Posts Tagged ‘Doom’

Testimony Records – 13th February 2026

Christopher Nosnibor

When I first started Aural Aggravation – kinda by stealth, with no fanfare – back in October 2015, with a review of Philip Jecks’ Cardinal, it was with a view to using the platform to break away from more conventional and comparatively short-form reviews to indulge in more personal, reflective, essay-type analysis. But with a bursting inbox and a desire to provide coverage to as many acts as possible, sometimes it’s not always appropriate to spend hours and column inches pondering the context and the content through a framework that sits between reception theory and gonzo journalism. More to the point, there simply aren’t enough hours.

Slaughterday is an old-school death metal duo, and Dread Emperor is their sixth album. They promise ‘crushing doom-ridden ultra-heavy parts to calculated outbreaks of utter brutality,’ and cite as lyrical inspirations ‘H. P. Lovecraft and other masters of horror’. They go on to add, ‘while sinister things crawl and creep through the duo’s timeless brutality, they have always portrayed them with a sinister flair of their own. These days, the band has repurposed those monstrous creatures as metaphorical ciphers for relevant contemporary topics’.

Titles such as ‘Rapture of Rot’, ‘Necrocide’, ‘Obliteration Crusade’ and ‘Astral Carnage’ speak for themselves, and the ‘crushing’ ‘doomy’ aspects they focus on in their pitch are very much to the fore: ‘Enthroned’ lifts the curtain with some slow, heavyweight riffery, and paves the way for the rabid attack of ‘Obliteration Crusade’.

That bands which blast out frenetic guitar mayhem at a thousand miles an hour with impenetrable growls and howls by way of vocals go to lengths to sell the merits of the lyrical content is something which is a source of vague amusement – I mean, as if you could make out a single word by ear. But it’s beside the point, really: as I’ve touched on before, it’s about the conveyance of sentiment, the implication of meaning.

On Dread Emperor, Slaughterday leap and lurch from bowel-bursting heavyweight sludge-trudge to flamboyant pirouettes on the frets. As they say themselves, they ‘deliver everything that they excel in, which is also precisely what their fans want from the duo’: as such, it’s no criticism to say that Dread Emperor ticks genre boxes, because it’s mission accomplished for the band. And it’s hard to argue otherwise. Dread Emperor delivers riff after riff, drives hard, brings the heavy and snarls, growls and spits its way with gut-churning malevolence from beginning to end.

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On Friday, April 3rd, 2026, sunn O))) will release their eponymously titled first full-length album for Sub Pop.

sunn O))) was co-produced & mixed by the band and Brad Wood (Hum, Tar, Sunny Day Real Estate, Liz Phair), and was recorded at Bear Creek Studios in Woodinville, Washington, January 2025. You can now listen to the album’s closing track, ‘Glory Black.’

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Framing the album visually are two paintings by the late American artist Mark Rothko – one on the front cover and one on the back cover, with the art reversed for UK & European pressings. And, within the CD and LP package are expansive liner notes by author Robert Macfarlane, whose 2025 novel Is a River Alive? is one of many sources of inspiration for the album. And, illustrations by French artist Elodie Lesourd are also featured on the inner LP sleeves and accompanying album merch.

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sunn O)) will tour in support of the album. Tickets for the below shows will go on sale to the general public on Friday, January 16th at 10am (local).

Wed. Apr. 01 – Phoenix, AZ – The Van Buren
Sat. Apr. 04 – Austin, TX – Emo’s
Sun. Apr. 05 – Houston, TX – White Oak Music Hall
Mon. Apr. 06 – New Orleans, LA – Civic Theatre
Tue. Apr. 07 – Atlanta, GA – The Goat Farm
Thu. Apr. 09 – Columbus, OH – The Bluestone
Sat. Apr. 11 – Philadelphia, PA – Union Transfer
Mon. Apr. 13 – Montreal, QC – Le National
Tue. Apr. 14 – Toronto, ON – 131 McCormack
Thu. Apr. 16 – Chicago, IL – Salt Shed
Sat. Apr. 18 – Iowa City, IA – Englert Theatre
Sun. Apr. 19 – Omaha, NE – The Waiting Room

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Christopher Nosnibor

In my workplace, there’s been an email thread circulating with end of year reviews of best and worst gigs etc. It started around the end of November. I had four more shows to go to then, including this one, and you never know if your gig of the year could be a last-minute entry – especially with Cold in Berlin having dropped Wounds mid-November. What with this and Sorrows by Cwfen, it’s been a stellar year for New Heavy Sounds, showcasing some remarkable work by female-fronted bands who really bring the weight.

I’m here first and foremost as a fan tonight: not only hyped by the prospect of seeing Cold in Berlin again for the first time since 2019, but revved by the prospect of Arch Femmesis, who I discovered supporting The Lovely Eggs in May ’22. Their performance struck me and stuck with me, making them an act I vowed to see again whenever the opportunity arose.

Furthermore, this goth Christmas do is a fundraiser for the Sophie Lancaster Foundation. For those unfamiliar, Sophie, aged 20, and her boyfriend were attacked simply for being goths by a bunch of teenage boys, and Sophie would die from her injuries a few days later. It’s one of those things that’s hard to process, and as disparate as the goth / alternative ‘community’ is in such times – and as the range of acts on tonight’s lineup evidences – they prove that there is solidarity among outsiders.

I arrive feeling like I’ve not properly dressed for the occasion – no painted leather jacket, no tassels, no band T-shirt, no winklepickers. I favoured a woollen hat over my Stetson because it’s fucking freezing and I need to cover my ear as well as my hairless head. I console myself with the notion that my resemblance to Andrew Eldritch as he now looks might boost my goth cred. I’m not entirely convinced it does: the place is thick with beards and hair and leather. And I do mean it’s thick… the turnout is impressive for a cold night between Christmas and New Year, a time when a lot of people are away or hibernating or lolling in a festive food coma.

‘We are Flowers of Agony’ announces the guy with glittery makeup and a Siouxsie and the Banshees baseball cap. We? It turns out he has an entire band on his mobile phone, right down to backing vocals. The result is some kind of overwrought synth pop Meatloaf karaoke. Credit where it’s due, it takes some guts to get up there and do that, but… Agony might be a bit harsh, but it was pretty painful.

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Flowers of Agony

Play/Dead are hard to find online amongst the voluminous links to the 80s post-punk act Play Dead, and are very much from the industrial / metal end of the goth spectrum. The singer channels Trent Reznor all the way, and image-wise they’re strong (apart from the lead guitarist, who appears to have just got off work, while shots from previous gigs show him to be suited and booted). The songs are just as strong, and brimming with rage and angst, with programmed drums and sequenced synths interweaving well with the twin-guitar and bass assault. Nihilistic anthem ‘God is Terrorist’ is more Marilyn Manson than Nine Inch Nails, while the penultimate song, ‘Subliminal Messages’ is more Depeche Mode in its template. It’s hard to fault their execution.

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Play/Dead

It’s nigh on impossible to fault Arch Femmesis on any level. The Manchester-based but from Nottingham electro-punk duo can’t be judged by other bands’ standards, because they are something of a unique proposition. Zera Tønin (who featured on ‘Land of the Tyrants’ on the latest album by Benefits) is simultaneously sultry and scary when she’s singing, but sassy and straight-talking between songs, regaling us with details of her menstruation, wind, flatulence and halitosis, and there’s some banter and audience interaction, too. Lyrically, she’s pretty up-front and straightforward, too, and again, not without humour. They’re backed by some pretty hard beats, and by the end of the set they’re pumping hard (the beats, although Zera probably is, too). There’s an element of ‘what have I just witnessed?’ circulating in the post-set buzz, but that’s part of the appeal – that and the fact they were proper bangin’.

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Arch Femmesis

Upbeat trad goths Rhombus have been going since around the turn of the millennium, and have become ubiquitous on the scene during that time, particularly here in Yorkshire. They’ve built quite a following: there are people here tonight who’ve seen them ten, twenty times, and one guy who they hand a certificate for his fiftieth time in attendance. Their formula seems specifically designed for those whose musical credo is ‘I know what I like, and I like what I know’. By way of an example, current single ‘Running From My Shadow’ leans on ‘Walk Away’ by The Sisters of Mercy for intro (that song seems to have become one of the definitive templates for contemporary bands doing the trad goth thing) before going a bit Skeletal Family.

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Rhombus

“Audience… step closer,” instructs bassist / vocalist Edward Grassby. Towering, burly, bearded, behatted, he’s a commanding presence. His addition that the band ‘Won’t come into the crowd, won’t spit beer…’ felt like a rather disparaging dismissal of the previous acts who hadn’t spent beer, but spent considerable time in amongst the punters. And this is where I realise that the band’s personality is a bigger issue than the derivative sound. Well, not the entire band: Lee Talbot’s drumming and Rob Walker’s Simon Hinkler style guitar are outstanding… but Alixandrea Corvyn’s interpretive dance and air drumming detract from her actual singing, and Grassby comes exudes an air of arrogance which far from endearing, and likely a major factor in why I’ve never taken to them. That and the fact they’re called Rhombus. That said, I seem to be in the minority in my view, as there are plenty who are hugely enthusiastic (at least by old goth standards) for them.

Cold in Berlin just keep getting darker and heavier with each release, and tonight’s set draws primarily on the new album, Wounds, and the EP, The Body is the Wound which foreshadowed it – meaning it’s dark and heavy. It’s also absolutely stunning. Maya seems remarkably at ease, and smiles a lot between songs – but during the songs, she emanates a chilling demeanour, a control and intense focus which is utterly petrifying. Often, she ventured out into the crowd, and glides, ghost-like, between the audience members. She’s glacial, while around her, the riffs conjure a devastating maelstrom. This is no better exemplified than when they drop ‘Dream One’: the vocal delivery is icy, stark, the control bordering on psychopathy. The instrumentation is spacious, with air between the suffocating power chords to begin, until everything crashes in and hits with an almost bewildering intensity. There is no ‘White Horse’… but the strength of the nine-song set more than compensates. There isn’t a moment that isn’t like being slammed by a sonic hurricane, and it’s not just because of the pulverising volume.

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Cold in Berlin

Sometimes, you don’t know what you need until you get it. I for one had no idea that what I really needed was a half-tempo rendition of ‘Love Buzz’ to conclude my last outing for beer and live music of 2025, but Cold in Berlin on peak form really outdo themselves: this is absolutely crushing, the slowed-down bass-led riffing so heavy it knocks the air from your lungs. It’s a conclusive pinnacle to a megalithic performance, and the best possible finale to a great night at the end of a great year for live music.

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Cold in Berlin

And to close my last write-up of a live event for the year, a year which has been dominated by Oasis and festivals and immense arena events, I feel compelled to add that having attended a few academy-size events this year, all of the best shows I’ve witnessed – and I’ve been to fifty in all so have enough to benchmark by – the best by far have taken place in sub-500 capacity venues, and there is absolutely no substitute for packing into a tiny place with no barrier and standing close enough to see the whites of their eyes, the sweat beading, the chords played. And tonight encapsulated this perfectly.

Born in the shadow of Oxford’s dreaming spires and forged in a haze of down-tuned amplifiers, UK heavyweights Indica Blues return in 2026 with their most ambitious and apocalyptic work to date. Their long-awaited new album, Universal Heat Death, will be released on January 31 via digital platforms and CD, marking the band’s first full-length since their critically acclaimed second album We Are Doomed.

To herald the album’s arrival, Indica Blues unveil their new single ‘The Raven’, a towering slab of blues-soaked doom that captures the band at their most urgent and expansive. Driven by crushing riffs, haunting dual-guitar interplay, and a foreboding atmosphere, the track sets the tone for an album obsessed with collapse, consequence, and the slow grind toward oblivion.

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Since forming in 2014, Indica Blues have carved out a formidable reputation as one of the UK’s most compelling psychedelic doom-stoner hybrids, once described as “bong-filling rock that is platinum heavy, but blessed with a melodic sensibility underneath it all.” Their sound, a molten blend of fuzz-drenched blues, doom, sludge, and psychedelic melancholy has earned them devoted fans worldwide and praise from both underground tastemakers and major publications.

Their previous album, We Are Doomed, received 4 stars in Kerrang!, reached No. 4 in the Doom Charts, and proved eerily prophetic: an apocalypse-themed record released just as the first wave of the global pandemic brought the world to a halt.

“We’re looking forward to touring Universal Heat Death*, and hope no cataclysmic world events stop us this time,” laughs bassist Andy Haines.

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Inverted Grim-Mill Recordings – 4th December 2025

Christopher Nosnibor

Before we arrive at the present, let’s rewind a bit. Everyone likes some backstory, a hint of prequel, right? So we’re going back to 2018, and the arrival of the Crusts EP by Pak40, a band named after a German 75 millimetre anti-tank gun, and a review which I started by saying that ‘I practically creamed my pants over Pak40’s live show in York, just up the road from my house, a few months back. I didn’t exactly know what to make of them, which was part of the appeal – they didn’t conform to any one style, but they were bloody good.’ 2021 brought the arrival of debut album Bunker, a heavy slugger by any standards.

They’ve always been a band devoted to sonic impact, and since guitarist Leo Hancill paired up with Cat Redfern to form Teleost and then relocated to Glasgow, Pak40 have been resting – but not giving up or growing tame. And more than anything, that time out has been spent in contemplation over intensifying their sound.

It may be that production plays a part, but Superfortress goes far beyond anything previous in terms of density and intensity. This is not to diminish the potent stoner riffery of Bunker, which contained some mammoth tracks with some mammoth riffs, but Superfortress is a major step up. Sure, Bunker was all the bass, but here, they elevate the volume and intensity in a way which replicates the thunderous, ribcage-blasting, ear-flapping force of the live show.

Four years on from Bunker, Superfortress very much solidifies the Sabbath-influenced aspect of their hefty doom / drone sound with the reverb-laden vocals, but also ratchets up the monstrous weight of previous releases by some way.

The first track, the ten-minute megalith that is ‘Old Nomad’ is as heavy as it gets. The drumming is relentless in its weight and thunderous force, but the bass… Hell, the bass. It lands like a double-footed kick to the chest, even through comparatively small speakers, replicating the impact of the live sound on the current tour. ‘Crushing’ may be a cliché but Pak40 deliver a density of sound that just may smash your ribs and smash your lungs. The title track begins tentatively, the riff only forming at first, before the drums and distortion kick in and from then on it’s massive, even before the vocals, bathed in a cavernous reverb arrive. Its low and it’s slow and it’s doomy, but it’s also earthy and rich in that vintage folk horror doom vibe, and it’s the slowed-down Black Sabbath inspired riffing that dominates the third and final cut, the feedback-squalling instrumental ‘Ascend’.

There’s something wonderfully old-school about this – but at the same time, it pushes things further in terms of weight and volume. And in those terms, Superfortress sees Pak40 push those things to an extreme. This is a monster.

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Christopher Nosnibor

It’s a cold and very wet Thursday night in December. The kind of night that would validate the narrative that music venues go bust because they’re not supported, and people want to see bands they know over local acts and so on – if the place had been quiet. But there’s nothing quiet about tonight., in terms of turnout or decibels. Ok, it’s not rammed, but it’s respectably busy, and as for the volume… These guys take it all the way to eleven.

The promoter’s strategy of booking a local / student / uni band to open up is one that rarely fails, and there’s a significant turnout early doors for ATKRTV. It helps that they’re good, albeit an acquired taste and not your average uni band. Operating in the classic power trio format, their primary inspirations are clearly US noise rock and grunge – there’s a bit of the Jesus Lizard here, a dash of Sonic Youth and Shellac there – as well as UK 90s noise that makes nods to the likes of Fudge Tunnel and Terminal Cheesecake – but there’s a lot going on, with hints of avant jazz in the blend, too. They’re a bit rough round the edges, but there is a musical style which is forgiving of this, and the jagged jarring juxtapositions of squalling guitar work with some meaty bass work evidences a technical ability beneath the surface of the feedback-strewn tempest. And while the banter might need some work, the songs are a glorious angular explosive racket, and they give them a hundred percent. And this is why it’s always worth getting down early doors. Every headliner was a support act once, after all.

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In my recent review of that debut album, Atavism, I commented on how the challenge would be for them to replicate the live sound in the studio. This is because their life sound is simply immense. There really is no other word for it. And this is not volume simply for the sake of it: this is volume as an expression, volume which renders the music physical, volume without which certain frequencies and tonalities, so integral to their sound, would not be achievable. Their performance in this same venue back in February was spellbinding, and I came tonight in the hope of replicating that experience. And oh yes, I did, and then some: Teleost seemed to take things to the next next level tonight.

Theirs is a subtly different take on the whole droning doom / stoner form, incorporating almost folky elements in the way that more recent Earth albums do. And instead of being solely about bludgeoning riffery – and hell, there’s plenty of that – there’s a rare attention to detail, not just in the delicate picking and soft cymbal splashes in the quieter moments, but in the full-spectrum sonic experience they conjure. And yes, conjure is the word: this is a world of magic made with a mystical blend of musicianship, amps, pedals, and something else quite indefinable. The way Leo Hancill uses a standard guitar, played through a substantial but not extravagant pedal set and two amps, to cover the range of both guitar and bass is spectacular in itself, but what really makes their sound unique, and it’s so easy to lose yourself in the timbre and texture, the way the sounds reverberate against one another to create this sensurround experience.

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Teleost

Once again, I find myself truly mesmerised by Cat Redfern’s ultra slow drumming. What’s most remarkable is how effortless she makes it appear. Granted, her sticks are batons, but she is still an immensely hard hitter please with absolute precision. Yet she plays with an order of serenity, her expression calm, almost a smile, although it’s clear that’s behind this is intense concentration, and perhaps an element of telepathy between herself and Leo. Certainly the intuition between pair is remarkable, and no amount of rehearsal alone can achieve this level of tightness. The way they navigate the peaks and troughs, spinning elongated quiet passages, where they reduce everything to a hushed hum and the tinkle of a cymbal before bringing in a cataclysmic riff with pinhead precision is nothing short of phenomenal. And for all the noise, the experience is remarkably calming.

Before Teleost, there was PAK40. But with basis / vocalist Andy Glen now resident in Germany, and Leo Hancill living in Glasgow, activity from this former York duo is now extremely rare. That they’re touring with Teleost, having released a new EP simultaneous with the Teleost album makes economical sense, but also represents a significant feat of co-ordination.

It’s not difficult to identify the origins of Teleost when listening to pack 40. They’re certainly slow and heavy. But their style draws more overtly on the Sabbath-based doom sludge template, and there much more overtly metal. In places, they present a sort of blackened New Age metal hybrid. There’s also something more direct about their drum / bass combination. But oh, that bass. The thick, tearing distortion when the riffs kick in are agonisingly close to brown note territory: you feel your ribs rattle and your skin quivering.

In contrast to Cat Redfern’s zen drumming, Leo drums with his face, and in contrast to Hanclil’s slow nodding guitar style, Andy Glen goes all out with some unrestrained headbanging as he unleashes the most pulverising bass riffs. PAK40 are harder, and more abrasive. And this is why the double-header works: for all of their similarities, the two bands bring different shades of heavy. And they’re both intense, physical forces.

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PAK40

I babble some shit to people on the way out. I think I got away with it, because everyone is equally dazed. We’ve been blitzed, blown out of our minds and shaken out of our skins tonight by a musical experience that borders on transcendental. It’s a cut above your average wet Thursday night in December, for sure.

25th October 2025

Christopher Nosnibor

As the blurbage explains, ‘The Third Side Of The Coin is a split, 2 part album which includes 2 sides of one coin, Anima and Animus. They are separate entities but together they create a bridge between dark and light, outer identity to inner truth and form a union of opposites that gives birth to universal truth. They are the gatekeepers of transformation.’

Well that’s two sides, but what about the third? Of course, this is where the truly conceptual aspect of the work comes in – the part which goes beyond the recordings themselves – and which only really makes sense in context of the following explication:

The Third Side Of The Coin is about the natural but paradoxical dualistic state of the universe. This split album explores both sides of a polarized world by peering over the precipice of the coin only to see a reflection staring back from the other side. It is a surreal mirror showing that what you fear and what you hate is living within the unconscious parts of yourself, both sides being parts of a whole. As you look into the familiar and uncomfortable reflection the coin spins, dissolving duality and revealing a clear image of the third side.
Dissolve the duality! The magic is in the middle!’

Taken literally, this suggests that the magic resides in the space between track five and track six, but I don’t think that’s what they’re meaning. Similarly, although I’m reminded of how William Burroughs and Brion Gysion expounded the concept of ‘the third mind’ as how two minds in collaboration can create a work greater than the sum of the parts, as if there’s a ‘third mind’ at work between them, I don’t feel that this quite first with the concept Moons in Retrograde are offering here.

To delve into the album itself is to venture into a world of thumping beats and deep emotional exorcism: single cut ‘Mirror Obscura’ launches the set in classic style, forging a dark, industrial-infused, goth-hued slice of dark electropop – mid-tempo, atmospheric, anthemic, and completely enthralling. The tracks which follow feel rather more generic, particularly ‘Eternalgia’: it’s a solid electrogoth stomper, and while the synths are sweeping, layered, rich in texture, everything is centred around the hard kick drum, which cuts through it all and really slams. The final song on the ‘Anima’ side is a supple exercise in dreampop, with the emphasis on the pop, a quintessential anthemic mid-tempo ballad.

While the atmosphere is overtly darker during the second half of the album – the ‘Animus’ side – it doesn’t seem so radically different at first. ‘The Edge of Entropy’ very much employs the same instrumentation and approach to composition, and ‘The Rotten Tree’ is a classic, processed dark pop cut. But closer listening reveals more twangy guitar in the mix, and a more claustrophobic and subdued style of songwriting. ‘Taxidermy Mouse’ may sound like a rather humorous title, but it’s a slow, deliberate pulsating piece which goes full aggrotech stomper at the mid-point, drawing on elements of metal while pumping out technogoth grooves. And by the time we arrive at the heaving churn of ‘Biological’, with its rampant, frenetic nu-metal percussion and gargling noise, it’s clear that this is very much an album of two halves, and at times the second half feels like a goth Prodigy.

For the most part, The Third Side Of The Coin feels a shade too clinical to really hit the mark on the emotional scale. It packs some bangers, for sure, but there’s some distance between pumping beats and emotional intensity which has a resonant, moving impact. And perhaps, stripping away the concept and taking the album as it is is the best way to approach this…

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1st December 2025

Christopher Nosnibor

Since relocating to Glasgow, Teleost have been forging ahead, first with the release of the Three Originals EP at the start of the year, and now, bookending 2025 – which has seen the duo venturing out live more often – with their full-length debut. And it’s definitely got length: five tracks spanning a full fifty minutes. But it’s got girth, too. Atavism is everything they promised from their early shows – amplified. In every way. With five tracks, and a running time of some fifty minutes, Teleost have really explored the epic space they conjure with their monolithic, crawling riffery, pushing out further than ever before – and with more gear than ever before.

Despite there only being two of them, you have to wonder how they fit all that kit into a studio, let alone a van. They’re not quite at the point of Stephen O’Malley – who had to play to the edge of the stage at the Brudenell when playing solo in Leeds some years ago because the backline barely fit – but at the rate they’re amassing equipment, it’s probably only a matter of time. But this isn’t the accumulation of stuff for the sake of it: this is a band obsessed with perfecting its sound, and then going beyond and taking it to the next level. Volume is integral to that, in the way that it is for Sunn O))) and Swans – and again, not for its own sake, but for the purpose of rendering the sound a physical, multisensory experience. And also because volume facilitates the creation of tones and frequencies simply not possible at lower volumes.

The challenge for any band who rely on these quite specific conditions live is to recreate not only the sound, but the sensory experience, the full impact, when recorded. Recording compresses, diminishes, boxes in and packages something immense, compacting it to something… contained, confined, in a way that a live show simply isn’t. Live, there is movement, there is the air displaced from the speakers, there are vibrations, there is an immediacy and margin for error, all of which are absent from that ‘definitive’ documented version.

‘Volcano’ conjures atmosphere in spades, a whistling wind and tinkling cymbals delicately hover around a softly-picked intro, before a minute or so in, BAM! The pedals go on and the riff lands, and hard – as do the drums. Slow, deliberate, atomic detonations which punctuate the laval sludge of the guitar, which brings enough low-end distortion to bury an entire empire. The vocals are way down in the mix and bathed in reverb, becoming another instrument rather than a focal point. The pulverizing weight suddenly takes an explosive turn for the heavier around the mid-point, and you begin to fear for your speakers. How is this even possible? They do pair it back in the final minutes, and venture into the earthy, atmospheric, timbre-led meanderings of Neurosis. By way of an opening, this twelve minute track is beyond monumental.

They may have accelerated their work rate, but certainly not the tempos of their tunes: ‘Bari’ – which may or may not hark back to the band’s genesis, when they performed as Uncle Bari – rides in on a wall of feedback and then grinds low and slow. They really take their time here, with ten full minutes of jarring, jolting riffery that’s as dense as osmium. Turn it u and you can feel the hairs in your ears quiver and your cells begin to vibrate.

Where Teleost stand apart from other purveyors of slow, droning doom is in their attention to those textures which are grainy, thick, and each chord stroke hits like a tsunami making land reach, a full body blow that almost knocks you off your feet.

But for all of the annihilative volume and organ-bursting weight, Atavism is not an angry or remotely violent record: these are compositions concerned with a transcendent escape, and this is nowhere more apparent than on the mid-album mellow-out, ‘Life’, which offers strong parallels to more recent Earth releases. A slow, hypnotic guitar motif is carried by rolling cymbal-dominated drums. I find myself yawning, not through boredom, but relaxation – until four and a half minutes in when they bring the noise once more, and do so with the most devastating force.

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Penultimate track, ‘Djinn’ is contemplative, reflective at first and then goes on an all-out blow-out, seemingly more intense and more explosive than anything before it. While growling droning rumbling is the album’s defining feature, there does very much feel like there’s an arc of growing intensity over its course. Here, the vocals feel more skywardly-tilted, more uplifting in their aim to escape from the planet, and closer, ‘Canyon’ returns to the mesmeric, slow-creeping Earth-like explorations before slamming all the needles into the red. The result is twelve minutes of magnificent calm juxtaposed with earth-shattering riff heaven.

The fidelity is fantastic, the perfect realisation of their head-blastingly huge live sound captured. The chug and trudge cuts through with a ribcage-rattling density, and there is nothing else but this in your head. You mind is empty, all other thought blown away. It’s a perfect escape. And this is – at least in its field – a perfect album.

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Christopher Nosnibor

Live music should carry a warning over its addictive properties. Witnessing a band playing a set so good that you’re buzzing for hours, even days afterwards is a unique high, and one that sets a seed of a desperate need to replicate that experience.

I’ve seen a lot of live music since I started going to gigs over thirty years ago, but the number of acts who have ignited that sense of fervent excitement is limited. I’ve seen many, many amazing shows, but few have blown me away to the extent they’ve felt in some way transformative. Dead Space Chamber Music are one of those few, and I left the Cemetery Chapel in York a few months back feeling dazed and exhilarated, my ears whistling despite having worn earplugs. I simply had to see them again, in the hope to experience that same sense of rapture.

Eldermother – consisting of Clare de Lune on harp and vocals and Michalina Rudawska on cello – have no shortage of musical pedigree, and a superabundance of talent which they showcase with their minimal neoclassical works, a mix of covers and original material. They open with Radiohead’s ‘Street Spirit (Fade Out)’ led by harp and with Clare’s soaring vocals, and it’s one of those performances that make the hair stand up on back of your neck with its haunting atmosphere. There’s a rendition of WB Yeats’ poem ‘The Stolen Child’, a work rich with imagery inspired by wild nature and imbued with emotion and drama. The execution is magnificent, and the originals are similarly graceful and majestic. ‘Hurt’ may not be by any stretch representative of Trent Reznor’s career, but it certainly showcases his capacity for powerfully emotive songwriting, and if it’s the song which forms his legacy, it’s all to the good. Yes, Eldermother play a semi-operatic version of ‘Hurt’ with harp and dark, brooding cello, and… woah. It’s almost too much, especially this early in the evening. I find myself dabbing a tear and grateful for the low lighting.

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Eldermother

Lunar Cult Club – featuring Doug Gordon, aka Futures We Lost – as the provider of the instrumental machinations, take the theatricality up several notches to deliver a set of otherworldly cold, cold, darkest electro with glacial synths and funereal forms. The bank of synths swirl and grind, muddy beats thud and pop from amidst a dense sonic fog. Sonically, they’re impressive – in the main, the arrangements are sparse, and overtly analogue in form – but visually, they’re something else. Theirs is a highly theatrical stage show, and this significantly heightens the impact of the songs. The two singers, dressed all in black and with faces obscured by long, black lace veils – Corpse Bride chic, as my notes say – sway and move their arms in an unnerving fashion, as if reanimated, exhumed. I’m reminded of Zola Jesus and of Ladytron, and I’m mesmerised by their facsimile of a Pet Sematary Human League with its spellbinding marionette choreography. The final song, ‘No-Ones Here to Save Her’ is as dark as it gets: the vocals merge and take us to another realm entirely.

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Lunar Cult Club

I’m still floating in a state of mild delirium when Dead Space Chamber Music take to the stage. The atmosphere is thick, tense, hushed… awed. Something about the trio’s presence alone makes you sit up, lean in, eyes wide, ears pricked. There’s a lot of detail here. Their focus is gripping by way of spectacle, and their set is designed as a linear work which evolves and transitions over its duration, in a way which calls to mind when Sunn O))) toured Monoliths and Dimensions, whereby, over the course of the set, Attila Csihar transformed into a tree. There are props and costume embellishments, mostly on the part of Ellen Southern, who performs vocals and various percussion elements and a strange stringed instrument: she brings much drama and theatricality, delivered with a sense of self-possession and deep spirituality which is utterly entrancing.

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Dead Space Music Orchestra

They’re so quiet you can hear matchsticks dropping into a tray. But the fact that these things are audible, amidst cavernous reverb and sepulchral echoes, is a measure of the clarity of the sound and the band’s attention to detail. Ekaterina Samarkina is impressive in the sheer versatility and nuanced approach she takes to the percussion which is truly pivotal to the performance. Her work is so detailed, subtle, the sound so bright and crisp, as she slowly scrapes the edges of her cymbals with a bow. Lurking in the background, Tom Bush – on guitar – plays with restraint, sculpting shapes and textures rather than playing conventional chords and melodies. In combination, they conjure a rarefied atmosphere.

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Dead Space Chamber Music

But towards the end of the set, as if from nowhere, emerge huge cathedrals of sound. The last time around, I compared their climactic crescendos to Swans, and having seen Swans just over a week ago, I very much stand by the parallel called then. And this is not volume for volume’s sake: this is about catharsis, about escape. Dead Space Chamber Music make music which is immense, transcendental. And when they go all-out for the sustained crescendo of the finale, it’s not because of a bank of pedals or a host of gear: they simply play harder, throwing themselves behind their instruments, and full-throttle intensity. It may not be as loud as on that previous outing, or perhaps it’s simply because I’m expecting it, but they nevertheless raise the roof, and fill the space with expansive layers of sound on sound.

The three acts very much compliment one another, making for an event which is more than merely a gig, more than three bands playing some songs: this is an occasion, steeped in theatre and art, performed with a sense of ritual. The experience is all-encompassing, immersive, enveloping; it takes you out of life and suspends time for its duration. It will take some time to return to reality.