Welcome to the first annual Heavy Metal Roundtable, a symposium of sickness inviting some of heavy metal’s brightest minds to help me, an idiot, dissect a metallic topic.

Joining me are:

Brendan Sloan, whose new album Perdurance under the long-running solo project Convulsing is why we’re here today. Sloan is also in Dumbsaint and Altars, the latter of which released one of 2022’s best death metal albums.

Ian Cory, a writer and musician, who is known in the metal realm as the former long-time head editor of Invisible Oranges. Cory’s solo project, Lamniformes, recently released a fascinating new album, The Lonely Atom. Cory also helms Lamniformes Cuneiform, one of the better Substacks. Because there were two Ians on the panel, I requested that we refer to Cory as “Smart Ian” for clarity.

Rae Amitay and Kayhan Vaziri, of Wretched Blessing, whose self-titled EP hit our column recently as one of the best metal releases in the first half of 2024. Amitay and Vaziri have also been in a ton of other bands, including Amitay in Errant, Immortal Bird, and more, and Vaziri in Yautja.

Calder Hannan, proprietor of the Metal Music Theory YouTube channel, which offers some of the best music deep dives on the internet. Hannan also plays in Florid Ekstasis, whose 2023 album Trepanning was a very highly regarded album around these parts, and Aphelion Entity, a newer quartet that just released an excellent self-titled EP. Hannan also successfully defended a PhD dissertation, “Tactus Transformations in Metal,” in April.

This epistolary exercise was conducted over email in June. Entries have been edited for clarity and concision. Due to space constraints (i.e., an FDA-mandated moratorium on the Black Market’s propensity for high-word-count eye-bleed levels), this intro is an excerpt from the first round. You can find the subsequent rounds here.

***
Ian Chainey:

Many Hails Metallic Travelers,

My intrepid Knights of the Roundtable, I’m reaching out to you to discuss a topic that has tilled the fields of a significant acreage of my mind over the past couple of years. I humbly request that we untangle and codify the concept of ’emotional extreme metal,’ or the term yours truly has settled on: ‘big feelings metal.’

Brendan, I have you to thank for bringing the terms to my attention. Way back in a bygone time known as “2022,” you dropped them in an email exchange concerning why metal genre tags, after a flurry of inspired inventions in the ’80s, have gotten so staid and insipid. “I’ve said ‘Emotional Extreme Metal’ a few times,” you wrote about how to possibly categorize Convulsing, “and I kind of like that because ’emo’ is a dirty word to most wool-dyed metalheads. Certainly was when I was growing up. Any band doing anything emotional or ‘serious,’ politically or artistically, is to be mocked. Metal bands should kill to be as interesting as, like, Pedro The Lion, or Daîtro, or Mount Eerie…”

We batted around a few synonyms, such as “internal war metal,” to describe outfits like the description-defying Infernal Coil. But the one suggested tag that stuck with me was “big feelings metal.” What you wrote in a follow-up got my tiny brain wheels turning: “The new Soccer Mommy is coming out soon (!!!) and was discussed in an article alongside stuff like Snail Mail as ‘Big Feelings Music,’ which I also love as a genre tag. ‘Big Feelings Metal’ for 2022 and beyond, please.”

Now, I’ll note that some scribes got there before us, including NPR‘s Lars Gotrich, who described Arctic Sleep’s Hum’d-out float metal as “big-feelings metal” in 2019. However, I considered Convulsing one of the clearest encapsulations of what “emotional extreme” might mean. You were working past the typical lyrical death metal tropes to get at something rawer and more vulnerable. That’s not to say the memento mori of getting one’s face smashed by a hammer isn’t a big feeling. But the Convulsing albums Errata and Grievous seemed to hew closer to one of the early emonauts of modern extreme metal, Lykathea Aflame, in its intense examination of the self. They also had the same sonic Sturm und Drang that Edge of Sanity and the like were able to harness for undeniably metallic ends.

Of course, I don’t want to make it seem like metal at large was previously bereft of feelings. According to a quick and dirty search on Encyclopaedia Metallum, at least 506 bands formed before 2004 had “feelings” as one of their lyrical themes. (MetalStats has done a lot of work demonstrating how spotty Metallum’s user-submitted, eye-of-the-beholder theme data tends to be. I only cite this number to establish its prior prevalence, not its accuracy.) My favorites of these are California’s Killer Clown, which naturally explored the themes of “Clowns, Feelings,” and Ukraine’s Semargl, which has an all-timer of an early/later evolution: “Satanism, Anti-Christianity, Darkness, War (early); Sex, Love, Feelings (later).” That is what happens when you match with someone on Bumble.

Still, perhaps it’s a frequency illusion, but I feel like we’re in a new age of feelings. Fast forward beyond 2022, and we have Convulsing’s Perdurance, along with Kayhan and Rae’s trifecta-eschewing Wretched Blessing and Calder’s Florid Ekstasis. What has interested me about your respective records is that they’re unbelievably heavy in ways that rock the Richter scales employed by myopic traditionalists obsessed with the continually escalating ideal of heft. Like, I don’t think doughy keyboard warriors, to nick a phrase from Michael Nelson, would bemoan either of your records’ lack of metal. Rich veins of the stuff run throughout your new material. And yet, your riffs are tempered by this underlying sense of soul, that these riffs rip but also serve as a map surveying the scars left upon one’s heart and spirit. So much of metal is about escapism, but these records are more about existing and attempting to navigate a harsh reality as a thinking and caring human.

Anyway, I’m eating up oxygen while far smarter people are on deck and praying that I stop yapping. Brendan, I’ll throw it to you: Two years and change later, how do you feel about “emotional extreme metal,” and how did those emotions manifest in the writing and recording of Perdurance?

***
Brendan Sloan:

Man, how do I get “feelings (later)” added as a lyrical theme…

Navel gazing for just a moment to answer you about Convulsing’s trajectory: I think if you look at Errata, you can see me struggling with my own desire to make what I would later say to you is “Emotional” music. A lot of it I wrapped up in obtuse metaphor, tropey metal nonsense, or what you would later describe as “blarghon” about summoning eldritch horrors from the beyond, or carving sigils into flesh, or whatever. It’s as if for every moment I spent trying to examine something directly, I needed to quickly foil it with something “Hammer Smashed Face” to re-establish that, actually, this is Death Metal, and we’re playing riffs — no thinking going on here, no sir, ough. The songs appear in the order I wrote them, and so you can trace this pretty directly up to “Dragged.”

Subsequent to that, the 20-minute track I did for a split the following year (often people don’t know this exists) is where I started fully writing from the first-person perspective and in increasingly less subtle ways. It’s less “I Will Kill You” and more “No, I Will Actually Kill You. These Are My Real Desires. Also I’m Miserable.” Now, seven years later with Perdurance, I’m opening it by describing the prevailing sensations of my last five years in “Pentarch,” mocking my own self-punishment behaviors in “Flayed,” on to further explorations of mental health crises, asserting my antifascism, and closing it with overtures about noticing the birds chirping, humanity’s interconnectedness, and being completely in love with my partner, and I’m unafraid to do so. Rather than being something I’m doing by accident as a layer at the end, it’s now set up long before I get there to write the actual words. I think my art is better/more integrated for it, and by extension, I myself.

Music for me has ceased to be a thing I do after school or work because I like playing cool guitar shit. It’s now more like waiting for a bunch of root vegetables and cabbage I put in a pot and buried six years ago to ferment into something salty and bittersweet, but good for my guts and probably life-extending. I fixated on the title of Perdurance for five years before I started working on it. I had the artwork in mind for at least four, and the oldest ideas arranged in it predate anything on Grievous. They were waiting for me to find the emotional context to place them in. That’s where I’m at with it all, now. Every single part of Perdurance has some sort of deliberate emotional anchor in a way I never predicted my art would demand from me. Metal is about headbanging, not headshrinking, right?

The reason I’ve been able to go through this process at all is because other people before me were unafraid to do it. You brought up Edge Of Sanity — aside from that project itself being a load-bearing band in my life, I think the first moment I thought to myself, “Oh, I’m allowed to do that?” was Swanö on Moontower. “The Big Sleep” specifically. That song is plainly a guy in his early 30s booming in a death metal voice about how death is actually-for-realsies scary. Slayer said “scared to die” like “haha you’re in hell.” Swanö said it like, “I’m terrified. I don’t know how much time I have to be with my loved ones, or make my art, or tend to my garden. What am I supposed to do?” That’s the shit right there.

There are so many more, but probably the most visibly invisible people I can think of Saying Shit are Ethan (Primitive Man/Vermin Womb) and Bryan (Thou). The reason I bring them up is that most people who love Primitive Man probably have no idea that Ethan is writing some of the rawest, self-examining things you can imagine because it’s delivered as “AAAAAAAAAA.” Bryan, too. People really like Thou because sludge riffs, but pull up the lyrics of any Thou track of the last 15-something years and you’ll get something like “I am a rock in a sea of chaos: settled, subdued, unmovable, impervious. Muscles unclenched, blood flows freely, anger exhaled, peace inhaled deeply. I am a rock in a sea of chaos: determined and strong, unreachable, impervious.” This is from “I Feel Nothing When You Cry,” released last week (at time of writing). D u d e. Stuff like this, once you’ve really felt it, how can you go back?

@ Rae and Kayhan: As I’m writing this out, I’m catching up to Wretched Blessing (very exciting crossover to learn of as an Immortal Bird and Yautja person going back a decade), and I feel I can hear and read this same process playing out. Would you agree to that? I feel like comparing not only the lyrical but also the compositional gestures of your bands from 2012 to 2018 to now shows it pretty clearly. Not simply a process of ‘maturation’ as pop journos often describe bands going through, but a deliberate shift in tone. Increasingly less obfuscation about what it is the writer is trying to say and what emotions are being examined. Rather than laying some poetic abstraction over the top of a song made of riffs, “the metal” itself is more and more allowed to demonstrate a nuanced emotion and the lyrical component describing it. The exciting lyrical thing I’m noticing that appears widely in a lot of the music I love is a practice of reaching through the speaker to grab the listener by the collar and ask a question rather than an oration. In my own music, I don’t really do it so much — instead, I’m trying to describe myself in a way that invites people to ask themselves questions and decide if we share experiences — but I always appreciate being posed a direct question. This happens more than ever in modern Immortal Bird and modern Yautja, and now we have the collision of the two and continuation in Wretched Blessing (also, I love the Soulfly riff in “Pseudoascencion.” Go off.)

@ Calder and re: Florid Ekstasis, specifically: As a musicology person, the thing I noticed immediately is that this is music by a person who studied composition. To say that about somebody making punk or metal is kind of slanderous — too deliberate = poser — but what I mean by that is that this material is doing what I described above. You’re deploying things with a goal to generate and support something you feel, not only because you found a cool, crunchy chord, a weird noise on a new pedal, or because it was the foreordained time to play an impressive guitar solo. There’s a purpose to everything you’ve included: the when, the timbres you’re playing with, the structures you’ve arranged things into. There’s an underlying purpose that’s hinted at by the titles of the tracks and the artwork. It’s easy to hear this as a ‘technical’ work with challenging structure and composition. The harder and more rewarding part is to ask “Why was this made? What am I feeling” with sincerity. What does Florid Ekstasis really mean to you? Wanna see those lyrics! Do you have these same sensations of “thank fuck that’s over” as I do on completion of a project like this?

I’ve already taken up way too much space with just this, but I will say that much of this can also be @ Smart Ian and re: Lamniformes. A particular feature of this project that I really like is that I’m about to hear the new album (that I didn’t know was out) for the first time, and the only thing I know is that it won’t sound like the other ones in almost all ways, but what it will contain is the same central essence of being for you yourself and about you yourself. I’m excited to find out what it’s going to say to me.

***
Ian Cory:

Jeez, a lot of pressure to live up to that “smart” prefix! Especially since I’m one of the people at this roundtable who doesn’t have a PhD. In all seriousness, I’m honored to be included here, and I hope my perspective as a decidedly non-extreme metal musician helps generate some good discussion.

I can certainly relate to the journey Brenden underwent in regard to the limits of conventional extreme metal lyrics. The very first song I wrote as Lamniformes, “Shark Mating Ritual” from 2011’s Trials, was about this exact feeling of constraint. If the only musical language I’m fluent in is one of violence/rage/hatred, etc., how can I express affection or desire? If all you have are fangs, everything looks like prey, basically. As Brenden and our readers will quickly realize when they check out my latest album, The Lonely Atom, I came to the conclusion that extreme metal was insufficient by itself to match the feelings I was trying to convey. If I wanted to express the full extent of the feelings of alienation, loneliness, and atomization that our digital age evokes, I needed to expand my vocabulary beyond the limits of blast beats and thrash breaks.

*Stephen A. Smith voice* BUT! This does not mean that I don’t think that heavy metal is capable of expressing big feelings. Quite the contrary, it was precisely metal’s capacity for unreasonably huge emotions that attracted me to the genre as a teenager. My introduction to heavy metal came through bands like System of a Down and Korn (I was 13 in 2003, sue me), bands motivated by big feelings, both political and personal, respectively. In the two decades since, most of my favorite bands have had similarly bloody hearts on their sleeves, whether they’re expressing the crushing heartbreak of a miscarriage (Pain of Salvation’s “A Trace of Blood”) or the sloppy poetry of a drunken “u up?” text (Deafheaven’s “Dream House”). Crucially though, all of these examples would be strictly Don’t Entry to the halls of extreme metal due to False. What about the “real” deal?

This brings us to the great example Brendan provided above with Thou’s “I Feel Nothing When You Cry.” That track kicks ass. It’s probably my favorite from Umbilical. However, the only thing I feel when I listen to that tune is, “Damn, that goes hard.” I don’t doubt the sincerity or the extremity of the feelings that Bryan Funck is expressing with those lyrics, but without a lyric sheet, the specificity of those feelings isn’t legible to me as a listener. This might be a me problem, since I’ve listened to literally thousands of metal albums and have likely burnt off most of my nerve endings as a result. However, I bet any dyed-in-the-wool extreme metal fan is in a similar boat. If we did a Pepsi-style blind taste test, could we determine which extreme metal song was about environmental catastrophe and which was about how it’d be fucked if a skeleton had a sword? Could the average listener without extra-musical context tell between Cannabis Corpse and Cannibal Corpse who was joking and who was “serious”?

Again, this isn’t meant to question the passion of the musicians involved. My concern lies with how metal musicians communicate that passion to an audience in a way that they can receive and process. This problem isn’t exclusive to extreme metal, of course — just ask Paul Ryan about Rage Against The Machine or Jack Dorsey about Radiohead; everyone is capable of missing the point if they try hard enough. However, I think the musical vocabulary of extreme metal makes this issue particularly acute. But I am the hipster metal heretic made flesh; of course, I’m going to be cynical about this! What say those who are actually doing the damn thing and making emotionally charged extreme metal? How do y’all in Wretched Blessing use the language of extreme metal to convey bigness of feeling? How do you handle the “limits” of the genre’s vocabulary, or do those limits not exist for you? What do you do to keep “apolitical” “shut-up-and-dribble” types from getting down to tunes that are explicitly political in nature?

I look forward to getting thoroughly owned.

***
Rae Amitay and Kayhan Vaziri, Wretched Blessing:

Hello, group. We’re going to try to answer in three (concise?) forms: WRETCHED BLESSING, RAE AMITAY, and KAYHAN VAZIRI.

WB: This statement is cheesy but can be verified by the seemingly hundreds of subgenres that find their audiences against the odds of accessibility: Metal is about whatever you want it to be, and we think it (mostly) always has been. You can headbang while having your mind blown and your head shrunk, or whatever you want to call it. There’s a difference between “brainy” metal and “emotional” metal, right? Or are we uniting the two? The lyrics from Death’s Symbolic are so incredibly emotional, personal, and poetic, but the music can be thoroughly enjoyed even without having any grasp of the lyrical content therein. The extreme emotion in the already intense and technical music is part of what makes it so special to us. We don’t think you need to literally bleed on stage for your art in order to be a powerful artist or an “emotionally extreme” one. The level of forethought that Brendan describes when creating Perdurance really seems like a convergence of vision, skill, and a level of feeling that can’t be performed on a schedule — Maybe the latter is where the magic of all this lies?

Rae: It’s probably not possible to agree to our bands having a “same” process, musically or lyrically. While we’ve been crossing paths and sharing influences for a long time, it’s all been taking place with very different dynamics and pacing. In 2012, Immortal Bird did not exist. And in 2018, we had not put out Thrive on Neglect, which is by far our most realized and “anchored” record/truest form. I’ll say both bands share a collective evolution of writing extreme music that doesn’t follow strict (or loose) confines or traditions in metal. This certainly includes some shared lyrical themes and the way in which they’re delivered, which is obviously a huge component in our discussions here.

Kayhan: Both of our bands touch upon some similar themes, but Yautja’s lyrics duties are mostly split up amongst the three of us. I wrote about half of them on The Lurch. Rae is the sole lyricist for Immortal Bird, and their writing style is more consistent, coming from the same evolving narrative source. You can feel them as an individual coming through all of this collaboratively created sound even as the personnel around them shifts and they develop further as a songwriter and vocalist. The fact that it’s their voice delivering their own words makes the delivery uniquely powerful, which I’d consider both extreme and emotional. That has to be part of it, too — the ‘sincerity factor’ that comes from saying (or screaming) thoughts realized from an intensely personal place. I guess it’s a pretty stark contrast from Cannibal Corpse discussing ripping the intestines from a cadaver.

WB: In regards to posing questions rather than delivering orations, neither Immortal Bird nor Yautja (or Wretched Blessing) make many inquiries. If it happens in Immortal Bird, they’re rhetorical and few and far between. Yautja does pose a few questions on The Lurch. We’re both pretty into declarations that might provoke further introspection. That’s absolutely the case with Wretched Blessing. We think the only questions that get asked on the EP are “Doesn’t it get old? Aren’t you growing tired?” and it’s immediately followed with “You’re getting old. I’m growing tired.” In that song specifically, we don’t care to hear the answer from the person being asked those questions. We already have our answers.

Kayhan: Musically, it’s cool how the same riff can remind someone of Soulfly when the inspiration is more like Disfear or Dystopia. It’s definitely more of a metallic d-beat riff, but I appreciate the nu metal direction you detected on “Pseudoascension.” That one is easily the most personal one lyrically, and we approached that by writing about the same experience from our different perspectives. It also follows a bit of a call-and-response structure.

WB: We are definitely not the first metal band, extremely emotional or not, to cover mental health topics and rage toward the institutions designated to help us (but designed to fail us). As for Ian Cory’s queries, the “language” of extreme metal doesn’t have to pertain to the written word but obviously can include musical choices. With extreme vocals, there is so much potential to convey a huge array of emotions with growls, screams, cries, singing, and anything else outside of conventional “clean” delivery. Two bands that exemplify that are Opeth and Katatonia, and we could write a whole novel (or novella, at least) about why those bands have been consistently “emotionally extreme” yet constantly evolving for their entire careers. The instruments play a role in this as well: blistering speeds, angular riffs, rapidly shifting dynamics; they all add to the “feelings” being presented. There is such a spectrum of technicality vs. emotion. It’s interesting to see where the proportions get “out of whack” and things get “overly” technical — That threshold is probably different for everyone, so where, if anywhere, does it lie for those of us on this panel, especially those more familiar with employing “advanced” theory, arranging, and composition in their work?

To quote someone in a movie once, “the limit does not exist.” There are so many artists (including Convulsing) who have expanded the genre’s “vocabulary” to a point where it feels very elastic and unrestrained. As for keeping apolitical or “shut-up-and-dribble” types from “getting down” to our music, there’s only so much we can (or want to) do. Someone listening to “Anathematic” might just like the riffs and might never try to dig into the lyrics. They might not know the song is pro-Palestinian and a direct criticism of Zionist rhetoric. Maybe if they learn that, they’ll form a deeper connection to the song. If a hardcore/punk metal band writing “charged” lyrics against cronyism and institutions is a problem, then they’re listening to the wrong genres altogether. Lyrics, especially more ambiguous, poetic, and pointed ones, will always resonate differently with whoever is receiving them. Obviously, if the song is ABOUT you or your demographic, and it’s absolutely scathing, it’s going to elicit a negative reaction (if you’re doing it right) — but we’re not making music for those people, and we’re not concerned with those potential reactions. Again with the cheese, but we’re making music together and as a fully collaborative partnership, which is something unprecedented for both of us. There is total freedom of expression (and the modest financial stakes of underground metal are liberating in the sense that we’ll never be asked to “take fewer risks” to meet commercial ends) — it’s just about making the music and trying to best communicate what we feel compelled to say.

…thoughts?

***
Calder Hannan:

The academic impulse to categorize…

The name Florid Ekstasis comes from the idea of using complicated music to get outside oneself (florid = complicated, ek = outside, stasis = standing), and this was the original idea for the band — write stuff that was so complicated that you couldn’t do anything but focus on it while you were playing. In the beginning, it was a coping mechanism for big feelings I didn’t know how to deal with — I used the music as a personal tool to get outside of anxiety, overthinking, depression, etc. The first (shoddily recorded) album has a lot of very long strings of things to memorize, which was great because to play them I had to put all of my focus on where I was in the pattern. Ben Weinman has talked about this as a goal for The Dillinger Escape Plan (and a few others have said similar things — the last chapter of my dissertation gets into it in a little more detail if you crave punishment). Maybe escapist, but not exactly in the Dragonforce way — it was the enactment of mastery, and the way that this took up all of my brain space while doing it, that gave me a break from whatever else was molding in my brain.

This might be one extreme, where the feelings are entirely internal and they don’t come across in the music — metal to escape big feelings. The technicality was kind of haphazard, and the transmission of feelings might have been opaque (and the mix/recording are so amateurish no one will listen to it anyway), but there were some more or less big feelings at the root of the album. This might be the Cannibal Corpse approach; it’s kind of an oblique way of dealing with big feelings for a lot of people. This is also more or less the Classical approach: make something pretty and engaging in its own right and who cares what else is going on because life seems good when you’re hearing it.

This is still a big part of what I want to get out of the band, but I’ve gotten more and more direct in dealing with what these feelings are, both musically and irl. For the Fixitude EP, I was a lot more intentional about using specific compositional ideas to express/analogize experiences from the pandemic. The unsettling repetition in “Lines Around Empty Space” was (very roughly) “about” the claustrophobia of being inside (told in the lyrics by way of a meditation on a burning book), the disconnected drums and guitars in “The Hills Too Became Unmoored” was “about” the dissociation that came from living life through a computer screen (told in the lyrics by way of a description of a hallucination about hills floating off the ground).

This is another possibility, metal to represent big feelings. This is the Baroque answer, that music represents emotions, and if the representation is good enough, it might cause the listener to resonate sympathetically, but the emotions of the music are not presumed to be the emotions of the composer — the composer is a craftsperson, putting together a beautiful and emotionally pure experience to regulate the humors of the listener in the same way a carpenter might build a beautiful table to give someone somewhere nice to eat. This is also more or less Lawrence Zbikowski’s theory of musical meaning, that music is “sonic analogues for shared dynamic processes” — something about the sound of the music matches some experience that we care about and gives us a shared space to re-experience and reflect on this experience (typically at a level well below conscious understanding).

I wrote the recent album (Trepanning) in a time of significant personal uncertainty and grieving, and this time, it felt like I was able to perform the strange alchemy of transmuting big feelings directly into sounds. I’m not sure this came through any more or less than on the other albums to the five people who listened to it (big thanks, Ian, btw, for being one of those five), but I know what it felt like to write this album, which was that it felt like I went pretty deep and came back with something that doesn’t normally see the light of day, and that was enough; I didn’t really think about the album after it was done, partly because I hated it by then, but partly because it had done its job for me somewhere along the way, and it felt like I finished it just from force of habit.

This is the third possibility, metal to express/exorcise big feelings. This is the Romantic answer to the emotion question, that music is the spontaneous, unmediated overflowing of the composer’s intense feelings. This is the assumption that still haunts all the rock/pop authenticity discourse, the idea that you have to really mean what you’re saying to be taken seriously. (As a side note, the dominance of this idea is not that old and was the result of a concerted effort of a relatively small group of Beethoven stans in the 19th century who wanted to show the rest of Europe that their country had the best art.) Listeners can use metal this way, too, and sometimes the way they hear something lines up with how the composer (says they) felt writing it, but I’ve found over and over that this connection is fickle.

I guess my hot take about big feelings in extreme metal, then, is that all of these approaches are valid, not just the third one. And maybe even that a lot of the music I like best does all three at the same time. Perdurance, for example, has enough going on that it keeps my interest; at the same time, there are a lot of really clever compositional things (I love how the riff starting at 4:21 in “Inner Oceans” collapses in on itself by shifting through eighths, sixteenths, sixteenth triplets, and then faster subdivisions[?], feeling like foreclosing possibilities; also the 5+5+5+5+8 riff at 4:07 of “Pentarch” that feels like stumbling through the dark) that evoke/analogize/express visceral feelings; and everything else I know about the album (artwork, this roundtable, etc.) points to it being an expression of some big feelings, and it’s an album that lined up with some big feelings for myself this year when I was listening to it.

Other bands that nail this trifecta for me include Immortal Bird, of course (the clever dotted-eighth quasi modulation throughout “Saprophyte” is one of my favorites; it makes it so you don’t know which way is up [a rhythm masquerading as the beat, a sparrow masquerading as an ibis, maybe]), and Sumac (Aaron Turner is very eloquent in talking about this — the edges between their improvised and slippery, composed grooves feel like the evaporations and condensations of meaning, the “images of control” we sometimes see.)

So yeah, I guess the other part of the hot take that’s been implicit in these categories is that “technicality” and “feelings” are not sworn enemies (and I hope it’s clear that neither of them is directly related to how much I’ll like something, either). Y’all have already said this, but that’s kind of my big bone to pick with metal discourse more generally; it’s not like music has big feelings in spite of being “technical,” it’s a question of how the big feelings come out, everyone has their own compositional voice, and every compositional voice is capable of expressing or representing whatever you want (if you dig deep enough, and your listeners are on the same page). I don’t think Thou is “more” emotional than Sumac or Convulsing because they’re less technical (and I don’t like any of them more than the others).

Resisting the urge to spend a month or two polishing…

***

And there you go. Thank you for joining us for the first Heavy Metal Roundtable. Onward to riffs. –Ian Chainey

FOUL EMANATIONS FROM THE VOID

10. Drug Hunt – “Jungle”

Location: San Diego, CA
Subgenre: psychedelic rock / heavy metal

“Jungle” kicks off Drug Hunt’s Feast, the band’s debut full-length following a series of singles and a 2019 EP. In a story we unfortunately tell pretty often around here, that 2019 self-titled EP landed right before Covid hit, a not great time to make an entrance and start touring. Forced downtime offered the chance to further hone a bizarro psych-rock-and-beyond sonic palette into a bolder, harder-rocking form, and it produced the kind of floor stomping, far-out drive you’ll hear on “Jungle.” The band’s southwest roots are keenly felt, with a sunstroke weariness producing warbly visions where proclamations from an acid-addled prophet, stoner rock, and a kind of grungy, bluesy, and doomy classic metal exist in a single elixir purchased from a hallucinated gas station. (The band’s name is Drug Hunt, after all.) The resulting trip is a ripper built on the back of chug-a-chug riffs, emphatic drumming, and wild-eyed guitars, with moody psychedelic detours giving way to ecstatic guns-blazing crescendos. With production that replicates the warm analog fuzz of the 1970s, “Jungle” is a tour-de-force introduction — or re-introduction — to Drug Hunt’s world. [From Feast, out 7/18 via Vibe Good Friends.] –Wyatt Marshall

9. Brutally Deceased – “Deus Mundi”

Location: Prague, Czechia
Subgenre: death metal

Brutally Deceased will tell you there is no magic. Members of the Czech death metaller said precisely that in a 2014 interview when I inquired about how they pulled off that special Swedeath sorcery on its sophomore release, Black Infernal Vortex. “Thank you for your kind words,” the band wrote, “but there is no magic about our sound.” No, according to them, what made their death metal special was the same gear that made Swedeath legends such as Dismember, Entombed, and its namesake, Grave, special: Dimed HM-2 pedals, Mesa/Boogie amplifiers, Marshall cabinets, and Jackson guitars. Nothing more, nothing less.

And yet, in an increasingly moribund new wave of old-school death metal scene, Brutally Deceased is so much more. What the quintet pulls off on Chasms, its fourth album, is killer if you love chainsaw-revving guitars and skin-flaying leads. While the band may maintain the no-magic party line, it exudes a quality only the greats possess. “No, really, death metal is something you live and breathe,” former member Tomáš Halama told Teeth of the Divine, “pure passion and obsession.”

Brutally Deceased is still fueled by pure passion, but it has grown, too. Once lumped in as a Dismember disciple by lazy writers (hi), the band has gotten progressively heavier. 2016’s Satanic Corpse showcased a newfound weightiness that rivaled Bloodbath’s original ‘Swedeath plus Floridian chunkiness’ cross-pollination efforts. (It also had “Hostile Earth,” a mixtape-dominating ripper featuring one of the sickest opening riffs in the style.) And now, after some member turnover, including the unfortunate passing of bassist Miroslav “Ubina” Ubias, Brutally Deceased has expanded its obsessions. It’s still making music in the Swedeath tradition, but it’s taking pointers from early New York DM heavies. If Morpheus Descends were converted fully into Sunlight Studios band, that’s Chasms.

Of course, what makes Brutally Deceased sound so fresh is that it’s evokes the familiar without being a carbon copy. The clobbering “Deus Mundi,” which opens Chasms without any unnecessary scene setting, has the hallmarks: the hornet-nest buzz, mutated Maiden leads, heavy metal drum fills, and gruff growls. But while it’s working within the idiom, Brutally Deceased has its own quirks. None of the old guard stomped the gas quite like these five do. Guitarists Adam Kulich and Marek Štembera, both from the sonic-booming black metal band Somniate, seem to take extra pleasure in pushing past the redline. The reason they’re allowed to rip is thanks to the super sturdy foundation laid down by bassist Petr Kleňha and drummer Tomáš Mařík, both of whom crush their duties with aplomb. Mařík, in particular, is a great addition, giving the blasts a more brutal preciseness while loosening things up with swinging fills. And lone original member Michal Štěpánek has so much character in his voice, setting himself apart from the style’s usual dimestore LG Petrov (RIP) worship. In other words, Brutally Deceased goes hard as hell, which is its own kind of magic. [From the Chasms, out now via Doomentia Records.] –Ian Chainey

8. Ætheria Conscientia – “Haesperadh”

Location: Nantes, France
Subgenre: progressive black metal

Ætheria Conscientia brings arthouse jazz and a kaleidoscope of progressive twists to black metal, creating a sound that’s alien and folksy — and unique — at once. The experimental French five-piece begins “Haesperadh” in cautious, curious fashion, plucking out a pretty and pensive melodic build. From there, it’s off to the vast reaches of Ætheria Conscientia’s sci-fi-addled mind — a playful bounce gives way to staccato blasting; a sax takes the reins for a while; imposing doom takes hold; and you’ll be surprised where you end up and what strange, alluring sights you’ll see along the way. “Haesperadh” is progressive, wide-ranging, and experimental, but it maintains a remarkably catchy, earthbound tune throughout that beats with organic warmth. It’s a characteristic that sets Ætheria Conscientia apart. Pulling in unexpected tones and shifts, the band makes it seem less like a foray into a far-flung future and more like an unusual, exotic growth within the world we know. [From The Blossoming, out now via Frozen Records.] –Wyatt Marshall

7. Malignancy – “Purity Of Purpose”

Location: Yonkers, NY
Subgenre: brutal death metal

Malignancy is a band worth emulating. “We are proud that we were always different and hope to inspire bands to push themselves to find their own sound,” guitarist Ron Kachnic writes about Maligancy’s legacy in an email sent through his publicist. “We put a lot of hard work into keeping this band alive for 30-plus years, pushing our blend of brutal technical death metal. It’s great to see so many younger fans getting into death metal. This also inspires us to keep writing the off-the-wall shit so they have something unique to grow up to as budding young death metallers.”

Written over 2017 while the oft-employed drummer Mike Heller was in between tours, …Discontinued, Malignancy’s fourth full-length, boasts the band’s trademark pinch harmonic-stuffed hysteria while hurtling toward a new level of death metal extremity. It’s a throwback to past markers of batshit brutality, such as Motivated by Hunger and Inhuman Grotesqueries, while eyeing a future when this album will still sound fresh even as other metalheads race to match it. For the Yonker’s institution, that has been its intention from the beginning.

“We always wanted futuristic death metal because we were sick of seeing and hearing the same shit rehashed by thousands of bands,” Kachnic acknowledges while describing Malignancy’s writing process. “One thing that’s great with Malignancy [is that] none of us write the whole song front to back. We build each [song] with riffs we bring to the table, and then we say, ‘Fuck it, let’s play every riff backward first because we can,’ haha.”

This build-it-better approach births songs like “Purity Of Purpose,” a blazing blaster that still buckles knees with powerful punches. There-from-the-beginning vocalist Danny Nelson reaches deep for from-the-gut gutturals. Kachnic shreds with a precise wildness that owes as much to hyperspeed death metal as brainy tech inspired by “Voivod and King Crimson.” And Heller and session bassist Jacob Schmidt (Defeated Sanity, Metharoma) nimbly navigate a labyrinth of rhythms with the urgency of a video game speedrunner. But for all of “Purity Of Purpose”‘s impressive flurries and head-spinning forays into the BDM equivalent of quantum mechanics, Malignancy still lets you chew on one hell of a show-stopping riff.

“I wrote the chunky riff to Heller’s drum riff, which he came up with in the middle of the track,” Kachnic writes about the absolute world-ender that sets up “Purity Of Purpose”‘s finale. “We usually write our songs from beginning to end or from end to beginning. The first riff was made to be that way, introducing the song and then trying to match each other with riff- and drum-wars until the song explodes.”

…Discontinued‘s sequencing similarly explodes, getting more frenzied and unhinged as it speeds along. By the closer “Biological Absurdity,” a title which might as well double as an explainer for Malignancy’s style, your brain has been pulped by an overload of stimuli. And for true sickos, there’s a joy in hearing a band locking in and just going for it that keeps …Discontinued bracing even after you’ve internalized its movements after many repeated listens. Considering the band’s telepathic tightness, it’s surprising to learn that each member recorded their parts separately at their respective home studios during the height of the pandemic, with the different sessions expertly spliced together by mixer Lasse Lammert. But perhaps that makes sense. Malignancy always sounded like engineered alien DNA that mutated in the lab and then mutilated all of the scientists. And even 30-plus years later, that bloodthirsty biological absurdity is still the band other death metal bands want to be. [From …Discontinued, out now via Willowtip Records] –Ian Chainey

6. Glyph – “Of The Caverns”

Location: USA
Subgenre: black metal

The one-person band Glyph has been on a heater since 2022, crafting a lo-fi black metal that is as acrobatic as it is atmospheric, churning out an album of the supremely high-quality stuff every year. The vision on display is one of twisted regal grandeur, with lead guitars that warp and wobble through monumental-scale subterranean worlds. “Of the Caverns,” the first track from Glyph’s new album, is a dark maelstrom lit by sparks of steel on stone as it rips through the underworld. An active bass makes what’s going on below as intriguing as the fire show above, and furious drumming is a constant, forceful presence alongside an earnest, vengeful rasp. There’s a grand structure in place on the track, a deliberate mapping underpinning and focusing the crazed anguish and rage that, in other hands, could feel chaotic. With gnarled edges and a bit of haze, you could put Glyph in the realm of raw black metal, but Glyph removes a layer or two of grime. In doing so, a resplendent and horrifying colossus is unearthed — long buried, ancient, and full of wrath. [From Odes of Wailing, Hymns of Mourning, out now via Shape of Storm Records, Weregnome Records, and Fiadh Productions.] –Wyatt Marshall

5. Dysrhythmia – “Coffin Of Conviction”

Location: Queens, NY
Subgenre: prog / thrash

Dysrhythmia can sound like you have woken up inside a math equation. Kevin Hufnagel (guitar), Colin Marston (bass, guitar), and Jeff Eber (drums) shred within the endless infinities between numbers. But despite its brain-borking experimental inclinations, instrumental prowess, and PhD-level compositional complexity, Coffin of Conviction, the trio’s ninth long-player, is pretty easy on the ears. All three musicians make sure to hammer in attention-grabbing holds onto these instrumental songs’ otherwise highly graded climbing surfaces. To put it another way, the hooks are like gold gilding on an ornate clock’s face. Inside that clock are a myriad of interlocking gears, but its sparkling surface provides plenty of pleasures.

Then again, it’s not like Dysrhythmia will be rocketing up the pop charts. “I’m not trying to make our music accessible, honestly,” Hufnagel said in an interview with Veil of Sound. “But I don’t think it’s that [complicated]. We’ve never set out to be the most extreme and experimental band ever. We could go a lot further in that direction if we wanted to. I just write what I think is interesting and has some feeling to it.”

That’s the other thing: Dysrhythmia never sounds clean-room clinical. Hufnagel’s playing doesn’t lack feeling. It lives, it breathes. That helps the ‘if Voivod recorded for Shrapnel Records’ side of the band land. It’s like what expert storytellers say is the most important part of spinning a good yarn: People care less about the contours of the tale but will remember the feelings forever.

Coffin of Conviction isn’t short on memorable material. The opening title track reprises some of the propulsive thrash-ish qualities of 2019’s excellent Terminal Threshold, particularly the bass-less, twin-guitar squiggliness of the centerpiece “Twin Stalkers.” Like that track, “Coffin of Conviction,” and the album that shares its same name, utilizes a newer writing process for Dysrhythmia. It begins with “drum ideas” that Hufnagel then builds riffs around, a flip on the prior process. Because of that songwriting shift, Coffin of Conviction has a more rhythmic quality. But, as Hufnagel has said, the biggest benefit is the guitar-second approach helps emphasize a sense of space. Every second of “Coffin of Conviction” could be overflowing with notes. Instead, that space adds another layer of rise and fall, creating this fascinatingly onion-like listening experience where different elements are rising and falling alongside each other. Even if you don’t immediately perceive the effect, you certainly feel it.

That said, it’s pretty easy to perceive “Coffin of Conviction”‘s riffs. They are as immediate as an ass kicking. After opening with one of the more deathly stretches of the band’s recent material, the song dives into Dysrhythmia’s trademark chiming, crystalline arpeggios. It’s kind of like the band is scoring a sci-fi movie featuring a spaceship deftly navigating the spiky surface of an asteroid made of glass. Eber’s drumming is fantastic, tasked with gluing all these parts together; Marston adds synth-y shading and contrasting points of interest; and Hufnagel is in typical Hufnagelian form, expanding the scope of what metal guitar can be while retaining a very heavy metal classicalism. Put simply, it’s math that feels. And, as always, it feels great. [From Coffin of Conviction, out now via Nightfloat Recordings and Nerve Altar.] –Ian Chainey

4. Abyssal – “Glacial”

Location: Tijuana, Mexico
Subgenre: funeral doom metal

Abyssal’s Fernando Ruiz knew long songs were an odyssey worth taking. “I’ve always been intrigued by bands doing long songs, like telling a story through music, creating a space where you can just get lost in the song without realizing how much time has passed,” the funeral doom band’s frontperson writes in an email. “The way it happened to me [was] listening to El Mundo Frio by Corrupted for the first time. I loved that experience. Since my former crust band, I began writing longer songs that were about 10-15 minutes. But now, in funeral doom’s BPMs, it translates to around 40 minutes per song.”

True to Ruiz’s word, Glacial, the Tijuana, Mexico, project’s seventh full-length, is a single song clocking in at 43 minutes, a slight uptick from 2022’s outstanding 40-minute A Deep Sea Funeral. Glacial shares some commonality with that previous album: [Mizmor’s] A.L.N. returns to produce; the music favors a dynamic, loud/quiet Corrupted sludge trudge that emphasizes the form’s meditative qualities; and there’s something of a coincidental carryover water theme in the titles. However, the two albums are processing different emotions.

“The similarity is there, as the songwriting in both is trying to get you to fall into a sort of trance, where even as it is loud and crushing, you can get lost in the song, like you mention, inducing a sonic meditation,” Ruiz explains. “But the albums’ themes are very different. A Deep Sea Funeral was mostly based on anger, frustration, and sadness about the exploitation of the oceans and the extinction of a porpoise of the upper Gulf of California: the vaquita Marina. Glacial is a more personal album, one that I used to let go of feelings of loss and despair and the coldness of time. It turned out darker, more oppressive than the former.”

Glacial is indeed darker, using a starker palette of timbres. Ruiz, who handles vocals, guitars, and bass on the album, is joined by session drummer Fernando Morales and longtime member Luna on “additional spoken words.” For one exception, all three set their contributions to crushing dismalness in all possible volumes. For instance, “Glacial” begins with a slow build of quietly despondent guitars. Soon, that first strum of deafening distortion kicks in, mirroring the album artwork created by Primitive Man/Vermin Womb’s Ethan Lee McCarthy, a textured miasma of harsh blacks and grays. From there, the song acts like an exorcism of negativity, delving deep into pitch-black portions of the soul, something that’s effectively conveyed via the various sections with whispered vocals.

“Some of those whispers were just letting pain go and playing with my voice, using it as an instrument for the ambiance,” Ruiz notes. “Other parts are words meant for me, for when I listen, to remember how to let go of certain emotions. On most albums, there are little nuances, things that make the experience more present for me when listening or playing the song.”

And that’s Glacial, really: a way to learn how to release and unburden oneself from a great sense of loss while remaining present in the moment. That hits the hardest during a more tranquil section at the 28-minute mark that sounds like a shaft of sunlight through the clouds. “I like how you describe it, ‘a shaft of sunshine through the clouds,’ Ruiz comments. “That section is about acceptance, realizing there are always options. There’s a darkness to that part, but there is also a bit of light in there, a hope for better days.”

So, does playing this material dark take a toll on Ruiz either physically or emotionally? “Yes, it’s sometimes complicated when you are dealing with emotions that normally are buried,” Ruiz admits. “It takes its toll, as you are face to face with them throughout composing, listening, and going through the process until you get that sound that clicks with the emotion. It is not an easy road, but in the end, it’s gratifying as you get to digest difficult situations and feelings and leave them only in the music. Physically, I’d say my back when moving the gear around. I guess that’s why It’s called “heavy” music? Hahaha.”

Good jokes aside, part of Abyssal’s sonic heaviness is derived from its asceticism. Glacial consists mainly of vocals, guitars, bass, and percussion, a conscious choice for Ruiz that allows the musician to get more creative with what’s available.

“I try to keep things as minimal as possible, but I have played around with different instrumentation like cello and percussion on other releases,” Ruiz explains. “However, most of the composition is austere, which presents a challenge and an opportunity to dive into new sounds with the same instruments. Learning about controlling feedback, playing with weird guitar pedals, and such makes the songwriting process a great learning experience, and with each album, I learn something new that opens possibilities for the next one.”

No matter where Abyssal heads on the next epic, after three excellent albums in a row, there’s no doubt that it’ll continue to be able to maintain a strong sense of drama and tension over its long-lasting runtime.

“This is the fun part,” Ruiz writes. “It’s hard to keep something slow, repetitive, and interesting for over half an hour, and that’s what I try to accomplish, for the song to develop gradually, bringing up the intensity until you hit the story’s climax. When writing, I work a lot on space and timing, and begin filling in empty spaces so even though it is still the same beat, different elements emerge to keep the song evolving.”

When it comes to a career-long evolution, hopefully Abyssal’s is as long as the songs it creates. [From Glacial, out now via Transylvanian Recordings.] –Ian Chainey

3. A. Y​ó​lotl – “Cihuacuacualtzin”

Location: Mexico
Subgenre: atmospheric black metal

“Cihuacuacualtzin” begins softly, a meditative walk in the rain with the past on the mind. Then, it explodes, fireworks splashing across the night sky in rainbow waves, sonic booms provided by hammered-out drumwork while shrieks rain down like meteors across the scene. “Cihuacuacualtzin” is the lead single from the self-titled debut of A. Y​ó​lotl, yet another Victoria Hazemaze project that blends black metal and shoegaze to gorgeous, dream-like effect. We actually featured the lead single from this album in the column last August, and that song showed a new personal, intimate angle to Hazemaze’s work under this new moniker — elsewhere in her stable of projects, as Blitzar IV, she explores far-reaches of the cosmos, while as Oculi Melancholiarum, she navigates some kind of ethereal gothic shoegazy fantasy.

Wherever her creative mind wanders, she wields the instruments of metal — guitars, drums, and so on — along with an array of ethereal synths, to produce unusual outcomes, works of strange nostalgic beauty, music full of wonder and cautious curiosity. At times, on “Cihuacuacualtzin,” you get glimpses of what it might sound like if Cranes and Enya teamed up to form a black metal black metal band. (For Damián Antón Ojeda fans, seeing kindred spirits in one another’s prolific impressionistic outputs, Hazemaze has done splits with both Sadness and Trhä.) It’s a gorgeous song, a stellar example of Hazemaze’s work and the never-ending marvels that exist in the far-flung corners of the metal spectrum. [From A. Y​ó​lotl, out now via Fiadh Productions.] –Wyatt Marshall

2. Aseitas – “Tiamat”

Location: Portland, OR
Subgenre: death metal

It may be cliché, but you can find out a lot about a band through the name it chooses. “The concept of ‘Aseitas’ characterizes self-caused existence,” Aseitas writes in an email. “Since our start, the principles of independence have been central in our process. All of our songs start with themes, which birth endless variations that we combine, integrate, and twist beyond recognition. This leaves the song with a consistent musical DNA, no matter where we take it.”

The Portland quartet takes it quite a few places on Eden Trough, its third full-length. Though clocking in at a svelt sub-30-minute runtime, the five-song album feels much grander and wide-ranging due to its adventurous experimentalism that leaves few stylistic stones unturned. Put more simply, it has earned the RIYL going around of “Car Bomb meets Ehnahre.”

“Some fans have described us as ‘evil jazz,’ Aseitas adds. “Our nods to Charles Mingus and Eric Dolphy became most prominent on Eden Trough, going so far as to reference the head of ‘Meditations on Integration.'” Other influences run the gamut, from “King Crimson, Igor Stravinsky, Guided By Voices, Gorguts, Gojira, Intronaut, Demilich, Celtic Frost, Nails, and countless more.” Even Ludwig Goranssön’s Tenet score inspired a snippet of “Alabaster Bones,” one of two epics on Elden Trough‘s second half.

Speaking of, “Alabaster Bones” has another interesting influence. On an album with fascinatingly short lyrical lines, these clipped impressions that read like how a camera’s flash looks, “Alabaster Bones”‘s lyrics stretch out, reflecting the punishing post-apocalyptic vastness of its inspiration. “Before any lyrics were penned for ‘Alabaster Bones,’ there was a clear vision to its instrumental writing, thematically based on The Road by Cormac McCarthy,” Aseitas explains. “Structurally, each section of the song was associated with a specific element of the story. Adapting a 300-page book into a seven-minute song is a major effort in distillation, so more lyrics were necessary to convey the story.”

And that’s what Aseitas continually excels at throughout Eden Trough: distilling reams of information down to wonderfully evocative songs that revel in the joys of the journey. The band blazes new trails while setting aside time to construct memorable motifs that stick in your mind. As an example, the two-and-a-half-minute instrumental “Null Adam/Null Eve” excels at both approaches, proving that Aseitas doesn’t have to go long to make an impact.

“Continuing on the concept of motifs, ‘Null Adam/Null Eve’ encapsulates sections from a few songs; ‘Null Adam’ interprets the ‘Libertine Captor’ motif, and ‘Null Eve’ exploits chords from ‘Break the Neck of Every Beautiful Thing,'” Aseitas notes. “Null Adam/Null Eve,” then, becomes this beautiful little jewel in the center of the storm. It’s a breather, but it’s clever sequencing, snapping an aural picture of Eden Trough‘s front half by subtly highlighting, reinstilling, and reinventing some of its finest moments. It’s the Aseitas MO in action, to “combine, integrate, and twist beyond recognition.” And because “Null Adam/Null Eve” additionally foreshadows a future section in the album’s following song, it’s also a fine segue to Eden Trough’s headiest work, “Tiamat.”

As Aseitas says, “Writing was a balance of indulgence and keeping things lean,” and that’s no clearer than on “Tiamat.” The 10-minute penultimate brain-melter is the epitome of what makes Eden Trough unique. “‘Tiamat’ was conceived with a mind to explore counterpoint guitarwork,” and, jeez, do the guitars get a workout here. The opening riff is that prog death good stuff. Guitarists Gage Dean, who also plays bass, and Travis Forencich keep that riff moving, continually iterating on its badassery while it dips and dives through numerous permutations. Drummer Zack Rodrigues stuns with an avalanche of rhythms that always land in the right spots. And vocalist Nathan Nielson is able to dexterously dart in and out of the pocket while maintaining a varied and engaging delivery. Then, at 4:40, “Tiamat” takes a turn toward one of the best stretches of metal this year. After a brief reset with quieter guitars, Aseitas launches into a glorious section that’s like if Opeth commandeered Nothing-era Meshuggah. It is absolute bliss if you’re a particular type of metal fan. And the fact that this song fosters flow states that make it feel like a tenth of its actual length is a sonic miracle for a work this dense and complex.

Naturally, that brings up two big questions about Aseitas’s compositional prowess. When working with songs that are this detailed and multifaceted, how does the band map all of these components out? How do they make it flow so well? “The writing of Eden Trough started in 2019, so these songs were cooking for a good four years before we tracked them,” Aseitas explains. “Since we’re always pushing our own bounds of complexity, there’s constant shifts in how we write. There’s value in having one person focusing on a song, as well as writing as a group. Individually, we’ll record demos that initially involve many broad strokes. The band then learns from these demos before coming together to refine them. Working as a group brings an organic quality; following our intuitions is key to making the material flow.”

Prone to refine while following its intuition. That is Aseitas’s consistent musical DNA. And on Eden Trough, it takes the band far. [From Eden Trough, out now via Total Dissonance Worship.] –Ian Chainey

1. Vuur & Zijde – “Naakt”

Location: The Netherlands
Subgenre: blackened post-punk

On their 2020 debut, a split with the German black metal band Impavida, Vuur & Zijde introduced their surrealist vision of atmospheric black metal, dropping listeners into an off-kilter and swirling maelstrom of uneasy riffs, with vocalist F’s clean, wailing alto beckoned forebodingly from beyond. We wrote about Vuur and Zijde (“Fire and Silk”) in our May column that year, which also happened to feature a deep dive intro piece into the thriving Dutch black metal scene that, for nearly a decade, has been putting out some of the most compelling music in the broader genre. Vuur & Zijde are smack in the middle of that interconnected community — the band comprises members of influential Dutch black metal bands Laster, Terzij de Hoed, Silver Knife, Nusquama, and others. Across the scene, it feels like you could link any band to another via a shared member, navigating across a spider web still being woven.

Four years later, Vuur & Zijde are back and even better on their debut full-length, which is coming out on Prophecy Productions. They’re leaning more into post-punk now, a combo that didn’t seem like it would be so natural on their debut but works perfectly in the band’s dark palette of shimmering, melting technicolor and shifting shadows. They’ve slowed things down here and there, too, and they’re letting clearer-eyed beauty seep through the beds of unsettling guitars. F’s vocals are right up front, gorgeously narrating an unsettling tale on “Naakt,” while the meandering bass adds a sense of delirious mischief. It’s another remarkable work coming out of the seemingly endless font of black metal magic that’s sprung in The Netherlands. [From Boezem, out 7/12 via Prophecy Productions.] –Wyatt Marshall

BONUS: Scarcity – “The Promise Of Rain”

Location: New York, NY
Subgenre: black metal

In “Tales From an Attic,” a piece published in the American Scholar on what to do with patients’ suitcases discovered at the shuttered Willard Asylum, writer Sierra Bellows grappled with empathy, particularly how to process such an intimate glimpse into strangers’ lives. “Someone told me once that sharing your life with a partner is consolation for only being allowed to live one life,” Bellows wrote. “That when you know someone else intimately, when you participate in the daily joy and sadness that person feels, it is as close as you can come to living more than one life. It seems to me that we need that consolation many times over, in many forms.”

Scarcity’s second album, The Promise of Rain, touches on that kind of consolation. One could say it’s what kickstarted its genesis. Because what is a band if not a partnership uniting many lives?

When it came time to play shows in support of its outstanding debut, Aveilut, Scarcity expanded into a full band. Joining Brendon Randall-Myers (guitars) and Doug Moore (vocals) were Dylan DiLella (guitars), Tristan Kasten-Krause (bass), and Lev Weinstein (drums). Reproducing Aveilut, an intense album with many sonic layers, became a test of the new quintet’s chops. “I think all of us enjoyed the sicko challenge of playing [Aveilut],” Randall-Myers said to fellow Stereogum frequenter Brad Sanders in a Decibel article. The well-received live shows became a testament to the talent of its players, turning a purposefully introspective work into something that meaningfully resonated with packed audiences.

When the sickos expressed interest in recording an album, Randall-Myers started writing new music. Where Aveilut looked inward, using its multivarious density to mirror the stages of grief, The Promise of Rain looks outward. The band had the stage in mind and carried that energy into the studio, producing an immediate-feeling record that sounds like you’re sitting in the room with the members. And Scarcity is playing more streamlined and stickier music, too, a commitment to hookiness that extends to Randall-Myers and DiLella’s riffs and leads, Kasten-Krause and Weinstein’s rhythms, or Moore’s singing. “This time, when I was composing the vocals,” Moore told Decibel, “it was meant to be catchier, more intelligible to the human ear, and therefore easier to perform.” (Doug used to write this column, which is why Scarcity is in the bonus section.)

Still, this is Scarcity. Abrasive riffs strobe like an alarm and pulse like a fear-flooded heart, creating a cacophonous call and response. Blast beats blow through like gales. Screams incinerate your eardrums. It might be catchier, but it’s no less powerful, flexing the same patient build and forceful kineticism as a high-category hurricane. But, like Aveilut, The Promise of Rain allows Scarcity to work stuff out below the maelstrom.

The incredible artwork by Christian Degn Petersen is based on a photo snapped by Caroline Harrison during a 2023 trip with Moore to the arid Mojave Desert in southern Utah, a wind-blown biome with mesas and spires jutting out from the ground like burrs on goathead seeds. “To thrive in the desert is an act of abnegation,” Moore noted in The Promise of Rain‘s promo copy, “you do right by the land and receive its gifts, or it does away with you.”

The Promise of Rain‘s title track explores whether to receive the gifts or be swept away. It’s definitely desert-y if you want it to be. Kasten-Krause and Weinstein’s ever-present undulating rhythms could represent the pervasive heat, forcing its way even into the shadows. Randall-Myers and DiLella’s guitars could represent various elements of erosion carving out the landscape. And Moore’s screams could represent the living beings that find themselves in this harsh environment.

But Scarcity’s strength is leaving the music open to interpretation. To my ears, “The Promise of Rain” feels so much like finding acceptance in one’s given situation. Unlike The Promise of Rain‘s opener, the thrillingly caustic “In The Basin Of Alkaline Grief,” Randall-Myers and DiLella’s riffs feel more in sync, giving the song a more assured, unified quality. Then, there are the lyrics, some of the best of Moore’s career. “For I, too, am marred and strange,” he sings. “By sun and wind and stars deplored/ A vagrant flood, a moth to flame,/ Adoring your unearthly forms.”

Life can feel like a desert in this modern age that prioritizes disconnection. Finding like-minded souls can feel few and far between when you’re navigating the various mesas and spires, the joys and sadness, on your path. But, like how a desert is full of life if you look for it, what if those souls are there and you’re not open to the gift? Acceptance and empathy, then, open you up to those other lives, those similarly marred and strange. Because when you live in a desert, isn’t the chance of another day with another life the same as the promise of rain? [From The Promise of Rain, out 7/12 via The Flenser.] –Ian Chainey

HYMNS OF BLASPHEMOUS IRREVERENCE

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