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/

For some reason when it gets around my birthday, my mood sours, and I feel about as bad as I do all year. It’s not the aging. I’d rather age than not, even if everything is spiraling out of control before our eyes. It’s just living up to expectation, mostly ones I put on myself, and I want to find a way to crawl out and rewire.

Swiss experimental cult Death. Void. Terror. have proved a good companion for this mind-set, as their new, expansive third record “To the Great Monolith III: Rifts” has been welcome music for when I want to melt my brain into a puddle and pretend that another plane of existence is possible. This strange, illuminating collection of five tracks and 47 minutes is anything but packed with sick riffs and screams and brutality, and wait, don’t leave. It’s heavy in a different that squeezes your brain and reorganizes your electronic impulses in a manner that might press you into the ground but also helps filter your frustrations.  

“I. (– — – — -) Gözdyrey” is instantly immersive, pulling you into damp clouds as howls rip, eerie strangeness moving into cool swimming, haunting chants working down your spine. The energy pounds and pounces with waves that challenge you mentally, your mind squeezed forcefully as your emotions peak. Growls tangle as terror spreads, calm chants echo, and everything bellows into “II. (- — – –) Ids Elrekis Frakhetir” that treads in drone. High calls stretch as grunts level, a mesmerizing dream encapsulating your senses, a hypnotic stream swelling and flooding. Guitars build steam before noises punch out, fluid strangeness bleeds into space, glistening as energy pops, and synth trumpets the oncoming cataclysm that will devour you whole.

“III. (— — -) Asgadon Odewäl” liquifies, off-key synth eating your psyche, nightmarish visions spreading as growls crumble, and organs slide into dripping weirdness. The playing gives off a regal feel, strange fogs choke, keys glaze, chants ripple down your spine as the spirit moves into “IV. ( – – –) Flukhetor.” Alien calls beckon as group calls encircle, a primitive essence driving into your dream world, singing calling as shrill cries peel flesh. The pace plods and teases your mind, calls flatten, and even some bizarre whistling chills, spilling into murk. Closer “V. (– —) Daphnyr” brings guitars reverberating, and the sounds moving into the stars, a warped voice calls from beyond, doom horns darken. Howls crawl as the doom thickens, pressurization builds, and then noise swarms, crumbling as keys bathe in stagnant pools, voices echoing into a different dimension.

“To the Great Monolith III: Rifts” requires patience on your part as well as a willingness to delve deep into your subconsciousness as these sounds wash over you. There are metal elements woven into the pieces, but for the most part, your head is in a thick, black cloud, allowing you to see into realities previously hidden. Death. Void. Terror. provide a challenge and an opportunity to stretch your mental capacities and expand your nightmares.  

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

To buy the album, go here: https://sentientruin.com/releases/death-void-terror-to-the-great-monolith-iii-rifts

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

The summer is coming to an end, though at the time I write this it’s in the mid-90s, and that’s one of the cooler areas in the country right now. Maybe it was from growing up, but the waning days still are ripe for some metallic electricity that makes you think of the music’s heyday when there were no subgenres and far fewer edgelords.

LA’s Early Moods could have been blasted from any car exiting my high school in the early 1990s and not have sounded out of place at all. The band—vocalist/keyboard player Alberto Alcaraz, guitarists Oscar Hernandez and Eddie Andrade, bassist Elix Felciano, drummer Chris Flores—sounds channeled and alive on “Ready for the Grave,” their third overall and another serving of doom-encrusted classic metal that melts faces. It’s a fun listen, one that is perfect for hot days and beers, ravaging your senses with energy.

The title track opens and delivers bending riffs, a driving pace, and strong singing, the playing getting thrashy as the chorus sets into bone. Guitars heat up and sprawl, and bluesy fire exhales smoke, the playing pummeling before burning off. “Inquisition” serves charred riffs, filthy power, and swaggering singing, the pace chugging through chunky territory. The power lathers as the guitars explode, swaggering through sweat and blood. “Thy Eternal Grief” starts with winds whipping and clean guitars trickling, and then the riffs heat up, and ominous tones ring. There’s a deep ’80s feel to the fire here, and it’s infectious, guitars tangling as the soloing soars, keys slinking and glistening. Spirited “oh oh oh!” calls power, twin leads slice, and everything cascades to a stunning end.

“The Prowler” is icy with Ozzy-like singing, murky waters, and guitars trudging, Alcaraz wailing, “Time to die now!” The colors dash as Alcaraz warns, “Your blood I crave, demons know my name,” as keys flutter and the final punches land. “When the Light Fades” is thrashy, synth setting a soundscape, strong singing and a tempered pace teaming, Alcaraz pleading, “Just let it fade now.” The emotion continues to darken, Alcaraz later changing his line to, “Just let me fade now,” the playing galloping as the leads smoke, and darker colors rush with cold waves. “Her Wicked Spells” levels with a dark riff, slinking playing, and a jolting pace and slams on the gas. The leads heat up as the soloing sparks, driving group calls rousing, the energy reaching out before ending abruptly. Closer “Ashes of the Damned” trudges as guitars open, the pace slithers, and doom clouds hang overhead, sprawling into action. Finger taps tear through the senses, melting as the singing stretches, soloing spilling blood, and the last darts glowing in the dark.

“Ready for the Grave” feels alive and bristling from the word go, and Early Moods sound as electric and blood-pumping as ever. Their swaggering brand of doom and bits of thrash storm with energy and chaos, making it feel like you’re barreling out of control, but in the best way possible. This record kicks ass. I’d like to be more eloquent, but that’s basically all you need to know.

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

To buy the album, go here: https://www.ridingeasyrecs.com/product/early-moods-ready-for-the-grave/

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

As the year approaches its final quarter, patience can wane when it comes to the mass of releases that bombard us each year. It’s a nice thing to have, just to clarify, but man it can get monotonous. When I get to the point of compiling contenders for the annual top 40, there are so many records I have to revisit just because I don’t really remember them.

“Anthropic Rites of Sublimation” by German black metal alchemists Ch’ahom will not be one of those record that feels murky to me because it makes itself stand out based on its originality and brutality. The band—vocalist/guitarist A.G.A., guitarist S.P.S., bassist A.M., drummer G.P.—creates its own fantasy world that they based in pre-Hispanic history (so we’re heading way back), and the tribal rhythms, chants, and ancient smoke wrap their chaos in something that feels wrested from a bizarre time capsule. Over five tracks and 29 minutes, they storm from beyond and absorb you into the violent fray.

“Cult of Xaman” is eerie when it begins, rhythmic passages making your psyche shake, and suddenly beastly black metal is on top of you, pinning you to the ground and landing blows. Howls blacken as the playing brutalizes, guitars blaze with fury, and the pace clubs, the final moments tangling you with time. “Reign of Nohol” rings out, ritualistic movements vibrating, the guitars peeling into that as roars scorch, and the playing stretches nerves. Wild calls buckle knees as the pace lashes, a speedy attack mounting an offensive, leaving bodies flattened in ancient mud. “Priests of Lik’in” feels percussive and prehistoric to start, and then the power unloads, guitars melt and give off electricity, and the cries leave brush burns. The playing sprawls before getting tricker, the intensity batters, and the guitars snarl again before everything fades into time.

“Chosen of Chik’in” gazes in otherworldly woodwinds, unleashing tribal spirits, and then the guitars arrive and mash, growls claw, and spacious melodies add a thick fog. From there, the band trucks, the pace combusts, and all hell breaks loose, leads lashing with fire, the tempo boiling to the bitter end. Closer “Insemination” runs 10:44, and it opens with liquids bubbling, space beams slicing the sky, and the playing opening generously, attacking with speed and soot. The temperatures dip for a bit, cool, calm waters flowing, flutes enrapturing, wounds congealing until the chaos returns. Leads blaze and bend backward, howls scorch as the shouts of, “Sacrifice!” ripple, and delirious playing floods, fueling the final power surge that blasts into oblivion.

“Anthropic Rites of Sublimation” is one of the strangest black metal records you’re bound to experience this year, and Ch’ahom inject a long-faded spirit into these songs to make them pump with ghostly life. Which is weird for a record so indebted to death, as this tale of self-destruction makes for a jarring experience both physically and emotionally. It’s an album drawn toward annihilation, and that’s just what it delivers.

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

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

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

We humans are not as important as data centers. That’s been made pretty clear. And if you’re thinking the current opposition party is going to swoop in and save us, I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news. Our country is a fucking joke that gets less funny and more barbaric every day, and a source of serotonin boost in this hell is shrinking by the day.

Oklahoma City’s Chat Pile have encapsulated this feeling in their relatively short time together, and their morbidly honest, unreasonably heavy sound has become a soundtrack for those who don’t know if hope is just a sick joke. On their third LP “Who Loves the Sun,” the band—vocalist Ray B., guitarist L. Manhole, bassist Stin, drummer Cap’n Ron—may have tweaked their pseudonyms but they haven’t pulled back on any of the fuel they use to feed their fires. With data enslavement, increasingly meaningless jobs that never seem to get better pay, and an unprecedented corruption plaguing public officials, this band stands as the perfect voice for the moment. There’s anger, sarcasm, humor, unflinching personal darkness, and acerbic commentary delivered in the band’s trademark style. But they also branch out more, making their toolkit deeper, their intent richer, and their attack is as effective as ever.

“Creature” opens with the drums rousing, guitars stinging, and the bass chugging hard, howls scarring as they deliver scathing fury. “On every creature led to slaughter, every city underwater,” Ray B. wails, the playing sneaking into thick murk, a vicious, Korn-like breakdown baking, screams scorching. “Deep Blue” is colder when it starts, the pace luring, the driving chorus lighting new fires. Guitars then pin prick, adding steam as the screams turn more deranged. The playing stirs as the chunkiness increases, the singing lulls, and guitars leave ash. “Same Rules” is cloudy as the vocals glaze, dripping from a black icicle, Ray B. howling, “No world on the outside.” The gloom thickens, guitars jolting as the harsh wails smear, turning unsettling before the temperature drops dangerously, sliding into darkness. “PEN I S MALL” clouds with disdain, the bass clubbing as guitars jar, Ray B. taunting, “Simon says no protection! Simon says get back to work!” The two characters in the story suffer from life’s crushing realities, and the charring madness and cement-thick power resonates, slowing down to pummel more directly, the final rants stabbing home the nails. “Shrine” has guitars bending as Ray B.’s singing coats, sludgy fury getting muscular, bringing some of the record’s more metallic moments. “And share my dreaming and join my grieving,” Ray B. scowls, explosive emotion gushing from pores, picking up the intensity and smashing you.

“Intruder” bleeds in with post-rock shine, churning as guests vocalists Claire Hannah and Brittany Sawtelle from Nightosphere join in on the chorus to add different textures. The playing crawls through dank darkness, wails and gasps making your anxiety more pronounced, Ray B. gutting with, “Dreaming about a life that’s fair and true, cause there’s no difference between me and you.”  “Christabel ’26” is grungy as fuck with Ray B. in more of a scream-sing mode, a different shade for his vocal style, and the sound is kind of like if Nirvana had been a doom band. “All they really need, every drop of blood, all your family’s blood, spit in the face of god,” hammers as the playing feels catchier than it should, clouds thicken, and you’re mentally put to the test as you’re left gasping. “Influence” has a punk edge, and it jerks and bruises, the bass thunking and getting muddier. The tempo is a battering ram, and at one point the assault reminds a bit of Prong classic “Beg to Differ,” the power bouncing your face off decaying curbs. “Family Funeral” drubs as the guitars warp, Ray B. talk sings nakedly, paying off the morbidity of relations that are poisoned. The tone gets darker and more disturbing as the track lingers, the bass/drum force loosening teeth, the screams chewing on your psyche. “And though you’ve come to save your sons, the blood on this knife should reveal my pain, chariot of the sun now will take me and our dead children far away,” Ray B. howls, the playing growing more unhinged, sobering reality setting in its claws. Closer “October All the Time” opens with acoustics, deliberate singing making sure every word lands, the folkish, sad atmosphere growing more penetrating. “These unholy signs, they’ve been stuck in my mind,” Ray B. levels, a power surge bringing a brief storm, then everything returning to sullen, fading as chests heave from emotion.

Chat Pile have improved markedly from their first work to now, and “Who Loves the Sun” is their most realized, varied, and unglued performance yet. It’s not like this band needed to get better. They were hammering and efficient from the start. But they’ve grown into their bones and figured out a new way to reveal a continually crumbling world, the heartbreak it delivers, and the ways we can try to climb back and defy these fuckers.

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

To buy the album, go here: https://nowflensing.com/collections/chat-pile

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

The amount of artists twisting death metal to its physical and mental limits has ballooned in recent years, which is expected when bands such as Gorguts and Krallice and Atheist and others have spent years rewriting and updating the DNA. Disciples are to be expected, and the ones that have new things to offer will continue to stretch the boundaries.

Dylan Cruz (Noxis, Scumbag, Dissonance) solely helms Hanging Garden, and this project always demonstrated its capacity to keep taking death metal elsewhere. “Dream Death” (not sure if the title was inspired by the legendary Pittsburgh-based band) is the second installment in the band’s story, and it’s seven tracks and 41 minutes of progressive death that feels natural and channeled. Cruz puts dexterity and ambition into the music, trading brutality for brainy instrumentation in spots that always hits the mark. It’s an easy-to-digest record if you’re a seasoned listener, but it also is a good guide for anyone who has yet to take on death’s more flexible terrain.

“Arete” rips opens and jolts, growls lurch, and atmosphere bursts from the seams, the guitars churning before halting. Calm flows as keys flush, and then the violence renews, adventurous playing soaring, leads taking off, and shrieks jostling your spine, blistering and trudging before subsiding. “Ondine” snares and blinds, growls crush, and the force clobbers, wrecking as it makes your brain tingle. The bass slithers as the pace melts, the guitars climbing out of a vortex, the screams ravaging. The engine reignites as things get uglier, the vocals reach into your bowels, and a slight glitch hits a stormfront and runs into “Dreamwoven” that immediately impacts. Beastly growls flex as airy violence strikes, shrieks belt, and then an oddly breezy sequence ruptures. The playing stomps and stuns, guitars catch fire, and the final moments stymie.

“Carambola” explodes, melodies charting courses, the howls retching as the momentum kicks in harder. Guitars go crazy, reaching zany territory, growls crushing and drums battering. The leads explore before going more tranquil, keys bathing your psychological wounds. “Endymion” stomps, guitars gliding, the drums kicking holes in skulls, a progressive force unfurling multi-colored wings. Vicious howls leave marks as the playing turns mystical and quaking, the final moments spitting cinders. “Tears of Lustful, Secret Desire” is active right away, howls ripping and guitars buzzing, rampaging through a burning hellscape. Growls wrench as the playing rips harder, guitars encircle, and spacious headiness infects. Closer “Suffering Radiant Memories” starts with rustic acoustics before guitars build and then take flight, hitting more ambitious waters. The vibe is cool and calm before a new charge ripples, tearing apart earth and lashing with a last gasp of electricity.

Cruz continues to poke and prod with his progressive form of death metal, and on “Dream Death,” the Hanging Garden ethos gets thicker and more complex. This album feels perfectly served, never overstaying its welcome, and delivering mental journeys that leave you stimulated. And bruised. This also is heavy as fuck and does physical damage that teams with the challenges it puts on your brain.

For more on the band, go here: https://hanginggarden-label.bandcamp.com/

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

Or here (also U.S.): https://transcendingobscurity.indiemerch.com/

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

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

Five records into a career, it’s not super common a band figures out something that really works, galvanizes them and lights something under them that hadn’t burned quite that brightly before. Yet it happened with Dreadnought, a band that built an impressive resume over their first four records and unlocked some really interesting mental and sonic space.

“Wars of Spirits // Wards of Light” is the band’s fifth record, and wouldn’t you know it? It’s a revelation for a band that already was operating on a high level. Boiled down to a four piece— Kelly Schilling (vocals, guitars, keys, synth), Ryan Sims (guitars, vocals), Kevin Handlon (bass), Jordan Clancy (drums, percussion)—Dreadnought unleash a new adventure and reality, sounding like a different animal with sharper claws, even more ambition, and jolting a volcanic gust into something otherworldly. It’s a record that keeps your heart pounding and reveals different hues, like nature itself rolled out a majestic display that makes your imagination work overtime, happily.

“Tiamat’s Gate” immediately signals things are different as we join in the clouds, Schilling’s singing enrapturing and feeling as if visiting Kate Bush terrain, the playing sweeping and rousing. Howls wrench as calm arrives, breathy echoes gasping, a sinister sense crawling up your spine, the playing ravaging and pressing lungs. The pace cools as piano notes splash, propulsive playing powers, and everything fades. “The Archive” starts with growls gutting, burly playing flexing, and breathy singing fluttering, roars arriving as the keys surge. Icy speaking chills as screams tear at sanity, the tempo trudges, and the final moments exhale fuzz and hypnosis. “Colors of Our Broken Hearts” dashes with synth and powerful singing, keys icing as Sims’ voice joins the fray, a cosmic gaze sprawling and arresting. Speaking clouds as the guitars snarl, the pace combusts, and a lightning strike buries.

“Serpents of the Moon” opens with the bass slinking and the singing floating, the pace plotting as synth clouds build, and the sound washes out like your ears filled with water. The vocals coat as keys plink, the playing growing more immersive, the power bursting as guitars scuff, sci-fi fog and staticky beats stinging. The pace then explodes, swelling the drama, the keys tingling, and roars fading into the clouds. “Aeonwar” starts with keys glazing, the singing cooling, and then shrieks tearing at the senses, guitars coming unglued as the atmosphere turns volatile. Alien strangeness surrounds as propulsive playing makes waves, screams belt, and hearts race anew. Keys drip as the temperatures cool, Schilling speaking, “And so they met their grand awakening with nothing but spirit to guide them.”   “The Twilight Protectorate” closes, unfurling prog-fueled keys, rousing singing, and a light glaring like sunrise, guitars flexing as Sims takes the lead with Schilling responding. The playing spellbinds, Schilling calling, “My soul is not for you to take,” the playing gushing as growls punish, the drums hammer even harder, and everything rushes to a spirited end.

“Wars of Spirits // Wards of Light” is a revelatory record for Dreadnought, their most daring and commanding entry in their catalog, and also one of their most exciting, which is saying something based on their past output. Everything is bigger here, but not in a way that aims to overwhelm or bathe in gloss. This is a creation from a band who found their true self, poured all of themselves into the music, and created their own fantasy terrain where they make up the rules.

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

To buy the album, go here: https://linktr.ee/vesperian

For more on the label, go here: https://www.vesperian.world/

And here: https://www.metalblade.com/us/

A machine never will be capable of creating art that truly connects with one’s heart, because it doesn’t possess any organs, can’t feel, can’t imagine, can’t dream. As long as humans are here and have access to what we need to create, music always will be dominated by people who put their sweat and blood into their creations.

For second record “Human,” Jasmin Lempinen, the vocal and creative engine behind Jess By the Lake and who once fronted Jess and the Ancient Ones, retreated even further away from technology and into honest, organic creation with a full band. These nine songs ripple with fire and energy, Lempinen’s unmistakable beast of a voice dressing these songs with personality, charisma, and her husky singing. Lempinen also contributes guitar and Rhodes piano and is backed by guitarist Sampo Leksis, bassist Oliver Karttunen, and drummer Marianne Heikkinen, and they’re on fire here, feeling like a spark to your heart, which should be surging after you experience these songs.

“Jaleihou” starts with shrieks followed by psychedelic smoke, a bluesy churn taking over and swaggering, the chorus snaking through the yard. Lempinen’s wails remind of vintage Robert Plant in spots, and then the soloing scorches, sounds clapping before burning off.  “Wanderin Kind” has guitars jerking and the pace driving, Lempinen’s singing flexing as it does, keys plinking before leads start up. The track takes on a dirty feel as the pace grows heated, the singing hammering home the emotions. “Lovely Boy” has icy keys and a dream state feel, guitars glazing and easing, Lempinen calling, “Black birds marking your scars,” her approach giving Fiona Apple vibes. The track bursts open as smoking soloing takes over, the singing soars, and the final moments bleed out. “Sister” buzzes and slinks, the pace feeling sultry, Lempinen urging, “Now it’s your turn to stand up and fight.” The ambiance turns swampy, and some great guitars works ignites, the desert heat landing.

“Alice” starts off a little playful, hypnotic guitars churn, and the pace kicks into gear, Lempinen’s spirited singing sending jolts. A warm solo swims as the momentum continues to bubble, everything surging before fading. “Falling Under” delves back into psyche waters, soulful singing swells, and the heat increases, pushing harder and letting blood flow freely. The playing splashes as new colors dash, Lempinen singing, “When you’re down, who will say your name?” “How Could You Tell?” trudges and shows off more crunch, the playing is steamy and alluring, and the intensity melts, Lempinen urging, “Carry her name in your heart.” Birds chirp and the pace shifts, the atmosphere tears back into time, Lempinen observing, “How beautiful everything is from up here,” before the magic subsides. “The Shame” slinks as the bass trudges, cool keys ice, jazzy coolness increases the fog, and you can smell the distant smoke in the air. “It’s never too late to lie,” Lempinen calls, guitars calming as the curtain drops. Closer “Holy Grove” brings punchy guitars and echoed singing, the riffs scuff, and keys add new hues to the clouds. Leads fire the engines as keys loop, the singing rises, and a thunderous thrust brings a breathless end.

“Human” is a good a title as anything for this record because it so obviously flows from the hearts and minds of Lempinen and her band, that you can’t mistake it for anything a machine might conjure. Jess By the Lake radiate with energy and emotion, and this would sound great in a live setting anywhere, needing just the band and the proper venue to give theses songs even more life. Those who profit from it have a reason to shove unauthentic art down our throats, but Jess By the Lake stand in defiance, ready to give their listeners something that floods with feeling.

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

To buy the album, go her: https://svart.ochre.store/release/597611-jess-by-the-lake-human

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

I just returned from the beach recently, and I’m not a guy super into doing anything but sitting on the sand, absorbing the surroundings, unplugging from everyday life and its monotony. I don’t really go far into the ocean as I am not good dealing with the waves and would rather wade, appreciating its majesty and how it can recharge your mind.

“Waves” is the seventh record from Severoth, and the sole creator behind this project said he was inspired when visiting the black beach near Grettislaug in Iceland. He noticed the activity of the waves, how each had its own mission, and he related that back to humanity. The seven tracks that flood over 50 minutes rain down from the heavens, mixing winds and pressure, the water rippling, hammering the shore and returning. Severoth saw how people also act like waves in their movement and nature connecting us all as we make up a thing greater than ourselves.  

“Stars Will Show the Way” opens with waves crashing, and then glorious melodies explode, tearing with anguished wails, an emotional, huge outburst lighting up the sky. Blood courses through veins as screams belt, guitars open, and hearts flutter, Severoth howling the title to the stars. The tempo bursts as wails explode, hearts pound, and then calm arrives, settling into the waters. “We Are Waves” tingles before gashing, storming as the keys ice, howls belt, and the leads flush, an active pace jarring. Harsh calls envelop, great energy peeling off, sweeping into cosmic wonder, a gazey storm encircling. The tempo bursts as everything gushes, dazzling with colors, and all elements returning to the waves. “Vyriy” unleashes a synth beam, the screams belting as the pace lays waste, a frenetic charge shaking you to your core. Screams lash as thick keys emerge, whirring as the playing storms again, engulfing with fiery intent, synth taking over, spilling into oblivion.

“As Forests Dream at Dawn” is clean, swirling in the stars, eeriness scraping at your mind, the playing trudging through a frigid terrain that attacks your cells. Cries clutch your arms as a fantastical display captures minds, the heated chaos suddenly cooling. The moodiness slips into a coating mist, guitars liquify, and the waves returning to flood minds. “Snowind” opens with spooky keys, howls echoing, melodies sweeping, and cosmic melodies haunting. Screams echo as the keys hypnotize, energy pulses actively, and cold, driving melodies leave you shivering. The playing clouds the senses, guitars drive thorns, and the waves crash again, sounds left ringing in your ear. Closer “Glacial Dreams” is a brief instrumental with water rushing, synth glistening, and your mind drifting away.

“Waves” is a record that is volcanic and mind altering, a creation that feels like it is pulling you back to the earth and paying homage to one of its mightiest elements and our roles in it. Severoth commonly creates music that takes you elsewhere, and that remains the case here, even if that destination is part of our own world. This is an immersive, exciting record that lights hearts on fire and honors the world in which we’re all connected.

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

To buy the album, go here: https://www.sound-cave.com/en/band/severoth

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