I was in a car accident before that was one of those examples of something hitting you before you even knew it was coming. Luckily, everyone was OK (with the exception of my torn retina that surfaced months later) but it made me skittish for a while when I was driving that at any point, I could be blindsided and not even realize it until I was in it.

Uh, that sounds like an unpleasant way to introduce “Chiaroscuro,” the new record from Iowa grindcore beasts Closet Witch, but taking on their music reminds me of that incident. In a good way, I promise. Over 13 tracks that typically hit you so hard and fast, you can’t even get your footing until the song ends and the next begins suddenly, it’s like being thrown for a loop you can’t hope to anticipate. It’s a breathless yet thrilling attack that the band—vocalist Mollie Piatetsky, guitarist Alex Crist, bassist Cory Peak, drummer Royce Kurth—mounts to overwhelm and shock systems. Joined by a slew of killer guests (we’ll get into those below), this record decimates you, leaving you writhing on the floor having never witnessed the runaway train that left you a mess on the pavement.

“Intro” opens amid noise and dramatic sounds, the pressure building and doom dropping, leading into the buzzsaw that is “Constantly Problematic” that’s a total sonic assault. “Trapping them in cages, festering, children,” Piatetsky howls, “but this is not what the blue sees, they think they better this place.” Fury grinds as shrieks maim, blasting into “Haunting” that’s absolutely on fire when it dawns. The playing pulverizes as the heat gets incredibly intense, ripping out in mashing horrors. “And Releasing” features Frankie Furillo of The Central, and it steamrolls on complete madness, massacring with a thrashy pace, Piatetsky wailing, “Now is the time to bloom and stop feeling like I’ll forever be swallowing this pill you snuck me.” “My Words Are Scared” has Dylan Walker of Full of Hell contributing, the playing totally ripping, the drums battering everything in their path, the ferocity coming on relentlessly with the sludge collecting at the end and choking arteries. “Infinite Imbalance” is the first of two tracks here to feature Stu Cline, formerly of Ice Hockey, and it explodes with mangling shrieks, fiery heat roaring from every crease. “Weight of the cups, burnt into the palm of one hand, like an imbalanced scale,” Piatetsky howls, the muddy fury increasing and leaving ample bruising behind.

“You, Me & My Venus in Decay” features Dan Lee of Wanderer, Lungs, and Northless, and it’s a crusher, monstrous howls buckling, a tempered pace eventually taking over, landing punches before exploding. Scathing destruction runs rampant, and the call of, “My goddess will unleash her wrath, her pain, who is she? Be honest, fall to her on your knees,” chewing into your ribs as the final surge burns away. “Arlington Cemetery” is unhinged, mauling terror knifing toward you, feeling thrashy and catchy, viciously bludgeoning as it stalks you. “Well Fed Machine” brings a lightning assault that’s completely unglued, mauling with precision, sharpening its teeth and sinking into muscles. “We Met on the Park Boundary Trail” has noise hanging in the air before the playing guts, shrieks slam down with force, the vocals corroding and melting flesh, spilling guts on the floor. “Funeral Flowers” is skull splitting, the sludge bubbling to the surface, pounding with menace as Piatetsky calls, “Longing and wishing to see your face, longing and wishing to hear my name, longing and wishing to see your face.” “To the Cauldron” has Cline returning, and it’s the longest track here at 4:07. The track opens and slaughters, the shrieks scrape as Piatetsky howls, “I’ve reached to her, my mother, my crone, I need the nurture, I crave the light, warmth and the knowledge, I need her to tell me I’ll be alright.” Sounds boil as a haze rises behind the chaos, hanging like a storm cloud, disappearing into eerie winds that briefly soothe from the scorching you just withstood. “Outro” is a final gasp that rolls in on charred guitars, industrial clashing, and a fuzzy swarm that disappears into a fog.

Closet Witch leave everything on the table on these 13 tracks that create a barnstorm of grindcore brain mangling that punishes you sonically and pushes you mentally and emotionally. “Chiaroscuro” surely balances the light and dark on this record, giving you a band that’s delivering its bleeding heart onto a cold slab in front of you, still pumping and gushing with energy. While this record might blast by in no time, it leaves an indelible mark deep within you as you confront the struggles in your own life and try to do your best to face the fire blasting toward you.

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

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

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

Writer and philosopher George Santayana once said, “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it,” and goddamn if we aren’t at the cusp of experiencing that very thing. We have more history and collections of events from our past to keep us informed, but people also seem to have a pigheaded nature to think repeating events don’t apply to them. They can’t possibly be wrong!

Boston-based doom/crust crushers Morne clearly have seen enough to stomach, and that’s all over their thunderous fifth record “Engraved With Pain.” The band—vocalist/guitarist Milosz Gassan, guitarist Paul Rajpal, bassist Morgan Coe, drummer Billy Knockenhauer—sees what most of us do, that being humanity being divided from one another, people falling for the flimsiest cons ever, and the refusal to look back not all that long ago to see things that have happened before. It doesn’t end well, which shouldn’t be a spoiler alert but apparently is for many people. Morne deliver four epic tracks over 41 minutes that batter and hopefully knock loose some cobwebs because we’re not so far gone that there can’t be a recovery, but it’s getting perilously close to irreversible.

The title track is the 10:42 opener, and like much of this record, it kind of treads water, but heavily as hell. That pace might be a bother to a listener who needs dynamic twists and turns; this might not be your record. It didn’t bother me at all. The doomy burn spreads as guitars glide, and the moodiness extends to Gassan’s gruff howls, the playing turning scarring and vicious. The wails get raspier as the pace sludges, battering over and over, the guitars catching fire late and angling into sparks and wooshing keys that lead into “Memories Like Stone” that runs a healthy 10:48 and chugs flesh into ground meat. Scathing howls blast and lead deeper into the murk, your head swimming in chaos as Gassan wails, “Silence calls my name!” The playing weighs down as it drills, the sounds hang in a heat storm, the darkness envelops and turns into ferocious bends. The drums pummel as the guitars heat up again, lathering and steaming, disappearing into a wall of humidity.

“Wretched Empire” is the shortest cut here at as paltry 7:45, and synth charges take hold, moving into thick, chunky punishment, throaty howls dropping hammers on your already struggling muscle structure. The playing is bruising and mean, guitars blaze and send lightning bolts through cloudy carnage, a clubbing assault that weighs down and puts extra stress on your lungs. The heat continues to rise as the synth thickens, sounds bend, and things end in a hypnotic ambiance. Closer “Fire and Dust” is the longest piece, going 11:40 and eating into darkness, gritty howls clobbering as the calculated pace picks up steam. Guitars engulf and amplify the thick winds, charring the ground beneath, picking up the pace and smothering. The playing builds as the energy hits its highest level, adding fuel liberally, bringing everything to its end point amid glorious power that slowly fades.

We’re at a saturation point of people forgetting history, and there’s no secret as to why government officials want to ban certain books because it exposes what these people are doing to us in the present. Morne’s power and ferocity run like a machine boring into the earth, exposing that idea and using their hammering approach to make an intellectual dent into the minds of the misled. Maybe one record won’t change everything, but we need more pieces like these to wake us the fuck up and make us realize the incredibly dangerous slope on which we’re dangling.

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

To buy the album, go here: https://www.metalblade.com/morne/

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

Everyday existence feels like it has reached a breaking point where we must make some serious decisions about what the future might look like, and basic freedoms are at stake. This has swept over us the last few years as fascism is on a rise globally, marginalized people continue to struggle as one side of the fight looks on gleefully, and legislation against LGBTQIA+ folks has become frightfully common.

Naturally, art has been fast to respond to such realities, and metallic duo Ragana has not been shy on fighting back against injustice through their music. Their latest is “Desolation’s Flower,” and it’s an emotional, heartbreaking, infuriated, and empathetic record that’s thunderous both musically and philosophically. The band’s members Maria (she/her) and Coley (they/them) have a unique approach to the band as they trade off instruments and vocals, with neither having a concrete role. That makes the collection here very diverse, which anyone following them over their other full-lengths and smaller releases know well, and they deliver one of the most important records for the social justice movement with the incredible collection. You can feel every note in your chest, the ache in your heart, the tire from struggle just to realize basic freedoms and benefits in order to live a comfortable, healthy life. If you’re not already enraged and inspired to fight, this album should push you over the line.

The title track opens the record in dark dreariness, a doomy crawl striking as Coley’s shrieks wrench, the drumming coming unglued. Burly, wild howls drive you back, Coley wailing, “Holy are their names who found desolation’s flower, unending holy bloom that cannot be denied, we hold eternity, they cannot make us die.” The playing encircles as things start to settle, screams crash, and Coley repeats her howl of, “Holy are the names,” paying homage to queer and trans people who paved the way through pain and death so life can be a little easier for those who followed. “Woe” brings a doomy buzz, Maria’s reflective calls digging into you as she sings, “I am a mountain, with winds that blow colder and colder.” Shrieks then rip and buzz, drubbing as sounds swarm, slowly melting as the acidic power eats away at your mind. Desperate howls ring out in your ears, numbing before bleeding away. “Ruins” is cold and drizzling, making it feel like a late autumn downpour, your bones shivering in your shell. Sounds swirl as clean guitars lean in darkly, trickling and entrancing, the eruption taking you from out of nowhere. “Morning star sings to the sun, ‘I long for thee,’” that sentiment repeating and digging into you, vicious howls striking and bruising as the body turns to dust.

“DTA” brings quieter guitars and singing that aims to pierce your heart, Maria calling, “I am a mystery, even to myself, I look in the mirror, see someone else.” The power lathers, and suddenly mixed in, you hear sounds of rioting in Oakland, that whole sequence feeling like a permanent and needed ripple in our lives. “Death to America and everything you’ve done, I can’t feel anything, I am numb,” Maria repeats, each time feeling more resolute in her declaration, ending in anguish and pained distortion. Incredible song. “Winter’s Light, Pt. 2” is the next installment of a series that began on 2017’s “You Take Nothing,” and it starts gently and delicately before blistering hell arrives, anguished howls strangling, the guitars bristling alongside it all. “When the tide’s coming in, I am empty and wild, I would run to your side, in winter’s light,” Coley calls, the guitars swelling with the heartache, lighter bashing registering with a strange kind of force. Solemn doom continues to weigh down, sorrow melts, and sound blooms as Coley concludes, “There is no return to a place before pain, may we find shelter in what remains.” “Pain” brings hearty, emotional guitars and a sense of early ’90s college rock, back when that was a thing. “I want to stay and be with you, I’m dying to know what it feels like,” Maria strikes, that last portion of that statement repeated later. Things feel overcast yet spirited, a grungy haze turns inside your heart and mind, and the final moments disappear into mystery. Closer “In the Light of the Burning World” is quieter with hushed singing, dripping slowly even amid distortion. “Autumn blew in like a spell, roots sleeping while rain fell, formless warmth enveloping, lonely but in love with everything,” Coley calls as the song develops and grows thornier, the shrieks picking up and spitting energy. The playing slowly falls back to earth, sounds quiver, and the remnants of power crash out in waves.

You can live a lifetime of emotion, anguish, pain, and resolution on “Desolation’s Flower” as the two members of Ragana pour all they have in their guts into these seven songs. Everything from violent rage to expressing honor for those who inspired them to continue to battle for social justice are a part of this record, and every second of this is impactful and heavy both sonically and psychologically. This is a beautiful, storming, heartfelt record that is impossible to shake, as these songs will live in your brain, their messages informing every move you make as you navigate an unforgiving world.   

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

To buy the album, go here: https://nowflensing.com/collections/ragana

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

It’s easy to get caught in self-destructive patterns when our worst inhibitions get the best of us or when we’re just so deep into the doldrums that it’s hard to pull back out again. It’s a cycle that easily can claim a person, relegating one to a life where catching up and trying to survive can feel like too much, where going off the deep end can seem the easier option. Fighting back takes a lot of strength and support.

That brings us to “Incendium,” the thunderous second record from Philly’s Witching and one that sheds those harmful ways and tries to fight for a better future. The title is a Latin term for fire, heat, and passion, and the music and the words penned by vocalist Jacqui Powell look back on a life that was on the path to mental and physical self-destruction and aims to set that past ablaze in an effort to carve a brighter, healthier future. You can hear that in these devastating seven tracks as the band—it is rounded out by guitarist/vocalist Nate Zagrimanis, guitarist Hazel Whitman, bassist Tatiana Buonassisi, drummer Samantha Hyle (though on the record Lev Ziskind plays second guitar and Miles Ziskind plays drums)—operates on a path to destruction that is turned inward so that the demons can die in their own fires. There’s a noticeable uptick in black metal tendencies on this album, but their penchant for doom certainly is front and present, Powell sounding like an even greater and stronger force than before.

“Last You, Fell From Divinity” drips in cleanly, teasing tranquility, before the center point explodes, shrieks raining down and tearing limbs from bodies. The playing is storming and vile, the pace twisting and contorting, delivering black metal-style energy that seeks to maim. “What do you want with me, I beg you to never torment me,” Powell howls as the chaos picks up, storming and burning out suddenly.  “From Beneath” trudges as the noise glows, thick doom collecting as the singing bellows. The playing slowly batters before going cold, letting the drizzle chill your entire body, calls aching in the distance. The playing then punches harder, darkness surrounds, and fierce shrieks dig back into wounds, only to leave salt behind. The title track dawns amid a great riff, snarling shrieks, and aggression that takes you to the ground. “The inside out, I can feel this beckoning me, do what you want,” Powell wails as the guitars crush, getting fiery and brutal, snapping with hellish energy, melodies crashing down as the intensity strangles and fades in glowing embers.

“A Grave Mistake” opens splattering before Powell angles into cleaner singing, hitting you right in the gut. The force turns blistering and exciting, whispers circling through the air, increasing the mystical feel that is stretched by thorns. Gritty howls blast as the playing speeds up noticeably, ending in a manic surge. “Prowling Oblivion” begins serenely, letting prettier sounds and patterns have their turn, but it’s temporary. The guitars heat up, and we’re face to face with the storm, the melodies blackening and warping, making your adventure even bumpier as Powell cries, “Madness consumes, and I know they are watching.” The violent fury continues from there, burying your face in soot. “Damnation” enters in a fog, the playing more vulnerable as the pain drips from every crevice. Powell’s singing is smokier, mixing clean calls with gritty growls. The bass buzzes as the song slowly builds, a doomy burst taking you down, melodies soaring as the shrieks penetrate. “My love rips throats to escape evil hands, shy and as weak as a lamb, you were my friend, we shoved them down into the ground,” Powell strikes, the darkness pounding away, melting and overwhelming, slowly disappearing into the ground. Closer “So Young, So Useless” rampages with smoke and a channeled chaos, the savagery stabbing hard, black metal ore coating and consuming bodies. “God knows why you’re no friend of mine, look what you brought, the fire, why oh why, look what you’ve done,” Powell howls desperately as a doomy pall hangs over everything, the playing rumbling in your belly, the pain and scorn evident as the devastation bleeds.

“Incendium” lays waste to the past, to unhealthy patterns, to the people we once were, and in its place ate strength and new life that only is achievable through ashes. All of that is evident when experiencing Witching in their current form, a band that plies so many different metallic layers of expression that you’re spent once the record ends. This is a huge step forward from their admittedly killer debut record, where we encounter a band that sees itself clearer, has a defined path, and will spill blood in order to get where they need to go.

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

To buy the album, go here: https://translationloss.com/collections/witching-incendium

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

We live in very strange times, and I say that for two reasons. First, and likely worst of all, we’re stripping this planet bare, and we’re isn’t a fair word here. People with power and obscene amounts of money are doing this because they don’t give a fuuuuuuuuuuck about the people who follow them into this world. Second, we still want to staple artists into a corner and make them acquiesce to our every whim.

Not a ton we can do about the people stripping our planet to the bone, but if there is an actual hell for some reason, I hope there’s a torture tank where we can see these people burn. Artists such as Forest Bohrer, the sole creator behind Adzes, doesn’t seem like one who wants to be confined to a box, and the project’s excellent second record “Inver” sounds like he obviously and passionately care about what happens to this place. You can see and hear that in this record. But the other thing that’s notable is the expansion of sound, the willingness to go wherever to capture the spirit of what Bohrer has to say. A lot of this record sounds like a love letter to 1992 through 1995 grunge, which always will hit home with me. The other parts are gruesome, death and black metal pressure points, and it all feels so genuine, you can’t help but go along for the journey.

“Eroding Tides” trudges open, muddy and certain, the growls scraping away amid a fluid push that keeps your brain engaged. Things get chunkier and punchier, though that’s followed by dreamier sections, but the rage isn’t far behind. Growls crunch as Bohrer wails, “No time to alter course, and no hope to steer, hold to what you can,” as sobering a warning as you’re bound to find. “Strange Warmth of Decay” changes gears a bit musically, giving off a classic Alice in Chains vibe in areas, going melodic and grungy in a way that activates nostalgia. The power gushes as the path gets darker, guitars numb as the singing flows steadily, fuzzy energy collecting as the sturdy bass drives us home. “Abyss Watchers” starts gently, but then the growls emerge and flood everything in shadow, stretching a long, cloudy haze. “Every night, horrors unfold, horrors untold, deaths in their millions,” Bohrer howls, recounting events that aren’t exactly fiction. The carnage ramps up as the guitars release an exhaust, speaking crawls over numbing guitars, and the howls retch. The atmosphere increases, gushing and chilling, the bass clubbing as sounds hang in the air. “Rainhammer” brings edgy, driving riffs, the guitars later turning into a tingling gaze, the bass clubbing. The playing turns progressive, the leads encircling, Bohrer calling, “The night broods along with me, a fear for the future, or a fear of it,” the line cutting a tributary from your brain to your heart as melodic heat leaves a film on your face.

“Antipode” opens with chugging bass and airy melodies, the playing trudging through mud, things getting thicker and harder to traverse as the song develops. Winds enrich the surroundings, while the lower ends remain thick and filthy, the growls rushing as the sludge rises to the surface, fading into hypnosis. The title track slowly drips, a synth sheen adding dream-like pressure, and then things get grimier. The words are minimal, but the punishment isn’t as the growls lurch, and a stirring, storming wrinkle lets your mind flood with possibilities, that flow of imagination making your heart rush.    “Capitaleschaton” is fuzzy and harsh, numbing at some turns, shrieks rumbling. “As the world is warped, our bones distort, yet our joys are no less for relativistic bonds,” Bohrer wails, as the playing fills with penetrating winds, icing with synth storming. The track continues to plod, sinking into your pressure points as everything faces into a halo of sound. Closer “Quietus” chimes and reverberates as piano notes drip, paving the way for moody singing. Howls break out and aggravate wounds that have not yet congealed, working with a pace that stomps but with the pressure not turned up as high. “Tides that once teemed rich with life empty as the tar expands, a blackened quietude, silencing these bleeding lands,” Bohrer calls, again lamenting a world probably scarred beyond repair. The playing then begins to settle, lapping waves crash, and Bohrer leaves us with a question worth considering and perhaps letting eat into our psyches: “Have we surrendered?”

Adzes’ form is ever changing like it does on “Inver,” a record that finds Bohrer changing along with the music, building his own streams into a greater natural power. There is concern for the path we’re on as humans, the condition our home is in because of our actions, and the torment we feel inside and where that can take us. It’s a record rich with message and music, an album from an artist whose influences are blending nicely into the overall DNA, making us wonder how future Adzes pieces will sound.

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

To buy the album, go here: https://adzes.bandcamp.com/album/inver

Or here: https://euphoriadic.bandcamp.com/album/inver

Or here: https://philipkdiscs.bandcamp.com/album/inver

The city is a death trap, and no matter where you go, what street you walk down, your anxiety creeps to the surface because you have no idea who or what is lurking around the bend. It feels post-apocalyptic, or it can at times even though you know that’s not really the case. But the heat, the violence, the crime, the death, it’s everywhere, and it’s enough to cost you your sanity.

My trips to NYC have been fairly uneventful, and I felt nothing but safe, but I wasn’t lurking where the members of Gravesend call home. Their incredibly violent second record “Gowanus Death Stomp,” the title inspired by a neighborhood in Brooklyn from which the band took sick inspiration, is a 16-track affair that piles death and black metal into a war-driven cauldron that aims to boil you alive. The band—vocalist/guitarist/synth player A, bassist/vocalist/synth player S, drummer G—leaves no infected stone unturned, heads down dank streets and dangerous alleys, and brings you a smoke-filled explosion that coats your lungs and pounds you into submission but still refuses to let up even a bit over 36 minutes.

“Deranged” is a buzzing intro that sounds like everything is surfacing streetside, heading into “11414” that starts sooty, heavy, and dirty. The track rips apart as the growl brawl wildly, the playing thrashing and gutting to the finish. “Even a Worm Will Turn” mangles with black fury, the track acting like a buzzsaw hungry for asphalt, the pace obliterating and windmilling forcefully into “Festering in Squalor” that boils over before maiming. There’s a monstrous burst and then blood, howls rattling as a relentless tempo takes over, destroying and stampeding to the finish. “Code of Silence” brings snarling blasts and infernal howls, the punchy assault going for broke, throwing haymakers and adding enough pressure to pop out your eyes. The title track smashes with bashing riffs and a bruising approach, the howls feeling like they’re peeling concrete off of buildings. Molten and thrashing, the vile heat makes it come off like a stinking summer you can taste. “Streets of Destitution” brings chugging guitars and total carnage trailing it. Sludgy tones mix with your blood as the bass drives hard, deep growling feeling like it’s choking you out. “Make (One’s) Bones” drives in and explodes, insanity tearing apart everything mentally and physically. The heaviness really weighs on you to near blackout state, leaving everything in dust.

“Crown of Tar” is aptly titled as that is what it feels like is dripping down your head as noises waft, voices warble, and guts are removed suddenly. The drums totally destroy as doomy guitars mar the sky, scathing howls helping usher in a brutal end. “Thirty Caliber Pesticide” is a complete assault, the playing rattling your skeletal structure, the raspy howls mixing with glimmering guitars for a strange sheen. “The Third Rail” unleashes an ultra-thick bassline, the guitars slathering and slashing, the battering turning into a calculated assault as it festers. “Mortsafe (Resurrection Men)” bursts with uncontrollable chaos and vicious howls that aim to disconnect your head from your neck. Drums splatter as the vile intentions solidify, moving into “Lupara Bianca” that is no less nightmarish. Unhinged howls decimate as the guitars blaze with glory, feeling like the oppressive heat from a basement furnace. Things only get more desperate from there, the power of this track ripping your flesh from your chest. “Carried By Six” is there and gone before you know it, growls corroding, guitars plastering, the humidity and speed making for twisted bedfellows. “Vermin Victory” is heated and thrashy, beastly growls flattening everything it confronts. Guitars then simmer in darkness, the release feeling like exhaust ripping into the fresh air, leaving you hacking and writhing. The closing “Enraged” is a strange, siren-like piece that puts a disgusting bow on the package complete with insect swarm buzz and burning oil.

While you might feel like you’re stuck on the disease-ridden, bloodied city streets when taking on “Gowanus Death Stomp,” you’re lucky it’s just how the music feels and not your reality. Gravesend’s poisonous mix of black and death metal sounds like total war against the world, fought from the grimiest place on earth. The fight will have no rules, it’ll be a painful and harrowing journey, and you’ll end up gasping fumes and feeling the rot in the center of your heart.

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

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

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

Exposure therapy is a way to confront the things that weigh down on you, experience them, and learn to exist alongside of them in order to conquer your fears. It’s something I’ve done battling anxiety and panic disorder, and while going through these trials can provide healing on the other end, actually participating in said activities can eat away at your psyche as you try to survive.

Marthe is the solo black metal project from artist Marzia, who before this effort was active in the anachro punk and riot grrrl scenes, creating music that aligned with her politics. Marthe is something altogether different, and the band’s debut full-length “Further in Evil” is her sort of exposure therapy, sinking into darkness so she can get stronger and create a sort of armor from these things. The result is a storming six-track display that feels like it burns a torch for early 1990s black metal but also has some folk strains and glimmers of her work elsewhere. It’s a thrilling record, once that got me from the first listen as you can hear Marzi’s heart and soul stretched over this music, her passion something you easily can get lost inside of as you battle whatever ails you to develop a harder outer shell.

“I Ride Alone” is the 11:14-long opener, and it’s a hell of a journey, guitars dripping like tar, the drums pacing, then everything engulfed and roaring with life, Marzia’s howls scarring with dangerous heat. Synth beds send a chill as the vocals go into primitive black metal territory, which is a rush and a thrill. The playing then goes cold, numbing your nerve endings, going into mystical winds as the shrieks rip out and dominate. The guitars wash over you, the pace ticks up noticeably, and the final moments are thrashy and fierce. “Dead to You” starts eerily before the drums kick in and loosen teeth, swallowing you whole with grisly intent. The howls are raw and direct, Marzia repeating, “Dead to you!” like she’s forcing that admission into your brain. The song turns spacious and dark, Marzia’s haunting clean wails making your body shiver, vicious snarling eating away like acid. The title track starts woodsy, with an Undertaker-like death chime ringing in your ears. The riffs deliver punishment, her howls make bones rattle, and the thrashy playing punches buttons you didn’t know you had. Cleaner calls work you into a hypnotic submission, and then the burliness returns, slashing and dashing, ending channeled and violent.

“Victimized” runs 9:12, slowly building its force, chugging and bruising, launching an electrifying riff that storms shores. The playing is pulverizing, threatening with evil and terror, the howls smashing down on you. As things go on, the storm clouds get more intimidating as her growls maul, clean calls soar and join the atmosphere, bringing new colors and a sense of boldness. The fires suddenly are overfed and scorch your flesh, making things moltenly uncomfortable, and then drums march and doom drops, ushering in a funereal ending. “To Ruined Altars…” has the singing swirling, dark and dreary guitars adding to the fog, and then the melodies launching into surreal chaos. The playing trudges as the guitars work to dizzy you, a spooky ambiance strikes fear in your heart, and the singing stings, paving the way for shrieks reopening wounds, ending in a pall that reminds of black metal’s second wave. Siouxsie and the Banshees cover “Sin In My Heart” is the closer, and it’s a heater, hovering as keys drip, Marzia singing the title repeatedly in order to hammer home her point. The smoke increases and chokes just as the playing gets oddly playful, the keys put you in a trance, and the final sounds are buried in your amygdala.

“Further in Evil” is both a battle cry and a place for generating strength after a period of loss and pain that requires a response if we hope to survive. Marzia’s journey under the Marthe banner is a profound one that feels transferred from black metal’s heyday to the present, where the subgenre needs fresh voices with raw, scathing intent. This is a thrilling, hammering album, one that can ignite the spirit in your heart and also harden you so that nothing can harm you ever again.

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

To buy the album, go here: https://southernlord.com/band/marthe/

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

My brain does weird things when it encounters strange and stirring sounds, meaning that sometimes it nears panic mode because I’m not quite sure how to feel comfortable taking on what I’m hearing. That’s kept some types of music at arm’s length just because the processing takes a little longer, and my amygdala lets me know when that time has arrived, if that time arrives.

Everything on “The Path Narrows,” the fourth record from progressive death metal explorers Baring Teeth, should fall into that category. Their style is brutally progressive, so much so that making sense of what you’re hearing often takes more than one visit. Yet their music always has clicked with me more than it really should and what the band—bassist/vocalist Scott Addison, guitarist/vocalist Andrew Hawkins, drummer Jason Roe—commits to permanence over these eight tracks is thrilling and violent simultaneously. This isn’t nerdy noodling for the sake of displaying chops. The trio is plenty capable, and their musicianship is stunning, but their songs never get lost in technique and always feel volcanic and creative, making their records enthralling affairs.

“The Gate” is a strange, roaring intro track that feels surreal and strange, leading into “Obsolescence” that’s immediately tricky and twists your brain into a pretzel. Aggressive bursts shoot from every angle, slamming you through a stomach-jerking journey that’s turbulent and crushing. Bendy fire, ferocious growls, and angling heat make it nearly impossible to catch your breath. “Culled” sparks a strange fire, and the playing races over ground, flies through the air, and takes your anxiety on a trip. The bass plods as the harshness challenges, bringing on full aggression, a bruising tempo, and a slashing assault that turns your flesh into ribbons. “Rote Mimesis” is hypnotic and harsh, the growls tearing into bone, the guitars adding an airiness that has clouds lowering to the surface. The roars penetrate, crazed and cosmic guitars do a number on your brain, the gasps leaving you dizzy and destroyed.

“Liminal Rite” lets sounds waft, adding calming and spacey vibes, tearing apart everything in its path. Roars crush as numbing aggression tears into muscle, harsh bluntness feels like a stiff jab to the gut, and everything fades into weirdness. “Wreath” explodes with manic power, bringing heavy crunch that mixes with sonic zaps that rattle your spine. Fast and molten runs stretch your mind but also pulverize you, a  mystical force erupts, and that tears through psychosis, punishing without apology, the bass blackening eyes. “Cadaver Synod” has raw roars and a twisting tempo, scorching with emotion and muscular dexterity. The playing eventually slows and simmers, the exhaust coats your lungs, and the pressure mounts, the sounds disappearing into the sky. Closer “Terminus” runs 11:01 and immediately launches into the cosmos, the force freezing as alien winds terminally chill your cells. Synth wafts as the growls roar, the playing getting rubbery, the drums pacing as the heat hangs ominously. The tensions begins to loosen just a bit, letting the boil turn to a simmer, the starry glaze drizzling and turning off your mind.

Baring Teeth’s power and energy remain unquestioned, and their tenacity is as muscular as ever on “The Path Narrows.” Their brand of progressive death metal always was more exciting and stomach filling than most, but they manage to surpass their earlier works on this album, hinting the bar for their possibilities might be so high, mere mortals can’t even see it. This is another impressive building block to whatever weird structure they’re building, and it’s a fucking blast to behold every time you take this neck-jerking journey alongside them.

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

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

Or here (Europe): https://metalodyssey.8merch.com/

For more on the label, go here: http://i-voidhanger.com/

I don’t understand how everyone in existence doesn’t wake up every morning just screaming and screaming over … everything. Fuck. This is a hellscape almost constantly, social media should have been an amazing advancement for humanity and it’s a sewer, and fascism is back? Really? In 2023? Goes to show we’re not super good at learning from history.

“White Hart!” (exclamation point on purpose) sounds like the general reaction to the earth as it is now, and Slidhr pack 45 minutes into eight tracks of anger and ferocity trying to deal with this reality that we’ve been dealt. The band has been around closing on two decades, and they’ve always been savage, but never like they are on this record. The amount of disgust and bile is evident right away, but so is the black metal mastery they jam into this mammoth of an album. The band—vocalist/guitarist Joseph Deegan, bassist/vocalist Stefan Dietz, drummer Bjarni Einarsson—claims Irish and Icelandic roots, but their hearts are in the depths of hell, exacting revenge on who put us here and creating music that is a battle ax designed to go through the antagonists’ hearts.

“The Temple Armoury” opens strangely, almost like a warped sea chanty as they sing, “They poison the spirits, they poison the sea,” and as that swims through your head, they unload with doomy fury that scars, ripping as the howls smother. Black metal heat gets rolling as crushing, melodic waves crash down hard, almost as if it has insulting intent. The playing splatters as the guitars sweep, fiery, smearing chaos rides, and the drums maul as noise stabs. The title track flattens and drubs, mangling as explosive terror works toward you, the guitars leaving burn marks. The heat continues to build as the catchiness envelopes, ripping out into time. “Sacred Defiance” brings dark growls and a menacing delivery, slashing with rusted knives, maniacal intensity making your struggle even more defined. The guitars bleed as the cries encircle, even going toward gothy, chilly winds, exploding anew and slaying to the end. “Trench Offering” is foggy and confounding, igniting an anger that storms through your system, the growls scarring your psyche. Heaviness presses as the playing grows delirious, going into a molten fury that squeezes your bowels until everything fades.

“What the Gauntlet Bestows” gives off a strange aura, smearing your senses, the growls crushing wills and stomping bones. That violence turns into a hypnotic stretch, messily spreading colors and energies, making you feel like you’re not good on your feet, and then they meet you with thrashy devastation. Clean calls below, acoustic strains rain down, and you’re pinched into a psychotic break. “The Bloodied Tongue”  delivers mashing guitars and gruff growls, the leads glimmering and making you see stars. Mystical strangeness spreads and gets inside your head, and the howls wrench, adding pain to your pleasure, crunching to the very end. “Wall of the Reptile” has noise trailing and riffs blasting, and then everything explodes as the drumming spits nails. The growls dig under your fingernails as a warped heat tightens its grip, warping and mystifying. The intensity spikes as the playing pummels, torching to a blistering end. “Hate’s Noose Tightens” closes things, and a great riff slices down the middle, the singing feeling like it’s coming straight from the gut. Chugging and mashing does ample damage, and the guitars launch an assault you’re never going to stop, dark folds drilling, desperate wails calling out into the stars, the attack finally bleeding toward oblivion.

Slidhr have a bloody agenda on “White Hart!” a record that’s flowing generously with hatred and contempt for what’s becoming an inhospitable world that grows sicker by the day. This bloodletting likely is as close as this band, and you as a listener, can come to a sense of catharsis, even if that’s through fire. Over eight songs, you can visit with your unhealthiest thoughts, your disgust with the world, and let this hellacious beast become part of your healing or at least your ability to tolerate constant bullshit.  

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

To buy the album (North America), go here: https://debemurmorti.aisamerch.com/

Or here (Europe): https://www.debemur-morti.com/en/12-eshop

For more on the label, go here: https://www.debemur-morti.com/en/

I can’t imagine how my anxiety-riddled brain would react if I saw a being from another planet, especially if said life form is different from our human husks. It’s something that’s not impossible, but in reality, it would likely make my brain stop functioning at least momentarily. To look at something so awe-inspiring but potentially terrifying would be an experience that would change me forever.

That’s not what “A Dialogue With the Eeriest Sublime” is about, but its examination of things and/or experiences that are equal parts exhilarating and fear-inducing did make me think of what an alien encounter might be like, provided I survive. Vertebra Atlantis’ second record, a seven-track, 45-minute adventure through mind-altering death and black metal itself is something to behold, a journey that can enthrall but also bring you to your knees with horror. The band—vocalist/drummer RR, guitarist/synth player/vocalist GG (also is Cosmic Putrefaction), guitarist GS—push you to your absolute mental limits, piling on layers of carnage and mental insanity, and it sometimes is a lot to take. But it’s always worth the excursion, and it’s a pretty exciting record that challenges your mind to accept all kinds of metallic possibilities. The band also is joined by guest vocalists Giorgio Trombino (Assumption, Bottomless, etc.) and Daniela Ferrari Boschi on the title track to give that even more life.

“Into Cerulean Blood I Bathe” opens in a synth sheen, a dramatic voice booming and warbling, the breezy weirdness bathing in moonlight. The thrust then strikes, a strange prog death assault ripples, and creaky growls work on your nerve endings and sizzle into ash. “Frostpalace Gloaming Respite” explodes with vile howls, punchy verses, and hypnotic energy that digs deep into your brain. The leads take off and explore, meanwhile the growls carve tributaries toward your dreams, mystical strangeness launches and turns your visions into warped spectacles, and the cleanliness that interjects spreads through time. Detached calls chill, and then a final jolt rushes through before turning to ice. “Drown In Aether, Sovereign of Withered Ardor” arrives amid a deluge of sound, vicious growls digging into flesh, the playing shifting and exciting. A burliness enters and increases dangerously, feeling like your skull is being dragged across dimensions, breezy synth flooding and bringing everything to a massive end.

“Cupio Dissolvi” drips icily, the transmission worming its way to the surface, a progressive voyage finding its steam. The track keeps morphing, changing personalities, the instrumental piece bleeding into the stars. “In Starlike Ancient Eyes” unloads burly growls and a heaviness that has extra elements of dreaminess, whispery jolts making your sanity bolt. As your brain tingles, you’re confronted by grisly turns, shrieks that rewire your impulses, and a grime that’s thick and gritty, ending in mesmerizing fashion. “Desperately Ablaze, From the Lowest Lair” is hazy at the start, a long introduction smearing, the guitars churning as the shrieks mangle. Guitars blend and combine with the monstrous vocals, smoldering and presenting inventive carnage that makes your blood race. Things feel both gutting and slathering, woodwinds slip in and increase the possibilities of your imagination, and added synth layers bring on a fantastical surge. The closing title track starts softer, feeling almost cleansing, vocal harmonies adding a sense of noir, gently letting your bruised body find soothing. A long sequence creates a prog transfusion, Trombino’s and Boschi’s calls hover, and like a dream ending, it’s over in a flash, cortisol jarring your eyes awake.

Vertebra Atlantis are perfectly heavy and savage, giving you that serving of death and black metal you crave, but there’s so much more on “A Dialogue With the Eeriest Sublime” that goes far and beyond your expectations. There’s something both exciting and foreboding travelling through these songs, a sense that things are not what they seem, and there are equally thrilling and terrifying possibilities in that. This is an album that you don’t put on to tune out; it’s something  that requires full engagement and will reward with an adventure through your mind you won’t soon shake.

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

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

Or here (Europe): https://metalodyssey.8merch.com/

For more on the label, go here: http://i-voidhanger.com/