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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Certainly not every band has to start their careers with a full-length record that’s been stewing for years after time in practice spaces and playing shows. There’s some logic to easing into the process, getting your legs under you, and making sure what you’re about to unleash on an unsuspecting public is as vile and devastating as it possibly can be. Smaller steps on a campaign of horrors.

Danish crushers Ascendency are walking that path, carefully releasing smaller servings of their molten concoction of death and black metal like what we hear on their second EP “A Manifest of Imperious Destiny.” This four-track offering gives you just enough of what this band—vocalist/guitarist/bassist Simon Daniel Larsen, guitarist M, drummer Ugur—does well, and you can hear this whole thing further develop from what we heard on 2020 EP “Birth of an Eternal Empire.” The playing is muscular and bloody, and the band approaches their work with a sharpness and imagination that gives this style a little more melody and excitement, luring you in for their kill.

“The Triumph of Draconian Might” spirals and then destroys, the vocals clashing with your mental well-being as the pressure combusts, slashing away. Creaky blackness leaks in through the seams, and then hypnosis strikes and numbs your brain, going through psychedelic madness before the assault launches again. The leads gush, and then a thick synth wall crashes over a cosmic end. “Victory – In All Its Emphermal Glory” starts melodically, guitars rushing as the heat brings everything to a boil, the fury trudging through colorful waters. The playing rains down devastation as a haze develops and hangs in the air, bringing a cold surge that disappears into the fog. “Domitor Invictus” jars with ferocious howls, guitars cutting through into the guts, the intensity charring your flesh. Drums turn bones to dust, the playing crashes, and everything fades into oblivion. Closer “A Manifest of Imperious Destiny” gets off to an alarming start, horns cutting through psyches, the thrashy assault getting fully under way. Guitars gallop as the howls torch, the melodies sinking into your blood, tornadic chaos sweeping through everything. Splattering and blazing, the attack gets even more insane, blasting and devastating, melting back into the apocalyptic horns that greeted us at the outset.

Ascendency have been treating us to small drips and drops of their snarling concoction of death and black metal, more of that bubbling up on “A Manifest of Imperious Destiny.” With each step the band takes, their sound gets deadlier and sharper as they refine their darkness and let us micro dose on this morbid destruction. As we wait to see what these Danes can do with a full-length, we have this monstrous EP to keep us battered and unsettled.

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

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

Or here: https://mesacounojo.bandcamp.com/album/a-manifest-of-imperious-destiny

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Trying to communicate with one another, especially with someone with which you have strife, is never an easy thing to do. To clarify, I don’t mean internet numbskulls who spew misinformation and debunked conspiracy bullshit. Don’t even try to talk to them. Instead, these relationships can be ones that matter most in your life, or that at least hold meaning, and the gulf between you can be tough to bridge.

Pittsburgh noise mashers Mirakler tackle that subject on “How I Became the Devil,” the band’s debut full-length record. Grasping the energies spewed forth by bands such as Unsane, Nirvana, the Melvins, Helmet, and others of that ilk, this unit—vocalist/guitarist Daniel Gene, bassist Will Novalis, drummer Matt Langille (John Kerr of Pyrithe played drums on the album)—used to make these 15 tracks as volatile and striking as they are. This also is a record that changes its shape with each listen. My feelings transformed with each trip, and the more I thought about the connection issues in my life, these songs became more embedded in my psyche.

“The Good Thief” is a quick intro bathing in feedback, mauling drums, and scorching misery, pouring right into “Ecstatic Fields of Love and Grace” that’s jarring and abrasive. The wild howls jerk as the bludgeoning thickens, trudging into detached singing that melts brains before draining away. “Egg” tears in as the bass drives hard, yowled vocals making your nerve endings tingle. Grungy bass drags, the playing pounds with feral fury, and we’re on to “I Am Violence” that attacks with muscular riffs. The vocals warble as a calculated attack gets under way, bringing smearing force and gutting shrieks. Sludge compounds as noise spits, crazed howls scramble brains, and the playing slowly spreads into the fog. “The Bad Thief” unloads scraping guitars and mangling force, the playing stinging flesh and clobbering, the instrumental piece wounding already vulnerable flesh. “Instant Drugs” chars and jolts as the bass slinks, everything else thrashing relentlessly. Howls crush as the guitars strike, the fervor bubbles as the menace looks you in the eye as it takes you under. “This Is Brit Pop” is slightly less approachable than its title hints, menacing riffs coming down with clobbering force. Wails reverberate on their own before the attack rejoins the fray, the rage boiling over, the thrashing madness opening up wounds that are anything but superficial. Rampaging snarls strike and create psychosis in which you’re entranced.

“Wet Ground Brings Rain” is a quick interlude with guitars glowing, sticks tapping, and the bass lurking, leading into “The Fireworks and the Stars” that snakes with ominous intent. The playing turns into a buzzsaw as the force smashes away, the howls leaving brush burns. The bass solidifies and gets muscular, the fires spread, and only spare parts are left behind. “Kenny” brings start/stop blasting, the guitars glimmer, and slurry growls play games with your psyche. Spiraling and muddy playing chews into bone, the vocals warble, and the punishing final bursts take off heads. “How Many More Will Die” is an interlude with the bass sneaking up on you, noise rising, and strings recoiling, feeling like a loose screw rolling around in a dryer. “Exodus (A Continuous Mutation)” slaughters souls, the bass work leaving oil slicks behind, the heat rising dangerously. The battering increases and becomes an even more terrifying force, molten hell pours lava into every passageway, and the tourniquet is turned, choking out all forces of life. “My Battery Is Low and It’s Getting Dark” is the final interlude with noises vibrating, calls reaching out over desolation, and a strange cloud hovering, slipping into “Christ B.C.” that jars shockingly from the start. Abrasive force and crazed cries land hard, the guitars melting and gutting. The insanity suddenly multiplies as the shrieks return and torment, stabbing with horrific intent. Closer “The Hill” ramps up and openly stampedes, the grunge energy spreading its filthy wings, the guitars jabbing with insult. Rolling darkness makes safety impossible as the playing mauls in place, leaving every escape blocked, percussive chiming tingling your spine, and final gasps coating your lungs with soot.

While the struggle to communicate is at the heart of “How I Became the Devil,”  Mirakler have no problem getting their point across with the force of a sledgehammer on this record. The bloody husks of the ’90s breathe wicked new life, and their modern fingerprints all over this thing make this album feel like a runaway steel beam looking to smash your skull. This is an electric, agitated document that is impossible to digest without taking on a good bit of its mental damage.

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

To buy the album, go here: https://www.reptilianrecords.com/products/743259-mirakler-how-i-became-the-devil-lp

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

Death metal is an easy art form from a presentation standpoint. Not from a musical angle, because that shit is fucking hard to do. But with the right name and violently crafted album and song titles, you should be able to find your audience fairly easily, as long as you get enough exposure. Are you going to be confused at all when you see music by a band called Grotesqueries? No, you’re not.

The Boston-based death metal crushers are arriving with their vicious debut full-length offering “Vile Crematory,” yet another box checked by these guys when crafting their sub-genre aesthetic. I don’t mean to suggest as cheekily as I did that there was some think tank involved or something. Instead, this band—vocalist Mike Buonomo, guitarists Brendan O’Hare and Connor Thompson, bassist John Rainis, drummer Yianni Tranxidis—just knows what they’re doing and are coming at you with vitriol and chaos, making their first major statement something that leaves no doubt. This is vicious, ugly death metal, and if you appreciate its bloodiest forms, you’ll be right at home here.

“Hypnagogic Transmutation” opens with strange sounds and warbling weirdness, spreading for the first couple minutes before things are torn open and begin to stomp guts. Guttural growls kill as the fast, snarling playing wraps like a constrictor, death warping as gurgling panic lashes bones. “Corpsejuice” ignites and crushes, brutal growls leave bruising on your trunk, and the mangling power begins to flex its muscles. Ugliness continues to build as the growls engorge, whipping by and leaving you retching.  “Gorrified (The Ageless Malignancy)” brings bass buzzing like an overflowing hornet nest, the playing unloading and overwhelming. Growls mash as sinewy playing punishes, then the guitars go off and set fires, spreading sludge and torching faces, dealing final blows of pulverizing pain.

“Meat You With Chain” clobbers right away, steering through fast, grim hell, the menacing blows crushing viciously. The leads build steam as the guitars bubble over, adding putridity and chaos to the festering wounds. “The Dweller’s Threnody” is doomy as it lurches through the mud, becoming a battering force that destroys bones. The guitars angle and chew, feeling mucky and grimy, the howls scraping flesh from bone, rampaging into the arms of total slaughter. “Madness Breed” is gutting as it trudges through, the growls making your stomach contents churn. The playing turns fast and slashing, melody simmers and changes the colors, and strong leads devastate, ending everything in a bone-crushing blast. Closer “Dismembered Fears” is thunderous and storming, bringing delirium and slashing force, the skies darkening as howls crush. Speed becomes a factor as the guitars burst into hyper speed, the playing sinks into the muck, and then the heat returns, drubbing and scorching to the end.

Death and its stench are in the air and poison your lungs on “Vile Crematory,” a record that sounds like the soundtrack to your worst nightmare. Grotesqueries ply you with enough stomach-turning chaos and massive force to leave you sore for weeks, and when your experience is over, you are strangely satisfied, even if it’s in the most warped possible way. This is a punishing first full-length from a band that is just getting their claws into death metal’s corpse, and they seem far from ending their feeding.  

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

To buy the album, go here: https://caligarirecords.storenvy.com/

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