I am pretty sure it won’t be long until I get a promo from some publicist who is delivering an all-AI metal band. Those are out there, I’m sure, but that dreck hasn’t washed up on my shore yet, and I hope it never will. But we are in a period of devaluing art and creators, and the idea of machine-made music is abhorrent to me.

Long-running instrumental powerhouse Russian Circles say a lot of what inspired their new album “Nine,” obviously their ninth, is the idea of human beings creating something that comes from their heart and minds. From the Tony Tasset sculpture that adorns the cover to the seven tracks that electrify your brains, the band—guitarist Mike Sullivan, bassist/keyboard player Brian Cook, drummer Dave Turncrantz—ensures what you experience is genuine through and through, and you can just feel it. There also is the band’s stellar catalog—it has no weak spots—so know you’re in for an actual experience.

“Borehole” stings, the drums hammer your temples, and the guitars catch fire, the start/stop tempo jerking your stomach content back and forth. The leads snake and then trace a pathway, and everything rips open, electrifying the senses, chugging harder as the soundscape crests. “Empath” zaps as the bass pounces, guitars thrash and pummel, and the pace feels like it’s actively hunting you. The attack energizes and spews heat, the intensity mashes digits, and the guitars fry, pushing until the pressure bursts. “Eluvial” feels pastoral when it dawns, synth bubbling as guitars gather under the clouds, the pace plotting its course toward your veins. The playing circles the sky as cleaner tones haunt, guitars sail before bringing emotional tumult, engulfing your heart and adding force. Leads bask in gray overtones, the energy peaks, and the valve releases.

“E2” bathes in synth pulses, riffs gush, and the momentum kicks in, slide guitars bringing a weepy darkness to the scene. The pace drives harder as the guitars glaze, muscular pounding causes deep bruising, and the leads tingle before exiting into the clouds. “Meridian” makes your extremities feel numb, melodies bring the hammer, and the guitars rain more gently, all the light points gathering at the center. The playing mashes as the guitars soar into the darkness, the fog thickens, and drums encircle, blasting home.  “Arletta” is more of an interlude, quiet guitars exposing some tenderness, emotions slowly rising before resting on the shore. Closer “Seventh Seal” has drums rumbling and the band thrashing, riffs toughening and scraping, working toward combustion. The tension sizzles as mammoth tempos rupture, the burliness increasing and chewing on muscle, acting as a crashing force that brings a hammering end.

Russian Circles always find ways to adapt and survive, keeping their core musical ethos in tact but always pushing on their boundaries with each record. “Nine” hardly is a massive change of pace, but it has enough frigid rawness and ferocity to keep your mind engaged and your heart racing along with everything. This is music that is thoroughly human through and through, and considering where we appear to be heading, we need even more of this type of thing to get us through.  

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

To buy the album, go here: https://www.hellomerch.com/collections/russian-circles

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

Every word of this story was written under the influence of marijuana, two different strains as I wrote in in separate parts. You kind of have to when you’re talking about Sleep, the long-running doom legends that have crafted their entire catalog on smoking pot and the adventures you take. We all know this so let’s get into what they’re doing now.  

“Hempispheres” is another ridiculous word warp to make it pot related, which we love, and it’s their sixth full-length (“Jerusalem” and “Dopesmoker” are different records, right?) and second for Third Man, and it signals a major shakeup within the ranks. Of course Al Cisneros (bass, vocals, Moog synthesizer) remains at the head of the ship, but guitarist Bubba Dupree replaces Matt Pike (a lofty goal) and drummer Dale Crover (Melvins, Fantomas) takes over for Jason Roeder, who is back with Neurosis. This record does sound much different than what preceded it. It’s a more laid-back affair, and the approach to guitar is less fiery and more mood-altering, which makes more sense with the new material. It took some time to warm up, but the new terrain is getting more comfortable.  

“Have Spacesuit Will Travel” opens, bass bending through space, riffs engaging and exploring, Cisneros’ unmistakable voice deliberately telling the tale. Doomy licks curl as keys whir, bringing an imaginative and cosmic bend to the mind frame going on here, zapping even more psychedelic. Guitars melt as melodies bubble, the bass clobbers, and the path reaches into beyond. “The Morrisist” is murky as guitars open, the pace trudges, and the singing crawls, the heat spreading its wings. The tempo is lumbering, but the atmosphere expands, the elements liquify, hypnotic tones make your mind spin out of time, eventually draining into a mental sea. The title track stomps in, the singing lulls, and things get crunchier, the keys opening a wormhole into another dimension. Drums go on a run as guitars cut in, adding a sleepy tone that also makes your insides rumble, the singing plotting a way into psychic warmth. The fuzz thickens as the guitars bleed and electrify, sizzling to the end.

“Arrival of the Industry Ships” is the longest track, running 11:11 and immediately setting up a ’70s-inspired static, easing along as the bass flexes, new riffs buzz, and Cisnero calls, “Pterodactyl flies from the east.” A little callback to “Giza Butler” perhaps. The guitars strike and reek of vintage fumes, the singing calms, and the bass trucks, streaming mercury and letting guitars smoke, scratching a trail into the stars. Closer “Whole Wheat Mountain / Well Baked” chugs and drives, bone-dry vocals directing, the guitars heating up into a psychedelic soup, eventually calming as the bass shuffles. The temperature rises as the playing sets heartbeats accelerating, calming into a nighttime vibe that carries you away.

It’s not like Sleep ever were ones for brutality or speed, but “Hempispheres” takes their deliberately paced style to an even more relaxed setting. That’s hardly an issue for a band like this, because the accompanying activity to their records largely is based on following the smoke to the riff-filled land. This is probably their least explosive record yet, one that feels much different with the new lineup, but it’s still a fun, chill journey to the back of your fucking imagination.

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

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

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

Doom metal hits a little differently when it’s gritty and angry. Not that we don’t love the type that makes you want to smoke your mind out of your skull or the style that takes you on long droning adventures. We very much do. But when there’s some piss and vinegar involved, it takes things to a different mental level that can feel like a bloodletting.

“Hellward” is an apt title for Veilcaste’s fourth record, and it crawls with menace and stomach acid that churns inside of you. The music is not pulling punches and isn’t here to soothe any wounds. Instead, the band—vocalist Dustin Mendel, guitarist T Garrett O’Sha, guitarist/vocalist John Rau, bassist Gabe Whitcomb, drummer Chris Cruz—forces you to look into the horrors of our modern society with eyes wide open, ears fully engaged, psyche connected to chaos. Plus, their style is a little scuzzier and rough around the edges in the best way, making them a bleeding sore in doom metal’s expanse.

“Embedded” instantly pounds away, Mendel’s vocals (they’re midway White Zombie era-Robert Zombie and Cathedral’s Lee Dorian) spread the grime, and the doomy grit expands generously. Guitars ache and stretch as punches hit their mark, continually throbbing until fading. “Chains” is psychedelic at the front end, bruising as the vocals smash, the pace drubs, and the guitars smolder. The tempo reloads as the stress bubbles over, guitars drip with iron ore, and the howls retch before flies circle the carcass. “Altar of Ecstasy” starts clean with wails stretching, the playing stomping, and the psychological torment setting in, driving filth down your throat. Guitars swell and merge with an eerie soundscape, anguished cries pick at wounds, and the playing lumbers before essentially blacking out. “Vore” stings the senses, the menace takes over, and the pace hammers away, your muscles twisting before a sense of solemnity arrives. Clean singing rings in your ears as the pace thickens, punishment melts bone, and the sludge multiplies, wilting destinies.

“Anchored” emerges clean and airy before growls add stress, and a grisly power bleeds through cracks, pressing down on chests with full weight, growing feral and hellish. Guitars whip into a frenzy, buzzing as raspier singing strikes, crushing to the very end. The title track dawns with wails wrenching, dark and sooty pathways thickening your footing, Mendel calling, “You’re from another world, you don’t belong here.” The heaviness increases as electricity scalds flesh, the playing smearing your mind before fading. “Worn in Stone” is sludgy and scathing, Mendel howling, “Deliver me from this lie.” The bass rises, and a deliberate pace lets your veins relax, warm guitars conjuring smoke, the soloing glimmering and the final minutes killing slowly. Closer “I Am the Guillotine” pounds away, the vocals slither, and the chorus lands and brings melody, a slight shard of light in the grim gray. “Finding a way to kill you over and over again,” Mendel jabs, and the playing blisters from there, drubbing and admonishing, the fires eventually consumed by rustic acoustics.

Veilcaste sound channeled and angry here on “Hellward,” a record that’ll leave scars on your hide simply by getting too close to it. Their sooty style of doom gets in your veins and leaves a little bit of viscous residue behind, leaving you fully aware you won’t be truly clean again. This is another strong chapter for this band, one that should help them find an bigger following if this music hits the right damaged ears.

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

To buy the album, go here: https://veilcaste.bandcamp.com/album/hellward

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

As much as I love death metal expanding its mind frame over the decades, I also still get excited when a band just takes it to you, no other bigger message in mind. When I say that, I don’t mean bands like that have nothing to say. They often do. But getting absolutely waylaid and enjoying the fuck out of it takes precedence.

“Hell Is Evil” is the punishing third record from San Jose’s Deathgrave, who have a penchant for bludgeoning with punk-fueled, blink-and-you-miss-it death metal assaults. This record is a bit different from what preceded it because the songs are a little more involved and expanded, but it still is a 10-track, 32-minute beating that grinds you in its gears wholly. The band—vocalist Andre Cornejo, guitarist Greg Wilkinson, bassist Fern Alberts, drummer Clint Zane—does delve into our stained and hellish reality and the unspeakable terrors and acts of inhumanity that have become far too common in our world. The music jars you first and foremost, but when they need to deliver a message, they do with nuclear force.

The title track is up first, trudging in before speed takes over, the growling mauling before turning into ear-piercing shrieks. Brutality reigns as a simple, but effective chorus warps, a punk-ish gust takes over, and Cornejo taunts, “Welcome to hell.” “Hard to Swallow” has guitars boiling and death striking, shrieks peeling flesh from muscle, and then the pace slows to a doomy thickness. Yells claw as the pace tears open, screams barrel over the chorus, and the guitars heat up again, sending death rays into space. “I Am Here” is thunderous, landing heavy body blows that bruise lungs, shrieks jarring as the attack multiplies fronts. Throaty screams belt as the pace blends bones, bringing everything to a raucous end. “Born From Death,” which is inspired by the infuriating and inhumane Adriana Smith case, pummels but also tingles your nerves, death growls burble and froth, and grime rubs into your eyes. A colorful fury ignites as shrieks warp, and the band melts brains. “Smaller and Smaller” opens with the bass chugging and guitars spiraling, humidity thickening as the playing wrecks. The playing brawls as the vocals curdle, snarling thrashiness dominates, and the heat spreads fast.

“It’s Only Midnight” smashes and crushes, the growls unhinge their jaws to devour, and everything feels like it’s rambling toward the gutter. A dizzying assault blows you back before Cornejo warns, “In our neighborhood, everybody dies.” “Yaws 3D” is zany and speedy right away, and then growls lurch through the mud, and the playing drills, obliterating your equilibrium. Things turn ugly in a hurry, guitars steam, and another walloping stampedes before finally relenting. “Your Pain Is Ready” is a blinding bolt, fast and relentless, growls and shrieks forming a demolition crew, the drums destroying layers of rock. “Won’t See You in Heaven” fires up with the bass plodding, screams strangling, and the tempo fully unloading, battering with a new level of ferocity. Guitars fry, and your brain gets jolted, screams maul, and everything clobbers to a cinders-filled grave. Closer “27B/6” instantly goes for blood, throaty howls choking, skeletal structures rattled beyond repair. Guitars scuff as the storm disorients, screams retch, and a strange final transmission plays one final trick on your psyche.

Deathgrave expand their arsenal a bit on “Hell Is Evil,” a crusher of a death metal record that isn’t afraid to splash other flavors in for good measure. This is a band that, for the most part, lets you have a blast while destroying you, but they also add sobering edges when the need arises, because shit’s ugly out there. This is a beefier display from the band, but one that maintains their killer instinct and seeks to open facial wounds.

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

To buy the album (LP), go here: https://tankcrimes.merchtable.com/tankcrimes-music/vinyl/deathgrave-hell-is-evil-vinyl-lp/?

Or here (CD): https://tankcrimes.merchtable.com/tankcrimes-music/cd/deathgrave-hell-is-evil-cd

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

Did you ever put on a record and walk away thinking that if the situation presented itself, the band would beat the fuck out of you if given the chance? It instills a sort of genuine fear that adds even more sinister madness to the music you’re hearing. When this thing is all over, you might be seeing your blood on your hands.

“Blood Conscript,” the debut record from Sev Lezu, is one of those that feels like a display of total violence that aims to grind your face in the gears. At seven tracks and 22 minutes, the band—vocalist/drummer/synth player S., guitarist M., and bassist FW (Mia Priest provides guitars and songwriting)—wastes no time beating you to a pulp. This beast brings experience with bands such as Sonja, Belexum, Manat, Crossspitter, and Impiety (guest Mia Priest), yet what they commit here, a blast of revenge and bloodshed, is in its own corner of violence. Or as M says in their bio materials, “Me and the dolls made real black metal. The rest can fuck off and burn in hellfire.”

“…Into Darkness” is eerie and murky, a mysterious introductory pathway into what you’re about to experience, fading as thunder rumbles. “The Stillborn” is pure savagery, pummeling and grinding, screams jarring as frosty leads takes the reins. A melodic fury erupts as guitars chop, the tempo turns fast and electric, and fiery punishment blazes to the finish. “Corpse Step” features guitar work from Priest (also of Blood Division, Absence of the Sacred) bludgeons as the howls smother, and the leads ignite, helping mount a furious attack. The riffs rocket as speed and power form a formidable pair, exciting riffs ravage, and the howls hammer, leaving broken teeth on the ground. The title track thrashes as S howls, “Willing to die, DIE!” The leads catch fire as the pace snarls, the tempo turns greasy and sooty, and the pace feels like it’s rambling downhill in your path, delivering catchiness that’s also morbidly violent.

“Revenge” has guitars encircling and ominous tones that amplify the blackness. The playing then utterly destroys, screams blister and boil skin, and a strange mystical steam rises. The drums turns bone to cinders, and an animalistic fury comes to life and devours you whole. “The Ritual of Bone and Blade” is an instrumental piece that basks in mists and chilling chimes, feeling both dreamy and nightmarish at the same time, birds cawing and bringing you back to consciousness. Closer “Man’s Evil Gift” unleashes a feral guitar attack, the tempo sprawling, energy coursing through veins as the power combusts. The playing is colorful and break-neck fast, mashing as great riffs gallop, the temperatures continue to rise, and the madness crests before fading into mysterious realms.

It takes all of 22 minutes to digest “Blood Conscript, the sudden and jarring debut from Sev Lezu that should have a lot of people talking after it’s released to the masses. This is black metal that isn’t afraid to let blood spatter and bodies writhe in agony, because it often feels like that’s the point. This is bludgeoning, and the sooner you get on this, the better for your sick enjoyment.

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

To buy the album, go here: https://sevlezu.bandcamp.com/album/blood-conscript

Or here: https://ampwall.com/a/sevlezu/album/blood-conscript

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

You know how they put out pumpkin beers in July every year, way before the air even has a hint of crisp cool? I’m like that with Halloween décor and pretty much anything tied into that. Already have reapers and black cat witches and lit ceramic pumpkins all over the house. So some vampire shit in August? Yeah, I’m here for it.

Helmed solely by Vestibulum, Black Door is a band that storms through dark matter and horrific subject fodder, making their black metal all the bloodier. On their second record “In the Shadows of a Funerary Gleam,” Vestibulum storms out of the darkness with nine tracks and 42 minutes, spilling punk fumes and eeriness into a deadly concoction that, while sinister also is pretty fun. This is punishing and enthralling, a dash of energy that sinks its teeth into your neck and openly feeds.

“Grand Opening of the Carnival of Damned Spirits” is an introductory track that smears keys and nightmarish visions, setting the stage for the title track that explodes from the gates. A melodic push swells as the playing thunders, keys glaze, and the howls echo, moving into thrashy terrain. The pace storms as clouds cover, speeding into relentless eternity. “The Stale Humid Mist” hangs in a haze before wordless calls power, and the growls swell. Smoke obscures the playing as light beams tunnel through darkness and into morbidity’s lap. “Entrancement in Dusk, Quintessence of Nightfall” has glorious leads, snarling vocals, and guitars flooding with energy, the raucous path jarring your ribs. Synth sweeps as the growls retch, guitars blur vision, and haunting keys send chills down your spine. “Sinister Musings of a Lamenting Spectre” splatters as clean calls stir, and the playing gushes toward mysterious pockets that feel like they’re dragging you into the past. The tempo is catchy and takes on a punk vibe, the vocals rip hard, and the devastation ends in strange fireworks.

“Wrested from the Behest of Mortality” hammers with adrenaline as cavernous howls grow more spacious, and the force electrifies as it builds its momentum. Guitars flood as the playing makes your blood race, howls smother, and the drums rattle cages, blasting into the night. “Under the Yoke of an Older Spite” dawns in doomy black metal, crashing as the singing clouds visions, mauling with an unmistakable rage that sends seismic waves. The leads liquify before the pace gushes, fiery guitar lines slamming the gas pedal, the vocals lashing. Hypnotic flourishes spill as the playing wrecks, bringing everything down on the foundation. “An Alignment Foreboding, Written in Pandoric Embers” is a brief, chambery instrumental, keys fogging and confounding, moving into closer “Forged By Promethean Fire.” Guitars set the place ablaze as the howls punch over a burly pace and racing leads that dig under flesh. Growls scuff as the soloing takes off toward the clouds, unloading and overwhelming your senses, your brain boiling. The tempo ignites a final time, the earth comes apart beneath you, and the carnage fades, blood caked to your lips.

The vampiric nature of these songs would be obvious on first listen if no one told you about it, and that’s part of what makes “In the Shadows of a Funerary Gleam” such a fun listen. Black Door pummel you for sure, but they add loads of charisma and darkness into what they do, making the music stand out a little more on a crowded black metal field. This is perfect for the approaching colder months and the haunting season, where this record and band are right at home.

For more on the band, go here: https://black-door.bandcamp.com/

To buy the album (U.S.), go here: https://www.usa-wolvesofhades.com/

Or here (International): https://www.wolvesofhades.com/collections/vinyl-wolves-of-hades-vinyl

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

It’s a bigger surprise in metal when we go time without surprises. Krallice remain the experts of just dropping a mammoth new record in your lap, unbeknownst. Even Neurosis did that this year with one of the most surprising returns in decades. We could wake up tomorrow morning with an out-of-the-blue record from Sabbath, and I’d barely blink.

The latest to take part in this madness is West Coast Portland-based tech death manglers Ænigmatum and their third record “Infinitude’s Passing,” which landed unexpectedly July 31 digitally (physical copies arrive Sept. 4). We haven’t heard from the band in five years (which feels like an eternity considering the past half decade), and they bring a 6-track, 43-minute excursion into bruising madness. The band—vocalist/guitarist/bass clarinet player Kelly McLaughlin, guitarist Eli Lundgren, bassist/vocalist Brian Rush, drummer/synth player/vocalist Pierce Williams (Patrick Corona provides saxophone, and Danny Quetzal contributes backing vocals)—stretches you to your mental and physical limit, and not knowing the attack was coming made it even harder to defend.

“Pitiless Mechanism” bleeds in before coming apart, the playing drilling minds as the growls hammer, and the leads create a surging fury. The pace twists as steam rises, the melodies sprawl, and the guitars churn, guts spewed on the ground as everything ends in smoke. “Inseverable” starts with gushing leads and technically minded chaos erupting, growls clobbering as the melodies explore, and the bass twists around necks. The playing bubbles as electricity rockets through veins, mashing as the trickiness confounds. Volcanic rivers explode as the pace toys with your psyche, the intensity strikes, and ash cakes your mouth. “Architects of the Fated” enters coolly, the bass swirls, and the drums do damage, the growls seeking to maim. The pace melts as speaking adds to the claustrophobia, speed ignites into a flurry of guitars, the bass unloads, and the last gasps leave bruising.

“A Tarnished Nexus” is moody when it starts, then guitars cut into the center, howls lash, and the ferocity illuminates the room, turning back, and then laying waste all over. Growls wrench as the band achieves total decimation, guitars add to the growing steam bath, and the leads swallow you whole. “Nocturne of Ageless Reverie” pummels, wrecks, catchy guitar work zaps, and a strange sunburst chars your face. The playing ravages and pounds, hitting the gas pedal recklessly, thrashing with multiple colors before burning away. The closing title track starts clean before grinding gears, twin leads blazing, exploring the outer reaches as growls echo. The bass boils as the tempo accelerates, guitars sprawling through rapidly changing temperatures, mashing as the growls mix brains in skulls. Spacey sax from Corona wafts past the stars, bringing spacious warmth, then howls lash as everything fades.

“Infinitude’s Passing” is yet another unexpected surprise and one that is here to rearrange brain cells and psychic wonders, making for a spellbinding experience. Ænigmatum strike technically and brutally on these six tracks, taking you on a trip into cosmos and beyond, through strange planes, then back to your own, with you stretched as a human. This is a warping and molten experience that may alter the way you digest death metal.

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

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

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

I’ve never been to the desert, and I don’t believe I’ve ever been close to one, though I strangely am attracted to its folklore and the music it inspires. It gives me the same sense I get later in the summer near dusk when the horizons vibrate with oranges and purples, and the dustier the music, the better.

Arizona-based black metal crew Sunscorched have heat and cactus needles comprising their DNA, and their first record “Blood of the Badlands” delivers over and over again, feeling like they’re melting your inhibitions. The band—vocalist/guitarist/bassist Austin Kruger, guitarist Mitch Wilson, drummer Rory James—takes you on a whipping adventure, revisiting the folklore and traditions of their home, uncovering themes of survival and violence, blood shed as unconquerable nature looms large. It’s a very exciting record, one that plays in the same realm as, say, Wayfarer, but stands on its own fiery terrain.

“Strangers Land” opens with dogs calling, acoustics washing, campfires crackling, a dusty excursion unfurling and loading into “Whiskey and Oak”  that churns before erupting. Guitars encircle as the band scorches, melodies flow deeply, and leads spiral and drive into clouds. The playing hammers anew, the tempo surrounding you, torching everything in the band’s path as embers burn into the ground. “Slaughter at Camp Grant” documents the 1871 massacre of 140 Apache people, and it bleeds in before coming apart, howls crushing, drums punishing, thrashing into fiery tumult. Speedy riffs lead the charge, rushing with raucous melodies, howls creaking as everything blisters to an end. “Vultures That Circle My Grave” delivers gushing leads, growls that scrape flesh, and trudging smearing that adds a smoky flavor. The pace hits an immersive slow burn before battering and sweltering. The soloing takes off for the clouds as the power energizes, birds caw in the distance, and dirty guitars land more blows before everything dissolves.

“The Gallows Tree” smashes, slide guitars bring a haunting vibe with them, and the menace gallops in behind the band. Anguished cries twist at your heart, and sunburnt grimness starts to set in, slow-crushing pressure caving your chest, guitars moaning. The storm begins to capitalize on its position, the playing thrashing and beating, the guitars smoldering and sending thick smoke plumes. “Thousand Year Drought” opens with the leads staggering, the playing wrenching deeply, and the howls causing abrasions on your face. The guitars spiral as the soloing blisters, the melodies swell and flutter, and mad barks open wounds before ending in echo. The closing title track is an instrumental piece that dawns with acoustics and violins, moodiness spreads, and a jazzy vibe is achieved as guitars swell. Melodies weep as a spirited push amplifies the emotion, then more gentle playing rises, guitars wax nostalgic, and the darkness falls.

“Blood of the Badlands” is an intense and earth-baked introduction to Sunscorched’s Western-style black metal. Nods to their Arizonian landscape and its history play a large part in what’s going on here, and you can’t help but feel a little reddened and parched when the journey ends. This is a promising start for a band that has the heart and will and displays it ad nauseum on this punishing debut.

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

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

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

It’s one thing to be frustrated with the very task of being a human every day. It’s another to be able to interpret that with violent precision in your art, leaving no doubt where your mind frame is while dealing with our surroundings. That’s what Spanish death metal power Altarage does with devastating results on seventh album “Cogwheel.”

Just from the title, the monotony of living in constant horrors that never seem to relent twist your brain, and then taking on these seven tracks that pummel for nearly 75 minutes doubles down on the pain. The band—vocalist/guitarist Javier Gálvez, bassist Mikel Glez, drummer Phlegeton—focuses on crumbling societies and constantly living life as a cog only here for the benefit of commerce. Therefore, the manner in which these songs weigh down, grind, and chew make all the sense in the world. It’s the translation of how that feels from people who have been locked in the same system as the rest of us.

“Peso Muerto” opens and runs a healthy 9:31, smothering immediately, howls peppering festering wounds, smearing and battering into something deformed. The pace combusts and decimates as the guitars sprawl, chaos unleashes hell and ash, and every element batters fully, sounds stretching over madness. Somehow the band finds a more gargantuan level, attacking and slithering into infernal terror, the gusts licking limbs with flames. “Wielder” is a massive13:56, stinging as a thickened assault slithers your way, chunky rhythms and mashing power having their way, the senses totally obliterated. Howls crush as total decimation swallows psyches whole, disarming and charging, guitars spiraling into a vortex as the growls increase the pain. A tornadic force unglues and grinds down, eventually merging with a hellstorm, drone chewing at bones as an extended ending makes sure you experience every bit of torture. “Future Wreck” jars as fumes spread, howls gust, and the bruising becomes more pronounced, breaking open fully, the growls clawing at faces. The playing thrashes and then suffocates, dissonant leads make your mind wander, and then things suddenly halt before a soundscape wafts. Guitars work through heavy ash clouds, and a strange transmission makes impulses bubble, heading into mysterious corners of space. 

“1988” is something of a breather, an ambient piece that pours sounds as stars crumble, adding pressure as it goes along, flooding through dark matter and hissing far into the stars. “Not a Proper Burial” is sooty with guitars moaning, and an eruption jarring the floor beneath you. The pace is relentless, destroying everything in sight, offering no gasp for air, digging in and dislodging bones. Crazed vocals smear as weird melodies flow wildly, guitars drive through a reborn energy belt, and the inherent strangeness multiplies and devours. “Ichor” is the longest track here at 14:45, and it radiates before engulfing, the playing warping, unexpected singing bellowing like a detached phantom, slipping into rough folds and edges. The playing turns rubbery, a monstrous force explodes from its mouth, and the howls tear at sanity, the drumming splattering. Roars crush as the guitars generate steam, noise builds, and everything is bent into submission. Closer “Industrial Offering” drips fuel before detonating, the crushing force blowing bodies back, the wails destroying as the force becomes insurmountable. The pace becomes a battering ram, sounds truck, and the playing swims in chaos, bleeding out into oblivion.

Altarage bring a feast to the table with “Cogwheel,” one of their most abrasive records yet, and one that might take time to digest. There is a lot to handle thematically as well as we  deal with unforgiving life forces that mean us harm, as well as the ways our minds try to find peace. This record isn’t meant for your summer drives or metal playlists. This is human music that is mean, unsanitized, and meant for the dark hours when all that remains are you and your thoughts.

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

To buy the album, go here: https://sentientruin.com/releases/altarage-cogwheel

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

I’ll be driving across state soon, and I have done a lot of thinking about what music is going to accompany me on that trip. It’ll be later in the day, so I have dusk and the darkness to consider, which means I’ll pick much different stuff than if I was driving in daylight. During that time of the day, I want doomy and reflective, something matching the horizon hues.

A lock for one of the records I’ll absorb is “Soledad and Orgullo,” the debut record from Peruvian doom dreamers Argul. The title translates to “solitude and pride,” and it feels like it comes right from doom metal’s roots, basking in Sabbath’s glow and putting as much dreaminess into their music as thunder. The band—lead guitarist/vocalist Mauricio Guerrero, rhythm guitarist/vocalist Jose María Venturi, bassist Jian Holmes, and drummer Alonso Guerrero (former drummer Emilio Carranza plays on two tracks)—has had this material hanging around for a while as most of this record was recorded in 2017. The bonus track is the only one tracked this year. Not that it matters at all. It’s the perfect soundtrack for a late-day drive when you need your imagination to keep you alert.

“Ritual” starts with a bluesy swagger, hinting at shot-and-a-beer territory before taking a dramatic turn toward doom, and I mean of the vintage variety. The singing is smooth, and darkly so, the playing soaring into the night sky, the emotion swimming as your guts fire. The guitars take off and hit a ragged stoner vibe, the heat stretches and sets your mind at ease, and a midnight driving vibe takes over. Combustion follows as guitars swelter and spark, floating off into oblivion. “Engendro” unfurls and stomps, pumping energy, fuzzy singing making your limbs feel numb. The guitars up the ante as the temperature builds, smoke becomes impossible to escape, and the singing surges, melting into time. “Hor Hodin” stars with Conan’s prayer to Crom from “Conan the Barbarian,” already making your brain feel woozy. Guitars gaze as the sounds hang, almost as if you’re in a trance, and then the playing gets more muscular. The singing echoes as the leads take off for the sky, adding burly, fiery menace that dissolves into ashes.

“Animal Dog” is the closing track on some versions, and it melts slowly, humidity adding to the heat, a muscular pace growing out of that and landing some jabs. The stream snakes as the singing clouds, and then calm arrives, exploring as the leads drape over walls. Warm waters flow as breezy fluidity takes hold before the band stomps harder, powerful playing cresting and merging with acoustic flourishes and soft singing laying the track to rest. “Kamog” is a 14:20-long bonus track, which is a shame because it, along with the opener, is the best song here. Winds blow as a reading of Lovecraft’s The Thing on the Doorstep sets the stage, guitars open and buzz, and the singing floats, giving off a Pallbearer vibe. Wordless calls animate cells as the playing begins to jar and blind, an emotional toll accumulating, guitars churning before finding warmth. Vocals soar as hearts race, the guitars intensify their attack, and the soloing adds a slew of new colors, blazing across the sky, stretching into the cosmos, disappearing into an endless void where it loops forever.

“Soledad and Orgullo” is a record that should find an audience with anyone who relishes roots doom metal and can lose themselves in the psychedelics and endless dreams. Argul have made the perfect night-driving record, a piece that can’t help but keep you awake at the wheel because your heart will be surging based on what they laid down. This is a record that, from first listen, has sunk its hooks into my brain and refused to leave my rotation, which it won’t be doing any time soon.

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

To buy the album, go here: https://www.personal-records.com/product/pre-order-argul-soledad-orgullo-cd/

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