I live in equal parts amusement and abject fury over people who have decided god, the Christian one, is some sort of tool for mocking people in protected statuses, LGBTQ folks, immigrants, and anyone whose lifestyles aren’t compatible with theirs. It’s almost like they don’t even understand the faith they hijacked. Provided this god is even real, what if he or she or it died? Gone. Never to be seen or heard from ever again.

“Theothanatology” is the idea or belief that god is dead, and it happens to be the name of the new record from Acephalix, their fourth and first in five years. The band’s brand of spiraling, psychologically scarring death metal remains intact, and they use these eight songs to explore this idea that a celestial god figure did exist and now no longer does. It’s a terrifying idea whether or not you’re a believer in such a thing, and the band—vocalist Daniel Butler, guitarists Adam Camara and Adam Walker, bassist Erika Osterhout, drummer David Benson—plasters these tracks with sinister dread and a spirit that feels like it’s eating into your mind and reminding you that everything you thought was possible has changed forever in as unsettling a manner possible.

“Theothanatologist” is a punishing opener that begins with an ominous preacher quote before it’s on to blistering death, Butler wailing, “Theo… thano… tologistic might,” over the bruising chorus. Guitars heat up as the intensity remains beastly, the growls mar, the playing hits back, and the detached speaking works like a ghost into your brain. “Godheads” has a savage pace and a mix of growls and shrieks, Butler howling, “Godheads, invading Godheads, enslaving Godheads, gripping us tight.” The pace continues to flatten as the band thrashes violently, and everything ends as a warped mess. “Abyssal” lets the bass drive the first mile before the guitars take a spiraling dive, strange speaking sending chills down your spine. The guitar work stretches out and creates a balmy atmosphere, and the heat continues to rise before fading. “Postmortem Punishment” is utterly morbid, crunching bones and plodding as you’re dealt severe punishment. The growls deface as a meaty pace digs into your psyche, the drumming steamrolls, and the final blows leave burn marks all over your body.

“Innards of Divinity” manages to find a way to get even darker, the growling/speaking mix again working its moribund magic. “Blanketed with blood, born amidst as crud, this God eclipsing light, this warmth of sacrifice,” Butler snarls as the guitars grind into a mush, and the pace snakes and destroys, leaving its victims convulsing. “Pristine Scum” dawns amid warmer leads before things get blunt and bloody, the punishment lathering with filth. “Godless believers, they run toward blighted, vacant heavens, disillusioned and squandering life, mania as religion,” Butler stabs, a sobering and accurate portrayal of much of American society as spacey hell opens its jaws, and the guitars glimmer before fading. “Defecated Spirit” brings riffs that threaten and thickening shadows as the growls creep up your back. Twisted madness challenges your mental well-being as the tempo blisters hard, and the final blows of thrashing easily hit their marks. Closer “Atheonomist” delivers thawing riffs and breathy calls before we land in a very deliberate hell. “Atheonomous brute, the law is death, atheonomous brute, acephalic,” Butler howls as the pressure pushes into a sound pocket that aims to swallow you whole, only to be undone by one final push that drives nails into your skull.

In a land where religion once again has been weaponized and used to beat people down, would it be the biggest shock in the world if a god worth any merit would hurl him or herself into the void? “Theothanatology” is the confrontational, devastating documents we’ve come to expect from Acephalix, but as we creep deeper into the point of no return, there perhaps never has been a more vital time for their music. This is a record that will dig deep into your psyche and recalibrate all the mental wounds you’ve suffered at the hands of religion and help you fight back with proper amounts of spite and scorn.

For more on the band, go here: https://www.facebook.com/ACEPHALIX79

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

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

I don’t think anyone is arguing that the pandemic has sucked and took a lot out of people psychologically. A lot of people just gave up caring and did whatever they wanted, other folks’ lives (and their own!) be damned. For others, it was a period of necessary isolation where our existence turned into monotony and worry, often taking a severe toll on our well-being.

Winnipeg-based noise beasts KEN mode felt it too, perhaps more than some other people because their artistic outlet essentially was shut down completely. Being in a music scene and having regular activities around making music created a sense of community for the band, and losing that took a toll psychologically, creating darkness where the despair already was thick. The band eventually broke out of that and ended up on a creative tear, the first portion of that arriving with their monstrous new record “Null,” the first of a two-album arc. The second will arrive in the future, but for now the band—vocalist/guitarist/synth player Jesse Matthewson, his brother and drummer Shane Matthewson, bassist/backing vocalist Skot Hamilton, and new member Kathryn Kerr, who plays saxophone, synth, and piano, and does backing vocals—absolutely delivers a stinging, destructive, violent collection of eight tracks that are the most varied musically of their entire run and contain some of their most direct, blunt lyrical content. If you’ve been following along with KEN mode, you realize how serious that.

“A Love Letter” gets things off to an unsettling, bludgeoning start, Jesse’s vocals taunting and snarling, Kerr’s sax feeling like an unhinged jugular convulsing and puking blood. “It was a mistake to ask me for help,” Jesse wails as things continue to collapse both musically and mentally. “This untasteful place, something is broken, something is FUCKED,” drives home the dagger, the violence of hopelessness angling and gushing, ending this thing in warped gears of machine. “Throw Your Phone in the River” follows that up with mauling intent, the vocals scratching at the throat, guitars burning and striking, giving you no time to take control of your emotions before it’s directly into “The Tie” and its warped pit of noise. Jesse calls over the soundscape as the sax returns like a beast at night watching you, always returning to chill your blood. The warped experience climaxes with further disillusion, Jesse begging, “Let this never actually matter at all.” “But They Respect My Tactics” trounces and tangles as guitars heat up, and the humidity is so thick that breathing turns to gasps. “I’m just trying to keep myself from drowning,” Jesse levels soberly as your senses are battered, and your brain is permanently rewired.

“Not My Fault” brings fluid guitars and an uncharacteristic tempered pace even as the vocals scrape fresh wounds. Things get moodier as the blisters rise, and then the agitation overflows, shouts pummel, and your well-being suddenly is called into question. “Lost Grip” runs 10:02, easily the longest song here, and it lurks steadily, Hamilton’s bass making the scene even more harrowing, the menace starting a slow boil. “I don’t believe that you mean well,” Jesse hisses, a sentiment that keeps popping up throughout this creature, also admitting, “We deserve this.” Desert heat thickens as the pace begins to swagger, slashing senses and bones, rolling in somber soil, letting keys drip as everything finally rests in pulsating ash. “The Desperate Search for an Enemy” wrenches as the vocals attack, the bass flattens, and the guitars carve away. Kerr stalks with her sax playing, your nerves are frayed, and the band keeps punching back, letting the disturbed energy take complete control. Closer “Unresponsive” brings gurgling bass and a clubbing pace that sets the perfect stage for Jesse realizing, “I’m unraveling so much faster than I used to.” That sentiment festers, cold sweat lines palms, and Jesse, almost in a trance recites, “Forgotten, erased, unresponsive, replaced, abandoned,” like it’s been beaten into his head. That devastation manifests itself as the sounds thrash, and the essence disappears in filth and noise.

KEN mode records never are easy terrain nor a place where you want to go feel better about yourself and/or humanity, but “Null” takes that to an even higher, scarier level. This record feels like the end of a long period of mental torment, where the recipient has taken on damage so deep and severe, there may not be any climbing out of that hole. Most of us have been there, some of us still are, and for those settling on the brink, these eight songs prove the tension is real, tangible, and something to lash back at with absolute bloodlust.

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

To buy the album, go here: https://ken-mode.com/products/ken-mode-null

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

I don’t know what it’s like to live my life in fear, and I’m thankful for that. But that doesn’t mean that makes me feel good about our world, because there are many people who live every day unsure if they’ll survive it based on other people’s hatred. There are many groups of people who often are forced to live in the shadows, and half of the government officials in this country are trying to make that fight even harder for many fellow humans.

For Melissa Moore, she hoped she had a place among her Absu bandmates where her coming out as a trans woman would be embraced. Sadly, every member of that band but one is a fucking coward and fired her via email, and now the only label that will embrace that group is one also happily housing music from a band with nazi ties that potentially dabbled in pedophilia. Moore was not deterred as heavy metal is in her heart, and now she and her band Sonja are here with their awesome debut record “Loud Arriver,” a swaggering, steaming slab of power that offers no apologies. Moore—she handles vocals and guitars and is joined by bassist Ben Brand and drummer Grzesiek Czapla, the lone member of Absu who supported her—recounts her life when she had to live in secret and suffered as a result. She also offers messages of revenge for those who judge her and tried to destroy her life. The fact trans people are facing bullshit legislation being levied against them and still have to fear for their safety is a travesty, one of this country’s worst failures, and having more musicians such as Moore out there, in public, creating great art hopefully can help people see her and others as humans who are not to be feared or ostracized and whose work is to be celebrated like anyone else’s. Sonja’s is fucking great.

“When the Candle Burns Low…” gets things going with synth driving and Moore’s vocals sweeping in, with her voice demanding and keeping your attention. There’s a great dark energy lurking, and when Moore vows, “I will never die,” you can feel the defiance as the final blasts send extra energy. “Nylon Nights” is a killer, a track that dawns on a great riff and some lushness sitting behind the shadows. The singing even soothes at times, even when you know you’re being seduced, and Moore calls the title over and over, pushing toward great dual guitar lines and a final surge that bruises. “Pink Fog” starts with guitar work that reminds of Alex Lifeson as things get crunchy and catchy in a hurry, driving and lashing into the inviting shadows. Guitars pummel as Moore’s singing jolts your spine as she calls over temporary silence, driving the dagger into your thigh. “Wanting Me Dead” has an ominous flow as vintage riffs set fires, the playing sending your heart racing. “I’ve been waiting,” Moore warns as the bass plods, things get more delicate, and the call of, “She’s going to start killing people,” is a stark reminder not to get into path of revenge.

“Fuck, Then Die” is both fun and threatening as the guitars prick and probe, and Moore encourages the debauchery by reminding, “Because you’ll be dead tomorrow.” The sleaze thickens in the best way, the playing drives your foot on the gas pedal, and Moore wails, “Just want to fuck all day and all night,” knowing the end result is demise. “Daughter of the Morning Star” starts with the drumming taking the wheel, the vocals soaring higher, and strange tidings spreading, making your flesh go cold. The pace picks up later and catches fire as guitars lather, attitudes get nastier, and everything churns off into a puddle of sweat. “Moans From the Chapel” opens fluidly and sends shivers down your spine, combining elements that are equally breezy and morbid. Guitars glaze as Moore howls, “Tonight, she rides,” as the tempo picks up, and the promise of bloodshed is at hand. The closing title track starts with acoustics and softer tones before the pace launches, the bass thickens, and the guitars slip through the fog. Shadows emerge as wordless calls jostle, the air gets richer, and the final blows leave you gasping for air.

Sonja’s debut “Loud Arriver” is colorful, dark, and rousing, a seedy journey into true-life reality where danger lurks at every corner. Moore’s experiences with her transition, the darkness she had to encounter, and the bloody revenge that lurks in dreams and desires are tangible and get your own blood flowing. We stand with her and every trans artist trying to make an impact without judgment for who they are. We aren’t there yet, but bands like Sonja are vital in helping grow that understanding. This also is a triumph for Moore and Sonja in that they present a bold, defiant, and unforgiving record that captures real heavy metal spirit and stands as a fuck you to anyone who stands in their way, sparkly headband or not.

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

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

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

Many years ago on a road trip, I was listening to a record as I was driving, and one of the passengers lamented all of the songs are too long, and this isn’t fun, and can we listen to something else. First, not all records are made the same ; second, I’m not in charge of your fun; third, no we fucking can’t. Yeah, sometimes bands create songs longer than three-minute fun bites, and we should all be thankful.

UK black metal trio Terra would have thrown that person from the car, and I would have helped. They return with their mammoth third record “Für Dich Existiert Das Alles Nicht” (loosely translates to “none of this exists for you”), a four-track, nearly 64-minute behemoth that is in no hurry to push your instant entertainment buttons. That doesn’t mean this record isn’t something that can provide pleasure, but it takes a certain audience and a lot of patience to take this entire journey. But if you do, you’ll find it’s worth it, and it’s a record that can expand your mind and put you into a state of concentration. The band—guitarist/vocalist Ryan Saunders, bassist/vocalist Scott “Scuz” Brophy, drummer Luke Braddick—pours everything it has into this record and rushes absolutely nothing in creating these pieces. This is something that’s more for late-night reflection than crushing skulls, a black metal album that’s interested in your mind rather than your guts.

“The Beginning” is a beast of an opener, running 15:24 and using every drop of that time. The pace builds and eventually bows to chaos, and a crushing wave of black metal washes over everything, spilling toward the blanket of darkness. Shrieks destroy as the underbelly thickens and spreads doom, rumbling and pummeling, rousing your bloodstream before fading into somber atmosphere. Gazey power stretches as the gray skies beckon, leaving you with wounds that don’t seem capable of healing.  “Verisimilitude” is a 14:33-long excursion that lights up and spews life, giving off a hypnotic vibe that pairs up with wrenching calls and a pace that flattens. The storming gets harder as the vocals reach for the throat, emotions flow generously, and a proggy feel emerges and penetrates the mist. All elements then combust, simmering in its own juices and bleeding out into the night.

“Gelbwerdend” is the longest track, flowing for 17:46 and taking its time setting up an ambiance that wafts toward thick chugging and playing that causes your adrenaline to rush. The cloud cover thickens and chokes out the sun as the pressure builds, and deep howls sink into your ribcage. The cries jolt your skeletal structure as the pace calms briefly, then everything re-engages, playing in spirals, driving fiercely as the drums go off and level structures. The growls gut as the playing pounds away, plodding and bruising until everything fades into noise. Closer “The End, My End” is 15:30 and escapes from an enveloping fog, punching its way out and leaning into whirring melodies. The bass stomps through the murk, the storm hovers, and then the thing melts into chaos. The playing operates like a buzzsaw as delicate piano notes drip, birds chirp, and the weight is lifted from your chest to start your long recovery.

“Für Dich Existiert Das Alles Nicht” is not an easy listen, nor is it one that’s going to hand-feed you bite-size chunks you can digest according to your own schedule. Instead, Terra take you on existential journeys, pushing you take on these epic pieces and find portions of yourself in them as you challenge your own will to how much you can endure. Patience is rewarded here, and sometimes you might wonder if these pieces are meandering, but at the end, the sweat and tears are worth it as you reach the end of the challenge.

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

To buy the album, go here: http://www.code666.net/webstore/

For more on the label, go here: https://www.code666.net/

I am terrified of Australia, even though it seems lovely on the surface. Like, straight up, if I ever encountered a Hunstman spider, I’d probably pass away immediately. I can’t even look at a photo of a whistling spider without it making my guts crawl, and I wish I was making this up. I’m upset enough that I exist on the same globe as these things, meaning a meeting with one is not 0 percent.

I feel like that’s why Aussie death metal is so harrowing and horrifying because who knows what the fuck potentially is under your bed or behind a drape? That’s scarier than some fake devil shit, and even though it’s not the basis for “Of Earth & Flesh,” the debut record from death metal force Writhing, it might as well be. This feels like something creeping up your backside, putting every ounce of fear imaginable into your body, with a side of strange atmospherics that hardly offer a serving of calm. The band—vocalist Pat, guitarist Joel, bassist Jackson, drummer Jake—find a way to put ferocity and creativity into the same package, giving you the brutality you require but also teasing your psyche into wondering what in this style of music is truly possible.

“Monolithic Extinction” opens in the pit of gloom before the guitars take on a life of their own, leading the punishment that’s bolstered by growls that aim for the throat. The chorus mashes as everything here gets deadlier, bludgeoning with gnarly power and ending in a dizzying haze. “That Which Becomes Death” fires up but also carries a hypnotic edge, the growls rushing alongside it and doing bodily harm. The lead are fluid as the bass flexes its muscle, the power increases, and abrasive heat leaves you running for cover. The title track has a deliberate start, letting the temperature rise as growls rumble, and the bass lurches and leaves an oil slick behind. Guitars create a fog as the brutality mixes with balminess, plowing through and burying everything in muck. “Concealed Within the Soil” blisters from the start as the growls penetrate and head down the path to destruction. Growls and shrieks mix, the playing thrashes, and everything ends abruptly, robbing your lungs of air.

“Uncreation” brings stirring leads and grisly growls, the pace sending you for a loop where you question your sanity. Menacing riffs sink in their teeth as the playing explodes with a bloodlust, the one-word chorus battering its way into your brain. “Passages of Misery” is packed with sinewy guitars and a jackhammering tempo, even as spacious sections allow you to breathe fresh air. The growls smear powdered bone, the pace slowly mangles, the guitars burn the remaining flesh off the bone. “Squalid Sanctum” bleeds in from the cosmos, laying down the hammer in a disorienting manner. The guitars explore outer space as things float in psychedelic waters, melting away walls of ice that flood the earth with dank, putrid waters. Closer “Portal to Unhallowed Realms” is an instrumental piece that destroys right away, rushing through mud and thickening the collection of filth. Melodies surface and repeat as the track is infused with unexpected colors, and final gasps of sludge close off the blood flow for good.

This Aussie wrecking crew in Writhing have a twisted and violent approach to death metal on “Of Earth & Flesh,” but they also have an imagination you don’t get with all bands playing at this level. There are unexpected twists and turns, trap doors you won’t see coming, and plenty of bursts that twist your brain. This is challenging stuff dished out in a compact serving that leaves you just satisfied enough and ready to handle the next adventure with this beast. Also, fuck large spiders.

For more on the band, go here: hhttps://www.facebook.com/writhingaus

To buy the album, go here: https://everlastingspew.com/search?controller=search&orderby=position&orderway=desc&search_query=WRITHINGOFEARTH%26FLES&submit_search=

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

Walk with me a moment as I think back to my high school years, late summer, right after finishing cutting the gigantic lawn (I got push mower duties). I’d make a little bit of money doing that, and those earnings almost always were turned into heavy metal cassettes, all different styles since I listened to just about everything. I get nostalgic about that, and it makes me think of when metal first claimed me.

That brings me to “Dreamkiller,” the second record from Sumerlands, a band that drinks deeply from the pools of classic heavy metal from the late 1970s and early 1980s. All of that is woven into their sound, and it gets me right in the chest because it reminds me of the days scouring for albums after finishing my lawn work. There has been a major change with the band since their 2016 self-titled debut, that being the exit of singer Phil Swanson and the arrival of new vocalist Brendan Radigan (formerly of Magic Circle), an element that made me skeptical despite being a fan of Radigan’s work. One trip with these eight songs dashed all of that as Radigan takes this thing to a new level of greatness, and the rest of the band—guitarist John Powers, guitarist/synth player Arthur Rizk, bassist Brad Raub, drummer Justin DeTore—responds in kind, turning out an insane performance that practically takes you in a collision course with metal’s history from the first seeds right up to this day.

“Twilight Points the Way” gets things off to a rousing start as riffs tangle and Radigan’s killer voice guides, calling for “one final strike against the setting sun.” The chorus is awesome and sticks in your brain, and as Radigan calls, “Will you remember our name?” the only answer is the affirmative. “Heavens Above” delivers a Dio vibe as the track feels warmer and is less intent on bruising, which is a nice change of pace. Shimmery hazes hypnotize as the tempo pushes back, and the muscular chorus mesmerizes and leaves behind its mark. The title track is spirited with the synth pulsating and forceful vocals as Radigan lashes, “Killer of dreams, stealer of time.” Great soloing launches itself across the horizon as the power eventually fades and is swallowed by space. “Night Ride” slowly builds and lets the ambiance set itself, bringing fiery early 1980s energy. The bass plods as Radigan admits, “I won’t live to see tomorrow,” as things get cooler, and the keys replace your body’s heat with icy madness.

“Edge of the Knife” brings jolting guitars and a welcoming summer feel, Radigan wailing, “We dance on the edge of the knife.” The soloing utterly melts while the chorus rushes, the steam rises, and the final moments zap away. “Force of a Storm” enters amid synth that chills bones and a vibe that’s almost tangibly neon. The gears of the machine keep moving as the singing reaches the stratosphere in spots, blistering before draining away. “The Savior’s Lie” is balmy as the keys mix into the picture, and the playing moves elegantly through clouds and into shadows. The pressure rises as the vocals hit a fever pitch, bowing to pastoral keys that pull a blanket of storm clouds across the earth. Closer “Death to Mercy” unloads with a killer riff and a blistering tempo, Radigan wailing, “On to desolation, led by the war machines.” Synth swirls and melts with blazing guitars, the playing exercises a push-pull philosophy, and everything fades into the final rays of daylight.

It’s been a long wait to get a second album from Sumerlands, but, as cliched as this will sound, it was absolutely worth the wait. “Dreamkiller” is an incredible record, one that’s been on constant rotation since the promo landed, and it brings back huge vibes from my own formative days as a metal fan. This is a perfect classic metal record from the playing to the emotion to the production, and it’s the ideal way to proclaim Sumerlands remain a devastating force that will not be toppled.  

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

To buy the album, go here: https://store.relapse.com/b/sumerlands

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

It’s still technically summer here, but the daylight is expiring sooner, and the skies are sullen, reminding that the cold weather and morose times are creeping up on us again. That’s not a complaint at all, as these are the days that live deep in my bones, a time to retreat into the shadows and take in darker colors and art that matches.

Danish death metal power Dead Void should be perfect fodder for the colder weather, and their debut full-length album “Volatile Forms” is a daunting, sooty destroyer that has a power and force that drags you into the dirt. The band—guitarist/vocalist K, bassist/vocalist D, drummer/vocalist A—digs deep into scuzzy, muddy doom metal, giving off some classic metallic vibes that turn your organs black. The five-track, 44-minute beast is oppressively heavy, unforgivingly bleak, and takes its toll on your psyche in a way that burns you back to your most vulnerable state.

“Atrophy” enters in a thick, doomy haze as the growls wrench, and the lurching pace aims to bury you in smoke. Speed picks up as the filth increases, punishing and battering, erupting in fiery residue that reminds on heyday Celtic Frost, at least tonally. Guitars bubble as the playing slowly mauls, scathing howls scrape minds, and eventually everything falls to ash. “The Entrails of Chaos” explodes in a savage gust as growls engorge, and mucky stomping increases the violent pressure, lightning brooding fires that coat your lungs. Growls mash as warped playing twists your psyche, guitars add more heat, and some final blasts bury this thing under bloody soil. “Sadistic Mind” takes its time developing an ambiance, turning the screws, absolutely bulldozing with strength. Growls dig deep inside and bludgeon organs while a gut-wrenching pace intensifies, drums crush, and the guitars turn rock to lava. The tempo slows crushingly as your brain is left dizzied, and infernal howls slam down the final dagger.

“The Reptilian Drive” is sludgy as hell and instantly open wounds, the growls mauling with reckless abandon. The stomping grows agitated and chaotic as the nastiness becomes an even greater factor, hammering hard and adding insults to the festering wounds. Guitars catch fire as the heat turns oppressive, blinding and turning misery into a terminal condition. Closer “Perpetually Circling the Void” is the longest track, running 11:01 and immediately bringing morose and brutal tidings as heavy blows land against the ribcage. Punishing howls dice flesh as the playing drubs mercilessly, steam rises and clouds your vision, and it feels like you’re being encased in stone, left to suffocate. Throaty growls do ample harm, the outright meanness multiplies in a hurry, and the monstrous power breaks through the earth’s crust and turns everything into a global graveyard.

“Volatile Forms” is a massive statement from Dead Void, one of those records that leaves you physically and mentally exhausted when your time with the thing has ended. The devious ghouls you only see in shadows on their promo shot dress this record in mystery and torment, almost as if they’re fleeing the scene after setting up an explosion that hasn’t reach you yet. This is mangling and horrific, an album that pulls you apart limb from limb and leaves you to suffer in your own juices.   

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

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

Or here: https://www.mesacounojo.com/shop/dead-void-volatile-forms-lp/

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

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

Heavy metal as an artform can be grandiose and gigantic, something that feels larger than life that can take you to places in your mind you never expected to visit. As time has gone on, the metal tree has spawned so many different branches, each one a backbone of a specific style and the bands that formed from that approach, that it’s sometimes hard to dig down into the roots where it all began.

Speaking of origins, doom metal has many bands that helped build its lofty castle, not all of them as notorious as your Sabbaths, your Vituses, your mass of candles. Finnish band Spiritus Mortis deserves to be in that same conversation, their formation some 35 years ago looming large and solidifying the selections from their home country. They have returned with their fifth album “The Great Seal,” and as is the case with so many bands, they’ve gone through a roster upheaval since their last record, 2016’s “The Year Is One.” One of the biggest is the addition of new vocalist Kimmo Perämäki (he did a turn in 2004, so maybe new is a stretch) who replaces Sami Hynninen (formerly of the Reverend Bizarre), who turns in a masterful, dramatic performance on this record. The rest of the band is rounded out by longtime guitarist Jussi Maijala and equally tenured basisst Teemu Maijala (who also handled vocals for nearly a decade), guitarist Kari Lavila, and drummer Jarkko Seppälä on a record that reminds the world this band always had a stranglehold on bringing something massive and powerful to the table. “The Great Seal” is a steady reminder of that fact.

“Puputan” opens delivering driving riffs and Perämäki’s singing that borders on sinister, bringing the perfect vibe to this record. Gothy keys thicken as strong soloing darkens the mood, the chorus melts with emotion, and the slashing power disappears into the night. “Death’s Charioteer” chugs hard as gravelly singing changes the  mood, and the fog thickens and adds to your mental confusion. Strong leads chew into muscle, the singing haunts, and the burning terror exits like a mist. “Martyrdom Operation” brings swaggering guitars and a heavy Deep Purple vibe, punchy and slithering, clashing with vintage thunder. The leads scorch flesh as Perämäki hits some ridiculous high notes, making adrenaline flow as the final fires fade in the dirt. “Skoptsy” smokes with prodding guitars and an evil cackle, as the full picture fully blossoms. “The fruits of sin shall be removed,” Perämäki howls as the chorus swallows you whole, the balminess gets thicker, and tremendous soloing melts your face off your skull.

“Khristovovery” starts with guitars mauling and breathy vocals, a classic doom metal storm forming shockingly quickly. The chorus wilts flesh and then the pace speeds up, taking on a Maiden-like gallop that gets the blood flowing. The soloing is a blast to the system, blistering and leaving your flesh amply bruised. “Vision of Immortality” is heavy and sludging, a more monstrous being that gets nastier as it goes on. The singing is even more forceful with Perämäki wailing, “I’ve seen 1,000 planets, I’ll conquer 1,000 more.” That leads to a final push that wades in power and aggression, taking us full bore into “Feast of the Lord” that begins with a rich and tasty riff that reeks of Sabbath. It’s another one that lands body shots, putting you to the test, swinging into more sullen passages that push the emotion and darkness before giving way to final wordless calls. Closer “Are You a Witch” is plodding and haunting, taking you deep into the shadows, the verses oozing oil and evil intent. The chorus digs into your bloodstream as the psychological elements increase, and some bluesy guitar work causes steam to rise and your body temperature to skyrocket. Strange speaking sends chills down your spine, the pressure mounts, and the energy gradually fades, soaking into the earth.

Spiritus Mortis continue to etch their legend as one of the finest classic doom metal bands ever to creep out of Finland (or anywhere), and key lineup changes not only didn’t derail the band, they added to the power reserve. “The Great Seal” is one hell of an adventure, a virtual lesson plan into what makes this type of music work, and why only the special bands are capable of creating something truly memorable and exceptional. This is a record that can unite longtime Sabbath fans and those still taking their first lessons in doom, as there is so much flowing nectar that everyone can be nourished.     

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

To buy the album, go here: https://svartrecords.com/en/product/spiritus-mortis-spiritus-mortis-the-great-seal/1677813

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

I was just whining a week ago about what kinds of death metal I like and that the gruesome qualities outweigh just about everything for me when it comes to enjoying this style of music. But that’s not a be all, end all for me because I can appreciate all different types of shades and approaches. To me, it’s more the way it sounds and is played. It’s that type of brutality I require.

North Dakota is not necessarily the first or hundredth place that comes to mind when it comes to devastating death metal, but there’s a good chance Phobophilic are going to change that whole premise. The band is getting ready to unleash their tremendous debut record “Enveloping Absurdity,” and this eight-track crusher sounds like the filthiest, grimiest death one can order from that perverse menu. But look deeper beneath the surface, and the pain and torment is replaced by explorations of the human condition, inspired by the works of Albert Camus, Jean-Paul Sartre, and Fredrich Nietzsche. This band—vocalist/guitarist Aaron Dudgeon, guitarist/synth player Josh Poer, bassist Christian Alm, drummer Vincent Tweten—is here to make you think and not to bleed, and when the music hits this hard and this massively, the blood and guts aren’t missed one bit.

“Enantiodromia” slowly gets its juices flowing before the punches are thrown, and burly growls dig deep into your guts. Speedy riffs topple as the playing slices and dices, the soloing burns eyeballs, and the pace shifts one final time, crumbling into a doomy sprawl. “Those Which Stare Back” blisters as the growls go for the throat, punishing and consuming, the guitars snaking through murky waterways. The bass delivers a beating as the atmosphere bursts, twisting your brain and challenging your strength. “Nauseating Despair” trudges and decimates, spacious guitar work swelling and aligning with the increasingly violent weather patterns. Growls smash as the guitars tangle, splintering and charging to the finish line. “Cathedrals of Blood (Twilight of the Idols)” opens amid driving drums and great riffs, the growls engorging and becoming sinister. The playing turns into a practical burial of spirit, slowly devouring muscle and bone.

“Individuation” is a strange, spacey instrumental that delves in cosmic keys, bizarre whirs, and thickening bass that mixes with alien guitar work. Then we’re on to “The Illusion of Self” that fades in and then fully takes off, driving full force into your skull. The riffs destroy as the tempo stabs forward, bringing brutality and devastation, the guitars getting trickier as they form into a greater beast. The pace decimates as things melt into a slower, thornier monster, finally disappearing into the void. “Survive in Obscurity” launches with sooty growls and a chugging pace, knifing through the darkness. The growls crush as the guitar work jars your nervous system, the playing shorts out your mental circuit board as the final moments light up dangerously before fading away. Closer “Enveloping Absurdity” delivers crunching guitars and fluidity, adding that to aggression and muck that quickly begins to collect. The guitars warm up, the soloing adds crashing waves, and everything bubbles over, drowning the senses.

“Enveloping Absurdity” is not your typical death metal record at all, though it might take delving into the words and philosophical content for that to become clear. Phobophilic not only are a monstrously killer band capable of splitting skulls, they also force your brain to do some work, challenging what you know of death metal’s DNA and twisting that to their will. This record pays off all the promise contained on their earlier recordings and slams that into this beast of a debut that will just as easily take off your head as it will force you to expand your mind and thinking. It’s the best of both worlds.

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

To buy the album, go here: https://shop.prostheticrecords.com/products/phobophilic-enveloping-absurdity

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

Musical boundaries are made to be destroyed, and adhering religiously to a sound or ideology could be comfort to some, shackles for others. There is merit to both approaches, but the artists that take a base and build something greater, an obelisk toward the stars that contains multiple elements and influences, tend to be the ones that create the most exciting art. Having no limits means anything is possible.

I’m sure there will be people who argue that Arizona band Holy Fawn doesn’t properly belong in the heavy metal conversation, but that would be an incredibly narrow-minded way of looking at things. Yes, they won’t rip off your head with savagery—though there are thorny bends to their music—but the weight is instead in the emotions and the heart gush. Their second record is “Dimensional Bleed,” and it’s a hefty mix of atmospheric heaviness, delicate expressions, sometimes hushed passages, and, yes, daggers you don’t see coming that pierce your chest. The band—vocalist/guitarist Ryan Osterman, guitarist Evan Phelps, bassist/vocalist Alexander Reith, drummer/vocalist Austin Reinholz—named their record after a phenomenon where multiple dimensions and timelines exist at once, and this immersive, breathtaking music can leave you gasping, sometimes holding back tears, always soaring through the atmosphere to explore other planes of existence you’ve never touched before.

“Hexsewn” starts as a gentle flow, pouring a dreamy haze that will become a common factor, the vocals soothing as we head into “Death Is a Relief” that has keys quivering and a fog enveloping. Energy bursts mix in with the moody melodies, Osterman wondering, “When the stars blur out, when our families die, will you think of me?” Shrieks unload and melt into the background as the colors blur and fade. “Lift Your Head” settles in with steady drumming and the vocals pushing you into a heavier flow of playing. The energy numbs your limbs, the increased shades mix into the sky, and things crash down with ease, the shrieks picking up and causing your flesh to blister and ooze. “Empty Vials” opens with a voice speaking and quivering calls delivering electricity to the gathering lushness. “Can I move forward in a heap of bones, as a barricade, or would I only slow you down?” Osterman calls as the playing unloads. The thornier moments prick flesh, and everything dissolves into a sound cloud. “Amaranthine” breaks in with keys glimmering and washed-out vocals pulsating, the power tailing behind. Once the energy increases, the playing ices charred wounds, everything merging into space.

The title track delivers a thick blanket of darkness and softer vocals that feel like they’re teasing your brain. “Surrender to the blackness while I am watching everything growing,” Osterman observes as a doomy steam overcomes, slowly dissolving into acoustic strains. “Sightless” enters with beats echoing, the playing meandering through the mist, opening into gushing playing. Shrieks unleash darker tidings as the tempo picks up its pace, barreling into the unknown as smeary keys close the door. “Voice of Light” has a bit of an underwater feel at first, your body shivering from the vast coldness, the vocals feeling like they’re muffled in the distance. As you surface, the dream picks up and pulls you further out, the shrieks serve as an awakening, and electricity jolts, bringing you back into consciousness. “True Loss” feels solemn as it leaks red hues, the drums punching in and increasing the somber vibes. “Sometimes it feels like you’re the only one like me out there,” Osterman calls, delivering a message that can either devastate or fill you with life, the playing feeling like it’s slowly soaking into the earth below. Closer “Blood Memory” is bleary and hushed as it enters, the vocals feeling a little higher register. The gusts land as the track opens its jaws, shrieks sending electricity down your spine. The playing turns from drizzle to driving rain, the liquified surge looms larger, and Osterman ends calling, “There is only time, a circular pattern, a hex I abide, I’ll find you again in some other life.”

Holy Fawn already had done some incredible things, made engaging art before “Dimensional Bleed” was even a germ of a thought in its members’ heads. But this record is a major step ahead for this band as they grow even more confident in their mission and find more inventive and mystical ways to activate your emotions. Maybe this record doesn’t bask in heaviness from a decibel standpoint, but you’ll feel the weight of this thing from the toll of human emotion paid long after the music stops.   

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

To buy the album, go here: https://waxbodega.limitedrun.com/categories/holy-fawn

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