vocals stretch psyches, guitars bubble, and the mangling chars flesh. “Consecrated By Rot” is thrashy and crushing, the growls snarling, the playing leading a pathway to destruction. The guitars explore as the residual fumes choke, the madness spreads, and beastly hell drives hard into oblivion. “Voluntary Immolation” tears open, the growls retch, and a wild, tornadic gusts threaten everything in its vicinity. The tempo goes off, trucking and pummeling, the riffs tangling your veins, the bass thickening and clobbering, burning to the end. “Sulfur-Clotted Wounds” closes things with smoldering violence, the pace unloading, and the growls mauling as if on the hunt. A spacious, spacey stretch infects as the guitars confound with fog, and then the pace smashes every remaining ounce of sanity.

“Caustic Maelstrom” is a beast of a record, one that sounds like it oozed out of hell itself and tried to pull you toward damnation. This is punishing and unforgiving, death metal that rarely lets you breathe, and when it does, it’s because the air is toxic. In Obscurity Revealed continue to add bloody bricks to their foundation, and if you’re lucky, they just might beat you to ribbons if you get to close.

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

To buy the album, go here: https://www.personal-records.com/product/pre-order-in-obscurity-revealed-caustic-malestrom-cd/

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

Going day to day without hope is a terrible way to live, yet here we are, at least a lot of us. It’s never felt less like this country is for us, the ruling and billionaire classes (which are basically the same) don’t give a fuck about us, and everything seems to be a struggle, with no end in sight. It’s easy to give up and miss that which remains good among us.

As dark and foreboding as it is, Emma Ruth Rundle’s new record “These Killing Times” is one of lingering positivity in a world crumbling around us. Amid fascism, climate change that’s growing more violent, and a rising sea of hatred, there still are glimmers. The people around us and our communities, be that where we live or more conceptual versions, can save us. Or at least make living more bearable. These eight songs, recorded with a full band, might take some time to sink in, but some of the records with staying power are like that. She sounds vulnerable, angry at times, always inspired, and holding a torch of hope to carry deep into our battles to signal we are not giving up.

“Powerless” arrives via piano and hushed tones before punching in, Rundle’s singing soaring over the choruses becoming gentler on the verses. “Let me walk here with a lantern in my hand, one for finding, one for showing something better,” she sings after lashing back against power structures, jolting before relenting some, reverberating into the dark. “God’s Picture” starts with acoustics, singing cracking, sax easing us deeper into the picture. Vulnerability shakes before the power rustles, spirits rise, and the tension strikes, pianos fading and washing back the frustration. “Anvil” is softer with church bells, sounds bleeding in, the singing dashing the surface. The chorus is a heavy one emotionally, and the playing brings a Western vibe, Rundle singing, “I bring a bright burst light down over you,” as punches land harder, and the sweltering heat increases the impact. “Catherine Wheel” has scuffing guitars and thorns, Rundle calling, “Everything is, everything is upside down!” before admitting, “Sometimes I just can’t take this place.” Anguish is tangible, the pace jabbing and cascading, crashing to the earth hard, leaving a crater in its wake.

“Don’t Delay Heaven” is deliberate, breathy, acoustics aching as sounds whir. There is a ghostly ambiance here, guitars glimmering and feeling otherworldly, Rundle pleading, “Push the pain to 7, what you need, what you need.”  “Enough” has drums kicking down walls, Rundle’s emotive delivering stabbing, “These things you won’t believe, in his killing times.” The sounds go into the cosmos, the softer verses teasing the tension ahead, Rundle delivering with, “Do not you have the whole world? Does not the whole world open up?” the noise building and threatening, scraping as guitars tremble. “Human Kindness” is the longest track, running 8:24 and feeling doomy, easing you into the fray as Rundle calls, “I can take you wherever you want to go, I am full the milk of human kindness.” The instruments bounce off each other, the singing picking up more momentum, guitars glimmering and settling, the energy warped into something new. Closer “Oceans of Time” is a lighter entrance, piano melting as Rundle and other voices blend, the chill luring you away. Your center aches, but that slowly dissolves as these ghostly motions fade.

“These Killing Times” is a raw, emotional opus that matches the era we’re in, and Emma Ruth Rundle’s compassion, heart, and frustrations flood your entire system. These eight tracks are beautiful, moving, and nakedly honest, channeling justice and putting herself on the line so that these evils could be extinguished. This world is drowning in fascism and hatred, and the planet is revolting, but as long as souls such as Rundle are around, there always will be a glimmer of hope and altruistic love.

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

To buy the album, go here: https://www.hellomerch.com/collections/emma-ruth-rundle

I started using medical marijuana to help enhance my battle with anxiety, and for the most part, it’s been a rousing success. The only exception is my sleep which has gotten deeper and more restful but also robbed me of remembering a lot of my dreams. I still have them and retain when I just emerge from unconsciousness. It lasts fleeting seconds and fades.

Swiss power Rorcal, who I hilariously learned about years ago due to a shipping accident, return with “Mahre,” their seventh album overall and a concept piece surrounding dreams. Only the dreams are not your typical type of story your brain tells you at night. It’s a virus that can spread among others and threatens our sense of reality. The band—vocalist Yonni Chapatte, guitarist Diogo Almeida, guitarist/samplist Jean-Philippe Schopfer, bassist Jeremy Spagnolo, drummer/samplist Ron Lahyani—pours black metal and doom soot into a punishing, smothering collection that’s awash in psychological torment and your mind.

“Movement 1” starts with an extended strange feed that gives off industrial exhaust, pounding and drubbing, eating at your psyche. Sounds scorch as the first roars land about 7:40 into the track, lighting things on fire. The playing is driving and beastly, brutalizing as it crushes slowly, blistering and repeating, continuing to drill into psyches as smoke billows. “Movement 2” echoes as the howls retch, reverberating as guitars dizzy and sounds storm. Pressure builds and crushes, the guitar melodies feel dark and mournful, and screams belt, savagery slicing and pummeling, sounds ringing out.

“Movement 3” disorients before the track comes unglued, the screams ripping, leads warping, the fury bristling, drums leaving welts. The playing smashes, the pace jars, and weighty power levels you, destroying and staggering into flames. Steam rises as minds are baked, screams jab, and the fire begins to consume “Movement 4” explodes, the leads scorch, and howls scathe, penetrating your mind, maniacal rage torching. Sounds hang as sludgy brutality flows, monstrous vocals bruise, and jaws lock, blurring into closer “Movement 5.” The cut brings mechanized fury, the screams corrode, and a monstrous push takes you down. Keys glimmer as growls retch, the moodiness thickens, and the drama pierces, sootiness and atmosphere merging, a doomy sprawl ending in a buzz.

“Mahre” continues metal’s exploration into dreams and a drive to interpret our nighttime messages and what it would mean if they could impact others. Rorcal’s use of repetition, heavy shadows, and infernal sounds puts a little bit of fear into the equation and forces you to face those possibilities. This is another inventive and explosive record from this band that finds new ways to add to their heaviness and inventiveness.  

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

To buy the album, go here: https://hummus-records.myshopify.com/

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

I’m sure it won’t be long before I get a promo about some fucking AI-generated band, a pile of filth that no human is behind and that just further erodes artistic expression as we know. For now, I’d prefer getting records from bands who sound like machines and deliver punishment that bleeds and chews nerve endings properly.

Canadian tech-thrash beast Dissimulator create things that don’t seem possible by mere humans, but their second record “Artifice Dissolves” seems to prove that machines still have a way to go before metal’s boundaries are threatened. On this nine-track, 46-minute beast, the band—vocalist/guitarist Claude Leduc, bassist Antoine Daigneault, drummer Phillipe Boucher—brings experience from other crushers including Chthe’ilist, Atramentus, Beyond Creation, Incandescence, and many others, and if you know the brain-breaking creations from those units, you still only have an idea of the delirium waiting.

“Apophenic Rage” erupts with the drumming breaking the surface, thrashing with grimy vocals and speed that snarls and spits. Boucher unloads again, jarring and changing complexion, the tempo shifting before choking out. “Hungry Ghosts” batters as the pace snakes, the brutality raining in sheets, rubbery riffs paving the way for alien vocals. Zany lead run wild as the playing stirs and smears brains, spacious leads stretch, and cosmic wash cleanses wounds. The title track rips and spatters, the leads ravaging with electricity, throaty growls going for the throat. The track has a weird rebirth as a chewy, Voivod attack arrives, zapping with fire as the guitars hit the gas pedal. The pace rushes as a thrashy beating blackens eyes, trudging to a mangling end. “Alloyed” instantly powders bones, the vocals torching and the solo bursting, racing harder and challenging your mind. Drums punish as the growls snake around corners, stomping through mud, landing blows.

“Proprioceptor” is murky with synth smoking, speaking vocals creeping, the guitars gutting as the pace gets uglier. The leads rise and soar as the screams batter with terror, the guitars explore, and a final gust sprays cinders. “Dusk” is a quick instrumental with gentler leads glowing, the heat rising, sounds glimmering and bleeding into “Neon Metropolis” that gusts from the doors. The pace jolts as the drums incinerate, the playing stabbing with authority, speeding and pummeling, otherworldly vocals warping. The leads catch fire and strangle, flashing attitude, ending as it hurtles into space. “Anodyne” slips from the fog, guitars immediately speed up, and a chugging pace hacks chunks of flesh. The playing battles harder, the guitars wind up dangerously, and everything sprawls to an end. Closer “Robostrobos” explodes, the growls chew, the guitars burn with cosmic fuel, increasing delirium. Stunningly fast guitars bend brains, growls scrape, and the attack decimates, the pace wrecking and turning to space dust.

Dissimulator feel like a cyborg crunching your mid-section as “Artifice Dissolves” is a battering, mind-bending experience that also enthralls. This is technical wizardly and death metal weirdness smooshed together with some sort of strange goo from another place. This will steamroll you as you’re mentally working your way through other dimensions.  

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

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

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

There’s a lot of black metal. A LOT of it. So much so that it’s hard to retain even a fraction of it in my brain. That’s a tiny little problem, honestly, when there is so much weighing down on us every day, but it does become a little tricky when seeking out what’s going to stick with me. A band sounding like it fucking means it is a start.

That takes us to Pennsylvania-based black metal force Dumal, whose new and third record “The Trials of Existence” is a 52-minute battering ram to your face and body. The band’s precision and commitment to black metal that maims is evident from the start and existed on their first two albums. But after a six-year absence, the band—vocalist/bassist Adam Siatkowski, guitarist Andrew Dorflinger, drummer/keyboardist/guitarist Evan Williams—sets fires and pours gasoline over these menacing eight track, dropping hammers, knives, and all sort of dangerous plunder on you to make you feel the tension.

“Cyrillic” tears open, melodies storming right away, battering with great energy and fire. The ferocity goes full tilt, crushing heavily and adding colors, infernal chaos spilling through the cracks, blazing to a mauling end. “Ivyland” hammers with riffs as the power rumbles, washing through your bloodstream, the energy jolting with guitars stampeding. The leads bring an endless attack, driving with profuse force, the playing slowly washing away. “Rendered Impotent by Glass” is heavy and smoke filled, howls torching flesh, electricity driving through veins, the guitars marring before pulling back. The tension gathers as steely madness engulfs, the playing gushes, and the force stings, burning into dust. “The Alberta Cost” is punchy, screams belting, melodies boiling and increasing the temperature, a relentless assault breaking through the gates. The leads take over and flex, howls snarl, and everything bleeds heavily, trudging to a massive end.

“Mine to Destroy” trudges with nasty howls and charred pathway, the aura darkening, speed taking over as the howls lash flesh. The pace bustles as the drums destroy, the bass pops, and screams blister, leaving everything in a pit of destruction. “Malaise” is an instrumental piece, clean guitars reflecting, keys icing veins, and everything slowly melting into oblivion. “Silver Exposure” runs 10 minutes, and it starts with a rupturing pace and vocals slashing, guitars slicing into flesh. Riffs bubble over and the leads hypnotize, shifting further into darkness, rampaging and driving nails into hands. Melodies trickle as desolate tones work into your bones, and everything melts into a bloody stream. “Praise Him” closes, crushing as melodies rocket and hulking as howls snarl. The electricity gusts, barreling with colorful, hellish horizons, roars gushing as the energy increases, aggravating fires and slowly fading into oblivion.

“The Trials of Existence” is a battering ram of a record, proving Dumal still froth at the mouth with black metal chaos and can make you feel every bit of their vitriol. This is massive and thick, putting you through the ringer and making you feel like you’ve been in a battle by the time the album ends. It’s nice when black metal can feel dangerous and unforgiving, and that’s exactly what you get with this beast.

For more on the band, go here: https://www.instagram.com/dumal_666/

To buy the album, go here: https://www.alteseelen.com/shop/alteseelen/p/pre-order-dumal-the-trials-of-existence

Or here: https://www.bolverkcollective.com/dumal

Or here: https://ampwall.com/a/deathsculptedpros/merch/dsp002-dumal-the-trials-of-existence-cassette-w-o-card

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

And here: https://ampwall.com/a/deathsculptedpros

And here: https://www.bolverkcollective.com/bolverk-records

I wish I was more of a videogame guy. I’m not not, as I have multiple systems and games, but I think it’s the ADHD in me that prevents me from truly immersing myself in a campaign and seeing it through. Plus having other things going on, I’m incapable of carving out the time and using games as a means to challenge myself and expand my mind.

Serena Cherry isn’t exactly bereft of things to do as she just finished up with her long-running death metal band Svalbard and now has returned to solo effort Noctule for her second full-length “Extinguish Thy Flame.” This album focuses on the game “Elden Ring,” a game I’ve battled with since it was released and still am trying to work through, and perhaps this record will help that come to pass. Cherry’s effusive, melodic, and striking black and death metal easily can get your blood flowing, your hand grasping for some kind of primitive weapon until you power up. It’s exciting and colorful and can torch your bones.

“Welcome to Limgrave” starts with shimmering tones and guitars tracing paths in the sky, the power opening into a glorious plume, spilling into “Devour the Gods” that ravages and slashes from the start. Cherry’s growls open wounds as the pace toughens, blows land mercilessly, and a hardcore-style attack blackens eyes. Guitars spill as the leads rush, storming with swagger as fires char flesh. “Lord of Blood” starts with a great riff, bubbling to the surface, howls mangling as melodic surges makes adrenaline rise. Spirits rush as brutal vocals chew nerves, ripping and trudging, crushing to the end. “Grafted” basks in strings, and then the tempo ignites, the riffs divebombs, a mystical spirit emerges and attacks. The atmosphere thickens before the air gets colder, clean playing trickling as the synth ices. “Goddess of Rot” is ominous, Cherry’s vocals hovering, the emotion flooding and filling hearts, the moodiness thickening and blackening. Leads spill as the murk thickens, anguished cries squeeze throats, and the final moments echo into oblivion.

“Lament of the Omen King” is active when it unloads, rampaging at a dangerous clip, sounds washed out as if you’re going through a tunnel. The playing spirals as the leads torpedo, the fury gushing into tornadic pressure, screams belting before frost thickens. Screams ricochet, and the darkness swallows everything whole. “O’ death” is an interlude with keys dashing, imaginative sounds enchanting, and the calls of, “O’ death, become my blade once more,” swirling in the miasma. Fittingly, “Become My Blade Once More” follows, ripping apart and splattering, a gut-wrenching force squashing bowels, machine gun drumming pelting with cinders. The force rattles cages as screams engulf, the power spreads, and keys drip over a dramatic end. “Age of the Stars” dawns with guitars reaching across star systems, a fluid assault snarling, fiery, thrashy devastation making its impact. Cherry’s screams pulverize as black metal-style electricity ravages, and energy coats muscle with protective armor. Closer “Hallowhorn Grounds” brings colorful leads, powering shrieks, and the drums hammering a pathway bloody. The tone cools as clean guitars melt, and then the ignition jams, power cascades, and Cherry’s voice leaves brush burns, melodies crushing one final time before cresting.

“Extinguish Thy Flame” makes my lazy ass want to fire up “Elden Ring” and mount a lengthy campaign deep into the night, which I’m unlikely to do, but this record will plant that seed every time. Cherry sounds savage and fully alive here, dashing through black metal waves and climbing to the top of melodeath peaks, basking in its violent glory. This album is swords clashing, hearts pounding, and adventures sprawling, with your excitement boiling out of your eyes. This fucking rules.  

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

To buy the album, go here: https://noctule.bandcamp.com/album/extinguish-thy-flame

The manosphere, one of the most culturally destructive and mentally bankrupt movements on the face of the earth, is something that has completely undone any advancements made in respecting women and, you know, not wanting to destroy their lives or actively hurt them. It hasn’t been an easy path for women in our society, and we’ve taken steps back.

Records such as “Manslayer” should not have to exist any longer, but Brat is aware that they must, and this 17-track killer is packed with vitriol, violence (admittedly sometimes of the comical variety), and vengeance, mauling you with glee for 39 minutes. The band—vocalist Liz Selfish, guitarist Brenner Moate, bassist Ian Hennessey, drummer Dustin Eagan—mixes death and grind into this battle axe of a record that takes matters into their own hands to right some wrongs, even if in artistic form. Blood is shed, bodies are mangled, and there is no room for mercy for those who have made women’s lives hell and are propped up by a movement of people who won’t stop until they meet fire.

“Intro” buzzes in, a Aileen Wuornos quote warped to hell, chugging and trudging into … “Aileen Wuornos.” Obviously it rips, Selfish’s deep howls digging into your chest, the heat melting as things grow mucky and even more violent. “Speculum Bleed” rings in your ears, mangling as the vocals smear, the drums pummel, and Selfish wails, “Entrails spilling through the orifice.” Riffs cut as the playing turns gnarly, exploding and thrashing away. “Bone Spurs” is a recording from a doctor reporting on results of an X-ray of an injury apparently caused by headbanging. “Botch Tox” ignites and mashes faces, the vocals scrape, and the guitars generate heat. The playing takes off as feedback swells, the drums crumbling walls. “Media Slop” opens with drums attacking, cement-thick violence, and utter speed delivering ferocity. The tempo brawls as the power scars, a pummeling hardcore-style steamrolling. “Trophy Hunting” clubs, start/stop thrashing jerks necks, and the force bludgeons, Selfish snarling, “Pull the fucking trigger!” A breakdown smokes as sludge leads gut, the drums wreck, and the final moments burst. “Asking for Hell” squalls as the bass and drums crumble, and grisly madness cuts through midsections, the heat building menacingly. Twin leads glow as the pace erupts, taking off and strangling. “Heretic Burning” clubs with thick bass, crushing vocals, and bendy guitars, the energy glowing with nuclear horror. Screams blaze as chunky leads thicken veins, the title howled as everything burns into a pile of ash.

“Interlude” is a synth bath with news reports echoing about a man having been murdered, sounds pulsing and darting as everything pours into “Manslayer (Hell Hath No Fury).” The pace crushes as growls engorge, Selfish warning, “Watch your back, you’ve been forewarned.” The power guts as the chaos muscles, burying victims up to their necks.  “Bloody Mary” is a quick one that makes its force felt, riffs churning as gang shouts echo, Selfish retching, the band utterly brutalizing before offering temporarily mercy. “Femicidal Vengeance” features David Davidson of Revocation, and the playing energizes, ripping the ground apart, slashing as the drumming pounds, screams warping minds. Humidity builds as guitars sprawl, and molecules come apart and blast into space. “Spit on His Grave” attacks and wrestles you to the ground, pointed elbows driving at your temples, group vocals activating blood. The playing fires up even harder, Selfish hacks spit from her diaphragm, and noise crackle, pummeling to the end. “Ways to Kill Your Husband” has leads stretching and dominating, the bass applying a variety of chokeholds, and the storming completely decimating and leaving your body writhing. “Blistered Tongues” includes vocals from Candace Buckingham of Walls of Jericho, and this catches fire instantly, dual vocals scraping throats, guitars taking off as things get more muscular. The pace slows but refuses to relent its heaviness, guitars reengage in battle, and the vocals stampede, leaving everything a bloody paste. “Outro” is awash in spacious sounds, creating a strange transmission that feels eerie and alien, everything drowning in a buzz.

Brat’s vitriol, as comical as it can be at times, is more channeled than ever on “Manslayer,” a ferocious blast of grind and death here to maim. Yes, a lot of the violence feels slasher film level, which is by design, but it never undercuts the real anger and frustration built into these tracks. As a human man, I don’t get how women can tolerate us even in our better times, so I can only imagine the blood boiling in the worst of times, when a lot of the schemes in these songs could come to life.

For more on the band, go here: https://brat504.bandcamp.com/

To buy the album, go here: https://shop.prostheticrecords.com/collections/brat

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