All Reviews

Worship The Sacrifice

Veil Of Revelations is a forceful and unapologetic EP that captures Worship The Sacrifice at their most aggressive and focused. From the opening moments, the band establish a dark, oppressive atmosphere that sets the tone for everything that follows. This is a release built on intensity, but it’s the control and intent behind that intensity that really stands out. The guitar work throughout the EP is thick and punishing, delivering crushing riffs that feel sharp and deliberate rather than chaotic for the sake of it. There’s a strong balance between sheer heaviness and subtle melody, with certain passages slowing just enough to let the weight of the riffs fully sink in. These moments of restraint make the heavier sections feel even more impactful, giving the EP a sense of movement rather than a constant barrage. The rhythm section plays a crucial role in keeping the release grounded. The drums hit with precision and urgency, driving the songs forward while locking tightly with the bass to create a dense and aggressive low end. Even during faster, more abrasive sections, everything feels tightly held together, giving the EP a cohesive and confident sound. Vocally, Veil Of Revelations is as confrontational as it is commanding. The harsh vocal delivery cuts through the mix with grit and conviction, adding an extra layer of menace to the already heavy instrumentation. There’s a raw, unfiltered quality to the vocals that enhances the overall atmosphere, making the EP feel personal and visceral rather than overproduced or sterile. One of the EP’s strongest qualities is its sense of purpose. Each track feels intentional, contributing to the overall tone and message without unnecessary filler. The songwriting keeps things engaging through dynamic shifts and well-timed transitions, ensuring the release remains impactful from start to finish. Production wise, the EP leans into a gritty, organic feel that suits the band’s sound perfectly. Rather than smoothing out the edges, the mix embraces the rawness of the performances, giving the listener the sense that they’re hearing the band in their most natural and aggressive state. By the end of Veil Of Revelations, Worship The Sacrifice leave a lasting impression. This EP is heavy, focused, and emotionally charged, offering a solid statement from a band that clearly know their sound and aren’t afraid to push it forward. For fans of uncompromising extreme metal that values intensity, atmosphere, and authenticity, Veil Of Revelations is a release well worth diving into.

Toys That Bite

You Have Been Warned is an album built on tension, attitude, and intent. Toys That Bite don’t approach this record casually, every element feels deliberate, from the abrasive guitar tones to the tightly wound rhythms and the confrontational energy that runs through the entire release. There’s a sense of urgency here, but it’s a controlled urgency, one that channels aggression into structure rather than letting it spiral into noise. The band’s sound thrives on contrast. Throughout the album, sharp, cutting guitar work collides with more melodic passages, creating moments that feel both hostile and inviting at the same time. These shifts never feel accidental; instead, they give the record its dynamic pulse. The guitars often feel like they’re circling the listener, locking into repetitive phrases before breaking out into something more expansive, keeping the album constantly in motion. The rhythm section is a major driving force behind You Have Been Warned. Basslines carry a weighty presence, grounding the more volatile guitar parts and giving the songs a sense of physicality. Drums remain tight and disciplined, favoring precision over excess, which allows the tension to build naturally. Even during more restrained moments, there’s a sense that everything is coiled and ready to snap, a feeling that gives the album its edge. Vocally, Toys That Bite strike an effective balance between aggression and restraint. The performances never feel overperformed or theatrical; instead, they lean into a raw, almost conversational delivery that makes the lyrics feel immediate and personal. When the vocals push harder, it feels earned like an emotional escalation rather than a default setting. This dynamic approach keeps the listener engaged and prevents the album from becoming one note. Lyrically, You Have Been Warned centers on confrontation in its many forms, internal conflict, strained relationships, and the moments where lines are drawn and crossed. There’s a directness to the writing that avoids unnecessary embellishment, allowing the themes to hit with clarity and impact. At the same time, the lyrics are open enough to interpretation that the album never feels prescriptive. Instead of telling the listener what to think, Toys That Bite present scenarios and emotions that invite reflection. One of the album’s most impressive qualities is its cohesion. While each track has its own identity, nothing feels out of place. The band maintain a consistent tone without falling into repetition, using subtle shifts in tempo, texture, and intensity to keep things fresh. This makes You Have Been Warned feel like a complete statement rather than a collection of disconnected songs. The production supports this cohesion perfectly. Rather than polishing away the rough edges, the mix preserves the grit that defines the band’s sound. There’s a lived in quality to the album, it feels like something forged through rehearsal rooms and live performances, not assembled piece by piece in isolation. That authenticity gives the record a sense of credibility that’s hard to fake. Emotionally, the album carries a persistent undercurrent of defiance. Even in its quieter moments, there’s an unmistakable feeling of resistance, as if every song is pushing back against something, expectations, control, complacency. This gives You Have Been Warned a strong identity and makes it resonate beyond its immediate sound. By the time the album reaches its final moments, Toys That Bite have delivered a record that feels purposeful, uncompromising, and confident in its own skin. You Have Been Warned doesn’t rely on spectacle or trend chasing to make its impact. Instead, it succeeds through strong songwriting, controlled intensity, and a clear artistic vision. It’s an album that rewards close listening and proves that Toys That Bite are a band unafraid to lean into their edge and own it.

Amongruins

Advent of Chaos opens like a storm breaking over a desolate landscape. From the very first notes, AMONGRUINS drag the listener into a world of tension, violence, and dark beauty, where melodic sensibilities are entwined with sheer, unrelenting force. The album doesn’t wait for its audience to settle in, it demands attention, pushing forward with an energy that feels both calculated and untamed. The opening tracks immediately set the tone. The guitars cut sharply, weaving intricate riffs with brooding melodies, while the drums crash like thunder, propelling the music forward with a sense of inevitability. Vocals range from raw, guttural shouts to controlled, almost ritualistic passages, creating an emotional spectrum that mirrors the album’s thematic intensity. The opening moments make it clear that this isn’t just an album of heavy riffs, it’s a journey, one where every note contributes to an overarching sense of impending chaos. As the album progresses, the depth of its composition becomes even more evident. The songs flow naturally, shifting between relentless aggression and moments of introspective calm. These quieter passages allow the melodies to breathe and give weight to the heavier sections that follow, creating a dynamic push and pull that keeps the listener on edge. It’s in these contrasts that Advent of Chaos truly shines, revealing a band capable of balancing technical precision with emotional resonance. The middle section of the album leans into atmosphere, with expansive passages that evoke a cinematic scope. Layered guitars, subtle keyboard textures, and carefully placed ambient sounds create a sense of vastness, as if the music itself occupies a wide, shadowed landscape. Here, the listener is given a moment to absorb the intensity of the opening tracks, to feel the tension that lingers like smoke in the aftermath of a storm. Guest vocal moments add another layer, their haunting timbres cutting through the thick instrumentation and amplifying the emotional weight of each composition. The songwriting throughout Advent of Chaos demonstrates a meticulous attention to structure and pacing. Each track feels purposeful, building on the momentum of the previous one while introducing fresh ideas to maintain interest. Riffs are never repeated without reason; melodies develop and return in subtle variations, giving the album a cohesive sense of narrative. Even in the most chaotic moments, there’s a clarity to the arrangements, a thread that ties the album together and prevents it from feeling like noise or filler. The production complements this approach perfectly. Every instrument is distinct, yet nothing feels out of place. The guitars have a sharp bite, cutting through the mix without overpowering the rhythm section, while the drums are thunderous yet precise. The bass underpins the entire soundscape, anchoring the songs’ heavier moments while subtly reinforcing the melodic passages. This careful balance allows both the intensity and the nuance to shine, ensuring that each track hits with the intended emotional force. Lyrically, the album explores themes of conflict, chaos, and introspection. Each song seems to grapple with struggle and transformation, whether through personal turmoil or broader, apocalyptic imagery. The music mirrors these themes, moving between furious, driving sections and slower, reflective passages that feel like moments of clarity amidst the storm. There’s a narrative cohesion to the album, a sense that every track contributes to a larger story of endurance, loss, and defiance. As the album moves toward its later tracks, the sense of drama intensifies. The compositions grow more intricate, layering multiple guitar lines and complex rhythms over sweeping atmospheric sections. The interplay between aggression and melody becomes even more pronounced, creating moments of tension that resolve in cathartic bursts of sound. The listener is carried along on a journey that is at once relentless and profoundly immersive, with each track offering both sonic impact and emotional depth. Even the quieter, more atmospheric moments retain a sense of gravity and purpose. These passages are not filler, they are deliberate, giving the listener space to absorb the intensity of what came before and anticipate the eruptions that follow. By balancing these extremes, AMONGRUINS have crafted an album that feels alive, constantly shifting and evolving, demanding repeated listening to fully appreciate its intricacies. Advent of Chaos is an album that thrives on contrasts, brutality and beauty, speed and stillness, darkness and melody. Each element serves the larger vision of the record, creating a cohesive whole that feels both expansive and focused. It is an album that rewards attention, offering new layers and subtleties with each listen, while never compromising the raw, emotional core that drives its energy

The Slow Day

Antidote is a track that immediately signals a sense of purpose, unfolding with a calm confidence that suggests it knows exactly what it wants to achieve. Rather than throwing everything at the listener from the outset, the song opts for a slow burn approach, allowing its atmosphere to settle in and take hold. The opening moments feel spacious and deliberate, drawing the listener into a carefully constructed soundscape that prioritises mood and tone over instant gratification. As the track progresses, its strength becomes increasingly clear in the way it handles restraint. There is no sense of urgency to reach a climax, and this patience works strongly in its favour. Each section feels like a natural extension of the last, creating a steady sense of forward momentum without ever feeling forced. The progression is subtle but effective, with small shifts in texture and intensity that keep the listener engaged while maintaining a cohesive overall feel. The layering within Antidote is particularly noteworthy. Every element feels thoughtfully placed, contributing to a sound that is full without being cluttered. The production allows each layer room to breathe, which gives the track a depth that becomes more apparent with repeated listens. Rather than competing for dominance, the individual components work together to form a unified whole, highlighting a strong understanding of arrangement and balance. What also stands out is the track’s dynamic control. There is a consistent push and pull throughout, as quieter, more restrained moments are contrasted with sections that carry more weight and presence. This contrast adds emotional depth, ensuring that the more intense passages feel earned rather than abrupt. Even at its most powerful points, the track never feels overwhelming, instead maintaining a sense of control that keeps everything grounded. Structurally, Antidote avoids falling into predictable patterns. While there are recurring ideas that help anchor the listener, these are often reintroduced with slight variations, preventing the track from feeling repetitive. This subtle evolution keeps the song interesting from start to finish, encouraging active listening rather than passive consumption. The pacing feels carefully judged, allowing the track to fully explore its ideas without overstaying its welcome. Emotionally, the track carries an undercurrent of tension that runs throughout its runtime. Even in its more subdued sections, there is a sense that something is building beneath the surface. This lingering intensity gives Antidote a compelling edge, making it feel introspective yet purposeful. The atmosphere it creates is immersive, pulling the listener into its world and holding their attention through mood rather than obvious hooks. The production plays a crucial role in reinforcing this emotional impact. Clean but characterful, the mix strikes a balance between clarity and warmth, ensuring that the track feels polished without losing its human touch. Effects are used tastefully, enhancing the atmosphere without becoming distracting. This measured approach suggests a clear creative vision, where every choice serves the song rather than drawing attention to itself. By the time Antidote reaches its conclusion, it leaves a strong and lasting impression. It feels complete and carefully considered, as though every moment has been shaped with intention. Rather than aiming for immediate impact, the track rewards patience, revealing more of its depth and nuance with each listen. It is a piece that thrives on atmosphere, progression, and emotional control, showcasing a mature approach to songwriting and production. Ultimately, Antidote stands as a thoughtful and engaging track that values substance over spectacle. Its strength lies in its ability to create and sustain a mood, guiding the listener through a carefully paced journey that feels both immersive and satisfying. With its layered production, controlled dynamics, and evolving structure, it is a track that not only holds attention but continues to resonate long after it has finished.

The Hara

There’s something undeniably feral about The Fallout. From the moment it kicks into life, The Hara sounds like a band with a point to prove, not just to the industry, but to themselves. This album doesn’t feel cautious or calculated, it feels like a release. Like months, maybe years, of pressure being let out in one sharp, volatile burst. It’s heavy, emotional, occasionally unhinged, and very deliberately so. What immediately stands out is how alive this record feels. There’s an urgency running through it that never really lets up, even during its more melodic or restrained moments. The Hara aren’t interested in easing the listener in gently, they throw you straight into the deep end and expect you to swim. And honestly, that confidence is one of the album’s biggest strengths. Sonically, The Fallout sits in that sweet spot between modern metalcore aggression and alternative rock accessibility. The riffs hit hard, the rhythms are punchy and direct, but there’s also a strong sense of structure and hook-driven songwriting throughout. This isn’t heaviness for the sake of it, every breakdown, every screamed line, every melodic lift feels intentional. The band know exactly when to pull back and when to strike. Vocally, the album thrives on contrast. Clean sections carry a wounded, almost desperate tone, while the harsher moments feel raw and confrontational, like someone shouting their truth without filtering it first. That push and pull between vulnerability and aggression gives the album real emotional weight. You can hear frustration, defiance, self doubt and resilience all colliding, sometimes within the same track. Lyrically, The Fallout leans into themes of personal conflict, identity, burnout, and the emotional toll of existing in spaces that constantly demand more from you. There’s a bitterness here, but it’s not aimless. It feels reflective rather than spiteful, like the band are processing their experiences in real time rather than pointing fingers. The honesty is what makes it land. Even when the lyrics are sharp or confrontational, there’s an undercurrent of self awareness that keeps everything grounded. One of the most impressive things about the album is its pacing. The tracklist moves quickly, rarely overstaying its welcome, which keeps the energy high from start to finish. Some songs are short, sharp bursts of intensity, while others allow a little more room to breathe and develop. That variety stops the album from feeling one-note, even when it leans heavily into aggressive territory. There are also moments where The Hara flirt with a more experimental or playful edge, subtle electronic touches, unexpected rhythmic choices, or sections that feel almost danceable beneath the heaviness. These moments don’t derail the album instead, they add texture and keep things unpredictable. It shows a band willing to take risks rather than sit comfortably inside genre expectations. Production wise, The Fallout sounds tight and focused without feeling over polished. The guitars bite, the drums hit with impact, and everything feels sharp without losing its grit. Importantly, the emotion isn’t smoothed out, the rough edges are left intact, which suits the album’s tone perfectly. This is music that’s meant to feel a little uncomfortable at times. If there’s a downside, it’s that a few tracks fly by so quickly that you’re left wanting more. Some ideas feel like they could have been expanded further, but that brevity also contributes to the album’s relentless momentum. It never drags, never loses focus, and never feels padded. Ultimately, The Fallout feels like a statement record. It captures The Hara at a point where they’re done holding back, done second-guessing, and ready to be unapologetically loud, both sonically and emotionally. It’s not perfect, but it doesn’t try to be. Instead, it’s honest, volatile, and deeply human. This is an album that thrives on feeling rather than finesse, and that’s exactly why it works. The Fallout doesn’t just ask to be heard, it demands it.

Homebase

Homebase come through with a single that feels confident in its own skin, the kind of track that doesn’t rush to explain itself because it doesn’t need to. From the opening moments, Nuff Said establishes a grounded, street level energy that immediately pulls you in. There’s a natural grit to the sound, but it never tips into chaos. Instead, everything feels measured and intentional, giving the track a strong sense of identity right from the start. The instrumental plays a huge role in shaping that identity. It sits comfortably in its lane, favouring atmosphere and groove over unnecessary complexity. The beat has a steady, head-nodding quality that keeps things moving without demanding attention, allowing the mood to build gradually. Subtle layers and textures come and go, adding depth without cluttering the mix. This restraint works in the track’s favour, creating a backdrop that feels solid and dependable, while still leaving room for the performance to take centre stage. Vocally, there’s a clear sense of confidence and composure. Homebase deliver their lines with a calm assurance that feels earned rather than forced. The flow locks in tightly with the beat, riding it smoothly and reinforcing the track’s steady momentum. There’s no sense of overreaching here instead, the delivery feels natural, almost conversational at times, which adds to the authenticity of the track. The way the vocals sit in the mix further enhances this, feeling present and clear without overpowering the instrumental. Lyrically, the track carries an attitude that matches its title. There’s a directness to the writing that doesn’t waste time on filler, favouring concise lines and clear intent. Even when the lyrics lean into repetition or simplicity, it feels purposeful, reinforcing the track’s message rather than weakening it. That straightforward approach helps the song feel grounded and relatable, giving it a sense of honesty that runs throughout. As the track progresses, small shifts in energy help maintain interest. Whether it’s a slight change in delivery, a subtle beat variation, or a moment where the instrumental pulls back, these details stop the song from feeling static. Instead, it unfolds naturally, keeping the listener engaged without ever needing a dramatic switch-up or an explosive climax. It’s a slow burn approach that suits the track’s overall tone perfectly. The chemistry between the vocals and the production is another strong point. Neither element tries to dominate the other; instead, they work in tandem to create a cohesive sound. The beat supports the vocals, while the vocals give the beat its character, resulting in a track that feels complete and well thought out. This balance suggests a clear artistic vision and an understanding of how to let each component shine in its own way. Nuff Said ultimately comes across as a track built on confidence, patience, and self awareness. Homebase aren’t chasing trends or leaning on excess to make an impression. Instead, they focus on mood, delivery, and consistency, allowing the track to speak for itself. It’s the kind of song that grows with each listen, rewarding attention and reinforcing the sense that Homebase know exactly what they’re doing and where they’re headed.

Virtue In Vain

From the opening moments of Nothing I Am, Virtue In Vain establish a sense of tension that sits just beneath the surface. There’s an immediate weight to the sound, but it isn’t delivered through constant intensity. Instead, the band allows the atmosphere to settle slowly, creating a space that feels introspective and emotionally charged. The EP unfolds with patience, drawing the listener inward rather than pushing outward, and that restraint becomes one of its strongest qualities. The songwriting leans heavily into mood and feeling, allowing emotion to guide the structure rather than rigid formulas. Songs develop in ways that feel organic, often lingering on ideas longer than expected, letting certain moments breathe before shifting direction. This approach gives the EP a sense of authenticity, as though each track is unfolding in real time rather than following a pre determined path. There’s a quiet confidence in the way Virtue In Vain let the music speak for itself, trusting the listener to connect with it on a personal level. Instrumentally, the EP balances tension and release with care. The guitars move between sharp, uneasy passages and more open, spacious textures, often layering subtle melodies over a foundation of darker tones. At times the riffs feel confrontational, while at others they drift into something more reflective, almost meditative. This contrast plays a huge role in shaping the emotional landscape of the EP, mirroring the themes of internal conflict and self exploration that run throughout. The rhythm section provides a steady but flexible backbone. Drums drive the songs forward when needed, but they also know when to pull back, allowing quieter moments to feel just as impactful as heavier ones. Basslines sit low in the mix, adding depth and weight without overpowering the guitars. Together, they create a sense of movement that keeps the EP engaging, even during its more restrained passages. Vocally, there’s a rawness that feels genuine rather than exaggerated. The delivery carries a sense of vulnerability, but it’s balanced by control and intention. Instead of relying on sheer volume or aggression, the vocals convey emotion through phrasing and tone, often sounding strained in a way that feels purposeful. This adds to the intimacy of the EP, making it feel less like a performance and more like a personal expression being shared. Lyrically, Nothing I Am revolves around themes of identity, self doubt and emotional weight, but it never feels one dimensional. The words hint at internal struggles without spelling everything out, leaving space for interpretation. This openness allows the listener to project their own experiences onto the songs, strengthening the emotional connection. There’s a recurring sense of searching and uncertainty, as if the EP is documenting a process rather than offering answers. As the EP progresses, the emotional depth becomes more pronounced. The earlier tracks set the foundation, introducing the core themes and sonic textures, while later moments expand on them, adding nuance and complexity. There’s a feeling of gradual descent, not in terms of energy, but in emotional intensity, as though the band is peeling back layers and revealing something more exposed with each passing track. The production supports this journey well, maintaining a balance between clarity and atmosphere. Nothing feels overly polished, which works in the EP’s favour, preserving a sense of honesty and grit. The slight roughness in the sound adds character, making the music feel lived in rather than pristine. Each element sits comfortably within the mix, contributing to the overall mood without drawing unnecessary attention to itself. Throughout Nothing I Am, Virtue In Vain demonstrate a strong understanding of pacing. The EP never rushes to make its point, instead allowing emotions to build slowly and naturally. This makes the quieter moments feel just as important as the heavier ones, creating a dynamic listening experience that rewards patience. By the time the final moments arrive, there’s a sense of emotional exhaustion, not from excess, but from the depth of feeling that’s been carried throughout. The EP lingers rather than ends, leaving behind a mood that continues to resonate. Its strength lies in its ability to communicate emotion without overstatement, relying on atmosphere, subtlety, and sincerity to leave its mark. Virtue In Vain craft a release that feels deeply personal yet broadly relatable, drawing the listener into a space that feels both heavy and honest, and allowing that feeling to slowly fade rather than offering any clear resolution.

Glamour Of The Kill

A comeback album is often defined by expectation as much as execution. After a prolonged hiatus, the silence itself becomes part of a band’s story, shaping how any return will be received. With Vengeance, Glamour Of The Kill step back into the spotlight carrying the weight of that absence and rather than shy away from it, they seem to lean directly into it. This album doesn’t feel like a tentative re entry or a nostalgic nod to the past, it feels like a release of years worth of pressure, thought, and unresolved energy. From the very beginning, Vengeance establishes a tone of urgency. The opening moments are sharp and assertive, driven by riffs that feel tightly coiled and ready to strike. There’s no easing the listener in, no attempt to soften the blow. the album arrives fully formed, sounding like a band that knows exactly what it wants to say. That confidence is striking, especially in the context of a comeback, where hesitation or overcompensation can often undermine the material. Here, neither is present. Throughout the album, aggression is handled with precision rather than excess. The heaviness feels purposeful, grounded in structure and rhythm rather than chaos. Guitars are thick and commanding, carrying a tone that balances bite with clarity, while the rhythm section locks in to create a sense of forward motion that never falters. Drums hit with authority, driving the tracks forward while leaving room for dynamic shifts that prevent the album from becoming one-note. This control gives Vengeance a sense of discipline that elevates its impact. Vocally, the record thrives on contrast, and this becomes one of its most defining traits. Harsh vocals carry a raw, confrontational edge, embodying frustration, defiance, and release emotions that feel particularly fitting for a band returning after time away. Clean vocal passages, on the other hand, bring moments of reflection and emotional clarity. Rather than diluting the heaviness, these melodic sections sharpen it, creating peaks and valleys that give the album emotional depth. The transitions between these vocal styles feel natural and deliberate, reinforcing the album’s strong sense of flow. As a post hiatus release, Vengeance carries a noticeable sense of reflection. Lyrically, the album explores themes of conflict, perseverance, and reclaiming identity. There’s an undercurrent of resilience running throughout the record, a feeling of standing back up after being pushed aside or overlooked. The words feel direct and emotionally grounded, avoiding abstract vagueness in favour of sentiments that feel personal and earned. This gives the album a level of sincerity that makes it resonate beyond its surface aggression. One of the album’s greatest strengths is its pacing. Vengeance understands when to push forward and when to pull back, using space and restraint to enhance its heavier moments. Breakdowns are impactful because they’re earned, not overused. Melodic passages feel meaningful because they’re placed with intention. This sense of balance keeps the album engaging from start to finish, encouraging full listens rather than selective track hopping. Production plays a crucial role in shaping the album’s identity. The sound is modern and powerful, yet it retains enough grit to feel authentic. Nothing sounds overly polished or artificial instead, the production enhances the band’s natural intensity. Each instrument occupies its own space within the mix, creating a sense of depth that allows the album to breathe even in its densest moments. The result is a record that feels both heavy and immersive, capable of hitting hard without becoming fatiguing. What truly sets Vengeance apart as a comeback album is how confidently it bridges Glamour Of The Kill’s past and present. Longtime listeners will recognise the core elements that have always defined the band, the blend of melody and aggression, the emphasis on strong hooks, the emotionally charged delivery but these elements feel refined rather than recycled. There’s a maturity here that suggests growth during the hiatus, a sense that the band has returned with a clearer vision rather than simply picking up where they left off. As the album progresses, there’s a growing sense of momentum, as if each track builds upon the last. This cumulative effect makes Vengeance feel cohesive and purposeful, more like a complete statement than a collection of standalone songs. By the time the record reaches its closing moments, it leaves behind a feeling of resolution without finality, an ending that feels like a new beginning rather than a conclusion. In the wider context of metalcore, Vengeance doesn’t attempt to reinvent the genre, but it doesn’t need to. Instead, it reinforces the power of doing the fundamentals exceptionally well. It’s heavy without being hollow, melodic without losing bite, and emotional without tipping into melodrama. The album succeeds because it feels honest, an unfiltered expression of a band reclaiming their space after time away. Ultimately, Vengeance stands as a strong reminder of Glamour Of The Kill’s identity and staying power. This is the sound of a band returning not out of obligation, but out of conviction. It captures the tension, release, and resolve that define a true comeback, making it clear that the hiatus wasn’t an ending, it was simply the space before impact.

Cold Night For Alligators

Cold Night For Alligators With All That’s Left is an album that feels deliberately paced and emotionally intentional, revealing a band that understands the power of restraint just as much as impact. Rather than relying on constant heaviness or technical excess, the record unfolds gradually, inviting the listener into a layered and introspective experience that rewards time, focus, and repeat listens. It’s an album that doesn’t demand attention through sheer force, but earns it through atmosphere, songwriting, and emotional consistency. From the opening moments, there is a strong sense of control in how the album introduces itself. The band opts for slow, measured builds rather than immediate payoff, setting a mood that feels tense yet reflective. Guitars creep in with precision, often favouring rhythm and texture over flash, while subtle ambient details begin to shape the sonic landscape. This approach immediately establishes the album’s identity: thoughtful, spacious, and grounded in feeling rather than spectacle. The guitar work throughout With All That’s Left is varied and purposeful. Heavy riffs are present, but they are rarely overstated. Instead, they arrive at carefully chosen moments, carrying weight because of the space that surrounds them. Clean passages and atmospheric tones play an equally important role, creating contrast and depth across the record. There’s a clear emphasis on groove and repetition, with riffs that lock in and hypnotise rather than constantly shifting for complexity’s sake. This makes the heavier sections feel more immersive and emotionally charged. The rhythm section plays a vital role in maintaining the album’s sense of flow. The bass work subtly reinforces the emotional tone, often adding warmth and weight beneath the surface rather than pushing itself to the forefront. Drumming is tight and controlled, favouring precision and dynamic awareness over constant intensity. Each beat feels intentional, guiding the listener through the album’s rises and falls while allowing the songs to breathe naturally. Together, the rhythm section provides a steady foundation that keeps the album cohesive from start to finish. Vocally, the album finds much of its emotional resonance. The clean vocals are expressive without being overbearing, delivering lines with a sense of vulnerability that feels genuine and unforced. There’s a quiet intensity in the performance, as if the emotions are being held just below the surface, ready to break through at any moment. Melodies are carefully constructed, often understated, yet deeply effective in reinforcing the album’s introspective tone. Rather than dominating the mix, the vocals sit within the instrumentation, becoming another layer in the album’s emotional framework. One of the most striking aspects of With All That’s Left is its use of dynamics. The band shows a strong understanding of tension and release, allowing softer, more restrained moments to coexist alongside heavier passages. These quieter sections never feel like filler instead, they provide emotional context and breathing room, making the heavier moments feel more impactful when they arrive. This balance keeps the album engaging across its full runtime, preventing fatigue and encouraging deeper listening. Electronic textures and ambient layers are woven throughout the album with subtlety and care. These elements enhance the atmosphere without pulling focus away from the core instrumentation, adding a modern edge that feels natural rather than forced. Often, these details are easy to miss on a first listen, revealing themselves more clearly over time. This attention to detail gives the album strong replay value, as each return uncovers new layers and nuances within the arrangements. Lyrically, With All That’s Left leans heavily into themes of introspection, emotional exhaustion, and resilience. There’s a recurring sense of searching for meaning amid uncertainty, as if the album is documenting moments of reflection when everything else has been stripped away. The lyrics avoid dramatic declarations, instead favouring honesty and vulnerability. This grounded approach strengthens the emotional connection between the listener and the music, making the album feel personal rather than performative. As the album progresses, its cohesion becomes increasingly apparent. Each track feels like a continuation of a broader emotional narrative, rather than a standalone moment. Transitions are smooth, and the pacing is carefully considered, ensuring that the album maintains momentum without ever feeling rushed. This sense of unity makes With All That’s Left particularly effective as a full length listen, encouraging immersion rather than casual consumption. The later stages of the album lean further into reflection, carrying a sense of quiet resolution rather than dramatic closure. Instead of ending on a grand or explosive note, the band allows the album to settle, leaving the listener with lingering emotions and unanswered questions. It’s a fitting conclusion that aligns with the album’s introspective nature, reinforcing the idea that not every journey needs a clear or definitive ending. Ultimately, With All That’s Left feels like a mature and confident statement from Cold Night For Alligators. It’s an album that prioritises emotional depth, atmosphere, and thoughtful songwriting over easy hooks or constant intensity. The band demonstrate a clear understanding of their identity, knowing when to push forward and when to pull back, resulting in a record that feels both restrained and powerful. It’s a slow-burning, immersive listen that continues to reveal its full weight over time, rewarding patience and attention with a deeply engaging and emotionally resonant experience.

I Promised The World

I Promised The World’s self titled EP is a focused yet emotionally charged release that captures the band at a moment where passion, urgency, and intention all align. From the outset, there’s a clear sense that this EP is meant to be experienced as a complete piece rather than a loose collection of tracks. Every song feeds into the next, building an atmosphere that feels heavy not just in sound, but in emotional weight. The guitar work plays a major role in shaping the EP’s identity. Riffs are sharp and tightly wound, often driving the songs forward with a restless energy that never fully settles. There’s a noticeable balance between aggression and melody, palm muted chugs sit comfortably alongside more expansive, emotive passages, creating contrast without sacrificing cohesion. Leads and harmonized sections are used sparingly, but when they appear, they add depth rather than distraction, reinforcing the mood rather than pulling focus. Vocally, the EP thrives on contrast. The harsher vocals are delivered with conviction and intensity, carrying a sense of frustration and vulnerability that feels authentic rather than performative. Clean vocals, on the other hand, bring a sense of clarity and emotional release, often arriving at just the right moment to elevate a chorus or bridge. The way these two vocal styles interact feels deliberate and well thought out, serving the songs rather than following genre expectations for the sake of it. As the EP progresses, the emotional themes begin to take center stage. Lyrically, there’s a strong sense of introspection running throughout, reflections on identity, personal struggle, broken promises, and the weight of expectations. Rather than spelling everything out directly, the lyrics allow space for interpretation, making the experience feel more personal for the listener. This openness works in the EP’s favor, as it invites repeated listens and deeper engagement. The rhythm section deserves particular attention. The drums are punchy and precise, providing a solid backbone that keeps the heavier moments grounded while still allowing room for dynamic shifts. Breakdowns are impactful without feeling overused, and tempo changes are handled smoothly, maintaining momentum without becoming predictable. Bass lines may not always sit at the forefront, but they add a low end presence that gives the songs their weight and fullness. Production wise, the EP strikes an effective balance between polish and rawness. Everything sounds clear and intentional, yet there’s still an edge that keeps the music from feeling sterile. This slightly rough texture adds to the emotional immediacy of the release, making it feel honest and lived in rather than overly refined. Each instrument occupies its own space, allowing the songs to breathe while still hitting with force when needed. What stands out most across the EP is its sense of restraint. The band doesn’t try to overwhelm the listener with constant intensity. Instead, they allow quieter or more melodic moments to exist, giving the heavier sections greater impact when they arrive. This understanding of pacing shows a maturity in songwriting that goes beyond the EP format. By the time the final track fades out, there’s a lingering feeling that I Promised The World is just the beginning of something larger. The EP feels like a snapshot of a band defining its voice, confident enough to lean into its strengths, yet still hungry to push further. It’s a release that doesn’t just showcase potential, but actively delivers on it, leaving a strong impression long after the music stops.

Valiant Sentinel

With Neverealm, Valiant Sentinel step confidently into a fully realised world of epic power metal, delivering an album that feels both grand in scope and sharply focused in execution. From start to finish, the record embraces fantasy driven storytelling, cinematic arrangements, and a deep respect for classic power metal foundations, while still sounding modern and purposeful. The album immediately establishes its tone with a sense of scale. Guitars charge forward with speed and precision, layered against sweeping orchestration that adds depth rather than excess. There’s a constant push and pull between aggression and melody, allowing the songs to feel dramatic without becoming overwhelming. Valiant Sentinel clearly understand when to let a riff lead the charge and when to pull back, letting atmosphere and emotion take centre stage. Vocally, Neverealm is one of the album’s strongest elements. The lead vocals soar above the dense instrumentation with clarity and conviction, capturing both heroic resolve and darker, more introspective moments. As the album progresses, the vocal delivery adapts seamlessly to the changing moods, whether riding high over triumphant choruses or guiding the listener through more shadowed, mysterious passages. This versatility helps keep the album engaging across its runtime. Instrumentally, the band are firing on all cylinders. The guitar work balances technical sharpness with memorable melodic lines, often weaving intricate harmonies that feel purposeful rather than indulgent. The rhythm section provides a powerful backbone throughout, driving the album forward with urgency while remaining tight and controlled. Drums are punchy and dynamic, giving the faster moments real momentum while allowing the slower, more atmospheric sections room to breathe. What truly elevates Neverealm is its sense of journey. Rather than feeling like a collection of standalone tracks, the album unfolds like a continuous narrative. Themes of conflict, destiny, and otherworldly realms are reflected not only in the lyrics but in the way the music evolves from track to track. As the songs progress, there’s a natural ebb and flow, moments of intensity followed by reflection? keeping the listener immersed in the album’s imagined world. The production plays a key role in tying everything together. Each element sits clearly in the mix, allowing the symphonic layers, guitars, and vocals to coexist without crowding one another. The overall sound feels polished but not sterile, retaining enough grit to keep the metal edge intact while still delivering the grandeur the genre demands. By the time Neverealm reaches its conclusion, it leaves a lasting impression. It’s an album that rewards attentive listening, revealing new layers and details with each pass. Valiant Sentinel have crafted a record that captures the spirit of epic power metal while showcasing a band confident in their identity and ambition. For fans of fantasy driven metal with strong songwriting and immersive atmosphere, Neverealm stands as a powerful and compelling release.

Diesect

From the moment the track begins, there’s a palpable sense of pressure that never truly lifts. It feels claustrophobic by design, as though the music is deliberately closing in around the listener, tightening its grip with each passing moment. Rather than easing you into its world, the song throws you straight into the thick of its emotional and sonic weight, setting a tone that remains uncompromising throughout. This is a release that thrives on tension, not just in its heaviness, but in the way it balances control and chaos with sharp intent. Sonically, the track is built on a dense foundation of crushing guitars and tightly wound rhythms that rarely loosen their hold. The instrumentation feels purposeful and precise, yet never sterile. There’s a rawness embedded in the sound that gives the song its edge, allowing every breakdown, every shift in tempo, and every abrupt stop to land with real impact. The guitars are thick and abrasive, carrying a grit that feels earned rather than overproduced, while the rhythm section locks everything into place with a sense of urgency that drives the track forward relentlessly. Vocally, the performance is a major focal point, delivering an emotional intensity that cuts straight through the heaviness. There’s a constant push and pull between aggression and vulnerability, with vocals that sound strained in the best possible way, as if they’re being dragged from somewhere deeply personal. This adds a layer of authenticity to the song, making it feel less like a standalone heavy track and more like a concentrated emotional outpouring. Even in moments where the delivery becomes more controlled, there’s still an underlying sense of volatility, as though everything could fracture at any second. As the song progresses, its pacing becomes one of its strongest assets. Rather than relying on a single dynamic throughout, the track carefully shifts its intensity, allowing certain moments to hit with blunt force heaviness while others pull back just enough to let tension simmer before snapping again. These changes prevent the song from feeling one dimensional, keeping the listener fully engaged and constantly anticipating the next impact. The structure feels deliberate, with each section serving a clear purpose in maintaining momentum and emotional weight. Lyrically, the track leans heavily into themes of confinement, internal conflict, and psychological strain. There’s a recurring sense of being trapped, not just physically, but mentally and emotionally that runs through the core of the song. The words feel direct and confrontational, avoiding unnecessary abstraction in favour of imagery that hits close to home. This directness gives the track a deeply personal edge while still remaining relatable, tapping into emotions many listeners will recognise in their own experiences. What makes the song particularly compelling is how seamlessly its lyrical themes align with its sonic identity. The suffocating production, the relentless pacing, and the aggressive delivery all work together to reinforce the idea of being boxed in, unable to escape the weight pressing down from all sides. The music doesn’t just support the message, it embodies it, creating an immersive experience that pulls the listener further into the emotional headspace of the track. As the song reaches its later moments, there’s no attempt to offer easy resolution or comfort. Instead, it sits firmly with its discomfort, allowing the tension to linger rather than dissolve. This refusal to soften its impact feels intentional, reinforcing the track’s themes and giving it a lasting resonance. When the final notes fade, the weight of the song doesn’t disappear, it stays with you, leaving a lingering sense of unease that makes the track feel far bigger than its runtime.

Kaaper

Lament For Osiris opens with a sense of weight and ceremony, immediately setting a sombre and immersive tone. The track doesn’t rush its introduction, instead allowing the atmosphere to settle and take shape before fully revealing itself. There’s a ritualistic quality to the opening moments, giving the song a feeling of purpose rather than simply functioning as a lead in. The production feels intentionally dense, built on layers that slowly intertwine rather than collide. Each element seems carefully placed, contributing to a soundscape that feels both oppressive and expansive. Low end textures provide a constant sense of gravity, while higher elements drift in and out, adding depth and tension without breaking the track’s composure. The balance between space and pressure is handled with precision. Vocally, Kaaper delivers a performance that feels measured and controlled, carrying a quiet intensity throughout. The delivery doesn’t rely on dramatic peaks instead, it maintains a steady emotional pull that keeps the listener engaged. There’s a restrained power in the vocals, as if the emotion is being held just below the surface, giving every line additional weight. Structurally, Lament For Osiris avoids predictable patterns. Rather than pushing toward a conventional climax, the track evolves through subtle changes in texture and dynamics. Small shifts in rhythm and layering create forward movement, keeping the song engaging while preserving its brooding atmosphere. This slow burning approach allows the track to feel immersive and deliberate. Tension plays a crucial role in shaping the song’s identity. Instead of offering release, the track sustains its unease, letting it linger throughout its runtime. That choice reinforces the song’s emotional depth, making it feel heavier and more contemplative. The lack of a clear resolution feels intentional, aligning with the mournful tone suggested by the title. Lyrically, the track leans into symbolism and abstraction, allowing meaning to remain fluid rather than fixed. This openness invites interpretation, encouraging repeated listens as different ideas and emotions surface over time. The words feel carefully chosen, adding to the track’s sense of mystique without spelling everything out. As the song progresses, the instrumental subtly reinforces its themes through restrained dynamic shifts. Elements briefly rise and recede, creating moments of emphasis that feel earned rather than forced. These understated peaks add emotional depth while maintaining the track’s overall sense of control. There’s a cinematic quality woven throughout Lament For Osiris, with the pacing and atmosphere evoking something visual and narrative driven. The track feels as though it’s telling a story through tone and texture rather than structure, making it feel expansive despite its restrained approach. In its closing moments, the song remains composed, allowing the atmosphere to fade rather than explode. The ending feels reflective and unresolved, leaving the listener suspended in the mood the track has carefully built. That lingering quality reinforces the emotional weight carried throughout the song. Across the single, there’s a strong sense of artistic discipline and intention. Every choice from the pacing to the vocal delivery feels aligned with the track’s sombre, immersive identity. Lament For Osiris stands as a deeply atmospheric piece that rewards patience and attention, revealing more with each listen while maintaining its haunting presence.

War Shepherd

Shattered Thrones: Part 1 The Red Pages doesn’t just sound like a release from War Shepherd, it feels like a deliberate opening statement. From the outset, there’s a sense that this project was designed with intention, not only in its heaviness but in how it carries itself. This isn’t metal built purely for impact, it’s metal built to set a scene. The release opens with an immediate weight, drawing the listener into a bleak and fractured world where tension hangs thick in the air and nothing feels accidental. The guitars play a central role in shaping that atmosphere. Riffs are layered with purpose, moving between crushing force and more measured, ominous passages that allow the music to breathe without losing intensity. There’s a persistent sense of forward motion throughout the release, not rushed but relentless. Even when the tempo pulls back, the pressure remains, as if the songs are constantly coiling toward the next surge rather than resetting themselves. Rhythmically, War Shepherd show a strong understanding of restraint. The drums don’t exist just to batter the listener, they guide the flow of the release, accentuating shifts in mood and momentum. The bass work adds depth rather than simply doubling the guitars, giving the low end a presence that reinforces the darker tones of the project. Together, the rhythm section anchors everything, ensuring the release never loses its footing even when the arrangements grow dense. The vocal performance sits at an interesting crossroads between raw aggression and controlled delivery. There’s emotion here, but it’s disciplined, channeled through the narrative rather than spilling over uncontrollably. This approach works in the band’s favour, allowing the vocals to feel like part of the story being told rather than a separate focal point. At times, the voice feels almost like another instrument, adding texture and urgency without breaking the immersion. What becomes increasingly apparent as the release unfolds is just how cohesive it is. The Red Pages carries a consistent tonal identity from start to finish, creating the impression of a single, unfolding chapter rather than a set of disconnected moments. This cohesion makes the release feel immersive, encouraging the listener to take it in as a whole rather than dipping in and out. It’s the kind of project that rewards full listens, where repeated spins reveal subtle transitions and structural decisions that might be missed at first. There’s also a notable sense of patience in how the release is structured. War Shepherd don’t rush to make every moment the heaviest or most dramatic. Instead, they allow tension to build naturally, trusting that atmosphere and pacing can be just as powerful as sheer force. This restraint adds to the impact when the heavier sections do land, making them feel earned rather than predictable. As a first part, Shattered Thrones: Part 1 The Red Pages succeeds in laying groundwork without overexplaining itself. It introduces a world, hints at broader themes of power, conflict, and downfall, and then steps back, leaving space for future chapters to expand on those ideas. There’s confidence in that approach, the confidence of a band that knows it doesn’t need to reveal everything at once to make an impression. Releasing on 10 January, this project positions War Shepherd as a band with a clear vision and the discipline to execute it. It’s heavy without being one dimensional, atmospheric without drifting into emptiness, and structured without feeling rigid. More than anything, it feels purposeful. If The Red Pages is the beginning of a larger arc, then it’s a strong and compelling opening, one that invites attention now while promising even more depth as the story continues.

Bite Down

Violent Playground is an EP that immediately asserts itself as a forceful statement of intent. Bite Down come across as a band who know exactly who they are and what they want to communicate, and this release captures that confidence with unflinching clarity. From the moment the music begins, there’s a sense of urgency, of momentum that refuses to let go, pulling the listener into a world that is both aggressive and meticulously crafted. What is remarkable about this EP is how fully realized it feels, despite its concise runtime, it leaves an impression that feels far larger than its length would suggest. One of the defining qualities of Violent Playground is its balance. The band effortlessly navigates between intensity and control, ensuring that the heaviness of the music never becomes chaotic or overwhelming. Guitars carry a sharp, cutting tone that commands attention, layered with a weight and precision that underscores the band’s technical skill without ever feeling showy. The rhythm section is tight and dynamic, propelling the music forward with momentum and purpose. Every element of the instrumentation serves the songs, creating a cohesion that makes the EP feel like a singular, deliberate statement rather than a collection of disparate ideas. Vocally, the EP is striking. There is a rawness and immediacy to the more aggressive passages that captures emotion without ever feeling forced. These moments are contrasted with controlled, melodic lines that add depth and texture, creating an ebb and flow that keeps the listener engaged. The interplay between intensity and melody is handled with a level of maturity that belies the band’s relative youth. It’s a rare quality in heavy music: a sense of dynamic sophistication that allows the listener to experience both the visceral and the reflective side of the sound. Lyrically, the EP explores themes of conflict, personal struggle, and resilience. There’s an undercurrent of tension running throughout, a feeling of wrestling with challenges both internal and external. The lyrics are never heavy handed or overly explicit instead, they evoke feeling and reflection, allowing listeners to connect with the music on a personal level. This restraint is part of what gives Violent Playground its power, it communicates emotion through tone, texture, and phrasing as much as through the words themselves. The pacing and flow of the EP are equally impressive. Even without focusing on individual tracks, it’s clear that there is careful attention to structure. The music builds and releases tension in a way that feels natural, creating a sense of journey without ever needing to follow a traditional narrative. Peaks and valleys in intensity are balanced thoughtfully, making the EP feel expansive and immersive despite its short duration. Every moment is deliberate, every note contributing to a larger emotional and musical arc. Production plays a critical role in the EP’s impact. The mix is clear, allowing each instrument to shine while maintaining a sense of cohesion and energy. Guitars cut with bite, drums hit with precision, and the vocals occupy their own space without overshadowing the instrumentation. There’s a rawness to the sound that preserves the emotional immediacy of the performances while still providing enough polish to give the EP a professional, finished feel. It’s the kind of production that emphasizes power and clarity in equal measure, ensuring that every detail is heard while maintaining the weight of the overall sound. What makes Violent Playground truly compelling is its combination of focus and ambition. Bite Down demonstrate a command over their sound and a willingness to push its boundaries without losing their identity. There’s a confidence that comes through in every riff, every drum hit, every vocal line, a sense that this band is fully invested in the music and fully aware of the emotional impact it can have. The EP feels like a concentrated distillation of the band’s vision: direct, powerful, and unapologetically alive. Ultimately, Violent Playground is an EP that commands attention. It is intense, precise, and emotionally resonant, blending aggression with depth in a way that feels authentic and unforced. Bite Down manage to convey a breadth of feeling and a sense of movement without ever needing to rely on filler or extraneous elements. The result is a release that feels complete, cohesive, and fully realized, leaving a lasting impression and setting a high bar for what the band can achieve next. For anyone invested in modern heavy music that values both intensity and emotional nuance, Violent Playground is a gripping, unrelenting listen, a concentrated statement of purpose that establishes Bite Down as a band with both vision and impact

Calling All Captains

Calling All Captains The Things That I’ve Lost is an emotionally charged and deeply honest album that hits with both intensity and heart from start to finish. The record finds a strong balance between raw post hardcore aggression and moments of vulnerability, creating a sound that feels both powerful and personal. Each track is crafted with intention, pulling the listener into a space filled with sincerity, urgency, and emotional release. Passionate vocal performances sit front and center, supported by dynamic instrumentation that moves seamlessly between heavy, high energy passages and more melodic, reflective moments, highlighting the band’s creative range. What truly elevates this album is the emotional weight it carries throughout. The lyrical themes of loss, resilience, and self reflection feel genuine and grounded, never forced or over polished. There’s a sense of honesty in the writing that makes the album easy to connect with, as if each song serves as a chapter in a larger story. The band shows a strong understanding of pacing, knowing exactly when to lean into intensity and when to strip things back, allowing the emotions behind the songs to fully land. This careful balance keeps the album engaging and impactful from beginning to end. The Things That I’ve Lost stands as a standout release that captures Calling All Captains at their most focused and confident. It not only delivers the energy and heaviness expected from the genre, but also proves the band’s ability to create something meaningful and lasting. This is an album that rewards repeat listens, with new details and emotions revealing themselves each time through. For me, it’s easily one of the strongest releases in recent times, and it leaves a lasting impression that has me genuinely excited to see how the band continues to grow and evolve moving forward.

Fire From The Gods

Human opens with a sense of unease that immediately sets the emotional tone of the track. There’s a restrained tension in the introduction, as if the song is holding its breath before fully exhaling. Rather than rushing straight into chaos, Fire From The Gods allow the atmosphere to develop, pulling the listener into a space that feels introspective yet volatile. This slow build gives the track a sense of weight before the first heavy impact even lands. As the song unfolds, the guitar work becomes the backbone of its intensity. The riffs are thick and grounded, built more around groove and pressure than technical flash. There’s a deliberate heaviness to the way the guitars move, locking tightly with the rhythm section to create a sound that feels crushing without becoming cluttered. The drums maintain a powerful, steady presence throughout, driving the track forward while emphasizing key transitions that heighten the song’s emotional peaks. Subtle shifts in tempo and emphasis keep the arrangement from feeling repetitive, giving each section its own identity. Vocally, Human thrives on emotional contrast. The harsher vocal passages carry a sense of frustration and urgency, delivering lines with a sharp edge that feels personal rather than performative. These moments are counterbalanced by cleaner vocal sections that introduce vulnerability and reflection, adding depth to the track’s emotional palette. The transition between these styles feels natural and purposeful, reinforcing the internal conflict at the heart of the song rather than breaking its momentum. The chorus stands out as a focal point, combining melodic accessibility with an underlying sense of strain that mirrors the lyrical themes. Lyrically, the track explores the pressure of existing in a world that constantly demands strength while rarely allowing space for weakness. The words focus on internal battles, self awareness, and the acceptance of imperfection, framing humanity not as something idealized, but as something complicated and often painful. There’s a sense of honesty in how the lyrics avoid abstraction, instead grounding themselves in real emotional weight. This direct approach makes the song feel relatable, inviting listeners to connect their own experiences to the emotions being expressed. The song’s structure plays a major role in maintaining its impact. Each section builds logically on the last, creating a steady rise and fall of tension that keeps the listener engaged from start to finish. The heavier moments hit harder because they are given room to breathe, while the quieter or more melodic passages serve as emotional resets rather than distractions. When the breakdown arrives, it feels like a release of everything the track has been holding back, delivering intensity without sacrificing clarity or control. Production choices further enhance the song’s atmosphere. The mix is clean and balanced, allowing the vocals to cut through the instrumentation while preserving the density of the guitars and rhythm section. There’s a raw edge present that prevents the track from feeling overly polished, maintaining an organic energy that aligns with the song’s themes. Every element feels intentional, contributing to a cohesive sound that supports both the aggression and introspection woven throughout the track. Human operates as a song driven by emotion as much as power, using its heaviness as a vehicle rather than the destination. The attention to dynamics, lyrical focus, and sonic balance gives the track a sense of depth that goes beyond surface level intensity. Each listen reveals new details, whether in the layering of instrumentation or the emotional nuance in the vocal delivery, reinforcing the track’s staying power.

Deafsight

From its opening seconds, Ghosts stands as a powerful statement of artistic intent, bold yet introspective, layered with emotion and sonic nuance that defies its status as a standalone single. Deafsight uses this one track to carve out a landscape that’s both atmospheric and visceral, a rare feat that makes Ghosts feel as immersive as an album’s worth of material compressed into a single performance. The production immediately sets the tone: a textured blend of ambient echoes and tight rhythmic elements that feel both haunting and deliberate. The instrumental arrangement works with a balance of tension and release, marrying atmospheric swells with crisp, punchy accents that push the song forward without ever overwhelming its emotional core. Subtle guitar lines and layered electronic elements create a sense of depth, contributing to a mood that’s rich and evocative, never static, always evolving as the track unfolds. Deafsight’s vocal delivery on Ghosts is a standout element. There’s an authenticity in the way each line is sung, a blend of vulnerability and resolve that makes the lyrics resonate on a personal level. Every phrase carries weight, as if the artist is revealing something deeply internal, an emotional snapshot captured in time. The lyrics themselves explore themes of memory, loss, and the unseen forces that linger in our psyches, giving the song a conceptual heft that goes beyond surface aesthetics. Even within the compact format of a single track, Ghosts shows a keen sense of dynamic pacing. Quiet, introspective moments give way to fuller, more expansive sections, creating an arc that feels complete and satisfying. It’s not simply a song, it’s a carefully constructed journey, one that pulls the listener in and holds attention from start to finish. Another impressive aspect is the track’s production clarity. Every sonic layer from the ambient undertones to the crisply recorded vocals is given space to breathe. This not only enhances the emotional resonance of the lyrics but also allows the track to feel cinematic in scale. There’s a spaciousness here that makes Ghosts feel larger than its runtime might suggest, turning a single piece into something that lingers long after the music fades. Ultimately, Ghosts proves that a single song can deliver an experience as rich and layered as a full record. It’s thoughtful, sonically detailed, and emotionally compelling, a track that invites repeated listening and feels like a bold artistic statement in its own right. If you’re drawn to music that blends atmospheric depth with lyrical introspection, Ghosts is a standout single that rewards attention and leaves a lasting impression.

The Dead Reds

Empire unfolds with a sense of purpose that’s immediately apparent. From its opening moments, the track establishes a broad, imposing atmosphere, not through excess, but through control. There’s a deliberate steadiness to the way it introduces itself, setting the tone before gradually pulling the listener deeper into its world. It’s the kind of opening that doesn’t ask for attention, but assumes it. The production is rooted in weight and texture. Low end elements feel grounded and intentional, anchoring the track while higher layers drift and press against the edges of the mix. There’s a careful balance here between movement and restraint: sounds evolve subtly rather than dramatically, which gives the track a sense of cohesion and identity. Nothing feels overstated, and nothing feels underdeveloped. Instead, Empire relies on accumulation, tension built over time rather than instant payoff. What really defines the track is its pacing. Empire takes its time, allowing motifs to repeat and settle, trusting the listener to stay with it. This patience gives the track a commanding presence. When changes do occur, whether through shifts in texture, energy, or emphasis, they land with impact precisely because they aren’t constant. The structure feels intentional, almost architectural, reinforcing the track’s title in spirit as much as in name. There’s also a distinctly cinematic quality running through the composition. The atmosphere feels expansive, as though it’s designed to fill a space rather than sit neatly within one. It’s easy to imagine this track functioning beyond a single listening context, working just as effectively as a standalone piece as it would within a larger set or narrative. That adaptability speaks to the strength of its core idea. Rather than relying on overt aggression, Empire projects authority through confidence and clarity. It doesn’t overwhelm, it asserts. The track feels self assured, composed, and unwavering, carrying a sense of resolve that persists from start to finish. Even in its quieter moments, there’s a tension humming beneath the surface, keeping the listener engaged without needing to escalate unnecessarily. By the time the track reaches its latter stages, there’s a feeling of completion rather than exhaustion. Empire knows when to hold and when to release, leaving an impression that lingers after it fades out. It’s a piece that rewards attentive listening, revealing its strength not in flashy moments but in consistency and intent.

Hokka

From the very first moments, this track establishes a dense and purposeful atmosphere that immediately draws the listener inward. There’s no sense of hesitation here; instead, the song unfolds with a quiet confidence, allowing its weight to settle rather than forcing it upon you. The introduction feels carefully measured, setting the tone before gradually revealing the full breadth of its sound. It’s the kind of opening that signals intent, this is not background noise, but a track that expects your attention. As the composition develops, the guitar work becomes a central pillar of the experience. The riffs carry a thick, grounded heaviness, balancing raw aggression with a textured, almost cinematic depth. There’s a strong understanding of restraint at play; instead of relying on constant intensity, the track uses contrast to its advantage. When the guitars pull back, they create tension, and when they surge forward, the impact feels earned rather than automatic. This dynamic approach keeps the track engaging from start to finish. The rhythm section deserves particular recognition for how tightly it holds everything together. The drums are punchy and assertive, driving the track with a sense of forward motion while remaining adaptable enough to follow its shifts in mood. The bass adds a subtle but crucial layer of weight, reinforcing the lower end and giving the track a physical presence that can be felt as much as it’s heard. Together, they form a foundation that feels both solid and flexible, capable of supporting the song’s evolving structure. Vocally, the performance strikes a compelling balance between intensity and control. There’s a rawness in the delivery that adds emotional depth, yet it never feels unrefined or chaotic. Each phrase lands with purpose, cutting through the instrumentation without overshadowing it. The vocals act less as a dominating force and more as an integral part of the overall soundscape, enhancing the track’s atmosphere while reinforcing its darker, more introspective tone. One of the most impressive aspects of this track is its sense of cohesion. Every element feels interconnected, as though each part is responding to the others rather than competing for attention. Transitions are smooth and natural, allowing the song to evolve organically instead of relying on abrupt shifts or gimmicks. This careful structuring gives the track a strong narrative flow, carrying the listener through its peaks and valleys with ease. As the song approaches its latter stages, there’s a noticeable sense of culmination. The final passages don’t simply bring the track to an end, they feel like a resolution, tying together the themes and moods introduced earlier. Rather than fading into obscurity or ending on an unresolved note, the track leaves behind a lingering atmosphere that stays with you well after it finishes. In the end, this is a track that rewards patience and repeat listens. Its strength lies not just in its heaviness, but in its attention to detail and emotional depth. It’s a release that feels deliberate and thoughtfully crafted, offering substance beneath its surface intensity. Whether approached casually or dissected more closely, it stands as a strong and confident statement, one that hints at greater potential still waiting to be uncovered.

Seahaven

The track opens with a sense of quiet control, immediately pulling the listener into its emotional space rather than demanding attention. There’s an intentional sparseness at the beginning, each note feels carefully placed, allowing tension to build naturally instead of being forced. It sets an introspective mood that feels heavy with implication, as though something unresolved is hanging in the air from the very first moments. As the arrangement slowly expands, the track reveals its strength in dynamics. Rather than relying on constant intensity, it moves in waves, pulling back just enough to make the heavier sections land with greater emotional impact. When those moments arrive, they feel earned. The guitars gain weight without losing clarity, and the rhythm section tightens in a way that adds urgency without overwhelming the song’s core atmosphere. The vocal performance plays a crucial role in anchoring the track’s emotional weight. There’s a raw, almost exposed quality to the delivery that makes it feel deeply personal. It doesn’t chase dramatic highs for effect; instead, it lets subtle shifts in tone and phrasing carry the emotion. That restraint gives the track a sense of authenticity, like a conversation that’s difficult to have, but necessary. Lyrically, the song feels rooted in reflection and distance. There’s a sense of separation woven through the track, not just physical, but emotional as if the narrator is standing just far enough away to see things clearly, yet close enough to still feel the sting. This tension between clarity and hurt becomes one of the song’s defining themes, giving it a quiet depth that lingers long after it ends. Production wise, the track benefits from a clean but unpolished approach. Nothing feels overly processed, and that works in its favour. The mix leaves room for imperfection, allowing the emotional edges of the performance to remain intact. Small details, the way instruments fall away, or how certain sections feel slightly exposed, add to the sense that this track values honesty over precision. As the song progresses toward its closing moments, it resists the urge to resolve itself neatly. Instead of offering closure, it settles into a reflective calm that feels more realistic than comforting. There’s no dramatic final statement, just a gradual release of tension that mirrors the emotional journey the track has taken. By the end, the track feels less like a standalone statement and more like a moment captured mid-thought. It’s introspective without being self indulgent, heavy without relying on excess, and emotionally resonant without overstating its point. This is a track that trusts its listener, rewarding patience and repeat listens with a deeper connection each time.

Sylosis

Sylosis has returned with a forceful reminder of why they remain one of the most compelling names in modern British metal with their latest single, Erased. Released ahead of their highly anticipated 2026 album The New Flesh, this track exemplifies the band’s ability to blend sheer aggression with precision and melody, reaffirming their status as masters of both technicality and songwriting. From the very first riff, Erased grabs attention with a tense, serrated edge. The guitar work is impossibly tight, oscillating between rapid fire thrash inspired runs and crushing, groove heavy chugs that hit like a hammer. There’s an immediacy to the arrangement, a sense that every note has been calculated to maximize impact. The rhythm section is equally commanding, drums snap with precision, driving the track forward while maintaining a dynamic range that keeps the listener on edge, ready for the next shift in tempo or attack. Vocally, Sylosis strikes a careful balance between raw intensity and melodic accessibility. The verses carry a venomous edge, vocals snarling over the instrumentation with palpable tension, while the chorus opens up, offering a soaring release that is as satisfying as it is anthemic. There’s a deliberate push and pull between aggression and melody throughout the track, creating a sense of narrative tension that mirrors the lyrical themes of cleansing, confrontation, and rebirth. Thematically, Erased feels like a meditation on renewal. The lyrics convey the idea of wiping the past clean, confronting inner and external chaos, and emerging stronger, an idea that resonates through every element of the song. Even the instrumental passages feel purposeful, with each riff, fill, and breakdown adding to the story of destruction and reconstruction. It’s a track that demands attention, not just for its technical prowess, but for its emotional weight. Production wise, Erased is polished yet raw enough to retain a live feel. The guitars are crunchy and aggressive without sounding sterile, the drums cut through the mix with clarity, and the vocals sit perfectly atop the instrumentation, commanding focus. The song’s structure allows each element to shine, the opening riff sets the tone, the verses build tension, the chorus provides release, and the closing moments leave a lingering sense of catharsis. One of the track’s most impressive qualities is how well it balances accessibility with extremity. While rooted in thrash and melodic death metal traditions, Erased is not simply a display of technical skill, it is a song written for impact. It’s the kind of track that can ignite a live crowd, with mosh pits forming as the riffs hit their peak, while also offering moments of reflection through its melodic passages. Sylosis have always excelled at walking this line, and Erased is arguably one of their most accomplished examples yet. In the context of The New Flesh, Erased is a strong indicator of the album’s potential. It suggests a record that is unafraid to marry heaviness with melody, aggression with structure, and technical skill with emotional resonance. For fans of the band, it’s both a return to form and a hint at new explorations for newcomers, it’s a striking introduction to a band at the top of their craft. Overall, Erased is a thrilling, punishing, yet melodic offering that confirms Sylosis’ place at the forefront of modern metal. It is meticulously crafted, emotionally resonant, and undeniably powerful; a track that lingers long after it ends, demanding repeated listens. It is the perfect bridge between the ferocity of their past work and the promise of what’s to come, and it sets expectations for The New Flesh that are impossibly high, in the best way possible.

PARIAH

From its opening moments, Swansong carries itself with a quiet confidence. There’s no dramatic announcement of intent, no explosive opening designed to shock or overwhelm. Instead, PARIAH allow the EP to ease into existence, gradually setting the emotional tone before anything heavy truly lands. It immediately signals that this is a project meant to be experienced rather than skimmed through, something that asks for patience and attention rather than instant gratification. The EP feels rooted in introspection. There’s an underlying sense of distance running throughout the record, distance from people, from versions of the self, from moments that once felt permanent. Rather than framing these emotions in anger or desperation, Swansong approaches them with a kind of weary acceptance. It’s reflective without being passive, emotionally charged without being chaotic. That balance becomes one of the EP’s defining traits. As the songs unfold, it becomes clear that PARIAH are deeply invested in cohesion. Each track feels like a continuation of the same emotional conversation, even when the sonic palette shifts. There’s a shared mood that ties everything together, a sense of weight carried quietly rather than aggressively. The EP doesn’t rely on dramatic contrasts to stay interesting; instead, it uses subtle progression, allowing tension to build gradually over time. Musically, Swansong sits comfortably in heavy territory without being consumed by it. Guitars are often sharp and purposeful, cutting through the mix with clarity, but they’re never allowed to overpower the emotional core of the songs. Riffs feel intentional rather than excessive, serving the narrative instead of distracting from it. When heaviness arrives, it feels like a release rather than a default setting. The rhythm section plays a crucial role in shaping the EP’s emotional pacing. Drums move between restraint and intensity with confidence, knowing when to pull back and when to drive a moment forward. Bass lines often add depth rather than dominance, reinforcing the weight of each track without demanding attention. Together, they create a foundation that feels grounded and steady, allowing the rest of the instrumentation to explore more emotional territory. Vocally, Swansong is where much of its impact truly takes hold. There’s a clear emotional through line in the delivery, a sense that every line is being carried with intention. Harsh vocals feel raw and unfiltered, communicating frustration, exhaustion, and release in equal measure. Clean passages, on the other hand, lean into vulnerability, often sounding fragile rather than polished. This contrast never feels performative it feels honest, as though both sides are necessary to fully express what the songs are trying to convey. What’s particularly effective is how seamlessly the EP moves between these vocal styles. Transitions are fluid, never jarring, reinforcing the sense that these emotional states coexist rather than clash. There’s no obvious attempt to create big moments purely for impact instead, emotional peaks emerge naturally from the progression of each track. Lyrically, Swansong avoids grand statements or overly abstract imagery. The writing feels personal and grounded, focusing on internal conflict rather than external spectacle. Themes of identity, disconnection, regret, and self-reflection appear repeatedly, but they’re explored from different angles rather than repeated outright. The lyrics often feel like fragments of thought, unfinished sentences, quiet admissions, moments of clarity followed by doubt. There’s also a notable sense of restraint in the songwriting. PARIAH resist the temptation to explain everything outright, allowing space for interpretation. This openness gives the EP a more intimate quality, inviting listeners to project their own experiences onto the music rather than being told exactly how to feel. It’s an approach that makes Swansong feel deeply personal while remaining universally relatable. Production plays a key role in preserving this intimacy. The EP doesn’t feel overly polished or clinical, and that choice enhances its emotional impact. There’s texture in the mix, moments where imperfections are left intact, giving the songs a more human feel. Dynamics are handled carefully, with quieter sections allowed to remain quiet rather than being artificially inflated for impact. When the music swells, it does so naturally, making those moments feel earned. As the EP progresses, there’s a growing sense of emotional resolution, though it never settles into anything definitive. Rather than building toward a grand finale, Swansong gradually winds down, leaving behind a lingering sense of reflection. The later moments of the release feel heavier in a different way, less aggressive, more contemplative as if the EP is slowly coming to terms with its own themes rather than attempting to conquer them. By the time the closing moments arrive, Swansong feels less like a conclusion and more like a quiet acknowledgement. There’s a sense of closure, but it’s incomplete intentionally so, It mirrors the reality of the emotions it explores, where resolution is rarely clean or absolute. This refusal to offer easy answers is one of the EP’s greatest strengths. Ultimately, Swansong stands as a carefully constructed, emotionally resonant release that values honesty over spectacle. It doesn’t chase trends, nor does it attempt to reinvent its genre. Instead, it focuses on atmosphere, cohesion, and emotional truth, crafting a body of work that feels sincere and thoughtfully assembled. It’s the kind of EP that lingers, not because of any single standout moment, but because of the quiet weight it carries from start to finish.

Wanted Noise

Burn The Time Away is an exhilarating, heart pounding ride from start to finish, a track that refuses to let the listener settle into comfort. From the opening chords, there’s a sense of controlled chaos, jagged guitars that bite but never dominate, a rhythm section that pushes relentlessly forward, and a vocal delivery that feels both urgent and intimately human. It’s the kind of song that makes your chest tighten with anticipation and your feet tap along instinctively, pulling you into its energy almost without permission. What stands out immediately is the way the track balances raw punk intensity with melodic sensitivity. The guitars are sharp, cutting, and perfectly imperfect, carrying an edge that recalls classic punk but feels fully alive and contemporary. Meanwhile, the bass and drums lock in a groove that’s both driving and flexible, giving the track momentum while leaving room for subtle shifts in dynamics. This interplay creates a sound that is simultaneously chaotic and cohesive, a careful orchestration of tension and release. Vocally, Burn The Time Away is compelling in its honesty. The lead vocals carry a rough hewn quality that makes every line feel like it’s been lived, while still managing moments of melodic clarity that stick in your mind. There’s a push and pull between shouted anthems and reflective phrasing, mirroring the emotional duality at the core of the track, the thrill of reckless living versus the bittersweet weight of passing time. It’s a performance that wears its heart on its sleeve without ever tipping into self indulgence, inviting the listener into its world without demanding it. The lyrics themselves explore themes of urgency, memory, and human connection. They paint scenes of fleeting moments, nights spent with friends, impulsive choices that leave lasting impressions, and the quiet awareness that life moves faster than we often realize. Yet there’s no despair here, the track celebrates the intensity of living fully, capturing the exhilaration of chasing experiences that feel vital. Each chorus is a rallying cry, each bridge a reflective pause, building an emotional arc that mirrors the musical momentum. Production plays a key role in giving the track its immediacy. Every instrument is present without overwhelming the others. The drums hit with a crisp punch, the bass carries weight without bogging down the mix, and the guitars layer textures that range from raw distortion to clean melodic lines, creating a soundscape that feels alive and breathing. The balance between polish and grit allows the track to feel professional yet unrestrained, a perfect match for the emotional content of the song. What’s particularly impressive is how Burn The Time Away manages to remain fresh and engaging throughout. Even after multiple listens, small details continue to emerge: subtle flourishes in the guitar work, quiet moments of vocal inflection, shifts in rhythm that keep the listener slightly off balance but fully engaged. It’s the mark of a band confident in their craft, unafraid to let complexity and emotion coexist within a framework that’s still accessible and immediate. Ultimately, Burn The Time Away is more than just a song, it’s an experience. It’s the kind of track that leaves you buzzing long after it ends, a mix of adrenaline, nostalgia, and quiet reflection. Wanted Noise have crafted something that is at once timeless and contemporary: rooted in the spirit of punk yet unafraid to explore emotional depth, a track that demands attention and rewards it in equal measure. By the final notes, the listener is left energized, contemplative, and eager to see where the band goes next. In every sense, Burn The Time Away embodies the thrill of music that matters, loud, urgent, and heartfelt, proving that punk, at its best, can still

1986

Carniveil is an album that immediately establishes a sense of unease, pulling the listener into a dense and oppressive soundscape that feels both hostile and deliberate. There’s no easing into it, no soft introduction, it simply arrives with weight and intent, setting a tone that remains consistent throughout. The album thrives on pressure, creating an atmosphere that feels claustrophobic without becoming chaotic, proving that heaviness here is about control as much as impact. The guitar work is thick and abrasive, built around grinding riffs that feel like they’re dragging across concrete rather than soaring or showing off. These riffs lock tightly with the rhythm section, giving the album a grounded, almost physical presence. The drums hit with force and purpose, driving the music forward with an unrelenting momentum that never feels rushed or careless. Together, the instrumentation forms a wall of sound that feels immovable, reinforcing the album’s darker emotional core. Vocally, Carniveil leans into raw expression rather than polish. The delivery feels urgent and strained, cutting through the dense instrumentation in a way that heightens the album’s intensity. There’s a sense of frustration and confrontation embedded in the vocals, giving the impression that this album is less about performance and more about release. That emotional honesty is one of the record’s strongest points, making it feel lived in and genuine rather than constructed for effect. What gives Carniveil its depth is the way it balances aggression with atmosphere. While the album is undeniably heavy, it never relies on sheer volume alone. There are moments where the music pulls back slightly, allowing tension to build before snapping back into crushing force. These shifts create a constant push and pull that keeps the album engaging from start to finish, preventing the intensity from becoming monotonous. There’s also a strong sense of cohesion running through the album. Rather than feeling like a collection of individual tracks stitched together, Carniveil plays out as a single, continuous experience. The moods and textures flow naturally into one another, reinforcing the feeling that the album is telling a broader emotional story rather than chasing standout moments. This makes it a record that rewards full listens, encouraging immersion rather than casual consumption. Lyrically and tonally, the album leans into darker, introspective territory without becoming overly abstract or self indulgent. The themes feel grounded in discomfort, conflict and inner tension, complementing the weight of the music itself. Nothing here feels exaggerated for shock value instead, the darkness feels genuine, reinforcing the album’s overall sense of sincerity. By the time Carniveil reaches its conclusion, it leaves behind a lingering heaviness that sticks with you rather than fading immediately. It’s an album that demands attention and commitment, offering no easy hooks or moments of relief, but rewarding listeners who are willing to sit with its intensity. In doing so, 1986 deliver a release that feels confident, uncompromising and deeply intentional, an album that doesn’t just aim to sound heavy, but to feel heavy in every sense of the word.

Neshiima

From the opening moments, this album establishes a clear sense of direction and pulls you into its world almost immediately. There’s an ease to how it unfolds, with each track flowing naturally into the next, creating the feeling that you’re listening to a complete body of work rather than a playlist of separate ideas. The pacing is one of its real strengths, taking its time when it needs to and knowing exactly when to lift the intensity, which makes the full run feel engaging without ever becoming overwhelming. Atmosphere plays a huge role throughout the album. There’s an emotional weight sitting just beneath the surface, carried through tone, texture, and subtle dynamic shifts rather than relying on constant big moments. That restraint works in its favour, as it allows the heavier sections to hit with more impact when they arrive. The production supports this perfectly, striking a balance between clarity and grit, giving the songs enough space to breathe while still sounding full and immersive. The vocal performances feel particularly honest and intentional. There’s a strong sense of connection in the delivery, whether the vocals are pulled back and reflective or more intense and driven. Lyrically, the album avoids anything overly on the nose, instead opting for lines that feel personal and open to interpretation. It’s the kind of writing that invites repeated listens, as different meanings and emotions start to reveal themselves over time. Instrumentally, the album keeps things interesting without losing its identity. Familiar elements provide a solid foundation, but they’re often paired with subtle twists or unexpected shifts that stop the songs from becoming predictable. Small details in the arrangements start to stand out the more you sit with it, adding depth and replay value without ever feeling cluttered or overthought. By the time the album reaches its closing moments, there’s a real sense of completion. It feels like a journey that’s been carefully mapped out, with a beginning, middle, and end that all serve a purpose. This is the kind of album that benefits from being listened to in full, rewarding patience and attention with a rich, emotionally engaging experience that lingers long after the final track fades out.

Volumes

Volumes have never been a band that sits still, and Mirror Touch feels like the sound of a group fully aware of where they’ve been and where they want to go next. There’s a confidence running through this album that doesn’t rely on sheer heaviness alone, but on texture, groove, and emotion. It’s aggressive when it needs to be, but just as willing to pull things back and let atmosphere and melody do the heavy lifting. Straight out of the gate, the album establishes its weight and intent. The riffs hit with clarity and purpose, locking in with drums that feel mechanical yet organic at the same time. There’s a modern polish to the production, but it never strips the songs of their punch. Instead, it allows every layer, from low end grooves to sharp guitar accents, to breathe and hit exactly where it should. Vocally, Mirror Touch thrives on contrast. Harsh deliveries bring urgency and grit, while the clean sections offer space and reflection rather than simple hooks for the sake of it. The interplay between the two gives the album its emotional backbone, shifting between frustration, self examination, and moments that feel almost hopeful. It’s this push and pull that keeps the record engaging from start to finish. As the album unfolds, Volumes aren’t afraid to experiment with pacing. Some tracks lean into groove driven, almost hypnotic rhythms, while others explode with chaos and intensity. There are moments where the band flirts with accessibility, introducing cleaner structures and more melodic passages, but they’re never far removed from the heaviness that defines their identity. Even at its most restrained, the album still feels grounded in weight and intent. Lyrically, Mirror Touch feels introspective without becoming overly abstract. There’s a sense of looking inward, of confronting habits, cycles, and personal conflict. It pairs well with the sonic shifts throughout the album, reinforcing the idea that this record is about balance, between aggression and restraint, past and present, control and release. By the time the closing tracks roll around, Mirror Touch leaves the impression of a band that’s evolving without cutting ties to its core. It doesn’t try to outdo previous releases by being heavier or louder, instead, it feels more deliberate, more layered, and more self aware. Volumes sound comfortable in their skin here, and that confidence carries the album from start to finish. This is a record that rewards full listens, not just standout singles, one that reflects growth rather than reinvention, and proves Volumes still have plenty to say.

Dacara

Degen shows Dacara stepping into a darker, more dangerous space, and it suits them almost too well. There’s this immediate sense of unease as the track opens, like you’re standing on the edge of something about to detonate. And when it finally does, the whole thing hits with a force that feels both controlled and completely unrestrained at the same time. What really stands out is how tight and intentional everything feels. The guitars don’t just chug away for heaviness, they’ve got this sharp, serrated tone that slices through the mix, driving the song like they’re dragging it forward by the collar. There’s weight behind every riff, but there’s also a sense of character, like the band are really leaning into their own identity rather than trying to mimic anyone else’s modern metal formula. It’s aggressive, but it’s not empty aggression. The rhythm section deserves credit too, because the drums hit in that sweet spot where they feel massive without overwhelming everything else. There’s this punch to the kick and a snap to the snare that gives the whole track its heartbeat. You can tell the production was handled with a lot of care polished, sure, but never so slick that it loses its edge. You still get all the grit, all the air moving between the notes, all the human imperfections that make a heavy track actually feel heavy. Vocally, Degen lands somewhere between pure venom and controlled expression. The harsher delivery feels urgent and emotional, not just loud for the sake of volume. There’s texture in the voice, frustration, pushback, maybe even a bit of spiralling tension and when the cleaner touches slide in, they don’t soften anything. If anything, they give the track a deeper emotional pull, letting certain lines cut harder than they would if everything stayed at full intensity. The thing Dacara do really well here is the pacing. The track doesn’t sit still for long, it keeps shifting, tightening, and erupting in all the right places. When the heavier drops land, it’s not predictable, it’s satisfying, like the song is releasing all the pressure it’s been building underneath the surface. Nothing feels stitched together or forced. It moves with purpose, and by the time it hits its later moments, it feels like everything has escalated into something bigger and more cathartic. By the end, you’re left with that lingering adrenaline buzz, not just because the track is heavy, but because it feels alive. Degen sounds like Dacara really leaning into who they want to be darker, more intense, more emotionally charged, and far more confident in their own skin. It’s the kind of song that doesn’t just make noise, it leaves an impression. In short, Degen is Dacara at their most dialled in, raw, atmospheric, and heavy in all the right ways, with enough personality and depth to make it genuinely memorable.

Cold Heart

Cold Heart’s first single Restless Dreams is a slow burning, emotionally charged release that thrives on atmosphere, tension, and careful restraint. From the very first moments, the band set a deliberate tone, one that feels introspective and heavy without ever becoming overwhelming. There’s an immediate sense that this is a track designed to be felt as much as it is heard, inviting the listener into its world rather than demanding attention outright. The opening section lays the foundation with subtlety, introducing textures that feel cold and distant yet strangely intimate. Nothing feels rushed. Instead, Cold Heart allow the track to unfold naturally, trusting the strength of their songwriting and mood building to carry the listener forward. As the song progresses, additional layers are introduced with care, each one enhancing the atmosphere rather than cluttering it. This patience becomes one of the track’s strongest qualities, giving it a depth that rewards focused listening. Vocally, the performance sits at the emotional centre of the song. There’s a quiet intensity in the delivery, a sense of holding something back that adds to the track’s tension. Rather than relying on dramatic peaks, the vocals maintain a controlled, almost fragile presence, which makes the emotional weight feel more authentic. As the song moves forward, subtle changes in phrasing and tone reflect an internal struggle, reinforcing the sense that this track is rooted in personal experience rather than abstract emotion. Instrumentally, the band demonstrate a strong understanding of space and dynamics. Each element feels intentional, from the understated rhythms to the atmospheric layers that drift in and out of focus. There’s a cinematic quality to the arrangement, as though the track is slowly building a scene rather than chasing a traditional verse-chorus payoff. When the fuller moments arrive, they feel earned not explosive but emotionally resonant, adding a sense of release without breaking the song’s introspective mood. The production plays a crucial role in shaping the track’s identity. Clean and well balanced, it allows the emotional core of the song to remain front and centre while still offering enough texture to keep things engaging. Nothing feels overproduced; instead, the sound design supports the narrative, enhancing the feeling of isolation, reflection, and emotional weight that runs throughout the track. This clarity ensures that even the quieter moments carry impact. What makes this single particularly compelling is Cold Heart’s confidence in subtlety. In a landscape where many tracks aim for immediate hooks and bold statements, this release chooses a more measured approach. It trusts the listener to sit with the song, to absorb its nuances, and to connect with its mood on a deeper level. That confidence results in a track that feels sincere and fully realised, rather than engineered for quick consumption. As the song reaches its closing moments, there’s a lingering sense of unresolved emotion. Rather than offering a neat conclusion, Cold Heart allow the track to fade with a feeling of quiet reflection, leaving space for interpretation. It’s a choice that reinforces the song’s emotional honesty and makes it linger long after it ends. As a standalone single, this release feels both purposeful and self assured. It stands on its own merit while hinting at a band that understands their identity and isn’t afraid to lean into it. Cold Heart continue to refine their sound here, delivering a track that balances atmosphere, vulnerability, and restraint with impressive control. It’s a compelling listen that grows more rewarding with each play, further cementing the band’s ability to craft emotionally resonant music without relying on excess.

Kaaper

Amenhotep opens with an immediate sense of atmosphere, setting a tone that feels dark, deliberate, and almost ceremonial in its pacing. Kaaper doesn’t rush the listener into the track instead, the song slowly establishes its presence, allowing the mood to fully settle before anything truly unfolds. This approach gives the single a weighty introduction, making it feel immersive from the very first moments. The production plays a major role in shaping that experience. Layers are introduced gradually, each one reinforcing the track’s brooding identity rather than competing for attention. There’s a subtle tension running throughout the instrumental, built through repetition and texture rather than explosive shifts. The soundscape feels expansive, yet controlled, creating a space where every element feels intentional and carefully placed. Vocally, Kaaper delivers a performance that feels commanding without becoming overpowering. There’s a strong sense of restraint in the delivery, as if the emotion is being held just beneath the surface rather than released all at once. This gives the vocals an added intensity, making even the quieter moments feel charged with purpose. The voice blends seamlessly into the production, reinforcing the track’s atmosphere instead of cutting through it aggressively. As the track progresses, there’s a noticeable evolution in its energy. Rather than relying on a traditional structure, Amenhotep builds through subtle shifts in tone and layering. Small changes in instrumentation and rhythm gradually alter the feel of the song, keeping it engaging while maintaining its core identity. It’s a slow burn that rewards patience, drawing the listener deeper rather than offering instant gratification. Lyrically, the song leans into symbolism and imagery, giving it a sense of mystique that aligns perfectly with its title. The writing doesn’t spell everything out, instead leaving space for interpretation and personal connection. This ambiguity adds depth to the track, encouraging multiple listens as different meanings and details begin to emerge over time. There’s also a cinematic quality to Amenhotep that becomes more apparent the longer it plays. The track feels like it could soundtrack a scene rather than simply exist as a standalone song. That visual quality enhances its immersive nature, making it feel larger than its runtime and more expansive than a typical single release. In its later moments, the song maintains its composure rather than escalating into something overtly dramatic. This choice reinforces the track’s confidence, Kaaper trusts the atmosphere and the groundwork laid earlier in the song to carry it through. The ending feels intentional and measured, allowing the mood to linger rather than closing with a definitive resolution. Throughout Amenhotep, there’s a clear sense of artistic control. Every decision, from the pacing to the vocal delivery, contributes to a cohesive and focused piece of work. It’s a track that doesn’t rely on obvious peaks or catchy moments, instead drawing strength from its consistency, tone, and emotional undercurrent.

Shadow Company

Saturated Mind arrives with a weight to it, not just sonically, but emotionally. From the opening moments, Shadow Company establish a mood that feels dense and unsettled, like walking through a fog of overthinking where clarity is just out of reach. The production immediately sets the tone, layered with texture and tension, creating a sense of unease that feels intentional rather than overwhelming. It’s the kind of introduction that doesn’t rush you instead, it slowly tightens its grip. As the track unfolds, it becomes clear that this is a song rooted in internal conflict. The instrumentation feels restless, constantly moving and evolving, mirroring the lyrical themes of mental overload and emotional fatigue. There’s a push and pull between restraint and release throughout the verses, giving the song a sense of breathing, moments where everything pulls back, only to surge forward again with greater intensity. This dynamic structure keeps the listener engaged, never letting the track settle into predictability. Vocally, Saturated Mind is where the song truly connects. The delivery is controlled yet emotionally exposed, striking a balance that feels authentic rather than forced. There’s a lived in quality to the performance, like these words aren’t just being sung, but processed in real time. The lyrics tap into a familiar headspace: racing thoughts, pressure building, the feeling of being mentally stretched too thin. It’s relatable without being generic, personal without becoming inaccessible. The chorus stands out as a powerful emotional release. It expands the song’s sonic palette, offering a sense of openness while still maintaining the underlying tension. Rather than feeling triumphant, the chorus feels honest, a moment of acknowledgment rather than resolution. That choice adds depth, reinforcing the idea that Saturated Mind isn’t about neat conclusions, but about sitting with discomfort and recognising its impact. Musically, Shadow Company show a strong understanding of pacing and atmosphere. The subtle details, background layers, shifts in tone, and carefully placed instrumental breaks all contribute to the track’s immersive feel. There’s a cinematic edge here, one that makes the song feel larger than its runtime, as if it could easily soundtrack a moment of reflection, isolation, or emotional release. What makes Saturated Mind particularly effective is its replay value. Each listen reveals something new, a lyric that hits harder, a production choice that stands out, a moment where the emotion lands differently depending on your own headspace. It’s a track that grows with the listener rather than fading into the background after the first play. Overall, Saturated Mind feels like a confident step forward for Shadow Company. It captures a very real mental and emotional state with sincerity, strong songwriting, and a clear artistic vision. This is a single that doesn’t shout for attention, it earns it, pulling you in through atmosphere, honesty, and intent. It leaves a lasting impression, lingering long after the final note fades.

Eximperitus

The Untimely Fruit of the Unsaid is a track that feels deliberately overwhelming, designed to press in from all sides and leave very little room to breathe. From the opening seconds, it establishes a cold, oppressive mood that never truly lifts, instead tightening its grip as the song unfolds. This is technical death metal that isn’t interested in comfort or accessibility, it’s confrontational, methodical, and intensely focused. The guitar work forms the backbone of the track, constantly shifting between blistering speed and crushing weight. The riffs feel tightly wound, coiled with tension, snapping forward in sharp, angular patterns that demand close attention. There’s a sense of controlled aggression in the writing, where even the most chaotic moments feel carefully constructed rather than thrown together. Subtle dissonance creeps in throughout, adding an uneasy edge that reinforces the track’s bleak atmosphere without tipping it into total noise. Drumming is relentless yet disciplined, driving the song forward with punishing force while still allowing the compositions to breathe when needed. Blast beats hit hard and fast, but they’re balanced by moments of restraint where groove and timing take precedence over sheer speed. This push and pull gives the track a dynamic quality, preventing it from becoming monotonous despite its intensity. It’s the kind of performance that feels physically demanding to listen to, let alone play. Vocally, the track leans into a deep, imposing delivery that feels less like a narrative voice and more like an extension of the instrumentation itself. The vocals sit low and heavy, adding mass rather than melody, reinforcing the song’s suffocating weight. There’s a sense of emotional detachment in the performance, which paradoxically makes it feel even more unsettling as if the track is observing human struggle from a distance rather than directly participating in it. What makes The Untimely Fruit of the Unsaid particularly compelling is its sense of purpose. Every shift in tempo, every abrupt change in structure, feels intentional. The song doesn’t rely on repetition or obvious climaxes, instead, it moves forward in a constant state of tension, evolving without ever fully resolving. This gives the track a lingering quality, one that stays with you after it ends, not because of a single standout moment, but because of the cumulative weight of the experience. There’s also a strong emotional undercurrent running beneath the technical surface. Despite the precision and complexity on display, the track never feels cold or mechanical. Instead, it conveys frustration, repression, and inner conflict, emotions that align perfectly with the idea of things left unsaid and the damage that silence can cause over time. It’s heavy not just in sound, but in intent. By the closing moments, the track feels less like a song and more like an ordeal, one that challenges the listener to sit with discomfort rather than escape it. The Untimely Fruit of the Unsaid is a demanding listen, but a rewarding one for those willing to engage with its depth and density. It stands as a powerful statement of extremity and control, hinting at even greater intensity still to come and setting a formidable standard for what follows.

Scratch One Grub

There’s something instantly captivating about the way this track opens, not loud, not flashy, just this gentle pull that almost feels like someone quietly opening a door and inviting you into a room already humming with energy. The atmosphere settles around you before you even realise you’ve stepped into it. It’s one of those songs that doesn’t have to fight for your attention; it just claims it by setting a mood you naturally lean into. The production has this beautifully weighted balance enough low end warmth to hold the floor beneath you, but plenty of air swirling around the top so nothing feels boxed in. You get that sense of drifting forward while still being grounded, which is surprisingly hard to pull off. The textures feel soft but intentional, like every little detail was placed with a calm hand rather than in a rush. Then there’s the way the melody unravels. It never feels forced. It’s almost conversational, the kind of musical phrasing that speaks more like a passing thought or a quiet admission rather than a polished, rehearsed statement. You can feel the emotion without anyone needing to spell it out for you. Those subtle inflections, the way a note lifts slightly higher than expected, or lingers just long enough, create a feeling that’s intimate without being dramatic. As the song settles into its groove, you notice how everything sits together in this haze of warm, melancholic light. The vocals (or the vocal like elements, if they’re more textural) feel close, almost like they’re being shared directly into your ear. There’s no pressure, no urgency, just honesty. And that honesty gives the track a kind of timelessness. It feels like it could play on a late night radio show, tucked between songs chosen for emotional resonance rather than trend. What really stands out is how the track uses space. There’s room for silence, room for reverb to bloom and fade, room for your thoughts to sit inside the music without clashing. It’s the kind of track that becomes a backdrop to whatever you’re feeling, whether that’s unwinding after a long day, staring out the window during a quiet moment, or letting it guide you through something heavier. It adapts. It supports. It doesn’t dominate. The more you sit with it, the more these little hidden details start to surface, a faint shimmer tucked behind the main melody, a soft rhythmic pulse you didn’t catch on the first listen, tiny production choices that feel almost like secret messages left there for anyone patient enough to find them. And that’s where the track really starts to shine: not in big, obvious moments, but in the gentle way it keeps offering more each time you return to it. It’s rare nowadays to come across a song that’s built on subtlety but still leaves a strong emotional impression. This one does exactly that. It’s introspective without being heavy, melodic without being predictable, atmospheric without drifting into emptiness. It’s the kind of track you don’t just play once, you let it loop, because every repeat feels like it reveals another layer of its personality. In a world full of tracks trying to rush you to the hook, this one gives you permission to slow down. It creates a space where you can breathe, reflect, and just exist for a few minutes. And honestly, that alone makes it special.

Alfonso Conspiracy

From the moment you hit play, The Explicit//The Exploited makes it clear you’re stepping into a world that isn’t interested in comfort. The opening atmosphere feels like walking into a dark room where something is already breathing heavy in the corner, cold electronics, low drones, and this sense of unease that tightens around you with each second. It’s not dramatic for the sake of theatrics, it’s the album laying out its emotional geography, tense, unstable, and brutally honest. What becomes clear very quickly is how deeply personal this record is. You can feel every track pulling from a place of actual lived experience, the isolation, the anger, the internal damage that’s shaped the sound. There’s no attempt to mask that with metaphors or polish. The grit is intentional. The sharp edges are left in place. Even when the vocals twist into distortion, you can still feel the raw humanity underneath, like someone trying to shout through a storm they built themselves just to stay afloat. Musically, Alfonso Conspiracy moves between industrial metal’s ferocity and stark electronic minimalism. When the guitars kick in, they don’t just crunch, they crash into you like a physical force. There’s weight behind every hit of percussion, the kind of pounding that echoes in your chest more than your ears. The heavier tracks feel like they’re tearing at old scars, pulling out whatever’s festering underneath. And then, in the quieter or more synthetic moments, the temperature drops. Everything turns colder, more mechanical, like you’re hearing thoughts that were never meant for daylight. That contrast gives the album its tension, the push and pull between fury and numbness. Vocally, the record is relentless. There’s a sense of someone refusing to sanitise the emotions they’re dealing with. The themes of violation, emotional exploitation, and internal conflict come through with brutal clarity. Some tracks feel like direct confrontations. Others feel like whispered confessions that slipped out before the world could be shut out again. It isn’t easy listening, but that’s precisely why it lands with such impact. There’s courage in how unapologetically uncomfortable some moments are. One of the strengths of the album is how alive it feels. Even in its chaos, there’s intention. The shifts between aggression and bleak ambience aren’t always smooth, but there’s meaning in that jaggedness. Trauma isn’t neat. Anger doesn’t arrive on a schedule. Healing doesn’t move in one direction. The music mirrors that emotional unpredictability, often catching you off guard. Some listeners might find those sudden stylistic swings disorienting, but others will appreciate how authentically they recreate the feeling of being pulled between extremes. The production plays a huge role too. Rather than chasing a glossy or perfectly sculpted sound, the album leans into textures, the scrape of distortion, the pulsating thrum of electronics, the heavy saturation that makes everything feel claustrophobic. It creates a kind of sonic suffocation, but purposefully so. It’s the type of record where you feel the walls closing in as much as you hear the songs themselves. That atmosphere carries the storytelling just as much as the lyrics do. By the time the album pushes into its later tracks, you start to understand the emotional arc more completely. The rage is still there, but so is exhaustion. The vulnerability becomes sharper. There are moments where the music almost collapses inward, leaving you in this eerie stillness before the next wave of noise hits. It feels like the project is constantly peering over the edge of something dangerous, yet refusing to step back. That intensity gives the record its identity, it’s not here to entertain, it’s here to purge. Taken as a whole, The Explicit//The Exploited feels like a confrontation with everything someone has tried to bury. It’s jagged, unpredictable, sometimes overwhelming but that rawness makes it compelling. When Alfonso Conspiracy leans into the emotional violence of the music, the album becomes something that doesn’t just demand attention, it holds it by the throat. And when it shifts into quieter, colder spaces, it leaves you suspended in a kind of emotional static that sticks with you long after the album ends. It’s not an easy record. It’s not supposed to be. But it’s powerful, deeply human, and delivered with a level of honesty that cuts deeper the longer you sit with it. This is the sound of someone refusing to stay silent, refusing to water anything down, and refusing to hide the damage. And that refusal is exactly what makes the album so impactful.

Modern Misery

Worldaway is one of those tracks that doesn’t rush to make its point. Instead, it lets its emotion unfold at its own pace, and that slow bloom is exactly what gives it weight. From the moment it starts, there’s this subtle pull, a quiet gravity that draws you into its atmosphere without ever demanding your attention. Modern Misery lean heavily into mood here, choosing depth over dramatics, and the result is a track that feels deeply personal even if you’ve never heard the band before. The instrumentation sets the tone immediately. The guitars feel hazy and distant, like they’re soaked in the kind of reverb that mimics memory rather than melody. The rhythm section moves with a steady, unforced pulse that keeps everything grounded, but never steals focus. It’s the perfect foundation for the vocals, which hit with a mixture of fragility and conviction. There’s a lived in quality to the way each line is delivered, not polished for perfection, but shaped by emotion. It gives the track a sense of honesty that’s rare in a lot of modern releases. As the track progresses, it builds tension in this beautifully understated way. There’s no sudden shift, no big explosive chorus, no moment where everything bursts open. Instead, worldaway grows by deepening the feeling it’s already created. The dynamics stay controlled, but the emotional weight thickens. It’s like watching a storm gather far off in the distance, you feel it before you see it. That subtle approach makes the song feel more cinematic, almost like it was written for those quiet, reflective scenes you replay in your mind long after they’ve passed. What makes the track stand out is how relatable its emotional landscape is. It feels like the soundtrack to moments we don’t often talk about: the quiet walk home after a heavy conversation, the late-night drive where the world feels too big and too small at the same time, or the slow ache of missing something you can’t quite name. Modern Misery manage to capture that vague but powerful feeling of being slightly detached from your surroundings, like you’re physically present but mentally a world away. It hits you not with shock, but with recognition. There’s a bravery in how subtle the song is. At a time when so many tracks chase instant impact, Worldaway takes its time. It asks you to listen, not just hear. And when you do, the feeling it leaves behind lingers in a way that louder, more aggressive songs often fail to achieve. It’s thoughtful without being vague, emotional without being melodramatic, and beautifully restrained from start to finish. By the time it fades out, it doesn’t feel like a song ending, it feels like a moment settling into memory. Worldaway won’t be the track for listeners chasing big drops or explosive choruses, but for those who appreciate atmosphere, honesty, and emotional depth, it’s a quietly powerful standout. Modern Misery deliver something that resonates long after the final note fades, and sometimes those are the songs that stay with us the longest.

Death Assault

We Will Remain comes in with this heavy presence straight away, almost like the track is setting its jaw before anything even kicks in. There’s this atmosphere that feels thick with intention, like the band already knows exactly what they want the listener to feel before the first real hit drops. As it builds, you can tell the track isn’t just going for shock value or loudness, it’s building a mood, a sense of weight, a feeling that something meaningful is about to erupt. That tension really carries the track forward and makes those first proper hits land even harder. The vocals come through with that raw, unfiltered push that works perfectly for this kind of track. It’s got emotion but without being overly polished, it embraces that imperfect edge that gives the song soul. You can hear the strain, you can hear the grit, and it makes the emotion feel real, almost like the singer isn’t performing to you but with you. That connection helps the whole track hit deeper because it feels like someone actually trying to express something rather than fit a formula. There’s pain and power mixed together, and that blend carries the track massively. Instrumentally, the push and pull dynamic works so well. There’s enough heaviness to keep the intensity up, but the band doesn’t just sit there on one level, they let the song move. Those moments where things ease up or shift direction give the heavier sections even more punch. You get this sense of motion instead of static aggression, which keeps you listening rather than zoning out. The guitar work adds a ton of atmosphere, and the rhythm section gives the track that heartbeat that keeps everything grounded, especially when things get bigger and more dramatic. The track’s energy feels like it’s constantly rising, and that emotional intensity is really what defines it. There’s this theme of resilience running through the whole thing, not necessarily spelled out, but felt in the delivery. It’s the sound of someone refusing to fold, refusing to back down, even when things feel like they’re collapsing around them. That’s what makes the track feel powerful. It’s not just heavy for the sake of it, it’s heavy with purpose. There’s defiance in the tone, strength in the pacing, and honesty in the performance. And honestly, that honesty is what makes the song stick. Even if certain moments or patterns feel familiar to the genre, it doesn’t come across as predictable. It feels intentional, like the band knows the roots of their sound and leans into them with confidence instead of trying to reinvent something that doesn’t need reinventing. Sometimes authenticity hits harder than innovation, and this track is one of those cases where you hear the heart way more than the technicality. By the time the ending comes around, the track leaves you with that lingering feeling not just adrenaline, but something emotional too. It’s a song that stays with you because of what it feels like, not just what it sounds like. It makes a statement without needing to shout it, and it carries itself with the kind of weight that leaves an impression long after it fades out.

Greyfox Conspiracy

Preacherman is one of those tracks that doesn’t rush to impress you instead, it lets its atmosphere sink in slowly, the way a storm gathers on the horizon before you notice the clouds changing colour. From the moment it begins, there’s a weight to it, a tension humming underneath that tells you this song is building toward something meaningful. Greyfox Conspiracy clearly aren’t here just to fill space, they’re here to create an experience. What really stands out is how confidently the song moves. Nothing feels thrown together. The intro sets the tone with a steady, almost brooding presence, giving the sense that you’re stepping into a story already in motion. As the layers start unfolding, whether that’s the guitars thickening up, the rhythm section locking in, or the vocals slipping in with that smoky, deliberate delivery, the whole thing grows more immersive. Every part feels like it’s been placed with intent. There’s a real emotional backbone running through the track too. Preacherman balances grit and vulnerability in a way that feels mature, almost cinematic. It doesn’t lean on melodrama or cliches, instead, it uses tone and pacing to do the heavy lifting. You can feel the tension in the quieter moments, and when the track finally pushes itself forward, it lands with impact rather than noise. It’s the kind of dynamic songwriting that rewards patience, you hear the emotion between the lines, not just in the obvious places. The production deserves credit as well. It captures that moody, atmospheric weight without drowning anything out. The mix leaves enough room for each instrument to breathe, especially in those moments where the song pulls back and lets a single line or riff carry the space. There’s a certain richness in the sound, not overly polished but not rough for the sake of it either. It sits comfortably in that sweet spot where character comes through naturally. Structurally, the track flows really well. It doesn’t rush the buildup, and it doesn’t drop everything at once when it reaches its peak. Instead, it unfolds in stages, almost like chapters. The transitions feel organic, and by the time you hit the final stretch of the track, you realise how carefully the energy has been shaped. It’s one of those songs where the ending hits harder because of how patiently the journey was built. What makes Preacherman even more effective is the atmosphere it leaves behind after the last note hits. There’s this lingering sense of reflection like the track carved out its own emotional space and left a piece of it with you. It’s moody, thoughtful, and layered, the kind of song you go back to when you want something that actually feels like something. Greyfox Conspiracy are tapping into a sound that’s bold without being loud, expressive without being overwrought, and it works.

7eventh Sea

Stare At The Sun sees 7eventh Sea leaning fully into a reflective and quietly powerful space, building a track that feels warm, intimate and subtly cinematic all at once. From the very first notes, there’s this sense of calm weight, like stepping into a memory you haven’t visited in a while. The atmosphere glows with a soft melancholy, never dragging, but instead settling into that bittersweet place where comfort and tension meet. The vocals guide everything with a steady, heartfelt sincerity. There’s a vulnerability in the delivery that really elevates the song, allowing it to feel personal without tipping into melodrama. Every line lands with intention, but it’s the tone that mix of fragility and quiet resilience that gives the track its emotional pull. It feels like the singer is letting you in on something private, and that intimacy becomes one of the song’s strongest points. Instrumentally, the band keeps things beautifully understated. The guitars shimmer and widen the track without overwhelming it, adding soft textures that catch your ear on repeat listens. The rhythm section stays tight and unobtrusive, supporting the emotional flow rather than trying to drive it. There’s a subtle layering throughout small details in the background, gentle rises in dynamics that give the track a sense of motion even when it’s at its most restrained. What’s impressive is the band’s commitment to patience. There’s no forced climax, no unnecessary fireworks. Instead, Stare At The Sun leans into clarity and space, allowing the mood to speak louder than any sudden shift could. It captures that feeling of standing still and letting the world blur around you, an introspective pause wrapped in warm tones and thoughtful songwriting. By the time it closes out, the track leaves you with a lingering glow, the kind that stays with you long after the final notes fade. It’s a quietly striking piece from 7eventh Sea, built on emotion, subtle craft, and a genuine sense of connection.

Sabrina Kennedy

Sabrina Kennedy’s Witch of the West starts with that immediate sense of atmosphere she’s become known for this smoky, ritualistic vibe that wraps around you before the first chorus even hits. There’s a confidence in the opening moments that tells you she’s fully stepping into character, not just performing a theme but embodying it. The way her vocal sits slightly above the instrumentation gives her this commanding presence, like every line is part of a spell she’s casting. As the track builds, the production leans into that dark pop meets modern rock blend that fits her so naturally. The drums thump with this slow, intentional power, never rushing, just pushing forward with weight. The guitars and synth layers weave together in a way that feels both cinematic and gritty, adding the tension and texture the theme needs without drowning her out. It’s that perfect balance of polish and attitude, the kind of sound where you can tell every detail was chosen to reinforce the track’s personality. Her vocal delivery is one of the standout elements here. She switches between this sultry, controlled tone in the verses and a full force, defiant presence in the chorus, and that contrast really brings the track to life. You can hear the bite in her voice, the little moments where she leans harder into a word or drags out a phrase to give it a nearly theatrical weight. It never drifts into parody, it feels like her taking ownership of the trope and turning it into something fierce and intentional. The chorus itself hits exactly how it should big, bold, and drenched in attitude. It has that anthemic lift that makes the whole witch persona feel powerful rather than playful. There’s a sense of reclaiming narrative, of flipping the script on how she’s perceived, and the hook captures all of that in a way that sticks immediately. It’s memorable not just because it’s catchy, but because it feels like a statement. The bridge and later sections keep the momentum going by leaning deeper into the atmosphere. You get more layering, more of that mystical energy, more of the dramatic flair that’s become part of her signature sound. The production gives her this spacious, ritual like backdrop to really let the character rise, and she uses it well. There’s something almost cinematic about that section, the kind of moment you can imagine exploding live on stage with smoke, lights, and absolute chaos. By the time the final chorus hits, the track feels fully realised, like everything has escalated to match the energy she’s been building from the start. It’s bold, powerful, unapologetic, and drenched in personality. Sabrina taps into that dark feminine energy in a way that feels authentic and deliberate, and the sonic world around her supports every bit of that vision.

Kintsugi

Kintsugi’s Disappointed is one of those tracks that doesn’t rush itself, and that patience is exactly where its strength lies. From the opening moments, there’s a heavy emotional undercurrent that immediately sets the tone. It feels introspective and worn in, like a late night thought process put to sound. Rather than going straight for impact, the track allows the mood to slowly settle around the listener, creating a sense of quiet tension that stays present throughout. Musically, the track walks a fine line between restraint and weight. There’s a grit to the instrumentation that feels raw and honest, but it never tips into chaos. Everything feels carefully placed, giving the song a grounded, almost brooding atmosphere. The progression is subtle but effective, with each section building just enough to keep you engaged without breaking the emotional spell it casts. It’s not flashy or overproduced, and that works in its favour. What really stands out is how well Disappointed captures a specific emotional space. There’s a strong sense of frustration and emotional fatigue running through the track, but it’s expressed with maturity rather than anger. It feels less about lashing out and more about sitting with those feelings, acknowledging them, and letting them exist. That honesty makes the song easy to connect with, especially for anyone who’s experienced that quiet sense of let-down that doesn’t always have a clear outlet. Vocally, there’s a vulnerability that cuts through the instrumentation without overpowering it. The delivery feels natural and unforced, adding to the track’s authenticity. It doesn’t come across as a performance aimed at impressing; instead, it feels like someone speaking honestly in real time. That sincerity gives the track its emotional weight, making the lyrics feel personal without being inaccessible. By the time the track reaches its conclusion, Disappointed leaves a lasting impression without relying on a dramatic climax. It lingers in mood and emotion rather than chasing a big moment. Kintsugi show a clear understanding of how to translate feeling into sound, and this track stands as a strong example of that balance. Thoughtful, emotionally grounded, and confident in its subtlety, it’s a song that rewards listeners who are willing to sit with it and really take it in.

Exitwounds

An Offering to Tragedy is a bruising, emotionally charged EP that sees ExitWounds leaning fully into their darker instincts while tightening their grip on structure and atmosphere. Across its runtime, the EP balances sheer physical heaviness with a sense of intent, every riff, vocal outburst, and tempo shift feels deliberate rather than excessive. This is a release that doesn’t waste time trying to impress, it simply overwhelms through conviction. From the opening moments, the EP establishes a hostile, suffocating tone. Guitars arrive sharp and abrasive, cutting through the mix with a controlled sense of chaos, while the rhythm section locks into punishing grooves that feel built to crush rather than rush. There’s an underlying tension in the way the songs unfold, even during slower passages, the music feels coiled and ready to snap. ExitWounds clearly understand how to use restraint as a weapon, allowing anticipation to do as much damage as the breakdowns themselves. Vocally, the EP is relentless. The performances feel deeply personal, as though each track is being exorcised rather than performed. Harsh vocals dominate, but there’s an emotional range within that aggression, anguish, fury, and defiance all bleed through, giving the material a human core beneath the weight. When the EP dips into more atmospheric or melodic moments, it never softens the impact; instead, it heightens it, making the returns to full force heaviness feel even more punishing. One of the strongest aspects of An Offering to Tragedy is its pacing. Despite its relatively short length, the EP feels complete, not rushed. Each track adds something distinct to the overall arc, whether through a subtle shift in rhythm, a more suffocating tone, or a moment of unexpected vulnerability. The sequencing works in the EP’s favour, creating a sense of progression that keeps the listener locked in from start to finish. The production supports this vision well. Everything hits hard without sounding over polished, the low end has real weight, the drums feel physical, and the guitars retain their bite without becoming washed out. There’s a raw edge throughout that suits the EP’s themes, allowing imperfections to add character rather than detract from the experience. Rather than chasing trends or leaning too heavily on genre tropes, ExitWounds use An Offering to Tragedy to solidify their identity. It’s heavy without being hollow, emotional without becoming melodramatic, and aggressive without losing focus. The EP feels like a statement of intent, not just a collection of tracks, but a declaration of where the band stands creatively. By the time it ends, An Offering to Tragedy leaves a lasting impression. It doesn’t aim for easy replay value instead, it rewards immersion. This is an EP built for listeners who want their heavy music to feel confronting, cathartic, and honest. ExitWounds sound confident here, and if this release is any indication, they’re far from done pushing their sound into darker, heavier territory.

Volumes

Volumes return with Bad Habit, a single that feels like the most natural evolution of their sound in years, not a reinvention, not a nostalgia piece, but a confident step into a space they’ve been circling for a long time. There’s an almost effortless clarity to it, the kind that comes from a band who’ve lived through their own chaos, reshaped their identity more than once, and come out the other side understanding exactly what they want to say and how they want to say it. What immediately stands out is how mature the whole track feels. Volumes have always been known for that unmistakable bounce and low end power, but Bad Habit doesn’t lean on those traits as a crutch. Instead, the heaviness is woven into the emotion, supporting the mood rather than stealing the spotlight. The guitars still hit with that thick, chest compressing weight, but they sit in a darker, more atmospheric haze, creating space for the song’s emotional core. There’s a tension running underneath everything, a sense of spiralling introspection that mirrors the song’s themes perfectly. Vocally, this is one of the most human performances the band have delivered. The cleans feel weary in a way that doesn’t try to force sadness, it’s more like someone speaking honestly, voice cracking just slightly under the weight of their own realisation. There’s no polish for the sake of gloss; the tone is emotional without drifting into melodrama. When the harsher vocals break through, they feel like the internal voice that’s been buried under restraint, finally boiling over. The interplay between the two isn’t a gimmick, it’s the heart of the song, each side representing a different shade of self-confrontation. Thematically, Bad Habit digs into the frustrating cycles we create for ourselves. It’s that painfully familiar feeling of knowing exactly where you keep going wrong and still stumbling into the same patterns anyway. The song doesn’t glamorise it or dramatise it, it just sits in that uncomfortable truth and lets the tension build. That’s where Volumes have grown the most, they allow the emotion to breathe instead of trying to push the song into constant peaks. The restraint makes the heavy moments land twice as hard, not because they’re louder, but because they’re earned. Production wise, the track carries this warm, cinematic darkness. Everything feels big but not bloated, polished but not plastic. The drums are precise but still hold a human feel, and the ambience that lingers behind the main riffs gives the whole track a slightly fog covered atmosphere, like a late night drive with unresolved thoughts pressing on your chest. There’s a sense of gravity in the mix, a weight that keeps pulling you back into the centre of the song’s emotional loop. What makes Bad Habit so compelling is how naturally it seems to capture where Volumes are right now. There’s no desperation to be heavier, no chase for trends, no attempt to outdo their past. Instead, it feels like a band who know their strengths, groove, emotion, atmosphere and are finally blending them with a level of honesty that hits deeper than any low tuned riff ever could. It’s reflective, bruised, and quietly powerful, the kind of song that lingers after it ends because it feels like a conversation you’ve had with yourself more than once. If this track is a sign of where the band’s next chapter is heading, then Volumes might be stepping into their most compelling era yet. Bad Habit doesn’t shout to get your attention, it draws you in with its emotional weight, its controlled heaviness, and its sense of lived-in authenticity. It’s a reminder that growth doesn’t always come with fanfare, sometimes it arrives in songs like this, where a band simply sounds comfortable being themselves and, because of that, hits harder than ever.

Spanish Love Songs

Spanish Love Songs have always excelled at capturing the tension between despair and hope, and with A Brief Intermission in the Flattening of Time, they manage to condense that emotional intensity into a remarkably focused four-track offering. At just over thirteen minutes, this EP is brief but far from insubstantial, it’s a concentrated burst of the band’s trademark blend of raw lyricism, melodic urgency, and emotional intimacy. Every second feels deliberate, making the EP feel less like a stopgap and more like a distilled statement of purpose. The collaborations here are subtle but powerful, with contributions from The Wonder Years, Kevin Devine, illuminati hotties, and Tigers Jaw. These guest appearances never feel gimmicky or forced; instead, they amplify the emotional resonance of the songs, threading additional textures into Spanish Love Songs already rich sonic landscape. Each voice feels like a companion in the conversation the band is having with the listener, adding layers of meaning without overshadowing the core identity of the band. Musically, the EP balances urgency with quiet sophistication. Guitar lines are punchy yet melodic, rhythms are taut and propulsive, and there’s a sense of momentum that keeps the listener engaged from start to finish. But what makes this record linger is the lyrical vulnerability. The band has a way of making the personal feel universal, these songs read like confessions and reflections, grappling with temporal dislocation, existential fatigue, and the subtle heartbreaks of everyday life. It’s an intimacy that invites the listener in, making the brief runtime feel more like a shared breath than a fleeting visit. Even in its brevity, the EP doesn’t hold back emotionally. It’s concise, yes, but each moment carries weight. Spanish Love Songs have distilled their strengths, their emotional honesty, narrative dexterity, and melodic precision into an efficient, powerful package. There’s a sense of urgency in the music that mirrors the themes of the record: life moving quickly, moments slipping by, and yet finding connection, meaning, and catharsis in the small spaces we can carve out. A Brief Intermission in the Flattening of Time is exactly what it promises, a pause, a reflective moment in a world that often feels relentless and flattened. And yet, in its concentrated form, it leaves a lasting impression, reaffirming Spanish Love Songs place as one of the most thoughtful and emotionally resonant voices in modern punk. Short, sharp, and deeply affecting, this EP is both a testament to the band’s growth and a reminder of why their music continues to resonate so strongly with listeners.

Deficit

With Deathstyle, Deficit finally step into the version of themselves they’ve been hinting at for years, heavier, sharper, more self assured, and far more dangerous. This EP isn’t a stylistic experiment or a pivot, it’s a declaration. A sharpening of teeth. The moment where a band stops sampling influences and instead knits them into something that feels unmistakably their own. What stands out from the opening moments is the attitude. Not the put on, try hard aggression you hear in a lot of modern heavy bands, but a genuine, chest out confidence that comes from years of grinding in Australia’s metal/hardcore ecosystem. Deficit have always straddled the lines between metalcore, hardcore, nu-metal and death metal, but here they stop worrying about fitting any mold at all. Deathstyle is simply the sound of the band doing whatever hits the hardest, groove when it grooves, stomp when it stomps, swing when it swings and trusting their instincts more than the algorithm. There’s a rawness to the production that works massively in their favour. Nothing feels over polished or sanded down. The guitars bite instead of shimmer, the drums land like blunt trauma, and the vocals cut through with an emotional weight that feels lived in rather than digitally sweetened. It gives the whole project this sweaty, brick walled energy like the EP was built from the ground up for small rooms packed too tight, not studio perfection. The greatest strength of Deathstyle is how rhythmic it is. Deficit lean heavily into groove and bounce in ways that feel more inspired by late 90s heavy music than anything in the current metalcore circuit. There’s swagger threaded through the whole project, that looseness, that sense of deliberate attitude that you only get from a band fully locked into its identity. Instead of drowning listeners in breakdowns for the sake of brutality, Deficit make every heavy moment feel earned, using tension, dynamics, and pacing to let the big punches land like body shots. Vocally, the performance is the most versatile and expressive the band has ever sounded. There’s grit, there’s sneer, there’s a bit of theatrical menace in the delivery but it all sits inside the same emotional palette. Nothing feels forced or performed, it sounds like someone who’s walked through the worst parts of themselves and come back swinging. Lyrically, the EP carries themes of resilience, frustration, pushback, and self definition, but it never gets lost in metaphor or melodrama. Everything hits with the clarity of someone speaking from real experience. If there’s one thing that makes Deathstyle feel like a turning point for the band, it’s that it finally captures the live threat Deficit are known for. The energy is punchy and confrontational, but also surprisingly catchy. It’s heavy music that wants to move with you, not just crush you into the floor. The riffs have personality. The rhythms have purpose. The choruses, when they appear, feel like rallying cries rather than hooks written to be hooks. More than anything, this EP feels like identity. The creation of a lane, a sound, and a banner they can plant going forward. They’re not trying to reinvent heavy music, they’re just building a version of it that feels authentic to them, built on grit, groove, and a refusal to stay in one box. And in a genre full of repetition and safety, that honesty is what hits the hardest. Deathstyle isn’t just Deficit’s best work yet, it’s the release that finally makes them feel like a band with their own orbit. A band with something to say, and the weight to make you listen.

Actus Reus

Actus Reus return with Tension, a single that feels like the band tightening every bolt in their sound and finally showing just how precise and intentional they can be. It’s a track built around pressure, emotional, sonic, and internal and they channel that pressure into something that feels both suffocating and strangely energising. From the first second, the band lock into a riff that doesn’t just open the song, it sets the tone, sharp, restless, and constantly driving forward as if it’s trying to outrun the weight on its back. What makes Tension stand out is the way the heaviness isn’t just loud or aggressive, it’s expressive. The guitars move between tight, palm muted grooves and more open, atmospheric passages that give the song its sense of space. There’s a cold clarity to the tone that makes every note feel intentional, like the band are carving out room for the emotion behind it rather than simply filling the mix. The drums hold everything together with a really clean sense of momentum they don’t overplay, but they always add just enough extra detail to keep the track feeling alive and unpredictable. Vocally, this might be one of Actus Reus most balanced performances to date. The harsh delivery hits with real conviction not just heavy for the sake of being heavy, but heavy in a way that feels like someone finally snapping after holding everything in for too long. The phrasing is sharp, controlled, and lands perfectly against the instrumentation. Then the melodic moments step in, not as a break from the intensity, but as a different way of expressing it. They’re honest, a bit wounded, and they widen the emotional scope in a way that makes the track feel more human. That contrast is where the track really thrives. Lyrically, Tension feels like a reflection on internal conflict, the kind that builds slowly, quietly, and then suddenly erupts when you run out of room to hold it anymore. The words hit that relatable point between anger and exhaustion, capturing that moment when you’re pushed so far that the only thing left is release. What’s impressive is that the band don’t rely on cliches they keep it open ended enough that anyone listening can apply their own meaning to it, whether that’s personal struggles, mental strain, or emotional burnout. When the breakdown finally lands, it doesn’t feel tacked on or obligatory. It feels earned, the natural release after three minutes of rising pressure. Instead of a standard big heavy moment, they craft something that feels like the emotional centre of the song. It hits hard, but more importantly, it hits purposefully. Production adds another layer of strength. Everything is balanced and spacious but still weighty. There’s clarity without losing grit, and the mix allows all those small details, the pauses, the resonance, the layering to breathe. It’s the kind of production that enhances the storytelling behind the heaviness rather than smoothing it out. In the bigger picture, Tension feels like a statement piece for Actus Reus. It shows refinement, maturity, and an understanding of their own strengths. They’re leaning into atmosphere without letting go of intensity, grounding the emotion without losing the chaos, and creating something that sits comfortably between catharsis and craftsmanship. If this is where the band are heading, they’re clearly stepping into a new era with confidence and clarity.

As I Lay Dying

If I Fall kicks in with that immediate hit of energy that As I Lay Dying have always been great at, the kind of opening that grabs you before you even settle into the track. The guitars rush forward with this sharp, slicing momentum that feels both familiar and newly fired up, like a band stepping back into the light with something to prove. There’s this tight rhythmic pulse running through the whole thing, the drums punching in with precision and giving the track that heavy backbone that keeps you locked in from the first second. It doesn’t feel recycled or stuck in old habits either, there’s a freshness in the way everything snaps together, like they’ve shaken the dust off and come back hungry. The vocal dynamics hit really well here. The harsh vocals come through with this rawness that carries a lot of emotional grit, and you can tell there’s real weight behind the delivery. When the clean chorus drops in, it doesn’t soften the impact instead it opens the song up, letting a bit of vulnerability cut through the heaviness without losing any intensity. It’s one of those choruses that sticks because it feels like it’s genuinely lifting the track rather than trying to chase some radio friendly moment. That rise and fall between aggression and melody gives the whole track this push and pull tension that keeps it engaging the entire way through. Lyrically, If I Fall leans into themes of slipping, rebuilding, confronting your own flaws, and figuring out who you still want to be when everything feels unstable. There’s a sense of reflection without desperation, more like someone trying to claw their way through a personal collapse and still come out the other side with intention and self awareness. You can hear that in the tone of the vocals, in the way the instrumentation swells at the right moments, and in the overall pacing of the track. It’s emotional, but it never loses its edge. The writing feels like it’s coming from a place of lived experience, which gives the whole track a deeper resonance. What stands out throughout is how tight and unified the band sounds. The new lineup brings a spark that’s really noticeable, the performances have a clarity and drive that makes the whole track feel like it’s constantly pushing forward. The riffs aren’t just heavy, they’re purposeful, the drums don’t just hit hard, they’re dialed in with this focus that keeps the momentum flowing. You can hear that everyone is locked into the same vision, creating something that doesn’t feel like a reheated version of past work but rather a new chapter that actually has something behind it. The chemistry is there, and it shows in how naturally the parts fit together. The whole track carries this sense of urgency and determination, like a band stepping out with a clear sense of direction. There’s no moment where it drags or loses intention, every section leads smoothly into the next, building on the emotional tone without letting up on the heaviness. If I Fall doesn’t try to reinvent the wheel, but it doesn’t have to, it sharpens what the band has always done well while adding a renewed sense of clarity and emotional grit. It comes across like a statement of where they are right now, grounded, intense, and ready to move forward with real momentum.

Second Harbour

Second Harbour’s Mourning Dove is one of those tracks that doesn’t rush to impress you, it lets its weight settle slowly, like a memory resurfacing. From the opening moments, it’s clear the band is leaning into a more reflective, atmospheric space, building a sound that feels intimate without ever becoming fragile. There’s a real emotional presence here, something honest and unforced, and that’s what makes the track stand out. The instrumental palette is gentle but intentional. Soft, layered guitars and warm ambience form the spine of the song, giving it a kind of twilight glow, that hour where the world quiets down and everything feels a little heavier than usual. The production is clean, yet not so polished that it loses its humanity. There’s still texture and breath in the mix, something that allows the listener to lean in rather than be pushed back by shiny edges. It puts the vocals front and centre, which is exactly where they need to be. Vocally, the track carries a sense of longing that never spills into melodrama. The delivery is calm, almost resigned, but you can feel the ache underneath. The lyrics seem to sit in that space between mourning and acceptance, the kind of emotional territory where you’re not breaking, you’re just acknowledging what’s already cracked. The mourning dove metaphor is used with a light touch, more of an emotional thread than a literal symbol, and it ties the whole mood together. Where the song shines is in its pacing. Second Harbour aren’t afraid to give the track space. Moments of restraint, quieter passages, and the slight holding back before emotional peaks all work in the song’s favour. It’s a track that breathes. That controlled pacing also makes the bigger sections feel earned, when the chorus opens up, it doesn’t explode, but it expands with a calm certainty that hits just as hard as a punchier approach. There’s an undeniable warmth beneath the sadness of the song, and that’s what gives Mourning Dove staying power. It’s reflective but not depressing, emotional but not overwrought. It feels like closure, the moment after the storm where everything is still a bit damp and broken, but the air is lighter. Second Harbour manage to capture that feeling with real clarity, and they do it without relying on clichés or overproduction. Overall, Mourning Dove is a beautifully restrained, emotionally grounded track that shows Second Harbour working with a level of maturity and intention that really suits them. It’s the kind of song that finds its audience quietly, late night listeners, headphones on train rides, people looking for something soft but affecting. A subtle standout from a band clearly finding their voice, and doing it with a genuine sense of purpose.

Blackbird

It’s Only Temporary lands with the kind of presence that doesn’t shout for attention but earns it naturally, almost immediately. There’s a maturity to this album not in the sense of being polished to death, but in how assured the band sound in their choices. Every decision feels intentional, the pacing, the atmosphere, even the way the heavier moments hit. It’s the kind of record where you can tell the band weren’t trying to impress anyone but themselves, and that honesty ends up being the thing that stands out. The first thing you really notice is how well Blackbird blend emotional weight with musical punch. The guitars have this rugged, almost weathered tone that gives the whole album a backbone, but instead of just leaning on heaviness, the band use that grit to frame something more introspective. There’s a real sense of push and pull moments where the sound feels huge and driven, then others where everything scales back, letting melodies and textures step forward. It creates a living, breathing flow that holds your attention without ever feeling forced. What’s particularly strong here is the band’s sense of space. They leave room for songs to expand naturally, allowing tension to build and settle in a way that feels very human. The drum work quietly shapes a lot of that dynamic shifting from tight, focused rhythms into looser, more atmospheric passages when the mood calls for it. And the vocals carry that same balance. They’re delivered with a kind of grounded emotion, never tipping into melodrama, but always giving you enough to latch onto. You can hear the thought behind the delivery, the way certain lines are pushed harder or eased back to let the meaning sit. Sonically, the band manage to keep the album cohesive while still exploring different shades of their sound. There are parts that lean into darker, heavier territory, and others that reach toward something almost cinematic, but nothing feels out of place. Instead, each change in tone feels like another facet of the same story. The production plays a big role in that, it keeps everything warm and slightly raw around the edges, resisting the urge to sterilise or over perfect anything. That texture makes the emotional themes hit harder. Speaking of themes, the album’s title really does capture its core. It’s Only Temporary circles around ideas of impermanence, change, the moments that slip through your fingers whether you want them to or not. But instead of feeling bleak, it lands more like acceptance, a kind of reflection on the way everything keeps moving. The band explore it with a subtlety that works in their favour, the emotion is there, strong and unmissable, but never spelled out in neon lights. As a full piece, the album has a genuine arc to it. You feel it gradually gathering weight, then loosening its grip, then tightening again almost like someone working through something in real time. By the time it ends, it leaves you with that familiar, lingering heaviness that only comes from records built on real experiences rather than posturing. In the end, It’s Only Temporary is one of those albums that grows the more you sit with it. Blackbird have crafted something that feels personal without being inward looking, heavy without being blunt, atmospheric without drifting. It’s a deeply honest record, the kind that sticks around because you can feel the life in it, the questions, the tension, the release, the acceptance. A genuinely compelling listen, and easily one of their most resonant works yet.

Netherwalker

From the opening notes of Odyssey of Respair, Netherwalker immediately establishes a sound that is both punishing and cinematic. This is deathcore at its heaviest, but with a scope and ambition that pushes it beyond the genre’s usual boundaries. Across fourteen tracks, the band constructs a sprawling narrative: three knights embark on a perilous quest through monstrous landscapes, battling enemies both physical and metaphysical, striving to save their kingdom from encroaching darkness. The album feels like a journey in itself, and the music mirrors that narrative progression with shifting moods, textures, and intensity. The guitar work is relentless and intricate, alternating between crushing, low end riffs and faster, more technical passages that demand attention. There are moments of melodic sophistication woven into the chaos, with harmonized leads and symphonic flourishes that give certain sections an almost orchestral weight. These elements don’t feel tacked on, they’re integrated into the songwriting, amplifying the sense of epic storytelling. Songs like Sea of Sirens and For Princess Elizabeth, We Fly! are prime examples of this approach, combining heavy riffs with soaring melodic lines that elevate the dramatic tension. Alex Calver’s vocal performance is a standout, providing both ferocity and nuance. He moves seamlessly between guttural growls and high intensity screams, and the way he modulates his delivery enhances the album’s narrative flow. There’s a clear sense that the vocals are meant to convey not just aggression, but the emotional stakes of the story being told, whether in battle, reflection, or moments of tension. The drums and rhythm section underpin everything with precision, delivering punishing breakdowns while also maintaining the dynamic shifts that give the album its cinematic breadth. Tracks like Frost Troll and Tavern showcase the band’s ability to balance technical skill with memorable hooks. The former hits with sheer intensity and energy, blending heavy grooves with intricate lead work, while the latter reimagines earlier material in a way that feels fresh yet rooted in the band’s established sound. The album’s pacing keeps listeners engaged from start to finish, alternating between moments of unrelenting aggression and passages that allow for reflection or heightened tension, effectively mirroring the narrative arc of the knights journey. Lyrically, Odyssey of Respair embraces high concept fantasy storytelling without ever feeling distant or inaccessible. Themes of heroism, sacrifice, and perseverance run throughout, and the imagery is vivid, painting battles and landscapes that feel tangible through sound alone. The symphonic elements underscore this narrative rather than overwhelming it, adding layers of atmosphere and tension. There are moments where the production leans toward density, and some layers could benefit from a bit more clarity, but this is a minor critique in an otherwise ambitious and cohesive work. The album demonstrates Netherwalker’s commitment to blending brutality with grandeur. While there are familiar deathcore tropes crushing breakdowns, rapid-fire blast beats, and aggressive riffing, these elements are reframed within a larger, more expansive vision. The interplay between heavy and melodic, aggressive and dramatic, creates an experience that feels immersive, like stepping into the story itself rather than just listening to individual tracks. Overall, Odyssey of Respair is a bold and ambitious debut. Netherwalker establish themselves as a band unafraid to push the limits of deathcore, blending narrative depth, technical skill, and epic atmosphere into a compelling musical journey. It’s an album that rewards multiple listens, revealing new details in its intricate guitar work, dynamic vocals, and layered production. For fans of story driven, cinematic deathcore, this is an album that sets a high bar and promises even greater things to come.

Primaluce

Primaluce’s latest release, Dark Mirrors, is an immersive journey into the heart of modern progressive metal, and it feels like a statement of purpose for the band. From the very first track, Fractured Reflection, the listener is drawn into a world where technical precision meets emotive storytelling. The opening track sets the tone with intricate guitar riffs layered over dynamic drumming, immediately establishing that this is an album that rewards attention and repeated listens. There’s a cinematic quality to the arrangements that makes each track feel like a scene in a larger narrative, and the production is polished without ever losing the organic energy of the performances. Beneath the Tide showcases Primaluce’s ability to balance heaviness with melody. The tension between shadow and light, a recurring motif throughout the album is especially evident here, with moody atmospheric passages giving way to soaring guitar leads that feel both triumphant and introspective. The title track, Dark Mirrors, stands out as a purely instrumental centerpiece. It’s a masterclass in layering and pacing, weaving together hypnotic rhythms, subtle synth textures, and emotive guitar work in a way that feels almost cinematic. Listening to it, you can’t help but feel that the band is exploring not just musical boundaries, but emotional ones as well. Tracks like Falling Through the Rain and Aillusions continue to demonstrate the band’s knack for melding technical skill with accessible hooks. The rhythmic shifts are executed flawlessly, but they never feel mechanical, each change serves the song’s emotional arc. Meanwhile, Glass Horizon and the closing The Garden of Glass bring the album to a reflective, almost meditative close, leaving the listener with a sense of completion and emotional resonance. Overall, Dark Mirrors is a striking release that underscores Primaluce’s growth as musicians and storytellers. It’s an album that invites repeated listening, revealing new layers and subtle nuances with every playthrough. The band has managed to craft a work that is both intricate and approachable, emotive and technically impressive, a rare combination that makes this one of the standout progressive metal releases of the year.

Avralize

liminal is the kind of album that doesn’t shout for attention, but once it has you, it doesn’t let go easily. There’s an understated confidence running through it, a sense that Avralize know exactly what they’re doing and don’t feel the need to overexplain themselves. Rather than leaning on constant intensity or obvious hooks, the album works through mood, texture and momentum, slowly pulling the listener into its world. What stands out early on is how fluid everything feels. The transitions between heavy, melodic and atmospheric moments are smooth and deliberate, giving the album a natural ebb and flow. Nothing feels bolted together or thrown in for the sake of variety. Instead, there’s a strong sense of cohesion, as if every part exists to serve the bigger picture rather than individual moments trying to steal the spotlight. Rhythm plays a massive role in shaping the album’s identity. Even at its heaviest, liminal never feels stiff or overly rigid. There’s groove woven into the foundation, giving the music a physical presence that’s hard to ignore. It’s not just about crushing riffs or aggressive passages, it’s about how those moments move, how they sit in the pocket, and how they interact with the more restrained sections. That sense of movement keeps the album feeling alive from start to finish. The vocal approach adds another layer of depth. Clean vocals carry emotion without drifting into predictability, striking a balance between accessibility and sincerity. They feel human and expressive, not glossy or detached. When harsher vocals come into play, they add tension and urgency rather than overwhelming the songs. The contrast between the two is used thoughtfully, creating dynamic shifts that enhance the emotional weight of the album rather than flattening it. Lyrically and tonally, there’s a reflective quality running throughout liminal. It has an introspective edge, touching on uncertainty, transition and internal conflict without spelling everything out. That ambiguity works in the album’s favour, allowing listeners to project their own experiences onto it. It feels personal without being closed off, inviting rather than isolating. The production deserves attention for how well it supports that atmosphere. It’s clean, modern and detailed, but never sterile. Each element has room to breathe, from the layered guitars to the low end presence that anchors the album. The vocals sit comfortably within the mix, always clear but never dominating. It’s the kind of production that reveals more nuance the more time you spend with it, rewarding repeat listens rather than exhausting the listener on first impact. One of the album’s biggest strengths is its pacing. liminal understands when to pull back and when to push forward. Instead of relying on constant peaks, it builds tension gradually, letting moments of restraint make the heavier sections feel more impactful. That sense of control keeps the album engaging across its full runtime, avoiding the burnout that often comes with records that try to go too hard for too long. There’s also a noticeable sense of identity here. Avralize aren’t trying to squeeze themselves into a predefined genre box. While elements of modern metalcore and alternative metal are present, the album feels broader than that, drawing from multiple influences without losing focus. It’s heavy without being oppressive, melodic without being soft, and experimental without feeling directionless. As a complete listening experience, liminal feels intentional and carefully crafted. It plays best when taken in as a whole, where the subtle shifts in tone and intensity can fully register. The album doesn’t rely on instant gratification, it unfolds gradually, encouraging patience and attention. That approach gives it longevity, making it the kind of record that grows stronger with familiarity. Ultimately, liminal feels like a turning point rather than a stepping stone. It captures a band refining their sound, sharpening their instincts and trusting their creative decisions. There’s ambition here, but it’s grounded in solid songwriting and emotional awareness. It’s not trying to redefine heavy music, but it doesn’t need to, instead it offers a confident, immersive album that feels honest, thoughtful and deeply engaging. For listeners willing to sit with it, liminal rewards time and attention. It’s an album that lingers, not because of one standout moment, but because of how everything works together. A strong, assured release that shows Avralize continuing to grow into their own space, rather than chasing someone else’s.

1986

From the first second of Static Burn, 1986 hit you square in the chest with a riff that’s equal parts vicious and hypnotic. It’s the kind of opening that immediately says, we mean business, but there’s more to it than just noise, the guitars crunch and grind with a warmth that somehow makes all that heaviness feel alive. The drums punch in with a tight, almost impatient energy, and the bass locks everything together, giving the track a solid, grounded weight while letting the chaos swirl on top. What really hooks you is the way the song moves. At first, it feels straightforward, riff driven, almost meditative in its repetition, but then the tension slowly builds. The band knows how to play with space, pull back the guitars, let the drums breathe, then slam everything back full force. Every breakdown lands like a sucker punch, and you can feel the thought behind each shift, it’s heavy music that’s alive, not just wall of sound aggression. Vocally, the delivery is fierce without ever tipping into over the top screaming. There’s grit, there’s edge, and a sense that the singer’s pouring some real life frustration into every line. You can almost hear the sweat in the room if you imagine them playing live. The lyrics themselves tap into that same feeling of friction and restlessness, moments of tension, moments of release, all wrapped in the raw energy the band radiates. By the time the track hits its climax, all the elements are firing in perfect sync, shredding riffs, punchy drums, thick bass, and vocals that push and pull with the rhythm. It’s intense without feeling cluttered, aggressive but never careless. Even the quieter passages serve a purpose, letting the heavier hits land that much harder, and giving you room to catch your breath before the next wave of sonic assault. In the end, Static Burn feels like a live snapshot of 1986 at their best, raw, unfiltered, and full of character. You get the sense that they’re not just playing music, they’re telling a story, one riff and drum hit at a time. It’s a track that grabs you, shakes you, and leaves you wanting more, a perfect example of how a modern heavy band can still feel grounded, passionate, and utterly alive. For anyone into heavy, riff driven music with a pulse and personality, this is a track that’s impossible to ignore.

Ben Quad

Wisher feels like the moment a band stops second guessing who they are and just leans into everything that makes their sound hit the way it does. From the very first few seconds you can tell they’ve pushed themselves further than before, not in a flashy “listen to how different we are now” way, but in that more subtle, mature sense where the songwriting has more intention, more patience, and more emotional weight without losing the scrappy, heart on sleeve energy that’s always been part of their DNA. There’s this warm haze running through the whole record, like nostalgia mixed with clarity, the kind of clarity that only shows up after you’ve been knocked down a few times and finally understand what parts of yourself are still worth fighting for. The guitars still carry that familiar sharpness, but they’re layered in a way that feels richer, almost comforting at times, before flipping into these bright, punchy runs that let the choruses lift. The band clearly had fun experimenting little synth touches, glitchy moments, shifts in texture that don’t feel forced. It’s still emo at the core, but with a wider emotional palette, and that’s what makes the album so engaging. You get that trademark Ben Quad urgency, but it’s wrapped in something more reflective like they’re admitting they’re older, that the stakes are a bit different now, but they’re still stubborn enough to push through the heaviness with big melodies and bigger feelings. What stands out most is how openly the album wrestles with wanting things to get better, wanting yourself to grow, wanting distance to make sense, wanting the past to stop holding so much power. A lot of emo bands try to sound hopeful, Ben Quad actually means it here. Even when the lyrics lean into frustration or self doubt, there’s a thread of optimism running through everything, that quiet voice that says, “Yeah, things hurt but you’re still here. Keep wanting more.” It’s relatable in a way that doesn’t feel preachy or melodramatic, it’s just honest. They write about grief, longing, friendships that fracture and heal, all with this very human sense that none of us have it figured out, but we’re still trying. The features add some welcome texture, especially the moments where the guest vocals blend into the band’s already emotive style. Those tracks feel less like features and more like the album opening its arms a little wider. And the closing moments of the record tie everything together beautifully, messy emotions, catchy hooks, and that last burst of energy that leaves you feeling like you’ve gone through something with them rather than just listened to a playlist. Wisher is one of those albums that doesn’t need to shout to get its point across. It sits with you, tells you its stories, lets you breathe in all the things you’ve been putting off thinking about, and then quietly reminds you that wishing for something better isn’t naive, it’s necessary. It’s Ben Quad growing up without losing the spark that made people connect with them in the first place, and it’s easily their most confident, complete work to date. If you’ve ever needed a record that holds the messy parts of life in one hand and the hopeful parts in the other, this one hits exactly where it needs to.

Asira

With As Ink in Water, Asira emerge not just as a progressive metal band, but as a band willing to confront the rawest edges of human experience and translate them into music that’s both expansive and deeply personal. There’s an emotional honesty here that feels rare in modern heavy music, grief, doubt, trauma, faith, and the slow grind of healing thread through the record in ways that are tangible, relatable, and quietly cathartic. It’s a record that doesn’t ask you to admire its technical skill though it has plenty of that, it asks you to feel it. Musically, the album thrives on contrast. The band moves seamlessly between blackened intensity, soaring melodic lines, and atmospheric shoegaze textures, all layered with subtle progressive flourishes that keep the sound rich without ever feeling overblown. Vocals both harsh and clean cut with emotional precision, while choral and soprano contributions float through at moments of reflection, giving certain passages a haunting, almost spiritual quality. The production is warm and spacious, letting each element resonate, the heaviness hits hard, but the quieter moments are given as much room to breathe, making the album feel like a living, breathing narrative rather than a collection of songs. What sets As Ink in Water apart is how human it feels. Even in its heaviest passages, there’s a sense of vulnerability, even in its quietest, a quiet defiance. It’s an album that wrestles with mortality, belief, and emotional fragility, yet it never sinks into despair. Instead, there’s a gentle strength underlying it, a sense that pain can be witnessed, expressed, and ultimately, transformed. By the end, the album lingers. It’s the kind of music that leaves a trace long after it’s finished emotionally, atmospherically, and musically. Asira have crafted a record that’s at once heavy, melodic, and deeply affecting, a cohesive, thoughtful, and profoundly human statement that cements their place as one of the more emotionally ambitious bands in modern progressive and blackened metal.

Annalynn

When it comes to the heavier side of metalcore, few bands from Asia carry the same sense of conviction and urgency as Thailand’s Annalynn. Their new single “BIOS” feels like a clean reboot not just a song, but a statement of intent. From the opening moments, you can tell they’ve sharpened their sound, fusing all that pent up energy with a focus and clarity that makes every note hit that little bit harder. The track opens in chaos, tight, biting riffs that twist around each other before crashing into a wall of drums that feel both precise and unrestrained. There’s an immediacy to the sound; it’s raw but controlled, heavy but still layered. Annalynn have always been known for balancing brutality with melody, and BIOS takes that balance and runs with it. Beneath all the aggression sits this pulsing sense of emotion, it’s not just anger for the sake of it, but something that feels personal, cathartic, and genuine. Vocally, the delivery is feral yet honest. Every scream carries weight, like it’s been pulled from somewhere real rather than performed for effect. The clean moments break through like air between waves, they don’t soften the track, but they give it space to feel human. Lyrically, BIOS explores the idea of transformation and rediscovery. the sense of breaking down to build back stronger, almost like wiping the slate clean and rewriting your own code. It’s a concept that fits Annalynn perfectly at this point in their journey. Production wise, it’s razor-sharp without losing that organic edge. The guitars cut through cleanly, the bass hums with depth, and the percussion drives everything forward with intent. You can hear the chemistry within the band that lived in tightness that only comes from years of playing together and pushing their sound across boundaries. What’s always made Annalynn stand out is their authenticity. There’s no pretending here, no need to chase trends or soften their edges to appeal to wider audiences. They simply sound like themselves, and BIOS is proof of how powerful that can be. It’s a track that feels massive but personal, heavy but alive, and it captures that perfect intersection between chaos and clarity. BIOS isn’t just another release, it’s Annalynn stepping forward, more confident than ever in who they are and what they represent. For fans of the genre, it’s everything you’d hope for, crushing breakdowns, layered emotion, and that feeling that you’ve just been through something meaningful by the time it ends. This is Annalynn back at full force, refined, resilient, and ready to take the next step.

Cabin Boy Jumped Ship

Chemicals finds Cabin Boy Jumped Ship stepping fully into the version of themselves they’ve been building toward for years, that seamless fusion of crushing metalcore weight, electronic adrenaline and a moodiness that feels almost cinematic. What makes this single stand out isn’t just the blend of styles, but how confidently they move within that blend. Nothing here feels bolted on or thrown in for effect instead, everything locks together with a clarity that shows a band deep into their own creative identity. From the opening moments, there’s a palpable tension, the kind that sits low in the chest. The electronics give off this cold, neon glow, not overwhelming the mix but colouring it with a sense of unease. When the guitars step in, they hit with a dense, mechanical heaviness, almost percussive in the way they punch through the beat. It’s that familiar Cabin Boy backbone, but tightened and sharpened, like they’ve sanded down the excess and left only what serves the emotional hit. Vocally, the band land in that sweet spot between aggression and vulnerability. The harshes feel raw and immediate, carrying this undercurrent of desperation, while the cleans are delivered with a controlled intensity that never drifts into over-polished territory. There’s a lived-in edge to the performance, not glossy, not theatrical, just honest. The chorus, especially, has that kind of sticky melancholy that Cabin Boy do so well: catchy enough to loop in your head, but heavy with something unspoken underneath. Thematically, Chemicals taps into that internal war between destructive habits and the pull toward something better. It’s not melodramatic, it’s more like a quiet admission of how messy self treatment and coping mechanisms can become. The lyrics lean into that grey area where blame, guilt, and relief all blur. Even if the listener doesn’t catch every word, the emotional weight is right there in the delivery. Production wise, this is one of their most balanced tracks. The electronic elements aren’t just there for drops or transitions, they act like a second nervous system running parallel to the metalcore framework. You feel it in the low end pulses, in the glitchy stabs between vocal lines, in the way the ambience thickens right before a breakdown. When the heavier sections finally hit, they land with precision rather than brute force heavy enough to satisfy the core fans, but shaped in a way that serves the song’s emotional arc instead of derailing it. By the time Chemicals reaches its final stretch, there’s this sense of release, as if the tension built throughout has finally snapped. It doesn’t explode in a predictable breakdown for the sake of it moment instead, it feels earned, tied directly to the track’s narrative and atmosphere. Overall, Chemicals shows Cabin Boy Jumped Ship levelling up. It’s the sound of a band fully aware of what makes them unique and leaning into it with maturity and purpose. Heavy, melodic, and emotionally resonant, this track feels like a statement not a reinvention, but a refinement of everything that’s always made them compelling. It lands with impact, lingers after it ends, and invites you straight back in for another listen.

Autumn Fires

Autumn Fires new single “Fall For You” is a really strong, emotional, and energetic track. The song comes straight from the heart, lyrically expressing the relatable emotions of finding ‘the one’ The lyrics are sincere and show real vulnerability, telling a story through simple, poetic metaphors that are catchy without ever feeling cheesy. At the same time, it still carries that classic pop punk energy we’ve come to expect from Autumn Fires’ previous work. The production, with the help of Romesh Dodangoda (who’s worked with bands like Bring Me the Horizon, Funeral for a Friend, and Holding Absence), gives the track a polished, big sounding feel while still capturing a youthful, nostalgic energy. The hook is infectious and likely to stick in your head after just one or two listens, the kind of song you’ll find yourself replaying for months. It also serves as a strong introduction to the band’s upcoming album, Bloom, recorded through Marshall Records and set for release in February 2026. The single also highlights the band maturing and exploring new themes without losing the spark that makes them so relatable. If you’re a fan of Tonight Alive, Story of the Year, or Knuckle Puck, this song is a must listen. And if you’re looking for a great entry point into pop punk, “Fall For You” is perfect. As for Bloom, this single has me excited to hear what else Autumn Fires have been cooking up in the studio, I expect an album full of infectious riffs, heartfelt lyrics, and moments that’ll stick in your head long after the first listen.

The TV Casualties

The TV Casualties come out swinging with Teach Them Boys To Kill, a track that wastes absolutely no time making its presence known. From the first hit, it feels like you’ve been dropped straight into the middle of a grimy basement show, sweaty walls, blown-out speakers, and that raw, unfiltered energy that only a band living off adrenaline can deliver. What really stands out here is how the band walks the tightrope between chaos and control. The riffs are jagged and restless, like they’re trying to tear their way out of the mix, but there’s a tight, intentional groove underneath it all that keeps everything locked in. The drums hit with that frantic punk urgency, but they never lose the pocket. It’s aggressive, yes, but it’s not just noise, it’s focused, sharpened, and purposeful. Vocally, this track hits that perfect point between frustration and confrontation. There’s a sneer in the delivery, the kind that feels less like performance and more like someone pacing in a dim room, saying the quiet parts out loud because they’re tired of holding them in. The title sets the tone, but the execution takes it further, it feels like a critique, a warning, and a release all rolled into one. Production wise, the band keeps things rough around the edges, and it suits them. Nothing feels too polished or overly processed, and that grit adds character. It’s got that live wire feel, the kind where you can practically hear the amps buzz and imagine this song going off in a packed venue. Teach Them Boys To Kill ultimately lands as a punchy, urgent snapshot of who The TV Casualties are right now, loud, unapologetic, and not afraid to push into darker, more confrontational themes. It’s short, sharp, and hits exactly the way a track like this should. If this is the direction they’re leaning into, it feels like The TV Casualties are gearing up for something even bigger.

Luna Marble

Luna Marble’s self titled record feels like the kind of album that doesn’t try to grab you by the throat, it just pulls you in slowly, like a room filling with warmth. There’s a lived in, analogue spirit that runs through the whole thing, the sort of dusty, golden hour glow that only bands with a real sense of identity seem to capture. Right from the first moments, you’re hit with this haze of fuzzy guitars, thick low end, and vocals that float somewhere between soulful and smoky. It’s psych-rock with a pulse, alt rock with a bit of magic dust thrown over the top. What really defines Luna Marble, though, is how comfortable the band sound in their own world. There’s no sense of forcing anything. The songs unfold naturally, as if each riff, melody, and groove grows from the last. The guitars feel tactile, you can almost hear fingers dragging across strings, amps humming in the background. The bass and drums lock into these satisfyingly earthy grooves that make everything feel grounded, no matter how spaced out things get on top. And the vocals? They carry this warmth and confidence that ties it all together, never overpowering but always guiding the mood. The band lean into a 70s inspired palette, but they don’t treat it like a costume. Instead, they pull the textures they love, the swirling psych tones, the smoky blues rock edges, the unhurried pacing and bring them into a modern headspace. You get moments that feel like early Sabbath melting into Fleetwood Mac dreaminess, or flashes of All Them Witches desert mystique, but Luna Marble always land on something that feels distinctly theirs. It’s less about referencing the past and more about understanding what made that music timeless in the first place. One of the strengths of the album is how patient it is. Instead of stacking ideas just to keep things moving, Luna Marble let their songs breathe. They build atmosphere before impact, letting riffs stretch out and rhythms simmer under the surface. You get these slow-burning passages where it feels like the band are just losing themselves in the sound but they always know when to pull everything back into a hook or a melodic moment that sticks. It’s that push and pull, that dance between wandering and tightening the reins, that makes the record feel genuinely immersive. There’s also a really organic emotional thread running through the album. It’s not melodramatic, not over explained, it’s more like a feeling that lingers underneath everything. A kind of wistfulness, a dusty calm, a sense of trying to capture small, fleeting moments of clarity. Even when the guitars swell or the band drift into heavier territory, that subtle heartbeat remains. It makes the whole album feel cohesive, like all the songs are different parts of the same journey rather than separate chapters. By the time the final track fades out, you’re left with the impression that Luna Marble aren’t just carving out a sound, they’re carving out a space. A space where vintage tones, modern emotion, and effortless chemistry all coexist. It’s the sort of self titled album that doesn’t feel like an introduction at all. It feels like a declaration, this is who we are, this is what we sound like, and we’re only just getting started. Warm, hypnotic, unhurried, and full of character, Luna Marble is the kind of record you sit with, and then immediately want to revisit to sink a little deeper into its glow.

Set It Off

Some albums don’t just play, they hit. Set It Off is one of those records that comes at you fast, no apologies, no time to breathe. It’s loud, raw, and restless, the kind of energy that doesn’t ask permission to exist. Set It Off aren’t here to reinvent themselves; they’re here to reclaim something, the edge, the chaos, the honesty that maybe got lost somewhere along the way. Image kicks it all off like a slap to the senses. It’s confident but cracked, full of that battle between who you are and what the world expects you to be. The band sound like they’ve been waiting to explode, and this is the moment the pressure finally breaks. Everything’s tight, the guitars bite, the drums feel urgent but underneath it, there’s this lingering self-awareness that makes it more than just noise. Then comes Punching Bag and Rotten two songs soaked in defiance. They hit that place between frustration and clarity that point where anger turns into focus. There’s no filter, no smoothing out the rough edges. You can feel the exhaustion in every line, but you can also feel the strength it took to turn that exhaustion into something loud enough to shake the room. Switch and Fake Ass Friends push that energy even further. They’re sharp, fast, and dripping with attitude. Switch feels like finally flipping a breaker that’s been sparking for too long, while Fake Ass Friends just says what everyone else’s too polite to and that honesty is exactly what makes it hit. It’s not about being polished, it’s about being real. Whats In It For Me? slows things down emotionally not sonically, but in spirit. There’s a sense of questioning, of looking inward after all the noise. It’s one of those songs that doesn’t scream for attention but lingers after it ends. Then Evil People takes that introspection and spits it back out in flames, turning self-doubt into confrontation. There’s venom here, but it’s earned. When Wolf In Sheep’s Clothing [REBORN] hits, the whole record shifts. The word reborn says it all its transformation, not just repetition. It’s the sound of starting over, but with scars as proof. It’s defiant in a new way — not I’m angry, but Ive survived. Vicious Cycle and Creating Monsters carry that energy like twin reflections of the same theme, the endless loops we trap ourselves in, the versions of us we build to survive. They feel heavy, but not hopeless. There’s motion in the darkness, like running through fog but still moving forward. And then Parasite and Worst Case Scenarios close it out. Parasite is sharp, almost uncomfortable, a song that claws at the walls. Worst Case Scenarios feels like the emotional cooldown not calm, exactly, but clarity. The fight is still there, but the panic is gone. It ends not with fireworks, but with understanding. Set It Off is loud, messy, and honest but that’s the point. It’s about digging through anger to find identity, about realizing that maybe breaking down is the first real step toward building yourself back up. It’s not a perfect record, it doesn’t need to be. It’s human. It’s a reflection of all those late nights where everything feels like too much, but you keep going anyway. This isn’t an album trying to please anyone. It’s one that speaks directly to the people who feel too much, think too hard, and still show up every day. It’s not polished, it’s alive. And that’s exactly what makes it matter.

Soulfracture

Soulfracture’s return with The Leader of the Exploited feels like the kind of comeback that doesn’t rely on nostalgia or past reputation. Instead, it hits with this real, pent up energy like a band who’ve had years of life, frustration, and ideas sitting under their skin, and now everything’s being channelled straight into the music. There’s no warm up, no easing back into things. They come out swinging. One of the first things you notice is how self assured the whole EP feels. There’s no identity crisis, no searching for a new direction, just a heavier, more seasoned version of who they were before. The music has that old-school death/thrash backbone they built their name on, but there’s a modern punch to it too, like they’ve taken everything they used to do and hardened the edges even further. The riffs have more bite, the drums feel more locked in, and the vocals carry this almost snarling conviction that really pushes the atmosphere into darker territory. What really elevates the EP is the attitude behind it. Soulfracture have always had a socially conscious streak, but here it feels sharper, more frustrated, more deliberate. There’s this sense of looking around at the state of things and refusing to just sit with it quietly. The themes of exploitation, control, and people being worn down by the systems around them hit with more weight because the delivery is so intense. It doesn’t feel like they’re preaching, it feels like they’re venting and that honesty gives the music even more power. Musically, the EP has a really satisfying flow. Even without going track by track, you can feel how each song adds something to the overall picture. The pacing is tight, heavy sections land with force, the grooves hit in all the right places, and the melodic touches never take away from the aggression — they just give the songs more depth. You can also tell how locked in the band sound with each other. There’s a lot of chemistry here for a group returning after so long, and it shows in the way the songs punch forward without losing control. The production is raw, but in a way that gives the EP character. Nothing feels over polished or artificially boosted, it has that recorded by a real band in a real room energy, which actually suits Soulfracture perfectly. The slight rough edges add grit rather than taking anything away. If anything, they help the EP feel more honest, more human, more true to the band’s roots. By the time it ends, The Leader of the Exploited leaves a strong impression. It’s heavy, urgent, and full of purpose, the kind of comeback that makes you forget it’s been years since they last released music. Soulfracture sound hungry, inspired, and ready to make up for lost time. If this is the opening statement of their new chapter, then there’s a lot to look forward to.

Unwell

There are albums that entertain, albums that impress, and then there are albums like Allegoria, the ones that unravel you. UNWELL’s latest release isn’t concerned with perfection or polish, it’s an exploration of the cracks where the light gets in. Across ten tracks, the band crafts something that feels both cinematic and claustrophobic, brutal yet heartbreakingly intimate. It’s the sound of falling apart and learning to live in the aftermath. From the opening moments of Miracle it’s clear this record exists in the tension between beauty and decay. The song starts softly, all shimmering guitars and ghostlike harmonies, but there’s a fragility to it, a trembling undercurrent that suggests peace is only temporary. It’s a deliberate entry point, an almost deceptive calm before the emotional collapse that follows. Miracle doesn’t explode, it erodes, slowly peeling back its own serenity until all that’s left is a quiet ache. Then Airless takes over, and suddenly the world feels smalle, tighter. The production grows dense, almost suffocating. Every snare hit feels like a pulse skipping under stress. The vocals strain just enough to make you feel the weight behind them. It’s a track that captures the feeling of anxiety so precisely that it borders on uncomfortable and that’s exactly why it works. It’s not just about the sound, it’s about the experience of being trapped inside it. Plague and Trip The Wire keep that restless energy alive, but they do it differently. Plague feels ritualistic, hypnotic rhythms, gritty textures, and lyrics that sound like they were written in the aftermath of something catastrophic. Trip The Wire on the other hand, is chaos disguised as control. The verses coil tightly around their melodies before the choruses detonate in flashes of cathartic release. It’s the kind of song that sounds like it was built to fall apart and that’s its genius. By the midpoint, Allegoria begins to shift its emotional gravity. Conquered introduces this defiant pulse, a sense of forward motion through exhaustion. It’s not a victory march, it’s survival music. The band layers urgency with vulnerability, creating a soundscape that feels like stumbling toward light after being underground for too long. Then comes Throne Of Velvet Rose one of the record’s most tender and devastating moments. The title itself is an allegory, beauty blooming out of suffering. The arrangement is sparse, letting the vocals breathe and break naturally. It’s not a love song in the traditional sense, it’s about finding gentleness in the midst of ruin. You can almost hear the exhaustion in the silence between lines, the weight of someone still trying to believe in softness after being burned too many times. As the record moves into Craven and Magna Carta it begins to explore legacy, faith, and the burden of self-awareness. Craven feels like a confession, sharp, introspective, raw. The guitars glimmer and then grind, mimicking the cycle of self-doubt and defiance. Magna Cartanleans more into the mythic side of UNWELL’s writing, grand imagery, cryptic lyricism, and production that feels almost regal in its decay. It’s the sound of a band building their own mythology, brick by broken brick. Torture is the emotional breaking point. It’s stripped bare, minimal in arrangement, but heavy with truth. There’s no hiding behind metaphors here. Every lyric lands with the gravity of lived experience. It’s quiet, but not gentle, a moment of emotional nakedness that feels less like a song and more like a final confession. You can sense the band’s exhaustion here, their surrender to honesty over performance. And then comes Armor the closer. It’s everything the title promises and more, protective, steady, but cracked in places where the light still gets through. The pacing is patient, almost meditative. It doesn’t resolve the chaos of Allegoria instead, it embraces it. There’s a sense of acceptance in every line, as if the band has finally learned that healing doesn’t mean returning to who you were, but moving forward as who you’ve become. When the last notes fade, you don’t feel closure, you feel reflection. Allegoria doesn’t end with triumph, it ends with truth. What makes this album remarkable is how human it feels. The imperfections are intentional. The production isn’t about showing off technical mastery, it’s about translating emotion into sound. Every distortion, every breath, every slight vocal crack adds to the realism of the record. It’s not pristine, it’s alive. And that’s what makes it powerful. UNWELL have always danced in the grey between vulnerability and volatility, but Allegoria feels like their most cohesive statement yet. It’s an album that understands how pain and beauty are never opposites, they coexist. It’s about the moments when destruction becomes creation, when breaking becomes becoming. In the end, Allegoria isn’t just something you listen to, it’s something you live through. It lingers long after it’s over, echoing in the quiet spaces between thoughts. It’s haunting, it’s human, and it’s heartbreakingly honest, a portrait of collapse painted with compassion.

Jorogumo

Babylon is an album that doesn’t ask for your attention so much as it demands it. From the opening moments, Jorogumo establish a sense of unease that never really loosens its grip, creating a sound that feels oppressive, deliberate and unflinchingly heavy. This is not background music, and it’s not designed for quick consumption. It’s an album that wants you to sit with it, to feel its weight settle in, and to let the atmosphere do the talking as much as the riffs themselves. There’s a real sense of physicality to the record. The guitars feel thick and abrasive, crawling forward with a slow, crushing intent that draws heavily from sludge, while the death metal edge sharpens everything around it. Riffs don’t rush past; they linger, grind and repeat until they feel almost ritualistic. That repetition becomes part of the album’s power, building tension rather than releasing it, and allowing the heaviness to sink in on a deeper level. The drums anchor everything with a relentless presence, keeping the sound grounded and giving the album its sense of forward motion without ever breaking the oppressive spell. Vocally, Babylon adds another layer to the suffocating atmosphere. The delivery is raw and aggressive, but it never feels disconnected from the music. Instead, it sounds embedded within it, like another instrument pushing against the same walls of distortion and low-end weight. There’s an urgency to the vocals that suggests confrontation not just outward, but inward reinforcing the album’s darker themes and giving it an emotional edge that goes beyond sheer brutality. What makes Babylon particularly compelling is how cohesive it feels as a full length listen. Rather than relying on standout moments or obvious high points, the album works as a single, continuous experience. Each section feeds into the next, maintaining a consistent mood while still allowing subtle shifts in pacing and texture to keep things from becoming stagnant. The slower passages feel especially effective, stretching out just long enough to become uncomfortable, while the heavier surges hit with even more impact because of that restraint. There’s also a sense of confidence running through the album. Jorogumo don’t feel the need to overcomplicate their sound or dress it up with unnecessary flourishes. Everything here serves the atmosphere. The production leans into the grit and density rather than smoothing it out, which only adds to the record’s character. It feels raw, but not careless, like a band that knows exactly how heavy they want to sound and refuses to compromise that vision. As Babylon unfolds, it becomes increasingly immersive. The longer you spend with it, the more its details reveal themselves, the way riffs subtly evolve, the tension created by pacing, the way the vocals sit within the mix rather than dominating it. It’s the kind of album that rewards repeat listens, not because it suddenly becomes lighter or easier, but because its depth starts to show through familiarity. By the time the album reaches its conclusion, it leaves behind a lingering sense of exhaustion and satisfaction. There’s a cathartic quality to its heaviness, even though it never offers a clean release. Babylon feels like a statement of intent, a debut that embraces its darkness fully and confidently, without worrying about accessibility or trends. Jorogumo have crafted a record that feels oppressive in the best possible way, rooted in atmosphere, weight and emotional intensity. For listeners drawn to sludge laden heaviness with a death metal edge, Babylon stands as a powerful and uncompromising release. It’s an album that doesn’t just hit hard in the moment, but stays with you long after it ends, proving that sometimes the heaviest records are the ones that take their time and refuse to let go.

Nightdive

Hailing from the heart of Australia’s alternative scene, Nightdive return with Occulent a track that feels like it exists somewhere between dream and disarray. From the opening seconds, there’s this undeniable sense of atmosphere, hazy guitars and moody tones drift in like smoke, wrapping the listener in a slow burn intensity that feels both intimate and vast. It’s the kind of song that doesn’t demand attention it earns it, quietly, layer by layer. Vocally, there’s a restrained emotional weight here. The delivery isn’t desperate or over performed it’s natural, almost weary in tone, yet completely captivating. The lyrics blur the line between introspection and escape, painting vague yet powerful imagery that leaves space for interpretation. You can feel the emotional friction between acceptance and resistance a kind of calm within chaos. That tension gives Occulent its pulse. Production wise, Nightdive strike a rare balance. The guitars shimmer without losing grit, the bass is full and grounding, and the percussion stays tight but never sterile. There’s this cinematic feel to how the song moves dynamic, but not predictable. Every element seems intentional, like they’re guiding you through a fog of emotion rather than forcing you to feel something specific. The reverb-soaked mix creates distance, but it’s the kind of distance that invites you in rather than pushes you away. As Occulent unfolds, its layers start to reveal themselves the way the chorus expands, the subtle instrumental flourishes, the way everything slowly swells toward a conclusion that feels less like an ending and more like an emotional exhale. It’s not about catharsis or climax; it’s about release. That’s something Nightdive do incredibly well making music that breathes, that allows silence and texture to share equal weight with melody and rhythm. If there’s one thing that stands out most about Occulent, it’s patient. In a world obsessed with immediacy and instant payoff, Nightdive let their song simmer and in doing so, it hits deeper. It’s dark, yes, but not without warmth. It’s heavy, but never in a way that suffocates. Ultimately, Occulent feels like a confident statement from a band that knows exactly who they are atmospheric, introspective, and unafraid to sit in the shadows. It’s haunting, heartfelt, and quietly unforgettable.

Immortal Disfigurement

Hell Is right In front of us is a crushing, cinematic journey that really cements the band’s evolution and shows just how far they’ve pushed their sound. From the very first note, it’s obvious that this isn’t just another brutal deathcore release, it’s a carefully constructed assault that blends technical proficiency, orchestral drama, and raw emotional intensity in a way that feels both terrifying and exhilarating. The production is massive but incredibly clear, giving room for every element to shine while keeping the overall impact bone crushing. The guitars hit with a sinister weight, moving seamlessly between technical riffs that twist and coil like steel wires, punishing breakdowns that feel like the floor collapsing beneath you, and melodic flourishes that give the chaos a sense of purpose. The orchestral elements are no longer just background texture; they’re woven into the very fabric of the music, adding tension and grandeur that elevate each track into something almost cinematic, like a horror epic scored by a band that refuses to compromise on heaviness. Vocally, the EP is relentless but controlled. The guttural lows are punishing, cavernous and visceral, while the piercing highs cut through the dense instrumentation like knives, creating a dynamic contrast that keeps you on edge. Every growl, scream, and shriek feels intentional, as if the vocals themselves are part of the orchestral narrative, adding layers of menace and intensity. The rhythm section locks in tightly, with drums that are both precise and unpredictable, capable of guiding the listener through frantic technical passages, punishing grooves, and sudden tempo shifts without ever feeling disjointed. Bass lines rumble beneath it all, adding depth and heft that reinforces the sense of impending doom. One of the EP’s greatest strengths is its pacing and dynamic range. It never stays in one lane, one moment, you’re buried under a storm of crushing riffs and blast beats, the next, the music pulls back into a tense, eerie atmosphere where the orchestral elements breathe and create a sense of dread that’s almost suffocating. This push and pull gives the EP a feeling of movement, like it’s alive and breathing, and makes the heavy moments hit even harder. Tracks feel like mini journeys, some assault the senses relentlessly, others linger with melancholy or subtle melodic passages, and the transitions between them feel seamless, like a story unfolding rather than just a series of brutal songs. Lyrically and thematically, the EP dives deep into despair, corruption, power, and decay, creating a sense of existential horror that matches the intensity of the music. There’s a real emotional resonance behind the aggression, the brutality isn’t empty or gratuitous, it’s part of the narrative. The atmosphere the band builds is oppressive yet captivating, pulling the listener in and holding them there with a combination of technical skill, thematic weight, and sheer ferocity. By the end, it’s clear that this EP is more than just a statement of technical ability, it’s a manifesto of intent, showing that Immortal Disfigurement aren’t content to follow trends but are carving their own path through extreme music. This release solidifies their identity as a band that can marry chaos with precision, brutality with beauty, and technicality with emotion. Every element feels purposeful, every note and growl calculated to make an impact, and yet it still feels alive and raw in a way that keeps it from feeling clinical. It’s punishing, dramatic, and absolutely immersive, leaving the listener both exhausted and exhilarated, craving more even after the final track ends. Immortal Disfigurement have taken everything that made them stand out before and amplified it, delivering an EP that not only satisfies but demands repeated listens, each one revealing new layers of complexity, menace, and artistry. By the time it finishes, there’s no doubt that this band is operating at the top of its game, and that whatever comes next will be impossible to ignore.

Hideclose

Hideclose’s Nocte Mutamur (By Night We Are Changed) isn’t just an EP, it feels like stepping into a dark, flickering hallway lit only by candlelight, where every track pulls you further into its shadowy story. From the first few seconds of Haunted View, Lenn Vane sets a tone that’s both cinematic and deeply personal. You immediately sense that this is a project built on mood and storytelling just as much as musicianship. What really stands out is how the EP manages to sound heavy without being overbearing. The guitars have this thick, brooding presence, but they never bully their way to the front. Instead, they work alongside the synths and atmospheric layers to build a world, one that feels foggy, gothic, and slightly unnerving in the best way. You can tell everything has been placed with intent, every chord, every line, every moment of silence. The narrative itself is surprisingly rich for a short release. Professor Dario Valperga’s descent into visions, doubt, ritual, and ultimately transformation feels like a gothic short story told through music. Each track works like a chapter: • Haunted View introduces the creeping unease. • Sacred Play leans into something ritualistic and secretive. • The Darkness Draws Near brings that inner turmoil to the surface. • A Fatal Meeting is the turning point heavy, dramatic, and unsettling. • Nocte Mutamur ties everything together in this tense blend of danger, release, and inevitable change. It’s rare to hear metal with this level of narrative subtlety. The lyrics never feel forced, and the vocals carry this weary, troubled energy that makes the character’s descent feel believable. It’s not theatrical for the sake of being theatrical, it’s emotional, and there’s a real sense of place. Production wise, it strikes a nice balance between clarity and grit. You can hear the layers, but nothing feels polished to the point of sterility. There’s still that rawness that’s essential in darker metal, the thing that makes it human, imperfect, and real. If I had to nitpick, I’d say the pacing is deliberately slow in places, which might throw listeners who prefer immediate hooks or big explosions of energy. But honestly, that’s part of the charm. This EP wants you to sit with it, to absorb the tension and the atmosphere rather than rush through it. Overall, Nocte Mutamur is a genuinely impressive and atmospheric piece of work. It shows a clear artistic vision one that leans into mood, storytelling, and emotional weight rather than just trying to be loud or flashy. It’s a release that sticks with you after the final note fades, and it’s one of those projects where you almost find yourself wanting to go back to the start just to live in that world for a bit longer.

Human Vivisection

Relentless Redemption doesn’t so much begin as it erupts. Omnipotence wastes zero time in setting a truly ferocious tone, hitting with this blunt force intensity that feels like the band grabbing you by the collar and dragging you straight into their world. The guitars slice through with precision, the drums feel like they’re constantly on the verge of combusting, and the vocals immediately establish that deep, guttural edge the band thrives on. It’s an introduction that refuses to hold back, the kind of opener that tells you exactly what kind of record you’re about to face. As the album settles into its stride, that feeling of suffocating heaviness becomes its heartbeat. Human Vivisection approach the darker themes with an almost cinematic bleakness, tracks like A Symphony of Decay and Oblivion’s Embrace wrap themselves in this dense, brooding atmosphere that feels both crushing and oddly hypnotic. The guitars rarely sit still, switching between relentless chugging and wider, more dissonant passages that add tension to every moment. There’s a sense of emotional exhaustion behind the songwriting, almost like each track is a purge of something that’s been festering beneath the surface. Abyssal Reflections stands out not just for its collaborative energy, but for the way it shifts the mood without breaking the flow. The pacing feels slightly more deliberate, almost as if the band are pulling the listener into deeper emotional waters. Desolate Lament, bolstered by Larry Wang’s feature, brings another dimension to the record, something that feels mournful, pained, but oddly beautiful in its brutality. These features never overshadow the core identity of the band instead, they stretch the emotional range of the album in ways that keep it sharp and engaging. There’s a real sense of pacing across the 12 tracks that keeps the album from falling into monotony. Even the more relentless moments have this dynamic push and pull, but the tracks where the band momentarily ease off the gas, The Hollow Echoes Of Inevitability for example are crucial. They give the listener these brief glimmers of space, allowing the impact of the more chaotic sections to land with even more force. These moments aren’t soft by any means, but they introduce atmosphere, tension, and a haunting stillness that lingers long after the track ends. What becomes increasingly clear as the album unfolds is how unwavering the band are in their vision. Relentless Redemption is built to hit hard not just sonically, but emotionally. There’s a rawness to the vocal delivery that feels almost confrontational, while the instrumentation forms this relentless, shifting wall of sound around it. It’s not an album that offers comfort or easy moments instead, it thrives on catharsis, on pushing the listener into the deepest parts of its themes and forcing them to sit with the weight of it. By the time the record approaches its final stretch, the intensity hasn’t faded but there’s a clarity to the chaos. You can feel the band pouring everything into each final riff, each breakdown, each guttural roar. It’s the kind of album that demands your attention from start to finish, and one that leaves you carrying its atmosphere long after the final note dies out. For listeners who want an album that’s not afraid to go all in on darkness, emotion, and sheer power, Relentless Redemption delivers exactly that with unwavering force.

The Hot One Two

Virtues feels like The Hot One Two stepping into a new chapter with full confidence, the kind of album where you can tell the band isn’t second guessing anything anymore. From the moment it kicks in, there’s this push of adrenaline but also a sense of purpose, almost like they’re lifting the curtain on something bigger than just a follow up record. Where Superbia dug into the grit and chaos of the seven sins, Virtues flips the lens and brings a brighter, more defiant energy, but without losing the bite that makes their sound hit the way it does. It’s still loud, still punchy, still full of those grin inducing riffs, but there’s a clarity to it, a kind of clean fire that shows they’re evolving rather than just repeating what worked last time. What stands out most is the balance. The guitars are huge and swaggering as ever, but nothing feels over polished, there’s still that rough edge that makes you imagine the sweat and stage lights of their live shows. The lead work keeps finding that sweet spot between melodic and reckless, sliding into solos that feel like they were meant to be played in front of a crowd that’s already half lost its voice. Meanwhile the rhythm section just refuses to ease up, the drums have that chest thumping, live room power, and the bass sits underneath everything like a heartbeat that doesn’t want to settle down. It’s tight, but not too tidy. Loud, but not messy. That’s the charm of this band and the album leans into it perfectly. Simon West’s vocals feel more grounded this time too, still gritty, still carrying that classic rock edge, but with more control and more emotional range. You feel it in tracks like The Reaper where he’s going toe to toe with the riffs, and then again in the gentler moments like Distance Love Affair where he lets the song breathe a little. There’s a sincerity in the delivery that fits the album’s theme well, it’s less about doom and shadows and more about resilience, redemption, standing up straighter after getting knocked around. It’s refreshing without ever slipping into something cheesy or overly clean. The real magic of Virtues is how it moves. Some tracks fly straight for the throat, others slow things down just enough to let everything sink in. Saint Restraint is one of those moments where the band pulls back the curtain a touch and shows a softer side, and it lands beautifully because it’s surrounded by these big, explosive doses of energy. Then you’ve got songs like Blow Your Mind that feel tailor made for festival crowds, the kind of hook that sticks whether you want it to or not. And by the time you reach For You, the whole album feels like it’s doing a victory lap not arrogant, just celebratory, almost like the band is turning to the listener and asking, “Did we take you somewhere? Did you get it?” If Superbia was them planting their flag, Virtues is them building the foundations around it. It feels bigger, more intentional, more emotionally plugged in, and it honestly sounds like a band hitting the stride they’ve been working toward from the start. It doesn’t try to reinvent rock music, it doesn’t need to but it does capture everything that makes this style exciting when it’s done by a band who actually cares about the craft. Strong hooks, strong heart, strong identity. It’s a proper second album, the kind that shows growth without losing the spark that made you listen in the first place. Overall, Virtues lands with confidence and clarity. A real step up, a real statement, and a record that proves The Hot One Two aren’t just writing songs, they’re carving out their space.

As I Lay Dying

As I Lay Dying’s new single, Echoes, marks a striking new chapter for the band. Tim Lambesis remains the only original member, with the rest of the lineup completely refreshed. Given everything Tim has been through in recent years.. his highly publicized legal and personal challenges, this release carries an added layer of intensity and significance. It’s a testament to resilience, both for him personally and for the band as a whole. Musically, Echoes blends heavy, precise riffs with soaring melodic sections, showcasing the style fans have long associated with As I Lay Dying. The guitars cut sharp and full bodied, while the rhythm section drives the track with energy and precision. The drums hit hard without overwhelming the mix, and the bass underlines the song’s dynamics subtly but effectively. Even with the lineup changes, the production remains tight and polished, highlighting the band’s attention to detail. Tim’s vocals remain the band’s emotional anchor, moving seamlessly between guttural screams and melodic passages. Lyrically, the song reflects tension, struggle, and perseverance resonating strongly in the context of Tim’s personal journey. There’s a raw authenticity to the performance, suggesting that the band isn’t just aiming for technical perfection but also for a meaningful emotional impact. Echoes is more than just a single, it’s a statement. It proves that As I Lay Dying can continue to evolve despite past controversies and significant lineup changes, without losing the intensity and identity that defined them. Longtime fans will appreciate the continuity and renewed vigor, while new listeners can step in and feel the full force of a band rebuilding itself with focus and conviction.

Fight From Within

Talk Is Cheap marks a real turning point for Fight From Within, that moment where a band stops trying to fit into whatever people expect of them and instead locks fully into the identity they’ve been building in the background. There’s a maturity throughout this record that feels earned, not manufactured. You can hear the growth in the songwriting, the sharper edge in their performances, and the clarity in what they’re trying to say. Right away, the album establishes this vicious sort of momentum. Not messy or rushed, but that kind of forward drive you get when a band has been holding onto things for a long time and finally lets everything spill out. The guitars feel more commanding this time around, there’s a grit to them that really pushes the intensity without drowning out the detail. The drum work is tight, punchy, and full of small touches that keep the energy moving instead of just blasting everything to pieces. And the bass which can often get lost in heavier records actually feels present, helping glue everything together while adding a darker weight underneath. Vocally, there’s a massive step up. There’s conviction in every line, whether it’s delivered with a clenched-teeth frustration or a more melodic clarity. What really stands out is the emotional consistency, it never feels like the vocals are just layered on top of the music, they actually belong with the instrumentation, like they’re part of the same breathing organism. You can tell the lyrics come from real experiences, real frustrations, and those moments where you reach the end of your patience and decide you’re done playing along. The delivery mirrors that honesty perfectly. Lyrically, Talk Is Cheap tackles themes that hit pretty close to home for anyone who’s had to fight through self-doubt, broken trust, or feeling overlooked. There’s a recurring idea of calling out the people who speak the loudest but mean the least, the ones who pretend to care, pretend to support, pretend to know you. Fight From Within channel that resentment into something constructive instead of just bitter. You get the sense that this album was a release valve for all the pressure they’ve been building over the years. One of the strengths of this record is how balanced it feels. Even at its heaviest, the band never hides behind noise or chaos. They let the riffs land with impact, they give the rhythms room to breathe, and they let the emotional weight take centre stage without over explaining anything. Everything feels considered. Every transition makes sense. This isn’t a band throwing everything at the wall, it’s a band who finally understands their own formula and trusts it enough to refine instead of overwork it. The production plays a big role in that. It’s clean but not too clean, polished but not glossy. The tones sound intentional, the vocals sit in the mix with confidence, the dynamics shift naturally rather than feeling forced. You get the rawness that defines heavy music, but with clarity that shows the band has put genuine thought into every layer. That balance keeps the album engaging from start to finish. What really makes Talk Is Cheap stand out, though, is the sense of identity running through it. Fight From Within sound like a band with something to prove not to the outside world, but to themselves. It’s the sound of a group who’ve outgrown old versions of who they used to be and don’t mind burning a few bridges on their way into their next chapter. There’s frustration, but there’s also resilience. There’s heaviness, but it’s backed by meaning. Nothing feels hollow. By the time the album closes, there’s this lingering feeling that you’ve just heard the band arrive at a new level of their own craft. It’s heavier, more direct, more emotionally transparent but also more controlled and purposeful. Talk Is Cheap doesn’t just show Fight From Within’s potential, it shows what happens when that potential finally clicks into place. This is, without question, the most fully realised version of Fight From Within so far. Honest, sharp, and fiercely driven, a statement record from a band who clearly aren’t interested in staying quiet anymore.

Death And Exhale

With Stones & Diamonds, Death & Exhale step into that territory where a band stops sounding like “one to watch” and starts sounding like a fully realised force. This album feels like the culmination of their identity, the heaviness, the ambition, the technical edge, all brought together with a focus that makes the whole thing feel genuinely purposeful. You can hear the hunger, but you can also hear confidence. It’s the sound of a band who finally know exactly what they’re trying to say. One of the first things that hits you is just how tight this record is. The guitars come in like sharpened steel, percussive, mechanical, and packed with those progressive/djent flourishes that twist riffs into something more interesting than simple chugs. The drums sit that perfect line between machine precision and raw human energy, with fills and patterns that give the songs their pulse instead of just keeping time. And the low end ties it all together, a thick wall of sound that rumbles underneath everything without drowning the details. Vocally, the performance is a standout moment in itself. The range is massive, crushing lows, strained mids, higher screams that cut straight through the mix but what stands out most is the emotional weight behind it. Deathcore can sometimes fall into the trap of being all bark, no feeling, but here the delivery actually matters. There’s anger, frustration, self reflection and a sense of control even at the album’s most chaotic moments. It feels like someone working through something real, using the heaviest music possible to do it. The songwriting shows a level of maturity that you don’t always get from a band still relatively early in their career. Rather than leaning on constant breakdowns or endless blasts, they use dynamics to make the heavy moments hit harder. Tracks often open with atmosphere or tension, letting a riff simmer before everything comes crashing down. They’re not afraid to slow things down, let a melody creep in, or drop into cleaner textures that add clarity to the chaos. When the breakdowns do arrive, they land with much more impact because the band earns those moments, instead of relying on them. There’s also a clear sense of progression throughout the album not in a concept album way, but in how the mood and intensity shift. Early songs tend to punch hard and set the tone, while the middle stretch brings in more groove, more experimentation, and more emotional edges. By the time you get to the later parts of the record, the band feel like they’re pushing deeper into their sound, exploring weight, melody, and texture with more confidence. It all flows together, almost like one long piece that evolves naturally as it goes. Production wise, Stones & Diamonds strikes a really nice balance. It has that modern clarity and punch, the kind of mix that lets every layer breathe without losing the brutality. The guitars sit nicely in the pocket, present and sharp while the bass adds real backbone rather than just boosting the low end. Drums are crisp, impactful, and mixed with enough space that the fast sections don’t get blurred together. The whole album has this polished heaviness that feels professional without losing grit. What really elevates the record, though, is how intentional it feels. Nothing here sounds like filler. The band isn’t just writing “heavy songs” they’re building an atmosphere, a mood, a headspace. The themes reflect that too, inner conflict, personal damage, the push and pull between rising above and collapsing inwards. It mirrors the title perfectly, the idea of pressure, transformation, breaking down and hardening up again. It gives the aggression a bit more meaning, and you can feel that thread running through the entire record. In the end, Stones & Diamonds is the type of album that marks a turning point. It’s the sound of a band levelling up not just playing heavier, but playing smarter, deeper, and with a clearer identity. Death & Exhale mix deathcore, progressive metal, and djent in a way that doesn’t feel like a mashup of influences, but a natural extension of who they are. It’s heavy music with real shape, real intention, and a real sense of forward momentum. If this is where they’re at now, it’s hard not to imagine them becoming a genuine name in the next wave of modern heavy bands. Stones & Diamonds feels like the start of something big.

Resistor

The track opens with an immediate sense of pressure, pulling the listener straight into its atmosphere without hesitation. There’s a weight to the opening moments that feels intentional, setting up a mood that’s tense, confrontational, and grounded in raw emotion. Rather than easing into the sound, the track commits fully from the outset, creating an urgency that carries through the entire runtime. It’s the kind of opening that demands attention and doesn’t let go once it has it. Instrumentally, the track thrives on heaviness and groove working side by side. The guitar work is thick and abrasive, but it’s locked into tight, rhythmic patterns that give the song forward motion rather than letting it drift into noise. There’s a physicality to the riffs, they feel designed to hit hard while still being memorable. Beneath that, the low end adds depth and weight, reinforcing the aggression and giving the track a solid foundation that keeps everything grounded. The drums play a crucial role in shaping the track’s intensity. Each hit feels deliberate, driving the momentum without overcrowding the mix. There’s a balance between force and restraint here, allowing the song to breathe while still maintaining a sense of urgency. The rhythm section works as a unit, pushing the track forward and creating a pulse that keeps the energy consistent from start to finish. Vocally, the performance brings a raw, expressive edge that elevates the track beyond just its instrumental weight. The delivery carries a sense of frustration and defiance, but there’s also an underlying vulnerability that gives the track emotional depth. The vocals don’t feel overly polished or processed, which works in the song’s favour, it adds to the authenticity and makes the emotion feel immediate and real. Each line lands with intent, reinforcing the themes without overexplaining them. Structurally, the track remains focused and disciplined. There’s no unnecessary filler or drawn out sections, every part feels purposeful. Small shifts in dynamics keep things engaging, whether it’s a brief pullback to create tension or a sudden surge that brings the aggression back to the forefront. These changes help maintain interest while preserving the track’s core identity. As the track progresses, there’s a growing sense of release, as if all the built up tension is being channelled into a single, sustained expression. It doesn’t rely on gimmicks or dramatic twists to make its impact. Instead, it trusts its core elements, weight, groove, and emotion to carry the song through. The ending feels earned, leaving behind the impression of something raw and unfiltered rather than neatly wrapped up. Throughout the track, there’s a clear confidence in its direction. It knows when to push and when to hold back, allowing the intensity to feel controlled rather than chaotic. That confidence translates into a listening experience that feels immersive and grounded, making the track resonate on a visceral level rather than just a sonic one. The overall feel is confrontational but honest, heavy without being hollow, and intense without losing focus. It’s a track that leans into its rough edges and uses them as a strength, creating something that feels immediate, physical, and emotionally charged from beginning to end.

Defences

Lithium Kiss hits hard from the start, but it’s not just about volume or aggression, there’s a real depth to it. Defences have a knack for blending intensity with emotion, and this track is a prime example. The guitars are punchy and layered, the drums driving without ever feeling overbearing, and the vocals carry a raw honesty that pulls you in from the first line. Lyrically, it’s heavy without being overbearing. There’s a theme of self reflection and growth running through it the idea that facing your own struggles doesn’t make you weaker, it makes you more real. That balance of vulnerability and strength is threaded throughout the track, giving it a resonance that sticks with you long after it ends. The chorus hits with a kind of cathartic energy. It’s anthemic without feeling forced, and the interplay between harsh and clean vocals gives it an extra layer of emotion. Meanwhile, subtle synth textures in the background add an unexpected atmosphere, giving the song a sense of space and texture beyond the usual heavy sound. What stands out most is the way Defences manage dynamics. They know when to push hard and when to pull back, letting the quieter moments breathe and giving the heavier sections even more impact. It’s that push and pull that keeps the track from feeling one dimensional, making it feel alive and organic. Lithium Kiss is more than a song, it’s an experience. It’s intense, reflective, and cathartic all at once, showing Defences at a point where their sound feels fully realized but still hungry, still reaching for something more. For anyone who likes their heavy music with depth, emotion, and a sense of real humanity, this is a track that hits on every level.

The Maiden Voyage

Timeless is one of those tracks that quietly slips under your skin before you even realise what it’s doing. Right from the opening moments, there’s this warm, cinematic glow that sets the mood without forcing anything. The band lean into atmosphere rather than aggression, letting the music breathe and unfold in its own time. It immediately feels like stepping into a memory, not a specific one, just that strange, comforting space where nostalgia and clarity meet for a moment. The production is clean but not glossy, textured enough to feel real, and that’s part of what gives the song its pull. The vocals come in with this gentle but confident presence, the kind of delivery that doesn’t need theatrics to be convincing. There’s a natural sincerity to the performance, and you can hear a sense of lived experience in the way the melodies rise and fall. It never feels like the singer is pushing for a big moment instead, the emotional weight is carried through tone and phrasing. It’s a refreshing kind of honesty, expressive without being melodramatic, open without feeling like it’s trying too hard. Instrumentally, Timeless thrives on subtlety. The guitars shimmer around the edges, almost like they’re painting light around the vocals, while the rhythm section keeps everything grounded with a steady, heartbeat like pulse. Nothing is overplayed or thrown in for the sake of filling space, every element feels considered. When the chorus hits, it doesn’t explode instead, it blooms. The hook has this familiar warmth to it, not in a derivative way, but in the sense that it taps into those universal emotions we all recognise even if we can’t always articulate them. It’s reflective, gentle, and quietly powerful. As the track progresses, the layers gradually build without ever breaking the song’s calm centre. The band add depth rather than volume, letting the energy rise in a way that feels natural and earned. By the time it reaches the final stretch, Timeless has wrapped you in this soft, nostalgic haze, like you’ve just revisited a version of yourself you’d forgotten about. That’s what makes the song live up to its name. It doesn’t chase trends or lean into overly dramatic shifts; it simply captures a feeling and holds it with care. Overall, Timeless is a beautifully measured piece from The Maiden Voyage, showcasing their ability to craft something emotionally resonant without relying on excess. It’s sincere, atmospheric, and quietly impactful, the kind of track that lingers long after it fades out, not because it’s flashy, but because it speaks to something familiar and deeply human. If this is the direction they’re leaning into, it’s a strong sign of a band who truly understand how to make a moment stick.

Two Sides Of Me

Released back in August, Clinging To The Edge Of Life marks a real moment of growth for Two Sides Of Me , a record that feels both intensely personal and sonically massive. Across seven tracks, the band take you through a journey that blends aggression, melody, and emotion in a way that feels instinctive rather than calculated. There’s a clear sense of evolution here; everything feels sharper, tighter, and more purposeful than anything they’ve done before. The album opens with that familiar rush of chaos that’s quickly grounded by melody, a push and pull that defines much of the record. The guitars cut through with this driving intensity, balancing technical precision with just the right amount of grit. The drums are relentless, always giving the songs a pulse that feels alive, while the vocals switch effortlessly between harsh screams and clean, vulnerable tones. It’s not just dynamic for the sake of it, each transition feels emotionally charged, like a genuine reflection of what the lyrics are saying. Lyrically, Clinging To The Edge Of Life lives up to its name. It’s a record about holding on to hope, to sanity, to whatever keeps you grounded when life feels like it’s falling apart. The writing dives deep into feelings of self doubt, disconnection, and the constant fight to stay afloat, but it’s done with sincerity. There’s no forced darkness or posturing here; it’s raw, relatable emotion from a band that clearly uses their music as a way of processing the world around them. Tracks flow seamlessly, each carrying its own emotional punch. Some moments hit with unfiltered aggression, while others pull back to let the atmosphere breathe, but there’s never a dip in energy. The pacing feels deliberate, with every song adding a new layer to the story they’re telling. By the time you reach the latter half, it’s clear this isn’t just a collection of songs, it’s an experience built around tension and release. Production wise, everything feels balanced and immersive. The mix is clean enough to let the melodic moments shine, but still heavy enough to make the breakdowns land with real impact. You can tell a lot of care went into making it sound powerful without stripping away the human edge. It’s that balance between polish and authenticity that really makes this album stand out. Clinging To The Edge Of Life isn’t just a strong release , it’s the sound of a band defining who they are. Two Sides Of Me have crafted something that feels emotionally honest and musically confident, showing they’re not afraid to push themselves creatively. It’s heavy, heartfelt, and completely unafraid to be vulnerable. If this is the direction they’re heading in, they’re absolutely on the right path. Clinging To The Edge Of Life is the kind of record that sticks with you long after it ends, not just because of how it sounds, but because of how it makes you feel.

Levels

There’s a panic behind the eyes of this track a cold, metallic dread that breathes down your neck from the first second. Covert One doesn’t ask for your attention, it hacks its way in like a backdoor virus, leaving you locked in a strobe-lit room with nothing but fragments of trust and the sound of your own heart clawing at your ribs. Arkansas quartet LEVELS have never really played by the book, but this time? They’ve ripped it apart, set it on fire, and scattered the ashes across a glitch-ridden battlefield. Covert One is the sound of being seduced by something that promises safety, only to trap you inside it. It’s abusive love dressed in chrome industrial, electronic, weaponised. The guitars are barely human anymore processed, distorted, twitching like a static signal from a lost satellite. The drums hit like surveillance footage: looped, relentless, like you’re being watched but can’t look back. Every section of this track feels like a new chamber of trauma. The clean vocals don’t offer relief they drip with desperation, with that too late realisation that the love you thought would save you was actually rewiring your entire sense of self. And when the breakdown lands? It’s less of a mosh call and more of a psychological exorcism. Lyrically, it’s poetic in the most poisoned way possible. Not dramatic for drama’s sake but intentionally suffocating. You’re dropped into a spiral of manipulation and self erasure. There’s no clear antagonist. It’s internal, external, intimate, and overwhelming. There’s a line between romance and warfare, and LEVELS don’t just walk it they weaponise it. What’s most impressive is how this thing moves. It’s dynamic, but never chaotic. There’s control in the chaos a calculated pacing that lets tension simmer before ripping the floor out beneath you. And the layering? Unreal. It sounds like you’re hearing it through a cracked security feed everything slightly corrupted, slightly too close, too personal. It’s Nine Inch Nails meets Loathe via a fever dream you can’t wake up from. This isn’t a track for casual listeners. It demands you sit in the discomfort, feel the dread in every line, every glitch, every choked breath. It’s vulnerable in a way that makes you feel like you’re reading someone’s secret journal after the apocalypse. And still it bangs. There’s rhythm, structure, hooks even but all wrapped in barbed wire. LEVELS aren’t just making music anymore. They’re making statements. Covert One is cinematic, visceral, and unapologetically confrontational. It’s a song that stares you down, drags you into its trauma loop, and dares you to come out the other side changed. And truthfully? You will be.

Caskets

Caskets latest album, The Only Heaven You’ll Know, is a bold, unflinching journey through chaos, emotion, and sheer sonic intensity. From the very first track, the band grabs you by the collar and doesn’t let go, blending blistering aggression with surprisingly tender melodic moments. It’s a record that feels both immediate and deeply considered, showing just how far the band has come. The album opens with Lost In The Violence, a perfect storm of furious riffs and relentless drums that instantly sets the tone. There’s a controlled chaos here that makes the track feel alive, urgent, and purposeful. The momentum carries into Our Remedy where a collaboration with Make Them Suffer adds dramatic flair and cinematic depth without losing any of the raw energy. The title track The Only Heaven You’ll Know stands out as the emotional core of the record. It weaves haunting melodies with powerful instrumentation, striking a balance between aggression and vulnerability. Closure follows, offering moments of melodic respite that make the heavier sections hit even harder. Tracks like Sacrifice and What Have I Become? dig deeper, pairing intense instrumentation with introspective lyrics, proving that Caskets can hit as hard emotionally as they do musically. Make Me A Martyr is a relentless highlight, a track that sears itself into your memory with every drum hit and guitar line. Mid album moments such as Save Us and Escape provide brief, melodic interludes, giving the listener room to breathe while keeping the album’s momentum alive. The closing track Broken Path leaves a lasting impression, bringing a sense of resolution while reinforcing the album’s themes of struggle, defiance, and reflection. The Only Heaven You’ll Know is more than just a heavy album, it’s a statement. Caskets deliver a record that is as emotionally raw as it is sonically powerful, balancing brutality and beauty with an ease that feels effortless. For long time fans, it reaffirms the band’s place in the modern heavy scene. For newcomers, it’s an immersive introduction to a band unafraid to challenge themselves and their listeners. It’s intense, honest, and utterly compelling, an album that lingers long after the final note.

NOVA

FUTURE // UNCERTAIN captures a very specific emotional space, that quiet, unsettled moment where forward motion feels necessary even when clarity is missing. From the outset, the track establishes a reflective tone, easing the listener in with an atmosphere that feels both open and inward facing. There’s no rush to make a statement here; instead, the song allows its mood to form naturally, pulling the listener into a contemplative state that feels intentional rather than incidental. The production plays a major role in shaping that experience. Each layer feels carefully measured, creating a sense of depth without overcrowding the mix. The instrumental foundation carries a subtle tension, with textures that feel suspended rather than grounded, reinforcing the theme of uncertainty. Rather than relying on dramatic shifts or abrupt transitions, the track evolves gradually, maintaining a steady emotional thread that keeps the listener engaged from start to finish. Rhythmically, the song moves with quiet confidence. The beat doesn’t dominate the track, but it provides a consistent pulse that suggests movement even when the mood feels restrained. This balance between stillness and motion is one of the track’s most effective qualities. It mirrors the emotional reality of uncertainty, the feeling of standing still mentally while life continues to push forward. The pacing never feels stagnant, yet it never rushes the moment either. Vocally, the performance is understated but deeply expressive. There’s a natural honesty in the delivery that makes the lyrics feel personal rather than performative. The phrasing allows space between lines, giving each moment time to resonate before moving on. That sense of restraint adds to the track’s emotional weight, making the vocals feel grounded and sincere. It’s a performance that invites listening rather than demanding attention, drawing the listener closer the longer the track plays. Lyrically, FUTURE // UNCERTAIN avoids overexplaining its message. Instead of spelling everything out, it leaves room for interpretation, allowing listeners to project their own experiences onto the song. The focus isn’t on predicting outcomes or defining success, but on acknowledging doubt as a natural part of growth. That perspective gives the track a relatable core, touching on the universal discomfort of navigating change without guarantees. As the song progresses, the arrangement subtly expands, introducing additional layers that add emotional texture without overwhelming the central theme. These elements feel like a natural extension of the track rather than a shift in direction. The build is controlled and purposeful, creating a sense of emotional progression that mirrors the internal journey suggested by the lyrics. It’s a slow burn that rewards patience, revealing its depth over time rather than all at once. The track’s atmosphere continues to deepen in its latter moments, reinforcing its introspective nature. There’s a feeling of acceptance woven into the closing section, not resolution, but understanding. Instead of offering closure, the song allows the uncertainty to remain, reframing it as something that doesn’t need to be conquered or resolved immediately. That choice feels honest and refreshing, avoiding the temptation to wrap the narrative in a neat conclusion. By the end, FUTURE // UNCERTAIN leaves a lasting impression through its emotional subtlety rather than its volume. It’s the kind of track that lingers long after it finishes, not because of a dramatic climax, but because of how accurately it captures a familiar internal struggle. It works equally well as a solitary listening experience or as part of a reflective playlist, offering a moment of calm recognition for anyone standing at an undefined crossroads. Ultimately, this track feels less like a declaration and more like a conversation, a quiet acknowledgment that not knowing what comes next doesn’t mean standing still. FUTURE // UNCERTAIN succeeds by embracing ambiguity and turning it into something meaningful, proving that uncertainty itself can be a powerful creative force when approached with honesty and restraint.

Encelado

Encelado present a release that is rooted in heaviness but driven by atmosphere and intention rather than excess. From the opening moments, there’s a clear sense of control in how the band approach their sound. This isn’t metal built on constant escalation or relentless speed instead, it thrives on weight, tension, and the careful shaping of space. Each passage feels considered, giving the music a slow-burning intensity that draws the listener in rather than overwhelming them outright. The guitars dominate the sonic landscape, carrying a dense, imposing tone that anchors the entire release. Riffs are allowed to stretch and settle, repeating just long enough to become immersive before shifting into something new. There’s a strong emphasis on texture here, layers subtly evolve, harmonics creep in and out, and the band use restraint to make even the smallest changes feel significant. It’s a sound that rewards attention, revealing its depth gradually rather than laying everything bare at once. What really elevates Encelado’s approach is their command of dynamics. Heavy sections hit with real force, but they’re often framed by moments of relative calm or spaciousness, creating contrast that keeps the music engaging. These quieter or more restrained passages don’t feel like filler, they serve a purpose, amplifying the impact of what follows and adding emotional weight to the overall structure. The band clearly understand that heaviness isn’t just about volume, but about timing and delivery. The rhythm section plays a crucial role in maintaining this balance. The drums provide a steady, grounded foundation, locking into grooves that feel both powerful and controlled. Rather than constantly pushing forward, the percussion supports the ebb and flow of the songs, reinforcing the band’s patient pacing. This sense of cohesion allows the tracks to unfold naturally, without feeling fragmented or forced. Atmosphere is a defining feature throughout the release. There’s a cinematic quality to the music, as if each track is part of a larger narrative or landscape. Even in the most crushing moments, there’s an underlying sense of openness that prevents the sound from becoming claustrophobic. This expansive feel gives the release its identity, setting it apart from more straightforward heavy offerings and highlighting Encelado’s commitment to mood and immersion. Vocally, the band take a measured approach, using the voice as another textural element rather than the focal point. The vocals sit comfortably within the mix, enhancing the darkness and intensity of the music without overpowering it. This choice reinforces the collective nature of the band’s sound, keeping the focus on the overall atmosphere rather than individual performances. As the release progresses, the cohesion between tracks becomes more apparent. There’s a clear throughline in tone and intent, making it feel like a unified work rather than a loose collection of songs. Transitions feel natural, and the pacing across the release is handled with care, allowing it to maintain momentum without becoming exhausting. By the time it reaches its closing moments, there’s a sense of having been taken on a journey rather than simply having listened to a series of heavy tracks. Overall, this is a confident and immersive statement from Encelado. It showcases a band that understand how to harness heaviness with purpose, blending crushing riffs, controlled dynamics, and a strong atmospheric presence into something that feels both powerful and deliberate. This is metal that values depth and mood, rewarding patience and repeat listens, and leaving a lasting impression long after the final notes fade.

Unsettled

Trigger comes out swinging with the kind of ferocity that feels both deliberate and deeply emotional, like the band have been holding something inside for far too long and this track is the moment everything finally snaps. From the opening seconds there’s this looming tension in the guitar tone, thick, abrasive, and soaked in that crunchy distortion that feels more like a warning than an introduction. The riffing doesn’t just fill space, it drives the whole track like a fuse that’s already been lit, and the drums sit right behind it with a tight, unrelenting pulse that keeps everything locked into place. What hits you quickest is how controlled the aggression feels. Unsettled don’t throw chaos at you, they shape it, mould it, and turn it into something powerful. Every breakdown feels calculated, every hit lands with the kind of precision that makes the song feel heavier without relying on noise for impact. As the vocals kick in, the whole tone of the song sharpens. There’s this rawness in the delivery that feels less like performance and more like catharsis, like the vocalist is using the track as an outlet rather than just reciting lines. You can hear the emotion in every word, the grit in the throat, the strain that comes when someone is genuinely pushing through whatever’s weighing on them. The lyrics themselves lean hard into destructive imagery, burning it down, lighting the match, pulling the trigger, watching the world crumble. But underneath all the flames and fury there’s this very human sense of exhaustion and resilience. Lines like “I’m not gonna give up my life” and “constant anger just to survive” hit differently because they’re not just angry slogans, they sound like someone clawing their way forward through frustration and disappointment. It’s heavy, but in a way that feels personal rather than theatrical. What really elevates Trigger is the way the band handle the ebb and flow of intensity. The verses simmer with this tense, almost suffocating energy, where the guitars and drums build pressure without fully releasing it. Then the chorus, especially that repeated “pull the trigger” erupts like the moment everything spills over. It’s catchy in its own harsh, confrontational way, the kind of hook you don’t necessarily sing along to but definitely feel in your chest. And every time it comes back around, it hits just as hard, like being shoved back into the same emotional headspace you thought you’d recovered from. When the breakdown finally arrives, the whole track caves in on itself in the best possible way. The low end rumbles, the guitars get darker and denser, and the vocals take on that extra edge that makes the moment feel like a release rather than just another section. Production wise, the band clearly knew what they wanted this track to be. Everything sits exactly where it needs to be in the mix. The guitars dominate without overwhelming, the drums stay punchy and articulate, and the vocals cut through the chaos with just the right amount of grit. There’s a clarity in the heaviness that a lot of rising heavy bands struggle to capture, and it helps the song feel impactful rather than crowded. Even in the most intense moments, you can pick out the layers, the subtle shifts in tone, the small pauses that give the next hit more weight, the slightly different textures in each vocal line. What lingers long after the song ends is the atmosphere. It’s dark and volatile, but not hopeless. There’s anger in yes but it feels like it’s coming from a place of trying to claw through something rather than giving in to it. Unsettled manage to capture that feeling of standing in the middle of chaos with your fists still clenched, battered, furious, exhausted, but still fighting. Trigger plays like an emotional purge as much as a metal track, the kind of song that resonates with anyone who’s ever felt themselves pushed to their limit and needed to scream back at the world. For a band still establishing their identity, this feels like a real marker in the ground. It’s bold, loud, honest, and delivered with a confidence that suggests Unsettled know exactly who they are and what they want to say. If they keep channelling this level of intensity and emotional truth into their music, they’re going to carve out a place for themselves fast. Trigger doesn’t just showcase potential, it actively proves it.

Bad Neighbour

Bad Neighbour hailing from Brisbane, Australia drop their latest single I Can't Look for You and you're immediately greeted by a kind of melancholic sincerity that gives the track its emotional centre. The opening minutes feel quiet, almost hesitant Minimal instrumentation, just enough to set the mood, letting the vocals do the heavy lifting. Right away, you sense the band's intention they're not interested in bombast, they're interested in connection. Lead singer Cooper Riley delivers his lines with a tone of introspection there's an edge of regret, or perhaps longing, that lingers in his voice. The lyrics hit the familiar territory of lost time or missed opportunities, but Bad Neighbour avoid cliché by keeping things simple. They don't pile on metaphor after metaphor instead they lean on lines that feel honest, even vulnerable. The space between the vocal lines is just as telling as the words themselves. On the production side, the track benefits from clarity and restraint. The instrumentation is layered carefully subtle guitar chords, a gentle rhythm underneath, then gradually some additional textures start to emerge. It's in that gradual build where the song finds its momentum. It never rushes into big dramatics, yet by the second chorus you're feeling the swell an emotional lift born out of steady growth rather than sudden change. One of the most compelling things here is how Bad Neighbour resist the temptation to write a hook in the typical sense. The catch isn't a sing along line it's the mood, the way the music and words make you feel. It's the kind of song you recognise not because you can belt out the chorus, but because you remember the way it sat with you afterwards. That's a strength, especially coming from a band rooted in Brisbane's alternative/emo scene, where mood and authenticity matter deeply. If there's a small minor quibble, it's that the track's gentle approach might leave listeners craving a bigger payoff if you're more accustomed to grand builds or ear-worm choruses, this might feel a little under-the-radar. But I'd argue that's exactly the point: Bad Neighbour trust the quiet moments to carry weight, and that gives I Can't Look for You a lasting impact beyond the initial listen. In short, this is a strong single from a band that knows how to craft genuine, emotionally grounded music. Backed by thoughtful songwriting, intimate vocals and measured production, it's a track that sits with you long after it ends and that stay with you quality is exactly why Bad Neighbour are worth keeping on your radar.

Jamie James

Jamie James doesn’t just write music he lives in it. And with Straight Up, you get the sense that you’re not just hearing songs; you’re eavesdropping on stories, moments, moods, and memories that have brewed over decades. This is the kind of record that doesn’t rush to impress instead, it leans back, pours a whiskey, and lets the groove do the talking. There’s a worn-in feel to this album that instantly puts you at ease. It’s not trying to chase trends or fit into a neatly packaged genre. It feels more like a conversation with an old friend sometimes playful, sometimes brutally honest, always real. Jamie James navigates blues, rock, and rootsy Americana with the kind of ease that only comes from someone who’s done the miles. You can hear the dust on the boots and the late night sessions in every note. What’s immediately striking is how lived in the whole thing feels. From the first few seconds, there’s a warmth and looseness that draws you in. You can almost picture the studio vintage amps humming, cigarette smoke curling, maybe someone pouring another drink in the corner. It’s raw in the best way: not undercooked, just honest. The production never gets in the way of the personality. You hear creaks in the floorboards, imperfections in the takes, and all of it adds to the charm. Lyrically, James straddles that line between sly wit and soul-baring honesty. There’s humour tucked into his phrasing, but it’s never gimmicky. It comes from a place of perspective, like someone who’s been through the ringer but still finds reasons to laugh. At the same time, he doesn’t shy away from vulnerability whether he’s confronting time’s passage, personal struggle, or the absurdity of the music industry, it all comes across with sincerity and a wink. Stylistically, Straight Up lives somewhere between classic blues-rock and late-night dive bar storytelling. Think somewhere between J.J. Cale, early Tom Waits, and a looser Clapton but all filtered through Jamie’s own voice and experience. There’s swagger, sure, but there’s also reflection. He never leans too hard in either direction. The record breathes. What’s really refreshing is that it’s not overproduced or polished within an inch of its life. There’s no sense of “trying too hard” here. The guitar tones are warm and gritty, the rhythm section grooves with subtle confidence, and James’ vocals carry the whole thing with a smoky kind of authority. You get the feeling these songs weren’t laboured over for months they were probably captured in a handful of takes, with instinct leading the way. And that instinct is right on the money. There’s also a kind of emotional through-line that holds the whole album together. Even when the tempo picks up or the lyrics get tongue-in-cheek, there’s a weight underneath a sense that Jamie isn’t just playing the blues; he’s carried them. And that gives the lighter moments more impact. The album doesn’t wallow, but it doesn’t ignore the shadows either. It acknowledges them, tips its hat, and keeps moving. One of the more surprising strengths of Straight Up is how diverse it manages to be without ever losing its identity. You get hints of swing, classic rock, back-porch blues, even touches of gospel and soul but it never feels disjointed. Jamie’s voice both vocally and as a writer is the anchor. It’s not about fireworks or technical flexing. It’s about vibe, tone, and heart. And on that front, he delivers in spades. You can tell this is music made for the love of it. There’s no pretension here. No desperation to chase a chart position or please an algorithm. It’s music you’d expect to hear played live in a dimly lit venue, where the audience is close enough to see the sweat on the fretboard and the stories behind the eyes. That closeness, that intimacy, is something most records today don’t even try to capture but Jamie James bottles it. It’s also worth noting how well-paced the record is. Even at ten tracks, it never drags. Each song feels like it earns its place, and there’s a natural arc to the listening experience. By the end, you don’t feel exhausted or overwhelmed you just feel like you’ve spent time with someone who had something to say, and said it in exactly the way they needed to. No filter, no fluff. If there’s a takeaway from Straight Up, it’s this: there’s still something powerful about music that doesn’t try to be everything to everyone. This record knows exactly what it is bluesy, heartfelt, sometimes cheeky, always grounded and it leans into that with conviction. Jamie James might not be aiming to reinvent the wheel, but he’s making damn sure it rolls smooth.