Necrotica Starlight and Ash really should have been bigger. Oceans of Slumber managed to take their unique goth/prog/doom synthesis and channel it into a softer, more palatable sound with their fifth outing, and the results were often breathtaking. (Mostly) gone were the band’s usual crushing riffs, as they opted to deliver a beautifully haunting gothic rock sound with a heavy helping of Southern flavor. The songs were sweeping, cinematic, and – perhaps most importantly – proof that Oceans of Slumber could diversify their sound without losing the core of what makes their work so special. And you’d think this would all translate to more commercial success and expand their fanbase… but nope, Starlight and Ash mostly came and went. I’ll let frontwoman and chief songwriter Cammie Beverly explain:

“The thing is, we never said we’re never going to do something heavy again [...] people panic when a band puts out an album that does something different. It was a weird time. It came during a time when our music was different from everything else, and I think the record was a bit lost on some people - people that mattered in our realm. The fans got it, and it was received really well, just not by the label!”

That last part is particularly important, as Century Media were pushing the band to play it safe and stick to their signature prog-doom sound with Starlight and Ash – something they certainly weren’t interested in doing. Clearly a change needed to be made. Thankfully, they were scooped up by an unlikely savior in the form of Season of Mist, a label that actively encourages a more progressive, experimental approach to metal music. This must have felt like an absolute blessing to the Texas five-piece, as they’d effectively been given free reign to tweak and redefine their sound as they saw fit. Add a few lineup changes into the mix (which involved replacing both guitarists), and 2024's Where Gods Fear to Speak was already shaping up to be quite an interesting record from the get-go.

And what an interesting record it is! What we have here is effectively a balance between the Starlight and Ash sound and Oceans of Slumber’s older work – think The Banished Heart or Winter. The crushing, oppressive doom riffs are back in the band’s arsenal again; however, they’ve been given more sweeping cinematic backdrops for that extra gothic touch. As such, the group’s penchant for atmosphere is as strong as ever, something that’s evident right from the opening title track. A barren, podding guitar riff sets the stage for all the doom and gloom to follow, as Cammie’s commanding voice glides over the ever-shifting rhythms of the song. But if you listen closely, you might notice that the growled vocals aren’t quite the same as they were on previous records… and that’s because Cammie sung them herself this time around.

Yes, for the first time on an Oceans of Slumber album, her vocals are the only ones you’ll hear from the main lineup. She ain’t half bad at them either, as her gutturals and screams are suitably menacing and brutal; moreover, they provide a nice contrast to her soaring vibrato-laden cleans. The aforementioned title track is a great example of this, but “Poem of Ecstasy” takes the juxtaposition even further; what begins as a melancholic power ballad transforms into an absolute barnburner, punctuated by savage growls and blastbeats. And as with prior efforts, the other members are well-equipped to lay down a complex musical gauntlet behind her, especially in the case of Cammie’s husband Dobber Beverly. He runs through just about every tempo one could imagine, from agonizingly slow doom metal drumming to rapid-fire blast beats – all while displaying plenty of technical proficiency. For a track that captures every facet of his abilities, check out the proggy mini-epic “Don’t Come Back from Hell Empty Handed”.

Meanwhile, the new guitarists fit Oceans of Slumber just fine – almost as if there weren’t any lineup changes in the first place. Chris Jones and Chris Kritikos are certainly serviceable in their roles here, although I must admit that they don’t go beyond the call of duty; the same can be said for returning bassist Semir Ozerkan. Rather, Where Gods Fear to Speak primarily focuses on two things: the musical chemistry between Cammie and Dobber, and the atmosphere of each track. Whether it’s the haunting minimalistic piano work of “Poem of Ecstasy”, the dark brooding synth undertow of “The Given Dream”, or the unsettling dissonance of the guitars on “Prayer” (the latter of which features Mikael Stanne of Dark Tranquility!), the band really know how to set a compelling mood and continually expand on it. And while most of the tracklist fits within the “slow build, intense middle section, epic climax” framework, the closer is perhaps the most striking piece here for how different it is. “Wicked Game” caps off the record with a lovely barebones piano ballad, completely devoid of the heavy riffs and growls that preceded it – bringing the whole experience to a strangely soothing close.

What really impresses me about Where Gods Fear to Speak is that Oceans of Slumber didn’t outright forget or abandon what made Starlight and Ash so special. Instead, this outing inherits its best qualities and meshes them near-perfectly with the group’s tried-and-true sound. As a result, they’ve crafted a wonderful slab of progressive doom metal that puts intricate songwriting, stellar performances, compelling soundscapes, and crushing riffs on equal footing with each other. Where Gods Fear to Speak truly stands alongside The Banished Heart as one of Oceans of Slumber’s finest accomplishments to date.

Necrotica Of all the major bands who mix progressive metal and power metal, Evergrey have had one of the cleanest 50/50 ratios of the two. Sure, you can label Symphony X power/prog, but they clearly lean on the prog metal side; hence all the comparisons to bands like Dream Theater. On the other hand, groups like Blind Guardian and Kamelot – while having prog hallmarks like weird time signatures and elaborate arrangements – are still power metal at their core. But Evergrey? They meld the genres together in a near-seamless way, which is crucial to the atmosphere and aesthetics they’re going for. It allows them to explore a sound that’s equal parts propulsive and tragic; anthemic and haunting; upbeat and pensive.

Let’s take their most celebrated record for example. 2001’s In Search of Truth is a glorious marriage of complex songcraft, a haunting atmosphere, dramatic vocals, and a little dash of power metal cheese; the final result is one of the most compelling metal records of the 2000s. And frankly, that power/prog mix was a big reason that it worked so well. After all, how else could the band explore an outlandish concept (alien abductions), while exhibiting such an impressive sense of drama and mystery? For that last part, you can also thank frontman Tom S. Englund. The guy can read the damn phone book and make it interesting, as he’s adept at treating any subject with just the right level of grace and contemplation. And as Evergrey have soldiered on, Englund has applied this talent to a wide range of topics – be it religion, child abuse, personal strife, or cults.

The group’s newest offering Theories of Emptiness is largely a continuation of their trademark sound, but there are some notable tweaks to the formula this time around. The first change might not be immediately evident on opener “Falling from the Sun”, as this track is your quintessential Evergrey scorcher – rapid-fire chugs, anthemic chorus, impressive guitar wizardry, all that good stuff. But the second tune, “Misfortune”, reveals the record’s most standout feature: the fact that it sounds fucking huge. Much of this is attributed to the vastly improved production, which allows for a more spacious and panoramic take on the band’s sound. As the chasmic riffs of “Misfortune” lumber on, you can hear every little intricacy around you: the orchestral backdrop, the twinkling keyboard melodies in the verses, the subtly shifting bass lines, everything.

This larger-than-life approach applies to much of the tracklist, whether we’re talking about the sweeping gothic choruses of “Cold Dreams” (featuring Jonas Renkse of Katatonia fame!) or the soaring guitar harmonies of “One Heart”. But this isn’t to say the band watered down their sound in the process – the “Imagine Dragons-ification”, if you will. Instead Theories of Emptiness simply introduces a few new twists to their tried-and-true style. And while this is a decidedly less intense and heavy record than we might be used to from Evergrey, the moments in which they do exhibit that energy are as effective as ever. Take “We Are the North”, for instance: atmosphere and aggression collide, as the cinematic keys provide a backdrop for a series of off-kilter Meshuggah-esque chugs. Meanwhile, “Say” locks into an incredible midtempo groove for its main riff, which is equal parts heavy and catchy.

The other shift found on Theories of Emptiness is in the lyrical content – which is to say that it’s a bit more obtuse this time around. Much like The Fall of Hearts by the aforementioned Katatonia, this offering opts for a more abstract take on Evergrey’s usual topics. But it still effectively communicates the same feelings of melancholy, despair, and – of course – emptiness. The album title is pretty apt, as each song seems to explore the concept of emptiness in its own unique way. “Falling From the Sun” sets the stage for this quite nicely, as it details the age-old fight against one’s own darkness and desolation. From there, we get themes of identity (“To Become Someone Else”), personal loss (“Ghost of My Hero”), and general hopelessness (“Cold Dreams”), before wrapping everything up with the closing title track. The lyrics will certainly not be for everyone, as they tend to be very bleak and somber; still, I can’t deny that they’re compelling all the same.

Despite the changes I mentioned, this is still an Evergrey album at the end of the day. It retains the group’s core power/prog sound – albeit slower and more atmospheric this time around – and delivers the same dark, brooding energy they’ve given us for decades now. Theories of Emptiness doesn’t quite reinvent the wheel, but at this point in their career, I don’t think the band are striving for a radical reinvention anyway. This is just an incredibly solid slab of melodic metal, delivered with the band’s signature technical prowess and haunting vibes. Or in other words, another worthy entry in the vast Evergrey canon.

Necrotica To anyone who only knows Dave Lombardo’s work on a surface level, Rites of Percussion may seem like a strange stylistic turn for him to take. The former drummer of Slayer abandoning metal and releasing an experimental, almost ambient record? Crazy. But remember: Lombardo’s been slowly adding more dimensions to his playing over the years, whether that be with the avant-garde group Fantômas or his collaborations with saxophonist and composer John Zorn. So in reality, an album like Rites of Percussion didn’t necessarily come out of the blue. Here’s what Lombardo told NPR regarding the project:

"It's something I've always wanted to do because I've been influenced by so many other drummers and percussionists that weren't metal or thrash, you know? I wanted to express how deep my influence goes with rhythm."

As such, what we get here is essentially one long drum exercise, accompanied by strange, hypnotic sound effects to enhance the overall “vibe”. If you’re looking for any manner of conventional songwriting, you ain’t getting that here. In terms of where Rites of Percussion fits into Lombardo’s discography, I would tie it most closely to his eerie, experimental performance on Fantômas’ Delirium Cordia. But unlike that 74-minute-long behemoth, this record is much more lean and streamlined; just 34 minutes of drumming and odd effects, and that’s about it. Still, with that said, there are a few standout cuts among the general repetition of Rites of Percussion. “Interfearium”, for instance, does away with the drums for most of its runtime, instead opting to let its uncomfortable horror-like atmosphere do the talking; the track is a wonderful exercise in tension and release, as its buildup almost becomes unbearable by the end. “Maunder in Liminality” is another cut that loves to dwell in this uneasy musical setting, as the entrancing drum patterns beget the strange keyboards looming above them.

If there’s any sort of diversity on Rites of Percussion, it comes from just how many drumming styles - as well as how many types of drums - Lombardo could fit into one album. He explores everything from metal to Afro-Cuban jazz to bebop to film scores, and that’s when you realize: this record basically acts as a celebration of everything Lombardo has accomplished over the course of his career. Shades of his work with Slayer, Fantômas, Grip Inc., and Testament can all be found here, all peppered with Lombardo’s Cuban roots. The man is one hell of an accomplished musician, and I really hope Rites of Percussion can serve as a way for the uninitiated to discover just how talented and versatile he is. This is most certainly a niche record - anyone who’s not already a Lombardo fan or drum aficionado may be turned off by it - but it’s a cool one nonetheless. And at only 34 minutes, it’s at just the right length to do its job, experiment with some neat ideas, and get the hell out. If you enjoy Lombardo’s work and want to hear a brief summary of his many, many accomplishments, I highly recommend Rites of Percussion.

Necrotica A lone man walks into a sea of people. He looks quite unassuming, adorned with a hoodie, jeans, and a pair of headphones. He looks like he’s about to spit some bars to the unsuspecting crowd… but then the unexpected happens. Suddenly, we - and, by association, the people around him - are met with a barrage of piercing screams and aggressive shouts. This man, clearly having balls of steel, has opted not to lip-sync his vocals but instead belt them out at the top of his lungs. The public looks on in equal parts terror and awe, probably wondering if the dude is possessed. It’s an absolute spectacle, to say the least.

What I just described is the video for Ilenkus’ single “Over the Fire, Under the Smoke”, and its chaotic energy is complimented perfectly by the music itself. The Irish outfit’s second album The Crossing is basically the twisted bastard child of The Dillinger Escape Plan’s progressive mathcore and Cult of Luna’s dense atmospheric sludge metal, and the results are pretty breathtaking. Combine technical riffs, blackgaze-esque blast beat sections, incendiary vocals, and contemplative quiet passages, and you’ve got a pretty good idea of what you’ll find here. Much like The Dillinger Escape Plan, Ilenkus are compelling in their ability to come off as controlled and focused while also sounding as utterly vicious as possible. And of course, if we’re gonna talk “vicious”, I need to bring up the individual I was referring to in the first paragraph: Chris Brennan. This guy’s vocals are absolutely savage. His inhuman screaming is an excellent fit for the music, especially during the more “blackened” passages in which he lets loose his most intense wails. This isn’t to say that he uses these vocals all the time - he does opt for cleans during the more reflective moments - but his harsh ones are certainly his most impressive.

Still, the other members rise to the occasion as well. One of the biggest marks in The Crossing’s favor is its diversity, and much of that is attributed to the musicians’ versatility and willingness to experiment. Opener “Devourer” is a perfect example of this, as its unpredictable, turbulent nature makes it both unnerving and exciting - especially when you’re hearing it for the first time. What begins as an all-out barrage on the senses, complete with riffing and drumwork ripped out of the Jane Doe-era Converge playbook, turns into a musical labyrinth that’s equal parts mathy and melodic; hell, the middle section of “Devourer” is so serene and calm that you almost forget just how violent and brutal everything started out. But that’s what I love so much about The Crossing - the fact that these songs really feel like journeys, replete with stimulating twists and turns.

The title track explores these dynamic contrasts even more, and is perhaps the closest thing to post-metal on the entire record. The entire first half is a bleak, doomy Neurosis-esque buildup that merges beauty and bleakness while highlighting the guitarists’ abilities to create atmosphere and intrigue. Brennan, Sam Ellis, and Josh Guyett all contribute to the guitar work found on The Crossing, and if you want a good insight to both their technical prowess and synergy, listen to the title track in its entirety; the way the trio transform the piece from a pensive melodic piece into a tightly-controlled blast of math/sludge fury is impressive as hell. As for drummer Rory Guyett and bassist Robin Van Der Klooster’s collective presence on the record goes, I would refer you to the aforementioned “Over the Fire, Under the Smoke”; it’s the most consistently intense track on The Crossing, and its knotty twists and turns create a wonderful musical playground for the rhythm section to mess around with… most notably, a goddamn black metal section in the middle, in which Guyett gets to show off some killer blastbeats and double bass work.

Yet, as we close things out with “Goodbye Denial”, there’s a strong sense of melancholy. Beneath all the brutality and chaos that pervades much of The Crossing, the underlying vibe is one of decadent, sorrowful beauty - something that even the harsh black metal screams and technically impressive performances can’t fully mask. And this closer is a fitting way to bring it all back home, as even its most vicious moments are imbued with the same desolate aura that defined its quiet intro. Unfortunately, “Goodbye Denial” would also be a fitting title for the band’s last song: after several years of inactivity, Ilenkus finally broke up in 2022, with The Crossing being their final full-length record. It’s a real shame, as I consider this album to be somewhat of a forgotten classic; it absolutely belongs in the same company as Converge or Neurosis’ upper-tier work. And the fact that a band could actually merge such disparate influences as sludge metal and mathcore in the first place? That’s fucking awesome.

Necrotica Death metal trends may come and go, but Chris Reifert is one of those special musicians you can (almost) always rely on to keep the flame of the old guard alive; after all, we’re talking about the same guy who performed on Death’s classic Scream Bloody Gore and helped spearhead the first wave of the genre. Through thick and thin, Autopsy’s vile brand of death/doom riffery has remained largely unchanged (excepting Shitfun, but let’s not talk about that). If it ain’t broke, why fix it? Just give me some disgusting gutturals, brutal riffs, and stank-face breakdowns, and I’ll be happy. Still, even in the context of Autopsy’s recent string of successes, I get the sense that the boys felt they had a bit more to prove on 2022’s Morbidity Triumphant.

To put it plainly, this is the most energized and inspired the band have sounded in years. The core ingredients of their sound are still as present as ever, but – and I know it sounds a bit trivial – the riffs are just better this time around. Take “Stab the Brain” for instance: the synthesis of brutality and groove here is just undeniable, as the opening salvo of speedy riffage gives way to an infectious doomy swing. And much like any great Autopsy record, there’s just a certain filth and rot to the music that’s palpable through the speakers. The slow, murky intro to “Final Frost” immediately conjures images of decaying zombies rising from the crypt at night, only reinforced by the sickening growls of Reifert and guitarist Eric Cutler. Of course, this doesn’t last too long, as eventually the track transforms into a furious affair with rapid-fire drumwork and nimble fretwork. And this leads me to one of the best aspects of Morbidity Triumphant: how well each disparate section connects with each other.

The band’s “death/doom” tag can be taken quite literally, as some parts are pure old-school death metal and some sections are pure doom metal. However, the connective tissue between these distinct tempo changes is generally butter-smooth. “Born in Blood” is a perfect example of this, as the atmosphere and feel of the song never changes, no matter what pace the band are playing at. You’ve got your funereal opening crawl, a thrashy midsection, and a return to the doom metal at the end; still, the same agonized vocals, grimy guitar tone, and overall adaptability of the musicians prevent each transition from sounding forced or awkward. And while we’re on the subject of the talent on display here, each band member gets plenty of time to shine. Obviously Reifert is still the star of the show, but the dynamic guitar duo of Cutler and Danny Coralles remains highly potent here. Whether it’s the groovy Sabbath-esque riffage of “The Voracious One”, the creepy melodic harmonies on “Flesh Strewn Temple”, or the fierce thrash-laden carnage of “Knife Slice, Axe Chop”, they know how to rise to any occasion or mood the music calls for. Combine that with the solid chemistry in the rhythm section of Reifert and bass newcomer Greg Wilkinson, and these songs are in some damn fine hands.

With all of that said, it’s not like Morbidity Triumphant innovates in any major way. If you didn’t like previous Autopsy records – or old school death metal in general – this will absolutely not change your mind. But with that kind of album cover, were you really expecting there to be any major stylistic changes here from their previous stuff? This is just a brutal, grimy, fun death metal record – simple as that. And while a bit more variety would certainly be welcome on the next album, Autopsy’s familiar formula hasn’t been executed this well in quite some time.

REWINDING ALL THE FUCKING GORE HORROR FLICKS STREWN ON THE FLOOR; KNIFE SLICE, AXE CHOP STREAMS OF BLOOD THAT NEVER STOP!!!

Necrotica If I could sum up the majority of King’s X’s output in one word, I would call it “reliable”. Their signature blend of hard rock, progressive rock/metal, and alternative metal really hasn’t changed much over the years, despite a few experimental releases here and there (Please Come Home… Mr. Bulbous immediately comes to mind). But in all fairness, their sound never really needed to change in the first place; despite only bubbling up beneath the mainstream, you’ll find no shortage of musicians who have praised them over the years. From Pearl Jam bassist Jeff Ament proclaiming that they invented grunge to Devin Townsend including Gretchen Goes to Nebraska in his list of the “Five Albums That Made Me”, King’s X have garnered a reputation as “your favorite band’s favorite band” for a reason. With that said, the last decade hasn’t exactly been kind to our rock trio: in the time since 2008’s XV, drummer Jerry Gaskill and frontman Doug Pinnick had suffered their share of health issues, including two heart attacks in the former’s case and a lymph node infection in the latter. Combine that with the members’ respective solo projects, and it was understandable that production on Three Sides of One would be a slow and difficult process. But now that it’s finally out, how exactly does it stack up against their previous works?

Right from the get-go, opener “Let It Rain” makes it apparent that these guys haven’t lost a step since their absence. It’s a warm, inviting midtempo rocker with all the spiritual imagery and charismatic vocals that you would typically expect of a King’s X song. You have to give it to Pinnick as well: the dude is in his 70s now, and yet his vocals sound like they did in the band’s early days. His singing manages to range from low vibrato sections to high impassioned wails, as if he’s still exalting the music he heard in “Over My Head” all those years ago. Meanwhile, Ty Tabor is cooking up all sorts of diverse guitar tones and techniques throughout the record; you’ve got the absolutely nasty sludge-influenced intro to “Flood Pt. 1”, the bluesy crunch found in the riffs of high-octane rocker “Give It Up”, the gorgeous clean tones of power ballad “All God’s Children”, and much more. While Pinnick and Gaskill provide an excellent rhythm section as always, it’s Tabor who brings much of the stylistic diversity on Three Sides of One.

What’s especially welcome about the record is the presence of the gospel and soul elements that defined the trio’s best works. “Take the Time”, for instance, is rife with lush vocal harmonies and an overall life-affirming atmosphere; the whole song just exudes feel-good vibes. The aforementioned “All God’s Children” is another good case of this, as even its heavier sections retain the reverent spirit of its subdued acoustic moments; of course, having lovely vocal interplay between Tabor and Pinnick helps too. But if there are any genuine surprises found in Three Sides of One’s tracklist, they’re in the metal side of things; seriously, this record gets startlingly heavy at times. “Flood Pt. 1” and “Swipe Up” are both marked by sludgy downtuned riffs that channel the likes of Alice in Chains or Melvins, although the former does ease up in its verses. Elsewhere on the album, we get the proggy off-kilter riff that introduces “Holidays” and the down-and-dirty southern grooves of “Watcher”, displaying a band who aren’t afraid to express their heavier side in new ways 43 years into their career. However, it would have been nice to have just a few more of such experiments on the record. Much of Three Sides of One is just business as usual for King’s X, the tracklist largely being occupied by midtempo melodic rockers in the group’s traditional style without a ton of surprises; a little dose of unpredictability could have strengthened the experience as a whole.

Still, having a new record by these guys is like hugging an old friend you haven’t seen in years; even after such a long absence, there’s still a warm familiarity you get as a King’s X fan when putting the album on for the first time. The classic Beatles-esque melodies? The soulful vibes? The rock-solid musicianship? The heavy semi-proggy riffs? They’re all here, and all get their due spotlight over the course of the album. Three Sides of One doesn’t reinvent the wheel in any major way, but it serves as a nice continuation of the band’s career after such a long gap between releases; moreover, it’s just incredibly satisfying to see them finally putting out new material again.

Necrotica "It’s going to be more experimental." "We’re taking our established sound and expanding it." "This will be our darkest record yet." So many bands make these claims before a new release, only to backpedal and make the exact same album as before. However, upon hearing the first few songs on Starlight and Ash, it became very clear to me that Oceans of Slumber would stay true to their word and do something different this time around. Instead of continuing on with the progressive doom sound that had become their signature, they decided to pare things down and draw inspiration from the very land they were formed upon. Now, I need to make something very clear: this doesn’t mean the sextet have abandoned everything that made them who they are. You still get Cammie Gilbert’s expressive vocals, frequent dynamic shifts, and the same melancholic atmosphere the band have always been known for. However, the way they approach these elements has changed significantly.

So what do I mean by “the very land they were formed upon”? Well, it’s actually very literal: Starlight and Ash takes the members’ Texan roots and brings them closer to the forefront. The death growls and epic song lengths have all but disappeared, making way for lean cuts of southern gothic doom rock – yes, most of the metal has been stripped away on this project as well. Once in a while you’ll get a song like “Star Altar” or “Just a Day”, both of which harken back to the band’s earlier material, but the majority of Starlight and Ash is spent exploring previously uncharted sonic territory. Single “The Lighthouse” was certainly a sign of things to come, marked by an acoustic guitar motif that must have been ripped straight out of an old spaghetti western movie. But other songs go even further to establish the band’s newfound experimentation, such as the hypnotic gothic rock of “The Hanging Tree” and the lovely solo piano piece “The Spring of 21”; these tunes retain Oceans of Slumber’s usual brand of melancholic beauty while taking them into exciting new directions.

The band members themselves have also scaled back their performances, and nowhere is this more important than with our two main songwriters, the spousal duo of Gilbert and drummer Dobber Beverly. Instead of frequently relying on the dramatic belting of the former and the over-the-top drum fills of the latter, both have opted for a more understated approach this time around. In the case of Gilbert, this serves to make the climaxes even more powerful; opener “The Waters Rising”, serves as a prime example, as she finally lets loose midway through the song after two minutes of anxious buildup. Combined with the ever-quickening tempo, it’s a legitimately exciting payoff. Beverly, meanwhile, has revamped his playing style to compliment each song without being too flashy; occasionally you’ll still get overly technical flights of fancy, but they’re not nearly as prominent as before. Of course, I also can’t downplay how effective the shortened song lengths are on Starlight and Ash: despite the relative lack of metal on the record, the tightened song structures and arrangements ironically give the material much more urgency. “The Hanging Tree” and “Hearts of Stone” are just as slow and doomy as what you’ll find on previous records, but because of how much content they pack into just four minutes each, nothing comes across as meandering – a common problem with their earlier work.

With all of that said, there’s still room for improvement. For all the praise I’ve given the group for their willingness to experiment, some of the results don’t quite hit the mark. The cover of “House of the Rising Sun” is probably the worst offender, as it simply seems out of place; in fact, aside from some nice violin work, there’s not much to speak of. The song doesn’t build up to anything particularly interesting, instead opting to remain in generic ballad territory throughout its runtime; if there’s any song on the record that could have benefitted from an explosive climax, it’s this one. Still, I have to commend Oceans of Slumber for even attempting an album like this. I suppose only time will tell whether Starlight and Ash ends up being a transitional record or a one-off experiment, but what we received in the meantime is quite the compelling experience. Even if you’ve been disappointed with the group’s past efforts, I still suggest giving this one a try; it might just convert you.

Necrotica I remember when I first heard the phrase “adventure metal”; guitarist Chris Letchford used it to describe his band Scale the Summit. And it’s not like I can’t see where he’s coming from, either. Scale the Summit use atmosphere and shifts in mood to take you on a journey, an expedition of sorts. At the same time, though, it’s not like they were the first band to come up with such a concept; countless acts, from Opeth to Gojira, have gone great lengths to make their music feel more like an excursion than mere tracklists. But today, we’re going to talk about a band who had to evolve to get to this point: the almighty metal giants Death. To put it simply, it’s hard to believe that the same band that wrote such a primal display of death metal fury as Scream Bloody Gore could come up with an incredible mixture of aggression and sophistication. Despite this, Symbolic proved to be the pinnacle of Death’s steady evolution into the realm of progressive extreme metal. With a new lineup of guitarist Bobby Koelble, bassist Kelly Conlon, and returning drummer Gene Hoglan, Chuck was ready to redefine metal once again… this time achieving the strongest results.

From the opening notes of the title track, Symbolic sounds like a daunting undertaking, as if you’re actually scaling a mountain. Those monumental octave-jumping riffs, combined with the classically-inclined melodies arched above, show just how much Chuck Schuldiner had grown as a songwriter over the years. It’s not enough anymore to just have meaty, brutal riffs, but now they’re all embellished with little ornaments that flesh out the atmosphere and diversity of the recording. That melodic opening riff in “Without Judgment” sounds pretty cool; what more could they add? Well, some intricate and progressive drum fills courtesy of Gene Hoglan should do the trick. That chunky Drop-D intro to “Crystal Mountain” is aggressive and driving; how about that one? Get Schuldiner and Bobby Koelble to bring in some classical harmonies straight out of a Dream Theater album to round it out! Despite the progressive influences, however, the technicality and ambition never get overbearing to the point that they get in the way of a good riff or a good groove. On top of that, songs like “Misanthrope” and “1,000 Eyes” still pay respect to the band’s thrash-driven past with harsh and relentless arrangements that round out the variety on Symbolic.

Now, let’s get back to that first statement I made: the one regarding “adventure metal.” That may sound like a really stupid term (and, to be honest, I’d agree), but it’s still a great way to describe Symbolic. The way each song shifts and adjusts to each change in mood and tone is ridiculously natural, and gives off the true sense of embarking on a journey. “Perennial Quest” is probably the best example, especially in how it concludes the record with a soft acoustic portion that somehow doesn’t sound out-of-place on a Death album (then again, there’s also “Voice of the Soul”...). Many of the riffs and melodies here are adorned with an emotional punch that’s lacking in a lot of today’s technical metal; just listen to the quiet introduction to “Empty Words” and the subtle melancholy it wrings out of the clean guitar progression. On a similar note, check out the beautiful clean section of “Sacred Serenity,” which provides a nice contemplative break from the metal frenzy without breaking too far away from the band’s signature style. The lyrics are equally thought-provoking too, touching on themes of religion, hypocrisy, deceit, misanthropy, as well as many depictions of inner contemplation and soul-searching. The poetry on the record brings nice accompaniment to the more advanced musical arrangements, to say the least.

Death’s followup The Sound of Perseverance might be even more adventurous, and Individual Thought Patterns might have been more technical, but neither of them pulled these qualities together as meaningfully as Symbolic did. If you were to ask me why Symbolic works so well, I could answer that in just a few words: songwriting and storytelling. They sound like simple ingredients, but Death elevated them to such lofty heights that very few death metal or progressive metal bands could keep up with the sheer ambition and focus of this epic. Symbolic is beautiful, immersive, elaborate, brutal, and a stunning testament to just how emotionally and artistically accomplished heavy metal can be.

Necrotica For a moment, I want you to check out the current lineup of Arch Enemy. Jeff Loomis, Michael Amott, Alissa White-Gluz… that trio alone should be worth the price of admission. And that’s also precisely why listening to 2017’s Will to Power was so disappointing: despite a few interesting experiments here and there (and the fact that 2014’s War Eternal was already mediocre), it was a shame to hear these incredibly talented musicians go through the motions for most of the record’s runtime. It’s even more sad when you consider each member’s respective pedigree, whether it be White-Gluz’s fantastic vocal work in The Agonist, Loomis’ run with Nevermore, or Amott’s work with Carcass (not to mention earlier Arch Enemy albums). But perhaps this complacency finally lit a fire under their asses, because the group’s new project Deceivers is quite the substantial leap in quality.

Now before you ask: no, this is not a stylistic reinvention by any means. Deceivers still uses the well-worn Arch Enemy formula: catchy twin guitar leads, anthemic choruses, vague lyrics about rebellion and loyalty… it’s all here in spades. But the difference lies in just how the band approach these stylistic hallmarks this time around. As soon as Loomis’ infectious lead guitar work kicks off opener “Handshake with Hell”, you can tell there’s a certain energy and conviction that wasn’t present on the group’s last few records; meanwhile, White-Gluz effortlessly switches between harsh and clean vocals at the drop of a hat. In fact, Deceivers has the best overall performance I’ve heard from her since her work with The Agonist; her aggressive vocals - which can range from relatively low growls to piercing screams - are a perfect fit for thrashy cuts like “Deceiver, Deceiver” and “The Watcher”. However, her greatest asset as a melodic death metal singer is still her versatility, which continues to place her above many of her peers. Her clean vocals are often just as effective as her harsh ones, as found in the epic power metal-esque scream that introduces “House of Mirrors” and the subdued spoken word bits of “One Last Time”.

As for the other musicians? They’ve stepped up their game a bit as well; however, Loomis is still quite underutilized. Anyone familiar with Nevermore knows that he can shred his ass off, whether in a lead or rhythm capacity. But it seems as though both he and Amott had to tone down their normal playing ability to fit the music itself; thus, we stuff like the boring harmonized intro of “House of Mirrors” or the exceptionally flat one-note riffage “In the Eye of the Storm”, the latter being a massive step down from the first two tracks. However, where Deceivers shines is in the little nuances that help it break from the band’s typical formula a bit. I’ve already talked about White-Gluz’s versatility, but it extends to some of the instrumental passages as well – one prime example is the lengthy intro to “Poisoned Arrow”. A lovely orchestral passage (actually played by two cellists!) gives way to a contemplative clean guitar section; it’s not the most original thing in the world, but it’s a nice way to build up tension and drama before the tune starts proper. Meanwhile, a quick spotlight is given to Sharlee D’Angelo in the small bass-centric intro to “Sunset Over the Empire”, a song that actually has some nice neoclassical touches in its arrangement. Finally, I’d like to highlight the closer “Exiled from Earth”, specifically how effectively it combines acoustic and electric guitars. The way both are melded together in the intro creates a vibe that’s equal parts apocalyptic and lamenting, making for quite the potent finale for the record.

With that said, most of Deceivers is business as usual for Arch Enemy. But then again, when hasn’t that been the case for their career? They’re like the melodic death metal equivalent to fast food: enjoyable and satisfying in the short term, but not doing much to elevate themselves beyond that. However, credit needs to be given where it’s due, and Deceivers is a surprisingly fun romp through the band’s familiar musical tropes. If you don’t enjoy Arch Enemy in the first place, this won’t do much for you; however, if you’re a fan who’s been waiting for a nice return to form after the last few releases, you’re in for a treat.

Necrotica Like them or not, you have to give Wormrot props for the way they approach a creatively stubborn genre like grindcore. With every release, they expand their sound little-by-little while staying true to their roots, giving them a degree of stylistic freedom while managing not to alienate their core fanbase. However, the opening moments of Hiss were enough to tell me that they were going to take their sound to even darker, stranger places. Instead of storming the gates with fire and brimstone, “The Darkest Burden” introduces the album with murky ambient effects. It sounds as though you’ve been dragged into a deep, damp cave, with the constant fear that something or someone will attack you out of nowhere. It’s as if to say “get comfy", because you’ll be taken to some disturbing, unsettling locales for the next 32 minutes.

As one would expect, the aforementioned “attack out of nowhere” does come, in the form of the rest of the song. Vocalist Arif – who unfortunately departed the band before the album’s release – screams at the top of his lungs, as a barrage of double bass drumming and vicious guitar work helps to set the scene. This pretty much forms the stylistic thesis statement of the record; however, as I stated earlier, there are some interesting tweaks this time around. Of course, as far as experimentation goes, most people’s attention will be focused on the violin parts found on songs such as “Grieve” and the sprawling closer “Glass Shards” – for good reason too, as it’s not often that you hear an instrument like that in grindcore. However, what fascinated me more were the odd bits in which melody would take centerstage. “Your Dystopian Hell” may just be the best example, the combination of frantic blastbeats and melancholic guitar chords being highly reminiscent of All We Love We Leave Behind-era Converge. “Sea of Disease” takes things in an even more jarring direction, adopting a much slower pace and really letting those plaintive guitar lines ring out.

However, this isn’t to say that the band have compromised their trademark sound in the slightest. This shit is absolutely brutal, managing to be just as aggressive and bloodthirsty as the band’s previous efforts. While guitarist Rasyid and drummer Vijesh are excellent at their respective instruments, it’s Arif who steals the show here. The guy can do just about everything you’d hope for from an extreme metal vocalist: the piercing black metal shrieks? Check. Shouting and barking in the vein of traditional hardcore? Check. Stygian gutturals that sound like they came from the pits of hell? Check. I often find that his most effective moments vocally are the ones in which he doubles his highs and lows, such as on “Vicious Circle” and “Spiral Eyes”. Obviously a lot of death metal and deathcore vocalists double up their parts like that, but Arif just makes them sound utterly disgusting. However, as stated earlier, the other guys are no slouch either. Vijesh deserves a special mention, particularly for just how damn fast his drum work is; he might not necessarily be up there with Nile’s George Kolias or Cryptopsy’s Flo Mounier on that front, but damn if he doesn’t come close at times.

If there’s anything about Hiss that does come closer to traditional grindcore, it’s the short-track, short-runtime approach typical of the genre. Most of the songs get in and get out in a minute or two, which is especially effective in regards to the more experimental tracks. You get a nice smorgasbord of sorts: give the listener something cool and unique for a brief snippet, and then move on to the next cool idea. Unfortunately, with the departure of Arif, it seems as though the group’s future is now in the air. Will they continue to push boundaries, or will they revert back to a more straightforward take on their grindcore sound? I suppose only time will tell, but all I know is this: Hiss was one hell of a swansong for Arif to go out on with his time in Wormrot. These guys created a bold, experimental, and inventive record that takes a stagnant genre and turns it on its head, all while never forgetting where they came from in the first place.

Necrotica Last month, I published one of the hardest poems I’ve ever had to pen. For me, writing a new piece always starts with one difficult question: “how much do I want to reveal to the reader and how much do I want to leave up to interpretation?” From the time my alcoholism started to the time it (thankfully) ended, I always left a few breadcrumbs here and there about the subject in my poetry. It’s as if I wanted to address the problem while skirting around it at the same time; perhaps it was a mechanism to maintain some subtlety in my writing, or perhaps I was unwilling to confront the issue directly. Yet it was always there, and no amount of avoiding it would have changed the fact that I’d need to confront it directly someday. As it turns out, 2022 was that someday; I wrote everything that needed to be spelled out to the letter, and it was gut wrenching. What finally inspired me to face the whole ordeal head-on? Dirt. Alice in Chains’ masterpiece served - and still serves - as proof that being open and revealing about personal conflict can be the best form of therapy in one’s darkest moments.

It seems as though Layne Staley never had a problem expressing such frankness with his lyrics and vocals. One listen to Dirt reveals a man constantly spilling his guts and bleeding out on record, as if he had nothing to lose any time he approached the mic. Very few albums are less open to interpretation than this one, and that’s what makes it one of the best records of its era; Nevermind might have been the flagship album of the grunge movement, but nothing expressed the subculture’s dark pathos or downcast nature quite like Dirt. Even the songs that aren’t directly related to Staley’s drug abuse, such as Jerry’s Cantrell’s war-themed “Rooster” or the tribute to early grunge icon Andrew Wood that is “Would?”, are delivered with the same brutal honesty and manage to stay consistent with the album’s overall theme: personal demons. Dirt has nothing to celebrate and no one to congratulate, instead focusing on how horrifying our real-life hells can be if we let them consume us. In the case of some of these songs, the outcome of these ordeals is even more harrowing - especially on “Junkhead”, in which our narrator finally succumbs to his addiction altogether and says “it ain’t so bad”.

Of course, a big part of Dirt’s twisted magic is that the music matches the subject matter so well. Any of the 80s influence that was found on Facelift has been completely wiped away in favor of a sludgy metallic murk, perfectly conveying the desert burial on the album cover. While there are a few songs that run at a quicker pace - the off-kilter groove of “Them Bones”, the punkish tempo of “Dam That River”, etc. - their chunky riffs and oppressive atmosphere ensure that they aren’t out of place with the rest of the tracklist. As for the slower tunes, many of them approach straight-up doom metal territory: “Junkhead”, “Hate to Feel” and the title track trudge along at a snail’s pace as they leave the listener enveloped in a thick haze of despair and dread. All of this perfectly supplements the messages Alice in Chains wanted to deliver on Dirt, as well as making them one of the only grunge bands to have crossover appeal with the metal crowd. More importantly, Dirt saw the full mastery of one of Alice in Chains’ biggest trademarks: the incredible vocal harmonies between Cantrell and Staley. These were on Facelift as well, but Dirt is where they really started to shine; songs like “Down in a Hole”, “Sickman”, and “Hate to Feel” simply wouldn’t have the same impact without them, especially the former and its soft, sorrowful verses.

In hindsight, however, the most depressing aspect of Dirt - much like the self-titled followup - was how prophetic it was. Staley knew he was digging his grave prematurely with every needle, and the lyrics of Alice in Chains’ 90s output make this distressingly clear. Yet it can’t be denied that he had one of the most unique and incredible voices of that entire era of rock; the way he juggled technical ability, emotion, and - as stated before - brutal honesty was only matched by a small handful of other artists at the time. Just watch the live performance of “Love Hate Love” at The Moore and it becomes clear just how much of a loss the rock world endured in 2002 with Staley’s passing. I like to see Dirt as the American grunge equivalent of Manic Street Preachers’ The Holy Bible, in the sense that the album is every bit as much a tortured character portrait as it is a record. Cantrell, Sean Kinney, and Mike Starr might have been involved in the writing of Dirt (though the latter two only contributed to one song), but this really feels like Staley’s record first and foremost. It also remains his finest hour, serving as a foreboding message to those with personal demons: don’t let them drag you down and destroy you, or else you’ll find yourself in the grave before you can pull yourself back out.

~R.I.P. Layne Staley 1967-2002~

Necrotica After an experience as explosive as Hot Damn!, I suppose it was inevitable that Every Time I Die would start expanding their sound a bit with the followup album. While retaining much of the same musical DNA found in the band’s previous records, Gutter Phenomenon sees them treading upon more melodic and anthemic territory. Elements of southern rock and classic rock have now started making their way into the group’s signature sound, as Keith Buckley’s clean and screamed vocals are delivered more equally than ever. For many metalcore outfits, this would usually be regarded as a sellout move; however, the way Gutter Phenomenon juggles its contrasts makes for a compelling and even fascinating record.

Prior to the recording of the album, the members of Every Time I Die looked back at their previous releases and started contemplating ways that they could branch out their sound for the next project. In the end, it seemed like the best way to move forward was to look backwards; that is to say that they began wondering if classic rock had any possible place in hardcore or metalcore. However, if the brutality of opener “Apocalypse Now and Then” is any indication, it’s pretty clear that they weren’t going to fully abandon their roots; instead Gutter Phenomenon is the result of merging disparate styles together while still being surprisingly consistent and cohesive. In any case, the variety found on the record is highly welcome. On top of the melodic clean singing that adds a new dimension to Buckley’s voice, the instrumental passages are given much more diversity in both arrangement and performance. Guitarists Andy Williams and Jordan Buckley have greatly expanded their roles here, such as on the catchy-yet-unsettling leads on “The New Black” or the manic tremolo picking on “L’astronaut”. Of course, they don’t completely digress from what made them such staples in the metalcore world to begin with; there are still plenty of heavy-as-fuck breakdowns and angular riffs that make their way onto the album as usual. But it’s nice hearing the duo fusing other sounds into their preexisting style. Add the stellar drumming from Mike Novak on top of all this, and the lineup is in fantastic form on Gutter Phenomenon.

One of the most impressive traits of Every Time I Die is that they always managed to evolve their sound step-by-step without ever abandoning their roots along the way. Any stylistic shift that seemed poised to alienate listeners was always met with thick slabs of metalcore bliss to assure their fanbase that they hadn’t lost the plot. It’s difficult to walk that artistic tightrope, but Every Time I Die pull it off near-effortlessly; “Kill the Music” (featuring Gerard Way!) and “Pretty Dirty” may have their share of melody and accessibility in their clean-sung moments, but such moments are still accompanied by the same off-kilter riffs and intense screams that we’ve come to expect by the band. In other words, Gutter Phenomenon is an excellent synthesis of the expected and the unexpected. While it doesn’t quite reach the heights of Hot Damn! - largely due to lacking the same pure, visceral thrill of that record - it still manages to be another solid entry in the band’s discography. Don’t let the clean vocals and accessible moments deter or fool you: this is still an Every Time I Die album in every sense of the word, and it’s a damn good one.

Necrotica Was anybody actually ready for an album like Obscura back in 1998? Watch any early live performance of these songs on Youtube, and what you’ll see is a crowd that’s practically motionless. They’re not moshing, instead just stunned and transfixed at the bizarre dissonance and calculated chaos playing out before them. In the same year that other tech-death landmarks such as The Sound of Perseverance were being released, Gorguts had already left the archetypal trappings and conventions of the genre far behind with an avant-garde metal masterwork that stood - and still stands today - as a monument to mental anguish and turmoil.

I get the sense that much of the confusion and surprise surrounding Obscura stemmed from the sheer leap forward from its predecessor. The Erosion of Sanity is more sophisticated than Considered Dead, sure, but it’s still a relatively straightforward death metal album. No one could have predicted something like Obscura; imagine if Death released Individual Thought Patterns immediately after Scream Bloody Gore. So what happened? Well… Steeve Hurdle happened. Luc Lemay might be the co-founder and bandleader of Gorguts, but he’s never going to find a better wingman than Hurdle. The duo’s combined artistic vision led to a level of experimentation and twisted chemistry that can’t be matched anywhere else in the group’s catalog; if you have any doubts of Hurdle’s involvement in this partnership, the liner notes credit both him and Lemay with the “artistic direction” of Obscura.

And what an artistic direction this is. All of death metal’s stereotypical traits and tropes have been thrown out the window in favor of abstract lyrics, strange chord structures, and ever-changing time signatures. Instead of being technical for technicality’s sake, however, Gorguts use their musical toolkit as a means of communicating intense feelings of dread, despair, and viscera. While the songwriting is impressive, the way these emotions and thoughts are conveyed through the songwriting is what makes it so effective. It’s as if every weird bout of dissonance and every alien guitar squeal is another layer of sanity being ripped away from the listener. Of course, the vocals are also a massive contributor to this. If Lemay sounds demented and savage - which he does - Hurdle acts as his tortured and agonized counterpart. Every time Hurdle lets out a lyric, even if it’s not particularly disturbing, he transforms it into a twisted and ugly affair with his horrible retching and heaving. And what’s so wild about all of this is that the record makes more and more sense with repeated listens; what seems like chaos starts falling into place once you let the deliberate nature of the songwriting and execution sink in.

Of course, I don’t want to leave bassist Steve Cloutier or drummer Patrick Robert out of the picture either; the fact that they can make sense of the musical madness on Obscura and play these crazy riffs so impeccably is a feat unto itself. Their precision and technical acumen is a perfect foil for Lemay and Hurdle’s insane ideas, leading to a lot of chemistry between all members. Everyone is locked in with each other, which is absolutely necessary for an album that could go flying off the rails at any given time. Obscura reminds me a lot of Calculating Infinity by The Dillinger Escape Plan in that regard; both records have a habit of letting chaos and control coexist in strange and creative ways. Sometimes the two mingle, and sometimes they clash with each other. Still, one thing is for certain: the members of Gorguts are ridiculously talented. As for the lyrics, they’re a substantial step up from the band’s previous output; the gore and social commentary of yesteryear were now replaced with writings on existentialism, spiritualism, and - you guessed it - despair. In any case, they prove to be just as abstract and peculiar as the music they’re accompanying, which seems appropriate.

But to answer my original question: no, people were not ready for Obscura back in 1998. There’s a reason Gorguts are commonly cited as pioneers of avant-garde metal; nothing sounded like this back then, in the technical death metal genre or otherwise. If the album had proven anything, it was that many of their contemporaries were already being left in the dust artistically. Because of Obscura, extreme metal would simply never be the same again.

Necrotica ”Tonight, I’m coming home in a coma if it fucking kills me!”

With that line, Every Time I Die shot for the stars and never looked back. If Last Night in Town was a solid debut that showed a promising band in their infancy, Hot Damn! took the same formula and nearly perfected it. Over a lean runtime of only 27 minutes, the record runs the gamut from explosive hardcore punk outbursts to slow-burning riffs of warped majesty. “Romeo a Go-Go” immediately sets the scene, using the opening line above to launch into punishing riff after punishing riff; the intricate mathcore passages of the previous outing have now been replaced with an adrenaline shot of pure metalcore, an excellent move if these results are any indication.

What Hot Damn! really manages to nail is its identity; it’s clear that Every Time I Die knew exactly what kind of record they were setting out to make this time around, and it leads to a record that’s consistent and focused from beginning to end. Even the more experimental moments, such as the melancholic instrumental “In the Event That Everything Should Go Terribly Wrong” or the math-y guitar stabs of “Pornogratherapy” don’t feel out of place; if anything, they’re simply alternate methods of communicating both the brutality and bleakness of the album. Still, such moments are outliers. For the most part, Hot Damn! is pure, uncut insanity; if you were put off by “Romeo a Go-Go”, then you won’t find much solace in the relentless screaming and heavy breakdowns of its followup “Off Broadway”, nor will you find comfort in the manic drumming and sudden tempo shifts of “She’s My Rushmore”. Once in a while, singer Kevin Buckley will use clean vocals to vary up his style; however, they’re incredibly pained and out-of-tune. A perfect example comes in the form of “Ebolarama” which merges Buckley’s cleans with extremely dissonant and chunky guitar passages. The result is wonderfully off-putting and unsettling, as you know he could snap at any minute and revert back to his screamed vocals (which, of course, he does).

Of course, the other members are no slouches either. The only change in personnel from Last Night in Town is the addition of new bassist Stephen Micciche, and the returning members have all upped their game here. As I stated before, Hot Damn! is definitely not as mathcore-based as its predecessor; however, that doesn’t mean the playing is any less impressive. The guitar duo of Jordan Buckley and Andrew Williams continues to impress, as their interplay makes even the most chaotic moments seem controlled and collected. This is especially true of the fastest and most unceasing cuts on the record; every time the music threatens to go off the rails - as it so often does with this genre - Buckley and Williams manage to reel it back in at just the right times. The same goes for our new bassist, who gets plenty of time to shine; I’d like to highlight “She’s My Rushmore” in particular, which features a nice solo spot in the middle so Micciche can show off his chops. And of course Michael Novak doesn’t disappoint on the drums, as the intensity of his playing has been elevated from Last Night in Town - no small feat. But that really goes to explain Hot Damn! in general: faster, more intense and more focused. This record really isn’t for the faint of heart, but that’s what makes it so exciting and effective. It’s 27 minutes of chaos and brutality, occasionally tempered but never any less potent as it goes on. Last Night in Town was a damn good start for Every Time I Die, and with Hot Damn!, they brought their A-game.

Necrotica As someone who grew up with classical piano training, I can’t overestimate how much that very genre influenced me in my upbringing. Even when I entered more aggressive styles of music such as metal, I often gravitated more towards progressive metal because of the long complex arrangements and overblown suites. Call it being pretentious if you’d like (it kinda was), but bands like Symphony X, Dream Theater, and Vanden Plas were a major influence on my development as a musician for those very reasons. But the problem with many of those bands is that they often lacked the more emotional side in favor of that complexity and technical skill (especially post-2000s Dream Theater, if we’re referring to the bands above). I was always looking for a group that balanced both the technical and emotional sides more equally, one that could be heard both holistically and in-depth.

Then Kamelot came along.

While Epica was an amazing leap forward for the band in its own right, The Black Halo is a different story altogether. Mixing elements of progressive metal, power metal, symphonic metal, and opera, the album is a bombastic declaration that Kamelot was willing to take the metal world by storm. But the thing that instantly makes it stand out is that the record’s story - a continuation of the Heinrich Faust story started in Epica - is told in a way that never seems over-the-top or cheesy. Vocalist Roy Khan (four albums in his tenure by this point) studied opera singing for three years, and it shows in his time with the band. His voice is consistently gripping and simply drips with emotion, whether he’s letting out intense wails or performing at a low whisper. The instrumental passages that compliment his vocal work, are also beautifully laid out for the listener, blending technical riffing with a dark and even gothic atmosphere.

It’s refreshing to see that The Black Halo knows when to end its songs too, opting out of the oft-used progressive metal approach of throwing in bloated epics just for the sake of it. The only track here that’s relatively long, “Memento Mori,” actually deserves the runtime because of the phenomenal piano intro and intense symphonic buildup into the meat of the song. The shorter songs - particularly “Soul Society,” “When the Lights Are Down,” and “This Pain” - are great examples of displaying the band’s incredibly tight songwriting and exploring their more aggressive dynamics. Thomas Youngblood’s guitar presence runs deep through the record, primarily in his intricate and nimble riffing over the solid rhythm section. But he’s often tempered by both Miro’s piano work and Roy Khan’s vocals, which brings a neat sense of balance to the record. This is best heard in “Moonlight,” where we hear a one-note riff that practically resembles a breakdown, until it makes way for the gorgeous piano verses and some subtle hi-hats in the background. It’s a fantastic contrast, to say the least.

But that’s what makes this album so great: contrast. Just as the album’s story is brimming with so many different emotions and moods, the band’s methods of conveying them are just as varied. Granted, a good chunk of this album is pretty melancholic and gothic in tone, but the diversity of the songwriting and instrumental work are great nonetheless. Just listen to the opener “March of Mephisto”; as the name implies, this is a downright stately and thunderous metal anthem that even features the legendary black metal singer Shagrath (Dimmu Borgir) on guest vocals to give the chorus a bit more grit. But it immediately transitions into the power metal majesty of the fast-paced “When the Lights Go Down” and that’s when you know the record won’t be one-note, something that’s solidified by the depressing power ballad that follows, “The Haunting.” But when it comes to the band’s softer side, I highly recommend “Abandoned,” quite possibly one of the most tragic and beautiful piano ballads in rock music. Khan’s vocals are so passionate and heartbreaking that the song simply becomes entrancing, only helped by Mary Youngblood’s guest vocals and the classical piano arrangement that anchors it all.

If Karma and Epica were high artistic achievements for Kamelot, The Black Halo is the album that represented them at their absolute peak. In fact, I’d argue that this is the best power metal album ever made, as well as one of the top five progressive metal albums ever made. The way it pours its emotions out to the listener while maintaining its composure and vicious instrumental prowess is fucking stunning. It’s gothic, it’s dark, it’s atmospheric, and the band members certainly knew how to convey those traits at the best of their abilities while retaining the qualities that can make progressive metal so enjoyable. I can’t say it enough: this is metal at its best.

Necrotica "At night, walking on the tracks, change my perspective..."

That is, indeed, a lyric from the album. However, it's also a quick summation of when I realized Katatonia's greatest strengths as a band. One cloudy evening, many years ago, I parked my car and proceeded to walk to a bass lesson by my jazz instructor. As I crossed the tracks, I listened to Dead End Kings for the very first time on my phone and headphones. As I looked at my surroundings, every color seemed to melt into a muted blend of gray and black through the sheer power of musical atmosphere. The mix of crunchy downtuned guitar riffing and cinematic keyboards found in opener "The Parting" felt like a gradual descent into a different state of being altogether; hell, I felt like I was just teleported somewhere else entirely. Now, keep in mind that I was already a fan of Katatonia by this point. I was a big fan of Viva Emptiness and The Great Cold Distance and the way they combined crushing alternative metal riffs with a melancholic vibe. But something about this experience was distinctly different.

On the more concrete side of things, the most notable aspect of Dead End Kings is that it symbolizes Katatonia's evolution into a progressive rock/metal act. There were always hints here and there, but this is the first time we get to hear those moments in a more fleshed-out way. Tempos are more varied, the rhythms are a bit more intricate, and as stated before, some cinematic synthesizers have been thrown in (and utilized more effectively than on Night is the New Day, as far as I'm concerned). Some songs practically ditch metal altogether, such as the soft palm-muted electric guitar chug of "The One You Are Looking For Is Not Here" or the melodious, textured doom rock (if "doom rock" is a real tag) of "Undo You." A few other experiments are brought on board too, like the strange piano-led swing rhythm of "Leech," the snare drum dominance of the more technically-challenging "Hypnone," and the fantastic inclusion of electronic ornaments to the music of "The Racing Heart." And what does all of this do for the band's sound? Exactly what it should be doing: giving us one of the most atmospheric releases yet by this band. It should probably be clear by this point that when I wrote: "Katatonia's greatest strength's," atmosphere was at the top of that list. And the reason Dead End Kings remains one of my favorite Katatonia albums is because the progressive elements gave them even more ways to experiment with the general atmosphere of their music. Add on top of this some of their most dynamic traditional bangers, such as "Ambitions" and "Dead Letters," and the experience is practically impossible to not recommend. A night on the tracks changed my perspective indeed.

Necrotica A lot of great musicians left us over the past year, but Alexi Laiho’s death hit me harder than the others. Growing up as a classical pianist, Children of Bodom’s second record Hatebreeder was the album that showed me just how well music theory could be integrated into metal. Amidst the soaring guitar solos and harsh vocals, there lay a goldmine of tightly performed melodies and intricate riffs that almost seemed progressive at times. Laiho was at the heart of it all, of course, and was just as influenced by the classical greats such as Mozart and Beethoven as he was by neo-classical guitar heroes like Yngwie Malmsteen. But it’s also important to remember how hook-laden these songs were (and are); despite the complexity and craftsmanship, albums like Hatebreeder and Follow the Reaper were anything but mere riff salad. Somehow the songs were just as catchy as they were technically impressive, and the gothic atmosphere definitely played into this as well. And while the band hit a rough patch of declining quality, 2013’s Halo of Blood and 2019’s Hexed gave me plenty of hope for their future. But alas, it wasn’t meant to last.

With that said, what we have here is the sole EP by Laiho’s newly formed band Bodom After Midnight, who understandably disbanded after his passing. Despite the change in band name, Paint the Sky With Blood is exactly what you would expect from a latter-day Children of Bodom offering. Power metal with harsh vocals, catchy but aggressive. The tracklist is very small, only featuring two originals and one Dissection cover; however, the material is still of a reasonably high quality throughout. The opening title track is a fun - if pretty standard - melo-death anthem with all the stuff you’d expect from a Laiho project: blazing solos, anthemic “FIGHT” chants, and a nice layer of synth action to cap things off. In fact, the slow bridge in the middle is quite reminiscent of the bridge in Follow the Reaper’s title track, which can only be a good thing as far as I’m concerned. Meanwhile, “Payback’s a Bitch” is more in the thrashy vein of Children of Bodom’s middle-era albums, but with a healthy dose of melodicism that saves it from being just a boring chugfest. The guitar and keyboard solos absolutely tear it up, and sound absolutely wicked when performed over the rapid-fire drumming. Finally, we have the cover of Dissection’s “Where Dead Angels Lie”, which manages to be a worthy cover while retaining the classic “Bodom” style. The dark and frigid atmosphere works especially well, especially during the whispered parts in the middle section; the song as a whole doesn’t do away with the sinister edge of the original track, instead expanding upon it with a more touched-up production and dark echo-swathed clean guitars.

Paint the Sky With Blood provides an interesting look into what kind of music we could have gotten if Alexi Laiho had lived longer. There’s some really solid stuff here, even if we didn’t get a whole lot of material to listen to. Fans of Children of Bodom will feel right at home with these fun melodic death metal tunes, and the accessible songwriting might just draw in some new fans as well. If you have 15 minutes to spare and want to hear some solid metal tunes with some neo-classic elements and a melodic edge, you can’t really go wrong with this album.

R.I.P. Alexi Laiho - 1979-2020

Necrotica Perhaps one of the most polarizing classic rock groups, Bay Area stalwarts Journey were always gradually creeping toward their commercial peak, even during the Gregg Rolie years. Even Next, the last record with Rolie behind the mic, was integrating hints of straightforward AOR into the already-established jazz fusion rock sound. Around that time, it was no surprise that the band would look for a frontman like Steve Perry to kick things up a notch, considering the first three efforts didn't exactly impress the general public.

As with most bands in the whole AOR niche, however, Journey's music got so simplistic compared to the 1975-1977 days that the Rolie-era fans were blown back a little. The following era is exactly what made (and makes) Journey so polarizing, just as the commercial days of Genesis fared. However, whereas Genesis's big hit record Abacab was exceptionally weak (even by 80's pop standards), Journey's smash album Escape from 1981 actually injects a nice dose of instrumental proficiency and solid songwriting into its commercial formula.

To get it out of the way, no write-up of this thing can go without mentioning the lead single "Don't Stop Believin'," which has clearly been played, covered, and parodied to death. The uplifting E Major piano line that begins the tune is practically an iconic piece of classic rock history, as is the harmonized chorus ending the song. Every time I go back to this song, there's always a strong sense of nostalgia in the recording style and flair, a quality that many Journey songs seem to possess; it might be because of the very clear yet almost murky atmosphere underneath the wailing guitar solos and soaring vocals. In short, it essentially feels vintage.

What's unfortunate is that plenty of songs are often overlooked, mainly because of the hits like "Don't Stop Believin'," "Stone in Love," and "Open Arms." While they're all solidly-written pieces of AOR music, many people won't even know or remember other great songs such as the hard-hitting title track, the emotional ballad "Mother, Father," or the slightly progressive "Keep On Runnin'". The other thing to mention in this regard is the aforementioned technical proficiency given the genre these guys are playing in. Ross Valory's fretless (!) bass work is certainly worth a mention for how he can bend his instrument's role between subtly leading the group and providing a solid backbone for Neal Schon's guitar work. Steve Smith's role on the drums shouldn't be underestimated either; Smith is a heavily accomplished jazz fusion drummer, and the way he integrates such a musical background into Escape makes for very smooth dynamic shifts and swift fills weaving in and out of the other instruments. That said, I don't think Neal Schon or Steve Perry need an introduction, being two of the most talented people in classic rock music. Between Neal Schon's fiery guitar leads and Steve Perry's soaring vocals and impressive range, the whole package is very solid all-around.

So what's bad about all this? First off, there's a pretty dull patch in the middle, songs like the droning "Still They Ride" and the rockers "Lay It Down" and "Dead or Alive" aren't exactly impressive and feel more like filler than genuine efforts by the band. Also, the lyrics are pretty cheesy by today's standards, much of the love talk managing to get a good chuckle out of me. Remember that line from "The Girl is Mine" by Michael Jackson that said "because the doggone girl is mine"? That kind of lyricism is thrown about here, many cliches being pulled out instead of full-on emotion. Some ballads like the beautiful "Open Arms" don't fall into this trap, but it is still a pretty annoying hindrance for the album as a whole. Finally, the song structures also start to get pretty old, most songs opting for very similar means of progression to each other when placed side-to-side. This especially happens in the rockers, and all the end-of-song fade-outs out only add to this point (the fade-outs especially get pretty obnoxious after a while).

If you can get past those things, though, the album is a pretty great piece of breezy AOR music. No matter how polarizing Journey are, Escape is surely worth at least one listen. If you enjoy the fun side of rock, expect listening to this album a lot on roadtrips... or any car trip for that matter.

Necrotica Chapter I: Bursting at the Seams

If there’s anything I can say about Every Time I Die’s debut right off the bat, it’s this: the band doesn’t make you wait. Last Night in Town immediately unleashes a flurry of piss and vinegar with the chaotic “Emergency Broadcast Syndrome”, a song that serves as a perfect thesis statement for the record to follow. Explosive screamed vocals from frontman Keith Buckley are met with instrumental work that’s equal parts brutal and technical, with the result sounding pretty similar to The Dillinger Escape Plan’s landmark release Calculating Infinity at times. Essentially, what you get here is a fusion of the confessional and cathartic lyrics of screamo with the calculated and complex rhythms of mathcore; excellent stuff.

For the most part, these elements extend to the rest of Last Night in Town. I certainly have to commend the musicians for displaying a high level of skill throughout the record while maintaining such energy at the same time. There’s some pretty intricate stuff going on here, whether it’s the dissonant guitar stabs that pervade the majority of “Jimmy Tango’s Method” or the ADD-riddled grooves and chugs of “Punch-Drunk Punk Rock Romance”. Jordan Buckley and Andrew Williams have excellent chemistry with their guitar parts, sounding interlocked and deliberate even in the most unhinged moments of the album. Keith Buckley, meanwhile, shreds his vocal chords relentlessly throughout the whole thing; there’s not a ton of variety in his vocal work here, but he still compliments the intensity of the music nicely. However, my favorite moment on the album vocally is the middle section of “Here’s Lookin’ at You”. Buckley drops the screams and goes for downtrodden clean vocals, giving the song a much more somber and even foreboding atmosphere.

Speaking of variation, we also get a few interludes and atmospheric moments here and there to let the listener breathe. Not that these moments are full-on respites, as they maintain the same dark and unsettling atmosphere; “Enter Without Knocking and Notify the Police” is a dissonant instrumental that conveys a sense of dread with just a few chord progressions (and an off-kilter rhythm), while the outro of “Nothing Dreadful Ever Happens” is a melancholic piano piece that lets one reflect on the craziness that just ensued throughout the rest of the song. Unfortunately, there’s still not enough variation on the record. After a while, much of Last Night in Town becomes a blur of math-y time signatures and heavy grooves, with not a whole lot tying it all together. More moments like “Enter Without Knocking…” should have been placed within the heavier tracks to give them more diversity. But with how the songs are now, the entire album is cranked up to 11 and doesn’t let up nearly enough to let you take in your surroundings.

Still, I think I know what Every Time I Die were going for with their debut. A lot of metalcore bands tend to go as hard as possible on their first records before expanding stylistically down the line, and I get the sense that this is the case with Last Night in Town. It’s the sound of a band trying to prove themselves with an embryonic-yet-impressive first showing, and as a first attempt, they succeeded in a hell of a lot of places. The musicianship is fantastic, the energy is electric, and the atmosphere is often chilling. Last Night in Town may be flawed, but it’s one hell of a start for these guys.

Necrotica Dream Theater in 2021. What exactly would you expect at this point from a new release by the progressive metal veterans? With the exception of the odd experiment here and there (such as the ill-advised The Astonishing), the band’s tried-and-true formula doesn’t really get shaken up these days. In fact, their previous album Distance Over Time was one of the safest releases they’d put out in quite a long time; perhaps the more conservative approach was meant to balance out the ambitiousness of a two-hour-long rock opera, but that didn’t really change how predictable its songwriting was. So with that in mind, it was hard to have any serious expectations for A View from the Top of the World, even with the prospect of a 20-minute epic to cap it off. But while it doesn’t reinvent the wheel in any major way, it does happen to be the band’s best record in a decade.

Really, the album title and cover art say it all. Dream Theater don’t have anything else to prove from the vantage point of being one of progressive metal’s foremost legacy acts, so A View from the Top of the World comes off more as a band writing and playing for the sake of enjoying their craft. Songs like the highly technical barnburner “The Alien” or the off-time chugging of “Answering the Call” aren’t doing anything new per se, but the quality lies in how these old ideas are being presented here. Despite the song lengths being pretty long as usual, the more wank-driven bits are surprisingly lean and controlled - solos generally don’t last over two minutes, and while they’re still pretty masturbatory as one would expect, they’re also pretty tasteful compared to a lot of Dream Theater’s modern output. “Invisible Monster” is a perfect representation of this, with John Petrucci and Jordan Rudess’ guitar and keyboard parts interlocking with each other to form some really neat harmonies.

Of course, the band do get more adventurous and crazy during the two epic pieces, “Sleeping Giant” and the mammoth title track. The former features some excellent symphonic bits from Rudess’ keyboard parts, as well as some SHOCKINGLY strong singing from James LaBrie. In fact, this album is the best he’s sounded in a long time; he doesn’t try to stretch himself too much vocally on the record, and I think that’s to his benefit. In short, he simply sounds more comfortable here than he has on previous albums. As always, the rest of the band show off their technical acumen very nicely on “Sleeping Giant” with shred solos and off-time licks, with the honky tonk piano of Rudess’ solo being a particularly fun highlight. The title track, meanwhile, goes through about as many twists and turns as you’d imagine from a modern Dream Theater epic. It mostly relies on a flurry of technical riffs and solos, but I have to give a nod to the beautiful midsection; the drums drop out, and all that can be heard is Petrucci’s clean guitar ringing out before the rest of the band eventually enters back in. Great stuff, and it plays like a leaner version of the symphonic break in “Illumination Theory” from the band’s self-titled effort.

The only drawback to all of this is what I’ve already mentioned: a lot of what’s found on A View from the Top of the World is what you would expect from Dream Theater, even if it’s executed very well. The only true surprise on the record is the fantastic power-ballad “Transcending Time”, which sounds like it could have been pulled straight out of one of the band’s 90s albums. It’s incredibly emotional and uplifting, giving off similar vibes to “The Looking Glass” but not wearing its influences on its sleeve like that song did. But could there have been more songs like that on the record? Sure, and it would have been nice to hear, but maybe that’d be asking too much of the band. A View from the Top of the World is an incredibly solid album that brings out the best qualities in Dream Theater’s current incarnation; it’s predictable, yes, but you’ll most likely still enjoy it if you keep that caveat in mind. This is the best the band have sounded in a long time, and certainly the best this lineup has sounded; let’s just hope they can keep this trajectory going for future records.

Necrotica Back in a 2010 interview with Noisecreep, when asked about being part of the deathcore scene, Carnifex vocalist Scott Lewis stated: "We're not one of those bands trying to escape the banner of deathcore. I know a lot of bands try and act like they have a big problem with that, but if you listen to their music, they are very 'deathcore.'” And that mentality has been incredibly important to the Carnifex sound over the years. Many bands have tried to escape deathcore’s large, infamous shadow to seek what a large constituent of the metal scene would consider more “respectable” genres of extreme music. Just think back to Job for a Cowboy’s eventual transformation into a progressive death metal act with Sun Eater, or Whitechapel’s excursion into more experimental territory with 2019’s The Valley. But Carnifex are a bit different. While they’ve added a nice helping of black metal influence and a menacing atmosphere to their music over the years, there’s something to be said for a group that stays in the same genre and tries to perfect it as much as they can.

With Graveside Confessions, this trend most certainly continues. While the lack of Jordan Lockrey’s solos continues to be felt, Cory Arford’s relatively diverse guitar leads fill in the cracks nicely. Something that immediately stands out about this record compared to past Carnifex albums is that the transitions are starting to become much smoother, whether it be the seamless fusion of melodic and groovy segments that make up “Carry Us Away” or the way the beautifully melancholic instrumental “January Nights” is followed up perfectly by the furious aggression of “Cemetery Wander”. The black metal elements are also on full display on Graveside Confessions, and they remain a welcome presence. “Countess of Perpetual Torment” (which already sounds like a Cradle of Filth song title as it is) is probably the biggest example of such, even combining its tremolo guitar riffs with a nice backdrop of symphonic keyboards to increase the spookiness factor.

But again, the band still haven’t strayed away from the beaten deathcore path they’ve trodden since their inception; instead, it’s all about the little tweaks they’ve made to their sound over time. Even the breakdowns themselves have become much more creative; while the end of “Cursed” sports a pretty simple chug, the strange out-of-tune guitar lead in the background immediately provides a more intriguing and haunted feel to the outro as a whole. Then you have “Talk to the Dead”, which has a recurring melodic riff that’s presented in different ways throughout the tune. It starts out in a black metal-influenced tremolo-picked manner, only for Arford to eventually fashion a harmonized guitar outro with the same melody. Little bits of diversity like this are what often separate Carnifex from the deathcore pack, and perhaps the best song to represent this would be the instrumental track “January Nights”. It’s worth noting that the band have already done a song like this before, with “Dead in My Eyes” and “Life Fades to a Funeral” immediately coming to mind. However, “January Nights” is like the culmination of their efforts with those tracks; this is the first time they’ve attempted a full-length non-interlude piece in this style, and it’s a fantastic way to break up the aggression the rest of the album exhibits.

Still, not all is perfect. I’m a bit baffled as to why the re-recorded songs weren’t just released as bonus tracks. Sure, it’s cool to hear these old Carnifex songs in a new light - and with better production, of course - just to see how far they’ve come. However, if you’re trying to listen to Graveside Confessions from front to back, just be aware that this one’s much more of a time sink than the band’s previous records because of these re-recorded cuts. Also, as is the case with just about every Carnifex album, the lyrics are still pretty damn shaky. Random f-bombs are still scattered about to remove the listener from a given song’s atmosphere, and stuff like “One of these souls has a shelf life/that fucker wanted me dead by 25/and every day since I’ve been restless/I know it’s just a matter of time” (from “Seven Souls”) is just as cringy as it’s ever been. Unfortunately, given the lack of progression found in the quality of Carnifex’s lyrics, I somehow doubt they’ll get much better in the future.

Regardless, Graveside Confessions stands as one of the band’s best works to date alongside Slow Death and Until I Feel Nothing. I feel as though they’ve finally settled into a pattern now, in the sense that you usually know what you’re going to get with a Carnifex record but it’s guaranteed to be a cut above your average deathcore act. They know what they’re about, and they’ll continue to strive for the best version of themselves with each passing release. Much like Cannibal Corpse before them, there’s a consistency in Carnifex’s output that’s admirable whether you enjoy their work or not; their brand is a reliable seal of quality, and Graveside Confessions is yet another feather in their cap.

Necrotica Colors II is a loaded album title if I’ve ever seen one. 14 years down the line, it seems our friendly neighborhood prog-tech-core-death-etc. band has seen fit to draw from the well of their breakthrough masterwork; and really, why shouldn’t they? Colors remains one of the most acclaimed metal albums of the 2000s, practically redefining what it meant to be a progressive metal band going forward. Between the Buried and Me’s penchant for creative musical set pieces and genre-bending craziness really hit a stride on the landmark record; however, as with any album that garners that much adoration, there will always be that lingering pressure to top it. But let’s be real here: 2021 Between the Buried and Me is quite different from 2007 Between the Buried and Me. So much has changed, whether that be the inclusion of even more off-the-wall avant-garde elements or the growing prominence of vocalist Tommy Giles as a keyboardist. But I think the reason for Colors II being a loaded title is fairly obvious; it’s a title intended to cause excitement for fans - especially longtime ones - but that could quickly turn into crushing disappointment if Colors’ level of quality isn’t at least somewhat met.

On a surface level, Colors II does seem to provide exactly what it should: a highly enjoyable followup to Colors that mirrors it stylistically. The same techy riffs, blazing solos, crazy genre experiments, atmospheric synth excursions, and juxtaposition of clean and growled vocals… they’re all still here. And if stuff like that is your criteria for loving the record, I can’t blame you. “Monochrome” is a pretty dead giveaway that there will be references to the original album, the song taking on a similar “piano intro to extreme metal” crescendo to “Foam Born A: The Backtrack” which opens Colors. On the other hand, there are a few experiments that really surprised me, as they likely wouldn’t have found a place on the original record at all; the hardcore punk elements of “Fix the Error” and random fife-driven folk breaks in “Never Seen/Future Shock” immediately come to mind. Meanwhile, you’ll find more familiar territory with songs such as the chugging extreme-yet-melodic approach of “The Double Helix of Extinction” or the “White Walls”-esque rolling drums and complex web of riffs that comprise closer “Human is Hell (Another One With Love)”.

The performances, as you’d expect at this point, are fantastic. The members really haven’t lost a beat since the original Colors in regards to playing such complex and technical material with grace and confidence. Paul Waggoner and Dustie Waring remain a formidable guitar duo, whether it be navigating the crazy rhythm parts of the Dream Theater-esque intro to “Prehistory” or the beautiful - and vaguely jazzy - chords found on “Stare Into the Abyss”. Waggoner is particularly noteworthy for some of the striking leads he pulls off on this record, especially in the fantastic… uh, Latin circus section(?) (that’s probably the best way I can describe it) at the end of “Revolution in Limbo”. And obviously Dan Briggs and Blake Richardson still bring the thunder on the low end of things. However, the member who deserves the most recognition for Colors II is definitely Tommy Giles. He’s often the member who garners the most criticism from both fans and detractors, but he sounds so much better here than he did on the original Colors. His growls have stayed largely the same, but you can tell his cleans have come a long way - both in technique and confidence behind the mic. Plus, on songs like “Prehistory” and “Never Seen/Future Shock” his way of hamming up the more theatrical bits is just so fun.

Unfortunately, there’s one thing holding Colors II back from the heights of its predecessor, and I think it’s a pretty big one. That being: the glue that holds everything together. The original Colors was unapologetic about having wild flights of fancy and not giving a fuck what direction the music was going, but there was always some centralized location the music could come back to. And that was usually in the form of a cathartic release, whether it be the beautiful “feed me fear” section of “Informal Gluttony” or the soaring Pachelbel-esque melody that rears its head twice on “Ants of the Sky”. Not only were these moments anthemic and memorable, but they were also a great way of ensuring the more technical and crushing sections didn’t kill the record’s focus. More importantly, the music would have simply become riff salad without these moments of restraint, and that’s where Colors II all too often hits a wall. 79 minutes is already a beefy album length to begin with, and there simply isn’t enough focus to maintain that runtime. This is particularly felt in “Human is Hell (Another One With Love)”, which just meanders on without much of a reason for being 15 damn minutes long. Even the pleasant soft section that builds up the song’s conclusion is just kinda… there. Sure, there are a few potentially anthemic moments on the record, such as the “monotonous drought” section from “Revolution in Limbo”, but the album really could have benefitted from more of these segments.

With all of that said, I think Colors II can be enjoyed more for its craftsmanship than as an emotional journey. The compositions and diverse arrangements are still a lot of fun and the performances are incredibly solid, but the album often comes off as a jumbled mess when compared to its predecessor; it doesn’t help that so many parts mirror that record as well, thus constantly inviting further comparison. But then again, that’s what happens when you brand it as a sequel, right? The callbacks were inevitable. However, given a lot of the amazing material that’s here, it’s just a shame that I don’t feel much of anything when listening to it like I did with the original Colors. Still, it’s worth a listen for its abundance of great riffs and impressive technical acumen, so don’t miss out on it if you’ve enjoyed Between the Buried and Me’s more recent work.

Necrotica You have to wonder just where heavy metal would stand if the New Wave of British Heavy Metal (NWOBHM) hadn't taken place. Many legendary bands had come out of this explosion of music, such as Angel Witch, Diamond Head, and even Def Leppard! However, not many can argue that the most important of all of them was the mega-hit group Iron Maiden. The band proved to be an instant hit with heavy metal and hard rock fans, with their debut release containing classics such as "Phantom of the Opera" and "Remember Tomorrow" among others. The band's early work influenced a huge legion of other metal bands in a similar vein to the world-popular British group, including Wolf.

Wolf, hailing from Orebro, Sweden, have elevated their classic metal style to the high quality that previous records had only hinted at. While many NWOBHM imitators/modernizers have been exceedingly stale due to running short on imagination with the material, Wolf have added in a few new tricks of their own. The first thing you'll notice is how damn heavy the whole affair is. Especially in songs like "At the Graveyard," Wolf meld a knack for heavy bass lines with a catchy melodic side, something that many modern metal artists have a hard time accomplishing these days.

As I said, just considering the band a heavier Iron Maiden wouldn't exactly do the band much justice, considering the honest uniqueness they can bring out as well. While the band doesn't really bring the freshest ideas to the table, it's clear that they know the genres they play in VERY well. In the album, you'll hear hints of Iron Maiden, Metallica, Helloween, Judas Priest, and occasionally Slayer (mainly on the speed metal end of things). Even when Wolf take these influences, they add their own little touch, especially in the lyrical department. Many of the lyrics convey psychological terror, nightmares, and all-out darkness. There are some fantasy elements akin to Iron Maiden, but Wolf usually manage to add a darker sound and message.

All the members of the band play out their strengths extremely well. Niklas Stalvind and Johannes Losback churn out their guitar harmonies with frightening speed and precision, while Stalvind is able to keep quite a good arsenal of vocal techniques to keep everything fresh on the frontlines. The bass isn't always heard a great deal, but when it is, it is H-E-A-V-Y! In the track "At the Graveyard," the ending of the song contains a section of pure brutal distortion while the vocal harmonies are layered over the sound, and it works very effectively. The drums are of the typical speed metal variety, but there are some nice fills scattered about to heighten the listener's level of interest.

While there are a lot of highlights on the album, I'd have to give a nod to "The Bite," Seize the Night," and "Steelwinged Savage Reaper." "The Bite" starts off with a typical-yet-no-frills riff that speeds through rather quickly, but the highlight is with the 6/8 interlude in the middle. The vocals here are especially dramatic and emotional, speaking of how the days simply go by and how our protagonist continually waits for the night to come. "Seize the Night" (maybe a play on Carpe Diem?) has a rather explosive chorus that contains that mixture of low-end power and melody I mentioned, as well as one of the catchiest choruses on the whole record. "Steelwinged Savage Reaper" is more in the speed metal vein, and has slight elements of what a cross between Slayer and Iron Maiden might sound like. The whole song blazes right through your stereo, with dark-yet-fun lyrics about Death and... well... the Grim Reaper being fast on your tail, I guess.

What about the flaws? I guess the biggest flaw is that the songs can really run together after a while; thus by the time the seventh track, "The Dead" comes on, you feel a little bit tired of the experience. Some of the songs feel like overly familiar rehashes of better tracks on the album. For instance, "Demon" simply sounds like a more-harmonized (if that makes sense) version of "I Will Kill Again," but the latter makes much more of a lasting impression. Additionally, some of the tracks get a tad lazy with the instrumentation. Album closer "Children of the Black Flame" simply plods along as if it has no real purpose, and the track rehashes the guitar work of previous songs, but in a slower way, and it simply gets a bit boring.

Either way, the album is a great salute to the old bands of 80's metal, and it goes to show that this old era of metal may not be in the coffin just yet. Get this as soon as you can.

Necrotica Hearing the first few moments of Khaooohs and Kon-Fus-Ion can be pretty jarring for some listeners. A cavernous down-tuned doom metal riff is met with a guitar solo you’d normally hear in a 12-bar blues song at the local pub; it’s a weird combination and doesn’t seem like it should work, yet it does. And that’d might as well be the summary for Pan.Thy.Monium’s music: they play shit that shouldn’t work and somehow does. One of the easiest pitfalls avant-garde metal bands often fall victim to is putting way too much random stuff in their songs without accounting for the actual songwriting quality. Luckily, I can say with utmost confidence that Khaooohs and Kon-Fus-Ion doesn’t fall into this trap. The first two tracks - which take up the majority of the record with their epic lengths - are incredibly adventurous while knowing when to break up the insanity to take a breather. For instance “The Battle of Geeheeb” periodically lets soaring guitar solos take center-stage, most of which are highly melodic and inspired by traditional 80s metal. Everytime the album threatens to fly off the handle, the band manage to find ways to keep the experience grounded.

Then again, I suppose this isn’t much of a surprise given the band’s leading songwriter, who happens to be legendary musician and producer Dan Swano. At this point, his name was already a seal of quality in the progressive death metal realm; in fact, his 40-minute one-song masterwork Crimson would be released the same year as Khaooohs and Kon-Fus-Ion, merely a month apart. So it’s no wonder that the songwriting here is as focused as it is experimental. Getting back to the music, “Thee-Pherenth” is an even more dense and difficult affair than the opener; wailing saxophones, off-kilter guitar riffs, strange time signatures, dark ambient passages, and even some hints of black metal are all found in this tune. There’s even a really catchy funk metal riff midway into the song, which reminds me a lot of that groovy riff found in Gorguts’ “Nostalgia”. But again, keeping in line with what I stated earlier, this off-the-wall moment is still met with a melodic guitar solo that slows things down and balances out the craziness. There are also some strange synthesizers that sound like a mix of Sadist’s Tribe album and classic Playstation music. The beauty of music like this is that - especially when you’re listening to it for the first time - the unpredictability of such experimental metal makes the experience genuinely exciting.

Finally, we get to those other two songs. However, “In Remembrance” isn’t really a song; in fact, it’s just one minute of silence. Perhaps it’s meant as an audio representation of a real-life “moment of silence”, although I do wish there was an actual outro. Meanwhile, “Behrial” might just be the most surprising thing on the record. Instead of another intense prog-death number, we’re greeted with calming, angelic keyboards; the weirdest thing about this track is that there’s nothing eerie or creepy going on in the background. The entire song is just… beautiful. It’s repetitive, but it puts you in a state of peace and relaxation with its otherworldly sense of atmosphere. It’s a perfect wind-down track after two very intense and complex epics, and it ends Khaooos and Kon-Fus-Ion on a wonderful note. Simply put, this band is a bit of an anomaly. I’m not sure what bands I’d even lump this music in with, and that’s what makes Pan.Thy.Monium so special; they were a singular, idiosyncratic group that allowed Dan Swano to get as creative and experimental as he could. If you enjoy avant-garde metal and are looking for something that's truly original and compelling in its many oddities, you can’t go wrong here.

Necrotica Something I’ve always found a bit perplexing about The Link is that there’s not much backstory behind it. Gojira’s debut Terra Incognita has plenty of interesting tidbits to its name, such as how frontman Joe Duplantier lived in a secluded cabin for two years while coming up with inspiration for the record, or how the interlude “04” was intended by Joe and his brother Mario to be a birthday present for their mother. But The Link is… just The Link. Even the cover art - while indicative of the more tribal elements on the record (we’ll get to that) - is very unassuming. As such, its popularity and significance are often dwarfed by the records that sandwich it. Terra Incognita is the brutal and aggressive fan-favorite debut, and From Mars to Sirius is the breakthrough album that brought them significant acclaim in the wider metal community. But that doesn’t mean we should be forgetting about The Link.

Not in the slightest. On top of being a necessary stepping stone for Gojira’s progression, it’s also quite possibly the strangest and most experimental record of theirs to date. You’ll find the usual helping of groovy chugs and double bass worship, but it’s all topped off with the aforementioned tribal elements as well as a more “mystical” overall vibe. Right from the title track, you’re thrown into an otherworldly environment full of droning vocal inflections, hypnotic grooves, and wood block percussion; suddenly, the world crafted by Terra Incognita has expanded and become an even more diverse place to explore. Death metal sections are still present on The Link but they’re used much more sparingly this time around to make room for an expanding palette of influences. Whether it be the beautiful ambient interlude “Torii”, the doom metal-inspired riffs of “Inward Movement”, or the lengthy post-metal mini-epic that is “Dawn”, the unpredictability of The Link’s tracklist goes a long way in describing its appeal to anyone who’s a bit bored with the current iteration of the band’s sound.

Yet the surprise comes in just how well the songs flow into each other. You’d think so many disparate elements being put together would cause some massive consistency issues, but such is not the case with The Link. Even at this stage, Gojira were great at knowing what transitions and dynamics to use at the right times. A perfect example would be the one-two-three punch of “Connected”, “Remembrance”, and “Torii”. Technically, only one of these is a full-length song; however, all three of them flow into each other so well that you’d might as well treat it as one single eight-minute track. “Connected” opens up with some light tribal drumming that opens the gates for the death metal fury of “Remembrance”; in turn, the amazing breakdown of “Remembrance” fades out to set the stage for the lovely “Torii” to take place. Meanwhile, you can perceive “Wisdom Comes” as the band letting out their final blast of death metal aggression before the expansive and slow-moving “Dawn” moves in to bring The Link to a fitting close. While I’d argue From Mars to Sirius is even more well-constructed because it uses a concrete narrative to tie the songs together, this album is no slouch either.

As one would expect from a Gojira album, the performances here are absolutely stellar. Joe and lead guitarist Chrisian Andreu have wonderful chemistry together, especially on the heavier tunes. “Wisdom Comes” is especially noteworthy, as the duo perform dual tremolo-picked harmonies to create a sinister vibe that compliments the intense riffs nicely. Mario and bassist Jean-Michel Labadie are also perfectly locked-in on The Link, providing just the right balance of groove and technicality for those heavy songs while showing incredible restraint on the softer ones. In a 2005 interview with Hard ‘n’ Heavy Magazine, Mario said the sessions for the album represented “a period during which I wanted to play fast: I was starting to master well the grind parts and the double bass pedal”. This is definitely evident in fast cuts such as “Remembrance” and “Wisdom Comes”, which feature the most impressive double bass work and rapid-fire blastbeats that he’d ever played up to this point; the fact that the rest of the band could keep up and hold their own so well against his drumming is pretty damn impressive.

Admittedly, I’m quite tired of The Link being considered the red-headed stepchild of Gojira’s catalogue (well, according to the fanbase, it’s either this or Magma). It has a plethora of fantastic songs, a unique atmosphere, the most experimental writing of the band’s career, and some of their most technical and intricate playing to top it off. It set the stage perfectly for Gojira’s heyday, and it remains an incredible record in its own right.

Necrotica The most immediate problem with Fortitude is that it really lacks a unique identifying “feature” compared to previous Gojira records. Terra Incognita had the raw death metal aggression, The Link had an experimental tribal feel, From Mars to Sirius had an ambitious conceptual feel, and so on. Somehow, Fortitude manages to sound like a synthesis of all of the band’s previous albums while lacking the sense of both wonder and impact they all had. Sure, the chugs and technical drumming still come out from time to time, but they’re buried beneath Gojira’s insistence on playing dull one-note riffs that linger for a little too long. It’s not like I’m resistant to the prospect of the band experimenting - again, The Link is a nice example of that - but it’s gotta be over a more interesting foundation than this.

For instance, the main riff of “Another World” is pretty cool; Christian Andreu’s lead guitar and Jean-Michel Labadie’s bass coil around each other to give off a strangely futuristic atmosphere. But then it all falls apart in the verses, which just consist of a boring chugging riff that doesn’t go anywhere interesting. It’s nice to hear Joe Duplantier still bringing the energy with his screams and growls, but they don’t matter much when the material itself is so lacking in heft and intensity. Meanwhile, some songs don’t even sound like they came from Gojira at all. When the a cappella harmonies of “Hold On” started, I had to look at my phone to make sure I was still listening to the same band. Indeed, Joe does perform a lot more clean vocals on Fortitude - these are most prominently heard on “Hold On”, “The Chant”, and “The Trails”. And, truth be told, Duplantier has really proven himself to be a capable clean vocalist over the last five years or so. The harmonies in “Hold On” are actually quite beautiful, despite the fact that the song eventually switches to a more typical groovy Gojira track halfway through.

What really drags this album down more than everything else, however, is the production. It’s quite strange that Duplantier is the same person who produced Way of All Flesh, as Fortitude has none of the same weight, atmosphere, or clarity in its mix. The guitars sound both muddy and unappealing in the chugging bits (the verses of “Amazonia” for instance), and really flavorless during the melodic sections (“The Trails” in particular). It also does no favors for Mario Duplantier, especially during the more technical tracks like “Grind” and “Into the Storm”. He performs some pretty amazing parts during these songs, but all I can think of is how much better they’d sound with a From Mars to Sirius-esque production job. Speaking of “Into the Storm”, that very song represents what kind of record Fortitude could have been; the track is a perfect mix of the band’s more heavy/technical traits and their melodic tendencies. Sure, the main drum part was lifted from “The Cell” off of Magma to an extent, but the riff played over it is one of the most beautifully melancholic parts I’ve ever heard from this group.

Fortitude is a strange affair, as its oddities tend to come from Gojira’s push toward a more simplistic and mainstream sound. On one hand, I suppose that makes it a logical step after the stripped-down music of Magma; on the other hand, it just doesn’t feel natural for some reason. The band’s willingness to step outside of their comfort zone is commendable, but if they’re keen on committing to this new sound of theirs, they need to give it a little more polish and focus. As it stands, Fortitude is a decent metal record. However, it doesn’t really offer anything that Gojira’s prior albums haven’t done better.

Necrotica Let me take you back to 2011 for a moment. My junior year of high school had just come to an end, and I was ready to take on senior year in a few months. But in the summer that separated these events, my brother and I - along with a few friends - decided to attend a metal concert together. Children of Bodom, Devin Townsend, Obscura, and Septic Flesh were in the lineup for the show we attended at the Los Angeles House of Blues (back when that place was actually around… rest in peace). Now... usually, to get hyped up for a show, we’d play some sort of extreme metal to get us in the mood for the moshpit. However, when we finished a show, we’d try to wind down with something a bit more calming and relaxing to get rid of the intense headaches we’d likely have by the end of the event. But this particular show was significant for two reasons. 1: It was my very first concert (although unfortunately I got food poisoning. How’s that for a start?). 2. The album we chose for the car ride home would change the way I view music forever. It would not only be my favorite album of that year, but it would also be the record that opened the floodgates to a world of music I never even explored or considered.

Ghost had just been released in the summer of 2011 to coincide with the release of Deconstruction, and the two are quite obviously polar opposites. For everything the latter did to be loud and chaotic, the former would counter with the most mellow new age-oriented folk rock around. Devin Townsend had already explored the avenues of atmospheric rock before, as heard on the phenomenal solo releases Ocean Mahine and Terria. But Ghost was the first time that his sound was this stripped down and light on the typical distortion and force of his output. In fact, Deconstruction was the reason I went to that concert in the first place, but Ghost was the reason that the same night ended up turning my music taste on its head. All of a sudden, it was time to stop placing so much emphasis on pure technicality or brutality, and more on atmosphere and what “environment” the music inhabits. Before then, I was listening to progressive rock and metal almost exclusively; hearing genres such as folk, new age, or classical music (outside of piano lessons) was completely alien.

However, just the aspect of loving this album on a personal level doesn’t mean it can’t be appreciated on a more objective level. To put it simply, this experience is just beautiful. It loves immersing you in its world, taking you to exotic locations, and letting you stay for as long as you like. Devin’s the tour guide, and his smooth vocal performances are a perfect compliment to the lush, lavish instrumental passages that do their best to provide a aural sea to bathe in. Also, for as soft as the overall collection is, there’s a surprising amount of variety that helps it stand out. From the little swing-like rhythm of the title track, to the soothing bluegrass inflections of “Blackberry,” to the understated flute-driven melancholy of “Monsoon,” to the expansive ambient grace of “Infinite Ocean,” there’s a lot to sink your ears into. But the biggest thing that defines this album is the immersion. Rarely has an album - even in genres like new age or ambient - transported me away from reality and offered so much escapism. There’s still a lot of technical detail and intricate artistry that goes into this album, but it’s all poured into the atmosphere it generates. “Texada” in particular uses Devin’s trademark “Wall of Sound”-style production to create incredible layers of synthesizer and guitar melodies that resemble the feeling of floating on the ocean itself.

2011 almost feels like a distant memory today, but there’s no doubt that Ghost still casts its influence on my listening habits and interests even now. It’s fascinating that a musician who’s most famous for his metal output can explore the softer side of his art so well, but as he’s proven time and time again (Casualties of Cool being the most recent example), he’s truly an example of a multi-faceted artist who can cross genre boundaries with ease. And no matter how much City or Ocean Machine get brought up when people talk about Devin’s best records, Ghost will always be the one I associate the most with HevyDevy.

Necrotica "In some cultures, Mars symbolizes war and Sirius peace. I'm simplifying! It is a journey of a state of war, even if in France we are preserved, but it can be a war within us, in our flesh, in our mind, a war with ourselves" -Joe Duplantier, 2005

I think we need to take a moment to appreciate just how appropriate the cover art for From Mars to Sirius is to the music within. Gojira have never been ones to shy away from environmental themes, which they’d been exploring as early as 2001’s Terra Incognita. But the illustration of a whale travelling to a more peaceful world takes us right to the heart of their beliefs and ideals. As such, it also represents the first proper concept album for Gojira - one that relates the issues we face on a planetary scale to the greater concept of mortality. This relationship between internal conflict and external repercussions is what elevates From Mars to Sirius above the band’s previous outings; they already had the ingredients to make an era-defining album, yet they never could put them all together in such a stunning way until this record.

From Mars to Sirius is the product of several influences - Meshuggah, Pantera, Morbid Angel, Converge, and several others come to mind - but it doesn’t feel derivative in the slightest. It’s a testament to how well Gojira can use their own building blocks to their advantage, as the personality and charm of the record compliment the crushing riffs and harsh vocals perfectly. And when I say crushing, I do mean crushing. Despite most of the songs being in standard D tuning, they manage to crank out a thicker and weightier sound than most of the deathcore and djent bands playing in much lower tunings. This can largely be attributed to the presence of the underrated Jean-Michel Labadie, whose bass work provides a wonderfully heavy undertow to Joe Duplantier and Christian Andreu’s relentless guitar assaults. Combined with the technical and highly impressive drumming of Joe’s brother Mario, there’s always the sense that the band is just “locked in”, no matter how much the album threatens to go off the rails. The chemistry here is undeniable, and it’s pretty easy to guess why the group haven’t had a lineup change since their very first record.

But a lot of this can be said about the previous two records as well. What really puts From Mars to Sirius in a higher echelon is the incredible focus that went into the songwriting. It is true that a few parts can meander once in a while - the 66-minute runtime could have been trimmed by about five minutes or so - but when the band are firing on all cylinders, the result is both brutally heavy and utterly entrancing. “Ocean Planet” immediately sets the scene, as faint whale calls are met with a grinding sludge-oriented riff; doomy, yet captivating and even melodic. This song tells us a lot about the album we’re about to hear: pounding riffs combined with a heavy dose of atmosphere, near-pristine production values, and the band’s most ambitious lyrics to date. That’s not to say their technical abilities have waned in the slightest though, as heard in more turbulent cuts such as absolute barnburners “The Heaviest Matter in the Universe” and “Backbone” or the epic, progressive stylings of album centerpiece “Flying Whales.” The latter is especially noteworthy as it really puts every facet of the band’s sound on display. The beginning sees us traversing a beautiful soundscape filled with the aforementioned whale calls, before plunging us into some of the heaviest grooves on the entire album; finally, the last section of the track throws in all the weird time signatures and varied rhythms to seal the deal. The whole song is like a summary of the band’s career, and it’s no wonder that it’s their most famous tune to this day.

While we’re talking about songwriting, it’s crucial to talk about just how well the lyrics and concept compliment the music itself. Not only does From Mars to Sirius tackle the theme of moving to a more peaceful place, but it also concerns the resurrection of the world we currently live in. While the heavier songs obviously present the more turbulent and intense moments of this “interplanetary quest” as it’s been dubbed, there are also slower tracks that present a more contemplative side. “World to Come” is very true to its title, using doomy melodic riffs and beautiful lead guitar playing to illustrate what our planet might eventually become, depending on the way we treat it. “Global Warming” hits a lot of the same lyrical notes while presenting a more hopeful tone, as the repetition of the words “we will see our children growing” closes out the record as a whole. Add to that some nice (if a tad repetitive) guitar tapping from our Duplantier/Andreu duo, and it’s a nice way to resolve a lot of the tension and conflicts of the story. And quite a few of the songs, such as “In the Wilderness” and “From the Sky”, seem to paradoxically marry brutal music with contemplative lyrics effortlessly. The band’s ability to blend so many disparate elements without sounding sloppy is really impressive, especially considering the ambition of this project.

That’s really what makes From Mars to Sirius one of the benchmarks for modern metal. It’s such a varied experience, yet it never strays too far from its core appeal. The riffs are brutal, the themes are thought-provoking, the songwriting is progressive and ambitious, the atmosphere is thick, the playing is super tight… and somehow all of this converges into one incredible experience. If you enjoy modern extreme metal or progressive metal, you owe it to yourself to listen to From Mars to Sirius at least once. Then again, given Gojira’s rapidly-increasing stature in today’s metal scene, chances are that you've probably heard it already.

Necrotica I’ve long been fascinated with records that explore the sounds of space from an extreme metal point of view. There’s an inherent excitement to basking in an expansive atmosphere while being bombarded by aggressive guitar work and pummeling blastbeats, as bands like Blood Incantation and Mithras have definitely proven. No matter how intense the music gets, there’s something strangely soothing and dreamlike about it; it’s almost as if the music could threaten to become background noise if you’re not paying enough attention. But much like the aforementioned bands, Mare Cognitum - consisting only of California native Jacob Buczarski - brings just the right amount of musical variety and neat embellishments to (mostly) avoid the pitfall of overt repetition. The fact that Solar Paroxysm has no song under 10 minutes might seem like a doozy, but believe me: this album flies by very quickly.

Every song here is a mini-epic rife with the tropes you’d typically hear from a progressive/atmospheric black metal project: long tremolo-picked passages, layered wall-of-sound instrumentation for that “vast” soundscape, and of course the harsh shrieks to top it all off. There’s a remarkable sense of progression in these tracks despite the album’s often long-winded nature, largely due to the fact that most of them come from a similar beginning. The majority of the tracks kick off with a familiar tremolo/blastbeat-driven base, and while that does make the intros a tad predictable, it allows Buczarski to use them as a launching pad to fly off in whatever direction he sees fit. Opener “Antaresian” opts to settle into what I could consider a “funeral waltz” using increasingly progressive 3/4 and 6/8 chugs before climaxing with a beautifully melancholic solo; meanwhile, “Frozen Star Divinization” is a long showcase of mesmerizing tremolo guitar harmonies, almost as if they’re locked in a never-ending duel in the middle of a wintry tundra. “Luminous Accretion” is probably the most technical song on offer, constantly shifting tempos and riff patterns while giving the drums a serious workout; finally, “Ataraxia Tunnels” is probably the most traditionally black metal-oriented track here while maintaining the sense of atmosphere that defines the rest of the album.

“Terra Requiem”, however, doesn’t fit quite as nicely on a stylistic level… and that’s because it’s the best song on the record. Most of it is played at a snail’s pace and really gets at the heart of this record’s dark take on a cosmic sound. The tremolo harmonies and double bass drumming are still prevalent here, just used to color a more funereal and despair-filled picture. Everything comes together beautifully in the middle of the song, as the keyboards soar above the melodic guitar solo; it strikes a brilliant balance between awe and hopelessness that I haven’t heard in quite some time. Speaking of the “picture”, the lyrics of Solar Paroxysm are very appropriate to the music as well. It’s your typical vaguely space-y imagery, but there are some pretty cool stanzas I’ll single out. Check out these ones from “Luminous Accretion”:

“Corporeal fractures Essence separates Violent transposition Self-observed from above, lingering

Communicants, wretched spires Materialize, surround, engulf Great tongues through which Creations are spoken (and thus conceived)”

Or these ones from “Terra Requiem”:

“The last leaves have fallen The last vine has withered The ocean has boiled for so long Choking our breath with fetid steam

We claw for shelter from the heartless sun Which cracks our skin and dries our wells So great is the debt we have incurred So too will we wilt and fade into dust”

Again, pretty vague and hard to decipher, but the imagery itself really fits the sound of the album so I don’t mind in the slightest.

Whether or not you will enjoy Solar Paroxysm will probably depend on your tolerance for the familiar tropes Mare Cognitum often employs to flesh out his sound. It’s true that nothing on this album breaks much new ground for atmospheric black metal, but the quality lies in how it’s executed here. The songs, while often starting the same, eventually lead us to incredibly neat locales by the time they’re done because of Buczarski’s adventurousness with this well-worn genre. Solar Paroxysm is my first experience with Mare Cognitum, and it looks like I have one hell of a back catalogue ahead of me if this album’s any indication.

Necrotica I think most hardcore Rush fans are aware of Caress of Steel’s infamous reputation at this point, but I’ll give a small rundown of it for the uninitiated. Essentially, this is Rush’s darkest hour commercially and critically; the tour to support the album was even called the “Down the Tubes” tour by the band themselves due to poor sales and concert attendance. As you’d imagine, the group must have thought the end was near and that they’d have to disband at their label’s insistence. After all, they were completely unwilling to heed any advice about becoming more commercial and accessible, eventually paving the way for what would become the super-successful 2112 and its highly ambitious title epic. But for all we know about the latter record, is Caress of Steel really as bad as critics once proclaimed?

Hell no. Granted, I can actually see why they might not have taken to it at first; playing progressive rock in the 70s, while commercially sound for some bands, was also like painting a huge target on your chest for music critics. And one look at the Caress of Steel must have been very striking back then: five songs? Two epics, one of them 20 minutes? For comparison, the longest song they’d made up to that point was “By-Tor and the Snow Dog,” at a mere eight-and-a-half minutes. It may not have helped either that the lyrics were starting to become more impenetrable and complex, especially on the side-two epic “Fountain of Lamneth.” But the more you dig into this album, the more fascinating and ambitious it starts to become. I’m not going to say this was just too forward-thinking for the critics back then, but I am of the idea that Caress of Steel was the true beginning of what we would come to know as “classic Rush” for the rest of the 70s and early 80s.

The tracklist is very much a tale of two sides. That is to say, a merging of two styles: tracks 1-3 are more in a riff-heavy hard rock vein consisting of tighter, leaner arrangements. Tracks 4-5 are the lengthy epics that focus on weightier topics and consist of several different sections spliced together. With such a short tracklist, I suppose it would be smart to tackle both parts of the album separately and start with the shorter tunes. For starters, “Bastille Day” is one of the best openers Rush ever conjured up; the hard punk-ish riffs meld perfectly with the bombastic solos and varied drumming, while Neil Peart’s lyrics are just as grand as the music itself. It’s a wonderful mix of the heavy and the grandiose, a great way to usher in this new phase of Rush. Finally, Geddy Lee's shrill vocal style works really well with the aggression of the song and gives it even more personality.

The other two songs, however, serve as more of a farewell to Rush early Cream/Zeppelin-inspired stuff, consisting of more bluesy riffs and simplistic lyrics. “I Think I’m Going Bald” is Peart’s tale about how it might feel to grow old and watch the world around you change, so at least it’s a bit more deep than the title suggests. But at the same time, it’s definitely the weakest song here; the simple rock riffs and lack of variety make it stick out like a sore thumb against the more nuanced material here. “Lakeside Park” is a nice little trip down memory lane with Peart giving us a glimpse into some of his childhood; the riffs are also a bit more varied here, combining distorted and clean guitar tones to great effect.

Then we reach the real reason this album tanked: the epics. Interestingly enough, this section of the record is where I can give the most pros and cons at the same time. So let’s get the negative out of the way: first of all, you can tell the band were still trying to find their footing as far as lengthy arrangements go. Instead of the smooth transitions you hear in future epics like “Xanadu” and “Book II: Hemispheres,” both of Caress of Steel’s epics feature choppy transitions that usually involve awkward fade-outs and tonal inconsistencies. This is especially prevalent on “The Fountain of Lamneth,” which really could have done with some more editing in the studio. And it’s a shame, because the individual sections are fantastic (trust me, I’ll get to this). On the positive side, however, “The Necromancer” - whose lyrics are entirely based on The Lord of the Rings - fares a bit more smoothly; the shifts between tremendous metal riffs and foreboding soft passages is incredibly effective, and the middle section might just be the beginning of progressive metal as we know it. Seriously, that main riff is every bit as heavy as Black Sabbath’s doom riffs were at the time. And again, “Fountain of Lamneth” does feature incredible moments, especially in the more Genesis-inspired soft passages like “No One at the Bridge” and “Panacea” (check out the Steve Hackett influence in Alex Lifeson’s guitar work here!). It’s also nice to hear how “In the Valley” and “The Fountain” tie into each other to give thematic unity to the overall epic.

Caress of Steel occupies a weird place in Rush’s discography. It could effectively be considered the real beginning of what we know as Rush’s signature style, but it’s also a transitional wave goodbye to the band’s less sophisticated past. But just know: whatever crap you’ve heard over the years about this record, you’ll likely find it better than what those people have said. It’s flawed, but those flaws are part of what gives it its unique character. It’s clearly a stepping stone for a young band, but one that showed a band already poised to take over the rock world… even if people didn’t realize it quite yet.

Necrotica Something I’ve always loved about Emma Ruth Rundle is her versatility and willingness to do whatever the hell she wants musically. She's done everything from ambient to folk to doom to sludge to post rock to just about everything in between, and pretty much every project she’s brought her style to has flourished and succeeded in its own way. Whether it be her unique guitar work in post-rock group Red Sparowes or her more mellow folk-laden solo work, her greatest idiosyncrasy as a songwriter is the fact that her career never becomes static. Case in point: collaborating with Thou. On paper, it seems like a strange combination; I can’t think of a band Rundle has worked with that’s more crushing and intense than Thou, and you’d almost expect the latter’s sludgy riffs to be at odds with her singing and playing style. But such is not the case, as the “beauty-meets-brutality” aesthetic is exactly what makes this project work.

The Helm of Sorrow is an excellent continuation of the sound Rundle and Thou built together with last year’s May Our Chambers Be Full, still keeping with the latter’s melding of sorrow and intensity. The biggest thing that this collaboration benefits from is the members’ keen sense of dynamics; the music is meticulously composed to account for all the right emotional peaks and valleys, as is important for a lot of doom and post metal. In fact, opener “Orphan Limbs” is almost entirely based around Rundle singing cleanly over soft droning passages, whose guitar is reminiscent of Red House Painters’ brand of slowcore (Down Colorful Hill in particular). Only at roughly the last minute does the band erupt in a volcano of steamrolling guitars and shrieking vocals, and the long buildup just heightens the resonance of the payoff. This is the first time on the entire album we hear this level of intensity, and the slow build within the grim ambiance effectively keeps you on edge the whole time. But this isn’t the only way the dynamics of the record are experimented; “Crone Dance” is pretty much unceasing in its ferocity, and yet Rundle’s lovely vocal inflections add a strange melodicism to such an unrelenting series of sludge riffs. It helps, too, that the guitar tone is absolutely incredible here; it strikes a wonderfully odd middle ground between violent and textured, so you get something that’s equal parts harsh and compelling. And when Rundle and Bryan Funck start singing together on the remaining two tracks “Recurrence” and “Hollywood" (the latter being a Cranberries cover), it starts bringing to mind a certain approach that quickly got run into the ground in a lot of gothic metal: the “beauty-and-the-beast” approach. But I find there’s a difference here, as it feels like it’s done much more in service to the atmosphere rather than to be gimmicky. The downcast riffs are constantly emitting a sense of despair while the mix of clean and harsh vocals brings that perfect balance of sadness and anger; it really feels like I’m listening to “She Painted Fire Across the Skyline Pt. 1” by Agalloch again for the first time.

At this point, it surprises me a bit that Emma Ruth Rundle hasn’t been fully brought onboard as a member of Thou yet. Their respective approaches to these records seem meant for each other, and it’s a wonderful feeling when styles that are normally meant to clash can be brought together so beautifully. Let’s hope we can get another full-length of this kind of music, because 21 minutes - even for an EP - simply feels too short for how great the material is.

Necrotica Calculating Infinity is the perfect example of an album that takes the rulebook of its genre(s) and throws it out completely. It’s the flawless melding of brutality and sophistication, of anger and despair, of hardcore euphoria and jazz-driven mathematics. And the members of The Dillinger Escape Plan were certainly aware of what they were doing too. Guitarist and figurehead Ben Weinman was once quoted as saying on The Independent:

"Calculating Infinity was us effectively ripping up the music theory book; if someone said 'don't harmonise with a second, it just sounds out of tune', then every single lead we did, we'd harmonise with a second. It sounded disgusting, but we did it".

This music is controlled rage, but just because it’s controlled doesn’t mean it’s sterile or edgeless. The complex, labyrinthine arrangements are given plenty of vocal ammunition through Dimitri Minakakis’ tortured, chilling screams. And I’ll certainly give the band credit: they don’t mess around when it comes to storming the gate early. “Sugar Coated Sour” is both a phenomenal thesis statement of the album’s sound and practically a war cry for any listener interested in joining the band for this unique event. The dissonant guitar harmonies, impossibly precise drumkit grinding, and furious wailing are incredible markers of what you’ll be hearing throughout this brief experience. About 90% of Calculating Infinity is a mixture of blinding speeds, jaw-dropping technical prowess, and the rare moment of unsettling reflection. Those calmer sections are a great way for the band to show their vast range of influences as well, such as the incredible polyrhythmic prog-oriented bridge of “43% Burnt” or the avant-jazz chord progressions of the slow melodic (?) section of “The Running Board.” Even more curious are the few interludes that mark the record, leaning more on the avant-garde side of its identity. The title track and “*#..” are enjoyable Meshuggah-esque ditties that rely on strange rhythms and little diminished guitar “pops,” while “Weekend Sex Change” combines sampling, depressive guitar melodies, and incredible drum soloing into one fascinating fusion.

The most impressive thing about Calculating Infinity is that both sides of its bipolar personality are so natural and well-represented. Many of us are aware of the various rumors surrounding the album’s recording, most famously the decision to roll dice to determine each time signature. But it’s strange to think that for something so, ahem, “calculated,” that every bit of hardcore aggression and raw emotion can still come out in full force. Just listen to that utterly insane intro to “Jim Fear.” It doesn’t give us a moment’s notice to prepare for the full-on assault of scorching fretwork and deranged screams, but everything manages to be very planned and pre-staged all the same. That whole song really comes together when you reach the next section and hear the complex runs across the fretboard in unison with the rabid drums, and that concept of “controlled anarchy” comes into play. Wanna know why it all works? Because the insane technicality and the angular “prog-meets-punk” riffing ensure that each emotional catharsis is earned. The Dillinger Escape Plan somehow have the ability to turn technical prowess into atmosphere, weaving in and out of disturbing musical passages; Dimitri is simply icing on the cake with the chaos he spews over it all. But each emotional release works because the band members are incredibly skilled at building us up to those moments. Much like Converge’s Jane Doe, there’s a respect and care that’s given to each weird transition and tempo shift despite the hell being unleashed on top of the songwriting.

At the end of the day, Calculating Infinity is simply a mesmerizing paradox; it combines mathcore, hardcore punk, free jazz, avant-garde metal, and progressive metal, and somehow manages to treat them all as equals. If you want sophisticated songwriting and complex instrumentals, this album is essential. And if you just want to fuck everyone up in the moshpit, then it’s still essential.

Necrotica When it comes to blackened death metal, Angelcorpse usually aren't too far behind Behemoth in terms of popularity and notoriety. It makes sense too; their discography was incredibly consistent and reliable, with not a bad album in the bunch. Thick riffs, hard hitting drumming, and a clear-yet-cavernous production were the hallmarks of their work, most notably their figurehead Gene Palubicki. The guitarist and vocalist applied his trademark sound with Angelcorpse to a number of other projects he was involved with, but Perdition Temple seems to be the most promising of these groups. And if Sacraments of Descension is anything to go by, then it seems as though I've been missing out on some really strong death metal albums released under the Palubicki banner.

What you get with this album is pretty much what you'd expect from an Angelcorpse album: relentless riffing, intricately written guitar leads, and black metal-inspired tremelo picking. It's predictable yet incredibly satisfying, and every song packs a familiar yet impactful punch. The production is such that you can hear every little note being played while still respecting a certain degree of rawness; this is especially evident in the blastbeat portions, which raise the intensity while letting you marvel at the technical abilities of the musicians. Riff-wise, there's a lot of Morbid Angel and Demilich influence on display, most notably Covenant-era Morbid Angel. And while the album lacks in the variety department, it's also a short affair and doesn't wear out its welcome over time. However, there are a few songs I'd like to highlight as particular standouts: "Eternal Mountain" and "Antichrist." The former is defined by its more progressive nature, boasting several off-time and off-kilter riffs (lots of 7/4-time in particular) separated by the band's usual brand of intensity. The latter is probably my favorite instance of atmosphere on the record, slowing down midway to feature some echo-laden growls that remind one of the hellish vibe featured in Immolation's landmark record Close to a World Below.

Sacraments of Descension isn't anything groundbreaking by any means, and the songs do tend to blend together after a while. However, if you're in the mood for a death metal record that's ceaselessly aggressive and never lets up, you could do much worse than this. I haven't followed Gene Palubicki's work too closely since the Angelcorpse days, but maybe it's time that I started playing catch-up.

Necrotica Tool’s fifth studio album is one of those projects that I don’t think most people had much faith in. Over a decade was spent waiting for it, getting to the point where several memes online mocked the band for their inability to stay on the same page and get the record done. I get the feeling many of us thought it would go the way of Half-Life 3 and become the musical version of vaporware, and the constant rumor mill from the band and media wasn’t convincing people otherwise. And yet… somehow, we actually made it. Fear Inoculum is out, and critics are already stumbling over each other giving the album (mostly) rapturous praise. Most of the public seems onboard for it too, giving kudos to the band for not missing a beat and swinging back stronger than ever. For the most part, I can agree with this.

Fear Inoculum is not the easiest experience to dive into; it runs at 80 minutes (86 if you’re talking about the digital version) across only 7 tracks, which means almost every song is over 10 minutes. That’s a lot to digest, and many of these songs run at very slow, almost doomlike paces. But, as usual for a latter-day Tool album, there’s plenty of dense progressive metal to sink your teeth into. You’ll find all the typical Lateralus-era stuff here; tribal rhythms, post-metal buildups and payoffs, subtle polyrhythms, and frequent dynamic ebbs and flows all make their way on this record. However, it’s important to note that the buildups are much more lengthy and detailed this time around. In fact, I’m a little shocked that the title track was able to become a charting single, given the fact that the song doesn’t really get off the ground until about halfway into its 10-minute runtime. I suppose that’s the power of hype and expectations after such a long wait from the band’s devoted fanbase! Anyway, these long runtimes work better for some songs than others; “Pneuma” and “Invincible” are fantastic examples of balancing their buildups and payoffs perfectly for emotional effect, especially in the way the latter combines triumph and resignation to flesh out the story of an “aging warrior” (see also: Maynard Keenan himself). The former presents itself in a darker and almost ritualistic manner, with Maynard repeating several lines over and over while the stuttering rhythms are constantly throwing you off in the process. Every time the heavy Drop-D riff comes in, it’s a welcome release from the tension.

The band members themselves have clearly grown over the years, and they sound even more comfortable than ever when flexing their virtuoso muscles. However, one thing that I’ve always loved about Tool over the years is that they never really beat you over the head with their instrumental prowess, instead preferring to showcase their skills in more subtle ways; Fear Inoculum definitely sticks to this. Instead of doing a giant shred solo, Adam Jones might lay down some simple guitar chords that are played in a slightly off-kilter or wonky manner, such as he often does in album highlight “7empest.” The entire song is like a giant experiment where the band members all try and see how many cool things they can do the metallic framework they’re given, and the outcome is just phenomenal. As far as vocals go, Maynard is more reserved and introspective this time around; but given the structures and dynamics of the songs here, that’s the perfect route to go. Plus, given his age, he still sounds excellent. Still, I don’t think many people are going to doubt that this is absolutely a rhythm section-centric record. Justin Chancellor and Danny Carey absolutely tear up this album, providing both an incredible backbone and an infinite stream of ways that Adam Jones could work his guitar magic over them. “Chocolate Chip Trip” might be the most inconsequential and skippable song on the album in the grand scheme of things, but I still don’t advise missing out on that sweet drum solo that Carey lays down on it. It’s one of the great highlights of his recorded output.

So what’s wrong exactly? Well, just one thing… and it’s a pretty important thing. Let me start this off with a movie analogy: have you watched an actor that you can only see as that actor and not a character they’re playing? A big example in my case is Tom Cruise. Every time I see him in a role, I just see Tom Cruise; I don’t see a character, because Cruise just kinda overtakes the role itself. It’s a really frustrating situation, because it constantly sucks me out of the immersion of a film when I can constantly see the “man behind the curtain.” And unfortunately, Tool fall right into this trap. One of the things that made Lateralus and even 10,000 Days so great is that there was always that additional instrumentation that fleshed out the atmosphere of those records. There were always Jones’ guitar pedals and a bunch of warbling industrial effects lending to the dark, eerie vibe Tool succeeded so well at crafting. Sadly, on Fear Inoculum I just hear 4 guys jamming out in the studio. The atmosphere is so empty and sparse on this album, and it doesn’t help that there usually aren’t many extra synthesizers or pedals to spice things up. That’s not to say the entire record is like this; “Pneuma” has an excellent middle section with a buzzing electronic effect alongside some beautiful clean guitar melodies from Jones, and of course the tribal drumming in the majority of the title track is always welcome. But considering this is Tool’s longest and most dense album, it would have been nicer to hear some more little touches to provide extra detail and texture to the experience.

Still, I’m really glad Fear Inoculum is finally here. I’m glad that we’re finally able to let all the old memes and jokes about Tool’s constant delays finally die. And unlike Duke Nukem Forever, we have a delayed product that’s actually incredibly solid and worth the time it took to make it. If you enjoyed Tool’s prog era, you’ll most likely love what they did here. Fear Inoculum is the logical outcome of the band’s constant flirtation with complexities and intricacies over the years, as well as how much they’d grown personally and creatively to get to this point in their lives. I can’t say that this is a better album than Lateralus - which I still consider to be the band’s gold standard - but it’s definitely my second favorite of theirs so far. There’s just too much ambition and quality songcraft here to pass up or ignore. So was Fear Inoculum worth the wait? I wholeheartedly say: yes.

Necrotica Even more than any other Nevermore album, Dreaming Neon Black always seemed to have a darkness and intensity that was all its own. This is some potent, dense thrash that fully revels in its progressive nature, as well as the twisted story the late Warrel Dane weaves along the way. The concept, according to Dane himself, deals with a man who gradually succumbs to insanity after he loses his lover to a religious cult. Eventually this insanity becomes all sorts of various tragedies surrounding our main character. Sounds happy, right? Believe me, though, this stuff is the perfect base for the incredibly creepy and depressing moods the music itself creates. You really feel the conviction of the band right from the opening thrasher (aside from the intro) "Beyond Within," which seamlessly blends the intense drive of Jeff Loomis' riffing with a variety of tempo shifts for every mood the song wants to convey. And there are several; from one song alone, we get rage, desperation, anxiety, and futility all in this track. Simply put, this is the most emotional album Nevermore ever put out.

And the greatest thing about this is that there's so much sincerity and even beauty lurking in the record's uninviting outer shell. If I were to pick Dreaming Neon Black's centerpiece in this regard, it's definitely the bleak title track. This is one of the rare ballads we get to hear from the band, and the doomy chorus constantly gives off the feeling of drowning in Dane's personal abyss. Even the faster numbers on the album usually exhibit some interesting experiments that further the atmosphere, such as the wonderful classical guitar leads that kick off "No More Will" or the bizarrely off-kilter rhythms and atonal guitar chugs that define how uncomfortable the mood of "The Death of Passion" is. Even more interesting are the softer segments, such as the strange note-bending in "All Play Dead" or the minimalist clean guitar that closes the album with "Forever." More traditional Nevermore numbers come in the form of the straightforward melodic thrash of "I Am the Dog" and the intricately performed media-bashing prog/thrash combo heard in "Poison Godmachine." But even then, these still serve to advance the story and inject their own form of energy into a deeply affecting piece of metal music. Dreaming Neon Black is the most consistent Nevermore album from a songwriting standpoint, and it also happens be the most emotionally resonant one at the same time. How much more could you want out of one of the most impressive metal bands of both the 90s and 2000s?

~Rest in peace, Warrel Dane. 1961-2017~

Necrotica For anyone who’s been listening to Carnifex since the Dead in My Arms, it’s crazy how much they’ve evolved over the years. Back in 2007, you’d be hard-pressed to find someone who didn’t lump them in with either Suicide Silence or Job for a Cowboy… or basically any big deathcore band from the Myspace era. But the way the first wave of deathcore splintered off into so many offshoots is fascinating in and of itself. Job for a Cowboy now makes progressive death metal in the vein of The Faceless or Rivers of Nihil, while Suicide Silence spent their last album making “TEE-HEE”-ridden nu-metal rip-offs. Meanwhile, you have bands like Shadow of Intent bringing more credibility to the genre than ever. But Carnifex is in a bit of an interesting place as far as the deathcore scene goes.

They’re probably one of the most well-respected deathcore bands around, mostly because they’ve had such a notable evolution over the years. As every album passed, there was more of an emphasis on black metal and traditional death metal elements rather than the pure deathcore they were once known for. Sure, the deathcore is still there, but I often find that the more they stray from that genre, the better they get. So here we are at World War X, another suitably punishing and brutal effort that also experiments with a lot of the same textures and dark atmospheres that permeate the band’s later work. Not only does the finished product sound hellish and uncompromising throughout its 35-minute run, but the vibe is also incredibly depressing and hopeless as well.

For instance, you have the beautiful classical piano sections in “This Infernal Darkness,” which manage to be both unsettling and downcast at the same time. They provide a perfect contrast to the heavy riffs, which is something I can also say about Alyssa White-Gluz’s clean vocals that are scattered about “No Light Shall Save Us.” There’s something apocalyptic about the way her singing is combined with the throat-shredding growls of Scott Lewis; mix that in with some doomy melodies and chugging, and it’s all very effective in sucking you into its unique world. In general though, the melodic moments have just gotten much better than before. “Brushed by the Wings of Demons” boasts a beautiful Anata-esque harmonized guitar solo in the midst of its crushing death metal, while guest guitarist Angel Vivaldi brings a nice neoclassical touch to “All Roads Lead to Hell.”

Of course, the metal itself is still just as chaotic and intense as ever. But every album boasts more of a technical slant than the previous one, and World War X is no exception. Jordan Lockrey’s lead guitar work is getting more and more intricate - especially in regards to his solos - and Shawn Cameron continues to incorporate more elaborate tricks into his drumming. This is probably the largest amount of tempo shifts he’s ever had to plow through on a Carnifex album, and he’s absolutely up to the task. On “Eyes of the Executioner,” the musicians are called upon to switch tempos and moods almost constantly, such as immediately switching from a breakdown to an onslaught of blastbeat-ridden black metal riffs. Stuff like that is great when it comes to adding more variety into the mix. “All Roads to Hell” also taps into this nicely by getting faster and faster with every few measures to constantly ratchet up the tension before finally resorting to blast beats and thrash riffs to make their point.

However, the one downside here is that there’s still not quite enough innovation here to mark the album as a huge step forward. There’s a temptation to label the album as “just another Carnifex record” despite the abundance of great music we’ve got here. Plus, the lyrics - while dark and suitably creepy - are starting to get a bit tired and played out by this point. They fit the atmosphere, yes, but a little more effort thrown into the imagery and themes wouldn’t hurt. But hey, at least it’s better than the near-constant stream of F-bombs we were greeted with on 2014’s Die Without Hope! So I suppose that’s a good thing. Anyway, I do highly recommend World War X. Is it a huge leap forward in terms of stylistic innovation? No. But it’s just an incredibly solid slab of death metal that implements its deathcore and black metal elements in all the right places. And when you get down to it, these guys are still leaving about 90% of their deathcore contemporaries in the dust, so you enjoy the genre, you shouldn’t be disappointed in any way by this record.

Necrotica One of the best traits Billy Corgan has always had as a songwriter is that he’s incredibly skilled at making mountains out of molehills. Much like Bruce Springsteen, he has the ability to take the mundane and transform it into the most grand and sweeping thing you’ve ever heard. Back in the 90s, he took the genre of alternative rock and injected it with a sense of artistry and grace that immediately set The Smashing Pumpkins apart from the majority of their grungy, down-to-earth peers. And let’s be clear here: it’s not like the band were strangers to grunge or alternative metal themselves. Songs like “Cherub Rock,” “Zero,” and “Quiet” are all infused with a murky, dirty tone and downtuned guitar work that act as a piledriver to the ears. However, as pretentious as Corgan might have been (let’s be fair here, he was… and still is), he knew that adding a heightened level of grandeur to his chosen genre would make his band stand out. Gish and Siamese Dream were already building up to the peak of this evolution, especially the latter which would become known as a classic in its own right. And even through the group’s inner turmoil, the classic lineup remained (Billy Corgan, Jimmy Chamberlain, James Iha, and D’arcy Wretzky) to cut their second - and arguably their final - classic. But back then, was anybody really prepared for a full-blown 2-hour double disc by these guys?

I’d imagine not. Even as double albums go, 2 straight hours is a lot to ask of someone’s time - especially when hearing Billy Corgan’s nasally whine throughout that duration. So it’s quite astonishing, then, that nearly every moment has an important place in Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness. Granted, it should probably go without saying that - with a duration as long as this - there’s really no stone left unturned. Alternative rock, progressive rock, symphonic rock, art rock, shoegaze, psychedelia, grunge, and heavy metal are all fairly represented at different times, altogether sculpting one of the most eclectic works of the 90s. But the artistic growth of the band (or more specifically, Billy Corgan, considering he wrote the vast majority of the record) doesn’t stop there. Much like a play or a film laced with intermissions, Mellon Collie is separated by two different acts: Dawn to Dusk and Twilight to Starlight. A number of songs play into this concept as well, such as “We Only Come Out at Night” naturally appearing in the second disc to represent the twilight or the beautiful piano-driven opening title track lifting the figurative curtains to signify the coming of dawn. As for the lyrics themselves, each song acts as a specific little vignette or a small puzzle piece; this isn’t really a concept album in the traditional sense (there’s no actual arc or storyline), but rather a grand jigsaw puzzle composed of miniature stories that correlate in some way to their respective discs.

As such, the relationship between tension and release is one of the biggest draws of Mellon Collie. Because of the wildly varying dynamics, the album constantly goes back and forth with its bipolar nature like a seesaw as it traverses through every facet of the band’s experimental tendencies. “Porcelina of the Vast Oceans” and “Thru the Eyes of Ruby” like to swell and build their dynamics to satisfying conclusions in a progressive rock fashion, while tunes like “Tales of a Scorched Earth” and “X.Y.U.” present the band in its ugliest form with pummeling metal riffs and furious blasts of guitar feedback. Likewise, there are plenty of delicate ballads that help mitigate the intensity of the propulsive rockers, as one might expect on such a long-winded journey. Notably, two of these are the only songs not written by Billy Corgan himself: guitarist James Iha wrote the album’s closers, “Take Me Down” and “Farewell and Goodnight,” both of which close out their respective sides in a serene manner. But that’s not to say they’re the best ballads on offer; in my mind, the gorgeously layered dream pop number “By Starlight” easily wins in that regard. “Cupid De Locke” is another highlight, using unorthodox percussion in the form of saltshakers to propel its easygoing rhythms and flighty tempo. As I mentioned before, tension and release is what makes Mellon Collie so consistently fun to listen to. It’s all about the different yins and yangs of volume and style, all countering each other in fresh new ways. If you want the best showing of this, listen to “X.Y.U.” and “We Only Come Out at Night,” which play back-to-back and yet contrast each other in every way. The former is a brutal Melvins-esque jab of sludgy alternative metal, and the latter is a quaint ballad with a light swing rhythm. How the latter follows up the former so well, I’ll never know.

I’ll be completely blunt about this: I’m not normally a fan of double albums. With so much content to pack into one recording, it almost seems like a guarantee that you’ll encounter something that should have stayed on the cutting room floor. It’s a problem that’s plagued quite a few albums in the past, including (in my opinion, at least) The Beatles’ self-titled White Album and Genesis’ The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway. This is the way I see things: if you’re going to stuff your record with more than one disc full of material, you’d better make sure to bring your A-game and take special care in every track to make sure it has a purpose. There might be a few weaker cuts on Mellon Collie (“Love” and “Beautiful” come to mind), but there was never a time that I thought they actually crippled the album in any severe way. Considering this is a 28-track record with 121 minutes to its runtime, it’s insane to think that even the throwaways are still as well-written as they are. If you gave “Love” and “Beautiful” to an album from a lower-tier alternative rock band from that era, they might have been considered highlights; think about that.

There was once a time when I thought Siamese Dream was The Smashing Pumpkins’ true peak, with Mellon Collie at a close second. However, that opinion has been slowly reversing with the passage of time. The more time I’ve given this album to grow and cultivate in my eardrums, the more its phenomenal consistency and emotional potency have also grown. Moreover, Mellon Collie just feels important. Alternative rock needed something this grandiose and diverse, whether the practitioners or listeners of the genre wanted to dispute that or not. Such a fully-realized masterwork only comes around once in a lifetime, and you’d be wise to lend an ear to its timeless tunes if you haven’t already.

Necrotica I've always been fascinated with music artists who frequently reinvent their sound and yet maintain quality and freshness in their work regardless. While so many artists fail to make waves in the commercial or critical department when slowly transitioning into new territory, others make a complete 180° turn and succeed greatly whether by knowing the musical landscape or by just pure luck. Then you have Porcupine Tree, who have had three radical reinventions and been very well-received for all of them. You have the psychedelic era (when they weren't even a full group yet), the alternative era, and the progressive metal era; as of now, none of the band's albums (even debut On the Sunday of Life) have been terribly received and most of them receive high marks. However, one album that never seems to fit into the grand scheme of things is the band's sole transitional album Signify; while considered by many to be part of the psychedelic era, the album seems to combine the past and future sounds of the group almost perfectly. True to this statement, the album also remains one of their best and most balanced works; it not only depicts how far Steven Wilson had come with his musical project, but also depicts a promising and vast future for a now-complete group.

As suggested by that last sentence, this is indeed the first Porcupine Tree album with a full band to perform with Steven Wilson. Right from the opening of the surprisingly heavy title track, there's a strengthened sense of unity and focus in the material; while the trippy arrangements and vast soundscapes of previous records return here as well, they aren't always the main focus this time around. As suggested by the shorter running times of the songs, a lot of musical fat is trimmed and the psychedelic aspects are a bit toned down, but instrumental tracks like "Idiot Prayer" and "Intermediate Jesus" play with the group's spacey side with extended atmospheric jams. One of the best things about this album (one thing that plagued previous records by the band) is that there's a great stylistic balance; the album combines multiple genres and sounds, but distributes them all very well. You've got the first real song "Signify" (the first track is just an intro) which kicks things off with a hard-hitting riff and gets the listener pumped, only to be followed by a beautiful ballad in "Sleep of No Dreaming" as well as multiple improvisational jams and other ballads. "Sever" is the track in which the harder-rocking sound comes back into play, and it's brilliantly placed in the middle as a good way to kick up the volume at just the right time. This is some of the best song placement I've ever seen/heard on a record, and it's great to hear so many well-done switches in the band's sound.

Beyond that though, the real treasure of this album is its appreciation of atmosphere. This is one of Porcupine Tree's darkest records, but the moments of hope (despite there not being many) come at the right moments. For instance, closer "Dark Matter" is pretty damn depressing in terms of lyricism, but the guitar solo that follows the verses and choruses is absolutely beautiful and even inspiring as the dynamics increase and the instrumentation becomes less isolated. "Sever" and "Idiot Prayer" are perhaps even more important dynamically, as the more aggressive moments are placed among softer moments to give the listener moments of reflection in between the heavier portions. Of course, the band still shine most when those trademark melancholic Porcupine Tree ballads rear their heads; "Every Home is Wired" is still the song that impresses me the most, making the most out of guitar and keyboard layering to bring out some gorgeous textures. The psychedelic jam that concludes the song never hurts either. "Sleep of No Dreaming" is also notable, featuring an organ-sounding keyboard performance from Richard Barbieri to illustrate the song's musical backdrop as Steven Wilson gives one of his most emotional vocal performances.

The only gripe I can think of is that, despite great song placement, there's not quite as much musical consistency as the band's best records. Interludes like "Light Mass Prayers" or "Pagan" aren't really needed and can kill the pace of some of the album. If that's the worst thing about the record, though, then there isn't much to complain about. This is a superb way to end Porcupine Tree's psychedelic era and usher in the alternative era of their sound. All in all, it's a wonderful transitional album.

Necrotica Back in 2011, Born of Osiris performed an admirable feat: they brought a heightened sense of futurism and adventure to a then-stagnant genre. The Discovery was an incredibly welcome breath of fresh air that, unfortunately, will always cast a shadow over the band’s subsequent work because of its ambition. Still, they certainly keep trying and trying to recapture the spark that The Discovery gave off and Tomorrow We Die Alive regrettably lost. After all, the concept of taking deathcore into more experimental and adventurous avenues is something that I’ll always be behind. By all means, let’s take the genre somewhere that forces it outside of its comfort zone! And besides, many of these substantially “djentier” deathcore and modern metalcore bands have usually been the ones who continue to push the boundaries, stemming from artists such as After the Burial and Veil of Maya. Well, luckily, Born of Osiris’ new effort The Simulation sees them back in action with their best album since The Discovery. Granted, there’s really no more death metal in there. For that matter, many of the songs ride a low groove that sees them moving even further into djent territory than before. So why does The Simulation work so well?

Because it has a runtime of only 25 minutes, which means it has less time to pack in all of its exciting riffs and experimentations before quickly getting the fuck out. As such, you’re greeted by enough twists and turns to make your head spin. There are a few quiet moments of atmosphere throughout, such as the frantic little symphonic intro of “Disconnectome” or the entirely of interlude “Recursion,” but for the most part, these moments of space and contemplation are constantly butting heads with the meaty riffs underneath. By far, the best section to feature this conflict comes from the outro of “Silence of the Echo,” whose melodic solo lends the heavy chugs and power chords with a beautifully spacy counterpoint. It actually reminds me of The Faceless’ Planetary Duality days, and that’s not the only moment that made me think of that album. Every time “Disconnectome” breaks into a melodic solo or goes through a hyper-fast blastbeat section, it really does sound reminiscent of the sci-fi tech-death from that era of The Faceless.

Thankfully, Born of Osiris don’t forget their roots on The Simulation, paying plenty of homage to what made them a household name in deathcore while still continuing to experiment with their formula. If I had to pick out the best change this time around, it’s that the guitar leads or more fluid than ever. “Analogs in a Cell,” “Silence the Echo,” “Disconnectome,” and “Cycles of Tragedy” are all imbued with fantastic soloing that both technically impresses and constantly shifts between neo-classical and jazz fusion stylings. Also, the variety in the drumming is really impressive from time to time; “Disconnectome” in particular (yes, I know I’m bringing up this song a lot) features a ridiculous amount of tempo shifts, and they’re all surprisingly tasteful and natural despite how abrupt they are. The Simulation isn’t a perfect album - the slower tempos can become pretty one-note, and the short runtime obviously means some people will want a bit more meat - but it’s definitely the most solid album the band have put out since their initial heyday. It’s a really fun little adventure that - much like Reign in Blood - is very easy to replay again and again because of its lean length and addictive riffing.

Necrotica Have you ever wondered about what would happen if we all had a soundtrack playing to our daily lives? Songs that represented our pain and sorrows, our triumphs and merriment, or the more complex thoughts in between? Think of the situation as a film; about 90% of the time, a wonderful soundtrack is capable of coloring a scene and making it feel larger than life, but slows down for the personal, intimate moments to balance things out.

X Japan (hailing from, you guessed it, Japan) had always been adept at capturing raw human emotional resonance in their songs, whether heavy or soft. Case in point: "I'll Kill You" from their first record Vanishing Vision was an exceptionally frenzied and violent affair a la Metallica's 80's thrash heyday, and yet "Crucify My Love" and "Tears" from their final (as of this review, but they're working on a new record) album Dahlia are quite possibly two of the most beautiful ballads to come out of their time. However, the crowning achievement in musicianship, lyrics, emotion, and just about everything else they've tapped into, is 1993's Art of Life.

First off, despite the record consisting of only the one titular song, that very song is 29 minutes, and goes through everything from speed metal, classical, symphonic music, progressive metal, power metal, pop, the works. The lyrics illustrate the vision of life and what it represents, its trials, love lost, love found, and continuing living even through any circumstance. The lyrics are impressive on their own, but mixed with Toshi's heartfelt wails, the experience feels downright cathartic. Even more impressive is how the song never loses focus; everything gels so wonderfully and nothing ever feels like extraneous baggage.

As the song begins with a longingly flowing piano line from Yoshiki, the symphonic backing grows and becomes grander by the second until Toshi belts out the first lines, and the song really gains momentum from that point on. What follows is a lightning-fast speed metal riff-fest reminiscent of Helloween's early days, and here the band start to really unfold their skills as musicians. Chaos ensues, with Toshi and everyone else engaging in a musical war; vocals fight against the blazing guitars, while the drums and bass guitar are cutting through the production cleanly and effectively.

The more intimate moments come in a few ways. One of these is the chorus, which sees several returns and lets Toshi show off his emotional side, coming close to resembling Journey's Steve Perry in quite a few of those spots. Also, in the middle of the tune, all the instruments fall out for an all-symphonic segment that could almost be expected from a grand fantasy movie like Lord of the Rings. The instruments come back in for the chorus, going for what you might think would be the end of the piece. But nope, we have a piano solo to listen to.

And holy fuck, it is amazing.

Not only is it a beautifully composed solo on its own, but the meaning behind the playing is perhaps what deserves a greater mention. The melody is simple enough; it's simple but sorrowful, a great way to inspire curiosity for what's to come. But then, as Yoshiki's playing becomes more complex, more dissonance starts to take place. The piano discord gets out of control as not one but TWO pianos are playing and overlapping one another. However, the main melody, while buried, still remains even as it takes so much heat from the rest of the madness attempting to crush it down.

To me, it's a symbol of how anything can be overcome, no matter what tragedy or pain strikes. No matter how tempting it may be to succumb to the lonesome darkness and give in, there's always that little glimmer hidden beneath the rubble, telling us we can carry on despite our past and our troubles. The solo fits that depiction so perfectly, especially when the symphonic backing fades in and takes over the discordant piano work completely. Think of the symphony as the redemption, the grand picture of promise unfolding before the listener's eyes.

After that, however, the frenzy sees a reprise as the assault of riffage bursts right in to carry the tune out. The singing is as triumphant as it can get, and the atmosphere of finality in the chorus is just, for lack of a better word, beautiful. Suddenly, the lyrics start to get even more meaningful and inspiring as the song comes to a close, and Toshi sings one last word in silence: life.

It's a sin that this album doesn't get the attention it deserves. It taps into what we think about everyday, what we feel, what appeals to us or drives us away. It's the essence of life itself and never lets the listener go until its thrilling finale. The musicianship is outstanding, the lyrics heartfelt and Toshi clearly took his time on them, and the message is brilliant and clear. I don't care if you have to buy this thing at a store, buy online, torrent it, whatever... just listen to it.

Necrotica I simply can’t stop lamenting the fact that one of extreme metal’s foremost pioneers has simply decided to artistically tread water for the last few decades now. Venom will always be well-regarded in the metal community for the innovative leaps forward they took for thrash, black metal, and death metal, but once the early 90s hit, there was simply no place for a band who suddenly became tragically behind the times. Everybody had already heard faster, harder shit by that point, and it would probably have been advisable for Venom to go harder and faster than ever before. Or, at least, experiment a little. Venom did neither of those things, instead opting to go for the “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it” philosophy for years to come.

And sadly, this philosophy continues into 2018’s Storm the Gates. What we get is a dull platter of incredibly lightweight, meat-and-potatoes heavy metal with some of the most pedestrian riffs you’ll hear this year. Things do start off pretty promisingly, with suitably aggressive and thrashy riffs kicking off the decent “Bring Out Your Dead,” and I will admit that Cronos doesn’t sound half bad for his age. Unfortunately, you’ll soon find out that his voice has no range here. It’s the same semi-guttural, semi-constipated shout throughout the entire thing, with an occasional half-assed attempt at sounding melodic thrown in. This is something of a minor tragedy, as more diverse vocals could have mitigated the issue of boring songwriting; unfortunately, it’s not the case here. It’s all in one ear and out the other, and it starts sounding awful during songs like “Beaten to a Pulp,” in which his Cronos’ voice starts blending in with the guitar work to create a muddled mess in the production values. Venom have always taken pleasure in making poorly-produced music for the sake of aesthetics (this was one of the defining features of their early work, in fact), but the riffs here aren’t punchy or interesting enough to justify the ugly mix of Storm the Gates.

The latter of those two issues is the main reason the album is such a letdown. Even for the standards of modern Venom, this material just isn’t interesting. There are barely any standout tracks, because the same formula of “let’s play some thrash riffs, add a few faux-demonic 80s-Slayer squealing solos, and top it off with the most generic Satanic lyrics we can scrounge up” is repeated ad nauseum, to the point that I completely forgot where I was on the tracklisting quite a few times. I will, however, cover a few of the only highlights that stood out from the rest. “The Mighty Have Fallen” is probably the best song on offer, mostly because of the increased aggression of the riffing and double-bass-driven speed metal drumming. It’s not the most original thing in the world, but hearing that downtuned guitar sound spit out some black metal-inspired tremolo is pretty satisfying. There’s also a creepy atmosphere that pervades “I Dark Lord” and sets it apart from the rest, breaking the pace to serve up some slower riffs that are occasionally interspersed with a sprinkling of clean guitar leads. It sounds pretty cool. But is this enough to salvage the album as a whole? No. I’ll leave it at this: if you just want to hear some competently played riffs and aren’t too concerned with variation, you might get your fix in some way or another with Storm the Gates. But with countless death metal and thrash metal bands doing their schtick better than they are, why would you bother?

Necrotica The 10th anniversary re-release of All Hope is Gone is strikingly deficient of extra content, especially given Slipknot’s penchant for giving fans a wealth of new rarities and goodies with prior reissues. For comparison’s sake, Iowa’s re-release saw the 9-piece provide an entire film of music videos and interviews, new artwork, and live audio of the Disasterpieces DVD. Meanwhile, the reissue of All Hope is Gone simply features new cover art (which is quite pisspoor compared to the original cover) and a live disc featuring the band performing at Madison Square Garden. That’s pretty paltry, but I suppose it’s not entirely surprising when taking the band’s views on the record into consideration.

After all, they themselves (minus a few members) often consider All Hope is Gone to be the most disappointing record in their short discography. Guitarist Jim Root once stated that “it felt a little rushed” and went further to blast producer Dave Fortman by saying he “wasn't able to get nine people together on the same page and, to me, that's the most important thing in making a Slipknot record." And if there’s anything I can at least agree with the album’s detractors on, it’s Root’s comment about not being able to stay on the same page. Yes, All Hope is Gone is very obviously a stitch job. Many disparate flavors are blended together without much forethought into what the outcome would be. Many elements of Stone Sour, in particular, creep almost uncomfortably into Slipknot’s sound to offset some of the outfit’s heaviest moments.

And yet, that last statement is often more of a strength than a weakness to my ears. I understand that many people found the album sorely lacking in the anger and brutality of previous records (which amuses me, considering how soft Vol. 3 was on many occasions), but it’s not like the band’s unique brand of groove-inflected alt metal has dulled all that much here. “Gematria,” “Sulfur,” “Wherein the Lies Continue,” “This Cold Black,” and the title track are all imbued with the same manic energy and intensity that Slipknot built their empire on, and they should prove to be highlights to fans who flocked to their most furious and hard-edged moments. Some of the moments where the Stone Sour influences rear their head also prove to be highlights, such as the way “Sulfur” combines a thrash-like fury in the verses with a fusion of catharsis and clarity in the groove metal chorus. “Gehenna” is another strong point, using the softer elements to throw the listener into a host of creepy guitar and sampling effects while Corey Taylor delivers one of his most effective performances yet.

Speaking of Corey, All Hope is Gone may actually be the strongest showing of the man’s versatility on the mic. Growling, screaming, gentle crooning, mid-range singing (with a bit of rasp for good measure), creepy low vocals that almost pass for spoken word, and forceful gang shouts are all given a chance and are more equally distributed on this album than on any other by the group. Even for non-fans of the band, one has to admit that there’s a lot of power and charisma whenever he takes centerstage. However, true to this album’s spirit of inclusion, most of the other members step it up quite a bit too. Guitar-wise, expect to hear a lot more shredding and traditional death/thrash-influenced riffs than on previous outings; the solos in particular prove to be some of the best bits on the songs that include them, like “Psychosocial,” “Butcher’s Hook,” and “Gematria.” Joey Jordison, meanwhile, remains a powerhouse on the drums and does a nice job of combining brutality and force with a strong ear for tasteful and varied dynamics. The only real disappointment here is that some of the more extraneous members, such as keyboardist/sampler Craig Jones and DJ Sid Wilson, have a lot more time on the sidelines because of the band’s shift toward a more traditional metal sound.

Truth be told, I find the weakest moments to be found in the softest moments. “Snuff,” while very nostalgic to return to, simply doesn’t hold up well anymore (hell, one could argue it didn’t hold up very well in the first place). It’s an overly saccharine piece of melancholic alt-rock fluff that doesn’t really fit too well in the band’s discography as a whole. Perhaps if it was one of the ballads on a Stone Sour record - in the same vein as “Bother” - it would have found a better home. The same could be said of “Dead Memories” to an extent; despite some decent lead guitar work from Mick Thompson, the heartbroken lyrics (Corey was going through a divorce at the time) prove to be too melodramatic and are quite hard to take seriously. Also, some of the pacing is a bit startling; did anyone really expect the title track to appear right after “Snuff,” for instance?

All Hope is Gone is a strange record. It’s a mishmashed, disjointed metal album with a severe identity crisis. Joey Jordison once stated that it’s the sound of the band breaking at the seams, and that’s probably the best way to explain the lack of control and cohesion regarding the project. Still, I can’t deny that I found some of the band’s best material to be present here. The heaviest moments remain a force to be reckoned with - just as on past Slipknot records - and the moments that integrate the mix of heavy and soft dynamics are often quite effective too (with a few exceptions; the chorus to “Butcher’s Hook” is absolutely miserable). All Hope is Gone definitely works better on a song-by-song basis than as an entire experience, but there’s still a ton of good stuff here if you’re willing to hit the “skip” button once or twice.

Necrotica A common thread you wind up finding in every Katatonia album is that every one of them exhibits a different kind of melancholy. Each expression of that one emotion changes with each stylistic shift or altered lyrical approach, but either way, the melancholy still returns in some way. Perhaps it comes in the form of desperate wails and screams over crushing doom-laden riffs (Dance of December Souls). Maybe it can be found in gritty imagery involving the ills of crime and street life (Viva Emptiness). Alternately, the looming darkness of orchestral strings and mellotrons could seal the deal (Dead End Kings). But when it comes to The Fall of Hearts, the dreary atmosphere is expressed somewhat… differently. It might come down to a lack of metal influences this time around, but there’s an unusually surreal and dreamlike touch to the music. The songs are sad, yes, but also given a sort of levity and weightlessness by the shimmering clean guitars and light piano melodies that coil around the increasingly progressive rhythms. Jonas Renkse has channeled his sorrows through more passionate vocal passages (just listen to the chorus of “Last Song Before the Fade”!) while the music surrounding him has become more abstract compared to past efforts.

Really, I wouldn’t have it any other way. It’s not like this progressive influence is just out of the blue; the last few records, especially Dead End Kings, were already hinting at this bold new direction. But I suppose the fascinating thing about The Fall of Hearts is just how well they pulled off those influences. Instead of the crunchy, churning alternative metal riffs that dominated a good chunk of the band’s career, there’s now more respect and care given to the atmosphere than ever before. If you ever hear a downtuned metal riff (“Takeover,” “Passer,” “Serac,” and “Last Song Before the Fade” still bring the heaviness to a degree), you can be sure that a beautiful slow passage will be just around the corner to counteract the aggression. “Serac,” for instance, brings a fresh melding of progressive metal and soft rock that’s not too dissimilar to Opeth’s best works from the early 2000s (minus the growls, of course). Then you have “Passer,” which kicks off with a shredding guitar solo over a rapid-fire galloping snare rhythm before it almost immediately dies down to give us one of the most emotionally potent verses the band have ever concocted. It’s not that the band have lost their edge, but that they simply reserved it for the best moments this time around. And really, a lot of that can be attributed to the fact that Katatonia didn’t really subscribe to a set songwriting formula this time around. The arrangements are quite labyrinthine and unpredictable compared to what we’re used to from these guys, and the opening 7-minute track “Takeover” is an immediate example of this. This mini-epic takes you in so many directions in such little time, from a beautiful dreamlike intro/refrain to a rousing metal section to a deeply orchestral chorus to a stunning piano break. Add to that a killer guitar solo from newcomer Roger Ojersson on top of that, and you’ve got one of the best openers in recent memory.

In fact, let’s talk about those newcomers for a second. Guitarist Roger Ojersson and drummer Daniel Moilanen were a huge asset to the sound The Fall of Hearts would ultimately adopt and cultivate, as their technical proficiency allowed the band to work outside of their typical framework a bit more. The solos in “Takeover,” “Passer,” and especially the harmonized portion of “Serac” are incredible ways to build on songwriting that already takes pride in taking listeners on a real journey. Meanwhile, Daniel absolutely kills on the drumkit. His grasp of varying time signatures and subtle dynamics is just impeccable, and he can shift styles with ease to fit each mood perfectly. As for the songwriting, however, you may notice in the credits that it’s all Jonas Renkse and Anders Nystrom as usual. Maybe that’s the most fascinating thing about The Fall of Hearts, really. Just the fact that these two had it in them to make this record all along, but they simply needed the right circumstances and band members to make it happen. If you want a good marker of just how much they’ve evolved as songwriters, just take into account the fact that “Pale Flag” and “Shifts” are minimalist folk rock ballads with almost none of the band’s typical sonic trademarks present, and yet they’re not out of place in the slightest. But then again, nothing on The Fall of Hearts is out of place; it’s just the sound of a fully-evolved, fully-realized Katatonia that was always trying to break free from the mire of comfortable familiarity.

Necrotica In the 23 years I've spent on this planet, Where Owls Know My Name may be the most frustrating album I've ever encountered. Somewhere within this behemoth of a record, there lies an amazing journey that's equal parts harsh and melancholic; unfortunately, all of the external baggage caused by the inconsequential songwriting and sterile production robs it of its power. What's really sad is that, initially, all the ingredients to make this a masterpiece are in place. We're presented with incredible technical abilities from the musicians, lots of emotional potency in the performances, and an experience that's clearly striving to elevate the world of progressive death metal to something more ambitious and impactful. However, Where Owls Know My Name just goes in one ear and out the other and quickly becomes a dull grind akin to background noise.

The lack of dynamic range may actually be the biggest culprit here, especially as far as the metal sections go. There never seem to be any discernible climaxes or moments of catharsis, as the waves of guitar distortion and compressed production just wash over any sense of sonic variety. The best moments of variation and emotional weight come in the form of the album's quieter segments, such as the subtle keyboard-driven opener "Cancer/Moonspeak" or the beautiful saxophone break in "The Silent Life." But even these types of segments tend to be undercut by the generic riffing and djent-oriented chugs that kill both the pacing and ambition of the album. The entire first half of "Old Nothing" is crammed with intrusive blastbeats and dull deathcore riffs that ruin the album's sense of progression, as well as killing any potential atmosphere that could make it interesting. On top of that, quite a few moments just sound out of place and... well... ugly. "A Home" sounded great during the opening guitar chords, and the band didn't really need to throw a giant mess of triggered drum acrobatics all over it. Really, the majority of the metal in this experience is defined by strikingly similar chord progressions and tempos being glazed with gutless melodic noise that fills the treble end, while some chugs and mid tempo drum progressions try to fill in the cracks of the low end. That's basically the metal-oriented material in a nutshell, and it defines most of the tracklist. It's really easy to tune out of this album as it's playing, and very few moments really manage to gain one's attention back in a significant way.

Still, I'll give credit where it's due. Some moments still manage to be breathtaking, most notably that gorgeous acoustic intro to "Subtle Change." The song sounds like a real expedition, as the melodic bass traverses across the ample terrain of the rolling drums... there's a lot of 70s prog influence on this one, and it's one of the only songs in which the loud and quiet moments aren't too intrusive to each other. There's also a nice cleanly sung ballad intro that kicks off the title track, reminding me a lot of Paul Masvidal's vocals in the last few Cynic records. Finally, the last track "Capricorn/Agoratopia" cleverly brings the album full circle by using the intro track and giving it more fleshed-out instrumental accompaniment to drive the final mini-epic home. It's a decent way to conclude Where Owls Know My Name; I just wish the journey to get there was worth it.

It's not that the album comes off as misguided, but rather it sounds inconsequential and dull. If it was reduced to about 30-35 minutes and given an EP format, I might recommend it to fans of progressive death metal or even post metal. But in its current state, it happens to be arduous, overbearing, and boring all at the same time.

Necrotica St. Anger is a bad album. St. Anger has no solos. St. Anger has irritating and off-key vocals from James Hetfield. St. Anger has an horrible-sounding snare drum. But none of these points are a revelation, clearly. We’ve all heard these criticisms uttered countless times, and Metallica fans often point to it first (well, either this or Lulu) when they talk about the band losing their touch. It’s gotten to the point that other bands’ failures - such as Morbid Angel’s Illud Divinum Insanus and now Machine Head’s new album Catharsis - are being considered their respective artists’ versions of St. Anger. Indeed, it has that reputation. So why am I even bringing any of this stuff up?

Because I want to focus on intent. One quote from James Hetfield really struck me: “St. Anger is just the best we can do right now.” If you’ve never checked out the background behind the album (see: Some Kind of Monster), the history behind its conception is one giant shit-show. Jason Newsted left the band, James Hetfield was going into rehab as his alcoholism reached its breaking point, the band received backlash due to a lawsuit with Napster, and the group even hired a therapist to help them with their emotional struggles. But what’s even more important is that St. Anger was intended as a return to Metallica’s garage band roots, which explains the lack of solos. In Kirk Hammett’s words: "We wanted to preserve the sound of all four of us in a room just jamming.” As butchered and broken as the final product sounds, I can’t stress how much of a passionate piece of music the whole thing is. It’s such a deliberate attempt to avoid the mainstream hard rock trappings of Load and ReLoad to capture something from their distant past, and that’s where my admiration for it truly comes from. Many of us were in a shitty garage band back in our youths, sounding like ass but thinking we were true badasses as we played covers of our favorite bands. Hell, I was in one of those shitty bands myself! I briefly sang in a short-lived rock band in my junior year of high school, belting out such classics as “Seven Nation Army” and “Beast and the Harlot.” I don’t really talk to my old bandmates anymore, but those memories are always going to be part of me no matter where I go. For better or for worse (well, certainly for worse, but still…), St. Anger gives me the same feelings.

The album has a distinct fury and aggression that seem genuine, stemming from the band’s actual struggles and frustrations in their personal lives. Metallica was a very broken band at the time, and sometimes the best way to reboot your career is to start from ground zero and rebuild your sound from there. St. Anger is ground zero, much like the band’s pre-Kill ‘Em All days were their original ground zero. This is Metallica in their purest, most unhinged form. It may be ugly, badly written, and just fucking horrible in its overall presentation, but it also holds a place in my heart because of the exact same reasons. This is an awful, messed up, glorious, phenomenal disaster.

Necrotica From time to time, you have that certain album that just defines you. Whether it’s from the standpoint of location, personal history, or correlation with friends, some music becomes an extension of our personalities and identity. And with this particular record, we’re talking about a piece of music that introduced me to an entirely new world (figuratively speaking). Not only is Morning View a beautiful throwback to my extensive history in California, but it was basically the impetus to alternative rock becoming one of my all-time favorite genres. This was a serious game-changer upon first listen, and every subsequent listen just revealed more manifold layers of meaning and technical prowess. Even today, it’s hard not to be impressed by how many levels Morning View entertains and impresses on.

But let’s backtrack for a second. Earlier on, I stated the album is “a beautiful throwback to my extensive history in California,” and that doesn’t just apply to my own history with the record. This applies to the sound as well. There’s a distinct vibe Morning View brings out, one of waves and sunny skies. Even in its most heavy and distorted moments (and there are several, as the album still warrants the “alternative metal” tag), a calm zen-like atmosphere still reigns supreme with this experience; it’s meditative and tends to ebb and flow like the aural representation of a quiet ocean. But that’s not a knock against the diversity that Incubus brings to the table… in fact, this might just be their strongest balance of soft and heavy elements to date. Whereas S.C.I.E.N.C.E. wore its eccentric influences on its sleeve (although in some incredibly cool ways) and Make Yourself still carried over some faint traces of the band’s nu-metal roots, Morning View just feels like a more centered and balanced piece of work. It’s often gorgeous, such as the pipa-driven ebbs and flows of the oriental ballad “Aqueous Transmission” or the delicate clean-guitar intro to the expansive power ballad “Just a Phase.” But these moments are almost always offset by the strident, heavy power chords that define many of the other numbers here. Opener “Nice to Know You” doesn’t take much time making itself known, storming the speakers with a crunchy Drop-D riff that really sets the mood for the album to come. “Circles” is even more intense, immediately diving into a groove that’s almost impossible not to headbang to - even in the most melodious moments of the piece. But when the fantastic power ballad “Wish You Were Here” comes in, we get a lot more perspective on the album’s strengths. Basically, it’s all a yin/yang thing. Both extremes are respectful of each other and don’t interfere with each others’ boundaries.

If anything, many of the heavy moments are used as building blocks on the quiet foundations, performing in a fashion not unlike a good deal of post-metal. There are certainly short bursts that come around, such as the metallic banger “Have You Ever,” but much of Morning View’s beauty lies in how the dynamics blend. It lies in how each volume level communicates with one other to get to the finish line, much like how instruments “talk” to one another in improvisational jazz music. Perhaps the reason this album was so resonant with me was because it taught me the importance of atmosphere and how it can be created. In both concept and execution, Morning View is a true cornerstone as far as combining atmosphere with songcraft goes. It simulates the crashing of the California waves and the serenity of an empty beach with its own interpretations, giving us powerful slabs of alternative metal with strong doses of melody and expansive arrangements. Even one of the tightest, funkiest songs on here, “Are You In,” compliments its catchy groove with a laid-back and peaceful vibe that fits the rest of the tracklist. And really, that’s what Morning View gives me every time I hear it: peace. Relaxation. Ease. It feels like a burden being lifted off the shoulders and into the ocean. It sounds like a spiritual and mental cleansing. And it plays like the best moments of one’s past returning in an overwhelming emotional release. This is musical rejuvenation.

Necrotica Up until now, my relationship with The Faceless had been a slowly deteriorating one. When I first heard Planetary Duality and Akeldama back in 2009, I thought it was the heaviest, fastest, and most technical shit on the planet. The intricate guitar harmonies, the frenzied drumming, and varied vocal work made it clear to me that we were witnessing a fantastic new beacon for technical death metal. Throw in some progressive rock influences and some creepy sci-fi interludes for good measure, and things just got more interesting. But sadly, Autotheism ruined the good will built up by many fans. It wasn’t an awful album, but it sounded disjointed and undercooked by the band’s standards. And of course, lead guitarist and (I guess) figurehead Michael Keene’s ego seemed to be getting in the way of the band’s future. So it’s pretty safe to say that I was approaching In Becoming a Ghost with much more caution than usual. Luckily, I’m pleased to report that my fears have mostly been erased.

In Becoming a Ghost is largely defined by a more cinematic, progressive identity than its predecessors, and it can be considered the band’s furthest removed from their original sound. But, bizarrely enough, this isn’t as much of a problem as you’d think. The experimentation is wrapped up in song structures and lyrical themes that are both engaging and tight, and the progressive elements serve more to bolster the atmosphere than be an excuse to noodle around. As if the haunting piano part of the intro title track wasn’t cool enough, we get to hear some killer tech-death flute melodies (!) and full-on symphonic passages in its followup “Digging the Grave.” That’s not to say the aggression is absent, though; Abigail Williams vocalist Ken Sorceron is more than enough to fill the shoes of Derek Rydquist with his strong mix of guttural growls and black metal shrieks. The riffs are still quite punishing in parts too, especially in the killer tremolo-picked riff that kicks of “The Spiralling Void.” But the difference between this album and Autotheism is that it seems to have more purpose to it. I get the sense that the band members genuinely put their all into this one, and that they really wanted to experiment around with what they thought was cool. Oftentimes, the framework surrounding the riffs is just as interesting as the riffs themselves, such as the weird staccato bass stabs that dance around the guitar intro of “I Am” or the deranged orchestral breaks in “Shake the Disease.” As for the problems with the album, I only have two major ones. One is, as in Autotheism, that Michael Keene’s voice gets way too much time in the spotlight. Remember when his voice would pop up very sparingly in Planetary Duality to add a little extra atmosphere and variety" Well, he sings in just about every track here. And, simply put, his voice is just boring. His inflections make him sound uninterested with the subject matter, and he draws attention away from the far superior performances of Ken Sorceron. Also, while the band’s technical skills are still impressive, the riffs aren’t the most memorable around. This has been a problem with past Faceless records, but sometimes the band get so caught up in their experimentation and technicality that their riffs don’t really stick with you very well. But maybe that’s because In Becoming a Ghost will need a bit more time to sink in. Regardless, it’s impressive what they accomplished here. It seems as though the band are getting closer to fully realizing their potential as a progressive death metal band; it’s just time that they tightened up their songcraft... and perhaps let Michael Keene stick to just his guitar playing and songwriting.

Necrotica Progressive. Theatrical. Ambitious. These are the words that immediately come to mind when describing Avenged Sevenfold’s newest release, and they’re the words that make it so unique in their discography. The Stage takes the quintet’s tried-and-true sound and offers a more complex and bombastic take on it, as well as some aggressive thrash passages that keep the intensity going in the meantime. While this isn’t the first time the band have delivered on the technical end - City of Evil and Waking the Fallen had plenty of those moments - it was never delivered with such potency or meaning. What we’re listening to is a full-fledged progressive metal experience revolving around the elements of artificial intelligence, science fiction, and the flaws of society. And when exploring each thought-provoking theme, the band sound revitalized and full of vibrancy; this is especially true when comparing the album to its dull and stripped-down predecessor Hail to the King, which seemed more interested in emulating influences rather than expanding on them. Traces of Dream Theater, Metallica, Nevermore, Rush, and Mastodon can all be detected in The Stage, but the band’s ability to make it an unmistakably Avenged Sevenfold record is what makes it all distinct. Whether it’s the elaborate orchestrations of City of Evil, the aggressive-yet-melodic metalcore stylings of Waking the Fallen, or the traditional metal anthems of Hail to the King, Avenged Sevenfold manage to incorporate these past incarnations into a fresh new synthesis. And, as someone who’s waited since City of Evil for this band to go progressive, I can’t tell you how excited I am that they’ve fully embraced this approach.

It’s not just expressed in terms of complexity or technicality, either. Perhaps the best thing about The Stage is that it provides listeners with an audio-visual approach to music, in which the lyrics and musical atmosphere match up beautifully. For instance, “Higher” is about a failed NASA test. What music accompanies it" An epic neoclassical metal tune with space rock stylings, complete with cosmic synthesizers and an elaborate choir section to top it off at the end. “Creating God” expresses religious conflict and denial, which is symbolized by the combination of major and minor chords clashing throughout the track. But maybe the strongest example is the final track “Exist,” a 16-minute song meant to be an aural representation of The Big Bang. The first section symbolizes the creation of the universe, and the second represents the creation of Earth itself. Overblown" Yes. But there’s no denying the creativity and ambition behind the concept, especially when the band gets Neil DeGrasse Tyson in for a spoken word clip to drive home the explosive finale. And as I stated before, the aggression isn’t lacking either. “God Damn” is a nice little slice of thrash, brutal but controlled in its approach. The title track is another great example, starting with a fantastic melodic buildup before giving us some heavy mid-tempo riffage to chew on throughout the majority of the song. Unfortunately, M. Shadows continues to be Avenged Sevenfold’s greatest weakness; while he doesn’t drag things down as much here as on other efforts by the band (I’m looking at you, City of Evil), I can’t help but think that a better singer could be bringing all these great lyrics to even greater heights. But really, it’s mostly in the more aggressive moments that he suffers from his limitations, as he’s often great in softer settings. His multi-octave approach in the symphonic ballad “Roman Sky” is beautiful to listen to, and it’s hard not to get goosebumps when he emotes so well in the ballad portion of “Exist.” Either way, he’s still brought up by the rest of his bandmates, who manage to do an impeccable job at their respective instruments. Special kudos go to Brooks Wackerman, who I honestly didn’t expect to be such a technical and intricate drummer. More than anything, The Stage is simply an exciting album. It’s an amazing display of what Avenged Sevenfold could eventually become with their collective talents, as well as a triumph in its own right. You did well, boys!

Necrotica One thing I've always loved about album art is how it reflects the music within. Of course the music should also speak for itself, but album covers can still give a taste of what's to come when done correctly. So, reader, I make this request: just look at the art for Darkher's debut album Realms. A woman with a black cloak looks down, as if in grief or simply melancholy, as she's enveloped in different shades of gray encompassing both the sky and the ground. A mass of storm clouds can be seen up above, and there's an aura of bleakness to the overall picture. After giving Realms repeated listens, I can certainly say that it lives up to its album cover in every way.

To clarify things, here's the deal: Darkher is considered the alias of a singer-songwriter known as Jayn Wissenberg, hailing from Yorkshire, England. In actuality, Darkher are currently a trio, the other members being guitarist Martin Wissenberg and drummer Shaun "Winter" Taylor-Steels (according to Facebook, at least). However, Jayn is definitely the heart and soul of this project; she's the vocalist, the primary guitarist, the producer, and the lyricist, so it's fair to say that she's the driving force. When you get to the music itself, Realms is a gothic experience with elements of doom metal, folk, post-metal, and ambient music; the atmosphere ranges from deeply melancholic to eerily unsettling, and there never seems to be an uplifting moment to be found. By far, the best aspect of the record is Jayn herself. Her vocals are simply wonderful, with a haunting and almost operatic quality to them, and they're layered over the music with a large amount of reverb. This works especially well in songs like "Hollow Veil" and "Wars," in which her evocative voice clashes with the metallic doom-laden guitars just perfectly.

Despite a consistently dark and grim atmosphere, there's still variety and genre-bending to be found. Realms happens to be one of those records in which the metal elements don't necessarily outweigh the softer moments. In fact, the intro "Spirit Waker" and the interlude "Buried Pt. 1" rely entirely on dark ambient instrumentation to establish the desired atmosphere; the latter is especially effective because of how Wissenberg's drawn-out vocals meld with the dreary soundscapes. Needless to say, it's a great fit for a song called "Buried." Of course, there's also "Buried Pt. 2," which builds on its predecessor with more frequent dynamic shifts and murky electric guitar riffing mired in incredibly slow tempos. But unfortunately, the one big problem I have with Realms has to do with the tempos in general. As much as the slow riffing and long instrumental buildups assist in enveloping the listener in the album's world, it also causes the record to be slightly homogeneous after a while. For instance, "Foregone" mostly relies on one particular motif as it builds and builds into a clangorous climax of pounding guitars and drums, but the sluggishly paced buildup feels a bit tedious and dull. At the very least, the track probably shouldn't have been the longest on the album at over 7 minutes. Regardless, the record still ends on a strong note with the fittingly-titled "Lament." It's one of the strongest pieces on the album because of its softer dynamics, and the acoustic guitar balladry is beautifully combined with Jayn's droning vocal performance. Ending Realms with something more somber and folk-influenced was a nice change in pace after the doom/post-metal material preceding it.

Honestly, as a debut, this is extremely impressive. It's gorgeous, intense, doomy-as-hell, and it takes pride in engulfing your ears in incredibly thick layers of darkness. Again, much of the album's quality comes from Jayn Wissenberg's sheer talent and charisma, especially behind the mic. Between her hypnotic vocal performances and the post-metal-oriented instrumental work, Darkher have proven that establishing a strong atmosphere and focusing on subtle songwriting shifts are among their strongest talents. The downtrodden beauty is really something to behold, and it'll be interesting to hear how they follow it up next time around.

Necrotica The forest is teeming with darkness.

I love the four seasons and the way they can change our understanding of the world. Every time they shift, it’s as if our moods and perceptions are shifting with them. And as such, they can each bring out a beautiful variety of emotions and vivid imagery in their wake. That’s why baroque violinist and composer Antonio Vivaldi had such great success with his famous composition The Four Seasons. With every season, certain stylistic deviations were introduced to signify its characteristics; for instance, the sprightly and festive feel of the legendary “Spring” movement of the piece. Now, before I go any further, I’m not against someone in 2017 presenting us with a modern-day update of a timeless classic with a timeless theme. But when I heard that one of metal’s premier musicians and procrastinators Jari Maenpaa was behind the project with his primary project Wintersun, my eyebrow was more than raised… and not in a good way, really. I once loved Wintersun, a band whose first album was among my favorite modern metal debuts and provided a glimpse to a once-promising future for the band. But between the gradual dip in quality and the waiting time between albums, Jari seemed to be an artist who could only answer high expectations with false promises. But I’m always ready to keep my mind open and think positively, so I’m ready to dive into this new piece with open ears. Let’s go season by season, shall we?

Spring - The Season of Genre Cliches

We plunge into Spring, a bright and colorful season. But in the world of Wintersun, the skies remain as gray as ever. The cheap keyboards give a mood of cheap dollar-store melancholy, and the shameful production values seal the deal before the experience gets off the ground. I don’t even want to hear the rest, but I press on. The season of spring is apparently devoid of its usual life, and its generic cookie-cutter riffs are as recycled as they were on the last album. The percussion sounds like the drumset was wrapped in a giant paper bag to siphon it of all its power, then beaten senselessly over and over in the same two or three tempos. There are some “creepy” (I use this word hilariously lightly, hence the quotation marks) spoken word parts, I suppose in an attempt to enhance the atmosphere. But it’s remarkable how little Jari’s evolved as a singer, pretty much using his most familiar cleans and growls in the most predictable ways. The more I dig into the band’s discography, it seems ever more evident that Wintersun are only capable of conveying the season of their namesake (even then, not in very interesting ways). I only hear cold, distant, passionless blandness. If this is the sound of spring, I want to skip the season altogether.

Summer - The Season in Which Experimentation Meets Redundancy

At least there’s a bit more effort as we approach the season of Summer. There’s a decent acoustic guitar buildup in the intro, even though it bears a bit too much resemblance to “Sadness and Hate” in the notation and guitar tone. The tempo is more Opeth-like and the anthemic clean singing is neat, but there’s not enough to differentiate this season from the one preceding it. That is, except for the admittedly nice folk interlude in which folk and sitar sounds are integrated to add some atmosphere. Still, there isn’t nearly enough of a “wow” factor to any of this to excuse a 12-minute running time, and that’s a criticism seems to run through the entire recording. For the record, the lyrics are also a load of garbage. Check this out:

"In the dark ruin the grey mountains sing A sad song of winter and the howling wind Visions of the past in the haunting dreams Under the dead sky, under the withered trees"

If that cliched nonsense is Jari’s idea of high art, then my high school alternative rock band was full of Shakespearian poetry.

Autumn - The Season of Brooding, Brooding, and More Brooding… and Dark Riffs!

We kick off Autumn with some dark tremolo riffs to give an evil, black metal-oriented sound… spooky! Too bad the thin production makes the blast beats sound like trash. Beyond that, the mixing is so horrible that the drums overpower any of the riffing or other guitar licks we’re supposed to make out. I’m glad we’re finally listening to a song that comes a little closer to representing the weather and feel of its chosen season, but I’d like to actually hear the songwriting too! Granted, it’s nothing special. The keyboards are still bland and gimmicky, and the melodic death metal-inspired riffs are just as meandering and unengaging as ever. Somewhere around the middle, Jari uses a deep spoken word vocal style that makes him sound like Dani Filth… it’s somewhat interesting, but mostly seems like a means of distracting us from the boring 6/8-time riff and its directionless lead guitar work. The solo that follows is just some generic shredding too, so it’s really not very interesting. Just trust me: Autumn may try to sound sinister, but Jari’s not inspired enough to convey this properly.

Winter - The Season Wintersun Knows

We finally come to our final season, the season of Winter. And, lo and behold, this is actually the best piece in the collection. There’s some nice buildup in the icy synths, generating a mood both eerie and depressing. The actual title of the track is “Loneliness,” and the doomy tempo is a fine demonstration of such an emotion. The vocals are a bit melodramatic at times, but at least I’m hearing something other than the bland growls that have dominated the other seasons. Jari sounds more anguished and desperate here, fitting the theme of the composition and its blustery vibe like a glove. Alas, not everything is perfect here either. The tune seems to stick to the same tempo for most of its duration, making it a slog to sit through to the end. As usual, there’s not enough experimentation or new instrumental perspective on this season to justify a 13-minute closer to an already-overlong mess of an album. Also, the production is still pretty atrocious, but now I’m sounding like a broken record.

The forest is teeming with dread.

The four seasons can be open to such fruitful depictions and fantastic musical avenues, but Wintersun manages only to produce a small handful of these. Whenever I hear The Forest Seasons, I don’t hear the sound of fresh ground being broken. I don’t hear an exciting new aural adventure of both aggression and beauty. I don’t hear a band displaying a new or interesting take on a promising concept. I hear the sound of dread. I hear a project that has long passed its expiration date even after just three albums.

Most distressingly, I hear thousands of loyal Indiegogo funders being fucked by one egotistical Finn.