Picture “black metal.” What do you see? Frigid wastelands illuminated by burning churches? Damp crypts beneath gothic cathedrals? Varg’s stupid backyard vlogs? One band would have you consider the picturesque slopes of Tuscany’s sunbathed Calvana mountain region. The anonymous duo of Italy’s Calvana have raised hell in the name of their treasured namesake mountains for over a decade and across two records, delivering belligerent blackened arts they describe as “trend-free,” “rough and robust,” and “never recalling anything remotely modern nor much else from the darkest past.” Their latest opus, Sub Janus, aims to continue this mission of esoteric aggression and deepest darkness, sounding older than even the oldest black metals do. Can Calvana bring defiant pride to their mountains, or should Sub Janus be left in the present-past?

I don’t buy the claim that Calvana are especially enigmatic in sound, but Sub Janus sounds distinct regardless. Evoking Celtic Frost darkness, serrating it with Venom rawness and supercharging it with Immortal aggression, Calvana play simple compositions brought to life by deep atmospheres and overwhelming force. Torrents of classic black metal tremolo blasts are a staple of Sub Janus, and songs like “My Prayer to Diana” and “Meine Süße Sternenkriegerin”1 rage with a take-no-prisoners attitude that showcases this mode of Calvana at their best. When not frothing over maddening speed, Calvana are practitioners of the slow and menacing, evident on the solemn death march of “Summer Storm” or the sinister, bowed string intro of “Carnivore.” Vocally, Calvana’s frontperson sounds like an old Universal monster, groaning and snarling slurred and theatrically all over Sub Janus, and accompanied by searing guitars and bottom-heavy bass Calvana sit in a niche thoroughly theirs while still playing within the tropes of the sub-genre.

Sub Janus by Calvana

Calvana draw from a refined selection of tricks for Sub Janus, lending the album both focus and, unfortunately, a feeling of déjà vu. Most songs move between two modes: starting slow and ending fast or starting fast and ending slow. Both “Twilight Song” and “Death of Pan” open with brief fanfare before bringing the hurt, folding arpeggios over cascading blast beats and walls of guitar before shifting halfway to a halftime pace. This approach is most effective on “Fear Makes You Tame,” where the slow turn sees most of the band drop out entirely while doomy strums and haunting tremolos ring out amidst a discord of tortured wails and screams. It’s silly, campy, but fun. Calvana’s approach of slow-to-fast works usually better, however, as “Summer Storm” and album-highlight “Sorry” build tension through subtle progression and eccentric rhythms that make their rise to full-speed riffage all the more cacophonous. This small playbook makes Sub Janus a repetitive affair. Songs with especially little going on, like “Meine Süße Sternenkriegerin,” “Twilight Song,” and the closer “Sub Janus,” feel substantially longer than their runtimes suggest. Calvana have something working with Sub Janus, but I wish that it had a little more going for that something.

But if Sub Janus is hampered by songwriting woes, then Calvana saved it with lively production and performances. Calvana’s analog production and emphasis on giving the full band a spotlight lends Sub Janus an earthy, full-bodied sound defined by enormity and dynamism. Everything feels just right in the mix, especially the bass guitar, which sounds burly and substantial. Black metal demands furious showmanship and Calvana deliver mightily, spitting hellfire on “Fear Makes You Tame” and lathering “Carnivore” in horror-film dread. This is especially true of the drummer, who plays out of their damn gourd on Sub Janus, pummeling lightning-fast fills on “Death of Pan,” exacting punishment upon their hated crash cymbals on “My Prayer to Diana” and thumping out one gnarly drum groove on “Sorry.” All of this, more than anything on Sub Janus, makes Calvana seem as ancient as they aimed to feel. Sub Janus feels like a relic lost to time, dug from the Earth, bearing an archaic dread and untamed vitriol still vital today.

Tuscany is a beautiful place, but Calvana would have you believe the sun never once shone there on Sub Janus. Its songwriting issues limit the replay value of Sub Janus, and my feelings toward the album have dimmed somewhat over the weeks, but the fire Calvana brought to it definitely makes me want to keep this band on my radar. A fun, dark, and decently paced romp, Sub Janus is worth the time of black metal fans who prefer their tunes musty and damp. Visit sunny blackened Calvana today!

Rating: Good
DR: 8 | Format: 320 kbps MP3
Label: Adirondack Black Mass
Websites: calvana.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/calvana
Release Date: March 20th, 2026

It was a day like any other at the AMG water cooler when someone mentioned Necrosexual had a new album coming out. Ha, I ought to myself. I vaguely remembered reviewing the Philadelphia band’s Grim1 debut back in 2018, which I had slapped with a 1.5 due to its sloppy execution and lackluster production. Perhaps I expected too much from a band led by vocalist, guitarist, and bassist “The Necrosexual,” whose main claim to fame was doing interviews for Metal Injection and MetalSucks while clad in corpse paint. Let someone else take their new album, I thought to myself. I’m sure someone will get enticed by that band name. But week after week went by, and Road to Rubble sat in the promo bin like an unflushed quarter-turd in the office bathroom stall. Somewhere in my heart, I felt it had to be covered, and before I knew it, I had assigned it to myself. That color vomit artwork is certainly worse than the first album’s cover (which was already pretty bad), but given that The Necrosexual has taken eight years to release this second album, perhaps taking the plunge would be worth it?

Stylistically, not much has changed since Grim1. Necrosexual still play a comedic, sleazeball form of blackened punk-thrash that sounds something like a snottier version of early Celtic Frost or a PG-13 version of Shitfucker. On songs like the opener, “High Times in Hell,” the band deliver big, confident riffs over battering mid-tempo drums, all while The Necrosexual delivers his sneering roar. A few tracks also feature brief forays into genuine black metal, complete with frosty riffs underlaid by blast beats. In a move that vaguely calls to mind Devil Master, much of the album also features twinkling synth lines in the background, an effect that makes the second track, “The Brimstone Brothel,” sound like a Venom-inspired carnival ride from hell.

ROAD TO RUBBLE by Necrosexual

For all my gripes about Grim1, variety wasn’t one of them, and Road to Rubble features a similar level of diversity with a much higher level of quality. “Kiss the Knife” stands out with its catchy, sinister verses that feature the track title sung in a King Diamond-style falsetto, while the more straightforward “Lubricator” sounds like an alternate version of Morbid Tales where the dethroned emperor has become a sex slave. As the album progresses into its final third, things get more rock-esque, with the rhythms getting stompier, the leads getting more flamboyant, and the vocals getting more adventurous. “Damned Romance,” for example, is like a blackened 80s cock rock anthem that culminates with a chorus of deep crooning cleans that are impossible not to sing along with. The closer, “Hard Leather Woman,” gives off similar vibes while reminding me of Midnight with its gruff, semi-clean vocals.

If there’s any gripe I have with Road to Rubble, it’s that stacking so many slower songs in the album’s second half saps a bit of the energy generated by the quicker songs earlier in the record. By the time I’ve reached the eighth of these nine tracks, hearing another slow song like “Nocturnal Ignition” isn’t going to make me have a nocturnal emission anytime soon. Fortunately, the stellar production outweighs this quibble, with the guitars sounding full and vibrant, and the overall sound having a slightly raw edge while balancing everything well. The guitar solos are plentiful, colorful, and rocking, and the band sound like they’re enjoying the hell out of themselves over the entirety of these 35 minutes.

In revisiting Necrosexual with Road to Rubble, I initially wasn’t sure whether my taste had gotten worse or the band had gotten better. Turns out, it’s probably a little bit of the former and a whole lot of the latter. With this album, the band has maintained their penchant for variety while stepping things up in every way, with better songs, better performances, and a better production job. Beyond all that, this album just feels incredibly endearing, with a genuine, fun, and oddly timeless quality that makes Necrosexual sound like a band you want to both listen to and root for. For those who don’t mind a little humor and playfulness in their blackened thrash, I’d say this Road to Rubble is worth taking a ride down.

Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: PCM
Label: Black Metal Archives
Websites: necrosexual.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/grimmestofalltime
Releases Worldwide: February 27th, 2026

🇺🇦 #NowPlaying on #KEXP's #SeekAndDestroy

Celtic Frost:
🎵 Circle of the Tyrants

#CelticFrost

https://hexwound.bandcamp.com/track/circle-of-the-tyrants-celtic-frost-cover

https://open.spotify.com/track/32sQ2J49CEEoZVGoSHSmsd

Sometime in the 2010s, I started disliking music with too many flourishes and began seeking out stuff that was more stripped-down, unpolished, and primitive. At this time, Barbarian were the perfect find. Depending on the album, this Italian trio has referred to themselves as “Regressive Metal,” “Absolute Metal,” or, in the case of their sixth album, Reek of God, “Retrogarde Metal” (typo and all). Led by vocalist and guitarist “Borys Crossburn,” their sound is essentially early Celtic Frost if they were fronted by a guitar-wielding grizzly bear who had a bizarre penchant for the occasional Running Wild-style melody. I’ve had many a fun time cranking my stereo and greasing my ear canals to 2014’s Faith Extinguisher and 2019’s To No God Shall I Kneel, though I agree with El Cuervo that 2022’s Viperface sagged a bit in the hookiness department. After several years on Hells Headbangers Records, Mr. Crossburn and crew have now jumped ship to a new label, Dying Victims Productions, for Reek of God, their first album in four years.

Despite the shift, Barbarian seem to have lost none of their belligerence. The album’s intro, aptly titled “Warning,” is a reimagining of the intro of the same name from the 1993 Ice-T album Home Invasion, and it helpfully informs listeners that they are listening to a Barbarian LP before instructing them to take out the tape if they are offended by phrases like “may the Almighty choke on all my sins.” From there, the first proper track, “Maxima Culpa,” roars in with burly and unapologetic guitars, throttling drums, and Crossburn’s gruff roars. As before, the sound is regressive, pulling lovingly from speed metal, thrash, black metal, and even bits of classic heavy metal with its brief majestic leads. While not the most memorable cut, it’s clear this unwashed bunch still have plenty of piss and vinegar to offer. The follow-up, “Sledgehammer,” further beats this home, with its big chunky riffs and pummeling proclamation of the track title helping the song live up to its blunt moniker.

Sadly, as Reek of God continues, it starts to stink in ways that perhaps it didn’t intend. It soon becomes apparent that Viperface’s shortage of standout hooks seems to have continued on this album—only here, it’s more of an issue. Viperface still succeeded in spite of that hangup because the songs were well-developed and took interesting turns, even if not everything was the most memorable. Here, however, the band have shortened their average track length to around three minutes, and rather than use that abbreviated format to write tight, catchy bangers, the group instead almost always eschew notable refrains in favor of simply tossing together an assortment of decent, aggressive riffs they seem to have had lying around the practice room. The result feels like an album of brief speed metal vignettes that largely pass by without much note. The production only amplifies this issue, as it sounds like the guitars and vocals are fighting for space in the mix, with the guitars having a blaring tone that I don’t love.

Fortunately, there’s still some good here. The last proper track, “Retrogarde Metal” (yes, it’s actually spelled like that), finally does feature a fun shout-along refrain, and closing the album with the horror-synth instrumental “Crurifragium” was a cool touch. “Freak Magnet,” a cover of the all-female rock band L7, is also a solid cut that adds a bit of punky energy late in the runtime. I also enjoy some of the classic heavy metal licks that appear on “Cancer Cross,” though such ideas generally seem to be less prevalent on this album than on previous ones. Crossburn also delivers some nice attitude in his vocals, with at least one “UGH!” and a self-referential shoutout of “Tell them what’s up, Crossburn!” before a ripping solo.

Overall, though, it’s hard not to be a little disappointed here. By doubling down on their no-fucks-given attitude, Barbarian seems to have taken an even moar primitive and less refined approach, resulting in shorter songs that have plenty of energy but not as much that sticks to the ribs. In their best prior works, the band excelled at combining mighty riffs and melodic leads into wholly engaging compositions. Only time will tell if we’ll ever see them do that again.



Rating: 2.5/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Dying Victims Productions
Websites: linktr.ee/barbarianmetal | facebook.com/barbarianmetal
Releases Worldwide: January 23rd, 2026