We only get four tracks, but they’re a sumptuous bunch. Even though two of them are ethereal instrumentals, their Raison d’Etre quality keeps them from being throwaways like the ones you find on most other metal albums. I would even be interested in a full album in this style from them. But, of course, the death/doom is what we want the most, and those two tracks do not disappoint. At around eight and seven minutes each, these vast pieces journey through the raw, honest bite of early Avernus, the romantic melancholy of early Anathema, and the gloomy frolic of Visceral Evisceration. The vocals are of the impassioned, gruff variety similar to Shades of God-era Nick Holmes and Lee Dorian around the time of the Soul Sacrifice EP that you don’t hear too often nowadays, and it fits here perfectly. And, of course, no gothic death/doom recording would be complete without some angelic female vocals, which make a welcome appearance here in the closing track, “Nemo Ante Mortem Beatus.”

Even with throwback metal being all the rage in recent years, this is the first time I’ve encountered this specific sound from a new band. Hopefully, Asphodelus won’t succumb to the same fate as many of the bands that inspire them. We need more of this.

After some unsettling sounds of watery torture, their patented wall of sound hits at full force. But, something is a little different this time around. It sounds a bit more human, as if the machines that created the last album have begun to emulate their extinct creators. The shift isn’t as drastic as the one that Godflesh made on Hymns, but it’s noticeable, and aided by the production. It sounds as if a green slime has formed on all of the machinery in their abandoned factory since the first album. This is neither good nor bad, just different. However, it definitely is a positive to hear more variety within and between the songs. The pinnacle of their efforts is “Chapter VII” as it builds from a throbbing, stomping dirge to warp-speed grinding with moments of stop/start bursts and distant ambience. The only downside with the increased variety is the inclusion of a few ambient/industrial tracks that do little more than offer some respite from their usual onslaught.

The theme this time is totalitarianism. Seemingly in the spirit of that political system, three band members have been eliminated, leaving just Loïc.F and vocalist David Bailey. So, no more dual vocalists, but David Bailey does more than a fine enough job by himself with his commanding vocals sounding like David Vincent channeled through a Fallout 4 sentry bot. No one is credited for drums, so I can only assume that they were programmed, which is kind of ironic considering the more natural feel of the album. If they really weren’t performed by a human, Loïc.F did a damn good job making them sound like they were.

If you’re someone who needs riffs and memorability in their metal, you should probably still steer clear of these guys because, even with the changes that they’ve made, there’s still not really any of those things here. But, if you dwell in metal’s most extreme fringes, this is your new authority. Submit!

While most other acts of this ilk can sometimes get lost in their own madness and a bit too bogged down in murk, Altarage keeps their insanity focused and lean. They’ve managed to capture a monstrous, obscure sound without burying every instrument, so you can actually hear what they’re doing as they tear at your flesh and drill into your ear holes. Some powerful riffs even emerge amidst the droning and churning of their unhindered ferocity — the massive doom riff that drops right in the middle of “Graehence” is especially crushing. And, the variety of their attack keeps you on your toes as they effortlessly transition between sophisticated Incantation-meets-Mortician-like blasting, funereal droning, and even some Godfleshy grooves, like in the cleverly-titled “Womborous.” Each song never stays at one tempo for too long while always maintaining its frightening intent and efficiency. None of the tracks run over 5:15 and the whole assault is over in just 36 minutes, which is about perfect for this style.

Aside from the vocals, which sound like they were recorded through a wormhole from a hell dimension, Altarage doesn’t come across as otherworldly as Ævangelist or as mechaniacal as Autokrator, but their more structured and balanced approach makes a more lasting and powerful impact. Along with the latest album from Abyssal, NIHL may represent a shift toward more memorable songwriting within this loosely defined sub-subgenre that’s been pushing the limits of death metal. The inhuman arms race may be over, but we’re the winners.

Although, this may not really be black metal at all, and my opening paragraph is moot. I guess it depends on whether Agalloch is black metal or not. The base of Dalla Nebbia’s sound is rooted in that same rustic, moody gray area that sometimes appears black, but sometimes does not. Further confounding the issue is a healthy dose of early Opeth. Even the vocals fall somewhere between the whispery rasp of John Haughm and Mikael Åkerfeldt’s more biting delivery on Orchid. The clean vocals scattered throughout are completely Agallochian, though. Then, there’s the warm, inviting production, which resembles that of early ‘90s Dutch death/doom. The guitars hum instead of bite and the violins courtesy of Sareeta, who has worked with bands like Borknagar, Solefald, and Theatre of Tragedy, further a resemblance to Celestial Season if they had turned black instead of stoner. It’s an unusual mixture, but not the kind that reeks of pretentiousness and handwaving.

After a somewhat whimsical intro, the first real track, “Until the Rain Subsides,” pretty much lays out everything that the album has to offer with melancholy melodies, layers of violins, and a nice build of aggression. The atmosphere somehow takes me back to autumn weekends at my family’s dusty, old cabin in the Appalachian mountains. This could be partially due to what I was listening back then…lots of gothic doom and fringe black metal like Algaion, Daemonarch, and In the Woods…, which could all serve as some other reference points for Dalla Nebbia. “Abandoned Unto Sky” ups the intensity with a heightened pace and frantic tremolo, but the album shines most when mixing that with equal amounts of gothic moodiness, which the majority of the tracks thankfully manage to do.

Between the production style and some rather unusual, lilting chord progressions, Dalla Nebbia have managed to create a unique sound without resorting to off-putting, incongruous weirdness. Obviously, this is not an album for purists, but it’s not part of the appropriation of black metal that seems to be so prevalent lately either. This is just a group of honest musicians making genuine music that happens to be out of the norm.

Now to post a link to this on Facebook and Twitter declaring it “the future of black metal.” That should gain me the attention I so desperately crave, right?

The first difference you’ll notice is a relative clarity that past albums seemed to strive against. More riffs than ever can now be heard through what had been an increasingly impenetrable wall of sound. This is most evident in “Gatekeepers Scroll,” which includes some post punk chord progressions and their most structured songwriting. This more pronounced sense of structure can be felt throughout the entire album as the songs are more distinguishable than ever before. The most surprising of them is the dungeon trip-hop of “Alchemy.” Its brief runtime doesn’t keep it from being a standout moment that makes me wonder what this band’s future could hold.

Another change wasn’t so obvious at first, but as the album progressed, I began to realize that I wasn’t being held in the same deep space, alien torture chamber of previous albums. This feels more like a dank, abandoned asylum haunted by the tormented souls of its former inhabitants. The shift in atmosphere is at least partially due to their signature dark ambient undercurrent being almost entirely replaced by spastic harp playing, which does add to the deranged atmosphere at times, but I don’t find it to be a fair trade overall. This, along with a diminished industrial influence and some chanted clean vocals spread throughout, has brought their sound down to earth…or some horrifying version of it, anyway.

However, that’s not to say that every vestige of cosmic horror has been left behind. It still lurks within some tracks, like the hypnotic, 13+ minute album closer, “Meditation of Transcendental Evil.” I can see this possibly going down as a transitional album. Despite a few unfavorable decisions, it’s good to see them trying new things. Any fans of Portal, Impetuous Ritual, Abyssal, and the like who have yet to plunge into Aevangelist’s parallel universe, now is the time.

The strength of Godless lies not in originality, but in the way it harnesses the influences of some great bands that came before it. Of course, that’s usually the case for even the most revered death metal of recent years as the room to innovate nears capacity. But, instead of more buzzsaw and murk (not that I don’t enjoy that too), Disloyal remembers that there’s still a time and place for something more slick and punchy. They also remember that technical death metal doesn’t need to be completely sterile and forgettable. By marrying the riffs and melodicism of latter-era Death with the stuttering technicality of Decapitated and blistering speed of Vader, Godless provides a satisfying, balanced alternative to death metal’s warring factions. Disloyal’s creativity and songwriting chops may not be quite on par with those legendary acts, but they execute the style with both youthful intensity and veteran prowess. Add to that some commanding vocals and powerful solos and you’ve got yourself some damn enjoyable death metal.

As if that wasn’t enough to get me wondering where these guys have been hiding for the past 18 years, one track in particular shows that they have the ability to create something truly special. If you’re not too young to remember death metal in the early to mid ‘90s, you might recall a few instances when the scene’s leading acts released tracks that were more subdued than usual, but packed just as much punch through feeling and atmosphere. Morbid Angel’s “God of Emptiness,” Death’s “The Philosopher,” and Hypocrisy’s “Apocalypse” are some prime examples. Disloyal’s “Self-Carving Titan” is that kind of a song. It alone is worth the price of admission.

It seems strange to think of a nearly two decade old band as promising, but Disloyal is new to me, and that’s how I feel about them right now. An album with more of the magic that they captured with “Self-Carving Titan” could push them outside of the shadow of their influences and earn them a more prominent spot on the metal world map. In the meantime, I’ll be tracking down their back catalog to see what else I’ve been missing.

But, if you’re a funeral doom fan, you already know this. And, anyone who isn’t (i.e. the vast majority of metal fans) probably won’t even give this review a cursory glance. So, who am I writing this for? I suppose a curious few could wander by. If you happen to be one of them and you’re thinking of dipping your toes into some of metal’s darkest depths, I can assure you that this is a perfect place to start. Funeral doom doesn’t get more accessible than this. The production is crystal clear and the slow but steady unfurling of each track will hold your interest more than most others can in this field. There’s also more than just single-minded depression to behold here. Instead of bleak, barren landscapes, the music paints scenes of fertile, rolling hills and misty forests. Of course, the hour is late and full of woe — this is funeral doom after all — but there is immense beauty here that goes beyond what anyone else is doing in this field.

Or, maybe you’re someone like me who is already familiar with this miserable music, but might be wary of committing another hour and a quarter of your life to it since it’s been so hit or miss over the years. You see, I hesitate to call myself a funeral doom fan because even some of the most revered acts bore me to tears. However, a few of my favorite albums in recent years have come from bands that sit firmly within the confines of the genre. Acts like Black Wreath, Faal, Mournful Congregation, and Urna know just how to create something truly captivating from what I often find to be completely dull and lifeless. Thankfully, Monotony Fields falls into the former category. The entire band works together as one tight, professional unit of despondency. Vocal-wise, newcomer Henri Koivula of Throes of Dawn provides earth-shuddering growls that you’d never guess he was capable of based on his previous work and Natalie Koskinen’s vocals are as stunning as ever. Highlighting individual tracks is pointless because they’re all highlights, which I guess is a nice way of saying that they all sound about the same. And, even though it’s amazing while it’s playing, it can be forgettable once it’s over. But, that’s not so much a problem with the album as just the nature of this genre.

With this plus new albums from Skepticism, Tyranny, and Ahab (if they even fit in this genre anymore), this year is shaping up to be relatively big for funeral doom. But, of the four, Monotony Fields is the only one that will be getting regular spins from me. Take that as you will.

In a genre with most bands trying to be the most brutal, epic, technical, evil, cavernous, old-school, whatever else you can think of, the middle of the road can actually be refreshing. It’s also a good place to focus on things like, ya know, actual riffs and songwriting. This is the lane that these Finnish neophytes tread on this full-length debut — the lane of the mid-paced, semi-melodic, and direct. That could easily mean boring, but Cult of Endtime has the chops to make it memorable and damn enjoyable with a sound firmly rooted in the meaty, rockin’ Scandinavian death metal of bands like Edge of Sanity and Mordicus and perpetuated by current acts like The Grotesquery and Revolting, but with the pace and groove of Soulless-era Grave. You could call it “old-school,” but it’s a style that’s really more timeless than retro.

Some doomy plodding sneaks its way into tracks like “Prognatus De Sigillum” and “Hidden Gods,” but the overall feeling of the album is that of a kaiju confidently strolling through a city, toppling buildings without effort. This menacing swagger is no more obvious than in the massive, infectious grooves of “Cairns on Mercury,” undoubtedly one of the year’s catchiest death metal songs. Even though this and most other tracks serve up instant gratification like a platter of bacon covered…anything, there are enough twists and turns, flashes of speed, and atmospheric subtleties to add depth and stave off monotony. The guitars and bass certainly bring the riffs and the heavy, but what elevates this album even more are the varied drumming and vocals. You don’t often hear about memorable drumming, but I found Sami Ratilainen’s tight, creative fills and phrases bouncing through my head just as much as the riffs. The vocals of Heikki Miettinen are equally powerful and agile, recalling Dan Swanö at his most rabid.

I have to admit that I initially disregarded In Charnel Lights as too safe, but it embedded itself in my brain and kept me coming back. Even if it was the most progressive album that I ever heard, it would be worthless if it couldn’t do that. There are plenty of other bands out there trying to push the boundaries. Cult of Endtime is just here to kick ass, and that’s exactly what they’re doing.

Instead of looking forward, Vorum is looking back…way back. Current Mouth sounds like a band’s beginning, not a next step. I keep hoping to discover that it’s actually a reissued demo. The production is thin and raw, as are the vocals, the chord progressions are primitive, and the drums pummel along at a nearly perpetual thrash pace. There’s nothing inherently wrong with any of that. Some bands can do amazing things within those confines, such as Vomitor. Vorum just isn’t at that level yet. This style of primal black/death/thrash lives and dies by the riff, and there aren’t many here to really sink your teeth into and differentiate one track from the next.

However, much like their debut, there is potential here. They certainly have the vehemence that this style needs, and that might be enough when you’re just in the mood for a good face peeling. What shows the most promise is the title track, which breaks up the tremolo with some abrasive chugging before ripping into a bout of blackened speed metal with a hint of NWOBHM melody. More of this, please.

Despite my lack of enthusiasm for Vorum’s new direction, I commend them for heading down a rockier path with a different set of challenges. If they can carve something individual and memorable into those rocks along the way instead of just crashing over them, it could be a path worth following.

Autokrator was originally intended to be a new album from N.K.V.D. — another noteworthy industrial black metal project — but it was deemed too great of a departure, and I agree. Autokrator shares a similar martial tone at times, but not much else. Despite this new project’s moniker meaning “one who rules by himself,” lone N.K.V.D. member, Loïc.F, has assembled an international council to provide vocals, drums, and samples for this monstrous new direction.

The approach taken by Autokrator is actually a return to one of industrial’s original tenets: deconstruction. All of the basic elements of death metal are here, but they’ve been pulverized and amplified. It might be best to listen to the album with the same mindset you would have for an ambient, noise, or power electronics recording. Not only are there no discernible riffs, but you also can barely make out any chords. The guitars, which could very well be bass guitar, form an unbelievably massive, throbbing wall of sound. Drums exist in varying tempos from mid-paced marches to hyper-fast blasts, but those guitars don’t seem to care as they rumble and vibrate along with no regard to anyone or anything. Everything sounds like it was recorded in an old, abandoned factory with the vicious, inhuman growls of the two vocalists echoing through abandoned corridors, drums hammering on rusted steel, and guitars being played through amps built from the old machinery as they spew broken fragments of themselves. It’s one of the most merciless things you’re ever going to hear.

The overall sound isn’t too dissimilar from Ævangelist, but without their dark ambient undercurrent. Attempting to layer any more sounds would be futile here — like trying to enjoy classical next to a shuttle launch. There are a few moments of pure ambience, such as the closing moments of “Act 2 – Exsuperator” and “Act 6 – Sit divus, modo non vivus” that resemble Desiderii Marginis, but those are soon blasted away by the rockets. Most of the tracks follow the same formula with the exception of “Act 4 – Autokrator” and closer “Act 8 – Optimus princeps,” which offer some respite with some slightly less booming textures. They’re nice curiosities, but the supreme heaviness of rest of the album is the main attraction because, let’s be honest, we’re here to see liftoff.

Lyrically, each track focuses on the exploits of a different Roman emperor (or emperor’s wife, in the case of “Act 7 – Imperial Whore”). This seems at odds with the apocalyptic atmosphere of the music, but it’s certainly not off-putting by any means. It’s not like they’re harping on about how “radikul” they are. My biggest criticism might be too subjective, but I have to bring it up. Fade outs are a pet peeve of mine, and most of the tracks here close with them. It’s not quite as bad when they blend into some ambience, but for the ones that don’t, it just feels anticlimactic. Although, once the next track explodes, I quickly forget all about it.

Self-released digitally in early March, Autokrator was quickly picked up by Iron Bonehead for a vinyl release. I hope this proves to be a lasting partnership, and that Loïc.F continues to create more twisted sounds with both Autokrator and N.K.V.D. I can envision the two projects evolving in different but equally interesting directions, and helping to mend industrial metal’s reputation in the process.

Perhaps a brief history lesson is in order. Once upon a time there was an innovative band from the UK that went by the curious name of Akercocke. If you haven’t heard them, go find yourself a copy of The Goat of Mendes and work your way forward (the debut can wait until last). They performed live in suits, sang about Satan and sex, and weren’t afraid to mix moody progressive elements along with sinister clean vocals into their brutal black/death assault. Voices drummer David Gray was a founding member, vocalist/guitarist Peter Benjamin performed bass on their final album, Antichrist, and guitarist Sam Loynes provided electronic accompaniment when they performed live. So, there’s a strong connection to that sorely missed act. The Voices debut, From the Human Forest Create a Fugue of Imaginary Rain, was like a blacker continuation of Akercocke. While enjoyable in its own right, I felt it was lacking something. London is a very different beast.

Basically, these demented Brits have run wild here with some of Akercocke’s more artsy leanings and shifted the core of their sound to somewhere between technical death metal, grindcore, and industrial metal (minus the electronics). The guitars can be percussive one moment and launch into agile chord progressions the next, while David Gray’s drumming ranges from sustained hammering to freeform jazz with ease, and bassist Dan Abela sounds like he’s been taking lessons from G.C. Green. Then, there’s the liberal use of acoustic guitar, piano, and clean vocals. Peter Benjamin’s vocals have become a force to behold as they channel Tuomas Tuominen about half of the time and Rainer Landfermann the other half, with no clear separation of the two. It’s an impressive range that could’ve easily come off as disjointed, but instead feels very organic and emotive, and creates an interesting contrast to the precision of the heavy guitars and drums.

The lyrical themes explored in London are also far from the typical death metal fantasy fodder. First off, the title obviously comes from a very real place that also graces the album cover. However, that’s really just the setting for this personal concept album that spins a poetic, emotionally complex tale of woe involving feelings desire, paranoia, jealousy, insecurity, distrust, and frustration all centered on a femme fatale named Megan. These genuine feelings are a refreshing change of pace from the genre’s typical treatment of sexuality based in horror and dominance. That is, if this album can even be considered death metal at all — something like “extreme arthouse metal” or “brutal tech goth” might be more apt.

Singling out individual tracks on an album like this is fairly moot since they’re all meant to work together, with some serving as brief segues and other larger compositions connected by pieces of narration. Like a good book that you can’t put down, London is best experienced whole in all of its ambitious, confounding glory that somehow manages to come across as completely natural and effortless. One of the things that I love about metal is how, even after 45 years of existence, it still has the ability to surprise me like this. If you let it, London can bring back that same wondrous feeling that got you into this crazy music in the first place.

Of course, an amalgamation of goth, death, and doom metal is nothing new, but there are a few things that make this group’s take on it exceptional. First off, there are the vocals of Chris G, which alternate between an articulate yet vicious growl and a deep, tuneful croon that actually reminds me of the bass-baritone vocals of Brad Roberts of Canadian alt rock act, Crash Test Dummies. Then, there’s the huge Type O Negative influence. Now, plenty of bands have been inspired by those goth metal innovators, but I’ve never heard the darkest side of their sound so powerfully embodied as it is here. The lush keyboards, huge guitar slides and bends, heavy basslines, and massive, memorable choruses throughout the four tracks immediately take me back to the best moments of October Rust. The only things missing are the fuzzed-out guitar sound and Peter Steele’s voice, but there’s no recreating that, and this isn’t all about cloning Type O anyway. Elements of melodic death and doom are equally as prominent. I hesitate to use the word “progressive,” but the way these sounds are folded together is more layered and complex than you usually hear in this genre, as the band unpredictably shifts between styles throughout unconventional song structures filled with deft guitar work and detailed percussion. At times, tracks like “August Price” and “Nibelheim” are even downright thrashy.

The only criticism that I can come up with is that the production could afford to be a little fuller, but that could be tweaked for a CD and/or vinyl pressing (the EP is digital-only at the moment). A label needs to snatch these guys up and make that happen. I also hope a full-length isn’t too far away. The genre is in need of a band like this.

The band — comprised of Wayne Sarantopoulos (aka Elektrokutioner) of Father Befouled, Encoffination, Decrepitaph, and a slew of other bands along with members of Ascended Dead, Weightlessness, and VoidCeremony — first impressed me in late 2012 with their two-song demo, No Peace to Rest In, especially with the second track, “Divine Transcendence,” which resembled a Finnish death metal take on early Cathedral. A partnership with Dark Descent Records for a full-length was soon announced, but didn’t materialize until now. In the meantime they released an EP, Prophetic Oration of Self and a split with Into Darkness that built my anticipation even further. They must’ve been waiting to get this debut just right because that’s exactly what they’ve done.

That early Cathedral sound has expanded and gotten weirder here. Psychedelic riffs and mournfully unbalanced melodies throughout the entire album recall those Brits at their most heavy, dismal, and bold on the early EPs, Soul Sacrifice and Cosmic Requiem. “Prophetic Oration of Self” plays almost like a death/doom edit of the epic “Voyage of the Homeless Sapien.” That alone is amazing, but there are even more wonders to behold. For all of the doom influence that’s heard here, there’s just as much quirky, progressive death metal. Almost every track is punctuated by crazy time changes, stuttering tempos, and bizarre, backward riffs. Somber plodding rubs elbows with the trippy riffs and rhythms of Afflicted’s Prodigal Sun in tracks like “A Neck for the Nameless Noose” and “Cartilage Imperfect” while “Austere Urns” even exhibits some Pan-Thy-Monium weirdness. This demented playfulness permeates the entire album. Adding to it all is an element of melancholy death metal that I haven’t heard since Gorement called it quits. The first proper track, “Gazing into Melted Night,” especially reeks of it and it later merges prominently with that Cathedral-gone-death/doom sound in “Arteries Unblest.” The whole unpredictable amalgamation is a musical highlight of recent years for me.

Damian Herring of Horrendous handled the production and its warm heaviness could not be more fitting for this album. The only odd part is when the sound changes after a spacey interlude about halfway through the final track, “Levitate Within the Curse.” There’s no note of it in the promo, but it must be an early track that they tacked on the end because it’s much more simple and murky than the rest of the album. It’s certainly not bad, but it sounds a little out of place and threw me off a little at the end.

Much like the beautifully rendered visual interpretation of the band’s name on the album cover, there are many musical nooks and crannies to explore within The Deathmass Cloak. I still don’t feel like I have it all figured out, which is yet another great thing about this album. There always seems to be more to discover. The individual facets may bring to mind others before them, but they’re all styles that are in severely short supply and Ghoulgotha has made them their own by molding them together in a way that’s never been done before.

Dark Descent Records has really come out swinging this year with the one-two punch of this and the monstrous, new Desolate Shrine album, The Heart of the Netherworld. I don’t know how they could top these this year, but I don’t really care about that right now. I just want to savor this for a while.

Now, I’ve been into this miserable music since My Dying Bride was considered avant garde and Thergothon was called black doom, yet I still can’t tell you exactly where the line gets drawn between death/doom and funeral doom. But, I’d say Mesmur falls into the latter category. That often means songs that overstay their welcome and albums that outlast my patience. Fortunately Mesmur avoids funeral doom’s pitfalls…most of the time.

By funeral doom standards, Mesmur‘s runtime of 53 minutes makes it like a grindcore album. So, now you can have that The Lord of the Rings trilogy marathon and still enjoy some funeral doom in the same day instead of one or the other. However, with a total of just 5 tracks, you still get some fairly lengthy songs, which works better for some than others.

The first thing you’ll notice with opener, “Deprivation” is that this is very much a modern recording built upon everything that has developed in the genre over the past two decades; there’s no old school pandering here. Keyboard and subtle electronic elements permeate, but don’t overwhelm as the powerful, harrowing vocals of Chris G from Aussie death/doomsters Orphans of Dusk (who also released some great music this year) lead the way through the darkness. The production is clean, but satisfyingly thick and meaty. Indesinence and Evoken immediately come to mind. “Lapse” then starts with an ominous rumble reminiscent of Celtic Frost at their slowest or Winter at their fastest. After a brief ambient break, the track turns into an exercise in building tension, like the sounds of a beast rising from the abyss. Unfortunately, we never get to see the beast (funeral doom pitfall #1: buildup with no release). Instead we get the album’s most funereal track, “Abnegate.” Your mileage my vary, but its repetitive plodding lasted about 3 times too long for me (funeral doom pitfall #2: a song to nowhere). Thankfully it’s followed up by the album’s strongest track, “Descend,” which shifts between different movements and is awash in some of their most haunting synth work. The tone for the majority of the album is more menacing than melancholic. That gets reversed on closer “Osmosis.” Its final moments are especially heartrending. It’s a great way to end the album, but after hearing that they have this in them, it makes me wish they used it more.

Despite its minor shortcomings, Mesmur echoes loudly through the darkest corridors of doom and shows a lot of promise from this new band. If 2014 felt as light on the slow and heavy for you as it has for me, this could be just what you need.

On paper, it doesn’t seem like the band’s third full-length, Baphomet Pan Shub-Niggurath, would be anything to get too excited about. It’s not the heaviest, darkest, or most progressive death metal of the year. And, it doesn’t contain any exotic instrumentation, female vocals, or old dudes trying to make a comeback. Considering that, you might dismiss it as ordinary, until you realize what this albums does right. First off, there’s absolutely no filler. Even the “Prologue” and “Epilogue” tracks – pointless diversions on most other albums – are actual songs that perfectly bookend the album with conjurations of doom. Then there are the song lengths. In an age when a lot of bands seem to believe that more is more, it’s refreshing to encounter one that understands the value of less. The longest track is 3:33 and the whole album is over in a little under half an hour. That might sound too brief, but for an album this packed with riffs and shifting tempos, it works. And, none of it is buried in murk nor rendered lifeless in polish. Plus, while not part of the music, there’s that masterfully painted cover art that perfectly represents the evil lurking behind it. But, of course, these things don’t necessarily make it a great album. That comes from the monstrous riffs and labyrinthine song structures that are somehow both memorable yet seem to mutate and reveal something new with each listen.

Hints of early Immolation and Incantation pop up here and there, but for the most part, Unaussprechlichen Kulten has mastered a fairly distinct sound that comes across as wholly genuine and completely unconcerned with trying to sound like anything other than what comes out naturally. Don’t be discouraged by the sea of clones. Baphomet Pan Shub-Niggurath proves that there’s still plenty of life left in death.

The fruit of this seemingly unlikely pairing brings to mind a few different influential acts without sounding exactly like any one of them. The only obvious aping is the huge Celtic Frost-worshiping breakdown in the middle of “Altars to Wrath,” but it sounds so damn good, I couldn’t care less about the mimicry. The majority of the album intermingles elements of Amon Amarth, early Edge of Sanity, The Karelian Isthmus-era Amorphis, and The Peaceville Three to create doomy, burly melodic death metal that sounds classic, but not in a typical way. Much like Concrete Icon on their 2013 debut or Withered before they were blackened, Nightfell successfully skates along the borders between various subgenres of death and doom metal. Some tracks lean more toward the former, like the Amon Amarth meets Celtic Frost attack of the aforementioned “Altars to Wrath,” while others toward the latter, such as “Empty Prayers,” which sounds like what a collaboration between The Silent Enigma-era Anathema and Primordial could have produced, complete with tuneful clean vocals. But, what makes the album even more special is how all of the tracks have their own personalities through Burdette’s vast, memorable riffs and melodies, Call’s powerful, varied drumming, and expressive vocals that resemble an even mix of Johan Hegg’s commanding bark and Dan Swanö’s emotive growl.

Perhaps just as impressive as Call’s time management skills is Burdette’s ability to switch genres and play it like he’s been in it since the beginning. Everything here sounds so natural, it’s like these two have been playing this style together for ages, and know how to make it stick in your head. Don’t miss out on hearing some real songwriting this year, something that’s in short supply in this modern metal climate.

The face-shredding cosmic horror of 2013’s Omen Ex Simulacra was a huge advancement over De Masticatione Mortuorum in Tumulis from just one year prior. This third full-length doesn’t take such an expansive leap, as it utilizes the same dark palette of avant-garde black, death, doom, ambient, and industrial sounds, but it’s arranged a little more purposefully. Writhes in the Murk quite literally does just that as it throbs and pulsates with biomechanical malevolence in a stew of defeated flesh. If you’re not already familiar with the unique niche (more like a cavern) that Ævangelist has carved out, try to imagine the heaviest chunks of Morbid Angel boiling in a mix of Blut Aus Nord’s What Once Was… Liber trilogy and Red Harvest’s Cold Dark Matter, sprinkle in some saxophone, screams of human torture, and the intro music from The Shining, and you might be able to prepare yourself just slightly for what’s about to violate your earholes.

However, there are some more humane elements to lure you in this time. The occasional appearance of haunting clean vocals and spoken female voices from beneath the rubble serve as a warning, but the hulking grooves in tracks like “Præternigma” and “Harken to the Flesh” will get your head nodding in compliance. “Disquiet” even offers a hypnotic respite of electro beats over ambient sounds and the closing title track surprisingly starts off with some acoustic guitars that give way to a heavy, trance-inducing rhythm unlike anything they’ve done before. Yet, an unsettling atmosphere pervades all and bursts of skin-peeling speed still abound, so don’t get the impression that any part of this is remotely easy listening.

Your enjoyment of Writhes in the Murk is going to depend on your propensity for aural masochism. If you can endure the sonic extremity, there are many sophisticated levels to explore. If given enough time, it feels like you could uncover secrets of the universe. Just be sure to mind the wormhole.

It goes without saying that comebacks are all the rage nowadays (with mixed results), but unlike some others, Rippikoulu is not attempting to shallowly resurrect the past. Ulvaja is the sound of a band with genuine and forward-thinking motivations. So, if you’re looking for more typical Finnish death, you might be in for a disappointment. But, if you have a bit more breadth in your taste, you might be pleasantly surprised.

Ulvaja may not be quite what everyone was expecting, but it is a logical next step. The atmospheric doom that was a secondary element on Musta Seremonia has now taken over. “Jää hyvästi kaunis kesä” opens the EP with some of the bleakest sounds since Unholy called it a day. As touches of early Bethlehem mingle with the plodding heaviness of Celtic Frost’s Monotheist, it’s hard to believe this is from a band just coming off of a nearly 20-year hiatus. They must’ve spent those two decades just brooding and practicing. “Loputon” tries to break free from the oppressive misery with some blackened guitars over a mid-paced rumble, but soon collapses into the hypnotic title track. Awash in soft, female chanting, piano, and lush keyboards, “Ulvaja” hulks and churns its way through the gloaming as the deep, Finnish-spoken growls of Anssi Kartela sound more desperate than ever.

Frankly, it’s a little surprising that Rippikoulu isn’t taking advantage of the current old-school death metal movement. With their legendary status, they easily could. I commend them for obviously doing what they want without regard to what’s most favored and expected of them. This is a must-hear for doom fans. Those looking for Musta Seremonia, Part II should adjust their expectations and witness one of the strongest, but likely most underappreciated, recordings of this comeback era.

Most of you who are reading this are probably just wondering how Soma stacks up to Aura. The overall approach hasn’t changed much, but there are a few minor differences. First off, the primary vocal style is higher, giving this EP a blacker feel. Deep growls still appear, but are used more sparingly. There are also not much of the grungy clean vocals that littered Aura, which is a little disappointing. There’s also a lack of bold, instantly memorable rock riffs like in “Entranced by the Wolfshook.” Not that there isn’t anything memorable; you just have to dig a little more for it. But overall, it’s still the same unique mix of cavernous death metal with lilting, noise rock chords ringing out everywhere. KzR’s palm rarely touches the strings, leaving them to vibrate to their full potential as one riff bleeds into the next. And, in terms of production, they seem to follow the old adage, “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”

“Steppes” throws around a couple of chunky riffs and militant drumming, but you already know that since it’s been out there for a few months now. That’s only a third of the EP, though. Menacing chanting, doomy tones, and spacey ambience echo through the dimly lit passageways of the appropriately titled, “Labyrinthian Graves,” which is the group’s most epic composition yet at over 12 minutes in length. It takes time to fully explore and offers a nice contrast to the more immediate opening track. If you’re only going to put two songs on a release, this is how you do it.

This band inspires us to always look forward to what’s next from them. However, I can’t help but think of Armoured Angel, who were in a similar position twenty years ago (two impressive EPs under their belt with the potential for greatness). Just try to appreciate where Bölzer is right now and give Soma time to fully sink in. That will not lead to any disappointment, at least that much is certain.

I’m going to cut right to the chase. Ormblot is eerily similar to early Emperor, particularly their As the Shadows Rise EP. Countless bands have been inspired by those Norwegian innovators, but very few have captured that same cold, evil atmosphere. So, even though Ormgård isn’t really offering anything new here, it’s something that there really can’t be enough of. This leads me to my only gripe about the album: with only six tracks — three of which are keyboard instrumentals — and a runtime of just twenty-six and a half minutes, it leaves me wanting a lot more. At least instrumentals “Ormblot,” “Dödskröning,” and “Elivågor” possess a creepy, nostalgic charm that’s enjoyable in its own right, but I would prefer more of the superb black metal found in the other three tracks. But, it is a demo after all, and in that regard, it’s one of the best in recent memory.

Black metal tracks “Hugsad,” “Ohelgat Blot,” and “Av Svartkonst & Fördärv” all sound as if they were just discovered in the forests of Norway after being lost since the early ‘90s. But, don’t expect something overly “necro.” The production is certainly organic, but it has some actual weight to it and you can clearly hear everything that’s going on — much like the aforementioned Emperor EP. Sweeping synths flow beneath the biting guitars, adding just the right amount of atmosphere without overpowering the riffs. The vocals are of the shrill, shrieking variety that you don’t hear a lot nowadays. Did I mention this sounds like early Emperor? While all of the tracks are great, “Av Svartkonst & Fördärv” is the real standout. If it had been presented as some long-lost track that Emperor recorded somewhere between As the Shadows Rise and In the Nightside Eclipse, I would have believed it.

With acts like Esoterica, Kult of Taurus, and now Ormgård on their roster, Forever Plagued Records is a label to keep your eye on. I hope to see a new full-length from Ormgård in the near future that (unlike the oddly-titled, ambient-only ////\ released in 2012) contains more chilling, second-wave inspired black metal. It may be a two-decade-old style, but it’s one that never gets old.

Forteresse kicks off the split with “Wendigo,” the first newly penned track they’ve released since 2010’s Par Hauts Bois et Vastes Plaines (2011’s Crépuscule d’Octobre was actually written in 2006). With albums that lean toward either the more aggressive (Métal Noir Québécois and Crépuscule d’Octobre) or the more atmospheric (Les Hivers De Notre Époque and Par Hauts Bois et Vastes Plaines) side of the style, it was hard to guess which direction they would take here. It seems that their last full-length was more of a refocusing than a rehash because this sounds as vicious as the cannibalistic half-beast of the subject matter, but not without lacking any their trademark freezing aura.

The slightly warmer, Agalloch-esque tone of Chasse-Galerie’s “Le Bois des Belles” adds a touch of autumn with guitars that play like strings on a gnarled oak and melodies that sprawl like its branches. Their strange, snarled vocals are also out of the ordinary and might take a little getting used to. They’re kind of the odd one out here, but I appreciate the variety they provide.

The last full-length from Monarque, 2013’s Lys noir, was like Emperor in their prime teleported to the wilds of Quebec, and “La Griffe du Diable” finds them turning feral in the frozen forests. Its shrill rawness jolts you back to the harshness of winter, and intensifies like an approaching blizzard.

Like a culmination of their scene’s approximately 8-year existence, “Murmures Nocturnes” from the Countess Bathory-loving Csejthe closes the split in quintessential Québécois black metal fashion — epic, melancholic, cold, and hypnotic. It’s atmospheric to its core, but without the pomp that adjective might suggest in another context. There’s nothing here that isn’t absolutely necessary, making its impact all the more powerful.

This is a must-have for fans of the scene and also a great way for newcomers to get a sampling of what it has to offer. So, head over to the Sepulchral Productions online shop and order one of the 500 copies before they’re all gone. Don’t wait around for it to show up on Spotify or Bandcamp because it will probably never happen. These guys are insular and I’d say it’s working well for them.

The opening basslines of “Vandring utan spår” hint at the quirkiness to come. Hell, just being able to hear bass at all on a black metal album is something of an anomaly in and of itself. Then there’s the acoustic flamenco guitar that they sneak into “Ensamhetens Andar” and lively humppa rhythms mingling with tremolo rage in “Själavrängaren.” And, the mesmerizing way they paint nordic desolation with intense tremolo guitars is a lot like how a doom band works with droning guitars. More than a few moments bring to mind Below the Lights-era Enslaved, something I’m certainly not complaining about. They don’t hit you over the head with any of these elements, but there are enough subtle idiosyncrasies to give this album its own personality. The synths employed throughout have a haunting, vintage quality as if they could be from some classic horror film. It’s not something you hear often in traditional black metal, which despite my evidence to the contrary, is really what makes up the majority of the album…urgent black metal punctuated by tempered passages of hypnotic melancholy, or the other way around depending on how you want to look at it. They effortlessly weave the two together, creating a level of variety and engrossing songwriting that most others lack. Topping it all off are some powerfully stern, Swedish vocals that sound as if they’re erupting out between clenched teeth. It adds a sense of authority to even the calmest moments.

If you’re a more orthodox fan, don’t let the progressive elements scare you away. If you prefer your black metal to be more forward-thinking, don’t assume you’ve heard this all before. They’ve taken traditional second-wave black metal and made something special and all their own with it. Don’t let any of your preconceived notions keep you from experiencing what will likely go down as one of the best black metal albums of 2014.

If you’re familiar with the original version released by Paragon Records in 2008, the first difference you’ll notice is the cover art. The original wasn’t necessarily bad, but this new one conveys a much more appropriately epic feeling with the giant eagle emerging from dark storm clouds over ancient ruins. Although, the symbology at work could be unfavorably construed given the context. I would love to comment on the rest of the 6-panel digipack, but I only have a digital copy.

As for the music itself, this is Khors at their most atmospheric and subdued, but don’t misunderstand that as a weakness. Even though 2010’s Return to Abandoned reintroduced some of their early aggression into the ideas explored here to make an even more potent sound, this is still a great album in its own right. Anyone who was into what Century Media was releasing in the mid ‘90s will especially love it, as the aura, attitude, flow, and pacing all closely resemble the output around that time from Samael, Rotting Christ, and most of all, Moonspell. Basically, if you remove most of the goth leanings from Wolfheart, you have the recipe for Mysticism. The mystical, woodsy atmosphere, gritty guitars, and sturdy, tempered rhythms are very similar. I hate to make such a simple, direct comparison, but I think it’s a flattering one. This consistent, even balance of strength and melancholy is hard to come by. Yet, even with all its similarities to the early works of that certain Portuguese band, there’s still something distinctly Ukrainian about it. It’s a mysterious quality that I can’t quite put my finger on; I just know that I also hear it in fellow countrymen Kroda, Nokturnal Mortum, and Drudkh.

The vocals of Helg have a harsh, menacing tone much like Sakis of Rotting Christ at his best and all instrumentation — both metallic or otherwise — is masterfully performed. The passion these guys must have for their craft is palpable. Unlike their other albums, the pace here never gets above a mid-paced gallop, but there’s nary a dull, sluggish moment as almost every song is brimming with creative drum fills, emotive solos, and lush ambient instrumentation. The only exceptions are the keyboard/drum/whisper-filled “Milk of Heavens” and acoustic instrumental “Pagan Scars,” which are the only low points, but they’re by no means terrible. If the album had a hit single, it would most definitely be the entirely clean-crooned (courtesy of Mental Home vocalist Mikhail “Maiden” Smirnov) “Red Mirrors,” which comes off like a stirring mix of Amorphis, Root, and the aforementioned Moonspell-isms. They’ve never done anything like it before or since, which is a little disappointing since they do it so well.

In an age when most atmospheric metal bands seem to share the belief that longer equals better, Khors smartly keep their recordings concise. All five of their albums have exactly eight tracks with a total runtime that’s right around the 40-minute sweet spot (not too long, not too short). Svarga Music messed that up a little here by tacking on demo versions of “In the Cold Embrace of Mist,” “Through the Rays of Fading Moon,” and “Raven’s Dance.” Rougher versions of album tracks don’t do anything for me, but they’re easily ignored and maybe some completists out there will appreciate them. At least the album was spared the often unnecessary remaster treatment that many reissues go through. The original sounded great — clear, rich, and meaty — and so does this.

I can’t really recommend this reissue to anyone who already has the original pressing unless they want the new artwork and demo tracks. But, for anyone who appreciates this style and missed out on Mysticism the first time around, I can’t recommend it enough.

Acacia is a new name for a not-so-new group of moody Swedes. They’ve actually been together since 2007, releasing one full-length and two EPs as Livsnekad. I don’t know the reason for the name change. Maybe it has something to do with their previous moniker’s resemblance to the words “lives naked.” Or, they could just want a fresh start, which is exactly what they’ll get from me here since I never heard their previous material.

It wouldn’t be hard to lump this in with the current crop of romantically downcast, black-rooted metal/rock spearheaded by Alcest, but there’s not really anything post or shoegazey about this. Acacia’s approach is more in line with the mid to late ‘90s stylings of Novembre, EverEve, and even Theatre of Tragedy with their affinity for female vocals and piano. As you’re probably realizing at this point, this is brazenly dramatic music, but something sets it apart from the throngs of gothic imitators that took the style to embarrassing levels of sugary flamboyance. Amongst all of the acoustics, synths, and silky voices is some seriously depressive menace à la early Forgotten Tomb.

Like a beautiful sunrise over a scorched wasteland, “Dods man mask” ascends with piano-driven elegance and smooth, somber, Swedish voices. Even though it doesn’t contain any metal, this is not just some unnecessary filler to exercise your skip button. The following four lengthy tracks carve similarly dark paths through the bleak landscape, but each one contains pockets of sullen beauty, propulsive rage, and everything in between.

Every band member’s performance on this album is exceptional in some way. The guitar work of Andreas Thorén and Christian Larsson (both also handle bass and vocals) overflows with emotion as it effortlessly shifts from sorrowful melody to anxious tremolo and back again. The two guitarists’ extended trade-off solos in “Amourens Redoxreaktion” are an especially moving highlight. Drummer Richard Schill has a background in brutal/tech death (most notably, Spawn of Possession) and it shows. He fills the album with an energy that you don’t often get with this style and handles everything from plodding doom to intense blasting with aplomb. Seiya Ogino’s sensitive sprinkling of piano adds just the right amount of fragility, as do the beautiful female vocals provided by Moa Thorén. And, the various male vocals provided by one or both guitarists are just as expressive as their playing. Clean, gruff, shrieking, guttural…all are powerfully executed. There was a lot of room for error on this album, but they managed to get everything right. My only nitpick would be that the use of crying baby samples to open “Tills Döden Skiljer Oss Åt” is a little heavy-handed, but it’s easily overlooked.

There’s a lot of depth here to absorb. And, at roughly an hour in length, it risks being too long for its own good, but not a minute of that is wasted and the unpredictable, linear song structures prevent any chance of boredom. If you appreciate melancholia, this is something that’s worth the time it takes to fully grasp. Now, if they can just improve their distribution for those of us who prefer physical copies…

Dissonant guitars churn and whir, inhuman vocals roar and shriek, and unpredictable mechanized drums tumble and blast while deeply dark ambient echoes beneath to form profoundly terrifying, amorphous soundscapes that sound more like something SETI might detect from some malicious intelligence than anything made by humans. This isn’t something you just casually listen to. It’s an album that consumes you from beginning to end, dragging you disoriented and gasping for air through a wormhole to an unimaginable, alien dimension. You won’t remember much when it’s over, but you know you just experienced something extraordinary that has embedded itself in your brain like a trauma you have to keep revisiting to fully understand.

It’s nearly impossible to differentiate one merciless track from the next, but on this astral plane, things like memorable riffs and songwriting don’t matter. Much like Blut Aus Nord‘s underrated MoRT masterpiece, this is an album of mystifying moments and palpable atmosphere that you absorb as a whole, transfixed by the ever-shifting forms of cosmic horror. Instead of including standout tracks of a more industrial and doom-like nature as on their debut, those influences are now spread more evenly throughout the maelstrom’s many layers, which the production thankfully allows to be heard without sounding remotely polished. Some fragments in the storm are more arresting like the absolutely horrific screams of “Mirror of Eden,” while others are more subtle like the sax in “Seclusion” that took me several listens to notice. Somehow both are equally unsettling.

This is your darkest nightmare in audio form. If you don’t have nightmares, this will give them to you. If Incantation’s Onward to Golgotha and Godflesh’s Streetcleaner could somehow be overlapped, mastered onto a black hole accretion disc, and then blasted through its polar jets, it would probably sound like this. That’s the best way I can think of to sum it up. It’s really something you need to hear for yourself to see if you have a taste for it. Just be careful about letting any of your non-metalhead friends and family hear it. They may seriously question your sanity more than ever before.