Angry Metal Guy

German black/thrash/heavy metal trio Witching Hour return for your soul, eight long years since their last outburst ...and Silent Grief Shadows the Passing Moon. Alongside contemporaries like Nocturnal, Cruel Force, and Manzer, Witching Hour’s recent output has been well-received by critics and audiences alike. This puts the upcoming Decending… Where Time Has Ceased to Exist, Witching Hour’s fourth release in 20 years, in a prime position to compete well in its field. Will Descent… lead to greatness or will Witching Hour fumble the landing?

In some ways, they’ve threatened both. Witching Hour are an incredibly talented bunch, deftly straddling fences between black metal char, heavy metal righteousness, and thrash metal vitriol. Descending…’s warm and natural tones enhance these qualities, presenting a product that is easy on the ear while deadly to the spine. Songs build around long-form structures, with the shortest cut measuring over six minutes (not counting the fluffy instrumental intro), but overall runtime slots in at a tight 43 minutes. This makes repeat listens easy to approach. Sounds like everything is in place to secure a high score on the board, right?

Unfortunately, the songwriting lets Descending… down. Witching Hour’s latest epic suffers the same flaw as its predecessor: a lack of compositional dynamics and an overabundance of recycled parts. Each song taken out of the whole makes a compelling case. “Where Time Has Ceased to Exist” sets the bar quite high for the rest of the record, churning with a heavy metal swagger and roaring with spirit through epic leads, scorching tremolos, and thrashy switch-ups. Similarly, “Profane Resurrection of a Presumed Dead” hooks its claws into the brain with an insidious chorus bark and fiery guitar and percussion work. However, when unified as a whole, it’s all too easy to interchange phrases and measures between songs without fragmenting the experience. I can place my mark on two opposite sides—and stick a couple more pins in the center—and the same riffing motif, similar leads and flourishes, suspiciously familiar vocal runs, and the exact same bass-snare alternation greet me.

Doubly damning, epic 11-minute closer “…and Then Came the Flames” showcases all of these issues in a microcosm, establishing a concise summary of everything heard thus far. And just like the others, taken out of the album context, the song rocks. Reminiscent of the same kind of grand, hellish adventure that Bütcher so gloriously captures on 666 Goats Carry My Chariot, “…and Then Came the Flames” feels complete, exciting, and wild, at least at first. As the track progresses, recycled parts and pieces cheapen the experience until I’m desperate to jump off the boat as it reaches shore. This mirrors my experience with the album as a whole. Fun and entertaining in the initial throes, it becomes a slog to get through in remarkably short order. By the time the closer wraps up, I’ve heard multiple iterations of the same ideas, spliced and arranged to deceive me into believing, if only for a moment, that I could pick any of these songs (minus the opener proper) out of a lineup without a cheat sheet.

Confounding as it is, Witching Hour represents a clash between having great ideas and writing songs that don’t adequately support or develop them. Instead, Descending… drops their best work into a sea of repetitive structures and monotonous bloat in the hopes that observers might then discern and appreciate them. With at least a half dozen spins under my belt at the time of writing, I did indeed find worthy gems to take home—and when isolated from the collection, those gems really sparkle. However, those rewards don’t quite justify the expanse of fluff and drag that bog Descending… down. In another world where Witching Hour invoked a greater variety of techniques, tempos, and textures to fortify their compositions and bring reliability to excitement, this record would’ve been a barnburner. As it is, it never truly catches fire, and leaves me wanting.

Rating: Disappointing…
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3
Label: Dying Victims Productions
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: May 22nd, 2026

When one thinks of Long Island, stoner doom may not be the first musical variant that comes to mind. Restless Spirit have been out to change that since 2015, dropping several EPs and 3 long players of massive, weighty music with toes in the pools frequented by Mastodon, C.O.C., and The Sword. 2023s Afterimage was a great album crushed beneath a disastrous production that made enjoyment nigh impossible. Now comes their self-titled 4th album and a bit of a course correction. It’s a lighter, more rocking effort with a sense of brightness and wistfulness embedded in the burly, beefy sound. It’s still something entirely well-suited for a biker bar, but what Restless Spirit does is put them in the same ballpark as acts like Clutch, Fireball Ministry, and Freedom Hawk, and just in time for summer sun and outdoor beer drinking. How could that be a bad thing?

The things I love about Restless Spirit are still here, as opening track “The Burning Need” ably illustrates. It’s slick, bluesy, hard rock in the vein of C.O.C. with big riffs and feedback backing up Paul Alosio’s big, soulful bellows. It’s groovy, crunchy stuff with balls aplenty and a chorus that really pops and sticks in the craw, and you’d be forgiven for thinking this came from some southern crew rather than 3 guys from New York. The goods keep coming on “Hallowed,” which is a bit more spacey and moody, but the hooks are there, and the riffs do most of the talking, as they should. There’s a vintage Monster Magnet vibe in its DNA, and the guitar work is quite agile and interesting, with moments of introspective melancholy effectively stirred into the brew. “Desolations Wake” is a big moment, taking a rocked-out, rowdy approach to entertainingly punchy places with hard-charging guitar work that reminds a lot of Freedom Hawk. It’s got enough machismo to put extra hair on your nethers and make you want to punch a boulder. This one is heading right to my fun in the sun playlist with a bullet.

Unfortunately, not everything Restless Spirit attempts is a home run, and while nothing here is bad, cuts like “Red in Tooth and Claw” feel a bit more generic and safe. While the nearly 7 minutes of “Time and Distance” pass pretty well thanks to the powerhouse guitar work and forceful vocals, it does feel a bit overlong by the end. The nearly 9-minute closer, “Phantom Pain,” features a 70s psych-rock flavor that reminds me of Wino’s solo material, and the laid-back, emotive guitars pair well with the rougher, heavy riffs. But the length isn’t entirely justified, and by the 6th minute, things start to feel too stretched out. At just over 40 minutes, tracks like these make Restless Spirit feel longer than it really is, despite a good amount of interesting ideas and solid performances across the board. On the good side, the production is vastly better than last time, feeling warm and bright. The guitars have the proper weight, and the drum sound is satisfyingly deep.

The center of the Restless Spirit universe is Paul Alosio. His riffs and emotive fretboarding provide the foundation for everything, and he’s quite adept at crafting powerful, sinuous leads that grab your attention. Since this kind of music lives and dies by the riffs, he’s the prime mover, and move you he will as he dabbles in 70s rock and borrows from the expected wellsprings like Black Sabbath and Kyuss. He pairs his leads with an effectively rough but melodic vocal approach, and he’s at his best here, delivering with gravitas and soul. Marc Morello backs him up with thick, fat basslines that rumble and quake in all the best ways, while kitman Jon Gusman pounds away with abandon and a keen sense of groove. This is a talented trio, but their mostly good works get partially undermined by occasionally inconsistent writing and a bloat outbreak on the album’s ass-end.

Restless Spirit is a lesser creature than Afterimage and Blood of the Old Gods, but when it hits the mark, it will leave a deep impression on your ears. It’s worth checking out though, and I’m still a big believer in what the future holds for Restless Spirit. Talent abides, and spirits lurk endlessly, after all. Hail the Isle of Long!

Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Magnetic Eye
Websites: restlessspirit.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/restlessspiritny | instagram.com/restlessspirit
Releases Worldwide: May 8th, 2026

I’ve gone back and forth about how to introduce The Ghost of a Future Dead, the eighth full-length by legendary Swedish death metal innovators At The Gates, the first with the returning Anders Björler back on lead guitar and songwriting duties (along with his twin brother, bassist Jonas) and also the final album featuring the late, great Tomas “Tompa” Lindberg, who sadly succumbed to a rare-but-super-aggressive bout of cancer in September of 2025. This introductory paragraph (and review) has been typed, deleted, reworded, deleted, approached differently, deleted, etc. so many times that I’ve lost count and given myself a colossal migraine in overthinking, over-evaluating, and over-justifying. But there comes a point where, in my month of listening to this, you have to say “fuck it,” and proceed in the direction that your gut, heart, and ears are guiding you towards. I will simply state that The Ghost of a Future Dead is many things.

What it’s not, however, is a pity party. Like anyone else with a conscience and heart, I was devastated to read about what Lindberg went through over the last few years with his battle against Adenoid Cystic Carcinoma, and was heartbroken when he died after a bravely-fought battle. You wouldn’t know he was struggling upon listening to the album, however, as Lindberg was in fine form here. His delivery has never been this potent, this acidic, with lead-off single “The Fever Mask” demonstrating his caustic delivery just fine. Elsewhere, “Det oerhörda,” the first At The Gates song written entirely in Swedish, further channels Lindberg’s rage and intensity. The fact that he performed all his parts, in one day and mostly in one take on the day before his surgery, before his bandmates even recorded anything is nothing short of impressive, as it doesn’t sound like it at all.

Speaking of his bandmates, to say they all brought their A-game would be a grotesque understatement. To be frank, this is the At The Gates album I was craving when they first reunited back in 2010.¹ Everyone went all-out, and the results are ridiculous. Both Björler brothers and fellow guitarist Martin Larsson hurl riff after monstrous riff at you, but also know how to construct some damn fine harmonies like on “The Fever Mask” and “A Ritual of Waste.” As for Adrian Erlandsson, his fills and embellishments border on the criminal. I’m sure the rather obscene breakdown section of “The Unfathomable” is considered illegal in most countries, with Erlandsson incorporating a well-placed ride cymbal “TING!” at just the right time² to send people into a pit-inducing frenzy. In fact, with the exception of moody instrumental “Förgängligheten,” The Ghost is just fire and rage from beginning to glorious end, and all four instrumentalists paid loving, yet visceral, tribute to a fallen bandmate and brother on here.

The Jens Bogren production also elevates The Ghost into the upper echelons of At The Gates’ discography. Both the guitars and the drums radiate a profound heft and clarity. Speaking of clarity, being able to make out Jonas’ basslines is much, much appreciated, as he can play his ass off. Also speaking of Jonas, one thing I noticed was the more progressive leanings that he incorporated on To Drink From the Night Itself and The Nightmare of Being are still present at times, like on “The Dissonant Void,” might be reduced significantly, but they’re present and better incorporated, leading to a better impact overall. For 42 minutes and some change, The Ghost is the sound of everyone firing on all cylinders.

Full admission: everyone behind the scenes at Angry Metal Guy wanted to hear The Ghost of a Future Dead, but nobody wanted to review it. If it sucked,³ no one understandably wanted to say as much. If it were legitimately good, people would say that it’s said out of grief, trying to fit in with established publications, or some other bullshit reason. In this case, since it goes toe-to-toe with their best work (and in some ways surpasses them), it’s all those reasons plus receiving an unnecessary amount of grief from the comments section, crying about the audacity of giving it the score it ultimately received, despite all justification on my part. So I’ll take it on the chin for the team and state that yes, The Ghost of a Future Dead deserves the score due to the quality, ferociousness, and heart on display. If this ends up being At The Gates’ swansong,⁴ this is a hell of a way to go out, as they dropped another classic on our sorry asses. Awesome job, to all those involved. Rest in power, Tompa.

Rating: 5.0/5.0
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 256 kbps mp3
Label: Century Media Records
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: April 24th, 2026

At first blush, pop music and progressive rock might seem too contradictory to be combined effectively. While the former prioritizes immediate accessibility, the latter prizes unconventional artistic expression. Even so, several Norwegian bands are finding immensely original ways to reconcile these differences. Moron Police and Meer have been showered with heaps of deserved praise by my colleagues, but I discovered my personal favorite of the bunch tucked at the very end of GardensTale’s Top Ten(ish) of 2022 list. Major Parkinson’s Valesa – Chapter I: Velvet Prison quickly became one of my most beloved records of all time with its inimitable charm and wit. All permanent band members have returned for Valesa – Chapter II: Viva the Apocalypse!, which is particularly relieving given vocalist Jon Ivar Kollbotn’s heart attack while performing on stage a few years ago. I’m grateful that the full crew is still here to delight audiences once more.

If there’s anything predictable about Major Parkinson, it’s their unpredictability. While the chimeric fusion of synth-pop and prog rock of Velvet Prison was drenched in 80s nostalgia, Viva the Apocalypse! feels somewhat more modernized. The guitar lines (Øystein Bech-Eriksen and Sondre Skollevoll¹) are much more prominent and flashy, with full-on solos in “Showbiz” and “Superdad.” In fact, pretty much everything about Viva the Apocalypse! is flashy. Lars Christian Bjørknes’s² piano keys that featured prominently in prior albums are mostly replaced by glitzy synths, frequently underscored by blazing trumpets³ and smooth saxophone.⁴ Brand-new guest vocalist Halie’s husky singing complements Kollbotn’s gravelly yet velvety tones extremely well. His voice has only become richer over time, bathing my ears as if with warm honey.

Major Parkinson has always been defined by duality, but on Viva the Apocalypse! it’s sharper than ever. The first half of the record is full of ridiculously catchy, quirky arrangements and carefree curiosity. There are even sprinklings of funk (“Superdad”) and gospel (“Showbiz”). “Viva the Apocalypse!” is the climax of this feverish party, as trumpets, upbeat electronic tunes, and guitar riffs blast with reckless abandon. But something about all this mirth doesn’t feel quite genuine, and the second half of Viva the Apocalypse! grows more hostile as the mask starts to slip. “Karma Supernova” begins with ominous bass notes that intertwine with guitar and synth lines to signal something sinister approaching, with Sondre Veland’s drumming sporadically becoming frantic as tension builds and releases. His frenzied kitwork and the whirring synth tone at the end of “Maybelline” give the vivid impression that the record is about to self-destruct.

As different as the individual elements are on Viva the Apocalypse!, Major Parkinson again weaves them together into a unified and unique experience. I miss the eccentric interludes from Velvet Prison, but other songwriting tricks have carried over. As before, Viva the Apocalypse! leans on simple recurring lyrics to tie the tracks together with tickling déjà vu. Examples include “The world is on fire, and you look so beautiful” (“Superdad,” Kiss Me Now!”), and “Free drinks for everyone!” (“Showbiz,” “Karma Supernova”). I particularly love the one-two punch of “Superdad” and “Father Superior,” which (as their titles suggest) are deliciously complementary, both musically and lyrically. However, I’m less enthralled by Kollbotn’s unsettling shouting match with returning vocalist Peri Winkle in “Maybelline,” which contrasts starkly with their gentle duet in “Kiss Me Now!” Despite the powerful artistic statement, these closing tracks are more difficult to appreciate musically.

In many ways, Viva the Apocalypse! is Major Parkinson’s most incendiary chapter to date. It’s more technically impressive—the drums and guitars in particular get their chance to shine brightly. Once again, they have cleverly evolved their sound and leveraged a diverse supporting cast to enrich the musical environment. The first half of Viva the Apocalypse! is a fantastic dream from which I don’t want to wake, but the second half is meaner and less emotionally gripping for me. Still, there is something special going on here, just like in Norway’s prog scene as a whole. If the world is on fire, I’m glad that Major Parkinson is around to give us a good time as it goes up in flames.

Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: PCM
Label: Apollon Records
Websites: majorparkinson.bandcamp.com | majorparkinson.com | facebook.com/majorparkinson
Releases Worldwide: March 13th, 2026

We get a lot of bold claims in the promo pit. It’s understandable; writing advertisements for music sounds like a thankless task, and no one is going to submit an album telling us that it’s a smidgen above mediocrity.¹ No, everything death has to be the most moldy, blackened, the most evil, stoner the most groovy, and power the most disposable and ignored album we’ve ever heard in our life. Imagine my eyebrows raising, then, to discover a new offering from Swedish mainstays Sarcasm, who simply described themselves as being more than just Swedeath. Few genres in metal have such imposed and strict limitations, from guitar tones to riff stylings, and one second sampling Feral or Lik and their ilk make the expected sound clear from the get-go. Consequently, such a bold claim of genre transcendence stands out in the face of a sea of self-aggrandizement, and all I could think was the most un-sarcastic “Sold.”

In order to be “more” than Swedeath, you still need the foundation to build on, and Sarcasm drapes their meat and lifeblood on the bones of great fossils of olde. Lifeforce Omnibound kicks off with a balls-out assault sounding composed by Vomitory but with a grasp of leads that seek to Dismember listeners far and wide. The path of the album is one that unfurls its more progressive tendencies the deeper you go, starting like a high-grade tribute to their 90s selves but getting more curious as it unfolds. “Altering the Perception” is a key example; starting off like a cut off of At the Gate’s At War With Reality, and featuring vibrant leads and a Gothenburg flavored stomp in its perpetual revolving assault. Suddenly, bursts of color reminiscent of Dark Tranquility emphasize transitional passages, and an overreliance on the stereotypical snare-and-bass drumbeat plaguing much of Swedeath is mercifully absent, instead featuring sudden aggressive riffing styles more reminiscent of New York-style brawl.

The whole of Lifeforce Omnibound is riddled with such flourishes, working hard to buck genre expectations. “The Reward of Adversity” offers listeners a relaxing Wombbath with a full piano and violin break, which slots excellently between the 6/8 violence, while “Plunged Into a Paradox” channels the more progressive melodic tremolos from Analepsy’s Quiescence.² Speaking of tremolos, much of the album comes with a distinctly blackened edge, especially with Jesper Ojala’s Watain-influenced drumming style, and vocalist Heval Bozarslan features a much higher range and sneering shriek compared to the genre’s usual guttural fare. “Wayward Fragments of Infinite Divisibility” flirts briefly with slam tendencies before collapsing into an absolute BOP of a china-and-high-hat centric dissonant riff modern Pestilence would be proud to sign their name to, only to rush into well executed melo-death shred prowess. Sarcasm have offered up an album which is loyal to its genre roots, but under no circumstances allows itself to sit still and be confined to its labels.

All of these names and influences sound like this album could be an unfocused disaster, but nothing could be further from the truth. Compositional excellence allows Sarcasm to slide between moods like they were headbanging between the raindrops, and few elements detract from the overall experience. True, Lifeforce Omnibound does have more than a few spoken word sections, which halt the momentum as all spoken word sections in albums do. Regretfully, it also sounds like Sarcasm ran out of different ideas near the end, coasting to the finish line with a concluding track which is the most traditional sounding song on the album, albeit a quality one. Still, there’s always room for MOAR Swedeath in life, and for an ending to be merely anticlimactic is hardly the worst sin an album can commit.

To my delighted surprise, Sarcasm did it. Lifeforce Omnibound is nominally Swedeath, and yet the sheer glut of sounds I hear pouring through my headphones shows a band not content to spin their wheels and live on the laurels of vintage sounds of yore. An excellent approach to disparaging elements and a seamless fusion of neighboring ones, Sarcasm have created an album that transcends the sum of its parts to be something truly enjoyable. If you’re one of those who have turned away from Swedeath due to a lack of growth in the sound, hop on this immediately. Yes, really.

Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Hammerheart Records
Website: Album Bandcamp
Releases Worldwide: May 29th, 2026

Seven Metal Sins are a new act from France dedicated to the classic 80s heavy metal sound made famous by Accept and Gravedigger. On their Legacy of Chaos debut, they bring a ton of retro enthusiasm to the table, trying their level best to cobble together an album’s worth of headbanging, fist-pumping metal with loads of macho machismo and every traditional metal trope imaginable. The closest comparison is Gravedigger, as Seven Metal Sins base their sound around big, beefy riffs and warbling, semi-harsh vocals. This makes the material on Legacy of Chaos sit somewhere between Gravedigger classics like Excalibur and especially Rheingold. That’s a fine place to aim for, but unfortunately, it’s not so easy to stick the landing and come up equal to those particular platters. It also leaves those who attempt it exposed to sounding like an earnest but watered-down copy of the original. And in the worst-case scenario, a mere copy of a copy. Can Seven Metal Sins avoid these lethal pitfalls?

There’s no shortage of meatheaded metal exuberance on opening proper cut “Scars of Injustice.” It’s got everything someone who grew up in the 80s blasting Teutonic metal could want. Frontman Clovis Gay sounds a whole lot like Gravedigger’s Chris Boltendahl crossbred with Rebellion’s Michael Seifert, and he gleefully goes WAY over the top with a hoarse squeal and roar. As Clovis does his thing, Antton Iriat and Frédéric Auclerc flatten resistance with road-grading, burly riffs, and entertaining harmonies designed to bring out your inner ape. There’s a big whiff of Rheingold here, and I can’t huff enough of that Germanic wonderdust. The template thus set, Seven Metal Sins set out to build on it whilst beating your ass from chimpanz-A to pimpanzeE. Cuts like “Hypocrisy” eschew nuance in favor of head-on, full-speed collision dynamics, using riffacades and raw aggression to drive the point home, and it works for them in the same way it worked for Gravedigger on their best albums. Album highlight “Feel the Steel” takes this formula and runs with it for 4 minutes of brain-shaking classic metal fury that gets even an elder primate like me up and throwing heavy objects. It’s a warhammer of a tune, and it reminds me a lot of the better Rebellion material, including their mighty paean, “Taste of the Steel.”

Legacy of Chaos is the rare album that improves as it rolls along, gathering momentum and crucial energy, and the songwriting becomes more and more memorable too. Later tracks like “Wolves of the Last Dawn” and “Sun Eaters” are old-timey heavy metal burners, high on energy, low on subtlety, and they’re great for a tough cardio session. “Rise of the Phoenix” has one of the best choruses, and even the closing power ballad “King of Sorrow” works, both as a change of pace and a suitably epic finale. At just under 47 minutes, Legacy of Chaos is a fast-moving, jacked-up spin through the glory days of heavy metal, and no song outstays its welcome or bogs down the meat parade.

Clovis Gay has the kind of voice that was made for metal. He can sign, but often opts to roar, shout, warble, and caterwaul, and that’s the golden ticket for this kind of fare. Like Chris Boltendahl, he will be a love or hate proposition for some, but I dig his rough ‘n’ ready style. It’s Antton Iriat and Frédéric Auclerc that really anchor the sound with their mighty riffs and the way they use them to hammer at you until you give in and enjoy the ride. This is a tried-and-true formula, and it works in 2026 as it did in 1985.

When I first started spinning Legacy of Chaos, I felt like Seven Metal Sins were like Gravedigger from Temu or a “we have Gravedigger at home” situation. Both are somewhat true, but the band is stout enough to deliver an entertaining platter of metal nonetheless. There’s nothing here you haven’t heard a million times before, and no one will put this on end-of-year lists, but it’s a fun, brainless release with enough nut wattage to warm the cockles of the 80s metal fan. Now let’s commence to metal sinning.¹

Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: 5 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Rockshots
Websites: facebook.com/sevenmetalsins | instagram.com/seven_metal_sins.official
Releases Worldwide: June 5th, 2026

Black metal veterans Hecate Enthroned have spent decades trying to step out of Cradle of Filth’s shadow—and not without reason. The two are widely credited with helping shape the UK black metal scene, sharing close stylistic similarities and even swapping a member or two at various points. In the late ’90s, they were nearly as inseparable as a pair of sultry vampiric twins until Cradle of Filth’s theatrical bombast launched them into the mainstream, landing their merch in Hot Topic stores and on the backs of angsty teenagers everywhere. Meanwhile, Hecate Enthroned remained largely underground. Over the course of six albums, they’ve largely stayed true to their sound, and while consistent, their discography has often felt average. 2019’s Embrace of the Godless Aeon was no different, receiving a modest rating from these hallowed halls. Their seventh effort, The Corpse of a Titan, A Lament Long Buried, harkens the return of these blackened aficionados after a seven-year break, and given these lads’ history, curiosity led me to snag Corpse from the promo bin.

Continuing the trajectory set by its predecessor, Corpse pushes Hecate Enthroned further into Emperor’s nocturnal, foreboding soundscapes rather than Cradle of Filth’s, injecting some fresh touches that come as a pleasant surprise. Tracks like “Steed of the Still Water,” “Spirits Stir Within Our Ancestors Tombs” and “The Arcane Golem” elicit solid songwriting and build on the same orchestral arrangements Lord Doom previously deemed gutless. This time, however, the symphonics feel more varied, robust, and commanding, often drawing my attention amid the group’s tight and confident performances. Corpse also ventures into atmo-black territory on songs like “Deathless in the Dryad Glade” and “Steed of the Still Water,” while vocalist Joe Stamps adds welcome variety to the classic Dani Filth-esque shrieks of albums past with a smattering of demonic growls and coarse shouts that lend a sharper edge previously missing.

Hecate Enthroned’s sharp performances, well-executed melodic passages, and occasional bursts of groove and heaviness reinforce that these are seasoned veterans who understand their craft. Throughout Corpse—especially in its first half—there are numerous moments that suggest a more focused version of the group is finally emerging. “The Arcane Golem” and “Spirits Stir Within Our Ancestors Tombs” pair incisive tremolos with hooky riffing and cinematic orchestral flourishes, while Stamps’ rasp and growl attack cuts through the mix with authority. Similarly, “Deathless in the Dryad Glade” and “Steed of the Still Water” highlight the sextet’s melodic instincts and sense of dynamics, weaving vulnerable, atmo-black-inspired intros into blazing tremolos, acoustic and violin textures, and piano accents that coalesce into some of the album’s best moments. The latter’s opening groove and added vocal heft make it one of the record’s most complete cuts, standing out clearly from the rest.

While Hecate Enthroned’s musicianship is rarely in doubt, the record’s high points constantly clash with its more persistent shortcomings. Long runtimes, abrupt transitions, and questionable structural choices—like the six‑minute interlude “Pwca,” which builds to nothing, or the jarring segue that kills the momentum of “A Gallery of Rotting Portraits”—are frustrating because they erode Corpse’s potential. And at 53-minutes, the album’s songwriting is often too bloated for the material it contains. Several tracks stretch past seven minutes despite having ideas suited for far shorter runtimes, resulting in repetition and stagnation. Mid-song atmospheric interludes also routinely overstay their welcome and muddled thematic and structural decisions only compound things. The outcome is a record where the standout moments feel like exceptions rather than the rule and where uneven, overextended songwriting undermines Hecate Enthroned’s skill.

The phrase “what you see is what you get” applies perfectly here, as Corpse largely walks the well-trodden path Hecate Enthroned have been treading for over twenty years. A great record has long eluded these Brits, and the streak continues with Corpse. I enjoyed several cuts on this record, and it was close to coalescing into something greater, but inconsistent songwriting, structural missteps, and homogeneity limit its upside. Corpse’s strengths prove Hecate Enthroned still have the technical ability and atmospheric instincts to craft compelling symphonic black metal, even if they appear too sporadically to define Corpse as a whole. Longtime fans will certainly find lots to be excited about here and likely appreciate how faithfully they’ve stayed true to their roots while pushing other aspects forward. For listeners like me, however, Hecate Enthroned remain adrift in a crowded black sea of similarly minded bands that are competent, occasionally compelling, but far from essential.

Rating: Mixed
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3
Label: M-Theory
Websites: Bandcamp | hecateenthroned.com | facebook.com/HecateEnthroned
Releases Worldwide: May 29th, 2026

When last we visited the Iron Kingdom, the frigid temps forced Holdeneye to don his special Arctic Wolf Fur Armor (providing +50% cold resistance). With the changing seasons, the climate has transformed into a desert under a scorching hot sun. These Canucks have been putting out classic-style heavy metal since 2011, though founders Chris Osterman and Leighton Holmes originally started the band under the moniker Twisted in 2004. Despite all that history, Shadows and Dust, their sixth album, will be just the second time they’ve graced these halls, following Holdeneye’s review of 2019’s On the Hunt. As prepared as Holdeneye was for the frigid setting of On the Hunt, his Arctic armor unfortunately could not handle the sudden increase in temperature. So I have come in his stead, donning my Hooded Cloak of the Dragon (+50% heat resistance) to travel the Iron Kingdom and report my findings.

On Shadows and Dust, Iron Kingdom remain defenders of the NWOTHM brand. With their instruments and voices, Iron Kingdom summon classic Judas Priest, Iron Maiden, and Helloween. Much of what they offer is mid-tempo bruisers featuring energetic riffs and kit work. Opener “Defenders” proves to be the standard bearer for the mid-tempo stuff, with solid instrumentation and the catchiest chorus on the record. Iron Kingdom occasionally reach for Painkiller levels of thrash as well. The high-energy “Eternal Emperor” features some killer riffs and is so much fun it competes with the best in the genre. Only two songs fall below the four-minute mark (“Line of Fire,” “Dark Demands”), and these prove lean, mean thrash machines that inject the album with energy and momentum. Not that I frown upon the longer tracks. Iron Kingdom employs plenty of tricks to keep the music engaging, particularly energetic dueling solos from Osterman and Megan Merrick that are simply a blast.

The crew comprising this Kingdom prove themselves more than capable musicians. Osterman takes the traditional part of NWOTHM literally with a lively performance that mixes Bruce Dickinson and Michael Kiske. He hits the high notes, but has a light gruffness to keep songs from growing treacly sweet. Holmes provides occasional backup duty on some call-and-response portions. When he shouts “Fight or die!” in response to Osterman on “Line of Fire,” it’s just pure fun. Holmes also excels at the bass. This chosen weapon proves omnipresent thanks to the strong mixing, adding meat and groove to the underlying riffs. His terrific bass part on “Blood and Steel” turns that into a track highlight. Merrick and Osterman show off their stuff on the guitars, injecting the standard rhythm sections with some acrobatic fretwork that’s reminiscent of last year’s Helms Deep. Max Friesen handles kit duties with aplomb. His mid-tempo work keeps up a constant near-thrash level of energy to prime listeners for when songs do go to the next level.

Shadows and Dust shows a pretty significant creep in length compared to Iron Kingdom’s prior few albums. I believe this is the result of some slightly better song compositions, but also a little bloat. For the most part, these tunes don’t feel their length, but a few less memorable cuts do cause the record to sag. “Deadhouse Gates” threatens to kill the momentum mid-record as it becomes too repetitive in its final minute. Fortunately, “Line of Fire” comes to the rescue with a crucial momentum boost. Finale “Sacred Fire,” an epic in the vein of classic Maiden, also runs a touch too long, but manages to entertain for most of its seven-minute runtime. While Iron Kingdom don’t tread any new ground, Shadows and Dust nonetheless offers plenty of fun without any major missteps.

The Iron Kingdom has proved to be a worthy and fun place to visit. It’s far less expensive than the budget-breaking Magic Kingdom and far less brutal than the Steel Kingdom.¹ Sure you can go back and spin classics like Keeper of the Seven Keys a whole bunch, but it’s also fun to hear some fresh songs in the genre from newer bands who know how to write a good lick or two. While the summer is so far shaping up to be another hot one, Shadows and Dust provides the perfect soundtrack to beat the heat. It’s that cool.

Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Self-Released (NA) / Steel Shark Records (EU)
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Site
Releases Worldwide: June 5th, 2026

One of the paradoxes of living in a large city is the tendency of its inhabitants to feel isolated despite being surrounded by millions of people. Something of a “water, water, everywhere but not a drop to drink” phenomenon. It seems—at least to me—that this theme frequently surfaces within the post-black metal subgenre. Callous Faulter was founded by J. Angus in Melbourne, Australia, in order to give sonic form to urban loneliness. Their mission statement is succinct and straightforward: “Modern life is hell and Callous Faulter provide the soundtrack.” And considering that this is a debut record, Callous Faulter is quite a potent soundtrack indeed.

If the weather where you live has become uncomfortably hot and sunny, Callous Faulter is more than willing to conjure dour moods and dismal days. This flavor of downcast post-black bears a passing resemblance to that of White Ward, but whereas White Ward tempers their bleak outlook with pensive, jazzy sections, Callous Faulter presents an unflinching and unrelenting emotional assault.¹ Another way to contextualize Callous Faulter would be to hollow out Cave Sermon’s² melodic textures and fill them in with Aversio Humanitatis’s dissonance and Altar of Plagues’s sinister, oppressive atmosphere. The structure of Callous Faulter comprises only two tracks (“The Isolationist” and “Ocean Views”), which are between 16 and 18 minutes each for a total runtime of 35 minutes.

Callous Faulter employs an extraordinary array of tools to kindle unease in the listener. Sometimes torpid, discordant guitar notes meld with slow, syncopated drum rhythms. Other times the guitars buzz and drone like an angry swarm of wasps, or clanging chords twist together with tremolos to form a grotesque melodic bouquet. All the while, blast beats intermittently pound away like a jackhammer to the nervous system. Speaking of drums, R. Stone’s performance is incredible. The contrast between the intensely complex rhythms and the minimal post-metal guitars and howled vocals does much to keep the compositions from fading into background noise. It’s particularly powerful when the drumming steadily ramps up in intensity towards the end of “The Isolationist” amidst a few stray screams like the last gasps of a drowning person before the song cuts off with a decisive snare hit.

However, Callous Faulter doesn’t always make the most of its lean runtime, particularly during the second track. “Ocean Views” begins promisingly with an energetic intro reminiscent of Dawn of Ouroboros, but towards the midpoint, it slips into a languid and repetitive loop that lasts far too long. In contrast, Callous Faulter utilizes repetition better in “The Isolationist” by breaking the ruminative reprieve before tedium can set in. Things do eventually liven up again in the final few minutes of “Ocean Views,” but not in a way that makes the listless stretch make sense in retrospect. Even so, this could be an instance of a record that might have been stronger if longer, since having so few minutes means that each one matters that much more to make an impression.

As bleak as Callous Faulter is, I can’t deny that it holds a kind of enigmatic allure, its desolate setting calling me back again and again. The first track “The Isolationist,” is a great proof of concept, while “Ocean Views” doesn’t quite hit the mark. As a whole, it doesn’t feel like Callous Faulter has enough time to thoroughly articulate what it wants to say, though there are certainly worse criticisms than wishing for more of it. There is plenty of potential here, and I will be keenly interested to hear Callous Faulter further expound upon this established style in the future. In the meantime, know that if you ever feel bereft of companionship where you live, you can at least count on this collective of misfits within the online community at Angry Metal Guy for support.

Rating: 2.5/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 192 kbps mp3
Label: Gutter Prince Cabal
Websites: callousfaulter.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/people/Callous-Faulter
Releases Worldwide: June 1st, 2026

In my continuing exploration of Boston bands, the promo pit exhaled the latest from a stoner stalwart. Gozu have been dispensing their hybrid strain of stoner rock/metal since 2007, with riffmeisters Marc Gaffney (vocals, guitar) and Doug Sherman (lead guitar) serving as the only consistent members. Current bassist Joseph Grotto joined Gozu for Revival (2016), and Seth Botos began helming the drums on Remedy (2023), the band’s most recent output. Since their move to Metal Blade Records for Equilibrium (2018), Gozu have increasingly poppified their sound as Gaffney grows into a more versatile vocalist. Still, these Boston veterans haven’t abandoned their identity; catchy choruses sweeten a familiar beanpot of droney riffs. Also intact is their tongue-in-cheek humor; this is a band that named a song “Charles Bronson Pinchot” in 2012 and another “Tom Cruise Control” in 2023. As the first Gozu album to be covered on AMG, Gozu VI will achieve ‘wicked pissah’ status by continuing the band’s trend of refining their sound while maintaining their signature charm.

On the stoner continuum, Gozu veers closer to rock than metal while straddling the line. Indeed, this Boston quartet pack Clutch’s shuffling grooves (“Corinthian Leatherface”), Corrosion of Conformity’s bluesy dirges (“Midnight Express”), and Motörhead’s straight-ahead speed (“Banacek”) into their musical chamber. Gaffney and Sherman’s simple yet satisfying riffs hit listeners by way of production as warm and fuzzy as a Bay State bruin. Sometimes, the riffing is just as ferocious. On the excellently titled (and almost certainly referential) “Gimme the Lute,” fretboard gymnastics mingle with driving chugs and soupy sludge that feels more metallic than geological. Though new to the Gozu crew, Grotto and Botos form a serviceable rhythm section that doesn’t necessarily shine, but that understands the assignment: let the riffs (and vocals) pop. Avoiding the monotony of stoner metal and the banality of stoner rock, Gozu IV strikes a salutary balance.

In his role as vocalist, Gaffney elevates Gozu by displaying a varied arsenal of skills. His voice recalls Neil Fallon of Clutch but with a grunge coloring that’s more nose than chin (think Weiland, not Vedder). Gaffney’s choruses shift between nimble croons suiting the livelier tracks (“Corinthian Leatherface”) and diaphragm-ed belts fitting the doomier cuts (“Midnight Express”). Throughout the album, he tucks falsetto harmonies into his main lines, blending major and minor tonality in a manner akin to Soundgarden and Stone Temple Pilots. ”Corner Lariat” stands as Gaffney’s most ambitious and arresting performance, threading tender verses through a big, wistful chorus, broaching power ballad territory. Not every verse and chorus on Gozu VI knocks it out of Fenway, but enough do to give Gozu a pure listenability that most stoner acts do not possess.

At 8 tracks in 46 minutes, Gozu VI mostly delivers a cohesive album experience. “Corinthian Leatherface” gets this Boston Tea Party started strong, effortlessly tossing energetic riffs and sugary hooks off the side of the Stoner Ship in a rebellious yet controlled demonstration.¹ From there, the album intermittently slows down, culminating with the pensive power of “Corner Lariat.” This is a solid run of tracks, though “Killer Khan” comes off as a bit redundant (and has some ham-fisted profanities). “Banacek” picks the pace back up, adding a unique freneticism to the album via interplay between Gaffney’s chunky power chords and Sherman’s wild shredding. Closing out the album is a scattershot three-track run. “Gimme the Lute” doles out some of the finest riffwork on Gozu VI, but “They Did Know Karate”² suffers from bloat, while closer “Corvette Summer” anticlimactically fades out.

Gozu VI is, undoubtedly, a pissah. Gaffney, Sherman, and crew are pros who know how to produce high-quality jams built around strong riffs and vocal hooks. Stoner rock/metal proves a challenging paradigm within which to produce truly standout material, but Gozu come as close as I could imagine with their sixth LP. There’s nothing really innovative about Gozu VI, but there’s also nothing terribly wrong with it, and a lot to enjoy. While I hesitate to qualify their latest offering as ‘wicked,’ I don’t at all hesitate to recommend Gozu VI to anyone looking for a familiar, fun time.

Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 256 kbps mp3
Label: Metal Blade Records | Blacklight Media Records
Websites: Official | Bandcamp | Facebook | Instagram
Releases Worldwide: May 15th, 2026

Since opining on thrash metal’s 2026 resurgence in Nukem’s The Grave Remains review, a steady stream of thrash clans have continued to trickle into the promo sump. Next up is Vancouver power trio W.M.D.,¹ short for When Minds Develop. Formed in 2015, W.M.D. unleashed debut Lethal Revenge in 2018 before losing all but one of their founding members—guitarist and vocalist Skyler Mills. After recruiting bassist Jon Power and drummer Ryan Idris in 2023, this wrecking crew set to write and record their sophomore opus Against All Warnings. Eight years is a long time between albums, and turning over nearly the entire band can radically shift its dynamics. Has W.M.D. cleared these hurdles and incubated weapons of thrash destruction, or do they deliver a new album Against All Warnings?

W.M.D. plays thrash the way the old school intended—breakneck and direct. Against All Warnings mostly reminds me of East Coast acts, specifically Overkill and Anthrax, due to the in-your-face attitude, low-frills precision, and spirited bass spunk. Although these benchmarks are most immediate, subtler influences surface by way of Megadethian technicality and razor-sharp riffing à la classic Exodus. I’d also be remiss not to mention Hyperia, which currently features Mills and Power while hosting Idris as their live drummer. Regardless, W.M.D. absorbs the thrash that came before and forges it into a sound all their own—and it rips.

Taking crossover’s blistering speeds and supercharging them with riveting performances, Against All Warnings rams oodles of riffs, grooves, and rolls into forty engrossing minutes. I’m a sucker for bass presence, and W.M.D. packs enough beef to induce a weeklong case of the meat sweats. Jon Power discharges his burly low-end throughout Against All Warnings, bouncing and clanging with the vim and vigor of Verni or DiGiorgio (“Kleptomania,” “The Thin Red Line”). Idris rounds out the rhythm section, nimbly whipsawing across the kit as he maneuvers through full-throttle barrages (“Against All Warnings,” “Painful Vengeance”), half-time chugs (“The Thin Red Line,” “Already Dead”), and herky-jerky stutter stops (“Post Human Predator”). Mills takes on the rest, laying down barbed hooks (“The Black Expanse”) and snotty vocals that recall Lich King and Havok. As the cherry on top, guests Casey Trask (“Post Human Predator,” “Painful Vengeance”) and Kai Sakaguchi (“Against All Warnings”) contribute scorching solos, ensuring there’s never a dearth of pyrotechnics. In all, there’s no weak link in the chain, and Against All Warnings bristles with thrashy vitality.

Nearly as impressive as W.M.D.’s onslaught is their elusion of critical flaws. Against All Warnings sidesteps major pitfalls as W.M.D. navigates the treacherous channels of thrash, dancing along the knife’s edge between the genre’s primary criticisms: unoriginal and retreaded compositions and unserious stylings. Rather, the trio plays infectiously vibrant metal with utter conviction, and I’m here for every second of it. This doesn’t mean the album is perfect, however, and some fine-tuning would elevate Against All Warnings even higher. First, penultimate track “Already Dead” lingers at the end, which would be more palatable if it were the finale. Instead, after a slightly prolonged fade of thunder, we’re given “Painful Vengeance.” Switching the order of these tracks or pushing “Painful Vengeance” even earlier would work better. Also, while the production is warm and organic, the album plays a little too quietly. It’s not an issue if I’m only listening to Against All Warnings, but its songs are noticeably muted when thrown into a playlist with other material. Still, these complaints prove minor quibbles compared to the indisputable boom W.M.D. unleashes.

Thrash detractors may not be convinced by Against All Warnings, but they should be. It’s impossible to deny the energy and conviction coursing through W.M.D.’s balls-out blitz, where relentless speeds, head-banging hooks, and rousing choruses embody W.M.D.’s full-tilt bonanza. Against All Warnings ensconces itself as the best thrash album I’ve heard so far in 2026,² and sets a high bar for the rest of the year. Somebody ought to sign these Canucks, because they’re peddling a potent brew that’s guaranteed to please, Warnings be damned.

Rating: Great
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Self-Release
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: June 5th, 2026

In a time where one side-eyes many an image or video online for fear of its having been created with generative AI, it’s bemusing when an artist actively markets themselves as robotic. Calling themselves a “real-fiction metal band,” centering the project on the transmissions of powerful, hyper-intelligent cyborgs, and initially appearing to have zero discoverable human presence on the internet, Polish act Eutanor might have gone a little too far with the gimmick. They are, as it turns out, so extremely far underground that neither Metal Archives, nor Bandcamp, nor any streaming service will offer you their music.¹ It was only once I started pasting Google-translated Polish into my search engine that I happened upon reviews and YouTube playlists of the band’s debut, Assembling Tomorrow. The mechanical concept explicitly informs the music’s sound—a self-described “funeral djent”—that every source emphasized being difficult to absorb. But is there more man or machine in Automatocrat?

Sources were not wrong: Automatocrat is no easy listening. Even the track titles are hard to process, being an ordinal series of numbers in rough magnitude of 1.7-1.85Bn. If funeral djent is intended to invoke a blend of syncopated, drop-tuned chugs and erratic rhythms with low, slow riffs and a morose vibe, then it’s somewhat apt since the prevailing pace is slow even as the structures are fickle. But Eutanor take cues from a spectrum of subgenres besides, leaning heavily at uneven intervals towards black metal (“1804068394”), sludge (“1731543705”), stoner (“1771078223”), electronica, brutal death, and grind (“1800748752”)². Whilst the rhythms and guitar patterns fluctuate a little in turn, the vocals sit almost entirely in some liminal space between what would be appropriate for any of these styles: a gravelly, drawn-out kind of rasp. Really, the main thing Automatocrat shares with the funereal is reverb, and with djent an experimental approach to groove. “Experimental” is probably the best descriptor for the music in general, but while innovation and complexity can make for fantastic metal, in Eutanor’s case, “experimental” is a euphemism.³

Automatocrat is mechanical only in its obstinacy in sounding as bad as possible. Well, that and the computer-generated female voice that appears at some point on every song to read out the number that names it.⁴ The latter would be funny if the surrounding music weren’t steadily sapping your will to live through a combination of muddled movements, messy execution, and migraine-inducing mixing. At its least offensive, the music could be considered monotonous, with flattened tremolo picking (“1804068394”), trudging doom-death (“1731543705”) or stoner-coded (“1771078223”) riffs accompanied by a basic beat. Even here, you can’t escape from the vocals, croaking—and sometimes, horrifyingly shout-speaking (“1731543705,” “1804068394”)—that scrape the insides of your skull like a rusty spoon. The reverb, which spares no expense in muddying the vocals, guitars, and cymbals alike, mocks you (“1735064161,” “1771078223”, “1804068394”). When you think it can’t get worse, Eutanor put down their metronome for a token exploration so uncoordinated and lacking in imagination it would be generous to call it a jam. Random snippets of electronica are chucked about for all of a second (“1735064161,” “1800748752”), drums have intermittent fits of failed syncopation (“1713721976,” “1804068394”), and guitar lines materialise disconnectedly only to be choked by their mediocre riff peers and endless resonance (“1731543705,” “1771078223”), or simply feint away from development (“1846444894”).

But the hardest thing to digest about Automatocrat may not be its confusing nature or meaningless attempts at experimentation, but how awful it sounds in general. The production is so bad it actually made me angry, because it suggests that Eutanor simply didn’t put much effort in. Just like the lifeless chaos that defines the music’s composition, the relentless forward crush of everything—except of course, the parts that might actually be interesting—and the fuzzy muck smothering the rise of layered guitars while sharpening vocals beyond potency implies a lack of care. There are some good ideas—a cool riff here (“1731543705”), a piece of rhythmic weirdness that works there (“1800748752”)—but they need to be properly audible, and given the room and the treatment to shine. Yes, Eutanor are small and probably low-budget, but this album sounds worse than low-fi and only compounds the structural and aesthetic problems with the music itself.

After my time with Automatocrat, I still can’t decipher the artistic intent behind it, let alone the person or persons responsible. Too boring to earn the label of “avant-garde,” too ugly and messy to be enjoyable, and too bad to feel like a sincere statement, I struggle to see an audience who would appreciate it. The lack of personality and imagination in Euatnor’s grating pretences to music is fitting for inhuman machinery, but its sloppiness feels all too human.

Rating: Unlistenable
DR: 5 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Self-Release
Websites: Bandcamp | Official
Releases Worldwide: June 5th, 2026

So, what’s happening here is Australian symphonic metalers Ana and their debut record, Motivated by Death are set on pioneering a new sub-sub-genre. “Couture metal.” For the blue-jeans-and-band-tees wearers among us, couture fashion is all about expressive, customized statements in clothing, often expensive and always personalized. This is an evident visual influence for Ana, and musically the band cites their style as “a sophisticated, upscale evolution of the craft that prioritizes high-fashion theatricality alongside punishing sonic precision.” Fewer corsets, more spandex. One thing’s for sure, Ana have bought into themselves: they have a series of comics in the works written in tandem with their music,¹ as well as a documentary film titled Watch Me as I Rise.² But what about Motivated by Death? Their album, for their music band? Does it live up to the hoo-ha, or is Ana’s rising star a premature liftoff?

Ana are banking on the power of Y2K nostalgia on Motivated by Death. Early-aughts goth, symphonic, and nü metals comprise the core of Ana’s sound, with choruses sounding like Nightwish taking on Evanescence and Evanescence taking on Powerman 5000. Guitarist Josh Mak’s riffs shift between metalcore chugs, nü/alt-rock power chords, and gallops while drummer Andres Osorio and bassist Cody Lamb keep Motivated by Death consistently groovy and moving. There’s a smörgåsbord of synth sounds at keyboardist Mark Shi’s disposal, and when shredding alongside Mak Ana have a surprising knack for showy solos (“Shadow of Life,” “Papa”). Vocalist Anna Hristenko is, predictably, the crux of Ana’s sound, layering Motivated by Death with sultry, classically-inspired but pop-informed bars. She brings gravity to Ana along with unquestionable showmanship, and when Motivated by Death is kicking it recalls not only this millennium’s early rock/metal scene but a time when pop music was more audacious and bombastic.

But Motivated by Death often feels too overly calculated for its own good. Ana make sure to hit all of the beats of a radio hit on Motivated by Death. There’s the booming opener with “Hate Me” followed by the cyber goth panache of “Shadow of Life,” its one-two punch showing listeners that they got both the riffs and hooks they crave. There are two ballads, one power in “You Loved Me More than I Loved Myself” and one Evanescence’s “My Immortal” in “Sick Love” so radio has a choice in what they want play to death. Ana even outsourced a closer by covering System of a Down’s “Aerials,” safely assuring Motivated by Death ends well (in theory). What makes this mathematical approach especially jarring is that Motivated by Death is a very short album, barely hitting thirty-five minutes. Ana just fly through the motions, the listener’s every emotion carefully road-mapped along the way. Motivated by Death feels like a proof-of-concept for Ana, not their debut.

Motivated by Death is also just messy. Ana’s core symphonic sound is imbued with so many Y2K-era rock stylings that there’s hardly enough time spent on one thing to figure out what Motivated by Death is. Its diversity works against memorability; “Eyes of a Child” features a sitar riff in its bridge, and Hristenko breaks out her operatic chops on “Papa,” and yet I forget these things even happen every time. Hristenko is a powerful singer, but clumsy phrasings in the verses of “Sick Love” and “Aerials” leave them feeling awkward, while her declaration of “Listen up you motha fuckeeeeeers!” in “Following the Wind” isn’t aggressive or cheeky enough to land convincingly. Motivated by Death is not helped by Ana’s insistence on loudness and its radio-made production that makes the drums sound like plastic cans and robs any of the dynamics songs like “You Loved Me More than I Loved Myself” and “Aerials” need.³ Motivated by Death sounds like Ana were throwing things at the wall and seeing what stuck. Not enough stuck, and what did doesn’t work too well together.

I fear that Motivated by Death isn’t the statement Ana were hoping for. Ana are a talented, driven bunch, and there’s no doubt there’s a market for what they do. It’s not all bad—”Shadow of Life” slaps and “Sick Love” can be pretty moving at times⁴—but both playing it safe and half-baking your album is a bad combo. Despite its truncated runtime Motivated by Death proves a slog to get through. I could see a world where I stick up for Ana, one where they’re more bold-faced and adventurous, and I’m getting wedgied for liking “couture metal.” Right now, that’s not this one.

Rating: Bad
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps MP3
Label: Eclipse Records
Websites: anaband.com.au | facebook.com/ana.band.0fficial
Releases Worldwide: May 29th, 2026

Cards on the table—this review is late. Really late. We got the promo, but it went unclaimed, and it wasn’t until I picked up Lynx’s Trinity of Suns for personal enjoyment that I listened. Before I finished my first spin, I knew I had to Filter it. And that’s exactly what I did. I sat down to write my 200ish words about Lynx’s sophomore album, and the words spilled out. Too many, actually. I described how every subsequent journey through Trinity of Suns deepens my appreciation for Lynx’s retro rock, and soon I realized I had more to say than a limited word count would allow. Over the last month, Lynx has enraptured me with their sultry siren song, entrenching Trinity of Suns as a mainstay for commutes and chores. Rather than saving it as a Thing You Might Have Missed, though, I dared to write the counter-breaking missive I hoped my betters would permit. I begged. I cajoled. I cashed in the scant favors and political capital I’ve accrued since joining the staff to get this thing published. Was it worth it? If you’re reading these words, you’re damn right it was.

Between releasing 2021’s Watcher of Skies and follow-up Trinity of Suns, Lynx underwent a transformation I can only describe as transcendent. Huck N Roll offered some pointed criticism for their debut, a slab of 70s hard rock worship in the vein of Thin Lizzy and Blue Öyster Cult. Specifically, Huck noted that the songwriting was as unrefined as guitarist Marvin Keifer’s vocal performance, and the wanton surfeit of cymbals debilitated the listening experience. Five years later, Lynx obliterates whatever expectations listeners set based on Watcher of Skies. Most notably, Trinity of Suns introduces Amy Zine as full-time lead vocalist¹—a decision that catapults Lynx’s potential into the Skies. Just as importantly, though, Lynx displays more restraint and maturity in their arrangements to wonderful effect.

Though the core of Lynx’s identity remains the same, the band deftly incorporates inspirations to elevate their sound. Rather than relegating the best moments to snappy intros, Trinity of Suns steeps its compositions in throwback, classic rock drama. “Stranger Sign in the Sky” boasts a Rushified break that harkens to “By-Tor and the Snow Dog,” while “Oppressive Season” starts with an intro that could pass for a lost Jimmy Buffet cut before tumbling into a Thin Lizzy tizzy. “Seven Days of Darkness,” meanwhile, melds the majesty of Pink Floyd psychedelia with the soulful intimacy of Tanith’s starkest emotional moments, eliciting a warm, heartfelt fuzz that pairs perfectly with the desert-ready palette Lynx paints with. The resulting thirty-nine minutes simmer with subtle heat, proving how the songwriting has evolved over the last half-decade.

In addition to more fluid song structures, Lynx unchains stunning performances across Trinity of Suns. Amy Zine’s smoky vocals cut to my core, whether she’s belting out head-bopping choruses (“Island Universe”) or caressing with a tender croon (“Seven Days of Darkness”), and I simply cannot get enough. Still, as fabulous as her contributions are,² they don’t carry Trinity of Suns alone. Everyone else in Lynx pitches in with guitars, though they’re primarily supplied by Tim Künz and Janni Athanasiadis. In addition to his gorgeous acoustic twangs on “Seven Days of Darkness,” Franz Fesel ably commands drums from the pocket while Phil Helm rumbles with luxurious yet understated bass. Honestly, Lynx’s low-end locks into such powerful grooves that Trinity of Suns would be undermined and underserved with a lesser performance, and if you need any convincing, go listen to the back-to-back tandem of “Oppressive Season” and “Trinity of Suns.”

Lynx is a band that understands the assignment, and Trinity of Suns should be enough to convince anyone that this kitty has claws. My only unfulfilled desire from Trinity of Suns is a three-minute banger nestled after “Voyager” or “Oppressive Season” where the entire band goes hog-fucking-wild. “Oppressive Season” comes closest, though holds back enough to avert the pandemonium I crave. With the talent Lynx brandishes, I’d love to hear them cut completely loose. Otherwise, Trinity of Suns accomplishes everything I want from a band of Lynx’s ilk, and each time “Island Universe” concludes, I’m left even more smitten. Whatever these cats do next, I’ll be there.

Rating: Great!
DR: 9 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Dying Victims Productions
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: April 24th, 2026

Though my first published review here at Angry Metal Guy was back in September 2024, it was on May 30, 2025, that I officially escaped n00bdom with my review of Rivers of Nihil’s self-titled album. As I approach my one-year anniversary, it seems appropriate to grab a promo that styles itself after the progressive tech death of Rivers of Nihil. Thus, enter The Scalar Process with their sophomore outing, Agnomysticism. Not only do they sound kind of like Rivers of Nihil, but they even borrow Andy Thomas for a guest spot on one song. The Scalar Process formed in 2016, but didn’t release any material until 2021’s Coagulative Matter. It took another five years to release the follow-up, with a new drummer, additional guitarist and bassist. Having never heard these guys before, I picked up Agnomysticism in the hope of it being closer in quality to Xenotaph than Rivers of Nihil. Have the metal gods blessed these guys with supreme musical talent?

On Agnomysticism, The Scalar Process plays a synth-heavy tech death that blends speedy precision with calm ambiance. They have much in common with Fallujah and The Zenith Passage, though not the technicality in their riffs. The riffs featured here are largely of the bland chugging Rivers of Nihil variety, though with a few neat arpeggiated segments and solos here and there. Synths are omnipresent, adding a general atmospheric quality rather than hooks. Songs frequently begin with light atmospherics such as synths, trems, or arpeggios before diving into the heavy stuff. There’s less interest in creating original, catchy riffs of the kind you hear on Xenotaph or Datalysium. When songs get speedy and loud, they just sound flat—bland blast beats with non-descript riffs and Mathieu Lefevre’s monotone growls. Honestly, if it weren’t for the tempo changes, you’d hardly notice the passage from track to track.

Agnomysticism contains a collection of songs that are clean, clinical, and cold. With tech-death you expect to feel something of the sublime—the awe and wonder of musical passages (Stortregn’s Impermanence) or something that compels your body to move (Archspire). Yet, The Scalar Process appears content to emotionally distance themselves from their musical creation. The main ingredient in this distance is an apparent allergy to hooks. Any time a promising riff starts up, such as on “A Breathing Moment,” it just as quickly dissipates. The Scalar Process take their progressive structure and turn it into a sort of improvisational free-for-all where passages just don’t have room to develop. “A Breathing Moment” perfectly encapsulates this, as it ends on a disappointing fade-out just as it appears on the verge of going somewhere interesting. The Scalar Process do play some neat riffs now and then, with a solo on “Illness” from Justin McKinney (The Zenith Passage) being the best. But other attempts at hooks don’t work, such as a 30-second guest spot from Andy Thomas, whose cleans fall flat.

Could this just be another The Flesh Prevails? The compression on Agnomysticism is so crushed that the music—riffs, synths, drums, vocals—all become an indistinguishable mishmash until the quieter ambient segments. Where many times bands use these quieter moments to help build tension before a release of intense music, here the passages largely serve to give your ears a rest. Even on the lowest possible volume on my headphones, I found the loudness unbearable. The best-sounding songs are the full-length ambient instrumental interludes, “Affluent Marea” and “Sigil.” However, though they serve as a welcome rest for the ears, they sound more at home on an elevator than on a tech-death record. A better production would make this a more tolerable listen, but it would hardly fix all the issues plaguing Agnomysticism.

It’s rare that an album leaves me feeling so cold as Agnomysticism. It flies by in 45 minutes and leaves no real impression. I’ll give credit for a few impressive technical passages here and there, but otherwise, I’m not sure what The Scalar Process accomplishes. Where’s the passion? It just feels so aloof and meandering without purpose, and the mixing ensures you can’t properly hear it anyway. In the end, it’s a record you’ll struggle to recall as soon as you finish listening to it.

Rating: 1.5/5.0
DR: 4 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Transcending Obscurity Records
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Site
Releases Worldwide: May 29th, 2026

Now—as summer blasts the Earth into a fly-ridden heath—is when I long most for fall. So I get why Patrik Andersson Winberg’s (Dun Ringill, Doomdogs) new solo project Mirror of My Soul would debut this June with October Is Rising.¹ A folk project empowered with hard rock muscle and gothic gravitas, Mirror of My Soul aims for atmospheric storytelling and organic song structuring. Joined by drummers Pete Campbell (Axe Dragger, ex-Pentagram) and Tobbe Strandvik, keyboardist Per Wiberg (Tiamat, ex-Opeth), guitarist Patric Grammann (Dun Ringill) and a whole host of vocalists,² October Is Rising is poised to be an introspective, moody, and engrossing trek through rustic moods and colder temps. But is this album autumn’s light at the end of the tunnel, or is there no relief from summer to be found here?

October Is Rising is a clinic on complementary musicianship. Working within gothic country, folk, and blues rock, October Is Rising lives in slow, sparse compositions that won’t wow listeners with panache. Songs like “A Good Day to Die” and “The Owl” use simple guitar and banjo parts, respectively, to set the stage for spirited vocal performances, while “October Is Rising” and “Grandpa” utilize particularly minimal instrumentation to highlight their singers’ stories. Mirror of My Soul can rip it when necessary, as heard on the Jethro Tullesque flute riffing on “Mina Fotavtryck” and the slick hi-hat work on “Dancing Slowly on the Porch,” but October Is Rising’s musical prowess lies less in individual performance and more in band dynamics. “Lost in the Red Wine” and “The One Who Sings the Songs” pulse in ways that sneakily build and bounce off their individual parts to sound a lot bigger than their thin instrumentation would imply. Mirror of My Soul is composed of industry veterans, and it sounds like it; these guys bring out the best in each other.

Setting rich moods and storytelling are Mirror of My Soul’s game. They’re pros at it. October Is Rising is a pensive autumnal stroll through gloom with the sort of eerie coziness that at varying times reminded me of Fields of the Nephilim, Current 93, and the Over the Garden Wall soundtrack.³ Soundscapes of pale light and fresh darkness bestow tracks like “The Painter,” “Grandpa,” and “Tree on that Hill” a deeply affecting and melancholic quality, shaped by the aforementioned stark instrumentation and poignant vocals. October Is Rising is littered with pathos-imbued bars delivered with conviction, where phrases as obtuse as “The bad news was a feather from a dead bird” (“The Letter”) hit with the sensitivity of straightforward heart-wrenchers like “The trees showed me how to make it all last. There is no future without a vivid past” (“Tree on that Hill”). Mirror of My Soul bring everything you’d want from a singer-songwriter project musically: bittersweet strolls down memory lane, deep into introspection.

October Is Rising listens like a work of singular vision, but not of one voice. There are no bad singers on October Is Rising, mind you, and the diverse cast can be a boon. There aren’t many records out there that can, in one moment, recall Alice in Chains (“Coyote”) and Peter Gabriel the next (“Tree on that Hill”),⁴ Lou Reed one minute (“Carry Your Soul”) and Johnny Cash another (“A Good Day to Die”). But this committee approach also deprives October Is Rising of singer-songwriter music’s strongest aspect: the intimate conversation between artist and audience. It’s hard to think of Mirror of My Soul as Winberg’s personal exploration of a gloaming Earth when you have to adjust to a new singer every song. October Is Rising still feels cohesive thanks to Winberg’s consistent and compelling songwriting, but I believe one or two good singers would’ve made the record connect that much better.

Mirror of My Soul bring the wistfulness of autumn on October Is Rising. Tight musicianship and smart songwriting carry the listener through Winberg’s stories, sometimes outlandish and always engaging. Though I think one singer would’ve made Mirror of My Soul a more focused entity—or perhaps one singer across every song à la Tobias Sammet of Avantastia—October Is Rising is nevertheless a greatly enjoyable work that I could confidently recommend to anyone interested in gothic rock/country/folk. At the very least, when the upcoming months get hot as balls, it’ll be a good reminder that, in the near future, October Is Rising indeed.

Rating: Very Good
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: WAV
Label: Majestic Mountain Records
Websites: mirrorofmysoul.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/mirrorofmysoul
Releases Worldwide: June 12, 2026

Some things are acquired tastes—coffee, vegetables, Mrs. Forrest,¹ to name a few. While some of us instantly and innately connect with metal, its loud and aggressive nature can make it tough for the initiate to effortlessly enjoy. Even for lifelong fans like myself, some bands still push the envelope. One such band is Apostle, a three-piece from Atlanta, Georgia, founded in 2017. They’ve always been a nasty, noisy group—if 2019 debut Sufferer is any indication—but 2021 saw the band undergo a significant lineup change. Evan Price continued to man the kit, but their founding vocalist departed, Murice White assumed vocal and guitar duties, and Michael Thomas moved over to bass. This shift spurred Apostle in an even more abrasive and emotive direction.

A Splinter in the Infinite Noumenon continues to explore what was first introduced on 2023 EP Liminal. Apostle maintains, from their early days, a harsh mix of grind and hardcore with occasional post-blackened flourishes, but 2026 sees them venture further into blackened territory, as well as explore ambient and post-rock elements. Opening salvo “Exiting the God Hologram” acts as a microcosm of all Apostle has to offer. A sample of a train gives way to full and vibrant percussion before atonal guitars grace your ears like a lead pipe graces a jaw. White’s deranged shrieks have a tenuous relationship with tempo, but always manage to link up with his bandmates on the downbeat. It’s a harrowing, unfettered style well-suited to Apostle’s sound. This cacophony eventually coalesces into an aching post-black fury in the last third, where Thomas’s throatier shouts augment the sound. “Exiting…” ends by unceremoniously silencing a gritty guitar solo flitting on broken wings—fitting for the rage and intentional inaccessibility on display here.

Those willing to brave Apostle’s chaos will find gorgeous flourishes through A Splinter in the Infinite Noumenon. Bright, descending, posty licks weave through “Illusion of Loss,” mirroring murky ascending counterparts. Violent plucking in “Swine” evokes Gorrch’s pitch-black dissonance, and its spiraling crescendo feels like something out of Imperial Triumphant’s playbook. True to its name, “Oscillating Polarities” swings wildly between discordant, hammering heaps and aching, blackened melodies. That ache is particularly exceptional on album closer “At Ease,” which opens with the same soulful lick that closes “Exiting the God Hologram.” With all this said, it did take several spins for me to start parsing out the subtleties and delicate decorations beneath Apostle’s torrent of aural catharsis. If I were casually spinning Splinter, rather than formally reviewing it, I’m not sure I would have stuck around long enough to find them.

Apostle’s claustrophobic, maximalist style is admittedly rad, but I do occasionally wish that the knobs weren’t all always snapped off at 11. Some of the moments above could have shone brighter, had the mix breathed a little easier and the spotlight been shared rather than functionally fought over. Even at an incredibly short 27 minutes, the sheer harshness and atonality of Splinter—especially on the front half—can be a lot to handle. There are some breaks, like the E.E. Cummings sample that opens “Distortions of Light” and the shoegazing that closes it, as well as the last few noir-shaded minutes of the album. I’m enough of a literature nerd to appreciate the poet’s cameo, even 70 seconds of it, but others may find it disruptive or unnecessary. Similarly, Thomas’s delightful bass riff anchors some beautifully moving swells in “At Ease,” but the same five notes for three minutes can get repetitive.

While preparing for this review, I listened to Apostle’s back catalog, and I can definitively say A Splinter in the Infinite Noumenon is a step above their earlier material. This new direction, while certainly harsher and more abrasive, has been a risk well taken. White’s unrestrained screams, as well as the band’s commitment to post-black trappings and interpretation of softer styles, tap into a wellspring of raw passion. It’s not the easiest to engage with, but Apostle has a clear and exciting vision that rewards commitment and repeat visits. Could druthers be had, I’d like to see their indiscriminate cacophony tempered and honed, but whatever they do next, I’ll be listening.

Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 256 kbps mp3
Label: Terminus Hate City
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook | Instagram
Releases Worldwide: June 6th, 2026