Babylon

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.