Change is inevitable, as is the gamut of emotions and struggles one faces in life as things ebb and flow,  not always for exclusively good or bad reasons. It’s just the nature of our existence, and sometimes when we sense the need to change the pace or the scenery, it can lead to the floodgate opening as far as inspiration is concerned.

Atmospheric black metal power Eave faced upheaval like many of us have the last few years, shifting from Maine back to their home state of Connecticut after the release of 2020’s tremendous “Phantoms Made Permanent.” The band—vocalist/bassist Brian Tenison, guitarists Ian Shooshan-Stoller and Gabriel Shara, drummer Caleb Porter—returns on “Fervor,” their third album overall and one of their most volatile, as the adjustments they’ve made also have ushered in darkness and fire. The band remains as epically melodic as ever, and the woodsy feel to their music still is a vital part of their DNA. But you can’t mistake the thorniness of these songs as the band reflects on the dark and light elements of existence, as well as our bond with the natural world, in which we’re not always very loving partners.

“Past Pulses” opens spreading heavy cloud cover before the track rips open, tumultuous energy surging behind it. Melodies rush as the playing goes back and forth between calm and raging, guitars flowing with force, and the energy mauls, howls stretching out as the track fades away. “Chance Is a Spectre” rips apart and stampedes with atmospheric force, howls stretching their wings, growls following and adding a more guttural essence. Sounds ache as the playing suddenly goes into calmer water, soothing the scarring from the fires, easing on and eventually fading into the earth. “Mirroring” punches in, corroding and eating away at flesh, growls squeezing at your throat. Breeziness suddenly gives way to chaos, landing punches, the blazing torching everything in its path. The playing cascades and reveals spacious qualities, adding a heavy glaze that makes your mind wander.

“Stale Ash” blisters and savages, melting rock and bone, the howls reverberating as melodies swell, and sounds scorch the earth. Death growls bleed in and smash, anguish bloodies the waters, and the ravaging continues to dangerous lengths, suddenly turning to more tranquil and proggy terrain. That’s temporary as the power combusts, howls echo, and the last of the fuel burns away. “Bending the Light” opens with the bass driving, and the playing rumbles with force, prog fires burning brightly, thunder ripping through the sky. Growls retch as the guitars get grittier, doom buzzes, and the final strains fade into the horizon. “Shards” unleash snarling riffs and marring growls, the pace electrifying, the guitars taking off for the stratosphere. Wild howls ripple through the winds as the vocals get even more ferocious, feedback stings your ears, and the blinding pace makes your blood race forcefully through your veins. Closer “Into Perdition” is dark and cold when it arrives, howls echoing, swirling through the air. Acoustic rush in, adding calm before another catastrophic burst blinds, electric yet folkish melodies explode, and the trudging tempo swings its ax mightily, sinking its blade into the earth for good.

“Fervor” adds something unexpected to Eave’s atmospheric black metal: menace. This album is deadlier and meaner, scorned, hurt than their previous work, and while there remain elements of beauty intertwined, this record feels like being at the heart of a relentless storm. This is a step in a tumultuous direction, and it feels like it’s the product of a band in transition as they still have their hearts fully immersed in the music but now have decided to add a little blood and vitriol for good measure.

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

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

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

It’s absurdly late. It’s chilly, the darkest part of the evening, yet something lures you into the woods, a place where you’d hardly feel comfortable most of the time at this turn of the day. Yet here you are, walking, crunching dead leaves and sticks, trying to find your muse as you feel your way through the shadows. Finally, you find it. Fire crackling, chants rising, you’ve left yourself to the wild.

Taking on the new EP from Countess Erzsebet (the name taken from Elizabeth Bathory), helmed solely by Rachel Bloodspell Moongoddess (who has worked with Xasthur and Cardinal Wyrm among others), feels like a ritual more than just six songs bleeding through your headphones. Moongoddess’ work has transformed from her largely acoustic early work that had minimal vocals to something raw, black metal that scrapes at the psyche, pushing your mind and body to commit to something rather than forget it once the music ends. Moongoddess goes for the throat here, making sounds that haunt you, creating black metal that feels like a genuine expression from the heart rather than something to move units. This is a true beginning of something that shows a pretty certain path but also leaves mystery, making it impossible to know where this project may go next but also makes the possibilities incredibly exciting.

“In the Blood of Virgins” opens with guitar swell and wordless calls lifting, acoustics sliding underneath, sounds reverberating. Howls echo as guitars char, clean singing mixing with hypnotic passages, numbing you with wonder before fading. “Glorification of the Profane” delivers raw guitars and fires up with force, shaking and riveting, making bones rattle inside of bodies. Speed strikes as minimalist playing manages to cave in your chest, spilling black and sooty melodies that rot in the dirt. “666” opens with angelic-style calls, rough guitars, and spindling force, the low-end power eating at flesh. The guitars twist your psyche, melting and bleeding, ending in a disorienting haze. “Pray to the Devil” dawns with clean singing before guitars apply a chokehold, bruising with darkness as morbidity multiplies dangerously. The drums rumble and turn rock into dust, the playing clobbers with fury, and utter destruction leaves bodies and mentalities mangled. “Obliteration of Thine Enemy” carves in with crunching guitars, a thick and mystical mist slowly spreading, a fiery force scorching and threatening. The bass swims as the drums pick up, the earth quakes beneath your feet, and a hellacious storm picks up and splatters with devious spirits. “Exile Into Depravity” closes the proceedings with blurry keys and drums pacing, your mind wandering off into a strange vision as you lie prone in the woods.

Rachel Bloodspell Moongoddess’ vision takes a huge step into horrifying waters on Countess Erzsebet’s self-titled EP, and this heavy turn into raw black metal and mystical dream states makes for a collection that fully enraptures. There still is a feeling-out essence to this music, which isn’t a criticism. It’s a fascinating look into the building blocks of a project, a foundation that can house even bigger ideas, more torrential might, and an entrancing sojourn into the world’s darker forces.

For more on the band, go here: https://www.facebook.com/CountessErzsebet666

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

Isn’t it weird that sometimes death metal makes you feel OK inside, like it’s connecting with some strange thing that should leave you feeling repulsed but instead does the opposite? It’s not that you have to wallow in awful things when you listen to this style of music. That would be silly. I just sometimes find it funny when my mood turns around when the gnarliest sounds I can find are in my ears.

For some reason, I can’t find a way to feel bad when I listen to death crushers The Glorious Dead, a band that immerses themselves in the old-style strains of this sub-genre and regurgitates that with deadly precision. Their killer second record “Cemetery Paths” is more of the good stuff, a record that could have been released 30 years ago and felt just right, yet it’s just bubbling to the surface now. The band—vocalist/guitarist TJ Humlinski, guitarist Marty Rytkonen (and Bindrune master himself), bassist/vocalist Chris Boris, drummer Chris Fulton—comes off as a group that gets together, annihilates beers, and creates stuff that resonates with their darkest tastes, and it makes this record such a pleasurable listen. Yeah, it’s plenty ugly and bloody, it wants to smash your skull in, but the music is so satisfying, it’s easy to ignore the blood and brains leaking out of your skull.

“Semita Cineris” is a quick intro cut built with acoustic guitars and cool synths, blending into “Horizons of Ash” that rips apart with mangling death. The playing is mashing and ridiculously heavy as growls slither through mud trails, and then a slower, haunting pace increases the misery, paving the way for an unhinged final assault. “Gag on Viscera” brings infernal guitars and a mashing attack, stomping guts and spattering blood. Leads swelter as the tempo pushes and pulls, a hazy power surge blasts, and the growls rumble before the track gasps its last. “Purulent Forms” smashes with fast, ferocious force, the growls digging into your guts, and then everything takes a more sinister turn. Elements explode as powerful leads go on a warpath, the growls menace, and a jarring blast spits bone. “Daylight Graves” is tense and steamy, the growls retching and regurgitating, and then the playing crawls through the murk. The growls engorge as the playing gets more intense, slowly disappearing into the night. “Cadaver Within” blasts with violence, growls curdle, and the track turns into a battering ram. Guitars spiral as the menace becomes a bigger factor, turning everything into a gross paste.

“Malefic Sepsis” mars with vicious growls and a rampaging pace, sinking blades between ribs. The atmosphere is menacing as evil growls boil blood in your veins, devastation peaks, and the violence leaves a film of ash behind. “Dragging the Dead” is punchy and relentless, the guitars scorching and baking flesh to the bone. Growls gurgle as the pace explodes anew, the sounds trudge dangerously, and everything is stomped into the ground. “Living Rot” carves into your brain, unleashing bruising and violent bursts, the humidity building and making breathing tougher. Leads warp and add to the heat as gutting death follows closely behind, ending abruptly. “Corpse of the King” blasts out, creating meaty punishment, and continually mauling with force. The guitar work mystifies as the playing rips apart and melts brains, driving with force into hell. “Cemetery Path” starts with rain soaking the ground, and then creepy creaks lead to doomy hell expanding, drilling and lurching as funeral bells chime. Things get muddier and uglier, growls spread relentless gloom, and that mercilessly battles into closer “Semita Pulveris,” a quick piece with mauling growls, guitars simmering and steaming, and gruesome forces dragging you deep into the darkness.

“Cemetery Paths” is a devastating, straight-ahead serving of classic death metal, and the horror and stench crawling off this thing should be enough to satisfy anyone who dines in this sub-genre’s decrepit halls. The Glorious Dead are well on their way to cementing their foothold in death’s annals, and more records like this one should go a long way toward establishing that. This is a menacing beast, one that will leave you beaten and battered yet strangely fulfilled in your pain.

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

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

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

Black metal has a way of making you feel a whole gambit of emotions, most of them violent and negative, filling you with a darker spirit that can help you address the negativity in your life and perhaps let some of the pain and frustration leave your body. While this style of music has changed a lot over the years, there’s not a lot of this style that can make you feel positive excitement and bliss.

 We already knew what LA-based black metal force Agriculture stored as far as potential from their great introductory EP “The Circle Chant,” but the arrival of their self-titled first full-length takes that energy even further, spilling over in total exuberant chaos over these amazing seven tracks. The band—guitarist/vocalist Daniel Meyer-O’Keeffe, bassist/vocalist Leah B. Levinson, guitarist Richard Chowenhill, drummer/percussionist Kern Haug—calls their style “spiritual music” (hence the god references in their lyrics), but not in a religious sense. Instead, it’s a reverence to their surroundings, the comfort found in other people, and self-acceptance, which can be quite the hill to climb for some folks. Through these 31 minutes, Agriculture create delirious heaviness, some earnest reflection, and savage power that sweeps you up and takes you on a journey that can make you feel fulfilled in the end.  

“The Glory of the Ocean, Pt. 1” begins with slide guitar soothing, sending calm through your veins, and then the distortion mounts, the playing slowly developing its character. The emotion begins to tidal wave, feeling like a storm cloud bursting and pouring generously as “The Glory of the Ocean, Pt. 2” rips open, shrieks stabbing into your mind. The playing dives and warps as the infectious energy becomes insurmountable, pounding away. “Yes! This it! This is the Ocean! My body – give it away,” is wailed as the playing stabs and darts and then changes on a dime, storming with fire to the end. “The Well” is a change of pace as the track feels like a Midwestern indie dirge, Meyer-O’Keeffe’s voice calling with raw emotion, “A mother reaching out with a tiny mouth, ‘I can’t just watch the boy die all alone, and both of us crying.’” It’s a gripping piece, short but effective, and it sets the stage for what comes next.

“Look, Pt. 1” explodes out of the gates with many of the same words we heard on “The Well,” this time a ferocious rampage that is built on electric energy, manic shrieks, and eventually sax sprawling and twisting psyches. “Bright eyes opened up by mighty hands,” is a call that drives right into your chest, making you feel the adrenaline rush as we head toward “Look, Pt. 2” that continues the momentum and gets even hotter, blistering while the shrieks crush inhibitions, jarring with a start/stop thrashing that devastates. Guitars swelter as the band chugs heavily, slowly melting into cosmic winds, bending into “Look, Pt. 3” that’s an all-out black metal assault. The feelings rush and become the whole story, the wild cry of, “Reach in your chest and pull out your heart,” registering with force. The playing continues to storm, pulling back briefly as the drums take center stage, rumbling and bustling, pushing into gushing ferocity that feels like a jolt to your heart, the speed hurtling to the end. Closer “Relier” brings guitar gaze before it explodes in the air, howls crushing as the power stomps with desire. “Trust! Trust! Trust! I call it God…” knocks the breath from your lungs, the storming brews a new front that aims to devour, and the high speed causes smoke to rise and dominate, ending everything with incredible power.

Agriculture’s debut full-length is likely to be a touchstone record for black metal and heavy music in general in 2023, as it just feels like one of those albums. Of course, these things also create backlash, but when you have something this moving and genuine, a collection of music that sparks human response, you can’t worry about the people left hand wringing. This is an incredible album from a band that’s likely to have a major influence on where the sound evolves from here, which is a very exciting thing.

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

To buy the album, go here: https://nowflensing.com/collections/flenser-releases

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

Over the 12 years we’ve presented music on this site, there hasn’t been a lot of opportunities to write about love songs. So many of the sub-genres we cover barely, if ever, touch the subject, and the times when it does come into play, it feels like it’s been a blip on the radar. But love is a very human thing, and there is no reason for heavy music to shy away from it, so let’s dive in headfirst.

Long-running noise/punk/hardcore institution Oxbow never have done things conventionally over their 35 years together, and that continues on “Love’s Holiday,” an album filled front to back with love songs. No, you’re not going to have a candlelit dinner or slow dance to any of these songs (people still do that, right?), and you’re not staring a slew of sappy ballads in the face. Instead, the band—vocalist Eugene S. Robinson, guitarist/pianist Niko Wenner, bassist Dan Adams, drummer/percussionist Greg Davis—gives love all kinds of sonic treatment from stabbing bursts to longing-filled dirges to heated outbursts when the heart is about to bleed its last. Kristin Hayter of Lingua Ignota lends her unmistakable voice to parts of the record, a full chorus adds depth and texture, and a group of other players add oboe, clarinet, violin, and other sounds to a record that is impossible to classify. It’s also damn near impossible to shake off, making this one of the most immersive and emotionally charged Oxbow record yet.

“Dead Ahead” slices in with snarled and stretched vocals from Robinson, who sounds like no one else, and the chorus of, “Knives in the sink,” pulled from the verses is instantly intoxicating. “Believe it, heed it, this god of love destroys and creates,” he calls as the playing jostles, teasing and pulling, turning into filth. “Icy White & Crystalline” comes in direct, landing shots, twisting your mind, guitars jangling with exhaust. The playing is undeniably catchy as Robinson prowls, “I’m up your stairs, banister like a barrister for the prosecution, on the charge of prostitution,” the synth pulsating. Things get murkier, noise shakes, and the final slices to your flesh burn harder. “Lovely Murk” is immersive, gentler musically, feeling like a misty night. Synth spreads as the song gets heartier but darker, guitars sprawling. Hayter’s voice swirls in the fog as Robinson continues to scratch out the tale. Orchestral flourishes rise, sorrowful melodies get weightier, the shadow slipping out of the room. “1000 Hours” feels like a lull-a-bye at first, choral singing coating, the pace taking up the immersive pain. Robinson flexes a bit, croons in other places, “Life has lost its taste,” he calls in agony. Vulnerable and broken, the song continues through bloody drama, the chorus swelling, devastation and heartbreak making the heaviness impossible.  

“All Gone” starts with choral calls, piano falling in sheets, the pall stretching, Robinson’s speak singing plotting the way. The singing turns to whispers, the guitars tease fire, the keys ice, Robinson pleading, “Close my mouth, give me breath because how can I bear the ghost of you here?” Fuck, that line is a dagger. The haunting continues as the guitars rush, the keys feel like tears falling into forever, and the emotion leaves you choked up and gasping. “The Night the Room Started Burning” opens with acoustics, the tempo pumping, the choruses again layered with majesty. “It was dark, it was me and you,” Robinson calls as power chords jar. Chimes attempt to salve wounds, but there’s no turning away from the burning, punches come harder and in places you don’t expect, and finality is numbing. ““ “” is a brief interlude with acoustics, sounds swelling, and ice pelting, moving into “Million Dollar Weekend” that slowly melts, Robinson prodding, “Our secrets were not so secret, and we were not so nearly sober,” as the atmosphere surrounding increase the moodiness. Power jolts, guitars slide, and the deep expression makes this feel like a sultry evening, the clothes sticking to your body from the heat, solemnity poking in its head and deciding it’s better off not involved in any of this. “The Second Talk” punches in, swampy guitars stinging, Robinson’s screech matching the thick air, poking with, “Fucking is a dangerous game.” The singing gets more intense as he reaches for the upper rafters, the playing follows suit and provides grit, making this the most straight-on rock song on the record, a damn fucking good one at that. Closer “Gunwale” gives the chorus a final spotlight, the slow burn of the song making things feel liturgical and dangerous, poetic lines slipping through the waves. The haze is heavy enough to taste, guitars muscle through the brine, and it feels like a spirit that won’t rest. “Can you believe us? Will you believe us? Will you come and see? You and me and the sea,” Robinson wails, angelic haze enveloping, sounds bending and marring, the final strange visions a slurry beast, crawling its way into some sort of rest.

Oxbow always have been a band that has remained at arm’s length for some people, but when their music clicks and connects, there’s nothing quite like it. “Love’s Holiday” is unlike anything they’ve done before, but you can say that for most Oxbow records, can’t you? Still, this one stands out in an impressive history of heavy music that knowns no boundary, no rules, nothing they ever were afraid to add to the mix. These love songs hurt, twist, bleed, scathe, and never flinch from showing vulnerability and pain, defining heaviness in both sound and emotion, making this something you won’t forget.

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

To buy the album, go here: https://www.blixtmerchandise.com/collections/ipecac-recordings

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

Before the rich assholes tried to go into the sea, they attempted space first. Uh, kinda sorta. Hardly a surprise, because if there’s a way to monetize the majesty of the stars, these people will figure out a method. For the rest of us, we are left to dream, wonder, yearn. We can bask under the night sky, take journeys in our mind, and find our own hypnosis that carries us on to our next adventure.

“Silent Future” can be that means of flexing into the stars without having to be a giant rich idiot in order to do it. It’s the product of a collaboration between Chicago-based psyche power Rezn and Mexico City galactic wanderers Vinnum Sabbathi, and together this force creates something riveting that can take you beyond the earth’s crust. Rezn—vocalist/guitarist Rob McWilliams, bassist Phil Cangelosi, drummer Patrick Dunn, synth/sax player/flautist Spencer Ouellette—just put out their killer “Solace” in March and are about to hit the road with like-minded powers Elder. Along with them are Vinnum Sabbathi—guitarist/drummer/percussionist Gerardo Arias, bassist Samuel Lopez, guitarist/synth player Juan Tamayo, FX wizard Roman Tamayo—whose last full-length was 2020’s “Of Dimensions and Theories” and have been exploring the outer realms for more than a decade. Also on this record are Victor “KB” Velazquez who provides additional guitars and Manuel Wohlrab, the very crucial spoken word segments woven into these tracks, helping form a greater whole and a majestic adventure that’ll leave you mentally stimulated and psychologically tingling.

“Born Into Catatonia” is a brief instrumental that slowly tears open this collaborative world as spoken messages swim in the murk, feeling like a strange transmission from beyond that slips into “Unknown Ancestor” where guitars spill, and new sounds slowly surface. More speaking from Wohlrab makes your mind tingle, numbing with sonic pressure, and then the doom explodes, raining fire from the heavens. Fluid singing teams with hypnotic visions, and then the playing jars again, a great chorus rushes in from the stars, and the pace shifts, making its way for the final part of the opening triptych, “The Cultigen.” There, the singing merges with the stars, and keys pulsate as McWilliams calls, “Acid rains from the fountain of your god.” A strange cloud forms as a result, taking off for a trip into the universe.

“Hypersurreal” is muddy and doomy when it starts, the speaking making your blood chill as it continues to tell its alien story. Firing jolts bruise your ribs, and the spacey journey and synth swirls unite, McWilliams calling, “Seems like I’m all alone,” as the sparks dot the horizon. “Clusters” brings reverberating synth as the strains of extraterrestrial life swim through your psyche, the strangeness playing games with you as if from a dream, letting you know the threats in the sky are real. “Morphing” floats in from beyond, the singing floating in a misty early morning before the sun rises. The tempo rises as the melodies work through the stars, liquifying before the synth turns everything to ice. Guitars swell as things get heavier and burlier, continuing to spill fuel as the fires rage toward the clouds. Closer “Obliterating Mists” mesmerizes and rumbles, the singing hypnotizing, pulling you into mystery. A gentle haze builds as the speaking increases, sludgy drubbing spilling out of the cracks, simmering and flexing as the mud multiplies, and the messages are transmitted eons past our own world.

This collaboration between Rezn and Vinnum Sabbathi is one that feels like it was destined to happen, something that feels apparent after just a single trip through “Silent Future.” This record is the perfect soundtrack for nighttime stargazing as you consider what lurks on those worlds that dot the sky and wonder if beings on other planets far away are doing the same thing. It’s a breathtaking adventure that puts these two bands into greater focus and shows just how powerful a union between like-minded forces truly can be.

For more on Rezn, go here: https://www.facebook.com/reznband

For more on Vinnum Sabbathi, go here: https://www.facebook.com/VinnumSabbathi/

To buy the album, go here: https://www.bluesfuneral.com/collections/releases

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

I won’t waste your time with my semi-regular whining about modern thrash metal and how no one seems to be able to get the hang of it, and why do people hurt me? In fact, I feel like as I have started complaining about this, more bands actually have turned in some pretty goddamn good albums, and we have one today that’s a total beast.

Chicago crushers Bloodletter have been doing their thing for a decade now, and their barnstorming third album “A Different Kind of Hell” is both a lot of fun and violent as shit. There’s a black metal strain going through this stuff for sure, and the band—vocalist/guitarist Pete Carparelli, guitarist Pat Armamentos, bassist Tanner Hudson, drummer Zach Sutton—makes great use of their time here, 11 tracks that grind your face over the pavement and make you pay the price. My complaint about thrash hasn’t been as much about the sound as it is showing the heart the pioneers had, and you never doubt that with Bloodletter for a second. This is killer stuff, and it’s awesome to witness their fire.

“The Howling Dead” storms, in, thrashy and crushing, the creaky howls making it feel like metal imported mentally from three decades ago. In a great way. Fast and fiery, the soloing goes off, sounds glimmer, and the savagery sinks its final blade. “Blood Is Life” simmers before exploding, the vocals blistering, fast and punchy playing getting in its blows. The guitars soar as humidity becomes a factor, the screams pushing back sending howling winds through your hair. “Bound & Ravaged” packs plenty of vintage power, the vocals speeding, the strong melodies becoming a huge part of the song. Horrors are abound as carnage spills, the rampage is scathing, and Carparelli wails, “Ringing their necks, her kiss seals their fates.” “From Hell They Came” brings mauling drums and a punishing path, slashing through with fast riffs and terrifying tales that spill the blood. The playing charges up again toward the end, the chorus smashes, and a vicious finish flattens bodies. “The Last Tomb” is mournful and doomy when it starts before it tears through flesh and bone. The shrieks crush as the meaty playing stretches muscle, the leads causing choking smoke, trudging and dominating before burying the rest of the bones.

“His Will Be Done” is slashing, great thrash metal, the guitars ruling, the soloing melting steel. “We fight to die, and like the rest you’re sacrificed,” Carparelli howls as the band creates blinding fire, blasting out through rock. “Obsidian Offering” is a shorter track, but it makes the most of its time, the drums cracking spines, the guitar work feeling molten and exciting, the final charges tearing holes in muscle. “To Darkness Damned” mashes with scathing howls, cool waters trickling down your spine as you’re being laid to waste. There are black metal flourishes that sink into misty terrain, and then things heat up again, reminding heavily of Kreator at their finest as the explosive crashing makes it final surge. “Lord of Pain” injects speed and power, the storming rattling cages, ripping through the chorus to spark calls for mercy. The playing goes off, and a power metal-style flood overwhelms and glistens with muscular glory. “What Lies Beneath” has darker tones when it dawns, feeling menacing, tightening the tension. Melodies ripple over the chorus, the guitar work searches the stratosphere, the howls retch, and everything burns to the ground. Closer “Flesh Turned to Ash” blisters, Carparelli howling, “Nowhere to run! Nowhere to hide!” The playing slashes through as the guitars rise to new levels, the danger gets to damaging curves, and Carparelli swings the final hammer, howling, “There’s nothing left to be saved.”

Bloodletter may not have come up in thrash’s heyday, but they prove they gush the same blood and have ample levels of similar power on  “A Different Kind of Hell.” The black strains make this more intense and devastating than what most of the subgenre’s pioneers created, and the horrific tales and bloodshed also give this band a mangling edge. This is a muscular entry into Wise Blood’s “Summer of Thrash” as the bar has been set pretty damn high not just for the other releases set to come, but for anyone attempting to carry thrash’s torch into the future.

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

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

Or here (International): https://wisebloodrecords.8merch.com/

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

We as people seem to have been on the road to doom for a long time, and if we’re being totally honest, there seems very little hope we can change that. It’s broken-record shit at this point about large swaths of the world’s population who are in total denial because they’ve been misled by leaders who value money over the future, because they’ll likely be dead by the time we all burn.

Philly sludge doom crushers Quiet Man, who are comprised of anything but quiet people, watch humankind spiraling out into oblivion on their hulking debut record “The Starving Lesson.” Here, the band (formerly known as God Root)—guitarist/vocalist Joe Hughes, guitarist Keith Riecke, guitarist/sample wizard Jack Sterling, bassist/vocalist Ross Bradley, drummer Jason Jenigen—refuses to turn an eye away from the existential carnage, going full bore inro the chaos, the feeling that everything is coming apart at the seams. They go into terrifying corners thinking of the corrosion of our world, the way many folks treat marginalized people, and our own mental and physical well-being in the face of so much pain and misery. Yet in the end, even after all this erosion, there are slight glimmers of positivity, tiny as they may be, that suggest we can maintain our identities.  

“Pressure to Burrow” doesn’t exactly ease you into the record as the clean eeriness and cloudiness push into a burly shift, reeling with the howl of, “I can’t watch you die, leaning with intent to fall, fuck thoughts and prayers, I need no more dead friends.” The playing later takes on a dusty feel, slipping into gazey pressure, shrieks raining down as the twists and turns aim to disorient. A huge gust blows you back as the guitars destroy, the doominess clogs veins, and the power pummels, with the warning, “Run!” “At Operating Temp” is a strange interlude with sounds beeping, weird samples warping your brain, psychotic jolts electrifying limbs as everything heads into 12:56-long “From Tomorrow’s Dead Hiss” that feels like it dawns in an industrial fog. The playing slowly mauls, sludgy hell achieved, guitars ringing out and looking to do damage to your psyche. Drums thrust as speaking makes your blood chill, and then crazed howls turn things into properly disjointed territory, melting into a fog, slowly wafting like a ghost. Sounds settle and land on the ground, making your nerve endings quiver and sizzle.

“Set to Boil Is the New Standard” brings thick moodiness, and then the retching begins, making your body feel like it’s been through the ringer. There are times where the power sits in the mist, others where the combustion almost is too much, and wails of, “Device of paper and thought and flesh, a soul is a coin is a brick is a knife is a shovel is a gun is a ditch is a house is a debt is an end,” where you feel the downward spiral. Sounds swarm as the spirit grows delirious, feedback wails, and their teeth chew into “The Post Abandoned” that has solemn guitars and stitched static. The sounds coat your brain while fragments of dreams reach out, pulling you into the title track that trudges and pounds away. Cleaner singing soothes before the howls pound away, battering as keys immerse, and guitars bend. The playing tingles and eventually sinks into a desert dusk, making it seem like calm has arrived, but it’s not the case. Following this comes the most volatile section of the record, as the gaze releases, the intensity spikes, and the anger pours like a raging river of blood. “All gone, all done, abstain from the violence forever more,” is screamed as the band lays waste, crushing with devastation before a final call of, “Starve them!” plunges knives into chests. Closer “All Along, We Were Beautiful Radiant Things,” inspired by Emma Goldman’s autobiography Living My Life, is an instrumental piece where guitars tease and drone, sounds ache, and each angle tricks your thinking. Things go from frosty to spacey to strangely warm, and then the sky ignites. Cavernous clouds swallow the emerging hell, finally revealing a pinpoint of light over unsettling horizons.

It’s natural to feel both anxiety attack levels of pressure and eventually the slightest hint of hope on “The Starving Lesson,” and along the way you’ll be battered physically and mentally. Quiet Man certainly achieve a certain vibe here that goes beyond the bludgeoning, letting your mind expand and your empathy spike as we all face tumult and deal with the pain we’ve been dealt a little too generously. This mighty statement is a world beater, an album that isn’t just another doom collection, but one that’ll push you mind and body to consider our place and how to improve everyone’s around ours.

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

To buy the album, go here: https://riffmerchant.bandcamp.com/album/the-starving-lesson

Or here: https://astralands.bandcamp.com/album/the-starving-lesson

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

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

Just this afternoon when I was working through a project, I slipped Alice in Chains’ “Dirt” onto the turntable and suddenly felt like I was transported to my freshman year of college when that thing was released. I have a strange relationship with the era of music because it also soundtracked some pretty bad times, so I’ve spent a lot of years rebuilding my relationship with that stretch of life.

One gateway back to the past was Thou’s “Rhea Sylvia” album that celebrated the sounds of the 1990s that helped shape their tastes. Now, several years removed, Thou’s Mitch Wells is unleashing his new Big Garden project and its excellent debut record “To the Rind.” It builds on the sounds of the aforementioned “Sylvia” but expands into lusher and even poppier sounds, all while maintaining a dingy edge. Joining him are fellow Thou mate vocalist/guitarist Matthew Thudium who also sang on that “Sylvia album; guitarist/vocalist Craig Ourbre; bassist/synth player Greg Manson; and drummer/percussionist Ian Paine-Jesam—that runs along some of the same terrain trampled by Nirvana, Hum, Stone Temple Pilots, Smashing Pumpkins and so many more. The theme of change and starting over also is in the forefront, and it’s just a goddamn pleasing, catchy, passionate album that also takes me back to my days of being a commuter college student with no friends and only music to get me to a comfort zone.

“A Sliced Up Pear” knifes right in, the power jolting, Thudium’s singing glazing with grungy smoothness. The playing is fuzzed up and catchy, sometimes things are tastefully washed out, and the track bursts with power at the end before fading. “My Joy / Little Bliss” is crunchy and dirty, the moody jolting sweltering, a strong chorus whipping past, keeping the adrenaline nicely paced. The playing gets agitated later, sending electric pulses, spinning into menace, smashing out at the tail end. “Skit 1” is just Wells talking to someone, trying to map out what these skits are going to be. Essentially, it’s an album-long running joke, and if you’ve seen any of Wells’ antics on social media, you won’t be surprised one bit. “Borrowing, Taking” has a Smashing Pumpkins sheen to it, the guitars bringing strange energy, deeper singing cutting to the bone. The track is as catchy and vibrant as it is dark and tumultuous, making it feel like a haunting force. “Memory of the Mountain” slips in and numbs your nerve endings before the power bursts, the singing feeling like a cooling agent. The pace keeps you on alert, the singing glazing, the final moments pushing warm breezes. “Pizza Party Baby” brings speedier riffs, an explosive pulse, and scalding singing, with Thudium calling, “Everything else goes away.” Things gets abrasive and jostling, bringing echoes and power, swinging out into oblivion. “Skit 2” is more discussion about the skits, where to put them, how to do them. It’s a process.

“Crown Shyness” is a shorter one, coming in burly with howled vocals, charring heat, and a blistering, fiery gust, taking you by the throat and shaking the shit out of you. “Wedding of the Sentry” eases in, though the punches aren’t far behind, and then the singing sweeps as things get crunchier. Melodies glimmer as the playing stretches, bringing enough gusto to stick in your teeth. “I’m Scared of the Ocean” is … well, the title might as well be a personal motto. Fuck that place. Anyway, it’s solemn as it begins with softer singing, keys tricking, and everything feeling like you’re looking through blurry morning eyes. Later, things punch up a bit, deeper singing reaches into your guts, and everything blares, ending in a pool of lava. “Skit 3,” Wells is trying to figure out a way to make these skits happen. Maybe they should write something. Mental light bulbs activate. “Stars, Planets, Dust, Us” opens darker with the bass driving, atmosphere injected, the tones feeling dreamier. The force spits bolts, the singing eases, and then the playing is trudgy and muddier, floating and slowly fading. “Tension Loop” starts with one of the guys saying, “This is where daddy has to get all Rob Halfordy,” but we’re not talking pierced eardrums here. The singing definitely is pushier and higher, gushing and stretching, making it feel like three decades ago and I have a fucking final in the morning. Things ramp up even more at the end, letting colors fly, melting out into a coating mist. We end the only way we truly can, with “Skit 4” where Wells decides fuck it, we’ll do skits next record.

Big Garden’s debut is a total joy in which to indulge, a record that feels like it came together years before its members even could have conceived of such a thing. But “To the Rind” isn’t a misguided tribute to ’90s rock, when the alternative tag still made sense, and instead is an earnest, well-traveled journey through sounds that lit up Wells’ heart. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed every visit I’d had with this record as it has sparked some nostalgia with me and also helped me embrace a troubled period in my own life where things ended up turning out OK.

For more on the band, go here: https://www.instagram.com/big_gardennnn/

To buy the album, go here: https://gileadmedia.net/products/big-garden-to-the-rind-lp

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

There are times when dabbling with mind-altering substances (all legal, by the way!), that I go somewhere else in my mind and feel like reality is something that doesn’t have to be a part of who I am at the moment. Music is a great accompaniment for that (I spent a week listening to nothing but the song “Southern Cross”), and when everything clicks, it makes the experience so much richer.

I have yet to tackle “P.R.I.S.M.,” the new collaborative work of Sutekh Hexen and Funerary Call, in that condition, and it’s only because I’m not sure I’m ready to experience it in that environment. We’ll get there. Anyway, we’ve long loved the black metal/noise experimentalists in Sutekh Hexen, but this is the first time encountering Funerary Call (helmed by Harlow MacFarlane who specializes in field recordings and soundscapes). The combination of these two for this recording sounds like a match made in drug heaven as they create something that’s perfect for that mental journey to somewhere beyond yourself, when you have the comfort of the darkness and home and nothing else to do but wonder. And wander.

“Meridian غ ” opens and swelters with spooky wooshes, the sounds dripping down walls, keys enveloping as voices warble. Wild cries pay off the psychological torment, keys increase, and hissing howls peel back flesh. Strange feelings makes your mind explore as organs swell, and static spits with force. “Infernal Folly” brings guitars lurking and howls creeping, the whispers aching with ghostly force. Black chaos emerges from there, sifting and chilling, moving seamlessly into “Perilous Shade” where the steam rises and slips into cavernous expanse. The voices feel like they’re mouthing curses as the playing gets more immersive, the ambiance obscuring your vision, the slithering sounds dissipating. “Towards the Eastern Gate” is unsettling as cries resonate in the darkness, slipping into ghoulish territory, spreading frosty static. The fury builds and sizzles, the sound crumbles like mountains falling, and things melt into the stratosphere, jarring before bleeding out.

“Fractal – Void” crumbles as a furnace force explodes, the sounds ringing in your head so forcefully, you reach for something for balance. Barometric pressure gets gnarlier, shrieks emerge, and everything spills into psychosis. “Æscend Obsidia” runs 12:07, and it hovers for a while menacingly, hideous shouts scathing, your breathing heaving and threatening blackout. Whispers and yells mix, keys drip as if from a cosmic icicle, and warbling decay swims in the waves, shifting the power back and forth. A dream state is achieved, making you feel sufficiently drugged, directing unnerving pressure down your spine. “Pangæa Ultima² (Dread)” lets rumbling spread, voices swirl in the miasma, and animal-like growls feel feral and threatening, coming for your safety. The poisonous fog gets thicker and deadlier, wooshing through and icing your wounds. Closer “Shores of Purgatory” unleashes troubling noises, vibrating notes, and a steam rising, making it even more unexpected when the slicing shrieks drop. Watery playing softens the ground, noises pierce and scrape, and everything fades back into the endless void.

‘P.R.I.S.M.” is an experience likely best digested with the benefit of some kind of mind-altering substances, though it can be pretty effective if you’re stone-cold sober like I was when taking notes. Sutekh Hexen and Funerary Call create a perfect marriage of psychological torment, making the record feel like a slow loss of your reality into something else that takes you over entirely. It’s giving yourself over to the void, letting these noises and pieces sink into your blood and change you permanently.

For more on Sutekh Hexen, go here: https://www.facebook.com/sutekhhexenofficial

For more on Funerary Call, go here: https://www.facebook.com/p/Funerary-Call-100063517452891/

To buy the album, go here: http://sentientruin.com/releases/sutekh-hexen-funerary-call-prism

Or here: https://www.cycliclaw.com/music/sutekh-hexen-funerary-call-prism-cd-2lp-dl-114th-cycle

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

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