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/

I have friends who don’t really pay close attention to the news and societal occurrences, and I envy them very often because that dissociation would be a relief pretty much every day when I wake up. I don’t know how much longer I can watch the climate being battered by idiots, most of the same people excusing away the obvious crimes of a buffoon, and the horrible treatment left untreated toward marginalized people in our community. Burn it the down.

I would not necessarily think of English atmospheric black metal band Fen as one that can unite with such feelings, but on their stunning new record “Monuments to Absence,” their rage and vitriol is palpable and flows freely. Look no further than the red-splashed artwork on the cover, then hear these eight searing songs that this band—vocalist/guitarist/synth player Frank “The Watcher” Allain, bassist/vocalist Adam “Grungyn” Allain, drummer J.G—commits to their seventh album, and you’ll still feel generous gusts of wind but also the bloody fury existing in their hearts as they look upon the same world. Watching humanity on the path to willing self-destruction and the hopelessness that results can be enough to get your own juices going, wondering how long it will take for humanity to wake up, if that possibility even remains.

“Scouring Ignorance” opens ominously before the heaviness arrives, slashing and rushing, coming with fiery passion. Clean calls mix in with gargantuan shrieks, the dizzying pace makes the room move, and growls devastate, bringing a spirited burst that makes blood rush freely. The title track has sounds hanging in the air and mixing with a penetrating fog, clean singing bellowing, shrieks following up as the intensity increases. Guitars spiral as gut-wrenching playing flexes, storming with pressure as it moves and soaks the land, bringing an incredible infusion of energy. Power chugs, guitars soar, and a synth cloud thickens and adds a mystical sense that lingers. “Thrall” drips in with dreary guitars before things light up, and the ground rumbles with power. Growls punch as the leads mount an offensive, everything whipping with cyclone force, “oh-oh” calls getting into your bloodstream. Things get dreamy before jolts light the sky, guitars burn, and a moody haze swallows everything. “To Silence and Abyss We Reach” erupts with jarring guitars and a great scorching push, clean singing numbing, electric ferocity elevating the excitement. The playing engulfs, splattering and adding to the raucous pace, trudging and slashing at will. The blistering continues as rousing group singing makes hairs stands on flesh, the chaos spills over, and everything returns to oblivion.

“Truth Is Futility” emerges from a thick fog, strong singing comes along with it, and the melodies get even heartier and earthier before destruction comes calling. Vicious howls knife through flesh, and then a strange aura arrives, bringing a cosmic woosh, letting the drums open and bleed freely, growls clobbering on top of everything. Heat scrapes, a daring path is forged, and a melodic infusion floods the ground. “Eschaton’s Gift” glimmers as guitars travel through mud, growls spill blood in the dirt, and the immersive playing flows with great strength. Thing get grisly and punchy, drubbing energy jolting muscle. A prog rush increases the energy, slashing with vigor, flowing out into mystery. “Wracked” lets melodies wash all over, the guitars following suit and creating something hypnotic as clean calls add a cooler breeze. Then the belly is opened with violence, shrieks gut, and while some of the playing gives off a cloudy blue-sky vibe, and there’s sinister intent buried. The foundation crumbles as metallic intensity surfaces, a colorful splurge adds new textures, and the playing slowly liquefies and soaks into the ground. Closer “All Is Lost” flows calmly, letting the atmosphere develop, finally bringing lightning charges that singe flesh. Shrieks crush as the speed increases, fiery stomping amplifying the damage, the guitars adding a sheen that blinds your eyes. Growls wrench, clean calls dig deep within you, and an emotional high peaks right as the record gasps its final charges.

The rage and blazing passion in Fen is evident on “Monuments to Absence,” as direct and furious a record as this band’s ever created. Through these eight tracks and 67 minutes, Fen unleash some of their most intense and bloodiest feelings, making what was already a heavily emotional mental makeup even more explosive. This is a band with so much more left to say, and this go around, they rightfully take us all to task for what we’ve become and the improvements we seem hellbent not to make.

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

To buy the album, go here: http://lnk.spkr.media/fen-monuments

For more on the label, go here: https://en.prophecy.de/

We all get a little too comfortable sometimes both with what we do and what we consume. For the most part there is nothing wrong with that because most of us have a lot of other things occupying our minds, so it’s not always easy to push ourselves. Bands and records that do that for us can be a gift as we just need to let those forces into our minds and have them begin to stretch us.

“Caverns of Occultic Hatred” is the first full-length record from Liam McMahon-helmed Vile Ritual, and if you’re willing to leave your comfort zone when it comes to death metal, this might be the perfect journey for you. With eight tracks spread over 40 minutes, McMahon makes the most of the time here, creating a cavernous, at times unsettling journey through your psychosis and deep into your guts. Following on what was built with this project’s smaller, introductory releases, Vile Ritual dig deeper into your brain, scooping out the cobwebs from your skull and making you see this twisted art form in a way most other acts don’t tread. It’s an experience, and a scarring one.

“Formless” opens in a low rumble and moves into cavernous noise as burly death begins to rain down, battering as guitars just go off. Sludgy tracking and steamy air help wilt while disorienting playing makes heads spin as riffs zap, and everything is swallowed in miasmal echo. “Aimless” brings welling guitars before growls slide under and are buried by force, the playing acting as a battering ram. Ferocity becomes a greater factor as monstrous jaws open, the guitars grind hard, and minds melt, the battering working away until everything is overcome by noise. “Gyromancy” is clobbering and devastating, a properly dizzying experience that whips heavily as the pressure builds. The power continues to sweep as the playing mauls, growls smear, and a vicious streak robs you of breath and leaves you heaving. “Chapel” is humid as it starts, growls echoing and marring, the riffs attacking with great power. There’s a strange sense of mysticism that unfolds as the guitars numb, everything slipping into eeriness.

“Manifestation” feels strange and disorienting, the synth cloud spreading and infecting before the power truly kicks in and unloads damage. Growls slither before whispering haunts, and the playing slowly torches, making the burning sink in deeply. Sounds reverberate and hang in the air, everything fading into a halo of buzzing. “Black Chrism” assaults with swirling guitars and oppressive heat, totally battering your psyche. The filth increases and eats into your brain, ripping muscle from bone, overcoming with a short burst of devastation that buries hope in the dirt. “Living Hell” just bludgeons, the growls engorging, bashing away and sizzling with static. After basking in mud, the track tears apart, cavernous blazing spilling blood, the growls laying down burly punishment and laying waste in pain and power. Closer “Void” instantly goes for broke, the playing openly burning, growls adding to festering wounds. The growls menace as the drumming completely explodes, laying waste and picking bodies apart, cosmic keys dawning and dragging everything into the cosmos.

Vile Ritual have that rare ability to expose minds to new possibilities while also dousing psyches with acid, eating away at vital impulses. “Caverns of Occultic Hatred” is a force with which to content both mentally and physically, a chaotic challenge that leaves you vulnerable and soaking with pain. This is music that rises above the mere metallic strains it unleashes on an unsuspecting world; it’s a mental beast that knows how to take you apart and does it unapologetically.

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

To buy the album, go here: http://sentientruin.com/releases/vile-ritual-caverns-of-occultic-hatred

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

Death metal can be fun, right? I know there are all sets of unwritten rules for the harshest brands of heavy metal, and I’m pretty sure I’m always violating them. But I’ve always found easy ways to enjoy death metal and, like, feel good at the same time. Can you really listen to, say, Carcass and Cannibal Corpse and not also feel some joy? Should I turn in my website?

I got to thinking of this when taking on “Spectral Intercession,” the debut full-length from Scottish death squad Coffin Mulch and … hold on. You can’t listen to a band called Coffin Mulch and not also feel a big sense of fun. Yeah, this is deadly shit, cut right from the heart of the ’90s, brimming with wicked power. It’s a monster of a record that this band—vocalist Al, guitarist Derek Milne, bassist Rich, drummer Fraser—throws every ounce of themselves into, as you can feel their energy and dedication to the cause. And yeah, it’s a fucking good time, and it also will pulverize you, so be aware of that strength.

The title track opens with crazed howls and complete mania, giving off an old-school death vibe, creaky and crawling with cobwebs. The scathing force continues, taking on a filthy low-end rumble, spiraling guitars, and a strange alien force, pushing toward an infernal stomp that smashes guts. “Into the Blood” is sooty and grimy, the wild howls eating into your flesh and muscle, the bass clubbing as slow-meting menace melts flesh. A fiery rampage takes off as howls echo, and the jolting electricity drives through veins. “Mental Suicide” is doomy when it drops, the steam making the stench grow more immersive, the heaviness working into skulls. The misery drags as the force blows apart, ending in a pit of misery. “In the Grip of Death” is mucky and mauling, a calculated attacker that brings threatening growls and slashing speed. The fury crushes without letting you breathe, this short burst moving in and back out.

“Fall of Gaia” is muddy and has raspy wails and a crushing ferocity, the soloing erupting from the carnage, sounding swaggering and bluesy. The pace turns back and clobbers, bringing a vicious, dirty finish to a deadly beast. “Gateway to the Unseen” continues with the peril, Al’s vocals sounding like they’re coming for your sanity. The playing slips into a dirty groove, feeling catchy but also gritty, rampaging with fury until it finally splatters closed. “Infernal Mass” brings doomy fumes, thorny vocals, and a thrashing intensity that builds as the song goes on. The leads heat up as the muck increases, bursts club with horrific power, and everything ends as brutally as possible. Closer “Eternal Enslavement” blasts open with driving drums, bass slithering, and a scathing, almost drunken tear through your psyche. The playing carves at your sanity as the bass chugs, horror collects, and scorching howls eat into guts, dripping out into warped psychosis.

There are pounds of filth and fun on “Spectral Intercession,” and even though one of those words can be offensive by some people when describing death metal, it’s a total benefit to this album. Coffin Mulch also provide brutality and violence, bloodshed and horror, and over these eight tracks, it feels like a complete serving of chaos that leaves you full and satisfied. This is just this band’s first full foray into destruction, and they do so with gusto and force that can leave you overwhelmed.

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

To buy the album, go here: https://www.memento-mori.es/store.php

For more on the label, go here: https://www.memento-mori.es/

True Norwegian black metal is a term that brings a lot of feelings, images, and ideas, a force in a sub-genre that already was shrouded with plenty of darkness before the progenitors of this sound came along. While black metal has shifted and evolved as time has gone on, there’s still a hunger for the raw, deadly stuff, something we don’t get enough of in this era.

Luckily, a band that takes on that Nordic mantle and celebrates it with passion and fire is Tsjuder, and they’re back with “Helvegr,” a bloody, maniacal album that reminds just what those formative years wrought and continue to provide. It’s been eight years since their last record “Antiliv,” and on this album, the band—vocalist/bassist Nag, guitarist/vocalist Draugluin, drummer Jon Rice—take up those old torches that burn again and as brightly as ever. Despite parting ways with long-time drummer Anti-Christian, the band forged ahead and made one of the rawest, harshest records on their resume, but one that also packs a ton of melody and infectious power. They’re also joined by guests Pål Emanuelsen (guitar) of Krypt and Seidemann (vocals) of 1349 to flesh out this nine-track collection that opens ugly new wounds.

“Iron Beast” erupts in full as it delivers crazed shrieks and a metallic menace that moves dangerously toward you. The rushing chaos speeds and torments, whipping through with force, the guitar work bringing melody and savagery in equal portions. “Prestehammeren” opens sounding like a jet engine soaring, and then speed and power ignite, destroying the senses and setting fires there is no chance of controlling. Riffs chug as some doomy shades slip in, darkened guitar work leading out into the shadows. “Surtr” runs seven minutes and soaks in humidity at first before the skies pour, and ferocity opens its jaws. The pace remains steady and punchy, manic energy spilling and making adrenaline run, slipping away on tornadic madness. “Gamle-Erik” is blinding, coming at you with violent intensity that feels threatening, the vocals shredding as the heat spikes. Total destruction mounts an assault as the maniacal energy spreads, tearing away and bringing your sanity with it.

“Chaos Fiend” splits open with shrieks scorching, and a mangling attack pushes into a wilting steam. The fury hangs in the air as growls rumble, then the playing numbs the senses before one more vicious front smashes and scrapes at bone. “Gods of Black Blood” dawns and suddenly brings a strangulating force, the shrieks curdling as the riffs gain enveloping strength. Shrieks curdle as the guitars spindle and challenge psyches, and howls echo and eat into your brain wiring. The title track runs 7:36 and takes its time opening, the fires started and slowly fanned, shrieks bubbling as the thrashy tones start to gain traction. The tempo gets gritty, and some goddamn tasty riffs unfurl, adding meat to ribcages and making things catchier and deadlier. Leads catch fire as the intensity explodes, Nag wailing, “Die! You are burning,” as things grow ominous in tone, everything fading into creaky fire. “Faenskap og Død” immediately comes unglued, the guitars speeding and splattering, scorching howls blackening flesh. Fast and ferocious power explodes and injects barbaric drama, the playing hurtling toward the earth’s crust and smashing into hell. Closer “Hvit Død” is an eerie, instrumental piece built with chilling noises, guitars creating a fog, and electrifying impulses numbing your nerves from the pain.

After an eight-year layoff and roster shuffling, Tsjuder slip back into their black metal throne like they never left in the first place. “Helvegr” is a crushing trip back into black metal’s second-wave heart, a time when this style of music was feared and at its bloodiest, something this band never lost. This sub-genre has changed a lot over the decades, and there are all kinds of way to express this dark art, but Tsjuder remain true to their mission, delivering savagery that feels like it feeds right from the roots.

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

To buy the album, go here: https://shopusa.season-of-mist.com/band/tsjuder

Or here (International): https://shop.season-of-mist.com/

For more on the label, go here: https://www.season-of-mist.com/

Black metal has changed and expanded so much over the past three decades (the last 10 years the most of all), that this style of music can barely resemble how it felt when Norway’s fiery revolt got under way and shaped the sound. More experimentation arrived, and bands took more chances, which made the style more unpredictable, but it still strikes hard when the roots are unearthed.

Mysterious U.S. black metal force Lucifixion could have been right at home in the early 1990s, and their debut full-length “Trisect Joys of Pierced Hearts” is one that could unite younger fans with those who have long complained about the rulebook being torched. Technically branded as raw black metal, these nameless ghouls add a dynamic element to that, which gives it a freshness and jolting electricity. This is a great sounding record, not one that comes off like it was recorded on cheap equipment and stereo microphones, which makes it more evident how violently devastating they are as musicians. It’s dark, imposing, and fiery, and every second of this thing rips with sadistic intent.

“Hammer of Fevered Lights” opens with tornadic guitars that mix up brains, and then the shrieks strike hard and shockingly, the maniacal energy coming off as both violent and disorienting. A tremendous section of guitar work rampages, something that’s a major factor on this record, and that fiery assault gasps its last and leaves you buried. “Howl, Thy Desolate Sound” unleashes punk-bloodied guitars and a sweltering energy, the playing decimating the senses and eventually turning dangerously fluid. Shrieks rip as the guitars bubble, the trudging pressure becoming a devastating creature, plastering you with nails and shrapnel, the fumes soaring into eternal flames. “Feral Mass” opens in noise before it begins a full decimation, the aggravated power turning into a devious force. Hellish intensity spikes as the humidity builds and makes breathing a challenge, the shrieks injecting its claws and reaching for organs. Channeled chaos punishes as savagery splatters, slowly slipping into the earth.

“Agony Fugue” is an instrumental piece with sounds welling, chilling synth making your flesh crawl, and unexpected serenity creeping before entering into “O, To Strike One Great and Final Wound on Thee Sum of Thee Earthe” that immediately combusts. Flames climb as hell enters earth, black metal ferocity unhinges its jaws and begins relentless consumption, and the pace continues to rampage. Howls curse as the tempo builds, making your blood race as you desperately cling to sanity. “Iron Outer Midnyghte” is the longest track, running 15:11 and immediately engulfing everything in its reach. Blistering speed tangles as the vocals blister and guitars rise, the bass plodding forcefully. The heat spreads and overcomes, dizzying power makes your anxiety spike, and the pressure hangs in the air, numbing before the playing crashes anew. Soloing blazes as noise bubbles, the chaos ignites, and the crazed force eventually cascades, washing into instrumental closer “Trisect Joys.” Thirsty rains, synth steam, and hypnosis combine, the guitars creating a thick steam that practically makes you lose consciousness.

Lucifixion’s primitive, barbaric black metal has far more flashes of glory than expected, and while they go for the raw aesthetic, they are far more dynamic than that on “Trisect Joy of Pierced Hearts.” The music has tenets of black metal’s feral heart and roots but also rises above that and creates something smothering and exciting. Our serving of black metal is overly generous as a whole, and bands such as Lucifixion find ways to add slashing fury and chaos to remind that this style can be a ferocious, mentally shocking art form when it’s done with this much focus and bloodlust.

For more on the band, go here: https://lucifixion666.bandcamp.com/album/feral-mass

To buy the album, go here: http://sentientruin.com/releases/lucifixion-trisect-joy-of-pierced-hearts

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