Cards on the table—this review is late. Really late. We got the promo, but it went unclaimed, and it wasn’t until I picked up Lynx’s Trinity of Suns for personal enjoyment that I listened. Before I finished my first spin, I knew I had to Filter it. And that’s exactly what I did. I sat down to write my 200ish words about Lynx’s sophomore album, and the words spilled out. Too many, actually. I described how every subsequent journey through Trinity of Suns deepens my appreciation for Lynx’s retro rock, and soon I realized I had more to say than a limited word count would allow. Over the last month, Lynx has enraptured me with their sultry siren song, entrenching Trinity of Suns as a mainstay for commutes and chores. Rather than saving it as a Thing You Might Have Missed, though, I dared to write the counter-breaking missive I hoped my betters would permit. I begged. I cajoled. I cashed in the scant favors and political capital I’ve accrued since joining the staff to get this thing published. Was it worth it? If you’re reading these words, you’re damn right it was.

Between releasing 2021’s Watcher of Skies and follow-up Trinity of Suns, Lynx underwent a transformation I can only describe as transcendent. Huck N Roll offered some pointed criticism for their debut, a slab of 70s hard rock worship in the vein of Thin Lizzy and Blue Öyster Cult. Specifically, Huck noted that the songwriting was as unrefined as guitarist Marvin Keifer’s vocal performance, and the wanton surfeit of cymbals debilitated the listening experience. Five years later, Lynx obliterates whatever expectations listeners set based on Watcher of Skies. Most notably, Trinity of Suns introduces Amy Zine as full-time lead vocalist1—a decision that catapults Lynx’s potential into the Skies. Just as importantly, though, Lynx displays more restraint and maturity in their arrangements to wonderful effect.

Though the core of Lynx’s identity remains the same, the band deftly incorporates inspirations to elevate their sound. Rather than relegating the best moments to snappy intros, Trinity of Suns steeps its compositions in throwback, classic rock drama. “Stranger Sign in the Sky” boasts a Rushified break that harkens to “By-Tor and the Snow Dog,” while “Oppressive Season” starts with an intro that could pass for a lost Jimmy Buffet cut before tumbling into a Thin Lizzy tizzy. “Seven Days of Darkness,” meanwhile, melds the majesty of Pink Floyd psychedelia with the soulful intimacy of Tanith’s starkest emotional moments, eliciting a warm, heartfelt fuzz that pairs perfectly with the desert-ready palette Lynx paints with. The resulting thirty-nine minutes simmer with subtle heat, proving how the songwriting has evolved over the last half-decade.

\In addition to more fluid song structures, Lynx unchains stunning performances across Trinity of Suns. Amy Zine’s smoky vocals cut to my core, whether she’s belting out head-bopping choruses (“Island Universe”) or caressing with a tender croon (“Seven Days of Darkness”), and I simply cannot get enough. Still, as fabulous as her contributions are,2 they don’t carry Trinity of Suns alone. Everyone else in Lynx pitches in with guitars, though they’re primarily supplied by Tim Künz and Janni Athanasiadis. In addition to his gorgeous acoustic twangs on “Seven Days of Darkness,” Franz Fesel ably commands drums from the pocket while Phil Helm rumbles with luxurious yet understated bass. Honestly, Lynx’s low-end locks into such powerful grooves that Trinity of Suns would be undermined and underserved with a lesser performance, and if you need any convincing, go listen to the back-to-back tandem of “Oppressive Season” and “Trinity of Suns.”

Lynx is a band that understands the assignment, and Trinity of Suns should be enough to convince anyone that this kitty has claws. My only unfulfilled desire from Trinity of Suns is a three-minute banger nestled after “Voyager” or “Oppressive Season” where the entire band goes hog-fucking-wild. “Oppressive Season” comes closest, though holds back enough to avert the pandemonium I crave. With the talent Lynx brandishes, I’d love to hear them cut completely loose. Otherwise, Trinity of Suns accomplishes everything I want from a band of Lynx’s ilk, and each time “Island Universe” concludes, I’m left even more smitten. Whatever these cats do next, I’ll be there.

Rating: Great!
DR: 9 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Dying Victims Productions
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: April 24th, 2026

Blindead’s third album Affliction XXIX II MXMVI is one of the most underrated classics of the 2010s. The Polish band’s sound was bigger than its fanbase, tragically, but that didn’t stop them from releasing an ambitious concept album whose stars aligned in both sound and lyrical themes. Rooted in the enigmatic and mammoth style of post-metal, the grey world it painted with broad sludge brushstrokes portrayed the experiences and perceptions of a child with ASD: “The shape of a city stood in the grayness, like a charcoal drawing sketched across the waste” (“Dark and Gray”). Alongside titles like Amia Venera Landscape’s The Long Procession and Dirge’s Elysian Magnetic Fields, Blindead was included on a long list of post-metal deep cuts that lay below the decade’s surface.

In spite of the laziest band name, Blindead 23 is the reincarnation of the act, this time armed with a star-studded lineup. The core of long-time guitarist Mateusz Śmierzchalski (aka Havoc, former Behemoth guitarist from 2000-03) and vocalist Patryk Zwoliński, Blindead 23 is rounded out by drummer Pawel “Pavulon” Jaroszewicz (known for his time in Vltimas, Vader, and Decapitated) and guitarist Roger Öjersson (known for his time in Katatonia). After the relative fizzle of Blindead’s final post-metal/alt rock albums Absence and Ascension, and the outta left field punk swansong Niewiosna, Blindead 23 returns to its roots with a tried-and-true blend of post-metal hugeness and hardcore intensity, sounding right at home with the likes of Rosetta, Neurosis, and Mouth of the Architect. First LP Deuterium is a love song to post-metal, a welcome return that won’t turn too many heads – but it’s the riffiest and the dirgiest post-metal that is both overlong and extremely promising.

Blessedly, the Blindead 23’s riffs are truly a force of nature, amplified by Öjersson’s soulful trademark melodies. The opening “Immersion” suite offers you a front-and-center attack that showcases the intensity and range – chuggy riffs and ominous melodies collide in formidable intensity. The more intense portions take on a nearly mechanical, death metal-bordering heaviness thanks to choppy staccato chugs and cold atmospheric tricks (“Immersion II,” title track), while solos and cleans inject the necessary humanity to keep them from wallowing in industrial aloofness (“Immersion I” and “II,” “Wither,” title track). Other tracks happen upon a more hardcore-inspired approach, chaotic movements, and shifty rhythms recalling the likes of Black Sheep Wall and Knut (“Worst Laid Plans”), Jaroszewicz’s drums laying a foundation of shifting sands.

The fifty-four-minute runtime is both a blessing and a curse for Blindead 23: while it allows them the breath to explore all their facets, it drags on the slower moments to a snail’s crawl. While the more hypnotic and dirgelike pieces can be bolstered by an eerie atmosphere (“Immersion II”), they have the potential to drag on for way too long and rob the band of the intensity they have effectively established (“Wither”), and even good tracks can feel a few minutes too long (“Worst Laid Plans”). While range is the name of the game, a few tricks feel too out-of-left-field, such as the bluesy and twangy plucking or jazzy melodies (“Toward the Dark”) or a surprising optimism that clashes with the overall darkness of the debut (“You Are the Universe”). However, this is not Blindead – it’s Blindead 23 – and it’s better that a band explore all avenues instead of just playing it safe.

Deuterium is the sound of a band hungry for the return, but not to the way things were. Already, a revolving door of contributors make Deuterium a distinct sound compared to 2024 debut EP Vanishing, and it shows in a solid output that sounds like the veterans they are. While the inconsistency is jarring and the sprawl leads to the excessive runtime, individual star power with an immensity greater than the sum of its parts graces the Polish juggernaut in an exploration of all avenues. An embarrassment of riches awaits them. Deuterium may not be their magnum opus, but it’s the prelude for Blindead 23.

Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3
Label: Peaceville Records
Website: facebook.com/blindead23
Releases Worldwide: April 22nd, 2026

Me Saco Un Ojo Records has fast become one of my favorite death metal labels, signing bands whose music sates my sickened sweet tooth and reeks with the dirty, rotten, filthy, stinking, rich stench of death! Warranted tags that also describe Costa Rica’s newest OSDM export and Me Saco Un Ojo rosterlings, Candarian. Inspired by early 90s death metal, guitarist Christopher G. De Haan and bassist/vocalist José Pablo Phillips (Astriferous) birthed Candarian in 2020, gigging extensively throughout their local scene on the strength of a handful of songs that would eventually end up on their 2022 demo, Stagnant Livor Mortis—a meaty morsel of moldy maleficence. Four years further down the cemetery path with tandem label partner Memento Mori in tow and that charmingly grotesque Grant Hatfield cover art in hand, Candarian prepare to dump their debut bucket of blood, Trepanación, on you, and the heads of unsuspecting prom queens everywhere. Having precariously lived through the original 90s death metal wave, I was curious to see whether Candarian would have any fresh ideas to offer. Is Trepanación the death shroud I’ll cozily wrap myself up in on a cold night, or will it have me praying for someone to strap me down and drill a hole in my skull, too?

Candarian peddle in plague-laden, gore-soaked, horror-themed OSDM, with Trepanación serving up steaming bowls of slop bloated with chunks of Incantation and Autopsy. Not entirely original perhaps, but still not a bad place from which to draw inspiration, especially if well executed. Which Candarian does, sans feats of technical wizardry, as De Haan and fellow string-slayer Felipe Tencio (Astriferous) opt instead to perform ear-hole surgery with a Golgothan bag full of rusty, tremoloed riffs, serrated squealies, and mangled, meat-hammered chugs (“Altars and Ancestors”). On drums stretched taut with human skin, blunt force butcher Pablo Umaña keeps the Candarian brain-drill from boring any errant head holes while Phillips, whose bass lines lurk and gurgle below like blood-clogged lungs (“Psychosurgery Ecstasy”) and whose cavernous bellows strike a very John McEntee chord, rounds out the cadaverous quartet. It’s clear these Ticos know death metal.

Candarian muscles their way through Trepanación with biceps built on strongwriting. Shifts in tone and pace within tracks are written with alacrity and performed with a transitional maturity that never feels forced or too abrupt. Basking in beams of light cast by “The Ibex Moon,”1 the ghoulishly fun “Zombie Miscarriage” morphs smoothly from down-tuned tremolo-monstrous riffs over lumbering double-bass rolls to drunkenly swerving doom chords and mid-paced chug ‘n squeals, all punctuated by Phillips’ rancorous roars. Another limb retaining some viably meaty moments is “Relinquished Viscera,” its sluggish, Morbificated opening riffs acquiescing easily to speedier harmonic leads and oft-used pus-pinching harmonics. The last of my odious shoutouts goes to album closer “Vilipendio del Cadaver”2 which sweats Mental Funeral-filled beads of ichor as it trudges and stomps a path filled with doomy goodness, Sabbathian trills, and a swingy section that could give “In the Grip of Winter” a run for its money.

Candarian hit the nail on the head of 90s death metal. Paying tribute to their influences without sounding overtly derivative and accomplishing this through a production that maintains just the right amount of rawness to stay menacing without devolving into the overly cloudy, reverberant depths of early cavern-core. Manageably brief, with a runtime barely cresting 33 minutes, Trepanación tends to feel longer than it is, thanks in part to all the inter-song twists and turns and to four of the seven tracks exceeding the 5-minute mark. Not a major knock, but it was something I felt on all my play-throughs. Working most against them, without having done anything egregiously bad or exceptionally good, is Candarian’s throwback “no more but no less” approach, as this can only take them so far. Which also reinforces guidance I once received from one wizened, hairy primate related to scoring death metal of this ilk.

If you’re ever in the mood for better than passable, old-school, filthy death metal, the Me Saco Un Ojo roster—Cryptworm, Invictus, Phrenelith, Ossuary, Diabolizer and many more among them—does not disappoint. Candarian, a band I’ll certainly be keeping tabs on, is another fine addition, and you could do a lot worse than spend an afternoon or three getting skull fucked by Trepanación.

Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320kbps mp3
Label: Me Saco Un Ojo | Memento Mori
Websites: Bandcamp | Instagram
Releases Worldwide: April 27th, 2026

You may note that I haven’t published a full review in more than a week. You may also note that my most recent contribution to AMG Productions was a ranking for the best of death metal’s old guard. You may peek at the score below and question my ability to remain objective in light of my recent musical diet. But worry not, dear reader! Objectivity is my prime objective, Fairness and Justice my guiding lights. You can rest assured that this review of Ignobleth’s debut LP, Manor of Primitive Anticreation, contains naught but Unbiased and Very Correct Opinions™.

Hailing from northern Italy, Ignobleth peddles a unique blend of black and death metal. This trio, comprised of A.L. on guitar, A.B. on bass and vocals, and M.O. on drums, combines the esoteric psychosis of Ritual Ascension with the grime and filth of Rotpit and an HM2 pedal. The result is a worship service held in the darkest recesses of a city sewer system. Murky, mangy riffs echo and multiply as they careen down lightless, sweating passageways, and haunted rasps reverberate in the mire. Together, Ignobleth creates an oppressive and turbid atmosphere, most acutely felt on “Proselyte Pig I” and “And the Lunar Mass Shatters.” The loping, swinging main riff of the former evokes gothic, vaudevillian horror, while M.O.’s icy kit work on the latter encourages eldritch panic.

Speaking of M.O., his percussive assault is perhaps the highlight of Manor of Primitive Anticreation, but not for the reason you might think. Indeed, he effortlessly oscillates between blackened blasts, death-infused rhythms, and punky beats (“Warped Abyssal Architecture,” “Forked Tongues”), but the predominance of the drums here is largely a result of a very subpar production job. Vocals and drums are centered on an unnecessarily wide sound stage with strings as far left and right as they can go, and as a result, each track feels less like a cohesive song and more like instruments playing at the same time. And while A.L.’s guitar is fairly clear when spotlighted for leads and hooks, the second the rest of the band joins in, it becomes barely audible mush. Prime examples include “Obelisk of Deformity,” which, during faster paced sections, becomes a wall of indeterminable sound, and “Proselyte Pig II,” which drowns its main riff in vat of sludge, such that I can barely hear more than two notes when I know A.L. is playing several more.

Would that the woes of Manor of Primitive Anticreation stopped there. Ignobleth includes an intro and three separate interludes on an album spanning only 11 tracks (“Intro,” “Spores,” “Interlude: Lecherous Sex Magick,” and “Manor of Primitive Anticreation”1). Interludes and ambient pieces can work, but here, they’re little more than minorly spooky synths, garbled spoken word, and choral bits that annoyingly interrupt the main course. Manor of Primitive Anticreation boldly includes even more ambience in the outro of “And the Lunar Mass Shatters,” and the last two minutes of album closer, “Among the Seventy-Two Embalmed Ekpyrotic Gods.” Even if the pacing were tighter and less stilted, the songwriting itself leaves much to be desired. Repetition runs rampant through the album (“Among…,” “Proselyte Pig I,” “Obelisk of Deformity”), blunting riffs and passages that could have bitten much harder. There’s also an overreliance on wordless howls over mildly furious instrumental sections. It’s so frequent that song structures seem composed almost entirely of bridges and solos with few verses or choruses to be found, compounding the album’s repetitive tendencies.

This has been a frustrating album to work with. While Ignobleth’s tone is deliciously vile, the songwriting and production leave me deeply disappointed. Over several spins, I got the distinct impression that Manor of Primitive Anticreation isn’t blackened death metal so much as something that sounds vaguely like it. It’s fine in the background, but direct attention reveals it to be a shallow imitation. Much of Manor of Primitive Anticreation seems geared toward a live audience—song structures, tone, prevalence of blast beats—and I have no doubt that it fucks quite hard in such a setting. Unfortunately, this style does not translate well to a studio production, much less the review process.

Rating: 1.5/5.0
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Caligari Records
Websites: Bandcamp | Instagram
Releases Worldwide: April 17th, 2026

Written By: Aleken’s Gunstrosity

Every year has one magical moment that I look forward to with great anticipation: the first metal release that wows me enough to think it’ll be my AotY. It’s an electric sensation, and it just so happens that Alekhines Gun brought first lightning to my world this year, in the form of atmospheric post-black metal band Silaera’s debut record, An Aberration of the Void. The Chicagoan triplet, established in 2019 as a one-man project, rounded out their lineup with a bassist and a second guitarist last year as they recorded their striking debut. Complete with a stunning Burke piece adorning its cover, An Aberration of the Void left Gun and I with our jaws on the floor, so much so that we had no choice but to write this review together. Two different voices, one unified piece.

An Aberration of the Void is an apt moniker for Silaera’s first outing, as the band masterfully wields all of black metal’s forms as if they were intrinsic properties of their very being. At once gorgeous, frightening, triumphant, and evil, An Aberration of the Void recalls the sweeping flares of Mare Cognitum (“A Celestial Grave”), the gentle caress of Noltem (the first quarter of “Fall into Cosmic Sleep”), the fervent dissonance of Vimur (“From Entropic Dust”), and the devastating heft of the altogether more vicious Keres (“Abhorring the Lifting of Eyes, the middle third of “Fall into Cosmic Sleep”). Yet, Silaera’s talent for transitions and assembly manage to craft a vision like visiting an alien planet; you’ve seen planets before, but none like this, and trying to classify its place in the cosmos in relation to other stars is a waste of time. This planet simply is. An Aberration’s production conjures specters of the celestial in similar fashion, transversely aligning full, rich chords, cavernous reverb, and a deep low end against crystalline shimmers and bright midranges. The result is a magical composition of unknown and unknowable beauty churning with the destructive energy of a collapsing star.

If you need a quick peak into the nebula awaiting, point your telescopes to “Abhorring the Lifting of Eyes,” a masterstroke of composition, creativity, and unpredictability. Launching with a sparkling1 trem-heavy intro, it glides into a long-form riff of cosmic mysticism before variating into a brutally heavy crush, which then spontaneously combusts into a jagged groove attack liable to snap your neck like a toothpick. Tellingly, vocals take a dumbfounding length of time to kick in, but aren’t noticed in their absence until they make their presence known—this serves only to enhance their impact. Moments of contrast like this abound on An Aberration, giving new meaning to the term “beauty and the beast,” but few hit harder than “From Entropic Dust” and epic closer “Fall into Cosmic Sleep” when they offset their impeccable atmospheric allure with deadly swings and terrifying dissonance. Imagine if Cosmic Putrification wrote an album about their feelings and had it produced by Blackbraid, and you’ll almost get it. Silaera takes their songwriting chiaroscuro even further, morphing and mutating phrases with each repetition so radically as to redefine, but never estrange, the tones and textures of the next measure.

That songwriting makes An Aberration of the Void engaging and stimulating from start to finish in spite of its uniformly long-form construction. You’d expect a record where no song falls below six minutes to feature some bloat, but not here. Not a moment wasted, An Aberration arranges compelling choices and elevating decorations around every corner, on both the songwriting and production front. The snare positively crackles and pops when devolving into ferocious blasts, but sibilates and snaps instead during gentler phrases to emphasize mood and atmosphere to great effect (“A Celestial Gaze”). A throaty rasp informs the more intense sections while guttural roars evoke a lurking monstrosity when the moment calls for something more ominous (“Fall into Cosmic Sleep”). Riffs pummel and pound with the terrible force of black holes, but delicate melodies ascend beyond the heavens in tandem to uplift the listener as the event horizon guarantees their final destination (“Abhorring the Lifting of Eyes,” “Fall into Cosmic Sleep”). This interplay of contrast and complement, paired with meticulous detailing, is the unfathomable core of An Aberration of the Void, and the main reason why it universally captivates my attention.

Criticisms are extremely difficult to commit to, not just for me, but also for Gun. Neither one of us felt any held water for longer than a few moments. We nonetheless noted that, for some, Silaera’s disparate references could feel disjointed in the moment,2 with cohesion only coming after focused spins. An Aberration of the Void also does not escape common genre trappings: maximum reverb, more runtime dedicated to slower paces than outright aggression, arpeggios everywhere. But in execution, these small points of contention feel like inseparable parts of the cosmos Silaera created, and what a wondrous cosmos it is.

Rating Consensus: Great!!3
DR: Lost to the Void | Format Reviewed: Bandcamp Stream
Label: Self Released
Websites: silaera.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/Silaera
Releases Worldwide: April 10th, 2026

Ten long years passed since Grond released Worship the Kraken, a fun and meaty slab of Bolt Thrower-meets-Autopsy-meets-Lovecraft madness. With such a protracted lull in recording activity, I was sure there was never going to be another Grond record, but lo and behold, The Temple peeked above the horizon just enough for me to catch it on the approach. I quiver with anticipation to see what cosmic horrors await me there.

Grond is the same stomping monstrosity that left the world all those years ago, muscular and be-tentacled as ever. Their Bolt Thrower riffs and nasty bass tone still take center stage, ensuring that any listener’s face scrunches up in grotesque relief (“Weddigen,” “Submergence”). A Temple of Void-like doom/death shroud adorns The Temple in shadowed moods and ominous atmosphere, creating a vastness of scale and stature Worship the Kraken didn’t have (“U-29,” “Dreadnought”). Much like other modern old-school revival acts like Frozen Soul, simplicity is Grond’s best friend, choosing reliable parts and pieces of the death metal arsenal to ensure maximum impact in their songwriting. Thankfully, Grond’s high-fantasy horror theme, frightful guitar pyrotechnics in solos and flourishes (“Dreadnought”), and beefy production help set The Temple apart from contemporary examples of the style and make for a highly engaging 48 minutes.

At first, though, I wasn’t sure if The Temple justified its ten-year incubation period. It’s their slowest, their longest, and arguably their simplest record in terms of structure. I wondered if this meant it offered less substance or weaker engagement. I was wrong. Without sacrificing heft or extremity, Grond doubled down on accessibility and groove to make The Temple their most easily digestible outing thus far (“Pour le Merite,” “Radiant Fury”), but they made considerable effort using accessibility to their advantage. In place of compositional complexity, odd time signatures, or speed, wild lead guitar exhibitionism, gut-punching bass burbles, and clever drum fills abound. This trade, in turn, makes even the most straightforward cuts exciting and distinctive (“The Temple”). Furthermore, revisits uncover even more nifty details and entertaining embellishments—again sourced primarily from the guitar work—that bring depth and charm to The Temple for which initial impressions don’t account.

The Temple boasts many traits and nuances that not only make it a joy to return to, but also help shrink its inflated runtime, yet some areas could still use a trim. At a bloated six-and-a-half minutes, the title track only barely justifies its length with the strength of its guitar work, but would be stronger still with a full minute or so hacked off the first half for brevity. In fact, most of The Temple’s nine tracks toy with that ambitious six-minute barrier. While a vast majority of them don’t feel nearly that long, they all have at least one small grouping of measures that, if culled, wouldn’t detract from the compositions to which they belong (“Weddigen,” “Dark Solitude of the Sea,” “U-29”). Additionally, instrumental intro “Rotter Himmel” adds very little to the whole except to tumble right into the opener proper. At three minutes, it begs either to be nipped, tucked, and integrated into “Weddigen,” or to be cut altogether.

Aside from a spot of bloat, there’s a lot to enjoy in The Temple. It’s a rare kind of classically informed, doom-tinged, mid-paced death metal that grows with every spin. Grond achieved that grower status with their third LP, and it was worth the ten-year wait. It might not be a groundbreaking album, but competes well in its field and pairs very nicely with other Lovecraft-inspired death metal from the likes of Sulphur Aeon or Corpsessed. So if that’s your bag, Grond’s your monster. Choose your vessel, and enter the gate The Temple!

Rating: Very Good
DR: 5 | Format Reviewed: ~260 kbps VBR mp3
Label: XTreem Music
Websites: grond.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/grondrus
Releases Worldwide: April 30th, 2026

Gus G. is a busy man. For some odd 25 years and counting, the Greek guitarist has not only been running his own band Firewind but also contributed to many notable heavy/power metal acts’ beginnings, such as early Mystic Prophecy and Dream Evil. And somehow on top of that, he’s even managed to fit in five solo albums during that time! Steel Burner becomes the sixth album under the Gus G. moniker, the first since 2021’s very fun Quantum Leap. I was a big fan of Firewind’s energetic 2020 comeback and enjoyed 2024’s anthemic rock-oriented Stand United plenty as well. How does Steel Burner compare to his other recent works, and were any Steel Druhm’s harmed in the making?1

Gus has proven himself to be a very potent guitarist since the early ’00s, and Steel Burner’s strand of heavy metal offers a good general gist of the instrumental and solo craft he’s known for. The album doesn’t steer too far off Quantum Leap’s core in this regard. Gus’s natural bend towards ’80s rock and metal shows up in full force once again, containing Yngwie and Blackmore-esque guitar hero cheese (“What If,” “Closure”) in terms of both shred and soulful play. A surprising highlight is “Advent” with its interesting djent-ish influences by way of downtuned 2010s rhythm guitar work. It pans out much better than one might think and makes for a refreshing listen in an album full of otherwise expected source material.

The other side of Steel Burner is the record’s confusing flow and identity, the guest vocalist tracks being at odds with the instrumental songs. Whereas Quantum Leap was fully instrumental, Steel Burner contains a theoretically balanced set of five tracks with vocals and five instrumentals. This intentional variety quickly ends up working against itself. Doro (Doro, ex-Warlock) and Matt Barlow (ex-Iced Earth, ex-Pyramaze) are both starting to show their age, delivering some good lines but flat choruses (“Nothing Can Break Me,” “Dancing with Death”). The suddenly enervated instrumentation exacerbates the quality contrast between Steel Burner’s different aspects. Fortunately, the back half fares better. Vocal mercenaries Ronnie Romero (ex-Rainbow) and Dino Jelusić lend stronger performances on better, more AOR-adjacent tracks (“My Premonition,” “No One Has to Know”), and I wouldn’t mind Gus working with Ronnie more often based on “My Premonition.” Aside from the vocal-instrumental clash, the drums are a sticking point. Gus’s drum programming on the aforementioned tracks is solid, but Quantum Leap’s guest drumming proves that more varied and potent percussion would have helped make these songs much more lively.

Much like Jeff Waters (Annihilator), Gus G. is an excellent guitarist who is usually better when sharing vocals-forward songwriting reins with other people. Steel Burner tends to repeat some of his early-career hiccups with Mystic Prophecy, where the rhythm guitar tends to be underdeveloped and the songs oddly stripped-down without the choruses compensating for it. Gus is very good at crafting colorful instrumental compositions (“Advent,” “Confession”) or even standard power metal tracks at higher BPMs (“Kill the Pain” on Firewind’s self-titled, “Escape from Tomorrow” all the way back on Forged by Fire), but making a ‘normal’ mid-paced track with vocals often requires some extra hands alongside him. Firewind’s two most recent records are proof of this, and the positive effect of a consistent powerhouse vocalist like Herbie Langhans is undeniably lacking here.

Steel Burner has its bright spots, but ends up feeling like two EPs in a bar fight. It mashes together parts of Quantum Leap and Stand United, and both halves unfortunately suffer as a result. While nothing on the record is strictly off-putting, the instrumental side is clearly the better and more inspired one, containing the usual guitar goodness you would expect from Gus. Even so, one listen to Quantum Leap’s title track exposes Steel Burner’s general lack of urgency compared to prior works. Grab most of the instrumental tracks and “My Premonition,” and you’ve got a solid EP! Despite the overall experience being hit-and-miss, I still respect Gus’s work ethic, and I’ll be gladly waiting to see what he comes up with next.

Rating: Mixed
DR: Nope! | Format Reviewed: Alas, poor Stream!
Label: Metal Department
Websites: gusgofficial.com | Facebook | Instagram
Releases Worldwide: April 24th, 2026

There are few concepts in the Western tradition as misunderstood as that of “the death of God.” It is not a triumphant proclamation, nor a call for apathetic nihilism. What has been coined in recent online discourse as a ‘meaning crisis’ is only barely getting the point. The Loss of Transcendence—some universal, ultimate, mind-independent Truth and set of values—is a beginning, an event that should prompt critical thought and action and confrontation of a human condition that we sedate ourselves out of with belief in a higher power or sense and reason in the universe; hope; or the rescinding of responsibility to the idea that ‘nothing matters.12 The Great Observer seem to have done their homework for the most part, with their debut channeling their thrashy blackened death into a philosophical call to action that blends Existentialism with Stoicism and Epicureanism. Fresh on the scene and immediately going all-in in aggression and storytelling, what can The Great Observer give to us?

On the face of it, Loss of Transcendence is standard black/death/thrash, with a rotating emphasis on each of those three components. Sticking primarily to up-tempo, gritty riffing in a vein somewhere between Necrophobic, Tomb Mold, and Morbid Angel—though a less flashy iteration—The Great Observer do nonetheless find time to linger in some cavernousness that vaguely recalls Disembowelment. They further emphasise their mean streak with a pervasive vocal echo that adds to the grime of the throaty howls and is compounded during the many instances when such vocals are multi-tracked or delivered as a group. But not all of this energy is used in service of evil; there’s a strong anthemic side to these choruses and a jaunty bombast to many a beat. In many ways, it gives off the aura of classical extreme metal—back when Black Metal was an album title, and ugliness, speed, and aggression were the name of the game in a fundamentally different way to how they are now. And yet, under the layers of dirt and behind the malevolence lie small seeds of nuance, and it is to Loss of Transcendence’s great detriment that they remain scattered seeds alone.

Loss of Transcendence flirts with many things—intrigue, atmosphere, tenacity—but never quite wins any of them over. Riffs generally check boxes for pugnacity, but even at their most brutish and slick (“The Great Observer,” “Impervious Creation”), they have no edge, no force. At the worst end, guitar lines are entirely blunt thanks to nondescript, generic-sounding melodies and patterns (“Herald of Thorns,” “How Far the Faithless will Venture”). It’s unfortunate that all of the best guitar sits in the record’s back half, with “Impervious Creation” and “The Weight of Being Free” delivering shimmying, sliding shredding capable of winning over the harshest of critics, and the latter track featuring a genuinely beautiful, buttery smooth solo that combines everything great about grimy yet gorgeous extreme metal. The frequent use of group vocals, which sometimes creates an impressive miasma of harrowing calls (“Impervious Creation,” title track), falls awkwardly flat when delivered as rousing shouts (“Sentenced at High Noon,” “At The Summit of Consciousness,” “The Weight…”) thanks to the latter’s surprising corniness. The Great Observer also experiment in an exasperatingly random manner with distortion, with a liquid, Worm-adjacent effect appearing in random snatches never to develop (“Parénklisis (Fallen Into Existence),” “How Far…,” “The Weight…,” title track); and the worst part is that it’s good! The pace, generally high, is also stymied by not one but two synth-heavy instrumentals as “Parénklisis…” opens the album with a gravitas that never appears again, and “Ékstasis (The Lonesome Path)” needlessly presses pause for two minutes of ambience and whispering.

In reality, Loss of Transcendence feels frustratingly lukewarm. A mix that pushes guitars erratically between the far background and the very forefront, and a baffling decision3 to layer vocal tracks and reverb like lasagna over these riffs (“The Great Observer,” “Sentenced at High Noon,” “The Weight…,” title track) makes what could be decent blackened death sound almost poor. Almost the only time the guitars sound good is when they sound great, soloing in sudden clarity (“Sentenced…,” “Impervious Creation”) and with fluent expressiveness (“The Weight…,”), and these highlights appear exclusively in the second half. Given this, it becomes harder to forgive the swing of strangely upbeat gang shouts (“Sentenced…,” “Herald of Thorns”) and a brusque attitude to riff-writing that tends to shy away from character.

It’s always a shame when a concept I’m particularly interested in is delivered in mediocre form. Loss of Transcendence strikes as an album that would have had heads spinning and Bibles being reached for in the early 90s but now its grit cannot make up for its shortcomings. Failing to develop their best ideas and sidelining their assets far too often, The Great Observer still haven’t seen how to capitalise on their strengths, and Loss of Transcendence loses more than higher values as a result.

Rating: Disappointing
DR: 9 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: BlackSeed Productions
Website: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: April 30th, 2026

200.000 km im Sattel! 🚲 Das sind 5 Weltumrundungen purer Freiheit. Wer radelt mit?
#warumichradfahre #lifestyle65 #apr26 #warumichradfahreblog #mar26 #apr26 #HeimatEntdecker

https://warumichradfahre.blog/2026/04/30/200-000-km-freiheit-was-ich-in-15-jahren-auf-dem-rad-gelernt-habe/?utm_source=mastodon&utm_medium=jetpack_social

With a name like that and an album cover featuring a vivisected human head, you’d be forgiven for thinking that Nequient play a form of knuckle-dragging brutal death. Instead, the Chicago four-piece specializes in a brand of chaotic, grinding metallic hardcore that recalls the frenetic math explosion of the early 2000s. Avarice is the band’s third full-length and promises a “unique synthesis of extreme metal and hardcore” to “blast listeners out of complacency with withering screeds against the malignant forces ravaging our world.” Despite some solid releases from last year, it’s been a while since new mathcore shook me to the bone and reminded me of modern existence’s inherent fragility. Nequient have the requisite political bile coursing through their veins—the same volatile fuel that powers the genre’s most unhinged eruptions—but is Avarice actually worth your time, or just another flailing heap of panic chords destined to suffocate beneath a pile of white-belt-era clichés?

On Avarice, Nequient paints an anarchic arras with a dizzying amount of stylistic touchstones. The band combines the unhinged frivolity of The Sawtooth Grin with the fast-paced stop/start violence of The HIRS Collective, and loads their tracks with riffs that actually stick, echoing early Converge at their most surgical. The twist? These songs feel coherent. Longer runtimes turn what could be scattershot spasms into fully realized compositions, bolstered by a wide palette of metallic textures. Blackened tremolos (“Christofascist Zombie Brigade”), demented odd-meter thrash gallops (“Brain Worms”), and sludged-out funeral dirges (“Splenetic And Moribund”) are all threaded together with mathy convulsions Nequient execute with unnerving precision. Throughout the record, the band moves between ideas at a dizzying pace, consistently impressing with bewildering moments of aural chaos.

More than just a collection of moments, the songs on Avarice are propelled by relentless pacing and tangible chemistry among the band members. Nequient’s secret sauce lies in the interplay between Patrick Conahan’s disorienting guitar cascades and drummer Chris Avgerin’s dextrous, fill-heavy style. Conahan glides between mosh-ready grind parts (“Mad King / Fool”), undulating, deathy descents (“Rintrah Roars”), and unsettling noise-rock lurches (“Siege Mentality”). Avergin follows along expertly, always mirroring the spastic guitarwork with tasty, intuitive drum parts that guide the ear and ground the anarchy. Aaron Roeming provides the low-end thunder and adds a purposeful heft that thickens the chunkier riffcraft while vocalist Jason Kolkey leads the charge, alternating between a sassy, vitriolic spew and full-bodied death growls while delivering caustic epithets about the horrors of modern life. Kolkey’s acerbic lyrics pull the whole disgusting package together, melding poetic death metal abstraction with punk’s immediacy and sharpening the record’s nihilistic aura into a potent weapon aimed at a broken system.

In fact, Nequient is almost too adept at channeling the noxious undercurrent of societal id, leaving precious little room to breathe across Avarice’s full-frontal assault. Longer tracks usually ease up on the throttle and inject variety with less frantic, slower sections, like with a menacing sludge-into-breakdown (“Rintrah Roars”), or a hazy, chordal comedown (“Stochastic Terror”). Still, I find myself wanting just a touch more space to find my bearings during full-album listens. Avarice is well-paced, and there are more than enough ideas to keep the 40-minute runtime interesting, but it’s missing one or two blissed-out melodic ideas1 or jaw-dropping displays of contrast to elevate it to the peak of the mathcore mountain. This doesn’t prevent Avarice from being a stunning display of technical aggression, but it does mean more than a few spins to decipher its labyrinthine heaviness.

Nequient really impressed me with this one. Avarice is a nerve-flayed, teeth-grinding listen that captures the low-grade panic and spiritual exhaustion of modern life with alarming precision. Rather than settling for dime-a-dozen mathcore spasms or rote metallic bludgeoning, the Chicago crew stitches together dissonance, groove, chaos, and razor-wire technicality into something far more purposeful. It’s punishing without being empty, intricate without disappearing up its own ass, and memorable enough to demand repeat spins. If you’re craving chaotic metallic extremity that does more than regurgitate the usual suspects, Nequient have your number.

Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: 5 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Nefarious Industries
Websites: nequient.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/nequient.band
Releases Worldwide: April 24th, 2026