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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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