One of the worst things imaginable is watching a loved one slowly wither away due to an illness or some sort of other condition. It’s one of the most helpless feelings you can experience. You can do nothing but offer care and assistance, and knowing what’s at the end of all the torment only makes the path that much harder.

We have not heard from Louisville-based black metal power Anagnorsis in a decade, and what a different world that was. On their new record “Caregriever,” the concept of taking care of an ailing family member and the stress that puts on the people who will remain comes across as psychologically torturous, and for good reason. Vocalist/guitarist Zachary Kerr, after dealing with the loss of his father also watched his father-in-law slowly pass away, and that whole long, tumultuous road led him to create the concept initially as a solo album before it turned into a full-band record. The frustration, guilt, anger, and sorrow explode out of him and the band—guitarist Zak Denham, bassist Josh Mumford, drummer Cody McCoy—and the thunderous passion behind these songs, the tidal waves of torment, and the desire to release these emotions violently hammer home how this can tear you apart inside unforgivingly.

“Choke” strikes out of an echo chamber, shrieks carving as the pace scorches, black metal fury attacking with intent. The playing hangs and clashes, hammering with emotional intensity, Kerr’s voice crushed with anguish, “The worst of me is the best of me,” he wrenches. The blistering continues, Kerr wailing, “It’s your fucking fault, I hate the man I am, it’s your fucking fault, I hate this world,” as the intensity fades not fumes. “Nothing Left to Give” attacks, Kerr belting, “I spent a lifetime asking for nothing, and calling on no one, in hopes to total demise.” The volcanic might goes full bore, speed spiraling, the melodies smoking, throaty howls blackening eyes. “Nothing Left to Take” is colorful and furious, the excrutiating tones making their mark, thundering as the heat buckles. Ferocity blinds as the playing engulfs, chaos spreads, and everything sinks into dust. “Death of Man” starts with weird beats, trudging clubbing, and an industrial exhaust that envelops. Wails squeeze as the pressure cooks, the steam thickening and challenging breathing.

“Death of Men” is doomy, howls hammering, black metal intensity sweeping, Kerr howling, “Lost somewhere in between dreams and this nightmare that we’re calling life,” to lash back at the torment of wasting away. The playing storms as desperate cries seek an answer, emotion gushes, and the end plagues with moody exhaust. “A Living Grave” has guitars charging and an effusive push, hideous howls pulverizing, managing to sound strangely catchy. Screams and sung lines intertwine, torching as Kerr stabs, “You’re the victim here, but why do I feel like I’m watching myself die? Eye to eye, staring death in the face.” The leads light up as the storm pelts, the leads go for broke, and the playing slips into the cold. “Monuments in Ash” is sorrowful, building to a crescendo, raw howls barreling and threatening to flatten. Melodic gusts burst as the vocals claw, the drums pound savagely, and the final moments corrode into closer “Death of Me” that blasts into a gaze. “How can I forgive myself for feeling such ill will? How can I forgive myself for being so sick?” Kerr cries, the guilt suffocating as he repeats the words over and over. The playing chugs and thrashes, tearing into emotional tumult, Kerr pleading, “Just let me die!” as it ricochets away.

Watching a human being fade into nothingness is a torturous experience, and Anagnorsis nail the emotion on “Caregriever,” as genuinely moving a black metal album as you’ll find. This is raw and real, something that digs into your psyche and forces you to face an unforgiving reality the can feel never ending. This album will hit hardest with those who have gone through such a thing, and for anyone who hasn’t, it’s a dark, sobering look into the future.  

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

To buy the album, go here: https://vendetta-records.bandcamp.com/album/caregriever

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

Or here: https://sobelowproductions.bandcamp.com/album/caregriever

Or here: https://anagnorisis.bandcamp.com/album/caregriever

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

And here: https://www.bolverkcollective.com

And here: https://sobelowproductions.bandcamp.com/

We do not have an infinite time left on this planet. In fact, the more we learn about what’s happened to our environment, combined with the total disregard for our home by people in power positions, it makes our survival fleeting and uncertain. The planet, though, will remain, and one day it will heal itself.

“Estuary,” the eighth record from Pacific Northwest black metal power Wolves in the Throne Room, ventures 1,000 years into the future to a place where humans are gone, and the world goes about rebuilding itself without its primary parasite, us. Over six tracks and 48 minutes, the band—vocalist/guitarist/keyboard player Nathan Weaver, guitarist Cody Keyworth, drummer/guitarist/keyboard player Aaron Weaver (touring member Galen Baudhuin played bass)—still have their hearts in the darkest of arts but also expand their sound. The atmosphere is stormy, there are dashes of death metal, and the record is an immersive piece that may take some adjusting and also works best as a whole.

The title track opens, thawing from a frosty haze, the vocals carving into a vicious flood as the leads infuse electricity. Melodies spiral as the energy pulses, the playing bruises, and the vocals turn into a death growl, blazing as the leads smear, and fog washes over everything, absorbing light. “Knights of Tiamat” is murky as drums blast in, screams wrench, and the emotion spills over, drilling and scarring before going clean and introspective. Growls mar as spacey playing spreads and bursts into speedier leads, igniting as clean calls hypnotize. Clouds encircle as the playing combusts with atmosphere, soaring into a black hole. “Foretold in Reflections” is dusty and strange, mauling as the bass plods and dark growls scrape, synth cascading like a waterfall. Sounds thicken and rattle as whirring darkness takes over, keys freezing as the vocals jolt, the drums echoing into time.

“The Orca Cliffs” opens with drums rousing, frost thickening, and howls stunning, guitars breathing fire. Shrieks wrench as the song opens and drenches, flooding the senses as the blood stampedes through veins, mists growing and revealing a mystical plane. Leads bleed as the playing increases the intensity, the pace slowing and blending into industrial chaos. “Ghosts Among the Obelisks” smears your vision and tears open, howls wrecking as a spacious gallop unloads, the drama building before detached singing brings a ghostly feel. Then the tempo rumbles harder, the howls bruise, and the shadows multiply, sinking into a dream scape. Closer “Wretched Spirits, Land of Light” strikes with muscular riffs, relentless speed, and blanketing heat, howls scathing before the fury scales back. Things take a sinister turn, keys envelop, and it feels like you’re on alien terrain, burning off the last of its fuel supply and facing an unknown destiny.

“Estuary” is another course shift for Wolves in the Throne Room, a band that never stays on one path for too long. This is their most varied and non-formulaic release yet, one that’s heavier and meaner in parts, opening new gateways to sound in others. The band’s glimpse into a strange future that outlives us all adds to the intrigue, as a transformed planet with powers currently unknown makes for a ripe place for barbaric storytelling.

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

To buy the album, go here: https://www.relapse.com/pages/wolves-in-the-throne-room-estuary

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

Aging is weird, man, and I’m at a point in my life where I feel less connection to my younger self every day. A lot of that is because I’ve changed a lot, and the strong connections I once felt to certain things either darkened or transformed. It’s a strange thing with which to come to terms, and as life goes on, I feel more myself now and not before.

“Homesick” is the new record from Italian doom band Shores of Null, and it focuses on our connections to the past, whether that’s a physical dwelling, relationships, or things about ourselves. Feelings and meanings change, and the things that meant their weight in gold before fade over time. Over 10 tracks and 48 minutes, the band—vocalist Davide Straccione, guitarists Gabriele Giaccari and Raffaele Colace, bassist Matteo Capozucca, drummer Emiliano Cantiano—pours oceans of emotion into their dramatic doom that’s colored with death around the edges, and it’s an experience the band intends you to take as a whole instead of in chapters. It’s worth the time and effort to absorb it at that way.

“Allies Before Defeat” generously pours doom waters, Straccione’s singing bellowing, a gothy fog pumping morbidity. The melodies burn as the chorus gains momentum, Straccione calling, “Take this heart before it’s gone, it’s all I have to give,” as the final moments trudge. “Two Mountains” has deep singing, Straccione wailing, “Among the snow they drifted into slumber on the summit,” as growls cut in, making the waves choppier. The temperature cools just before the soloing breaks out, the band sounding in great spirit as the bottom falls out. “Bleed to Life” drives as the vocals guide, darkness enveloping as a hearty tempo fills hearts, dreary playing making the shadows seem more volatile. The chorus surges as growls gnaw bones, stretching the murk as everything comes to a bruising end. The title track is cleaner and more fluid, Straccione warning, “My home is dangerous, my soul is ravenous.” Growls punch as the thorns grow thicker, and amid a more reflective passage, strong soloing releases new colors, the singing gusts, and the final drive robs you of breath. “Son of the Tide” rouses, harsh vocals take over, and the crunch is noticeable, even as the playing tangles with new energy. The pace cools as Straccione calls, “The coldest tears frozen in time,” as the forceful playing continues before cresting.

“Dreaming of a Scar” basks in strings and mist-drenched guitars, the growls claw, and a gothy presence sends chills, cleaner singing returning to coat nerves. The pace pounds harder as desperation pulls back, burning into oblivion. “Society Is the Murderer” crunches, speak singing pushing, grim reality settling in over the chorus. The mood darkens as Straccione wails, “Vivid as the starlight on the wake of freedom,” blood rushing before keys chime away. “The Numbing Void” is slower, growls squeezing harder, the chorus cleansing as Straccione sings, “Unarmed to the sound of the end that bursts in silence, memories feed the scars of my faith.” The playing feels rockier and nautical, growls grind teeth, and the strings ache, Straccione jabbing, “This craven life has fooled us again, condemned.”  “Another Breath” rumbles in as the drums pound, the chorus smokes, then every element hangs you in the elements to get soaked. Guitars smear as the heaviest part of the record takes over, Straccione howls, “Lost in the fray, nurturing nightmares, a silence too loud to bear.” “Disappear” closes, clean singing and harsh cries mix, and a slow-driving pace ensures the weight pushes down. “There’s no joy without pain, I suck it in,” Straccione levels, misery and horror mixing, the playing sweeping again before liquefying and fading.

“Homesick” is an interesting record philosophically as it balances what it means to belong somewhere and what ties to our past say about us and what we become. Shores of Null normally challenge lyrically with their stormy doom, and it’s one of the reasons they’ve become a band whose records we seek out anytime they release one. This is one that could have a different meaning every time you visit, and that could have a major impact on how we bridge where we came from and where we’re going.

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

To buy the album, go here: https://www.shoresofnull.com/shop

I’ve been in therapy for more than a decade, and the past several years have been the most intense, dealing with loss of family members and trying to understand my anxiety and why it changed so much. Just talking and releasing the emotions and feelings goes a long way toward alleviating pressure, feeling more balanced. But it’s not always there.

 “The Bite That Grows Up,” the new record from Pacific Northwest sludge/doom force Great Falls, largely is an imagined group therapy session in the mind of vocalist/guitarist Demian Johnston. It’s a hard listen from that standpoint because, psychologically, there is a lot of torment here, along with anger, guilt, fear, and frustrations. Johnston, whose lyrics could read like letters to himself, his daughter, his mind, isn’t always in a steady place. Joined by bassist Shane Mehling and drummer/vocalist Nickolis Parks, the band puts you through the ringer, battering you and leaving an indelible mark that refuses to go away. This is as an experience as much as a record, and it’s a volatile force that demands every drop of blood.

“A Small Weakness” hulks, guitars smearing, yells buckling and shocking your nervous system, as Johnston’s voice has a tendency to do. Damage ripples in spades, and even when the playing feels spacey, you know the wrench is about to turn. “I’m sorry, I think I’m done, I’m not sure about this,” Johnston howls, as sounds squeeze and squeal, everything pounding like a migraine. “Pinned Against Time” is a quick two-minute bruiser, noise and hellacious sounds making for a cataclysmic storm that’s here and gone, branches and bone in its wake. The playing smothers in every sense, barreling to a stabbing end. “Worse Than Sleep” brings staggering guitars, a rumbling fury, and desperate cries, Johnston wailing, “Where do I start? I don’t have the words.” It only disintegrates from there mentally, impossibly heavy playing leveling buildings, mashing as noise scuffs, Johnston wondering, “Are we to blame? Is it nice where you are?” “Hailstone Numbers” begins calmly, quietly, unsettlingly, yells pulling as the bass plods, floating as desperate cries startle. Drums battle as the guitars spit fire, repeated strikes bruise skulls, sounds converge and overwhelm, and thick mud floods and chokes.

“Nicotine in the Spine” enters with piano before the band is attacking and stomping, the torment thickening before the air gets colder, the pace waylaying anyway. The bass trucks as everything feels like a bulldozer lumbering downhill, the power combusting and making balance impossible, ending in strange keys. “Debt Ethics” is murky with guitars jangling, noise screeching, and then everything coming apart, blistering as the pace shifts. Riffs snake as Johnston’s mood noticeably changes as he call out, “Why can’t you talk? How do I? What do you want? How can I help? Please let me.” “Buildings Full of Rope” is another wrecker, lasting just 2:34 but making certain impact, bringing total demolition and flattening every goddamn thing in front of it. The playing torches, digging claws into your arms, crushing with tornadic force that feels excessive but oddly fitting. Closer “What No One Can Give” jars and stings, Johnston’s yells blistering. Constant worries about his daughter’s safety eats at his psyche, “Father, please calm down, take your pills,” quaking from Johnston’s throat. The movement chugs as the bass thickens, momentum rises, and guitars cut, the pressure building before finally relenting.

“The Bite That Grows Up” is a record that makes immediate impact, as Great Falls playing and violent tenacity are impossible to ignore. The raw emotion, guilt, anxiety, and anger flow thick, and if you’re not mentally prepared to hear a 40-minute coming to terms that is nakedly sobering, then maybe you should proceed cautiously. This is an album that will play long into future rotation, and its mark is indelible, a scar for life.   

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

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

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

Watching a parent struggle through a health condition, one that won’t end well, is something many of us will face at some point. I had a 1-2 punch of losing both of mine when they were far too young, and several years later, the effects remain, and the healing is in waves. It’s a wound that never truly congeals. It’s a permanent scar.

“Devotion” is the second record that Rebecca Vernon created under The Keening banner, and she dedicates it to her late father, with whom she was living for a time in a senior living facility before he passed. The first half of the album goes full bore into Vernon reflecting on her father, and the music is delicate and sometimes thunderous. But she also looks at other darker subject matter such as the Osage Nation murders where killlings took place of wealthier Native Americans for oil and mineral rights, a story as old as time. It’s also the darker side of a devotion, and obsession for power and money. The playing also quakes harder than the debut, and the songs would fit alongside SubRosa’s in a live setting if she chose that path. This is a fully realized, heavily emotional record that leaves deep marks on your heart. If you just absorb the music, you’re likely to be equally as moved.

“Devotion I – Golden Thread” opens with quiet piano and aching strings, the singing compelling and moving you forward emotionally. A thick fog hangs overhead as Vernon sings, “A golden thread turns to an iron chain, a silken rope turns to fetters of stone,” as the spirit slips into the shadows. “Devotion II – Fitful Sleep” has guitars chiming and the singing haunting, strings settling before guitars electrify and add grit. The pace enraptures, guitars tracing patterns as organs swell, the playing turning gentler as woodwinds breeze, and a wordless call dissolves. “Devotion III – The King” is punchy and crunchy, giving off a bit of SubRosa’s seasick doom, stomping and sweeping as psyches do battle. A tidal wave of feelings floods, spirited and dark, stretching into oblivion. “Devotion IV – O Mother” has piano and strings uniting, softer singing making impact, Vernon calling, “O mother, why did you leave me all alone here in the pit of humanity?” Flutes flutter as the pace gets denser, Vernon repeats an admission, “I am hanging by a thread,” as the final drops hit the earth.

“A Little Bit of Blood” begins with acoustics, Vernon singing, “You drew a little bit of blood to show me, just a little bit of blood to make me see, it took a little bit of blood to wake me.” A steely pace enraptures as keys murmur, and energy crushes, bringing more metallic sentiment, squeezing your heart and mind. The pace trudges and quakes, filling your heart as Vernon concludes, “Time to move on, my friend, board the train, leave the station.” “Time Travel” opens with keys dripping, strings gliding, Vernon lamenting, “It can’t be made right, only in my dreams, all your science fails me.” Strings stiffen as the power jolts, organs chill, and the tumult digs deeper, Vernon noting, “I’m falling into fire.” “The Murder of Anna Brown” is the closer, and it’s based on the 2017 non-fiction book Killers of the Flower Moon, written by David Grann about the Osage murders that occurred from the 1910s through 1930s. Guitars pluck as the power arrives, Vernon singing, “She, so full of love, like the angels up above, she’s too pure to see that the devil lives inside of me.” The singing rushes, feeling raw in spots, and the strings kick up dust as the story unfurls. “And my soul? a small price to pay for the whole world,” Vernon levels, folkish melodies digging into veins, acoustics dusting as the darkness falls. “She remembers a time when the whole town greeted her, but now her body fell like a broken doll on the riverbank,” she sings, a final string of shots hitting harder, dissolving into the ground.

“Devotion” is an even fuller version of The Keening as it musically inches a little closer in sound to the reunited SubRosa. But make no mistake, this is a Vernon creation, and her final homage to her father and other dark stories that surround us make that evidently clear. This is a very personal record, and Vernon’s sharing it with us is a testament to her humanity and that our own struggles can help others at their most vulnerable.

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

To buy the album, go here: https://www.relapse.com/collections/the-keening-devotion

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

There are records that you put on and they sound wrapped in an outer layer put through a blender and placed over top in the most warped manner possible. You know there’s a “normal” record beneath, but you can’t get over what that extra element does to the music that’s absorbing your psyche. You’re hearing something completely out of the ordinary.

James Oskarbski is the mastermind behind death metal puzzlers Odious Spirit, whose new record “The Sourceless Scourge” is landing in your lap, strange syrup in tow to make this feel even stranger. Joined by bassist Cullen Gallagher and drummer Jason Bursese, this creation batters you, but it also twists the sane portions of your mind. Yeah, there’s a thrash-minded crusher in there, but Oskarbski doesn’t do anything conventionally. It’s an attacker that stretches your imagination but also leaves scorched earth behind. And drizzled over top is an looming phantom making the music stranger.

“True Non-Existence” batters as growls snarl, and strange, spacious clouds thicken, guitars sprawling as guts spill. The guitars turn dizzying, twisting muscle and chugging, the drums going off, the playing trudging heavily before subsiding. “Close to the Sun” blasts and scrambles brains, keys ringing as finger-tapped runs go for colorful insanity, the energy convulsing in your ear canals. The vibe turns frantic as guitars swarm, and the pace suddenly halts, orchestral moves sliding into shadows, the lightning blinding. Strangeness thicken as the playing thrashes, the drums dislodge bricks, and everything ends in blood.

“The Betrayer’s Will” has guitars scorching and howls clawing, clean notes dripping like ice coating your brain, speed igniting and clogging veins. Growls scrape as the keys drizzle, powering through as melodies swim in murk, the leads spread generously, and the elements circle and suffocate. “Void Without End” combines guitars and piano, everything soon turning crazed and even cartoon-like in its madness. The attack goes completely insane, the room spins, and growls clutch throats, rubbery appendages reaching and squeezing, the rage icing out the senses. Closer “Temporal Euthanasia” feels mystical before going off the deep end, growls stagger through disorienting chaos, and even a psychedelic sheen adds to the glimmer. The pace crushes again, the playing stomps as growls gurgle, and a jazzy bassline slithers. Keys glow as the guitars electrify, speed causes stomach contents to slosh, and a hypnotic force sinks in and pulls toward the unknown.

Odious Spirit demand your attention and eventually take it by force on “The Sourceless Scourge,” a record that will rewire your brain impulses. The band’s manic brand of death, thrash, and black metal is a concoction you like haven’t encountered before even with many other bands trying a similar blend. This is savagery that will undo you, impact your dreams, and leave your wounds oozing.

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

To buy the album (U.S.), go here: https://tornfromthegrave.us/collections/metal-odyssey

Or here (International): https://tornfromthegrave.com/collections/metal-odyssey

For more on the label, go here: https://i-voidhangerrecords.bandcamp.com/

Death metal that sounds like it originated in the sewers might not be the most attractive descriptor to some people. They can fuck off today, because we have the second full-length from Virginia Beach-based death and doom crushers Night Hag, and to hail from a beach town and be this acidic and putrid, you know some wires burnt mentally.

“Great Dismal Darkness” is a perfect title for this record that is as ugly, noise-warped, and guttural as one could imagine, and then they drag your face into the murk even deeper. The band—vocalist/drummer Jon Ransom, guitarists Casey Williams and Joe Arida, bassist Sam Fox—smothers you over seven tracks and 43 minutes of mucky violence, making you pay the price. But you’ll be happy you stopped by because the bludgeoning is worth it.

“Drowned in Death” starts weird and filthy, crushing everything under metallic weight, clobbering as soot accumulates in mouths. The pace slows and feels like it’s dragging bodies, death growls crawl into gore, noise hangs, and doomy horror takes us home. “Effluvia Tendrils” delivers bendy guitars, burly growls, and a quaking foundation, darkening as the sentiment continues to sicken. Infernal ugliness stagers into unspeakable torture, the playing lumbers as growls mash, and gurgles wash down the drain. “It Came Back the Next Night” opens in smoking doom, clubbing as growls warble, and the guitars add extra punishment. Death smears as the bass buzzes, calculated filth turns into an insurmountable fly ash pile, and the guitar steam wilts flesh.

“Staring into the Ancient Chasm” is doomy and smoking, the leads glimmering through the fog, the pace charring. The agony slows yet goes even harder, power battles as guitars fume, and morbidity fades away. “Strange Whispers from Beneath the Cypress” opens as a drum attack, the pounding penetrates, and growls scrape congealing wounds, everything going into a higher drive. Molten hell slowly flows, the tempo lurches, and screeches peel strips from your psyche. “The Terrible Old Woman” mauls, guitars aching along the way, a putrid sense turning stomachs. Guitars feel funereal as the temperatures climb, and bruises mark flesh. Closer “Excoriate” is raw and ripping, growls crushing, the leads burning their way into sludge. The pace takes its time driving knees into your ribs, the leads unload, and growls creak, lashing back for one last retch.

Night Hag’s style of death metal and doom isn’t polished or fun to look at, but it’s incredibly effective, evidenced by “Great Dismal Darkness.” There’s nothing high concept or scientific going on here; it’s a gory ass kicking that will leave you humiliated but kind of liking it? Not like that. It’s a wound that festers, and for some reason you enjoy the pain.  

For more on the band, go here: https://nighthag666.bandcamp.com/

To buy the album, go here: https://www.rottedlife.com/rotted-life-releases

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

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/