Malakhim’s “And In Our Hearts the Devil Sings” is a polished, ambitious black metal album that balances melody and aggression with skill. Yet, for all its technical prowess, it struggles to escape the shadow of its influences, leaving listeners with a record that’s impressive but not quite unforgettable.
“Lykke” is an album that doesn’t just fill a room, instead it lingers in the air long after the music stops. This latest release is a masterful exercise in atmospheric black metal, where every synth, every distant vocal, and every trembling guitar line feels wrapped …
“Dødsdømmt” is a strong, often compelling slice of Norwegian black metal that honors the genre’s roots while teasing at something more. It’s not a reinvention, but it’s a potent reminder of why the old ways still matter. Ulvehyrde may not have written their magnum opus yet, but they’re clearly on the path.
Solbrud’s “IIII” moves like weather over stone: slow, patient, and implacable. It doesn’t seek attention so much as endurance, trading immediacy for immersion. When it works, its vast grey landscapes feel alive and immense; when it falters, you’re left staring into the fog, waiting for something to shift.
“Fællesskab” pushes you in the liminal space where belonging turns to burden and unity to silence. It feels like standing in a crowded hall and realising no one is listening, the collective warmth dimmed to ritual and noise.
“Think of You” moves between brightness and ruin, refusing to settle for harshness without melody or melody without edge. Its structural familiarity sometimes dulls surprise, but its passion and refined voice keep it compelling.
“Solastalgia” feels like the year’s slow descent into silence, with fallen leaves, fading light, and the ache of something ending. It may waver in pacing, but its sincerity and sense of place make it linger long after the air turns cold.
Blackbraid “III” strikes like a ritual lived out loud, a blackened odyssey that binds ancestral echoes. Its greatest strength is how it never lets the listener settle in its tension and its haunting voice.
“Asservis par l’espoir” is a bleak and ambitious debut that balances dissonant black metal with moments of fragile melody, all carried by anguished French vocals that cut like a knife.
“Candela” is an album that never hides its scars, a raw collision of blackened crust and emotional upheaval that claws at you rather than invites. It falters in pacing and clarity, but its honesty and ferocity keep it burning long after the noise fades.