Deliverance is arguably their best album from the ’90s, and they didn’t slack on, either. But Deliverance… you just had to be there. The sound and tempo changes were evident and continued through subsequent albums until we are here in the now with Good God/Baad Man (I had to speed it up or I’d be stuck in the 2000s for paragraphs to come).

Bold statement time: this might be AOTY material. It’s fuzzy, Black Sabbath-y as fuck, and unapologetically HEAVY. Like right away there’s “Good God Final Dawn”, and it’s a scorcher. Pulling out a solid Punk beat and running with the scissors that are cutting through the riffs like a hot knife through butter. It’s a killer track and a great way to open this album, their 11th one following 2018s crushing No Cross No Crown. I loved that album and even got a physical copy of it when I worked at Best Buy.

I saw them open for Megadeth back in 95 (I think), and they wiped the floor with Megadeth. Blew them off the stage. Then I got to see them in October with Judas Priest, and they played some of the songs from this release and the crowd was eating it all up.

Enough memory lane, “You or Me” is where the Sabbath comes rushing in. That same raucous abandon that Sabbath had on “Fairies Wear Boots” and “Behind the Wall of Sleep”. These are elephantine riffs, and it is absolutely fabulous to hear this sort of take on the Sabbath legacy (I don’t know if they intended to have that outcome; but fuck it because I’m all for it).

Good God Baad Man is everything I could ever want in a Corrosion of Conformity album. This is a massive album. “Gimme Some Moore” is like hard rocking Blues, but they have these huge riffs opening the songs that you are commanded to move your head.

This is a long album, clocking in at 1:06:54 it’s 14 tracks are like deep cuts. “The Handler” is one of those Sabotage, Never Say Die Sabbath moments that Corrosion of Conformity peel off effortlessly. It’s bouncing rhythm forces you to move that bone sack you call a body. “Bedouin’s Hand” is a mystical, swirling experience spent in the Middle Eastern dunes and it is a truly magical experience.

“Run for your Life” is one of those bluesy Corrosion of Conformity songs that are as lazy as a muddy river. It’s a sublime song, just rambling along with not a care in the world. “Baad Man” is a barrel house Southern style bake off, drawling drums and the funky guitar and bass make for a party time track that’ll live rent free in your head for days.

“Lose yourself” is a solid banger, bringing to mind smoky bars with the house band playing hell for leather to about 250 loyal fans. “Mandra Sonos” is another mid-paced instrumental track that grabs you and moves you on a sub-atomic level. These guys don’t let up, even the almost Slayer-esque “Asleep on the Killing Floor” featuring some Tom Araya style vocals that are brutal as fuck.

Corrosion of Conformity has managed to take the Punk sensibilities and combine them into a special sort of madness. For me, this is their best since Wiseblood; not that I’m not shitting on the in-between albums because they’re all amazing albums, but that sound and fury of the 90s are brought to the fore here, much to my delight.

“Handcuff County” starts off with a police car siren, just a warning for those listening while driving, the track being a roller-coaster ride that twists and turns like a snake on LSD. “Swallowing the Anchor” has a bit of that Deliverance groove that gets you going with a fist in the air.

“Brickman” has sort of a Mazzy Star “Fade into You” vibe to it. Maybe it’s the slide guitar, I don’t know, but that vibe just hit me in the memory banks. “Forever Amplified” is the closer and what a closer it is! A huge, feedback laden intro and then bang and the song gets triumphant, a message saying that they will always be loud and obnoxious and frankly, that’s how I hope they always are.

With Good God/ Baad Man, Corrosion of Conformity has dropped an effortlessly fantastic album that is giving me end of year list vibes. You know them by now and I’m sure you’ll be wanting to get your grubby hands on this. The badass artwork seals the deal. Go get it!

(Pictured: An American male. Obviously)

There’s just no getting around it. I am what I am. And despite the fact that this country is currently making it actively more difficult to enjoy every single one of these mentioned things (and plenty more), I remain steadfast in my pride for so much of what America actually can offer when its not getting duped into handing the keys to the kingdom over to a fake-genius South African billionaire Nazi and his soggy orange puppet (Yes, I know you have eyes on this Elon. No, I cannot begin to care anymore).

One thing America’s always been really goddamn good at? Party metal. And by that I mean the Scissorfights, the Alabama Thunderpussys, the Kyusses and Sasquatches of the world who blend the best parts of Stoner Metal, Punk, Hardcore and straight up Hard Rock sensibilities into a raucous, sludgy concoctions purpose-built with beer, bud and backyard wrestling all on top of mind. It’s like, our thing, man. It’s what we do best.

… but what if it wasn’t?

Raging Speedhorn are not American. In fact, they’re a bunch of friggin’ Brits. And yeah, Teeth of the Diving may well be led by our own Union Jack’d Erik T, but even he abandoned those royal-loving bastards decades ago in favor of that sweet American freedom and liberty (we don’t have to get into how he’s feeling about that decision NOW). This isn’t supposed to be their thing. STAY IN YOUR LANE YA FUCKIN BEANS-FOR-BREAKFAST DWEEBS.

Alas, for over 25 years Raging Speedhorn have been doing their absolute damnedest to earn their honorary red, white and blue cards and, frankly, have been pretty gosh dang successful. Hell, their name is in reference to taking speed and getting raging boners. Add in a screeching eagle and a revving V8 motor and I can’t possibly think of anything much more American than that. Now they release an album called Nightwolf sporting an incredible depiction of Teen Wolf himself shotgunning a beer and, I just don’t know anymore. My fellow patriots need to do something to reset the scales.

It doesn’t help when the album comes barreling in with “Blood Red Sky,” featuring a barrage of catchy, earworm riffs and gruff, no-fucks-given vocals announce their arrival with killer intent. Even more-to-the-point, follow up “Buzz Killer” gets right to the matter-at-hand with some killer Thin Lizzy–inspired guitar licks, crowd-inspiring gang vocals, and one hell of a great, simple breakdown sure to turn any backyard hootenanny into an absolute rager. The fantastic refrain of “DON’T KILL THE BUZZ” is enough to make me grab for another beer long after I’ve had far too many and keep the mayhem churning. Bring on the mud wrestlers.

But this is just the start of the ruckus RSH are bringing to the party. “Every Night’s Alright For Fighting,” a tongue-in-cheek nod to legendary countrymate Elton John, may well end the party anthem of the year, chock full of simple, no-nonsense riffing that forces your heart rate into a frenzy, and again featuring a killer, doomy breakdown that would be just as well served in a junkyard as it would at a proper venue. Maybe even moreso. It’s an absolute doozy that earns your fervor through sheer force of will, and I wish all good luck in trying to resist it’s fuck-all charms. Similarly, the album’s title track “Night Wolf” takes a fucking monster riff straight out of Scissorfight’s wheelhouse and delivers a swaggering, anthemic track that will earn just as many fists in the air as it will across the chins of anyone that happens to piss you off while the track is anywhere in earshot.

And if you think there’s any respite from this absolute dog fight of an album, I urge you to heed caution, because it just does not relent. “DOA” and my personal favorite, “Comin’ in Hard” continue to slam the pedal to the floor with reckless abandon, the latter featuring a sweet little banjo riff mixed in with the guitar assault just to keep things extra fuckin crispy. God forbid you ever find yourself in a West Virginia holler being chased down by a group of 3-toothed hill folk carrying garden tools, but if you ever do find yourself in this unfortunate scenario, I hope you’ve got this track to spur you on away from that hillbilly horde. If that doesn’t give you the motivation to get a move on, I dunno what will.

I know it’s a cop out to say it’s pointless to belabor the point of “Night Wolf,” but I’m pretty sure Raging Speedhorn aren’t looking to a whole lot of explanation or platitudes for their work. They just want you to crack open a beer, rip a bong or a line off the back of some questionable toilet, and get down to fuckin business with this album.  I’m not even ashamed to say this is the most American album so far of 2025, and damned if I won’t use it as fuel to fight off the fuckwits in this country who apparently have no problem letting it become a playground for Vladdy Putin and the billionaire elite. With this album blasting in my ears, I feel just about ready to take on anything.

The original lineup of V consisted of Swedish hardcore and metal scene stalwarts Andreas Bair and Jonas Gyrth (still with the band) who formed the original starting point of V called Amend, who were the next iteration of the band Clean Shade of Dirty featuring guitarist Per Sodomizer Eriksson of Bloodbath and Katatonia fame. So for those keeping track, it’s Clean Shade of Dirty > Amend > V > Vorder which, according to the band, is a change made to celebrate the band making it out the other side of the pandemic, calling it an “upgrade to: V order, the order of V which is written as: Vorder.”

Why is all this important? I DUNNO! But the band mention this all in the press pack attached to this record sooooo… I guess they thought you might want to know? Now you know!

Anyway, this album is pretty friggin’ neat.

Speaking of the pandemic, before it hit, the band formerly known as V (and all those other ones) made a live recording on top of a mountain because… why not? I guess (?) it’s called Led Into the Wild and, you can see parts of it on Youtube but the rest is apparently impossible to find. Countless Google and Youtube searches turn up nothing (I tried every version of the band’s name that I know of), and the couple videos that you can sort-of find have been viewed only a couple hundred times since they were posted a year and a half ago. I only bring this up because it seems to point to a pattern of this band doing needlessly VERY difficult and complicated things for a payoff that, as far as I can tell anyway, is very minimal. Don’t get me wrong, the videos I can see are pretty dang cool! I’d love to see more! But the product just seems inaccessible. It’s really mysterious! Spooky, even, which is entirely appropriate given the type of atmospheric, dreary (in the best way), eerie Scandinavian Doom and Post-Hardcore we find on False Haven. From the ominous album cover, to the murky production, to the pacing and tone of the entire experience, Vorder create a palpable atmosphere of internal anguish, hopelessness and fear, and yet… somehow an introspective beauty that come together for a satisfying, if oppressive listen.

From the first note of “Introspective,” the tone is set with unmistakable dread – there’s a mournful, desolate quality to the opening guitars that let you know straight away this is not going to be an invigorating experience. But where you may be lead to believe the band may follow with something slow, plodding, maybe even a bit airy – the band instead goes for an immediate gut punch of heaping Isis/Pelican inspired Post-Hardcore riffs that carry the weight of a thousand dying suns, while vocalist Andreas Baier’s tortured screams seem to be hurdled to the heavens themselves, drenched in a sort of bitter agony and spite aimed at whoever would listen. It’s the sort of murk and mire that worships at the temple of Neurosis and Old Man Gloom, while culling from the emotional depths of the likes of Harakiri for the Sky or Numenorean, perhaps no more bleakly than on “The Few Remaining Lights,” which (I think?) features a guest vocal spot from… someone. Whoever it is carries a disoriented, mournful tune that lends itself perfectly to the vibe (if this is just what Andreas’ cleans sound like, my apology for the mix-up) Vorder are conjuring, and just to add an even greater sense of doom, the band breaks out the use of organs on the track that, along with the track’s plodding, cavernous riffs, transport you to a moth and cobweb-ridden crypt that, by the sounds of things, may well end up your eternal resting place. It’s such a perfectly suited track for this album that I just find myself wanting even more of it when it’s over.

Thankfully, it’s certainly not an end to the oppression. The horrifically foreboding “Judgement Awaits” could well be a final dirge for the sort of person who enters death with trepidation – knowing full well that if there is an afterlife, they’re not destined for a very peaceful one. There’s a fantastic build before the song’s mournful solo that pounds like the hammering heartbeat of a death row inmate strapped to the chair, just waiting for their executioner to throw the switch and send them to whatever form of eternity awaits them. Similarly, album closer “Come Undone” plays out like someone who’s reached the end of their rope, simultaneously dragging their feet to an inevitable, ugly end – and lashing out the entire way at every injustice and grievance that’s been heaped upon them. I’ll be honest, like a lot of Doom, it’s 10+ minutes probably isn’t entirely necessary, but regardless it’s still a perfectly fitting end to this dreary affair.

By all accounts, this could well be the last we hear of the name Vorder before the band goes back into hibernation for a bit and reemerges as, like Vorder.X or Vorderian or some other moniker with an equally confusing explanation. Who knows! What I do know is that for now, Vorder have created a wonderfully deep and dark record that certainly makes the Scandinavian tradition of high-quality doom proud. Here’s to hoping False Haven gets the attention is rightfully deserves.

Look, I know that these Norwegian Grind/D-Beat/Punk Rockers ain’t exactly new to the block – in fact they’ve been menacing their way around the world of extreme music for over a decade at this point, but that moniker – I don’t care how many times I see it. Every time I picture The Godfather, right? But instead of Jack Woltz waking up to a surprise lesson in equine cranial anatomy, he’s strapped to that ornate mahogany headboard of his while a couple Corleone goons serve him up a million dollar horsey carpaccio. That’s a spicy meat-a-ball!

So yeah, some grotesque imagery here! But Forcefed Horsehead aren’t exactly here to hold your hand through a meadow of wildflowers and daffodils, are they? VIBE CHECK – a ride with these fellas, and you’re in for a chaotic mix of Grind, Hardcore and Punk, with an ooey, gooey underbelly of Sludge and dirty, dirty Death Metal permeating the entire thing, like someone threw a blanket over Mr. Ed’s rotting, decaying corpse and left it in the sun for a month. The end result is in equal measures shocking, revolting and utterly fascinating – the kind of scene you can’t help but stare at even though you know it’s going to be the fuel to every nightmare you have for the rest of your life.

Along with all the different influences at play in FFHH‘s sound, there’s also an undeniably Norwegian quality to it. When they aren’t obliterating your senseless with the relentless grind attack of tracks like opener “Every Death You Take” and the superb “Ruins,” or dragging you through guano-flooded caverns of Sludge and Doom like on “The Black Sun” or “And Then There Were None,”  that familiar rock-out, fun-loving sound perfected by the likes of Kvelertak and Turbonegro seems to shine through, giving the likes of “Futile” and “Iri” an unnervingly upbeat, punky sort of attitude that makes you reach for that extra beer or four well past the point when adding to the night’s tally is necessary or wise – which is of course, when the really ugly, chaotic shit starts going down. The driving beats and riffs of “Novgorod” are positively dripping with malcontent, featuring a dizzying mix of furious blast beats and Every Time I Die-inspired groove that will bring the walls down in whatever venue unfortunate enough to have to try and contain them. Similar story on the tongue-in-cheek titled “Übernecro,” which lays thick into more hardcore sensibilities, attacking with an avalanche of perky, muscular riffing that couldn’t get a frenzied pit moving faster if it released a live, starving tiger onto the general admission floor.

As mentioned earlier, when the band does decide to get real heavy, they are not holding back. “The Black Sun” brings the proceedings to a crushing, oppressive halt, pummeling the listener with slow, plodding riffs and monstrous beats that smash into you with the kind of devastation only a runaway locomotive could dish out. It’s a song that takes the Marshawn Lynch “run through a mothafucka face” guide to life truly to heart – we’re talking ten-ton hammerblows to the dome again and again and again for 6+ minutes straight until you’re a veneer of red liquid in the dirt. Closer “… And Then There Were…” follows a similar destructive path, though playing a bit more on the morose, dreary end of the spectrum, rather than outright hateful pummeling. The effect however, is just as devastating, not only doling out a physical sort of punishment, but mental and emotional as well (which any good Catholic knows is how you cause REAL lasting damage).

By the time I’m through with “Monoceros,” I’ve found myself with a bit ol’ grin on my face, because what this album really does is transport me back to a lot of really fond, nostalgic periods of my journey through the world of metal. More than once I found myself thinking back to the likes of Premonition of War and Burnt by the Sun – others, I’m dragged a bit more down in the mud – fondly reminiscing days spent discovering the likes of Bloodlet or Soilent Green, and just when you think you’ve got a general beat on what’s going on with Forcefed Horsehead, things get a little weird and you find yourself tangled in the chaos the likes of Today is the Day and Agoraphobic Nosebleed. It’s an absolute whirlwind of aggression and ill-intent, and damned if it’s not a goddamn blast of a listen. So even though I risk having the thought of a Bojack Horseman snuff film permanently imprinted on my brain with every spin of this record, the risk is well worth it. Check it out for yourself.

Maybe things really are looking up? I know everyone had a shit 2020 – I won’t bore you with the personal details of my god-forsaken year – but while lots of folks have been ready to kick 2020 off a cliff and welcome the new year with open arms, I haven’t necessarily been so… optimistic. That being said, 2021 has barely gotten out the gate, and I’ve already got what I think is a viable candidate to make my year-end list.

If Alchemical Warefare from Alan “Nemtheanga” Averill’s (Primordial) side project Dread Soveriegn is a portent of things to come in 2021, maybe this year isn’t destined for the trash heap after all.

I don’t know what it is about side projects that so often end up working so well for me, but there’s no shortage of evidence that I REALLY like it when artists step away from their main gig to work on something else. Whether it’s Ryan Waste stepping away from the Municipal boys to put together criminally underrated Speed/Thrash outfit Bat, Patrick Jensen and Sharlee D’Angelo’s fantastic Witchery (honestly the best of all their collective band histories, in my honest opinion), or any number of other truly top-notch offerings throughout metal’s history, there’s obviously something to be said about really talented artists put together passion projects when they have the opportunity.

That all being said, while I’ve always been a big fan of Primordial, and specifically Nemtheanga’s truly unique vocal stylings, Dread Sovereign’s first two albums didn’t really hold my attention. They were fine offerings, but as I often find with a lot of doom metal projects, there just wasn’t quite enough to keep me interested throughout the entire experience. This may well be a personal shortcoming, but what can I say? My review, my opinion, buttercup.

This time around though, the iconic Irishman has injected a good dose of traditional heavy metal influences into his work, along with a touch of heavy-as-fuck, stoner-y Bison B.C. vibes here and there, and the end result is an album with a hell of a lot more variation and substance that fully grabs me by the throat and drags me along for the whole ride through sheer force of will. That’s not a complaint, I fucking love it. HARDER, DADDY!

While not a word often associated with doom metal, Alchemical Warfare has a real sense of urgency about it that really keeps things lively and exciting, two more words that, uh, don’t really go with doom. But nevermind that! After a heavy, building, Sabbath-like intro to “She Wolves of the Savage Season,” the band changes paces and really gets after it with upbeat, peppy riffs, and those unmistakable Nemtheanga vocals leading the way and commanding your attention. It’s an unexpected shot of adrenaline and really gets this album off to a proper start. The song goes out with a nice and slow, epic tail end that on prior albums might already have me feeling ready to move on to something else, but this time is a welcome change of pace that makes me want to see what’s next.

Follow-up “The Great Beast We Serve” really takes the traditional heavy metal influence and puts it center stage, providing a mighty, anthemic ode to the Dark Lord himself that’s uncomplicated, gets to the point, and sells itself very well without relying on too many frills. Great, fist-pumping riffs, a great hook, job done. Similarly, after a bit of a slow build, “Nature is the Devil’s Church” keeps unholy spirits high with a dirty, galloping riff, before really opening the taps with a legitimate rager that would get the darkest of demons whipped into a supernatural frenzy, and that’s before the band breaks things down with a nasty little break complete with chanting vocals and war-like pummeling drums that sound like some evil invocation of The Great Old Ones.

It’s on “Her Master’s Voice,” however, that Nemtheanga really puts his strengths, and indeed the band’s strengths on full display. He’s great throughout the album, but this is, without question, his vocal and songwriting highlight. I heard this song for the first time the week before Christmas, and the chorus has been stuck in my head ever since. The track has a more moody, classic doom vibe that carries into the atmospheric break on “Viral Tomb,” before the band kicks things back into gear with the driving “Devil’s Bane,” one of the album’s real headbangers. The band ends the album itself with the very Occult-y, chanting “Ruin Upon the Temple Mount,” calling to mind equal parts Melvins and Twilight of the Gods-era Bathory. Appropriate, given the band round things out with s spirited cover of Bathory’s “You Don’t Move Me (I don’t Give A Fuck),” a track recorded all the way back in June of 1983, but not released until 1992 on their first compilation album, Jubileum: Volume I. It’s for sure a unique and surprising choice for songs to cover from the legendary band, but pretty cool to bring up such an obscure track!

Given how much this kind of thing is usually so hit or miss for me, I’m very VERY pleasantly surprised to find how much of a hit this is for me. I’ve always wanted to get behind this project more, but my respect and love of Primordial and the high regard with which I hold Nemtheanga’s unique vocal talents have always left me wanting more from it. Now, I think I have the album that I’ve been waiting for from these guys, and I couldn’t be happier for it. Don’t be surprised if I mention it again in about 12 months.

Opener “Shifting Decay” is the highlight here and a promising show of the band’s talents. They tread the down tempo shifting chord work with rumbling elliptical percussion, and shift downhill to a dirty rhythmic section. Vocal roars wail above the head nodding bounce before the tone shifts to trudging sludge. They cut this off with a roiling piece of swarming drums ala High on Fire, broken periodically by gruff vocal exhortations. The maelstrom of aggression shifts to some down tempo chugging, wrapping up a solid opener that lays the groundwork for a devastating EP.

Unfortunately, the band never returns for another cathartic bout of aggression, instead opting for a more straightforward sludge sound echoing Neurosis and Amenra. The chord progressions and ambiance are similar as they touch upon the same emotional malaise and dour post-rock atmospheres currently touted by any number of modern sludge fans. This says nothing to the quality of the tracks, as “Hollowed”, the short shot “Colony of Machines”, and closer “Denisova”, are all effective pieces of heavy, somber music, but they never return to the cathartic boiling point of the closing portions of the opening song.

Mollusk is a band in the midst of an evolution. The shorter format of their debut with its linking songs and transitional ambient pieces has moved to longer song arrangements that allow them more room to gradually adjust tone, atmosphere, and tempo. And though the songwriting has matured and improved, the band would do well to incorporate more of the hard edged aggression they so aptly display in “Mirrored Sphere” from their debut and on “Shifting Decay” from Colony of Machines. The added diversity would make their post-rock influence sludge forays more impactful and the already brutal aggressive passages even more deadly.

Thankfully, France’s Cowards have returned to take a bat to our collective jaw with Hoarder. Hoarder follows last year’s excellent debut EP Shooting Blanks and Pills, a savage fireball of sludge fury that evoked Thou, Eyehategod, and the caustic modern hardcore of Trap Them and Cursed. Shooting Blanks… was one of my favorite releases of last year and the follow-up is every bit as good. The French quartet returns sludge to its hardcore/punk roots, dark, grimy, and seething with the rage of Paris’ ill content underbelly.  Four new tracks and a cover of 16 Horsepower’s “Blessed Persistence” round out a quick and dirty fork in the eye of metal and punk.

Cowards keep it short and brutal, and wind through a variety of tempos, textures, and stylistic shifts. Down tempo dirge, fractured grooves, and flurries of blast beats are ensconced in vocalist J.H.’s hoarse roar as the songs twist and turn, never getting caught too long on any individual riff or theme. “Fork Out” breaks down from mid tempo chaos into a filthy battering riff that hits like a shiv to the spine, in and out before you realize it, and shifts into a pounding blast. “Smell of an Addict” unravels a sheet of whirring guitars and swarming drums before breaking in to something resembling a methed out version of the opening to Slayer‘s “Criminally Insane”. All the controlled chaos leads up to the closing cover of “Blessed Persistence”. 16 Horsepower’s ghostly original is slowly dragged through the gutters of Paris, a piece of pounding and caustic droning sludge that leaves nothing but ragged chunks of flesh and bitter emptiness in its wake.

Sludge wouldn’t exist without hardcore and punk, and it is heartening to see the post-rock trappings now unfortunately enmeshed in the scene tossed aside for some back to basics aggression. Cowards stand out alongside Fistula, Grime, Meth Drinker, and Black Sheep Wall bands that have turned back the clock to get to the ugly roots of the genre. Hoarder refreshingly pays tribute to the old gods of mutant punk and metal’s addled offspring and is yet another solid release from Throatruiner.

Fistula hearken back to the glory days of Grief, Buzzov*en, and Eyehategod, when sludge was synonymous with crime, misery, and substance abuse. They churn the classic influences through a grind/punk keef screen and come out sounding unhinged and surprisingly infectious. Corey Bing’s lacerated vocal cords exclaim “I’m gonna get fucked up today!” as the solidified three piece blasts through opener “Sobriety is Overrated”. Catchy like hep c on a dirty set of works, you’ll be screaming “Pills! Drink! Toke!” alongside him after a couple of listens. Nate Linehan’s ripping blast beats churn along some grinding riffs and some sharp shifts to down tempo sludge on “Lightbulb Smoker” and “Kanker Nose”. Meanwhile they throwback to their Idiopathic days of churning mid tempo riffs on “The Fang” and finish with some stomping punk.

The production is ensconced in a tomb of mud and is grimy as hell. Bing’s guitar tone is caked with dirt, the bass is a grind-like jarring tangle, and the chugging moments are swamped in a distorted buzz. The vocals are prominent in the mix and are barked out with conviction and a surprising clarity. This is quintessential sludge right here. It’s a perfect encapsulation of the classic metal low-life, all iron veins and raging criminality, nothing but contempt and hostility for anyone and everything. If you love your metal dirty and aggressive, it’s impossible to recommend this enough.

Similarly, Toronto’s eyeswithoutaface firmly established their industrial metal bona fides on their debut full length Monotoneoteny, a dynamic trip through psychedelic sludge and heavy electronics. These experimental sludge overlords kick the dreaded sophomore slump square in the balls on their newest album, Warguts. The scathing intensity of Monotoneoteny has been kicked up a couple notches to a blistering salvo of electronics, scalding vocals, and pummeling double bass. Top it off with some bursts of rapid fire snare and the big beats of Techno Animal and Scorn and it’s another ear searing release of industrial metal from this overlooked band.

If the art and title haven’t given it away, Warguts is thematically centered on war. Typical portrayals of valorized soldiers, martial imagery, and the horrors of war have been fodder for hundreds of albums by now, but there is very little of the human element in eyeswithoutaface’s take. Not much of Warguts sounds organic. From the distorted vocals and varied drum samples, to the heavy use of synths and noise, Warguts is less an exploration of human conflict than an audio representation of mechanized trench warfare, as down tempo sludge collides with stuttering programmed double bass, halting rhythms and big beats.

A large part of the albums success is how it unfolds in a series of battles and breaks. Shifting from cold industrial ambiance to harsh metallic sludge with the grace and subtly of a cloud of mustard gas sweeping through a trench, the band weaves an impressive mechanized tapestry. “Devachan” starts with a big, fat beat that abruptly shifts to a stuttering double bass break and guttural vocals. “Dead Friends” has a nasty drum break with bleating electronic, sheets of noise, warped guitar and erratic drum programming. “Beautiful and Cruel” utilizes haunting clean vocals over an array of echoing percussion, slow picked guitar, and grinding bass. “War Will Set You Free” opens with a sample from Stanley Kubrick’s classic Paths of Glory before the mechanized guitar kicks in, collapses to a roaring trudge, then short circuits into sputtering electronics and pounding bass kicks.

Warguts, like Monotoneoteny, is full of great moments but surpasses its predecessor in sheer intensity. The increased drum and bass influence has only made the band heavier and seemingly more focused. Eyeswithoutaface has once again delivered the goods for fans of heavy, fucked up industrial metal.

What’s this have to do with Rise Above Dead? Well, they could be lazily dumped in to the post-metal void like a billion other bands but my admittedly irrational hatred of the term prevents me from doing so. Rise Above Dead’s heavier bits are firmly rooted in the down tempo hardcore/sludge realm of Neurosis, and their frequent forays into trippier atmospheres journey to the borders of doom and psych rock. Stellar Filth is sort of a combination of Souls at Zero hardcore sludge and Thou’s quieter, more psychedelic moments. It’s not startlingly original, but a decent enough full length.

“Hide and Weeps” riffing begins like an ever so slightly faster Amenra, drops to some down struck sludge, before slowing down with cleaner tones to build to a billowing solo and crashing  with more down struck sludge. The largely instrumental title track starts slowly as tensions mount for some trudging heavy and a scrawling layer of noisy guitar. The instrumental track “End of a Kingdom” stands out with some good heavy riffage that emerges after a solid three and a half minutes of quietly building instrumentation. The ebbs and flows are what you would expect and they ride the waves of heavy and clean nicely. The execution is good, if not particularly moving or exciting.

The weak link is the vocals. Despite the music riding a disparate emotional flow, from raw to contemplative, the vocals are stuck on a roaring plateau regardless of the musical tone. They just aren’t as expressive as the music and feel out of place at times. The gruff vocal approach worked well enough on their debut EP Human Disintegration but Stellar Filth has more variety, is more exploratory, and has longer songs than that early taster. Rise Above Dead is clearly trying to stretch out a bit but are held back by vocals wedded to that earlier approach. Nevertheless, this is a promising start and, given the changes made in the time between EP and full length, they may still pull out something great in the coming years.

Primitive Man is at their best when putting teeth rattling mid-tempo sludge similar to the Abominable Iron Sloth or Black Sheep Wall. Clinging to the Trees of a Forest Fire’s Ethan McCarthy provides an abrasive throaty roar as the buzzing guitars seesaw between droning doom passages, crusty charges, and sludgy outbursts. Opening track “Scorn” provides their template, opening with punishing grind-sludge and a crusty hardcore blowout before they slide on down the doom ladder creeping slower and slower with a coda bathed in dead air and feedback. “Antietam” has a really excellent aggressive break in the middle of its second half droning doom and the opening of “Rags” is a bludgeoning bit of filthy sludge guaranteed to put a dent in your head.

The atmosphere they create is impressive. Dark, immense, and oppressive as hell, it’s accented and heightened by two rather excellent ambient/noise tracks; “Black Smoke and “I Can’t Forget”. The undulating rhythmic pulse of “Black Smoke” is coated in a haunting choir-like drift. “I Can’t Forget” builds on clattering percussion, processed vocals, and distant guitar tones, sounding like the soundtrack from the band’s underground torture chamber.

But with the good come the bad and I’m afraid Scorn suffers the doom. Droning doom passages dominate many of the songs and tend to drift on a little too long. Some of the slow riffs feel ill defined, as though the notes aren’t connected to each other. The doom/drone passages work better as accents, like on “Rags”, rather than as centerpieces, as on “Antietam” and the last half of “Scorn”. As such there’s a meandering tendency to the songs that undercuts the immediacy and violence of the aggressive portions. Still, for fans of aggressive sludge like Bowel and Black Sheep Wall, Scorn will hit the spot like a leaden brick, Primitive Man breaking your face as easily as they’ll drown you in feedback. It may not be perfect, but it’s a damn fine start.

Sole Creation’s four lengthy tracks sprawl out over 44 minutes, the shortest song running just a shade over nine. Right from the opening riffing and initial bombast of “Sole Creation” it’s easy to hear this is a changed band. David Johansson, who handled the recording of all the vocals, guitars, and bass, has shifted away from the one dimensional growls of Shadows and Counting Heartbeats to employ a variety of vocal styles. The growls are still here, shifting from low death metal to higher pitched shrieks and the familiar roar from earlier material, but they are tempered and balanced impressively by his clean vocals. There’s a little Ozzy, a little Layne Staley, and even a twinge of Steve Brooks in them.

The tracks reflect the new vocal dynamism.  “Sole Creation” opens with the familiar early Isis inflected sludgy doom, this time with a little more momentum. “Tamed Brute” builds on a low slung riff ala Floor with the vocals taking on a closer resemblance to the Floor/Torche frontman’s emotive croon before delving into doomy riffing and low vocal growls. The track peaks with a short burst of double bass and death metal riffing before fading out with some doom dirge. “The Portals” starts with more post-hardcore before the double bass kicks in, the riffing picks up and a nice section of black metal inspired rage emerges. “Skymning”, the final track, is a atmospheric sludge/doom song, reminiscent of Cult of Luna or Neurosis, slowly developing and building on one of the biggest riffs of the album.

The songs are long, but never feel dragged out. There’s no unnecessary repetition of riffs, a problem that cursed of Shadows of the Shapeless, and the restrained use of double bass and tremolo picked riffs is immensely effective. The songs feel compact and tight and everything is all ensconced in a robust production, mixed and mastered by Cult of Luna’s Magnus Lindberg. Sole Creation is Kongh’s best album yet and is the best thing I’ve heard thus far in 2013. Between Cult of Luna’s newest, Sole Creation, and the prospect of a new Pyramido album, Sweden may have a sludge triumvirate in 2013 to match 2012’s stoner rock trifecta Witchcraft, Graveyard, and the Graviators.

Usually with this kind of vaguely southern-fried, rumbly stoner groove, you’ve got equally versatile and shaggy vocals to go along with ‘em, but this relentless roar is a fun change-up. Don’t call it one-dimensional, call it single-minded – the sound of a pissed-off Sasquatch looking for a place to shit, and guess whose tent is pitched in the way? A few blackened post-hardcore shrieks try to break things up a bit, but they feel more like a gimmicky throwback than anything really necessary. Gorefest is a fair comparison too, particularly huge, angry guttural vocals over something that’s got more groove and swagger than you’d think for something of this bulk.

Musically, the whole of From Birth to Soil is a good diverse mix of the aforementioned bands – I hear a lot of Mastodon’s epic, almost cinematic lurch in “Grime Maiden.” I’d also throw some Monster Magnet in there too (the rollicking “Engine of Deceit” and meaty “Cult of the Cross”), or the sludgy psychedelic crumble of Brainoil (“World Lament.”) Overall, the record doesn’t come off quite as filthy or adventurous as High on Fire’s new one, but it also delivers more straightforward groove and satisfaction.

Encrust is sure to be an easy sell for your typical Relapse fan, so here’s hoping their crossover groove-n-roar wins some converts with death metal’s more stalwart crowds as well.

“Opium Hook”, “Ants in My Bloodstream” and “Theme from Pillpopper” are classic 16, sounding like Helmet with a serious addiction to downers. Touches of hardcore, punk and noise rock appear here and there, along with a few dissonant leads. Vocalist Cris Jerue sounds quite different this time around, his vocals coated in a layer of effects not unlike those used on Blaze of Incompetence. The riffs are a bit more straightforward and aggressive and Jerue’s distorted vocals contribute a load of menace and anger.

There’s a feeling of familiarity here though. With the band set firmly on “Kill”, there’s less variation between the songs. It’s not just the riffs that make Drop Out a classic, it’s the palpable sense of frustration and depression that goes along with feeling like a chronic fuck up. The horrible realization that you’re unable to help yourself, the black hole of self medication and the bitterness that goes along with it are essential to their sound. The vocal effects dampen the range and nuance of Jerue’s voice and the emotion is subsequently deadened.

Deep Cuts… is a little disappointing both as a follow up to Bridges… and an addition to 16’s canon. Disappointment though it may be, it’s still a pretty good album. It’s a focused blast of anger that lacks the character of the earlier albums, but nevertheless has some killer riffs and good songs. Its singular focus may be a problem, but perhaps only in relation to their earlier output.

Dead Southern Bishop take the familiar tack of alternating mid to fast paced sludge riffs with slower doom and the occasional chunky breakdown. It’s not altogether bad. “White Trash Queen” is oddly catchy, and “Last Rites” has a compelling lead riff, but as a whole it’s a seen-and-done affair. “Bound & Tied” sounds like it has been written by a half a dozen other bands and the production leaves something to be desired. The vocals have distortion applied to them, which takes some of their edge off, and where the drums should boom, they thud. On the whole the production is a bit lifeless and processed. It’s a shame because the production ends up rounding off the vitriol this stuff thrives on. One can’t help but feel that a rawer, live sounding production would be beneficial.

It’s not bad, but it’s not great either. You could do worse for a sludge fix, but Hymns… certainly won’t be a lasting dose. Enjoy it for what it is; decent and straightforward southern sludge. Worst case scenario is that Dead Southern Bishop makes you dust off your Mugwart records and leave you looking to their future.

Move forward a decade and an album I missed (2004’s Yellow Acid Rain), and Sludge are back, and though Makro is still in the band a considerable lineup change appears to have shifted the bands sound somewhat. Still apparent is the down tuned, hefty mix of groove, doom, death and thrash, but now injected with some electronic experimentation and an almost cyber metal feel (a slower In-Quest meets a cyber based Soulfly/Ektomork came to mind) and the end result is a solid if unspectacular album of various styles that never quite gel, despite some considerable heaviness.

On the positive side, with Makroo producing, the guitar tone and overall production is huge, resulting in a super chunky, cyber metal heft and precision that rivals anything Tue Madsen has ever done. The thing is that the songs themselves never really hit you as they should despite the superb tone. None of the songs truly stood out or commanded my attention as they sway from in your face, chunky thrashers like opener “60 Mm”, “Ida Na Hui” and “Carnivore” to slower, longer more deliberate and well… Sludgy numbers like the title track, “Below” and “Inquisition” slow things down to a lethargic chugging crawl. Also, new vocalist ‘Odin’ has a standard shout/roar that adds nothing to the character of the album.

Overall, Lava is a still a solid album but it displays the middle tier song writing that kept the band squarely in the realms of the relatively unknown for their career. Granted, the production and slabs of massive heft (“Machine”, “Inquisition”) give the album some enjoyable moments, but production alone can’t make the album anything more than a curious listen rather than a required listen.