I won’t waste your time with my semi-regular whining about modern thrash metal and how no one seems to be able to get the hang of it, and why do people hurt me? In fact, I feel like as I have started complaining about this, more bands actually have turned in some pretty goddamn good albums, and we have one today that’s a total beast.

Chicago crushers Bloodletter have been doing their thing for a decade now, and their barnstorming third album “A Different Kind of Hell” is both a lot of fun and violent as shit. There’s a black metal strain going through this stuff for sure, and the band—vocalist/guitarist Pete Carparelli, guitarist Pat Armamentos, bassist Tanner Hudson, drummer Zach Sutton—makes great use of their time here, 11 tracks that grind your face over the pavement and make you pay the price. My complaint about thrash hasn’t been as much about the sound as it is showing the heart the pioneers had, and you never doubt that with Bloodletter for a second. This is killer stuff, and it’s awesome to witness their fire.

“The Howling Dead” storms, in, thrashy and crushing, the creaky howls making it feel like metal imported mentally from three decades ago. In a great way. Fast and fiery, the soloing goes off, sounds glimmer, and the savagery sinks its final blade. “Blood Is Life” simmers before exploding, the vocals blistering, fast and punchy playing getting in its blows. The guitars soar as humidity becomes a factor, the screams pushing back sending howling winds through your hair. “Bound & Ravaged” packs plenty of vintage power, the vocals speeding, the strong melodies becoming a huge part of the song. Horrors are abound as carnage spills, the rampage is scathing, and Carparelli wails, “Ringing their necks, her kiss seals their fates.” “From Hell They Came” brings mauling drums and a punishing path, slashing through with fast riffs and terrifying tales that spill the blood. The playing charges up again toward the end, the chorus smashes, and a vicious finish flattens bodies. “The Last Tomb” is mournful and doomy when it starts before it tears through flesh and bone. The shrieks crush as the meaty playing stretches muscle, the leads causing choking smoke, trudging and dominating before burying the rest of the bones.

“His Will Be Done” is slashing, great thrash metal, the guitars ruling, the soloing melting steel. “We fight to die, and like the rest you’re sacrificed,” Carparelli howls as the band creates blinding fire, blasting out through rock. “Obsidian Offering” is a shorter track, but it makes the most of its time, the drums cracking spines, the guitar work feeling molten and exciting, the final charges tearing holes in muscle. “To Darkness Damned” mashes with scathing howls, cool waters trickling down your spine as you’re being laid to waste. There are black metal flourishes that sink into misty terrain, and then things heat up again, reminding heavily of Kreator at their finest as the explosive crashing makes it final surge. “Lord of Pain” injects speed and power, the storming rattling cages, ripping through the chorus to spark calls for mercy. The playing goes off, and a power metal-style flood overwhelms and glistens with muscular glory. “What Lies Beneath” has darker tones when it dawns, feeling menacing, tightening the tension. Melodies ripple over the chorus, the guitar work searches the stratosphere, the howls retch, and everything burns to the ground. Closer “Flesh Turned to Ash” blisters, Carparelli howling, “Nowhere to run! Nowhere to hide!” The playing slashes through as the guitars rise to new levels, the danger gets to damaging curves, and Carparelli swings the final hammer, howling, “There’s nothing left to be saved.”

Bloodletter may not have come up in thrash’s heyday, but they prove they gush the same blood and have ample levels of similar power on  “A Different Kind of Hell.” The black strains make this more intense and devastating than what most of the subgenre’s pioneers created, and the horrific tales and bloodshed also give this band a mangling edge. This is a muscular entry into Wise Blood’s “Summer of Thrash” as the bar has been set pretty damn high not just for the other releases set to come, but for anyone attempting to carry thrash’s torch into the future.

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

To buy the album (U.S.), go here: https://wisebloodrecords.8merch.us/

Or here (International): https://wisebloodrecords.8merch.com/

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

We as people seem to have been on the road to doom for a long time, and if we’re being totally honest, there seems very little hope we can change that. It’s broken-record shit at this point about large swaths of the world’s population who are in total denial because they’ve been misled by leaders who value money over the future, because they’ll likely be dead by the time we all burn.

Philly sludge doom crushers Quiet Man, who are comprised of anything but quiet people, watch humankind spiraling out into oblivion on their hulking debut record “The Starving Lesson.” Here, the band (formerly known as God Root)—guitarist/vocalist Joe Hughes, guitarist Keith Riecke, guitarist/sample wizard Jack Sterling, bassist/vocalist Ross Bradley, drummer Jason Jenigen—refuses to turn an eye away from the existential carnage, going full bore inro the chaos, the feeling that everything is coming apart at the seams. They go into terrifying corners thinking of the corrosion of our world, the way many folks treat marginalized people, and our own mental and physical well-being in the face of so much pain and misery. Yet in the end, even after all this erosion, there are slight glimmers of positivity, tiny as they may be, that suggest we can maintain our identities.  

“Pressure to Burrow” doesn’t exactly ease you into the record as the clean eeriness and cloudiness push into a burly shift, reeling with the howl of, “I can’t watch you die, leaning with intent to fall, fuck thoughts and prayers, I need no more dead friends.” The playing later takes on a dusty feel, slipping into gazey pressure, shrieks raining down as the twists and turns aim to disorient. A huge gust blows you back as the guitars destroy, the doominess clogs veins, and the power pummels, with the warning, “Run!” “At Operating Temp” is a strange interlude with sounds beeping, weird samples warping your brain, psychotic jolts electrifying limbs as everything heads into 12:56-long “From Tomorrow’s Dead Hiss” that feels like it dawns in an industrial fog. The playing slowly mauls, sludgy hell achieved, guitars ringing out and looking to do damage to your psyche. Drums thrust as speaking makes your blood chill, and then crazed howls turn things into properly disjointed territory, melting into a fog, slowly wafting like a ghost. Sounds settle and land on the ground, making your nerve endings quiver and sizzle.

“Set to Boil Is the New Standard” brings thick moodiness, and then the retching begins, making your body feel like it’s been through the ringer. There are times where the power sits in the mist, others where the combustion almost is too much, and wails of, “Device of paper and thought and flesh, a soul is a coin is a brick is a knife is a shovel is a gun is a ditch is a house is a debt is an end,” where you feel the downward spiral. Sounds swarm as the spirit grows delirious, feedback wails, and their teeth chew into “The Post Abandoned” that has solemn guitars and stitched static. The sounds coat your brain while fragments of dreams reach out, pulling you into the title track that trudges and pounds away. Cleaner singing soothes before the howls pound away, battering as keys immerse, and guitars bend. The playing tingles and eventually sinks into a desert dusk, making it seem like calm has arrived, but it’s not the case. Following this comes the most volatile section of the record, as the gaze releases, the intensity spikes, and the anger pours like a raging river of blood. “All gone, all done, abstain from the violence forever more,” is screamed as the band lays waste, crushing with devastation before a final call of, “Starve them!” plunges knives into chests. Closer “All Along, We Were Beautiful Radiant Things,” inspired by Emma Goldman’s autobiography Living My Life, is an instrumental piece where guitars tease and drone, sounds ache, and each angle tricks your thinking. Things go from frosty to spacey to strangely warm, and then the sky ignites. Cavernous clouds swallow the emerging hell, finally revealing a pinpoint of light over unsettling horizons.

It’s natural to feel both anxiety attack levels of pressure and eventually the slightest hint of hope on “The Starving Lesson,” and along the way you’ll be battered physically and mentally. Quiet Man certainly achieve a certain vibe here that goes beyond the bludgeoning, letting your mind expand and your empathy spike as we all face tumult and deal with the pain we’ve been dealt a little too generously. This mighty statement is a world beater, an album that isn’t just another doom collection, but one that’ll push you mind and body to consider our place and how to improve everyone’s around ours.

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

To buy the album, go here: https://riffmerchant.bandcamp.com/album/the-starving-lesson

Or here: https://astralands.bandcamp.com/album/the-starving-lesson

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

And here: https://www.facebook.com/astralands/

Just this afternoon when I was working through a project, I slipped Alice in Chains’ “Dirt” onto the turntable and suddenly felt like I was transported to my freshman year of college when that thing was released. I have a strange relationship with the era of music because it also soundtracked some pretty bad times, so I’ve spent a lot of years rebuilding my relationship with that stretch of life.

One gateway back to the past was Thou’s “Rhea Sylvia” album that celebrated the sounds of the 1990s that helped shape their tastes. Now, several years removed, Thou’s Mitch Wells is unleashing his new Big Garden project and its excellent debut record “To the Rind.” It builds on the sounds of the aforementioned “Sylvia” but expands into lusher and even poppier sounds, all while maintaining a dingy edge. Joining him are fellow Thou mate vocalist/guitarist Matthew Thudium who also sang on that “Sylvia album; guitarist/vocalist Craig Ourbre; bassist/synth player Greg Manson; and drummer/percussionist Ian Paine-Jesam—that runs along some of the same terrain trampled by Nirvana, Hum, Stone Temple Pilots, Smashing Pumpkins and so many more. The theme of change and starting over also is in the forefront, and it’s just a goddamn pleasing, catchy, passionate album that also takes me back to my days of being a commuter college student with no friends and only music to get me to a comfort zone.

“A Sliced Up Pear” knifes right in, the power jolting, Thudium’s singing glazing with grungy smoothness. The playing is fuzzed up and catchy, sometimes things are tastefully washed out, and the track bursts with power at the end before fading. “My Joy / Little Bliss” is crunchy and dirty, the moody jolting sweltering, a strong chorus whipping past, keeping the adrenaline nicely paced. The playing gets agitated later, sending electric pulses, spinning into menace, smashing out at the tail end. “Skit 1” is just Wells talking to someone, trying to map out what these skits are going to be. Essentially, it’s an album-long running joke, and if you’ve seen any of Wells’ antics on social media, you won’t be surprised one bit. “Borrowing, Taking” has a Smashing Pumpkins sheen to it, the guitars bringing strange energy, deeper singing cutting to the bone. The track is as catchy and vibrant as it is dark and tumultuous, making it feel like a haunting force. “Memory of the Mountain” slips in and numbs your nerve endings before the power bursts, the singing feeling like a cooling agent. The pace keeps you on alert, the singing glazing, the final moments pushing warm breezes. “Pizza Party Baby” brings speedier riffs, an explosive pulse, and scalding singing, with Thudium calling, “Everything else goes away.” Things gets abrasive and jostling, bringing echoes and power, swinging out into oblivion. “Skit 2” is more discussion about the skits, where to put them, how to do them. It’s a process.

“Crown Shyness” is a shorter one, coming in burly with howled vocals, charring heat, and a blistering, fiery gust, taking you by the throat and shaking the shit out of you. “Wedding of the Sentry” eases in, though the punches aren’t far behind, and then the singing sweeps as things get crunchier. Melodies glimmer as the playing stretches, bringing enough gusto to stick in your teeth. “I’m Scared of the Ocean” is … well, the title might as well be a personal motto. Fuck that place. Anyway, it’s solemn as it begins with softer singing, keys tricking, and everything feeling like you’re looking through blurry morning eyes. Later, things punch up a bit, deeper singing reaches into your guts, and everything blares, ending in a pool of lava. “Skit 3,” Wells is trying to figure out a way to make these skits happen. Maybe they should write something. Mental light bulbs activate. “Stars, Planets, Dust, Us” opens darker with the bass driving, atmosphere injected, the tones feeling dreamier. The force spits bolts, the singing eases, and then the playing is trudgy and muddier, floating and slowly fading. “Tension Loop” starts with one of the guys saying, “This is where daddy has to get all Rob Halfordy,” but we’re not talking pierced eardrums here. The singing definitely is pushier and higher, gushing and stretching, making it feel like three decades ago and I have a fucking final in the morning. Things ramp up even more at the end, letting colors fly, melting out into a coating mist. We end the only way we truly can, with “Skit 4” where Wells decides fuck it, we’ll do skits next record.

Big Garden’s debut is a total joy in which to indulge, a record that feels like it came together years before its members even could have conceived of such a thing. But “To the Rind” isn’t a misguided tribute to ’90s rock, when the alternative tag still made sense, and instead is an earnest, well-traveled journey through sounds that lit up Wells’ heart. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed every visit I’d had with this record as it has sparked some nostalgia with me and also helped me embrace a troubled period in my own life where things ended up turning out OK.

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

To buy the album, go here: https://gileadmedia.net/products/big-garden-to-the-rind-lp

For more on the label, go here: https://gileadmedia.net/

There are times when dabbling with mind-altering substances (all legal, by the way!), that I go somewhere else in my mind and feel like reality is something that doesn’t have to be a part of who I am at the moment. Music is a great accompaniment for that (I spent a week listening to nothing but the song “Southern Cross”), and when everything clicks, it makes the experience so much richer.

I have yet to tackle “P.R.I.S.M.,” the new collaborative work of Sutekh Hexen and Funerary Call, in that condition, and it’s only because I’m not sure I’m ready to experience it in that environment. We’ll get there. Anyway, we’ve long loved the black metal/noise experimentalists in Sutekh Hexen, but this is the first time encountering Funerary Call (helmed by Harlow MacFarlane who specializes in field recordings and soundscapes). The combination of these two for this recording sounds like a match made in drug heaven as they create something that’s perfect for that mental journey to somewhere beyond yourself, when you have the comfort of the darkness and home and nothing else to do but wonder. And wander.

“Meridian غ ” opens and swelters with spooky wooshes, the sounds dripping down walls, keys enveloping as voices warble. Wild cries pay off the psychological torment, keys increase, and hissing howls peel back flesh. Strange feelings makes your mind explore as organs swell, and static spits with force. “Infernal Folly” brings guitars lurking and howls creeping, the whispers aching with ghostly force. Black chaos emerges from there, sifting and chilling, moving seamlessly into “Perilous Shade” where the steam rises and slips into cavernous expanse. The voices feel like they’re mouthing curses as the playing gets more immersive, the ambiance obscuring your vision, the slithering sounds dissipating. “Towards the Eastern Gate” is unsettling as cries resonate in the darkness, slipping into ghoulish territory, spreading frosty static. The fury builds and sizzles, the sound crumbles like mountains falling, and things melt into the stratosphere, jarring before bleeding out.

“Fractal – Void” crumbles as a furnace force explodes, the sounds ringing in your head so forcefully, you reach for something for balance. Barometric pressure gets gnarlier, shrieks emerge, and everything spills into psychosis. “Æscend Obsidia” runs 12:07, and it hovers for a while menacingly, hideous shouts scathing, your breathing heaving and threatening blackout. Whispers and yells mix, keys drip as if from a cosmic icicle, and warbling decay swims in the waves, shifting the power back and forth. A dream state is achieved, making you feel sufficiently drugged, directing unnerving pressure down your spine. “Pangæa Ultima² (Dread)” lets rumbling spread, voices swirl in the miasma, and animal-like growls feel feral and threatening, coming for your safety. The poisonous fog gets thicker and deadlier, wooshing through and icing your wounds. Closer “Shores of Purgatory” unleashes troubling noises, vibrating notes, and a steam rising, making it even more unexpected when the slicing shrieks drop. Watery playing softens the ground, noises pierce and scrape, and everything fades back into the endless void.

‘P.R.I.S.M.” is an experience likely best digested with the benefit of some kind of mind-altering substances, though it can be pretty effective if you’re stone-cold sober like I was when taking notes. Sutekh Hexen and Funerary Call create a perfect marriage of psychological torment, making the record feel like a slow loss of your reality into something else that takes you over entirely. It’s giving yourself over to the void, letting these noises and pieces sink into your blood and change you permanently.

For more on Sutekh Hexen, go here: https://www.facebook.com/sutekhhexenofficial

For more on Funerary Call, go here: https://www.facebook.com/p/Funerary-Call-100063517452891/

To buy the album, go here: http://sentientruin.com/releases/sutekh-hexen-funerary-call-prism

Or here: https://www.cycliclaw.com/music/sutekh-hexen-funerary-call-prism-cd-2lp-dl-114th-cycle

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

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

Certainly not every band has to start their careers with a full-length record that’s been stewing for years after time in practice spaces and playing shows. There’s some logic to easing into the process, getting your legs under you, and making sure what you’re about to unleash on an unsuspecting public is as vile and devastating as it possibly can be. Smaller steps on a campaign of horrors.

Danish crushers Ascendency are walking that path, carefully releasing smaller servings of their molten concoction of death and black metal like what we hear on their second EP “A Manifest of Imperious Destiny.” This four-track offering gives you just enough of what this band—vocalist/guitarist/bassist Simon Daniel Larsen, guitarist M, drummer Ugur—does well, and you can hear this whole thing further develop from what we heard on 2020 EP “Birth of an Eternal Empire.” The playing is muscular and bloody, and the band approaches their work with a sharpness and imagination that gives this style a little more melody and excitement, luring you in for their kill.

“The Triumph of Draconian Might” spirals and then destroys, the vocals clashing with your mental well-being as the pressure combusts, slashing away. Creaky blackness leaks in through the seams, and then hypnosis strikes and numbs your brain, going through psychedelic madness before the assault launches again. The leads gush, and then a thick synth wall crashes over a cosmic end. “Victory – In All Its Emphermal Glory” starts melodically, guitars rushing as the heat brings everything to a boil, the fury trudging through colorful waters. The playing rains down devastation as a haze develops and hangs in the air, bringing a cold surge that disappears into the fog. “Domitor Invictus” jars with ferocious howls, guitars cutting through into the guts, the intensity charring your flesh. Drums turn bones to dust, the playing crashes, and everything fades into oblivion. Closer “A Manifest of Imperious Destiny” gets off to an alarming start, horns cutting through psyches, the thrashy assault getting fully under way. Guitars gallop as the howls torch, the melodies sinking into your blood, tornadic chaos sweeping through everything. Splattering and blazing, the attack gets even more insane, blasting and devastating, melting back into the apocalyptic horns that greeted us at the outset.

Ascendency have been treating us to small drips and drops of their snarling concoction of death and black metal, more of that bubbling up on “A Manifest of Imperious Destiny.” With each step the band takes, their sound gets deadlier and sharper as they refine their darkness and let us micro dose on this morbid destruction. As we wait to see what these Danes can do with a full-length, we have this monstrous EP to keep us battered and unsettled.

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

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

Or here: https://mesacounojo.bandcamp.com/album/a-manifest-of-imperious-destiny

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

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