Death metal has this strange thing about it where the subgenre seems to grow exponentially each year and also stays the same as it was when its roots popped through the rotting earth. Simplistically, that means a lot of bands have taken the sound elsewhere, while we still have a nice slate of artists that find the graveyards and swamps home.

Michigan death squad Throne is kind of the best of both worlds, which they prove on their great second record “That Who Sat Upon Him, Was Death.” I’ll ignore that weird comma. The band—vocalist/guitarist Nathan Barnes, lead guitarist Tim Kenefic, bassist Leslie Drake, drummer Kollin Perpignani—definitely has their bloodied, muddied boots with the original crop of death metal bands that inspired a movement, but they also have a lot of modern flourishes to their sound, so it’s a nice variety. Plus, this record is brutal to the core and properly melodic, with the vocals particularly coming off as gruesome and unforgiving. Over eight tracks and 30 minutes, they serve up a beating that’s sized just right, leaving you fulfilled yet morbidly wanting more. 

“Disentombed” opens with guitars in full attack mode, brutality retching as the growls take hold and squeeze maniacally. The howls are mixed with shrieks, giving off a Trevor Strnad vibe (this is present throughout the record), and then the drums slaughter, the guitars rise and raise the temperature, and a battering force tears everything away. “To Breathe the Unknown” opens calmy, but it’s not long until ferocity ignites, the growls choking as guitars chug, speed becoming a greater factor. The riffs race as monstrous, gross grinding eats at you, the guitars enrolling into full corrosion. “Blasphemous Perversion” has the bass plodding and guitars bursting, the growls going guttural as all elements mangle. The pace trudges as the heat builds dangerously, guitars soar, and menacing snarls bury your face in the dirt. “Realm of Immolation” has guitars hovering like vultures, the drums powdering bones, and your senses smashed completely. The growls warp as the drumming again aims to loosen teeth, the pace speeding toward a final gasp of menace.

“Human Frailty” races from the gates, penetrating your mind, hammering away as the growls retch and choke. The guitars get thick and humid, turning into a deathlike haze, the riffs lathering with foamy blood, a brain-erasing pace picking up and leading to complete destruction. “Upon Deathless Winds” opens with guitars dashing, savage blazing taking hold, and the growl/shriek combo once again tearing out nerves. A molten pace explodes, everything coming unglued, and senses get blistered, all amid some rather melodic lead lines that make the bruising feel oddly comforting. “Behold Impurity” unleashes drums that decimate, growls and screams that maim, and a splattering attack that digs in its claws. The guitars pick up the pace as it feels like skulls are being dragged across rocky terrain, the playing rushes, and the vocals sink the dagger into your chest. Closer “Where Angels Cower in Fear” dashes as the guitars strangle, and the tempo feels like it’s going for broke. The vocals scrape more flesh as the guitars take on a Scandinavian vibe, the leads electrifying, the direction shifting violently, a final, sudden burst blasting away.

Throne’s death metal comes at you like a prowling beast, taking you down with hardly a moment’s notice on “That Who Sat Upon Him, Was Death.” This is one of those records that should register with the death metal old guard as well as people who dine on carnage from the past decade, with the overlap of those two audiences seemingly a harmonious one. This is a motherfucker of a record that will take you down and give you a thorough beating that strangely satisfies in the end. 

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

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

Or here: https://redefiningdarkness.8merch.com/

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

There are records that are a collection of songs that work as a tandem, the assembled work or an artist or artists that fit together. There are others that feel like events, communal expressions, voices sent out to the stars, often a combination of those factors, and when they land, they live beyond a creative cycle. They’re beings.

Rwake have been gone a long time. It’s been 14 years since “Rest” roused our metallic souls, and if you put that album on today (I actually just did) it sounds as fresh and vital as the day it was born. The Arkansas-based band, that’s as much a close-knit family as they are a musical outfit, finally are back with us on sixth record “The Return of Magick,” a brute force dashed with psychedelic colors and an unbreakable bond with the cosmos and nature. This is one of those event records. This six-track, 54-minute excursion has the band sounding as full of life as ever before, and perhaps that break helped this group—vocalists C.T. (who also handles words and themes) and Brittany (also on keys), guitarists Austin and John (lap and pedal steel, 12-string bass), bassist Reid, drummer Jeff (who also handles acoustic guitars and 12-string bass)—explodes through these songs that will test you mind and body and hopefully connect you to something greater than just the music. This is one of the best records yet, and I adore their back catalog. But this one is stuck on repeat, and I don’t see that changing.

“You Swore We’d Always Be Together” opens ominously with clean guitars flowing, accordion landing softly, and then the thing rips, growls and shrieks sounding wonderfully scorched, pedal steel adding a syrupy emotional heft, warm leads battling with the sludge. Screams penetrate again, guitars trucking as the playing spills, everything subsiding in an electric haze. The title track wastes no time, trucking with furious cries, the intensity hammering as the guitars wrapped like a cord, compromising your blood flow, C.T delivering spoken messages, “To all the witches in the woods, and to the goblins that understood, there is a spirit that walks among us, and it is living proof.” The speaking melts into warm guitars and long, immersive passages, C.T. later declaring, “It’s the return of magic in a crystal fucking palace, beyond biology and beyond all traits.” Dual guitars wrest control as howls recharge and sneer, shadows dripping blood as the fury slowly fades away. “With Stardust Flowers” punches its way in, vile shrieks hammering, punishment dealt with an even hand, the flow eventually growing calmer and more reflective. “Time is our great cosmic conductor,” C.T. warbles, “nothing escapes the song or spell we are under. Built from stardust sustained by cosmic ingredients, every cell is linked to an earlier stream of consciousness.” Guitars splash more colors before draining, tingling, and then everything speeds up suddenly, strains rushing through a mud stream, blistering and bleeding out.

“Distant Constellations and the Psychedelic Incarceration” is the longest track here at 13:56, and the opening is narrated by Jim “Dandy” Mangrum of the great Black Oak Arkansas. This is a segment that feels like an elder uncovering great wisdom from a wormhole in the past, echoing to the present and future. Acoustics and strings rise, guitars set their path, and wind whips, C.T. and Brittany trading lines that mash reflective with ferocious. The whole thing turns back into the darkness, feeling through chugging guitars and mashing rhythms, shrieks then exploding as if from hell. That temperature spike continues and ravages through maiming insanity that drains your mind dry. “In After Reverse” is warped before it guts, animalistic howls digging in their heels, doomy vibes rippling through the earth. The hypnosis takes on a greater hand, C.T. calling, “Vibrations alone, illusive emotion, the orchestra clocked, foundation in symphony, the atomic fate, a conducted crustacean, influence the state and conduct a rotation.” Spacey echo takes over as the playing recharges, the riffs storm, and the shrieks unravel, everything blistering and spiking the heat, eventually fading into a comic psychedelic cavern. Outro piece “Φ” has pianos dripping, acoustics teaming with pedal steel glaze, and the final embers fading into a scorched sunset.

Having Rwake back in our midst is a gift in and of itself, and the fact that “The Return of Magick” is such a triumph is a testament to this familial unit. There is darkness packed into these songs for sure, but there also are plenty of strains of optimism and reminders that we’re more than just being in flesh suits. We have our minds, the universe, and, yes, magic, all elements that can push us beyond mere existence into something with even more meaning than what this earth can provide.

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

To buy the album, go here: https://www.relapse.com/collections/rwake-the-return-of-magik

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

We are in an era where people take things too seriously in metal. Let me back up a second. I’m not saying musicians should not take their craft seriously. They very much should. But the ability to let loose from preconceived actions and just be free as a listener seems like it needs a recalibration. It’s OK to have a good time.

No doubt Sanhedrin are deadly serious about that they do, but taking on their music isn’t exactly dipping your head into a swirl of current events and content that will remind of what ails you. The band—vocalist/bassist Erica Stoltz, guitarist/backing vocalist Jeremy Sosville, drummer Nathan Honor—hearkens back a few decades to when heavy metal was largely summer music, stuff to blast as you guzzle a beer or 40 and forget the bullshit. On their fourth record “Heat Lightning,” they very much remain in that headspace, creating music that’s an escape, something to get your blood flowing. These nine cuts feel like they could have originated in the mid-1980s and caused no one at that time to question its origin, and it’s a blast to hear, especially with warmer weather approaching. Not that it also doesn’t sound amazing in the dead of winter! 

“Blind Wolf” jumps from the gates, guitars smoking with classic metal heat, Stoltz’s tough singing belting you across the face. “Now the wolf in you is mine,” she calls, the playing charging with authoritative strength, the guitars blazing away. The title track tingles the senses, and the pace pulls back a little, the verses numbing before sparks fly on the chorus. Guitars come to life as the pace catches fire, the chorus blasting back before warm riffs wash everything away. “Above the Law” is aggressive as Stoltz snarls, the guitars snaking, and gang-shouted vocals striking over the chorus. The intensity remains, crushing as the soloing goes off, great energy snapping back and ending the attack slashing away at limbs. “The Fight of Your Life” pays homage to those who could not resist the call to play music for a living, the band answering that call again with power and glory, churning and creating metallic flashes. “Hey friend, where you going with that ax in your hand?” Stoltz calls, “I’m going to cut your throat!” Soloing smears as the heat continues to rise, finally fading into darkness.

“King of Tides” has the guitars coating, and a darker, more calculated pace, the humidity picking up noticeably. “We’ll have to bend them to our wills,” Stoltz howls, the guitars engulfing with fiery passion, a dark finish ending in crackling flames. “Franklin County Line” is inspired by Sosville’s hometown in northern New York, creating a song about the local Amish population that goes off the rails. “Smoking and drinking and fornicating,” Stoltz wails, the winds of youthful expression and experimentation whipping, the guitars charring to a blinding finish. “Let’s Spill Some Blood” has guitars jolting and the singing a little more restrained. “Let’s show the world what we’re made of,” Stoltz declares, with revenge in the air, guitars spreading their wings, and the call of, “What you reap is what you sow,” landing the dagger. “High Threshold for Pain” has guitars clashing and the bass driving, the singing rising over the top of a bubbling cauldron. The leads numb before slashing back, the simple, yet effective chorus washing over. Closer “When the Will Becomes the Chain” has guitars swaggering and the band setting the mood, Stoltz wailing, “Swallow the sword from hilt to blade.” The bulk of the song is mid-tempo but channeled, the bass plodding as guitars simmer, letting the steam waft dangerously. The chorus returns for another stomp, and then the playing boils and burns, the darkness swallowing everything whole.

“Heat Lightning” has the band firing on all cylinders and sounding refreshed, not that their previous work was showing any sign of strain. Sanhedrin fit in a perfect sweet spot that pulls in both rock and metal fans, and there is plenty of fire here to keep you fully engaged. This record is an easy repeat listen, especially with the warmer months coming, when this type of album will hit its emotional peak.

For more on the band, go here: https://www.sanhedrin.nyc/

To buy the album (U.S.), go here: https://metalblade.indiemerch.com/

Or here (Europe): https://eu.kingsroadmerch.com/metal-blade

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

We talk a lot about live being disrupted because we lived through a half-decade of tumult, and this country is, yet again, in the strangulating throes of evil. But pain didn’t just begin with a pandemic. For many people, the blood and tears have been flowing for much longer, and the trail toward recovery is rockier.

We haven’t heard from Canadian sludge power Pyres since 2013, a whole lifetime ago, it seems. Think how much the world has changed since then, and not always for the better (actually usually not for the better). The band—vocalist/guitarist Andrew Wilson, guitarist Marc Delparte, bassist Devin LaMere, drummer Aleks Hara—arrived with “Year of Sleep” 12 years ago, and then things went horribly off the rails. Wilson’s sister was lost to a murder/suicide, and then his father passed away. Real-life shit. The band continued to play, and then the pandemic hit, the lineup shuffled, and all the trauma hit home. Luckily for the band, and us, they regrouped and created “Yun,” a record that helps Wilson and the group parse through loss, pain, grief, and frustration and shows Pyres completely reborn. It’s a record that gets more powerful each listen and could connect with people suffering through the similar circumstances.

“Mononeurvosa” opens slowly, guitars coming to life, swinging through gravelly growls  and sludgy smoke. The guitars then ramp up and torch, throaty howls pounding away, clean, yet gritty singing lashing, the grime building before blasting out. “Some, Not All, Came Back” has guitars snaking through strange tributaries, the singing pushing into melodic, yet abrasive waves. Riffs sweep, and a Southern rock feel emerges, the playing growing more spacious, your mind tingling in your skull, a ridig burst embracing burly corners. “A Depth Charge in a Dead Sea” runs 12:59, and it begins solemnly, meandering through dreamy calm, softer singing emerging before getting thornier. Howls explode as the pace continues to grow, atmospheric sludge draining over everything, the vocals stretching and battering, guitars gaining intensity. Then we’re back to serene waters, the guitars soaring slowly like light beams through thick clouds, an emotional gaze basking in sun-splashed waves.

“Granular Flow” has drums splattering and the guitars coming to life, giving off a High on Fire feel. Abrasive singing meets with swaggering guitars, soloing erupting and blazing harder, a throaty chorus landing blows before a smashing finish. “Nova Cruciatus” has the drums rousing, guitars creating smoke pillars, and a barnstorming force taking hold. The playing chugs and leans into shimmery passages, group singing makes blood rush, and molten energy spits chaos. “Lineage” has strong riffs and roaring singing, Wilson wailing, “Break this bloodline, break the chains.” The pace keeps getting faster and more volatile, laying waste and choking your lungs with soot. Closer “Old Dogs” pulls back a bit, feeling clean and reflective, though the singing is tougher, Wilson insisting, “Tears won’t bring them home.” Bass plods as the guitars gush emotion, melting into a fog that soothes your mind. The playing gets burlier as a tidal wave of emotions crash, the drums ignite, and everything lifts deep into outer space. 

“Yun” is both a bloodletting and an exercise in catharsis, with Pyres pouring every ounce of themselves into this record. It’s been a long time coming, this album, and so much has happened since we last heard from this band, it would be easy to understand if it went off the rails and meandered. Yet they found restraint and ways to express this into a nicely served record that’s impactful, doomy as hell, and gushing with power and strength.

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

To buy the album, go here: https://hypaethralrecords.com/collections/pyres

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

A decade ago, I was changing my career entirely, starting at a new job that I still have to this day. Well, not the same role. Same company. You get it. It’s a long time and a short time. It feels like those days went flashing by at times, and at others, it feels like a lifetime ago. A pandemic, personal losses, and a world upheaval also happened in that span, which changed everything we know about the world.

Ten years ago also was the last time we got a full-length from traditional metal power Christian Mistress, that being 2015’s “To Your Death.” Then everything went silent with the band for a long, long time. Then, a few years ago, some shows got announced. Something was brewing, and that arrives with their fourth album “Children of the Earth.” While the band itself may have been active the last decade, this album conscience has been taking it all in like a sponge, with the words sounding as informed and vital as ever. The band—vocalist Christine Davis, guitarist/bassist Jonny Wulf, guitarist Tim Diedrich, drummer Reuben Storey—sounds like they never missed a day, delivering eight tracks over 33 minutes that pump with passion and fury that can swallow you into their world. There’s also a message about the enormity of the universe in which we live, and how we’re a minuscule part of the story, having such a tiny time to make a mark.

“City of Gold” opens shrouded in guitar smoke, Davis’ leathery singing voice reminding us just why we fell in love with this band in the first place. There’s great energy here, a fiery chorus, Davis calling, ” One shot rang out, the hand of fate denied, two feet, run away and hide,” as a big finish gets blood rushing. “Voiceless” has strong leads and a defiance, showing a drive to stand up for those who cannot. “Use your voice, it’s what you got,” David pushes to those who have the ability, the guitars churning. Leads then blaze even harder, the spirit taking up arms, Davis asking, “What would the voiceless say?” as the final moments scorch. “Demon’s Night” has snarling riffs, the singing sparking emotion, the pace shifting as the melodies get catchier. The soloing has a nice vintage edge to it, letting nostalgia boil, and over that Davis calls, “I was left for dead, I was out in the cold, oh if this is the end let it begin.” “Love of the World” weighs the evils of society for one’s passion for the planet, riffs swaggering and driving, Davis admitting this feeling is “the only thing that keeps me engaged.” The chorus bubbles with strength, even in its simplicity, and as it repeats, the fervor grows in your heart, the ills of existence melting away just a bit.

“Mythmaker” is a killer, a righteous metal battle gem that reminds of Dio’s classics, and it starts with guitars chewing and Davis weaving through, commanding, “They say come see if it’s right for you, dance to death on the other side,” before declaring, “You are the mythmaker!” The idea of you being your own visionary is loud and clear, especially when she prods, “Create your story,” before a jarring end. “Death Blade” has a Van Halen-like start, which instantly gets the juices flowing, holding swords aloft and refusing surrender. “Give them hell when they come for you,” she belts, the guitars taking flight again, the drums driving through your chest cavity. “Lake of Memory” gives off some Thin Lizzy vibes with the twin guitars attacking, and this track is where we get our album title with Davis calling, “We are children of the earth! We are children of the stars and sky!” which is the command to find said lake in the realm of Hades in the afterlife. Guitars then slink as the drumming activates, putting a blistering end on this tale. Closer “Shadow” is an end-of-record standout, Davis a cappella singing, “Tonight, we could be gods in the Pantheon, we could be anything,” which should light a heavy metal fire in your heart. The track is rousing and glorious, a song that reignites passions and brings new converts to the fold as the band makes your journey limitless, your mind an open ground for creation, the possibility of victory apparent.

It’s so great to have Christian Mistress back in our orbit, and while 10 years gone seems like a long time (especially considering what that decade contained), they fit right back in the pocket on “Children of the Earth.” It’s easy to place the vintage tag on them, as has been the case since they first arrived, but they have so much more than that. They have a heart and humanity that we need right now, as well as a prevailing spirit that reminds us not to give in to our oppressors. Plus they boil heavy metal down to its original form in a genuine and powerful way that only this band can harness.

For more on the band, go here: https://christianmistress.bandcamp.com/album/children-of-the-earth

To buy the album, go here: https://www.cruzdelsurmusic.com/store/index.php?route=product/search&search=CHRISTIAN%20MISTRESS&description=true

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

How are you feeling right about now? Good? Nah. Unless you’re slopping all of the latest events like a hungry pig starving for fascism, you got to be pretty sick about now. It’s hard to hold any hope. That’s kind of the point. They don’t want you to have hope. But why do they get to win? We don’t roll over for that shit, even when they demand we show our bellies.

The four artists who make up Guiltless certainly are aware of everything and have been living in this strange, dangerous time, and their debut full length “Teeth to Sky” addresses some of this. Though maybe not in a way you might expect. See, there are ways to control our own narratives, to find solace, so find peace, to turn off the noise. Here, the band—vocalist/guitarist Josh Graham, guitarist Dan Hawkins, bassist Sacha Dunable, drummer Billy Graves—refuses to give in to the negativity and use their combination of doom, post-metal, and black metal to carve out a different path. These guys have backgrounds in other groups such as Neurosis, Intronaut, A Storm of Light, and plenty others, and they bring that energy and knowledge to create a pummeling, yet nicely portioned record that still lashes back at the power structures but also tries to urge the listeners to rise above that and fight for the lives we choose to live.  

“Into Dust Becoming” opens in guitar squall, leading to bruising howls and the ground being crushed, Graham calling, “Are we really alive? Were we ever alive?” That pace keeps pushing with force, grime hanging overhead, the pace staying punching and bruising. “One Is Two” opens with throaty cries and sinewy guitars, everything feeling muscular and smoky. The heat increases as the tempo drubs minds, a steely and humid gasp reverberating into oblivion. “In Starless Reign” brings barometric pressure as the bass quivers, and yowled vocals bend your will, the guitars digging deeper into wounds. The wails get throatier as steady blows land, mixing into darker, filthier terrain as Graham calls, “Where we’re from and where we’ll go!” “Our Serpent in Circle” has sounds surrounding as the piece develops, slowly landing blows that still have massive impact. Vocals drive as the ambiance turns harder toward doom fires, the intensity increasing and spitting, Graham repeatedly wailing, “When we fall,” as everything ends in tingling detachment.

The title track has the bass coiling and jarring, howls pummeling, the feel going a little psychedelic before getting meatier. Cleaner singing and spoken bits swim through your head as blood surges, the guitars carve new tributaries, and everything bows to corrosion. “Lone Blue Vale” enters amid a strange sheen, guitars churning as the vocals dig in their fingers, the pace trudging and fucking with your balance. The power increases as the pressure feels like it’s squeezing your skull, a synth cloud emerging and whipping everything into darkness. “Landscape of Thorns” has layered screams and a forceful gust, driving as the howls smear, and sootiness collects underfoot. The riffs get fuzzier before turning bloodier, combusting to a smoldering end. Closer “Illumine” is the longest track, running 7:06 and entering amid bass flexing and a deliberate attack designed to mete out optimal heat. Guitars murmur as everything turns more menacing, screams belting flesh, a vicious force multiplying before suddenly fading.

“Teeth to Sky” holds a message that might be hard for a lot of us to embrace right now as political and societal upheaval peel back our mental wounds, but that’s a good thing. We’re still alive and we still have possibilities in front of us, and giving up on those is a form of surrender that we do not have to offer. Guiltless have be here to pummel with their sounds, but they also remind us to fight for what we have and appreciate every breath because that’s a form of power that the corrupt worldly leaders will have to pry away from us.

For more on the band, go here: https://guiltless.bandcamp.com/album/teeth-to-sky

To buy the album, go here: https://music.neurotrecordings.com/guiltless-album.oem

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

An escape would be good about now, something to take us somewhere where the tidal waves of horrors can’t get to us, and we can actually breathe for a second. Despite how chaotic and angering things may be right now, having a means to not get caught up in the onslaught of news might be the only means to stay sane.

Not sure The Grey had that idea in mind when creating “Kodok,” their third record, but I’ll be damned if that isn’t what they conjured. The UK-based doom-influenced, earth-quaking trio finds ways to make cinematic bends that lap with volcanic eruptions, and it has a means of creating imagery in your head, transporting you someone else, if only for about 42 minutes. Another interesting thing about this band—guitarist Charlie Gration, bassist Andy Price, drummer Steve Moore—is their expanse sonically. Yes, they still hold on to the tenets that brought them here, but with even more imagination and fire than before, with a few special guests sprinkled in to give this even more life (even if it’s marred in, uh, grey).  

“Painted Lady” opens in burly power, a thick fog covering everything but letting small holes open for light to beam through them. The playing buzzes and burns before doomier trudging takes hold, thickening the moodiness as the guitars stream toward reddened skies. The leads soar gently before digging back in, the final moments expiring in exhaust. “La Bruja (Cygnus)” has the drums rousing, guitars chugging, and a chunkier, beefier attack mounted, the pressure peaking and then fading. The pace picks back up and turns steely, voices warble as if from a dream, and a shadowy, liquidy center melts, brushing with space before re-engaging with brutality. “Sharpen The Knife” features vocals from Grady Avenell (Will Haven), and his voice adds mucky grit to a steamy gaze of energy. Avenel goes from shrieks to guttural growls, hammering away as a strange aura is achieved, only to disintegrate in thin air. 

“CHVRCH” is quiet and reflective when it opens, guitars swelling and dashing, creating a sort of Pelican-style vibe. The pace picks up and immediately feels more dangerous, digging into muscle before pulling back again, letting blurry visions cloud your sight, shrieks gutting through glimmering keys. The vocals continue to bruise extremities as the playing pounds and mesmerizes, slipping into a dream state. “Don’t Say Goodbye” is a total change of pace, a lighter, more emotional piece built with clean guitars and raw reflection. Ricky Warwick’s (Black Star Riders) singing should soothe, but there’s hurt lying in the words as he first sings, “Don’t say goodbye unless you’re leaving,” repeatedly, with the final refrain ending with, “Unless you mean it.” Closer “AFG” features guitarist Ace from Skunk Anansie and Chris Hargreaves (fattybassman), and it’s a jerky, gazey piece that feels oddly calming in spots, moving toward the drums coming to life, stick taps making blood boil. An encircling atmosphere arrives, hulking pounding makes the earth shiver, and steam rises and threatens before dissipating into the air.

The Grey expand their sound into even newer areas with “Kodok,” a record that took me a few tries before it finally set in, and when it did, it was a pretty satisfying jolt. Sure, there might be very little left that’s new under the sun, and this band does delve into well-traveled post-metal and doom pathways, but they inject a sense of adventure and personality into the music that lets it create its own narrative. This experimentation paid off for the band, and hopefully they continue to explore underneath more surfaces the next time around. 

For more on the band, go here: https://thegrey2.bandcamp.com/album/kodok

To buy the album, go here: https://www.majesticmountainrecords.com/products/the_grey_kodok-preorder

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

I always see splits in two different ways. First, it’s a vehicle for two bands to put together music that may or may not fit together that lets the listener take smaller adventures with each. The other way is a tidy introduction to newcomers for bands that might not yet have hit their radar that doesn’t require them to digest an entire album’s worth of material.

Today we have a crushing 4-track split from two single-creator black metal outfits that are coming off well-received, impactful full-length albums (both made our top 40 last year) and are looking to build on that momentum. Or I’m complicating things and it’s a way for two like-minded artists to share a record and continue to warp black metal to their wills. Genital Shame hails from Pittsburgh and is helmed by Erin Dawson, and 2024’s “Chronic Illness Wish” is one that remains in my rotation on my office turntable. Joining her on this effort is Lust Hag, commanded by Eleanor, who released a self-titled LP last year that was a fiery statement that opened a lot of eyes and ears, mine included. Both artists are trans women in a space where there isn’t always acceptance and in a society that’s attacking these people for no good reason other than fucking fear. Long may both artists/bands run.

Genital Shame’s portion opens with “Notes Are My Friends” which is spacious and airy when it opens, a bit of a departure from the “Chronic Illness Wish” but an interesting one. Clean notes drip as Dawson’s howls reverberate through an acoustic wash and warm leads. Things then feel like heavy hypnosis as keys shimmer, a cosmic push envelops, and the final hellish vocals mix with a delicate haze. “War on Cars” starts with vile howls, pounding that leaves bruising, and heat that rises as vile darkness sinks in its teeth. The guitars darken as the madness opens fully, the leads scaling as the growls retch, the pace numbing, and everything washing away into freezing cold waters.

Lust Hag’s part starts with “Everything Ends” that dawns in an ominous atmosphere, a spacey coldness digesting, the feeling of isolation spreading, and then the drums exploding. Fiery chaos ignites, shrieks attack, and the leads slay, pushing you to the limits mentally as echo smears over a vicious finish. “Another Loss” brings unfurling riffs, fast and blinding motion, howls buried underneath the carnage that still have full impact. The playing drills harder, full demolition blazing, feral cries wounding with the thrashy pace. The pace turns channeled and even heavier, the guitars light up, and the final spiral leaves the room spinning out of control.

This is a really fitting combination of bands on this split as Genital Shame and Lust Hag create black metal that exists in new realms and realities that maintain the subgenre’s spirit but bend it to their liking. Both bands also seem bound to continue to push their sounds into dark regions, and this release could be a hint at where each project is headed next. This also could serve as a nice appetizer for anyone new to these hellish forces who’d like a little taste before fully diving into the sea of blades. 

For more on Genital Shame the band, go here: http://genitalshame.bandcamp.com/

For more on Lust Hag, go here: https://eleanorharper.bandcamp.com/

To buy the album, go here: https://fiadh.bandcamp.com/music

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

Death metal has shaken the idea that it always has to be about blood and guts and blew that into outer space. That’s a good thing, because think of how much the sound has twisted and morphed the last couple of decades, giving us exciting bands and thought-provoking records. It remains brutal; it just doesn’t have to be filled with puss.

UK death crushers Vacuous operate with their hands in each bucket of death. On one … hand, they certainly grind your brains and muscles to the extreme. On the other, they expand their minds and ambitions further than most, which you can hear on their devastating new record “In His Blood,” their second. Over eight tracks and 32 minutes, the band—vocalist Jo Chen, guitarists Michael Brodsky and Ezra Harkin, bassist Zak Mullard, drummer Max Southall—does mix in horror elements, but also themes such as school violence, toxic masculinity, and global divides that push more into psychological and social trauma that is even more harrowing in reality. Plus, the record just sounds great, an ideal blend of violent and visceral that challenges your brain.

“In His Blood” opens with wild cries, echo-rich playing that numbs your brain, and blistering playing that leaves you unhinged. Growls crush as the playing tears even harder, battling and choking with muck. “Stress Positions” enters with strong riffs and a thrashy feel, a simple, yet brutal chorus landing blows, the leads scaling and making blood rush. Murky heat covers as mournful guitars pour darkness, a thickening fog meeting with an electric gaze. “Hunger” is dark and dripping, the violent touches cutting deep,  a sinister fury blazing with a heavy force. The shrieks deface as a cold shadow takes over, thickening darkness before guitars blast through, ending everything in splintering tones. “Flesh Parade” clobbers right away, the guitars chugging, leaving painful abrasions. They unleash the battering ram, knifing through molten, sooty terrain, the guitars bending and adding levels of confusion, the final moments blurred out of sight.

“Public Humiliation” begins ominously with clean guitars glistening, the track settling into a calculated pace that turns vicious and throaty in no time. The humidity thickens as mesmerizing melodies flow, taking its time to unite with unsettling heat. “Contraband,” a song about 39 Vietnamese migrants suffocating in a lorry on a voyage to England, is darker, with growls crawling through blood and bile, the speed eventually becoming a factor. Guitars spit a gazey ambiance, uniting with a mauling pace that joins with mind-altering static, eventually hitting the gas pedal and crash landing. “Immersion” starts with drums erupting, the vocals spitting nails, rushing into bloody, agitated waves, the noise layering into a synth cloud. Voices appear to melt from a fever dream, a strange aura swallowing everything whole. Closer “No Longer Human” has a slower build, mixing into doom elements, shriekier vocals peeling back flesh. The pace pounds as death growls bubble, chilling sequences reverberating, guitars disorienting, a final gasp stabbing hard.

Vacuous certainly don’t back away from death metal’s normal shock and gore, but they’re about so much more, which you can hear on “In His Blood.” Yes, the skullduggery is apparent, but so are the various tones and sounds that separate them from the bulk of the sub-genre’s pack, making their work less indulgent in horrors and more interested in creating a dynamic, yet dark experience. This is a great step forward for the band that is aiming to keep death metal not only relevant but increasingly more creative.

For more on the band, go here: https://vacuousdeath.bandcamp.com/album/in-his-blood

To buy the album, go here: https://www.relapse.com/collections/vacuous-in-his-blood

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

It’s exciting to put on a band’s new record and instantly be thrown for a loop in a really good way. There are a lot of artists that put out strong releases their entire career but never really hit on that moment where they strike something truly land moving. Which is fine. A catalog of stellar music is nothing at which to be ashamed.

On album three, a self-titled affair, Year of the Cobra blast past just another strong collection of songs and unlock something that should be foundational glue for whatever music lies ahead. The duo of Amy Tung Barrysmith (vocals, bass, keyboards) and Jon Barrysmith (drums) haven’t graced up with a new record in about six years, and it’s certainly understandable as life gets in the way. Plus we had a damn pandemic. Yet, on this eight-track, 41-minute pounder, the band mixes doom, sludge, grunge, and even some pop sensibilities with those jagged hooks in a manner that acts as a sort of a creative rebirth, a fireball that’s been festering over the years that finally bursts in all its massive glory. 

“Full Sails” starts with thick bass coiling, the bruising spread out, Amy’s voice floating over, feeling breezy and restrained. Things get burlier, the simple, yet effective chorus making strides, Amy calling, “From this day forth your soul is mine,” as dark riffs leak under the door. “War Drop” punches with the drums rattling, with the vibe feeling a little L7, especially vocally as Amy sings, “I know it’s time, I see the trail of death.” The pace mesmerizes before digging back in and adding filth, the chorus repeating before a pummeling finish. “Daemonium” is one of the more approachable songs on here, though it tracks a killer targeting women, adding a sinister vibe. The singing is a little higher register, but then it gets darker as Amy prods, “Did she close her eyes? Did she plead for her life?” which feels like the song is out for vengeance.  “Alone” also swirls around in darkness, the riffs encircling, a powerful chorus flexing muscle. The playing goes clean and plays in echo, and then the punches land, Amy wailing, “I never thought I’d feel like this,” as the final embers burn.

“7 Years,” which is almost the time period between records for them, is fuzzy , grungy, and spirited, adding a psyche glaze that boasts a sheen. The basslines slink as the drums send glass shards flying, melodically chugging before a rather catchy finish. “The Darkness” flexes its power early and often, Amy defiantly declaring, “I don’t need a thing, I can do this all alone.” Her calls of, “Don’t let me go,” reverberate, bringing both appealing melodic gusts and a bustling finish. “The Sleep” rumbles as the vocals swelter, dark tones making everything feel foreboding, drums pounding as if breaking through the earth. The chorus settles like a breeze, a low-end rumbling making the ground shake, disappearing into the mouth of a dream. Closer “Prayer” is the longest track here, running 7:29 and simmering in noise and plinking keys, the singing conjuring deep emotions, the playing gushing and bleeding. “My soul do I relinquish,” Amy cries, the playing sending light beams, keys drizzling, a hypnotic front hanging over, noise squeezing before ending gently.

Year of the Cobra really tap into something on their self-titled third record, and while it carries enough darkness, it counters that with increased doses of melody and hooks that can scar you. The Barrysmiths really are onto something here, a record that can grab the metallic contingent with no problem but also can attract people on the periphery who are a little hesitant but might be attracted to the sheen. This should be a major coming out party for Year of the Cobra provided this record gets the attention it richly deserves. 

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

To buy the album, go here: http://lnk.spkr.media/year-of-the-cobra-yotc

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