My general lack of awareness and the fact that The Mountain King themselves submitted the album via contact form and didn’t give much away in their promo pack left me unprepared for Pike Dreams. In the hazy air of the promo sump, I caught the word ‘doom’, but when I hit play on Pike Dreams that’s not quite what I got. As much as the name and cover art seem to scream Sabbathian (neo-)classical heavy metal, stoner, and of course doom, Pike Dreams is ambient, synth-led post-rock, and it’s instrumental. The German duo have been lurking around the borders of drone/stoner/doom since 2014, and do not operate as a solely instrumental act. That Pike Dreams speaks to its being created as “a slow cycle of reflection on human history across the last two millennia,” where each song is named for a particular year of great social and societal change in Europe. Marrying evocation with execution is a difficulty especially acute for instrumental music—how does The Mountain King fare?

As an ambient album, Pike Dreams leans heavily towards synth, with touches of piano, barely-there percussion, and heavily-muted guitars. It carries a feeling of nostalgia that manifests dualistically in fuzzed-out soundscapes and grainy warmth à la Boards of Canada (“1066,” “1381”), and on the other through dungeon-synth, and quasi-medieval horns and melodies (“1328”). This seems appropriate given the record’s historical concept. Its modernity surfaces in subtle hints at an industrial edge to riffs that break the surface of haze and resonate between echoing pulses, reminding me fragmentarily of Phal:Angst and Haunted Plasma (“1066,” “1789,” “2026”). What Pike Dreams is most of all, however, is quiet. Regardless of the music’s precise direction, it remains blanketed by fog with every element subdued, magnifying the meaning of the word ‘reflection’ in the album’s description.

Pike Dreams by The Mountain King

The Mountain King take the ‘less is more’ approach not only to volume, but also to the structure of the record and the compositions themselves. Pike Dreams could be described as fluctuating between introspective calm and confident expressiveness, but this translates to a change in intensity from 1 to 1.5 on a scale of 10. Gentle pulses trade places with blunt, horn-accented chugs (“476,” “1789”), strings and tremolo blur together in indistinct softness (“1525,” “2010”), and trap beats support liquid guitar-synth hybrids (“1789,” “2026”). Often, the blurred boundaries of physically and synthetically-crafted sounds are beautiful, melodically and precisely in their dreamlike ethereality (“1066,” “1524”). Often, however, do the persistent understatement of movement and omnipresent muting hamper Pike Dreams’ ability to gain its listeners’ attention. This muffling is no doubt intentional, and does work well at intervals: for instance, in the service of contrast or transition (“2010”); acting as a musing pause (“1524”); or to amplify a melody’s poignancy through almost painful delicacy (“1066”). Yet its unequivocal application to all moments of all songs can make even the grandest passages underwhelming.

In this regard, it’s uncertain how a listener is meant to relate Pike Dreams to its subject matter. On the one hand, the deliberate vagueness of the soundscape mirrors a look back through the mists of time, and allows the audience to project their own sentiments onto its subtle evocation. On the other hand, this same nature prevents the audience from connecting to the music itself, and from connecting the music to its supposed year of reference. More minimalist tracks (“1328,” “1381,” “2026”) may work better when the listener detaches, but more expressive ones (“1066,” “1524,” “2010”) when the listener invests in their refrains—and the ones in those tracks are often very lovely. Whether there’s an issue here will be down to the role one designates to a concept album—especially of the instrumental and ambient kind.

Pike Dreams is as hard to pin down as you might expect from the above and from its appropriately mysterious title. As a whispering, quite beautiful, backdrop, it makes for a soothing and introspective experience that I can’t deny I enjoy returning to. In many ways, it’s a breath of fresh air amidst a constant storm of fast and extremely heavy music that so often fills these halls, and a chance to exhale and let go in a time of conflict and strife. The Mountain King may not have done enough to fully embody their themes or impress their compositions’ identities upon the listener, but how it feels for the duration is worth something.

Rating: Good
DR: 10 | Format Reviewed: VBR mp3
Label: Void Key Recordings
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: March 6th, 2026

I’d like to share my favorite fact about Nytt Land, the Siberian dark folk project from husband and wife, Anatoly and Natalia Pakhalenko.1 During my research for this review, I came across an old interview with Anatoly. He was discussing instrumental diversity on their then-upcoming release, ODAL. Of all the instruments Anatoly plays, the talharpa, an ancient Nordic bowed lyre, is his favorite. Do you know why it’s his favorite? BECAUSE HIS WIFE MADE IT FOR HIM. MADE IT. WITH HER OWN TWO HANDS.2 I can’t even imagine the incalculable value of such a gift. And I’m only half kidding when I say that fact alone makes Aba Khan—and anything else they release—worth a spin.

Nytt Land often releases albums strictly preserving the ancient traditions of their homeland, like 2025’s Songs of the Shaman, but Aba Khan follows a different path. Picking up the threads first woven on 2021’s Ritual and continued on 2023’s Torem, Aba Khan captures the energy of the shamanic rites of Nytt Land’s native Siberia. Nytt Land doesn’t perform any one specific rite on Aba Khan, but rather, Nytt Land channels their significance, their substance. As such, this isn’t a direct transcription or translation, but a respectful, contemporary interpretation that places listeners in the midst of ancestral proceedings. Produced with immersion in mind, the soundstage is dynamic and beautifully utilized. You can almost smell the clean air and feel the warmth of the bonfire as practitioners’ shifting vocals and well-placed instruments surround you, each given plenty of room to breathe and shine. To get the full effect, headphones are highly recommended here.

Aba Khan by Nytt Land

Production and mixing would mean little here, were it not for Nytt Land’s excellent performances. Natalia is the centerpiece, providing striking lead vocals and bringing to life the chanting, throat singing chorus of this ceremony (“Aba Khan,” “Taiga”). She and fellow drummer Aleksandr Rosliakov provide the raw, thunderous backbone for the album, stoking ritual fervor and reverence alike (“The Oath,” “Tygir Tayii (Heavenly Sacrifice)”).3 All other instruments are handled by Anatoly. Flutes, both bone and wood, alternate between heraldic (“Totem,” “Mansi”) and musical (“Taiga,” “Mansi”) duties, while strings—like the talharpa—guide Aba Khan through its eight movements. A high base quality means standout moments are few here, but the instrumental bridge of “Taiga,” which features mouth harp, flute, and talharpa all playing different melodies on top of a deep stringed foundation, is noteworthy, as is the absolutely massive, constant thrum of “Prayer.” It’s like listening to a god breathe.

According to the promo sheet, Aba Khan comprises a collection of shamanic vignettes, but it nevertheless possesses a loose narrative flow from one track to the next. This is largely driven by Natalia’s singing. Aba Khan is written entirely in indigenous Serbian languages and Old Norse, but Natalia defies the language barrier through measured swaying (“Taiga,” “Totem”), raw vulnerability (“The Oath,” “Prayer”) and ritualistic staccatos (“Tygir Tayii (Heavenly Sacrifice)”) to sketch the shape and purpose of each movement. I’m normally pretty unforgiving on intros, but “Aba Khan” serves more as an invocation or invitation before the ceremony begins in earnest with “Taiga.” Aside from mid-album snag “Uitag,” which dwells overlong in ambient repetition, Nytt Land moves with purpose through each movement. Aba Khan closes in a whirlwind, shifting from the tension of ceremonial action (“The Oath”) to that of anticipation (“Prayer”), before releasing it in spiraling celebration and catharsis (“Tygir Tayii”).

I don’t think anyone would argue the value of preservation efforts, but I might argue that Aba Khan does something even more important. Whether at a museum or on recordings like Songs of the Shaman, a clinical detachment separates us from feeling the gravity of these traditions as an insider would. Aba Khan annihilates that barrier. Using every tool at their disposal, Nytt Land communicates the emotions, atmosphere, and spirit of Siberia’s shamanic traditions through music, a universal language. This isn’t meant to be known in the mind. It’s meant to be felt in the heart. On Aba Khan, Nytt Land invites you to walk in their millennia-old shoes to a time and place where spirits rule, shamans protect the people, and old gods whisper.4

Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Prophecy Productions
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook | Instagram
Releases Worldwide: February 20th, 2026

I grew up with a slew of friends who dabbled in the visual arts throughout the years. One in particular blew me away by stating that the greatest artists aren’t the masters of their trade in every aspect, but rather they know what they don’t have, or rather don’t need, to make a sizable impact. You don’t need to own the most expensive paint set, a wide array of colors at your disposal, or to fill up the canvas with stuff. You have to just create your vision with what you have, and let the negative space do the work for you. Swedish duo Moon Mother knows this. On their second full-length, Meadowlands, they paint a lush, aural landscape teeming with anguish, grief, and trauma, while also crafting a sense of wonder, peace, and a smidge of hope.

You probably scrolled down to the tags section and decided to nope out in record time, especially at the sight of the “Not Metal” tag, and that’s entirely your loss. What guitarist Patriec Ahlström and vocalist Sara Mehner crafted in Meadowlands is nothing short of breathtaking, and their usage of negative space to allow for Ahlström’s melodies and gentle strums to reverberate and roll through the sleepy landscape they’ve crafted. “Wilderness,” with its finger-plucked strings and gentle electric guitar hums, is a class example of what you can build with only what you’ve got. It’s not the high production values or expensive instruments that carry you through. Rather, it’s knowing what to say, how to say it, and when not to say anything at all.

And Mehner’s angelic voice is the perfect complimentary component. Whether it’s her powerful howling (opener “High Houses”), somber melodies (closer “Windhover”), or her achingly beautiful near-yodels (“Wilderness”, the awesome “Be a Forest, Child!”), Mehner’s ability to wring out the most emotion out of a song or melody rivals that of Chelsea Wolfe or Emma Ruth Rundle in terms of performance and power. The way her gentle wailing closes out the title track stirs up so many raw emotions that will have you feeling both heartbreak and catharsis, no matter how it manifests within you. Singling out certain moments on Meadowlands proved difficult because, in reality, her standout performance, coupled with Ahlström’s musical backdrop, is best enjoyed in a single, uninterrupted, and fully focused listening experience.

If there was a bone to pick with Meadowlands, it’s in the production, and even then, it’s not a dealbreaker. Meadowlands is drenched in reverb, and I mean drenched in reverb. Coupled with the compressed mix, it makes it a bit busy, especially during the second half of “High Houses.” That, and the album is loaded with cathartic moments in the album’s second half, almost to the point of being overwhelmingly so. But the last time I’ve been hit this hard, this potently, by a doom/folk hybrid was with Darkher’s debut album. That is some absolutely stellar company to be with, and Meadowlands connects viscerally on that level.

Sure, I know what the name of the website is, and Meadowlands is a colossal anomaly in that aspect. And yes, I’m sure my colleagues will give me a reasonable (re: absurdly high) amount of shit for giving it the score it’s getting, but Moon Mother crafted an album that’s simultaneously the perfect album to purge your emotions, and an album you can use as a backdrop for a dew-filled foggy morning with a mug of your favorite heated beverage of choice. In creating an album to signify grief and hope, they gained my attention and my adoration. Give it your time, and it most certainly will do the same for you.

Rating: 4.0/5.0
DR: 7 | Format: WAV
Label: Independent/Self-Release
Websites: Official | Bandcamp
Releases Worldwide: February 6th, 2026

Halocraft – The Sky Will Remember / To Leave a Single Wolf Alive [Things You Might Have Missed 2025]

By Killjoy

I find the idea of double albums fascinating. While in many cases they may indicate an unchecked surge of inspiration or an unwillingness to self-edit, there are instances when the decision can feel genuinely appropriate. Halocraft, a (mostly) instrumental post-rock quartet from Greece, opted to split the final entry of a multi-album story into two parallel endings. According to their respective Bandcamp pages, The Sky Will Remember is the “imaginary happy ending,” whereas To Leave a Single Wolf Alive is the “true dark ending.” Aside from this brief description, the song titles, and sparse lyrics, Halocraft relies solely on their music to tell both sides of this narrative.

Halocraft’s “music first, atmosphere second” approach serves them well. It’s hard not to let oneself be borne away by the dreamy, leisurely guitar lines, which bear a fair resemblance to God Is an Astronaut or Black Narcissus. The Sky Will Remember is much closer to the cheerful, upbeat nature of Halocraft’s prior two full-lengths, with tons of tunes that are sticky-sweet but somehow never cloying. On the other hand, To Leave a Single Wolf Alive is a significant deviation from Halocraft’s usual style. Aside from its noticeably darker tone, it’s less reliant on hooks and, therefore, its slower burn took me a little longer to appreciate. Careful attention to both records will reveal subtle, whimsical bass counterpoints to the twin guitars.

The real strength of Halocraft’s songwriting is favoring clearly defined melodies over the sprawling free-form tendencies common in the post-rock genre. The songs loosely adhere to the tried and true pop structure, with verses and choruses that just happen to be instrumental in this case. I am, personally, partial toward The Sky Will Remember. Tracks such as “A Headful of Dreams,” “And in That Light, I Saw You,” and “Particle” never fail to lift my spirits. To Leave a Single Wolf Alive is there when I’m in the mood for something more melancholic but equally pleasant. While it does lean more heavily on repetition, there are moments that stand out, such as the slithering grooves of “And the Weak Suffer What They Must” and the faint goth-rock shades of “They Rest in Flames.” Though very different from one another, both albums are versatile enough to excel in the foreground and the background.

After spending nearly a year with both, I can confidently say that Halocraft has accomplished the difficult and paradoxical task of making two opposite yet complementary records. The Sky Will Remember and To Leave a Single Wolf Alive are a refreshing reversal of many instrumental post-rock norms, like meandering songwriting and lack of meaningful melodies. They are so easy to listen to and enjoy, no matter what mood I find myself in. I may connect with The Sky Will Remember more, but I appreciate Halocraft’s willingness and capability to expand their sound into darker avenues on To Leave a Single Wolf Alive. My hope is that on their next record they can take both of these disparate strands and weave them together. For now, though, you can’t go wrong with either choice.

Tracks to Check Out (The Sky Will Remember): “A Headful of Dreams,” “And in That Light, I Saw You”

Tracks to Check Out (To Leave a Single Wolf Alive): “And the Weak Suffer What They Must,” “They Rest in Flames”

#2025 #blackNarcissus #godIsAnAstronaut #greekMetal #halocraft #instrumentalMetal #notMetal #postRock #selfRelease #theSkyWillRemember #thingsYouMightHaveMissed2025 #toLeaveASingleWolfAlive #tymhm

Antinoë – The Fold Review

By Tyme

As the whispering winds of winter begin to blow colder through my neck of the woods, a time of year when fires get cozier, quaffed beers get darker, and we here at AMG begin to rhapsodize on things missed and regale readers with things listed, I found myself still searching for a near-end-of-year something new. When I saw Antinoë’s Dark Essence Records debut, The Fold, blurbily described as ‘Neoclassical Folk meets melancholy Pop with a Metal attitude,’ I was intrigued. Descending from the mountains of Madrid, Antinoë is the passion project of pianist and vocalist Teresa Marraco. Launched in 2021, Antinoë’s 2023 release, Whispers from the Dark Past, offered a unique piano tribute to the 90s Norwegian black metal scene, with Marraco covering everything from Emperor’s “I Am the Black Wizards” to Mayhem’s “Life Eternal” and Dimmu Borgir’s “Mourning Palace.”1 Poised to challenge the very fluid boundaries of what metal can be, let’s see if The Fold has the warmth necessary to keep those wintery winds at bay.

Void of instrumental trappings associated with most traditional metal, Antinoë relies solely on Marraco’s beautifully resonant voice and her expansive piano compositions to weave stygian tapestries. Conceptually, The Fold navigates the odyssey of accepting death, inviting listeners to tread a path through the idiomatic depths of grief’s different stages, as it traces the process of ‘folding inward.’ From the outset, as cricket-song fades into “Night Falls,” with its delicately crafted, darkly haunting piano melody and celestial vocals, the track pulls at melancholy heartstrings, drawing you into Antinoë’s dark world and setting the stage for what’s to come. The Fold offers an immersive, piano-led experience, peppered with pummeled ivories that shift with metallic force beneath sustained choral harmonies (“The Devil’s Voice”), as wispy trails of folky, Enya-esque ambiance waft amid airy, Dead Can Dance-like atmospheres (“Når Du Dør”). Not unlike Darkher, Antinoë succeeds at tapping into inscrutable emotion by minimalist means, but where Maiven casts spells webbed in doom, Marraco’s magic leans more toward the black arts.

While Antinoë draws much of its ‘metal’ from lyrical themes that explore the dense nature of grief and death, that doesn’t mean The Fold is musically bereft of heavier fare. Death angels descend on Emperor wings with halos of Dimmu Borgir to hover over the opening chords of “Threshold,” heralding dark omens in a chorus of swarming harmonies, witchy laughter, and raspy breaths, all as Antinoë pounds and trills her way through octaves in true symphonic black metal fashion.2 Is it still just a girl and her piano? Yes, but it’s by far the ‘heaviest’ song on the album. Which gives way to the excellently murky pop of “Chaos in the Sky,” another album highlight that had my neck snapped to rapt attention when Marracos, in her smoky voice, opened with “Who the fuck are you? Who the fuck am I?” like some dark-alt Adele, creating another moment more metal than not.

Drenched in warmth, The Fold’s production captures the beauty of Antinoë’s neo-classical elegance and marries it perfectly to its atmospherically blackened weight, providing a full-on musical experience. Whether it’s the delicate last minute of “The Devil’s Voice,” which flirts with a “Lágnætti” melody, off the Sólstafir magnum opus Ottá, or the inquisitive, childlike mystery of the whispers and keys on “Flock,” to the somber dirge of vocals from “Light Bringer,” listening to Antinoë is to become utterly immersed. I have little to critique, so enamored am I by Antinoë’s ability to impart complex ideas in the simplest of terms. I suppose there’s a minute or two that Marraco could have shaved from the two instrumentals, but in all honesty, there’s not a minute of The Fold that I would cut or change.

One of the things I’ve always appreciated about AMG is its fearlessness in shedding light on bands that are categorically not metal. Case in point, among many, is Dolphin Whisperer’s review of Maud the Moth’s excellent The Distaff this year. Antinoë has recorded an emotional album for healing hearts, and as I look back on the last few years of losses I’ve experienced, I’m unsurprised by how impactful it’s been to me. I wasn’t expecting something of this caliber to come sweeping in so close to list season, but here we are. I’ll gladly wrap myself in a warm blanket next to a cozy fire, slip on my favorite pair of headphones, and sip a smoky porter while letting The Fold envelop me against the impending winter’s chill.

Rating: 4.0/5.0
DR: 9 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Dark Essence Records
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Releases Worldwide: November 21st, 2025

#2025 #40 #ambient #antinoe #darkher #deadCanDance #dimmuBorgir #emperor #enya #notMetal #nov25 #piano #review #spanishMetal #theFold

Waldgeflüster – Knochengesänge I and Knochengesänge II Review

By Killjoy

Waldgeflüster has been around for a while. Based in Bavaria, Germany and led by Winterherz, they’ve been weaving nature-themed atmospheric black metal since 2009. Waldgeflüster has passed through the hands of several atmoblack aficionados before me. El Cuervo enjoyed the Panopticon/Waldgeflüster split in 2016 but was less impressed by Ruinen later that year. Doom_et_Al found 2021’s Dahoam to be disappointing and unmemorable. Waldgeflüster used the four years since then to create double albums Knochengesänge I and Knochengesänge II. I is a more traditional atmoblack record, while II is a reconstruction of the same melodies from the standpoint of various non-metal musical genres. An intriguing idea, to be sure. Is Knochengesänge so nice you’ll want to listen to it twice?

That may not be entirely accurate because, despite being born from the same place, Knochengesänge I and II grew into very different beasts. I will sound much more familiar to those who know Waldgeflüster’s prior work. It shares a deep kinship with the folksy trem-picking of Panopticon, not to mention that both groups put out double albums this year. Austin and Bekah Lunn even directly contributed their musical and photographic talents to Knochengesänge. II is a patchwork of different musical styles. It ranges from acoustic folk (“Das Klagelied der Krähen”) to overcast post-rock (“Frankfurt, 19. März,” “The Little King and His Architect”) to semi-upbeat alt-rock (“A Crusade in the Dark”). Both records conclude with different renditions of the traditional Scottish song “The Parting Glass.”

Knochengesänge I sees Waldgeflüster attempting to escape the shadow of similar, more influential atmospheric black metal groups. It’s telling that, despite the band’s longevity, no AMG writer to date has ever tagged Waldgeflüster in another band’s review as a reference point. Indeed, much of I passes uneventfully in a Harakiri for the Sky haze, but I tend to like it best when Waldgeflüster adds their own folksy flavor. The melodies of “Der kleinste König und sein Architekt” are especially crisp, and the song really comes into its own at the end when it transitions to a warm folk section with hearty clean singing and subtle violin strings. Charlie Anderson’s violin appears frequently, adding a great deal of poignancy. “Knochengesang” and “Bamberg, 20. Juni” are other notable examples of Waldgeflüster using strings to elevate their sound.

Since this is a double album, you already know what the primary flaw of Knochengesänge is—bloat. However, the problem runs deeper than mere minute count. Even if each track were halved in length, many would still have an uphill battle maintaining my attention. This is the case with both parts but particularly true of II, most of which seemed to drag on for an eternity. The greatest exception is “Singing of Bones” almost at the very end of II, a pleasant folk number with acoustic guitar and violin working in tandem. Even though II is all over the place stylistically, most of it isn’t so wildly different from I that it couldn’t have conceivably been integrated. I even tried reordering the tracks into each album’s corresponding pairs and found that many covered each other’s weaknesses decently well (again, except for bloat), which supports my suspicion that these two mediocre albums could have been distilled into one really good album.

Knochengesänge began with an interesting double album premise that, sadly, yielded little of note during its 109-minute combined runtime. I and II may be highly symmetrical but they are only mildly codependent. I can’t recommend listening to them back to back and, in fact, II can be safely disregarded by most listeners. Fans of the Panopticon aesthetic should find enough to enjoy in I, but it may fall a bit flat for everyone else, especially given that newcomers like Autrest are offering a much more potent take on this type of atmoblack. A frustrating refusal to self-edit is what holds both records back the most; nearly every track is 8 minutes or longer, and few fully justify their length. I respect Waldgeflüster’s desire to explore new musical avenues and I’ll keep an eye on them in the future, but I don’t expect to return much to Knochengesänge.

Rating: I: 2.5/5.0 | II: 2.0/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: AOP Records
Websites: blackmetalwaldgefluester.bandcamp.com | waldgefluester.com | facebook.com/blackmetalwaldgefluester
Releases Worldwide: November 7th, 2025

#20 #25 #2025 #AOPRecords #AtmosphericBlackMetal #Autrest #FolkMetal #GermanMetal #HarakiriForTheSky #KnochengesängeI #KnochengesängeII #NotMetal #Nov25 #Panopticon #Review #Reviews #Waldgeflüster

oh no, radio reminded me of the catchiest song. My brain can't listen to it without hyperfixating it now needs to play on repeat for a thousand times help me pleaNOW STAND IN THE PLACE WHERE YOU LIVEEE  

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M91_IWYzmYA

#notmetal

Dolven – In My Grave…Silence Review

By ClarkKent

In his review of Aganoor’s Doomerism, Killjoy discussed how the “myriad subgenres” of doom “can sound so wildly different from one another.” We can add to this discussion Portland, Oregon’s Dolven, who bills their latest album, In My Grave…Silence, as acoustic doom. This begs the question, what constitutes doom metal? Doom typically buries you in melancholy and despair with heavy, plodding, low-tuned guitars, or it sets you up for a good trip by adding some fuzz to the guitar tone. Can one really write doom music using acoustic instruments? Could you even call it metal, or is it just folk music? Sure, an acoustic guitar doesn’t get the same tone as an electric, but what matters is the spirit of the music–the mood and the tempo. Of course, I’m not really here to argue the semantics of what makes an album doom. Ultimately, I’m here to tell you whether Dolven’s latest album, In My Grave…Silence, is worthy of a spin or two.

Anyone familiar with Dolven’s prior work will quickly notice In My Grave…Silence sounds a little different. This is thanks to new singer, Jori Apedaile (Eneferens, Hyalithe), and percussionist, Hunter Ginn (Agalloch). Apedaile, who generally shrieks on his one-man black metal projects, sings gentle, plaintive cleans, at odds with the previous vocalist, Henry Lauer, who had a lower tenor and occasionally provided some growls. Ginn makes use of hand drums that bring a light, meditative touch, in addition to drums gently-tapped by stick. Even outside of these two n00bs, In My Grave…Silence has a much more refined and polished sound than prior outings. Main songwriter and guitarist, Nick Wusz (Snares of Sixes), remains Dolven’s heart and soul. He plays a mix of lightly plucked tunes and softly-strummed chords and provides such a soulful touch that it’s as if his guitar itself is crooning. Finally, bassist Jason W. Walton (Agalloch, Sculptured) provides a deeper resonance on his acoustic bass, reminding you of the sorrow residing behind Wusz’s sometimes uplifting, hopeful melodies.

There’s an intimacy to the musical compositions that brings the feeling of sitting around a campfire and watching Dolven play live. The phenomenal production values enhance these qualities.1 You can clearly hear every note, even the sliding of Wusz’s fingers on the strings. The album is also exceptionally quiet, forcing you to turn it up and pay close attention. This closeness brings a sense of comfort in spite of the otherwise mournful sounds and words. Where electric guitars leave lingering noise with each strum, the acoustic instruments create empty spaces that add to the tranquil melancholy. The tracks on In My Grave…Silence are thoughtful and intentional. The nine-minute “You’ve Chosen,” for example, doesn’t feel a second too long. It mixes a catchy whistling tune, terrific guitar playing, soulful singing, and meditative hand drums to create what will end up being one of the best songs of the year.2

The issue with a 45-minute album filled with acoustic plucks is that the songs start to blend together. Each song has its own distinct melodies, but without other distinguishing features a few of them are tough to differentiate from the pack. The more memorable tracks make use of unique features, such as the whistling on “You’ve Chosen” or the string instrument (likely violin) on “Beside Me.” The instrumentals in particular, are more ephemeral in nature and don’t necessarily stay with you after the record’s over. In My Grave…Silence also gets repetitive, especially on the longer tracks. This is more noticeable with the lyrics, where Apedaile repeats himself a lot. On “Anymore” he sings, “I don’t want to talk about it,” over and over, every other time adding the lyric “anymore.”3 A little bit of editing and trimming could have helped reduce this feeling of repetition.

All that said, In My Grave…Silence is a beautiful listen. It will haunt you with its melodies and plaintive singing, and it will calm you with its lightly-played arrangements. Wusz is a talented musician, and he has made wise choices in who to surround himself with. The long-form compositions he writes are outstanding, and he plays them wonderfully. His songs remind me of classical compositions, and that a record like this gets treated as metal or metal-adjacent says a lot about what makes heavy metal such a diverse musical genre. Across three records, Dolven has made clear improvements, and I have no doubt the next go around will be even better.

Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: 10 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3
Label: Winding Stairs Records
Websites: dolven.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/dolven.oregon
Releases Worldwide: June 13th, 2025

#2025 #35 #AcousticDoom #Agalloch #Aganoor #AmericanMetal #Dolven #DoomMetal #Eneferens #Folk #Hyalithe #InMyGraveSilence #Jun25 #NotMetal #Review #Reviews #Sculptured #SnaresOfSixes #WindingStairsRecords

Well, this is awkward...I really like this song. Must be the atmosphere. 😂 #notmetal #taylorswift

https://open.spotify.com/track/0V3wPSX9ygBnCm8psDIegu?si=57847d2945844029

Nechochwen – Spelewithiipi Review

By Killjoy

It can be healthy for artists to periodically take time to reset and remember what first compelled them to start creating music. Aaron Carey originally founded Nechochwen in West Virginia as an unostentatious acoustic guitar project paying homage to his Native American lineage. It didn’t take long for black metal influence to emerge and with the addition of Andrew D’Cagna as the rhythm section, the two styles proved a potent pairing to explore the cultural history sewn into every note. 2015’s Heart of Akamon was well-received in the metal community and by our Vice Overlord Steel Druhm, who later went on to underrate their very good1 follow-up Kanawha Black. During all this time,2 Nechochwen had been quietly working on Spelewithiipi, a fully instrumental acoustic folk album akin to their debut full-length Algonkian Mythos. Can Nechochwen come full circle and revisit an older style without feeling like a step backward?

Nechochwen was always more inclined to reach for an acoustic guitar than an electric, but Spelewithiipi takes it a step further. Carey’s multi-tracked acoustic guitars enjoy near total exclusivity, plucking and strumming along like a bolder variation of older (and newer) October Falls. This is something of a double-edged sword—there is little to distract from the graceful guitar melodies, but the emotive burden of proof falling solely upon one instrument can be a challenging songwriting prospect. This may be why similar-minded neofolk albums from Thurnin and Wÿntër Ärvń in recent months opted to diversify with various other folk instrumentation, and Spelewithiipi follows suit, albeit sparingly. Here and there, indigenous drum beats (“Lenawe’owiin,” “Spelewithiipi,” “Primordial Passage”), a full drum kit (“Precipice of Stone”), and a gentle flute (“Lenawe’owiin,” “Spelewithiipi”) provide embellishment. This pared-back instrumentation is an important part of Spelewithiipi’s reverent, intimate nature.

At this point in his career, Carey can wring seemingly every ounce of breadth and depth from his weapon of choice. The acoustic guitar lines, usually appearing in pairs, flow and breathe as they fluctuate in intensity and complexity. Sometimes they’re straightforward, with clear lead and rhythm roles (“Nemacolin’s Path,” “Spelewithiipi”). Elsewhere, Nechochwen weaves multiple distinct melodies together into a more elegant soundscape (“Tpwiiwe,” “Precipice of Stone”). Unsurprisingly, the music is intrinsically bonded with nature, the rain sounds in “Othaškwa’alowethi behme” adding a mystical effect to the stream of twanging guitar notes. The best and most passionate performance lies in “Mthothwathiipi,” which features a gentle, cascading tune that gives way to vigorous fingerpicking laced with percussive slaps. The immense skill on display almost convinces me that Nechochwen might be better off in this unplugged realm.

Almost. Like a phantom limb, I find it impossible not to miss Nechochwen’s black metal side. In my view, their appeal mainly stemmed from the meticulous melding of acoustic folk with metal, not either component taken individually. Therefore, an attempt to decouple them was, perhaps, destined to yield a diminished result. Even setting aside genre preferences, Spelewithiipi lacks much of the structure and focus from when Nechochwen were grounded in black metal conventions. The first half of the record fares better thanks to more developed melodies, whereas the back half feels more barren and aimless (particularly “Primordial Passage”), but nearly every song suffers to some extent from rocky transitions or promising ideas cut short. With fewer musical handholds on Spelewithiipi, the overall songwriting needed to be more coherent and engaging to make up the difference.

Spelewithiipi is not an immediate album; it invites rather than seizes the listener’s attention. Accordingly, fans of Nechochwen’s recent work will likely need to manage expectations and exercise patience. As I spent time with it and let go of what I wanted to hear from Nechochwen, I gained greater appreciation of what they created. Aaron Carey plays heartfelt, stirring acoustic guitar lines the likes of which I’ve never heard before, and I’m in awe of his instrumental mastery. Yet, even the best guitarwork on Spelewithiipi is not quite as captivating as that of Heart of Akamon or Kanawha Black. This, plus the relinquishment of metal influence and its short 31-minute runtime, make it hard to see Spelewithiipi as a complete Nechochwen record. But, even so, this is still a pleasant walk through the woods worth taking.

Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: 13 | Format Reviewed: 192 kbps mp3
Label: Nordvis Produktion
Websites: nechochwen-nordvis.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/nechochwen
Releases Worldwide: May 9th, 2025

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