Posts Tagged ‘dark’

Dret Skivor – 4th April 2025

Christopher Nosnibor

This latest release on Swedish microlabel devoted to the most underground of underground music, Dret Skivor, may be form an act we’ve not heard of before, but something about it has all the hallmarks of the eternally prolific Dave Procter all over it. The man behind Legion of Swine (noisy) and Fibonacci Drone Organ (droney) and myriad other projects and collaborations – some occasional, some one-off – has a distinctive North of England drollness and a penchant for pissing about making noise of all shades, after all.

Released on CD in a hand-painted edition of just two, the notes on the Bandcamp page for the release are typically minimal: ‘Is it dungeon synth? Is it just spooky music? Is there torture afoot?’ I would say I will be the judge of that, but dungeon synth is a genre I’m yet to fully get to grips with, although it does for all the world seem as if it’s a genre distinction that’s come to be applied to spooky music, and seems to have grown in both popularity and usage comparatively recently, despite its roots going back rather further.

The cover art doesn’t give much – anything away, and in fact, I might have hoped for something more… graphic. But perhaps less is more here. However, the titles of the two tracks –‘the shithouses’ shithouse’ and ‘the festering flesh of the neoliberal’ are classic Procter and could as easily be titles for poems by Dale Prudent, another of his alter-egos.

The first begins with a swelling thrum of what sounds like a chorus of voices, possibly some monastic indentation, layered and looped and multitracked to create a torturous cacophony. For the first twenty, thirty, forty seconds, you wait for a change to come, for something to happen. After a minute that expectation is diminishing, and by the three-minute mark it’s impossible to be certain if there really are keyboard stabs swirling in the mix in the midst of it all, or if your ears and mind are deceiving you and you’re losing the plot. For some reason, I’m reminded of the Paris catacombs – not because it’s actually creepy, but because, just as seeing rows and rows of bones stacked up for quite literally miles becomes both overwhelming and desensitising after a time, so hearing the same sound bubbling away for ten minutes is pretty much guaranteed to fuck with your head. Near the eight-minute mark, there are most definitely additional layers of buzzing drone and there are some tonal slips and slows, like listening to a tape that’s become stretched or is slipping on its spool, but by this time your brain’s already half-melted, and I find myself contemplating the fact that while visiting the catacombs on a sixth-form art trip, one of my fellow students accepted the challenge to lick a skull for eight Francs – which was about a quid at the time. I was less appalled by the fact it was a human skull than the fact the bones looked dusty and mossy, and had probably been touched by even more unwashed hands than the handle of the gents lavs at a busy gig venue.

And so we arrive at the twenty-two-minute ‘the festering flesh of the neoliberal’. It begins with a distant clattering percussion – like someone bashing a car bonnet with a broken fence post heard from a quarter of a mile away, but with a gauze of reverb, as if echoing from the other side of a valley – or, put another way, like listening to early Test Dept through your neighbour’s wall – while a pulsing, pulsating electronic beat, like a palpating heartbeat, thuds erratically beneath it. And that’s pretty much it. But there are leaps and lurches in volume, and the cumulative effect of this monotonous loop is brain-bending. There are gradual shifts, and seemingly from nowhere rises a will of croaks and groans which grow in intensity, and it may well be an auditory confusion, but regardless, the experience is unsettling. Twenty-two minutes is a long time to listen to a continuous rumbling babble that sounds like droning ululations and a barrage of didgeridoos all sustaining a note, simultaneously, for all time.

Is it dungeon synth? Probably not. Is it spooky? Not really. It is torturous? Without doubt. This is a tough listen, with dark babbling repetitions rendered more challenging by the cruelly long track durations. The torture afoot is right here.

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Gizeh Records – 4th April 2025

Christopher Nosnibor

Returning for their eighth album, A-Sun Amissa, purveyors of drone-centric ambience centred around founder Richard Knox pull back from the rather larger avant-rock sound of 2024’s Ruins Era to concentrate once more on ‘unsettling drones and claustrophobic atmospheres’. Knox is joined for the third successive release by Luke Bhatia and Claire Knox, indicating that this is a fairly stable lineup, and perhaps this has been a factor in the album’s exploratory, evolutionary approach.

The promise is that the record’s ‘washed out and ethereal sound drags electric guitar, clarinet, voice and piano through pillows of reverb and distortion to build heaving, desolate dronescapes. Moving through dense, oppressive passages of sound and diffusing into sections of gloomy, haunting restraint. We Are Not Our Dread is filled with majestic, textural detail. It envelops and, at times, smothers you before releasing just at the right moment, resolving in a billowing, melancholic, distorted reverie.’

The first thing that strikes me – as is often the case with any project centred around Knox – is the evocative nature of the title. Perhaps I’m feeling uncommonly sensitive right now, but this one in particular lands with an unexpected impact, and as much as the implication is one of positivity – no, we are not our dread, our dread does not define us or dictate our lives – there is equally the emphasis on the fact that we have that dread. And not you, or I, but us, together, collectively. And so it is that dread become the focus, that thing which looms large over not only the title or the album, but our lives. Why do we have this dread? It would not be an overstatement that the pandemic changed everything: the world that we knew lurched on its axis and no-one knew how to handle it. And since then, insanity has run free. 9/11 may have rattled the rhythm of life for a time, but not it seems that the entire world spent the pandemic years just waiting to wage war, and now nothing is safe or predictable – not your job, your home, your ability to post stuff online. You don’t need to be a prominent protestor or social agitator to attract the wrong kind of attention. The dread hangs over every moment now. We thought we had seen the worst when COVID swept the globe and lockdowns dominated our lives, and began to breathe a collective sight od relief when things began to retract, as we looked with optimism toward the ‘new normal’. But who ever anticipated this today as the new normal the future held?

We Are Not Our Dread consists of four fairly lengthy instrumental compositions, and ‘Electric Tremble’ arrives in a dense cloud of ominous noise which immediately builds tension, and if the rolling piano which drifts in shortly afterwards is gentle, even soothing, the undercurrents of rumbling discord and distant thunder which persist maintain a sense of discomfort which is impossible to ignore.

Ever since his early days with Glissando, melding post-rock with ambient tropes, Knox has had an ear for the unsettling, deftly manoeuvring elements of the soft and gentle with the spine-tingling. And while the eleven-minute ‘All The Sky Was Empty’ is a quintessential work of epic post-rock abstract ambience, rich in texture as it turns like a heavy cloud billowing and building but without an actual storm breaking, instead dispersing to offer breaking light and a sense of hope, the wandering clarinet brings a vaguely jazz element to the sound.

‘Sings Death or Petals’ arrives on trails of feedback and rumbling guitar noise, and is immediately darker, and those dark undercurrents continue with crackles and rumbles and elongated drones which persist beneath the ghostly, ethereal voices and reverb-heavy piano and picked guitar notes. At times, this bears the hallmarks of latter-day Earth, but at the same time there’s a less structured, less motif-oriented approach to the composition, which leaves much open space. I still can’t choose between death or petals here. It builds to a churning whorl, before the final track, ‘Our Hearts Bent As Crooked Lightning’ stirs from a rippling array of simmering noise and evolves into a colossus of rumbling drones, and, over the course of ten-and-a-half minutes, grows supple with softer waves of expansive synth which remind you to breathe again. For all the fuzz and broad swells of abstract, buzzing noise that’s equal parts gripping and soothing, the overall effect is sedative, and welcome.

We Are Not Our Dread leads the listener through some challenging moments, and as each listener experiences works differently, as I hear the final soaring strains of ‘Our Hearts Bent As Crooked Lightning’ this strikes me personally as dark and challenging. The intentions may be quite different, but this is undeniably a work which is sonically ambitious, spacious, resonant. Even as the tension lifts, the mood remains, like a dream you can’t shake, like the paranoia that persists even when you’ve dome nothing wrong.

That We Are Not Our Dread is true, and so is the fact that, to quote from Fight Club, you are ‘not your job. You’re not how much money you have in the bank. You’re not the car you drive. You’re not the contents of your wallet. You’re not your fucking khakis.’ And you are not your dread. It may at times possess you, but this, this is not it. This, however, is a great album.

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17th March 2025

Christopher Nosnibor

Deborah Fialkiewicz has been busy again, recording and releasing her latest offering in a compressed timeframe. Deborah Fialkiewicz is a low-key and predominantly ambient set, comprising twelve sparse, minimal works which rumble and eddy around the lower reaches of the conscious mind.

There are beats, but they’re way off in the background, as is the rest of everything. The restraint shown on ‘summer mantra’ is impressive: it’s the musical equivalent of holding your breath for five minutes. ‘the lief’ is rather more structured, centred around a descending motif which tinkles and chimes mellifluously, guiding the listener down a delicate path which leads to a murky morass of unsettling sonic experimental in the vein of Throbbing Gristle. The crackling static and muffled, impenetrable verbal mutterings of the ominous title track is exemplary, and it makes for uncomfortable listening. A hovering, quavering, UFO-drone hangs over words which are indecipherable, as if spoken from the other side of a thin wall – but their tone is menacing, and everything about this tense experience feels uncomfortable.

The circular, rippling waves of ‘star lady’ offer some respite, but it still arrives with strong hints of Throbbing Gristle circa Twenty Jazz Funk Greats and Chris and Cosey’s Trace, but also alludes to both Kraftwerk and Tangerine Dream. Thinks take a turn for the darker on the swarming drone of ‘Corpus’, which feels angry, abrasive, serrated edges buzzing attackingly, a thick rippling dominating like a helicopter directly overhead. In the present time, I can’t help but feel twitch and vaguely paranoid hearing this, even as it descends into a lurching, swampy nothing, because ‘bloodchild’ goes full churning assault, an echo-heavy wall of noise that cranks the oscillators this way and that, churning the guts and shredding the brain in a squall of resistor-driven frequency frenzy.

‘norther star’ is particularly mellow, as well as particularly tied to vintage beats and rippling repetitions, a work that’ simultaneously claustrophobic and intense. Synth notes hover and drift like mist before the next relentless, bubbling, groove. ‘widershin; is static, a locked-in ripping of a groove. And then there is the thirteen-minute ‘timeslip’, which marks an unexpected shift towards that domain of screaming electronic noise. The fact I found myself zooning out to the thirteen-minute monster mix of ambience and noise that is ‘timeslip’ is testament to the track’s immense, immersive expansions which massage and distract the mind.

Genetic Radio i.d delves deep into the electronica of the late 70s and early 80s, embracing the points of intersection between ambient and industrial, early Krautrock and BBC Radiophonic Workshop, while at times venturing into the domain of noisemongers like Prurient. It’s a harsh, heavy, extraneous incursion into the quietude of daily living, and it’s a sonically gripping and ultimately strong work which stretches in several direction simultaneously.

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Cruel Nature Records – 28th March 2025

Christopher Nosnibor

Pound Land have evolved, expanded, metamorphosed, mutated, from two guys cranking out two-chord dirges, to a shifting lineup of musicians cranking out some wild freeform jazz over murky two-chord dirges. And now we learn that they’ve returned to their roots for this latest offering, their third of the year, no less. As they put it, ‘Can’t Stop sees founding Pound Land members Adam Stone and Nick Harris return back to the gratifying freedom and eccentricity of DIY recordings and lo-fi audio projects. Nine diverse tracks spread over half an hour, this short experimental collection nods to Pound Land’s absurdist ‘kitchen-sink punk’ past’.

Can’t stop? Or won’t stop? Not that they should, either way: Pound Land’s mission, it seems, is to proliferate their dingy bass-driven racket as far and wide as possible, and the world – as unspeakably shit as it is, especially right now – is in some small way better for it.

“Got my joggers on / got my flapjack / got my shaven head,” Stone mumbles laconically as if half asleep, over some trickling electronics at the start of the opening track, ‘Armed with Flapjack’. Then some dirty, trebly guitar clangs in and everything slides into a messy mesh that’s neither ambient nor rock, providing a seething, surging drone by way of a backdrop to the spoken word narrative, which is only partially audible, but seems to be a gloriously mundane meandering tale involving, essentially, leaving the house and going about ordinary business.… But it actually turns out to be more of an internal monologue of an anxietised mind. “I’m alright, I tell myself that, I’m gonna be ok, I can do this… bus, and train, take one thing at a time…” It’s really quite powerful in its way.

And staying with the mundane, ‘Watching TV’ is a spectacularly sloppy-sounding celebration of the mindrot pastime that starts out sounding almost sensitive and with a dash of country in the mix, but slides into soporific sludge, before the choppy ‘Lathkill’, which clocks in at just under two and a half minutes, shifts the tone again: it’s a classic Fall rip, or perhaps Pavements ripping The Fall, a sparse, lo-fi four-chord effort which just plugs away repetitively.

Things get really murky with the pulsating ‘Stuff’, where Stone’s meandering contemplations ring out through waves of reverb, and the whole thing feels – and sounds – very Throbbing Gristle. Dark, muffled, monotonous, it grinds and clatters away, a thick sonic soup, and it’s as primitive and unproduced as it gets. It’s not pleasant, but it works perfectly: it needs to be rough, raw, unfiltered. There’s simply no way this act is ever going to have commercial appeal, and that’s perfect: Pound Land are made for limited cassette releases and playing tiny venues to audiences who will be split roughly down the middle between absolutely loving them and wondering what the fuck they’ve stumbled upon. Pound Land really aren’t for everyone. They’re the anti-Coldplay. They’re for people who relish being challenged. ‘I Spy’ brings that challenge straight away, being different again, the rawest, scratchiest, scratchiest, most abrasive no-fi-punk you’ll hear all year.

Things get even more jarring and difficult towards the end of the album. ‘Janet’s Here’ should be a breezy interlude, announcing the arrival of a guest, but instead it’s tense because the delivery is straight-up demented, and ‘Affordable Luxury’ is a rabid rant, again reminiscent of Throbbing Gristle. It’s uncomfortable, the drawling vocal secondary to the warping drones and scratchy experimentalism. Stripped-back not-quite acoustic ‘EGG’ is a trick: again, it has hints of The Fall doing ‘sensitive’ – like ‘Time Enough at Last’, for example – and it’s delicate, but it’s also not.

And this is the thing. Can’t Stop is their most wide-ranging and accessible album to date. And yet… well, it’s not really accessible, for a start.

Can’t Stop is challenging in new ways, too. Working with so little, they’ve pushed the songwriting in divergent directions, making for an album that reaches in all different directions, while, of course, retaining that primal Pound Land core and purposefully simple, direct approach and aesthetic. I love it, but I expect many will hate it. And that’s the way it should be. It’s peak Pound Land.

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AUSTERE have unveiled the video clip ‘Time Awry’ as the first single taken from the black & dark metal duo’s forthcoming new album The Stillness of Dissolution. The band from Wollongong in New South Wales, Australia will release their fifth full-length on June 6, 2025.

AUSTERE comment: “The first single, ‘Time Awry’ was the second song written for The Stillness of Dissolution, our forthcoming new album”, guitarist, keyboard player, and vocalist Mitchell Keepin explains on behalf of the duo. “The first few songs written for the album tend to have a slightly more stripped back ‘rock’ sound than those written later, and that is on display here. Lyrically, it is presented from the viewpoint of a betrayed and solemn soul – a man with a heightened awareness of the inescapable running of time and seeking to accelerate that process.”

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5th March 2025

Christopher Nosnibor

Steven Archer has been keeping busy: it’s barely three months since he landed the latest Stoneburner release, with its glorious Foetus-inspired cover art, not to mention a brace of EPs late last year, and a and lo, we have an album of steaming-hot brand new material. I often marvel at artists like this, who are so prolific. Do they even sleep? I do get that creativity is something that, more often than not, simply hits and you have to run with it, but…

Brittle is a twisted mix of all sorts. First and foremost, it’s an electronic album, and one which leans toward darker territories – not in an aggressive or overtly industrial way, but more given to brooding, introspection, haunting reflection and melancholia.

‘Our Past is a Wasteland’ is a track which transitions and evolves as it progresses: initially, it’s kinda smooth, a bit epic, sedate in in its musical form, with soft synths and mellow beats presenting a low-temp dance vibe, but along the way it begins to develop a darker, harder edge, gets a bit more Depeche Mode. The gentle drift of ‘Tenuous Place’ steps into expansive mode toward the end, exuding anguish and pangs of pain. ‘Only the Young Die Good’ is decidedly heavier: a droning organ gives way to a twitchy drum ‘n’ bass beat and serrated synths that saw deep into the psyche.

With its piano-led instrumentation and popping drums, ‘The Human Void’ is bleak and expansive, dark electropop rubbing and against drifting ambience with sinister industrial undercurrents as the backdrop to a vocal that switches from almost spoken word to hypnotic repetition. Elsewhere, ‘Tiger Longitues’ shares borders with the kind of smoky trip-hop of Portishead, only heavier, bassier, beatier.

The vocals on Brittle are heavily processed, and there’s a strong technogoth feel to the album as a whole. There’s something of a juxtaposition here, in that lyrically, emotional turmoil and troubling psychological situations are the main focus. Yet, in contrast to the intense and personal nexus of the words, the processed feel, which diminishes the human aspect of the vocal delivery, renders a clear separation. Perhaps this is a part of a necessary distancing: it’s certainly easier to manage challenging personal matters by creating layers of separation, and a deliberate detachment. ‘A Love Song for Monsters’ is exemplary: it’s a straight-up stomping banger, with robotix vocals and a slick production, but there’s so much more beneath the surface.

On the surface, Brittle sounds anything but: with sturdy beats and throbbing basslines, it’s a set which concentrates on delivering dark bangers. But however much we lay ourselves bare, we tend to need for there to be some kind of buffer, some space in between, in the interests of self-preservation. Most of us are more fragile, more delicate, more brittle, than we are comfortable to admit, even through the most forthright of art.

Brittle is uncomfortable, pulling in different directions, the undercurrent dragging against the main current on the surface. But the tension at its core is what renders it so compelling. Take in the tension, let it course through you.

AA

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Self-released – 14th February 2025

Christopher Nosnibor

Yes, it’s ‘when’, not if, and since January 20th this year, it feels as if that crumbling which has been slowly emerging, first as a series of cracks, is now accelerating, to the point that we’re well on the way to almost certain collapse as Trump ‘the peacemaker’ puts his foot to the floor and hurtles us headlong toward self-extinction, one way or another. So after the ‘when’, the only question remaining is ‘how?’

While we ponder that, US interstate internet-based technical / experimental death metal act have delivered – after quite some time – their second EP. Having formed in 2015, it took them until 2022 to birth Manifestum I, following which singer Chrisom Infernium departed, being replaced by Shawn Ferrell. In the overall scheme of their career to date, When Society Crumbles has come together pretty quickly.

It’s overtly a concept work, centred around a fifteen-minute suite of three pieces which each address component aspects of ‘When Society Crumbles’ – ‘Infrastructure’, ‘Insight’, and ‘Inferiority Complex’. Well, ok.

The guitar parts alone contain about three hundred notes per minute, a frantic blanket of fretwork bursting from the very first bars. The vocals switch from growls to barks to howls to the squeals of wounded pigs, sometimes layered to occur simultaneously, while the drums blast away at a manic pace.

One thing that stands out from the first track alone is the production. Perhaps it’s the technical angle, perhaps it’s the circumstance of the recording, since being in a room and making noise is a very different experience from bouncing audio files around via Dropbox or whatever and adding to them in isolation. It’s not the clarity or separation per se, but the way the different instruments reverb – or don’t so much – in different ways. It isn’t that it sounds or feels cobbled together – it doesn’t – it just sounds different. But in a world where so much music is uniform, conformist, even if to supposedly alternative values, different stands out, and we need different. But the way that snare drum and the tom rolls cut through… they dominate in a way that’s rare, but it works: all too often with death – and black – metal – the drum dominate live, but are submerged on the recordings, reduced to a rattling clatter that’s more like the hyperfast clicking of a knitting machine than the thunderous blast of a drum kit being hammered hard. In places, it’s so technical as to border on the jazzy, although it’s clear they’re not just about technical prowess.

Not quite so different is the relentless fury the trio bring with the pounding percussion and frenzied picking: these elements are very much of the genre – death metal played with a real attention to technical detail. There are some well-considered tempo changes, and even some gentler, almost folk-inspired moments on ‘Insight’, where it drops down to some soft picking.

The three movements of ‘When Society Crumbles’ lurch into rabid dark territory on the third and final segment, where heavily processed vocals rip across a full-throttle all-out metal assault. The final track, the standalone ‘Every Last Soul Unmade’ is the longest by some margin, extending to almost six minutes and slamming down a tumultuous broadside of wildly noodling lead guitar over a bass that lands like a knee to the stomach. These guys know what they’re doing. I hope they keep doing it when civil war breaks out. I mean if, if…

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Dark electronic trio, PAWN PAWN has just unveiled their latest EP, Halloween. The EP delivers a darkly electrifying journey through a spectrum of synth-driven styles, each track a study in emotional and sonic extremes. The Halloween EP is both a love letter to synthpop’s past and a step into its future. While inspired by film director, John Carpenter, the EP is named in honor of a holiday many dark hearts celebrate every day, Halloween’s trajectory goes through the brooding, pulsing opening track, ‘Trick Or Treat’ to the seductive, shadowy anthem, ‘Tell You With My Eyes’, then closing with ‘Jealousy Looks Good On Me’, a high-octane fusion of ’90s industrial-pop that balances chaotic aggression with razor-sharp melodic hooks.

They’ve produced a video to accompany the closer, which you can watch here:

The EP’s themes, like Halloween, are about embracing darkness and emotional extremes: vengeance, obsessive attraction & jealousy. They also represent tales of liminal spaces; the spaces between thinking about revenge and actively seeking it, or the space between obsessing over someone and actually making a move.

The EP also addresses the lines between passion and destruction, the idea being that an emotion like jealousy can theoretically make us more passionate and wanting to be the very best version of ourselves. Meanwhile that eternal desire competes in a battle that can never be won and is ultimately self-destructive.

Says vocalist, Liz Owens Boltz, the music on the EP is “about exploring synthpop and industrial-pop…this is really our first official foray into these genres. So our creative journey has brought us here, trying on a darker and more aggressive sound, and having fun with it.”

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24th January 2025

Christopher Nosnibor

These are dark days. I feel as if I’ve written words to this effect a lot in recent months and years. It would perhaps be rather too much to expect there to be the sunrise of a new, optimistic dawn breaking over the horizon, but when there is nothing but the glow of flames beneath a pall of smoke on so many very real horizons, any sun on the metaphorical horizon is eclipsed by a billowing pother and clouds of ash. And then, last night, I felt my heart sink yet deeper still as Donald Trump signed away the protection of the Arctic in his quest for ‘liquid gold’, and declared a ‘state of emergency’ over the Mexican border and promised mass-deportations – ‘millions and millions’, being his megalomaniacal mantra, while the man who owns him, the richest man on the planet, who seeks not only world domination, but galactic domination, threw Nazi salutes to a huge crowd of fanatics.

Fighting the urge to assume a foetal position on the hearth rug in front of the fire and stay there for the next four years in the hope there may still be a world after that, I poured a strong winter ale and took some time to sift through my submissions for something that might make suitable listening.

Listening to light music in the face of such darkness and despondency feels inappropriate, somehow, so stumbling upon the latest album by Watch My Dying felt fortuitous. Extreme metal has a way of providing a means of escape, sometimes.

According to their bio, ‘Watch My Dying has been a cornerstone of the Hungarian metal scene for 25 years, a hidden gem for international fans of extreme metal. Formed in 1999 in Hungary, the band quickly became a defining force in extreme tech/groove metal throughout the early 2000s… Known for their philosophical and socio-critical Hungarian lyrics, WMD stands out in the extreme metal genre, with excerpts of their work inspiring novels and poetry in Hungary.’

It’s the title track which opens the album, with a slow, atmospheric build, before heavy, trudging guitars enter the fray, and it’s only in final throes that all fury breaks loose.

While there’s no shortage of archetypally death- and black-metal riffs, WMD forge a claustrophobic atmosphere with chunky, chugging segments, enriched by layers of cold, misty synths, and some thick, nu-metal slabs of overdrive, too: ‘Kopogtatni egy tükrön’ is exemplary. ‘Jobb nap úgysem lehet’ provides an interlude of heavy drone and hypnotic tribal drumming before one of the album’s most accessible tracks, ‘Napköszörű’ crashes in. It’s hardly a party banger, but brings together industrial and metal with a certain theatricality, finished with some impressively technical details – but none of it’s overdone. ‘Minden rendben’ is more aggrotech than anything specifically metal, and it’s a banger.

Egyenes Kerőlő isn’t nearly as dark as a whole as the first few songs suggest, but it’s still plenty heavy and leads the listener on something of a sonic journey. They cram a lot into the eleven tracks, especially when considering that the majority are under four minutes, with three clocking in around the minute mark. It’s certainly varied, and while not all the songs have quite the same appeal – the last track, ‘Utolsó Fejezet’, borders on Eurovision folk – the fact that they’re in no way predictable is a strong plus.

So many technical players are so busy showcasing their skills that they forget the value of songs. This is not the case with Watch My Dying: the groove element is strong, and there are melodies in the mix – just not in the vocals. The end result is more accessible and uplifting than I would ever have imagined. I almost forgot that the world is ending for a good twenty minutes.

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Aural Aggravation is extremely proud to present a new exclusive video premiere in the shape of ‘Opilione’ by Vomitriste .

We promise work from  the furthest reaches beyond the mainstream, and this is it.

Vomistriste comment: ‘Opilione’ probably represents the darkest corners of Black Abyss Invocation as a whole, encapsulating the claustrophobic anguish and pervasive dread that discolours the entirety of the record. During the recording session, this is where everything ultimately clicked together seamlessly and solidified this new dismal and murky direction of the band. Murmuring words and uttering phrases that shall not be written on top of ever-evolving vortex-esque sonics… It’s apparently possible to scare yourself solely by being who you are and doing what you must.”

‘Opilione’ is dark and nasty – and we love it.

Vomitriste began their aural trek in 2022 by means of crafting colossal, noisy drones and profound dark ambient, and went on to release six albums under that motif during the following two years. While the duo’s visceral output was greeted with open arms by many and their signature sound found new aspects to itself through life shows, midway through 2024 the project came to its natural conclusion. With the aim of putting one last effort out under the moniker, the two musicians decided to instead leave all pre-conceived notions of what the band should be out of their mutual headspace, and begun composing the idea of doing something else entirely with a fresh approach and open mindset. The end result was something unexpected, which left the duo initially perplexed, but soon turned out to be a restart of sorts for the band. The previous records were lumped under the collective title of Droneworks (2022-2024) and now, a new chapter has begun.

Black Abyss Invocation is the first album under this newfound direction, introducing Vomitriste anew as a vessel of grating and pervasive cacophonous dread it was always meant to be. Certain aspects of their previous doings are present, but the seminal orientation across the record lies at the perimeters of black ambient and death industrial, taking elements from black metal and noise and mashing those together with dark ambient and electronics, with the inclusion of ritualistic and trance-inducing, jarring rhythms and waypast ominous atmospheres. The void has opened its maw once more, and instead of balancing on its rim, Vomitriste dove straight into the unknown without hesitation only to emerge from the opposite end speaking a malformed and atrocious language while sporting only motes of resemblance of its past self.

The six songs making up Black Abyss Invocation were created in a single session overnight, and left its creators in awe of what they accidentally stumbled upon. The sonic terrains discovered were nothing sort of hostile and unfathomably haunting, yet the kind that lures you deeper and deeper into its uncharted areas on every passing second. Where once stood a wall signifying the ultimate point of unease and anxiety, now a vast black ocean spread out, beckoning both the band as well as its listeners to wade into it until reaching neck-deep and suddenly being pulled down by something inexplicable and unnamed. Where there once was scarce light, now there is none.

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