Miasmah – 7th May 2026
Christopher Nosnibor
“What does a trip towards another world sound like? We’re about to find out. The master of tension, melancholy, and the deranged is back after a long period working in the worlds of theatre and cinema. Last seen on Miasmah with the grief stricken The Summoner, Kreng now returns with Wormhole, following closer in the footsteps of the cult classics L’Autopsie Phénoménale de Dieu and Grimoire.”
This is how we’re introduced to the first new album from Kreng in a decade, and Wormhole is appropriately titled. Immediately, the listener is drawn into a hinterland of suspense and ominous tension, a path beset by ever thickening trees and a creeping mist. You feel an urge to retreat, but as early as the second composition, the dark, jittery ‘Nachtzweet’, with dank creaking sounds and dissonant piano notes which are the pure quintessence of ‘eerie’, you find you’re incapable of turning back. The only way is forward, further into the forest – it doesn’t seem to be enchanted, but something isn’t right either: something is lurking, and it feels menacing, sinister, dangerous. Your heart’s in your mouth, and you’re no longer in control of your decisions and all you can do is creep onwards, down the wormhole, riven with trepidation.
It’s like the soundtrack to a film, but it’s hard to imagine that the visuals could be anywhere near as unsettling as this accompaniment. In the same way that films are rarely as scary as books, because films render and thus create boundaries when it comes to expressing The Terrible Thing, the monster, the ghost, the object of fear, the mind’s capacity to experience fear goes far beyond the visual. As such, a strong soundtrack has the capacity to heighten the fear factor of a movie. But the soundtrack alone, when the only visuals are those conjured in the mind’s eye… the scope is without boundaries. And these compositions distil the very essence of fear, of dread.
Many of the titles offer little by way of clues as to their meaning, or the scenes they would accompany if this were a film. ‘Cepheid’ is an American molecular diagnostics company, and what’s so scary about that? You may well ask. It also happens to be a pulsating star, which changes not only in brightness, but also diameter and temperature, too, which is in keeping with the space journey theme of the album’s title and other tracks, such as ‘Vacuum’.
The piano-led ‘Entropy’ is a soaring choral work, albeit one that elicits thoughts of death and afterlife. And if ‘To Yield’ is soothing, and allows the listener time and space to recover their breath and the heart to return to a more normal rate, the aforementioned ‘Vacuum’ is five and a half minutes of suffocating fear, and ‘Donker’ is an extended exercise in orientation-twisting, brain-bending torture.
In places conventionally ‘filmic’, with strings and piano taking the lead, there are extended passages of creeping dark ambience, the sonic origins of which are unclear, adding to the unease of the pieces – because so much fear stems from the unknown, the unseen, the inexplicable. Sounds of unknown and inexplicable origin are inherently disturbing: if you know that wail is from an owl, you can compartmentalise it, accept that it’s an owl, and move on. When you don’t know what that haunting sound it… it gives you the willies.
Wormhole is creepy, unsettling. It chills more than it thrills, and instils a deep discomfort. Close your eyes and breathe slowly. Feel the fear. Embrace it.
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Aural Aggravation 