The daylight is beginning to disappear earlier and earlier each day after summer breathed its last, and we start to move into the colder months. It can be a trying time for some people as seasonal depression begins to creep into the room, but for others, it’s a chance to retreat inward, bask in warmth, and enjoy the theater of nature. It’s also a time for the stories to get darker and creep into our fragile psyches.

Almost as if purposely created for these days, Rebecca Vernon’s new solo project The Keening arrives with debut offering “Little Bird,” a six-track record that will feel perfect amid oranges, yellows, and browns, as well as cold rains that chill the bones. Rising from the dissolution of SubRosa, Rebecca Vernon goes in a slightly different direction, dressing the music with dark folk flourishes and American Gothic bones. These are dark tracks for trying times, enhanced by Vernon’s incredible lyrical content that takes you through stories about unsatiable wolves, witnessing a murder and being hunted by the suspect, and, of course, the fall, whose days are finally upon us. The music won’t sound or feel foreign to anyone who swore by SubRosa, but the waters are murkier, the sounds stripped back and nakedly vulnerable. Vernon worked with legendary producer Billy Anderson as well as Witch Mountain drummer Nathan Carson to bring this record to life, bringing in session musicians from the Portland, Ore., area (including Andrea Morgan of black metal/doom power Exulansis) to round out these amazing creations.   

“Autumn” opens in acoustics with strings swelling, Vernon calling, “Every face that I see reminds me I’m just passing through,” as sober an admission as anything. The darkness keeps moving, even amid cooler breezes signaling the changing of seasons, the ache living in the guitars, her voice, everything, resting finally in the shadows. “Eden” soaks in organs, rainy strings, and a woodsy ambiance, the pace and volume growing, the singing coming along with it. The playing rushes with a deluge, the emotion dividing like cells, the passion coming on heavily as Vernon sings, “Eden is receding faster than the hope of new dawns rising.” Everything gently bleeds as the playing chimes, resting on the cold forest floor. The title track has keys trembling and the elements slowly building, Vernon’s voice beginning vulnerably as it gains its momentum. “The only sin that counts is when you betray yourself, when you rip off your own wing,” she offers, following that up with the warning, “Remember, a bloodthirsty wolf is never satisfied.” The song then sweeps even darker, folding in as blood rushes through the heart, the playing settling into the fog, the keys trickling off like tributaries from an ice block.

“The Hunter I” trickles in, Vernon revealing, “I saw you murdering that girl in the forest glen at night, you looked up and glimpsed my face, dappled in the cold moonlight,” increasing your breathing, making your chest heavy. The winds chill your sweaty flesh, strings activate, and the race is on, guitars drizzling, the melodies glazing and thickening. “He hunted me well, he hunted me fine, he hunted me till I lost my mind,” Vernon calls, as the playing rounds back and shocks the system, melting into “The Hunter II” that begins steely and soft. Acoustics scrape, and Vernon prods her pursuer, “I just have one question–Are you in love with me?” There’s a reason for that question, which she follows with, “Because only lovers are so intimate in their destruction, only lovers are so intimate in their complete possession.” Electrics kick in, setting up maybe the closest section here to classic SubRosa as she taunts, “I can’t wait until I die so I won’t see you again,” repeating until everything turns into oblivion. Closer “The Truth” runs 17:30 and is one of the most gripping pieces Vernon ever created. Starting cold and inky, guitars gather energy, and Vernon tells awful tales of a family threatened by mobs, a woman murdered by her heartless husband, and people seeking heights that, once they reach it, don’t give off satisfaction, her always asking if truth set them free. The playing settles into a psyche wash as Vernon reveals the identity and reality of truth, pushing doomy waters, adding depth and emotion to each twist. Perhaps the most sobering is when Vernon calls, “The truth is like a fire in the night, a beautiful treasure with a terrible price,” as the sounds begin to settle and eventually succumb, only for the strains of harps and chirps to return from the grave to give the record a proper sendoff.

Vernon’s music remains incredibly strong with the dawn of The Keening, a project that came with so much promise because of her involvement and manages to surpass every expectation that came packed with this arrival. “Little Bird” is a record that grows with each listen, continually revealing more, never shying away from discomfort and thick darkness that might prove harrowing to those who encounter this music. This is an incredible first chapter, a rich gift from a special creator whose ability to pull you into stories and reality never has been stronger and is further enhanced by this darker, softer approach.

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

To buy the album, go here: https://www.relapse.com/pages/the-keening-little-Bird

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

Social media is one of humankind’s worst inventions, a pox on humanity that should be dissolved in acid, never to be seen again. While, yes, people are able to find friends, fuck partners, lovers, and like-minded individuals, it’s been used against us just as much, if not more. We’ve seen fascism rise and be championed by people who have no idea they’d be under the boot, as well as heart emojis splashed on posts that basically are love letters to capitalism.

“Atrocity Machine,” the fourth full-length from Body Void, isn’t so much consumed with social media as it is our society that is crumbling under the weight of severe financial inequality, cops murdering people with little to no consequences, and the sloppiest grifter of all time creating a rabid fanbase through his multiple crimes and treason. If you’re paying attention and not absolutely fucking sick, chances are you’re part of the problem. Body Void’s noise-drenched doom and sludge always has been monstrously heavy, ridiculously so, and this time around the band—vocalist/guitarist/bassist/synth player Willow Ryan, electronic wizard/sampler/live bassist Janys-Iren Faughn, drummer Edward Holgerson—adds layers that feel ripped from deep in the cosmos to enhance their spite and rage.

“Microwave” opens in a cosmic void, buzzing over your head and mixing into your brain, letting the strangeness bleed into “Human Greenhouse” that explodes with alien melodies and strange riffs that wreck your bones. Shrieks hammer as a hypnotic fury barrels over you, the playing going off and battering, mashing with intense heat that melts faces. The screams rip as the playing drubs, the screams continuing to eat into your psyche, swirling and howling into oblivion. “Flesh Market” is awash in grime, the blistering intensity igniting and making breathing a near impossibility, scorching with a deep space heat ray. “Fair wage, every piece is for sale, what organ is worth trading for food?” Ryan wails. The playing pounds slowly but surely, howls ripping into your guts and pulling out the contents mercilessly, punishing you with continual pressure. The playing flattens and leaves you prone, bringing down the hammers and pounding away until you lose consciousness.

“Cop Show” pours heat as the onslaught is on, the shrieks pounding away as the playing lathers with power. “Close the schools, fund the police, the prisons are full, modern slavery,” Ryan howls, and things just get more aggravated from there. Sounds suffocate as the playing gets more intense and ferocious, howls curdling, the noise burning hair from your body, spiraling and crushing, boiled by a sonic pulse. The title track rips for 10:03, and the shrieks rain down, noise sizzles, and the fires burn forcefully, the outer space vibes returning hard. The playing is burly and tricky, the force decimating faces, dizzying madness making you claw for the walls to maintain balance. Vicious pressure turns into a battering ram, pushing through the gates and scraping to a painful finish. Closer “Divine Violence” runs 10:41 and is devastating from the start, the roars scorching as a heat bolt from beyond burns everything to a crisp, Ryan wailing, “Game show odds, win a prize, die to see a gleeful idol, live to watch the news.” The force is drubbing and massive, burly and menacing, moving toward you like a beast, prowling and adding a heavy doom presence. The playing smears soot as the noise increases, sounds curving and liquifying, the madness increasing as everything is sucked into a vortex.

“Atrocity Machine” is like a last straw for those of us whose spines are buckling under the pressure of a bloodthirsty capitalist society where we matter less every day, and the truth is something to be mocked and flushed. Body Void never have held back with their rage and disgust, but they’ve never sounded as frightening and corrosive as they do here. This is a record to stoke the flames in the hearts of the oppressed, because if you’re not going to respond now, you might never get another chance.  

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

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

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

Death metal has seen a pretty inventive period come at us with force, with bands trying to stretch the parameters as far as humanly possible, seeing what really is achievable from such a crude art form. That follows in the footsteps of pioneers such as Death, Atheist, and Cynic who all eschewed convention decades ago, with the current crop taking that even further, making things incredibly exciting.

Ever since their formation in 2015, Tomb Mold operated on a different level than most other death metal bands, proving to be a storming force in the studio and in the live setting, where they absolutely destroy. Seriously, if you’ve never seen them before, change that. Now’s a good time because their unbelievable new record “The Enduring Spirit” is in our grasp, and it’s undoubtedly the best thing they’ve ever released. Which is saying something since they have a resume that cannot be fucked with. They are continuing their evolution on these seven songs, as the band—vocalist/drummer Max Klebanoff, guitarist/bassist Derrick Vella, guitarist Payson Power—adds softer parts, jazzier sequences, and dreamy transmissions that enhance the carnage. It makes their music more flexible and unpredictable, more exciting, and something that takes death metal to a new level of understanding.

“The Perfect Memory (Phantasm of Aura)” starts with the drums ripping off with power, the riffs stomping in their own right, everything spiraling and snapping alien-like. Raw growls tear in as the leads get more fluid, tricky melodies washing over everything. Great energy combusts as the speed flourishes, soaring into prog territory before bowing out. “Angelic Fabrications” roars in, brutality flowing from every pore, the growls punishing as the guitar work erupts. We’re face to face with animalistic chaos as the bruising amplifies, the bass snakes and crawls through the muck, and then speedier riffs tangle, bringing everything to a beastly, chunky end. “Will of Whispers” is the first real sign of changes, and it’s exhilarating hearing this band take these chances. Gentler and cleaner guitars add a breeze, giving off Dream Unending vibes (Vella’s other band), and then things turn grisly. The playing blisters and buries as the guitars go off on a journey, scorching with power before things turn clean and dreamy again. The growls are channeled as everything rushes trough icy tunnels, leaving events frozen in time.

“Fate’s Tangled Thread” has a pulverizing and pleasingly perplexing start, letting the hammers fly as the growls retch, and the battering tones do a number on your senses. There’s a strange sci-fi vibe that infects your blood, then the guitars fire on all cylinders churning through fires and horror vibes, blasting to an imaginative end. “Flesh as Armour” is a complete assault as the death ruptures and mangles, the intensity rocketing your body temperature. It’s easy to be caught off guard and utterly mauled, then the riffs begin to ripple through the earth, drilling and crushing rock, chewing on exposed muscle on its way to digesting you whole. “Servants of Possibility” has the guitars lighting up right away, the growls burying your fears in the clutches of its jaws. The playing is spacious and devastating, the roars rage and refuse to apply the tourniquet, the trickiness blends into total ferocity. The playing toys with your brain, the guitars slice into space and time, bringing confusion raining down, stomping to a mauling end. Closer “The Enduring Spirit of Calamity” runs 11:36, easily the longest Tomb Mold song to date, and it has a brainy, burly start that scratches and claws its way into your brain. The band makes good use of this extended run, the guitars showing violence and intelligence at the same time, the growls digging into chest cavities. Things move into a jazzy, elegant terrain, the guitars lathering and numbing, angling into a hazy sunburst that’s surprisingly warm. Sun bursts through the clouds at the end of this immersive sleep, the playing jolts you from comfort, and the growls sink in their canines. The bass is rubbery and dexterous, prog-fueled bursts strike from every angle, and everything ends in shrapnel.

Tomb Mold’s ambition has been pretty clear from the start, but “The Enduring Spirit” is such a light-years advancement for them, it’s astonishing to behold. There’s a new life to this vile death metal, a dash into the future that they are molding and the rest of us get to experience as it morphs into whatever form of glory it embodies next. It’s a tired cliche, but this is next-level shit, the type of record that cements this band’s legend and makes them one of the standard bearers of death metal in 2023 and beyond.

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

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

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

There is no such thing as there being enough bands in existence to fight back against oppressive power structures. There is strength in numbers, and the more bands we have like that, the better because it means there’s an increased chance the message gets out and that people who feel the same way are galvanized and don’t lose hope.

Luckily, we seem to have more and more bands taking on the just battle, and one of them is one-man black metal force Tumultuous Ruin, helmed by H who is offering up debut full-length record “An Abscess on the Heart of the State.” This project has been prolific with smaller releases since coming to life three years ago, and each step has been properly volcanic. This full-length is more than just a full serving of what H does so well; it’s an absolute damnation of fascism, a bloody strike back against those who would assume power over all, give back none, and ensure the spoils are all for them. This record wages war against the idea, refusing to rest until the playing field is level.

“Destroy What Destroys Us” lights up right away, crushing bodies and skulls, the howls rushing alongside synth that glides like a laser. Crunchy and blasting fury follows, guitars absolutely wrenching and trudging, the keys zapping, the murkiness disappearing into space. “Sabotage Glee” has great riffs that enter and sweep, deeper growls aiming to gut, and the fire exploding to dangerous levels. The playing gets monstrous as the melodies increase, the synth builds, and a final blistering assault leaves flesh scorched. “Desecrate Machine As Our World Dies” dawns in a blinding fury, the howls burying everything with impressive power. Guitars darken as total demolition takes over, black death pummeling, a warped voice warbling, “This was an act of self-defense.”

“Revel in Downfall” opens in a synth cloud as the playing unloads ominous melodies, darkness and heaviness clasping hands and pushing into hell. The playing rushes as the howls echo, wild shrieks rain down and shock, and the guitar work is both glorious and ultra-violent, fading into ash. “Unmoor” begins with clean notes and a clip from “The Northman,” an absolutely brutal film. A doomy haze makes things frosty and unforgiving, the guitars bleeding into darkness and dropping the curtain on this instrumental piece. “Dystopic Hellscape” brings a melodic gust that loosens teeth, the howls wrench, and some clean notes trickle behind the electric storm. The bass chugs as the riffs fire, bringing scarring and hypnotic heat that caves in chests. Closer “Last Rites of the Dying World” begins with mournful riffs and creeping growls, crushing with bleakness and making bones ache. Noise hovers overhead and brings a hypnotic feel, and then the guitars reengage, spilling blackness. A sorrowful deluge takes hold, unloading final gasps of chaos that slowly fade into the horizon.

The need for more explosive bands that lash back against oppression and fascism is apparent, and artists such as Tumultuous Ruin are hungry to fill that void and set fire to all power systems. The music itself is destructive, melodic, and hungry, a huge burst of violence and chaos that deals a heavy blow to those who would stomp us down with their boots if given a chance. “An Abscess on the Heart of the State” is a record that lets you know what’s to come from its title alone, and once you’re inside, the power and determination is so heavy, you can’t help but get swept up by its wave.

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

To buy the album, go here: https://fiadh.bandcamp.com/album/an-abscess-on-the-heart-of-the-state

Or here: https://vitadetestabilisrecords.bandcamp.com/album/an-abscess-on-the-heart-of-the-state

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

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

I don’t do too terribly well in oppressive heat, and I never have. There’s something about it that makes it feel suffocating and dangerous, my body panicking like there is something wrong with me physically. There’s a brutality to the heat, knowing too much of it can harm you, potentially fatally, and the only way to escape it is to try to hide from it somewhere where it can’t get to you. It’s just lurking, waiting.

Taking on blackened doom trio Ghorot’s music reminds me of that very thing, feeling like you’re being baked alive as their manic noise and gargantuan riffs weigh down on you, making breathing a competitive sport. On their crushing new record “Wound,” their second, they manage to make things heavier, nastier, riffier. As soon as the five-track record opens, you’re mangled by sonic eruption with the band—guitarist/vocalist Chad Remains, bassist/acoustic guitarist/vocalist Carson Russell, drummer/vocalist Brandon Walker—piling layer upon humid layer of desert-like heat, the punishing thrashing you’re taking feeling even more intimidating as your fear for survival consumes you.

“Dredge” gets started with feedback scorching, growls boiling, and the doomy fire growing and raging in time. Shrieks cut through as the pressure builds, pummeling as noise peels off and takes chunks of flesh with it, eating away with acidic pummeling. The bruising continues as the riffs create thick smoke, melting with bluesy turns, ringing out into oblivion. “In Absentia” rips open with scathing riffs, a blistering force, and a rhythm section that pounds away, disassembling bodies bone by bone. The growls slither as the brutality accumulates and corrode, lashing with a devastating force that’s impossible to avoid. Leads glimmer from there, and everything melts, leaving the stench of burnt rubber behind.

“Corsican Leather” corkscrews in and immediately goes dreamy and immersive before the growls eat into your psyche. Blood runs cold just as the guitars catch fire, going for a slow-driving, yet devastating pace that aims to take you apart. Tornadic riffs land as the growls smear soot, creating an overwhelming intensity that causes the pace to drive harder, stomping to a molten finish. “Canyonlands” brings a psychedelic glimmer that slowly unfurls, whispers haunt, and the playing slithers toward its prey in calculated fashion. Shrieks then gut as the melodies boil over, the soloing laps up sweat and bile, and a hypnotic glaze grabs your attention, ending in a pit of noise. Closer “Neanderskull” guts with sound before sludgy madness digs into ribcages, slowly brutalizing with oppressive heat and banshee wails. The guitars bleed heavily and then coat with iron ore, the sounds wrench and combust, and everything ends in a panicked terror bathing in manic energy.

Ghorot’s volcanic energy is on full display with “Wound,” one of the loudest, most sonically aggravated records you’re bound to hear this year. Each of these five tracks is a pummeling journey through desert heat, a skull-dragging affair that leaves you burnt and parched. The brutality and psychedelic firepower are impossible to shake, and your bones will ache for days after the music ends.   

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

To buy the album, go here: https://ghorot.bandcamp.com/album/wound

Or here: https://laybarerecordings.com/release/wound-lbr046

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

When bands make changes to their sound, there always are the hand wringers out there panicking that the thing they liked is turning into something else. It’s kind of silly to do that because it’s natural for artists to grow and evolve, and as long as they don’t veer too far from their center point, an open-minded listener might find wrinkles they didn’t know would make them happy.

I’m not suggesting UK post-hardcore/black metal-influenced force Svalbard have made wholesale changes on their new record “The Weight of the Mask,” because they’re still completely recognizable, still incredibly infectious and heavy. But on this, their third record, they add more delicate tones, added cleaner singing, and different colors that make their style even more exciting and flexible. The band—vocalist/guitarist Serena Cherry, guitarist/vocalist Liam Phelan, bassist Matt Francis, drummer Mark Lilley—always wore their passion on their sleeves, but adding the depth to their sound makes them even more dynamic. Cherry steps back from her more political lyrics to make personal matters the focal point, leaning into depression, love, anxiety, and feeling like you’re hiding behind your true self. She handles these areas with bravery, vulnerability, and understanding, hopefully helping others who hear this music connect with the messages.

“Faking It” opens the record feeling energetic and fiery, but digging inside finds the real, painful truth. Cherry’s shrieks are lacerating and passionate, but her words signal something darker when she wails, “How am I standing? How am I alive? How am I making it seem like it’s fine? The question repeats and repeats.” It’s a sentiment many share, and as the track goes on, so does the pain, echoing out as she calls, “I just fake it, nothing is scared.” “Eternal Spirits” spills out, bringing intensity and emotion, the verses crushing and lush singing arriving over the chorus. “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,” Cherry calls, a hyper-melodic surge following that, the declaration of, “We carry your torches,” hammering home the message. “Defiance” delivers heartfelt riffs and softer singing, easing you into the explosion. Once it arrives, the knives are out and the battle is on, Cherry wailing, “Try to kill my drive but I’m fighting,
try to hold me down but I’m rising,” a push that aims to bury those who wish to oppress or hold one down. “All I can do is keep fighting,” Cherry insists, bringing a clenched fist and a blaze to the effort. “November” is a change of pace, feeling more delicate musically but not lyrically. There is ache and sadness, the remembrance of a loss that lingers, Cherry determined never to go that path as she calls, “Head down, barriers up, nothing will ever come close to my heart.” As the track goes on, it wrenches harder, shrieks rain down, and the crushing turns add bruising and scarring to the heart.

“Lights Out” sinks into lingering mental wounds one tries to hide, as the playing pummels, hammering with a force that stings and layers with black metal melodies. “I am too depressed to show you how depressed I am,” Cherry calls, the music going dreamier as the emotion cuts deeper. The album’s title comes from this song as Cherry sings about being weighed down by the mask she must wear, the playing shimmering and unleashing fog as she admits, “The light in me is out.” “How to Swim Down” brings both darkness and brighter hues, the singing layering heavier emotion, moodiness lurking as the horizon gains blues and purples. “Go fight, I will heal you,” Cherry declares (taking on the role of the healer from “World of Warcraft”), the track moving toward more positive light, finally dissolving into something resembling hope. “Be My Tomb” ignites with energy flowing, great riffs, and powering shrieks that rattle bones. The catchiness is impossible to shake as a massive gush pushes in, the guitar work continues to add smoking layers, and the intensity really skyrockets at the end, landing in fresh, cool waters. “Pillar in the Sand” is cloudier with clean singing, guitars washing in the tides, tearing open as the shrieks do their damage. The tempo is pounding and passionate, taking its time to make its point, disappearing into the distance. Closer “To Wilt Beneath the Weight” lands huge punches right away, sticky riffs attacking, the rampage moving toward you like a tidal wave. The drums rumble as the deluge multiplies, bruising and mashing with electric jolts, the vocals wrenching one last time before the track ends in shimmering power.

Svalbard make musical leaps and bounds on “The Weight of the Mask,” still delving deeply into melodic hardcore and black metal waters but also showing no fear to try softer sounds and show some delicacy. It pays off huge, adding yet another element to this great band, and that’s all before digging into these brave, confessional lyrics that are unafraid to show vulnerabilities. It’s crucial for the band to release these feelings and just as vital for those in their audience who can identify with these songs, hear something they perhaps thought they were alone in facing, and potentially finding a way to rise above all of that and live to fight all over again.

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

To buy the album, go here: https://downrightmerch.com/collections/svalbard-the-weight-of-the-mask

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

It’s long been said black metal plays by no rules, that defiance is the blood that pumps through its veins, that it takes no commands from anyone and lashes back at the power structure. That makes it so strange that so many bands in this circle gravitate toward fascist ideals, basically creating anthems that tip their hand toward, you know, unquestioned power. Fucking weird move, man.

Most people know Ayloss for his work with Spectral Lore, but on his Auriferous Flame project, here on its second record “Ardor for Black Mastery,” he is continuing his mission to wrest black metal away from boot licking and back toward drawing blood of the oppressors. An interesting wrinkle on this record is that Ayloss is employing more of a black thrash approach, making the music more riff oriented, mashing, and dangerous, grinding away at you over seven tracks that are beefy and bruising, making menacing sounds that should have anyone on his sights shaking in their boots. It’s a devastating record, one that lives nicely alongside last year’s debut “The Great Mist Within” and expands the hold to encompass even more territory and flex dexterous muscles.    

“Wielders of Secrets” is the 9:39 opener, and it bursts open, howls wrenching and hissing, entering into a Maiden-like mystical terrain that has a classic metal feel. The playing rampages again, going daring and fast, even getting delirious before hitting colder air, icing your cells. Finally, the last strike overwhelms, savage howls dent skulls, howls echo, and everything disappears into the clouds. “Thaumaturgical Irresolutions” is a tick short of 10 minutes, and it lights up and drives hard, smashing its way through, synth dashing at the heart of a storm. The leads twist and taunt, thrashing heavily, the fast pace slaying as vile cries rain down, the drums crushing. The tempo remains relentless, slashing and spiraling and rushing out into a sound cloud. “Behind the Gentle Breeze” is an instrumental piece, mixing electric and clean melodies, a spacey vibe opening up and letting you see into the future, fog building up as the drums reverberate, washing through and turning into ice.

The title track has challenging guitars opening, the howls rippling through previously calm waters, synth accumulating and making the carnage dreamier. Glorious leads tears out of that, barked cries punch out amid overcast skies, and a great force trudges and tangles. The playing thrashes anew, the growls land with impact, and the drums turn bones to dust, blasting into oblivion. “Beyond Light, Beyond Reason” attacks right away, the vocals going for broke, the pace coming in fast and mean as synth meets up with the bloody power. The playing gets chunkier, the leads lather with electricity, and the dizzying journey gets even more so, fiery call hammering and burning into your brain, moving into instrumental piece “Ophidian Hallways” that instantly gives off cooler vibes. Guitars chill as classical runs work down your spine, feeling dark and a little jazzy, running deeper into the universe. Closer “Recommencing the Great Work” blasts in, howls crushing, rampaging through madness, twisting and turning in your guts. The vocals make a deep impact as the playing gallops, the heaviness pulsates, and the cries wash out in time, letting guitars tingle and the drums blast away.

Reclaiming black metal’s mantle from those who bastardized it is a noble goal for Auriferous Flame and Ayloss, and everything on “Ardor for Black Mastery” takes that mission ever further. To lash back against power structure instead of implicitly (and sometime explicitly) embracing it is something black metal never should have lost even an ounce of, and this project is seeing to it that the coursed correction is violent and bloody. This is a powerful second record from this force, and as we go further into the future, the music is likely to get deadlier as the foes in its view try harder to seize power.

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

To buy the album, go here: https://truecultrecords.bandcamp.com/album/ardor-for-black-mastery

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

It’s possible humanity has exceeded its usefulness. Look around you and just see the things we’ve done to sicken this planet and destroy our natural surroundings because rich people who stand to make money told us to do that. Try to spend a few minutes on social media without trying to claw out your eyeballs in complete disgust. It’s futility from end to end.

NYC-based death metal killing machine Ruin Lust is trying to see that destruction through at a faster clip on their alarming fourth record “Dissimulant,” a record that is not trying to conceal its intent to strip humanity of all it has left. It’s mercy meted out through annihilation, and the band—guitarist/vocalist J. Wilson, guitarist/bassist S. Bennett, drummer/vocalist M. Rekevics—spends eight tracks and 31 minutes punishing with death metal that veers violently into war territory and black metal that’s less concerned with devilry and more invested in taking apart the scourge of humans one blast at as time.

“Eden” roars open with crazed guitars scurrying, blistering stomps viciously spreading the blood. The howls echo relentlessly, a maiming force that piles into guttural chaos, the guitars burning and bubbling flesh, crashing out at the end. “Imperium” dashes as the drums crush, torching mentalities, pounding howls making their mark. The drubbing and thrashing continues as the growls blaze, the intensity explodes, and the playing disappears into oblivion. “Clinamen” hammers away, the growls snarling beastlike, the leads heating up and ushering in total devastation. The guitar work tangles and tramples, opening body cavities and slaying, the playing bringing on a total attack that ends in ashes. “Thrall” immediately leaves everything in the dust, guitars churning and punishing, the assault making blood rocket through veins. The playing decimates everything in front of it, the drums explode like a nuclear assault, and the speed lathers with chaos and hellish passion.

The title track brings crushing noise, the growls working their way down your spine, the terror mauling as everything comes unglued. The playing becomes vile and evil, rampaging with storm-like power, raspy howls peeling flesh from bone. “Purge” comes on as a total onslaught, molten power flexing its muscles, eventually slowing into something heavier and more oppressive. Growls retch as spacey horrors are abound, drubbing and dragging you over the coals, spiraling out in echoes. “Infinite Regress” rings in the air before dragging in demolition, the growls pounding away at vulnerable wounds. The vocals push as the guitars slice, thrashing and blistering, dissolving in an acid bath. Closer “Chemical Wind” enters in a warped haze, sinister blackness spreading and sinking in its claws. Brutality increases as the growls clench their fists around throats, an ungodly force increases, and disorientation increases and slowly drags you into oblivion.

“Dissimulant” is utterly barbaric, an exercise in death metal terror that feels uncomfortable and unforgiving from the very start. Ruin Lust make the vitriol feel as genuine as any other band out there making such warped sounds, proving their dedication to the further erosion of our species. This is a raging fire of disgust that cannot be extinguished and that will consume you whole.

For more on the band, go here: https://ruinlust.bandcamp.com/album/sacrifice

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

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

Humanity seems to have a brain injury. We have so much history at our disposal to show us where those who preceded us failed, why, and how to avoid such a fate. And we never seem to learn. The cycles always repeat. The hubris prevents people from embracing what’s sensible and what would be better for those around us because the words of grifters, almost always transparent fools, are just too attractive.

Long-running black metal force Woe never shied away from digging into the seamy underbelly of humanity, and they do it yet again on “Legacies of Frailty,” the first since 2008 debut “A Spell for the Death of Man” solely helmed by founder Chris Grigg (Lev Weinstein does play drums on 3 tracks though). Over 6 tracks and 48 minutes, Grigg rolls out a conceptual piece about how humankind’s selfish nature always leads to ignoring history’s lessons for today’s rewards that often are falsehoods. We watch things rot and burn, we watch people die, we watch fascism get platformed and clap stupidly, slobbering all over the place. Grigg sounds as angry and channeled as ever, his shrieks turning into a growled bark, the music blunt and confrontational, the type that comes from a creator who has long since seen enough and wants us to wake the fuck up already.

“Fresh Chaos Greets the Dawn” starts chillingly, alien synth moving over your brain before the track tears open, Grigg’s death-like roars rippling down your spine. “The brazen sycophants, the spineless drones emerge, to sway in craven veneration, drawn to its pure vacuous dirge,” Grigg howls as melodies swell amid the fury, vicious and channeled playing aiming for throats. Warmer sound trickles as the growls continue to carve, riffs encircle as the oncoming storm lands, and everything is engulfed in flames before the synth returns and soothes your wounds. “Scavenger Prophets” has the howls tearing at flesh, clubbing with violence and savagery, the heaviness in both the music and words eating into your heart. The growls strangle as a fiery dialog lashes back with, “Resurrect the esoteric words, liar’s tongue, benighted reason, a fist against the weakness of the world.” The playing batters and makes the earth beneath you crumble, the guitars tingling as mangling wails choke you out. “The Justice of Gnashing Teeth” fires up with cyclone force, mean growls sounding like the cries of humanity desperate for relief. “Hatred, the reliable refrain raze the rags of civilization,” Grigg taunts as keys chill flesh, and powerful soloing explodes, lashing back with clobbering energy, the emotions exploding in the sky. Suddenly, everything goes faster, pounding away as Grigg stabs, “Every era thinks that it is different until it sees the broken bodies at its feet.”

“Distant Epitaphs” lights up immediately, igniting as the drums thoroughly punish, the growls ruthlessly carving tributaries. The playing trudges and actually finds a way to turn darker, sinister threads woven into your psyche, throaty wails feeling like a closed fist to the throat, the fires slowly subsiding, its thick smoke left behind. “Shores of Extinction” grills with black metal-style riffs that make way for sorrowful melodies that weigh down any positivity you’ve fooled yourself into feeling. “Heavy eyes spare no glances, a haze descends to still the world,” Grigg calls, a sentiment that repeats itself throughout this song, feeling more daunting every time. The playing then disorients as thick, poisonous fogs increase, the guitars make it feel like the room is spinning, and everything churns into a pit of despair. Closer “Far Beyond the Fracture of the Sky” opens with Grigg howling, “Every parent dreams of peace in wartime, gentle reason that yawns throughout the day,” and as the song goes on, that hope turns to relentless anxiety and existential despair. The force is furious as the thrashy force increases, destroying the light, the guitars racing to flex its bloody muscle. Things frost over as synth arrives, increasing the chill, making your bones shiver before the drums round back in and scorch the earth. A huge deluge swallows chaos, the playing hits a sinister glory that makes you feel both invincible and wholly defeated, sending shockwaves and drawing whatever blood is left, Grigg wailing, “Every parent dreams of peace and driven to lie to those wondrous gazes somehow sentenced to life,” ending everything in pain.

It’s a shame we still need records the nature of “Legacies of Frailty,” but humankind has shown its inability to learn, to self-reflect, to consider they might be wrong, misled by forces that intend to reap reward from their lies. Grigg zeroes in on this expertly and soberly on this record, and the harshness of the music, the guttural approach to the vocals, are necessary for expressing this multi-pronged view that we’re continually duped and always happy to fall for the grift. It’s Woe’s harshest record yet, one that has to exist because a wake-up call is absolutely needed, one delivered with a knife, though the ears that need to absorb the call likely will be distracted by bullshit.

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

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

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

There is plenty of heavy music that’s aiming to be the most destructive, infuriated thing on the earth, but oftentimes it comes off as all gimmick, not much venom. You know when you hear music that is actively hating, spilling out the most acidic fluids from humanity’s rotten belly that you almost wonder if it’s a little too much. I feel more uncomfortable than I care to feel.

Swiss destroyers Rorcal never make you second guess whether they mean it. You can feel it in the sonic battering you take from front to back, the black metal attack that borders on industrial heat, the pure scorn and sobering reality bombarding your brain. That continues on their sixth record “Silence,” a title that could not be less indicative of what you’re about to hear. The band—vocalist Yonni Chapatte, guitarist Diogo Almeida, guitarist/sampler Jean-Philippe Schopfer, bassist Jeremy Spagnolo, drummer/sampler Ron Lahyani—is in full nuclear annihilation mode from the start, pulling you through mental conflict, terminal disappointment, and the uncurable wounds from our pasts that still grind away at our anxieties to this day.

“Early Mourning” starts with noise sizzling before the elements combust, howls spreading, panicked energy sprawling. The guitars swell as hell is unleashed, darkness folding in on itself, the drubbing coming early and often, everything disappearing into mystical winds. “Childhood is a Knife in the Throat” is incendiary from the start, mauling and darting, peeling the top layer from eyeballs. The playing divebombs as the blackness increases, jerking rhythms cracking ribs, the guitars flushing and disorienting, mechanical waves making psychosis a certainty. “The Worst in Everything” is another positive jam, pulverizing and dizzying, your lungs taking in far too much filth for you to breathe. Riffs tear at your mental capacities, destroying with intensity and battering terror, quaking to its final resting place. “Extinguished Innocence” lets sounds hang in the air as things get ominous and uncomfortable, desperate wails making it feel like there is no hope at all. More on that in a bit. The playing goes into a moodier stretch, bringing thunder and retching howls, spreading misery as far as the eye can see. The pressure builds as everything implodes, taking your safety and well-being with it into hell.

“Hope is a Cancer” is bloody and destructive, an impossibly damaging burst, stomping on guts as you lather in blood and shame. Molten leads turn bone to gelatin, flattening with calculated heat, spiraling into the ground as the shrieks fade. “Constant Void” is ashen and punishing, the guitars zapping with laser force right through your skull. The playing slowly turns the vice as the roars corrode, bashing and crushing, making you absorb the complete force that’s coming for you with a bloodlust. “Under the Nails” soaks in black metal zaps, pushing frenetically as everything weighs down with global force. The leads glimmer as harrowing warnings loom on the horizon, a slashing assault pushing its way into your corner of safety, carving paths into static squalls. Closer “No Alleviation, Even in Death” dawns in an engine-like gust, spreading and heating as shrieks maul, lurching through absolute darkness. The playing digs deeper, finding new waves of sadness and frustration, the drums splattering as disorientation sets into your mind. The track blasts back in and twists guts, the howls char flesh, and the punishment pulls you into the void before ending abruptly.

If you had any idea coming into “Silence” that you might not be dragged to the bottoms of a sea of despair, then you very much fucked up. Any journey into Rorcal’s realm must be done so with care and the understanding you will witness horrors and agony that can’t simply be wiped from your brain. This band and record stick a dagger so far into the heart of hope that the beating stops immediately, and any dreams of feeling positive or finding motivation to carry on are snuffed cruelly, with you left to wallow in the salty ocean of your tears.

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

To buy the album, go here: https://hummus-records.com/product-tag/rorcal/

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