Leans away from the regimented deathblack-swarm of their debut, embracing bestial entropy at every turn. Witness an orgiastic deathspree, a band freed from the chains of sanity and convention. After a period of adjustment, realization emerges that this unbridled vision of Paroxsihzem is just as compelling. The demented joy is infectious, and this chaotic evolution doesn't discount an ounce of the quality previously displayed. The new-found diversity of riffs, rhythm, and dynamics make for a disturbingly memorable listening experience. Have fun storming the castle.
An exquisite, uncharacterizable cocktail of chaotic extremity. Deathspell-style dissonance doused in jet fuel, steeped in noxious hardcore and noise tendencies, dropped in a vat of demented death until dripping black, set the fuck on fire. Crooked arpeggiations ride rock-steady blasts and bursts, degenerating purposefully into Gorgutsy turbulence. Count in the broiling vocal fever-dreams and the pyrrhic victory is complete.
A choked, churning vomitorium of extremity. Slays in all directions, trampling heedlessly through death, crust, grind, and speed metal alike. Riffs and rage of the utmost purity propel this pandemonium, guided by deft and deadly percussion, goaded on by dope vocals. Goddamn hooks, I tell you. Solos squeal with chaotic glee, as if conjured by Kerry King with hair, on coke. Make no mistake, this is a gorgeously ugly affair, reeking of the lawless abandon of a band like Revenge while channeling the efficacy of a youthful Trey Azagthoth. I’m a proponent of brevity, but every spin of this fifteen minute morsel leaves me with an unrequited blood-thirst. Take heed.
Out on May 2nd via Iron Bonehead Productions.
Intriguing, buzzing, and blackened visions of doom, as if Blut Aus Nord turned their gaze towards utter despair. Ambitiously intricate in construction, deceptively dynamic in execution. Sinuous, shimmering visions will burst into tremolated flame without notice, lending precipitous dread to the proceedings. Rife with wicked riffs, peculiar arpeggiations, and magisterial atmosphere. Satisfies the desire for elaborate, ominous malevolence. Everyone needs a little evil sometimes.
Out on March 31st via Nuclear War Now! Productions
Funeral doom of the impossibly slow persuasion. Presented as two elephantine minor key mantras, crystal clear in delivery, crushing in poignancy. Although minimalistic and direct, the compositions ooze downcast mastery. Scathing vocals slice through the leaden march with pleasing ease, further emphasizing the power of these deliberate, measured movements. Perhaps only for the funeral doom devotee. Perhaps a pinnacle of this ponderous art.
Brilliant funeral doom by way of mechanized death. Perpetuates the sonic efficacies of their debut EP, and continues the lordly legacy of the diSEMBOWELMENT bloodline. Distinct, dry strains of death feel firmly rooted in timelessness. Death and doom sit side by side, separated by satisfying stylistic gulfs. Haunting melodies float on crushing, doomed undercurrents, and reflect many stylistic mannerisms of their antipodean countrymen in Mournful Congregation. Inverloch, however, are prone to outbursts of blastbeaten speed, driven by gorgeous percussive feats and icy, pointillistic riffs. A relentless funeral, a spree of death-dealing glory, an absolute necessity.
Out on March 4th via Relapse:
A revelatory blaze of light amidst a bleak black metal desert. Rides a bolt of Cascadian lightning, but does the deed without sycophantic intent. Whorls and eddies of dense melodic alchemy evoke the nofucksgiving of Weakling, while skirting the esoteric inhumanity of Krallice. An organic outburst of utter chaos, with a feeling of uncalculated necessity. An inexorable undertow, a bullseye of atmosphere and riffs, a no-mercy killing.
You say Assück, I say sign me up. A seasoned crew of veterans invoke the name of the most holy Ass, and deliver delightful death-grind goodness. Blunt force riffs reflect all of grind's chromatic demons, and a meaty-thick guitar tone wipes the floor with your entrails. Atonal bile is dispensed in slithering bursts and terse blasts. Gurgle and howl, churn and hurl; don't swallow your tongue. We all need a little beating sometimes.
Out on February 5th via Relapse.
Articulate, raging death that rubs sandpaper on a longstanding God Dethroned itch. Possessed of majestic panache, sporting riffs that rate on the Dissection spectrum. Gut-gurgling vocals, explosive drumming, and a meaty-raw sonic oeuvre make for a compelling spin. Keep these Eye Tyrants on your radar.
Unabashed heaviness of the auld school, executed with charismatic aplomb. This is how I want my straight-up heavy metal served, but modern purveyors consistently disappoint. Gygax roll a natural 20, threading the needle of impossibly compelling mojo. More Thin Lizzy than Maiden, more rocking’ than a sack of Deep Purple socks. Vocals more earnest than Mike Scalzi, less operatic than Russel Allen, somehow perfect. Righteous riffs, songwriting, fucking Dungeons & Dragons. What is best in life?
Out January 22nd via Creator-Destructor Records.
A slow unfurling of ancient sounds and ritualistic atavism; a singular sonic experience. Scandinavian chant borne on on pulsing rhythms and haunting melody. Assorted primitive instruments accompany the listener towards inevitable death. Not metal, per se, but entirely enthralling and addictive. A balm for blasted ears and pagan tears.
Out January 29th through Nordvis.