With only one song each, and clocking in at just over 12 minutes total, there isn’t a lot of material on this 7-inch EP, but when we’re talking about bands like Hooded Menace and the legendary Asphyx, I’ll take anything I can get. Quality over quantity! And it doesn’t get much more quality than this picture disk (also available on black vinyl, but why bother?) with its amazing pair of brand-new dirges. I would have thought it unfair to put almost any band on a split with Asphyx, but Hooded Menace hold their ground at the very least, and the band’s brand of Doom-infused Death Metal is at times as melancholy and sorrowful as it is pulverizingly heavy. The Asphyx track, “We Doom You to Death,” would have fit right in on the band’s most recent album, 2009’s Death… the Brutal Way, and I can’t think of many compliments better than that. If you can still find a copy of this split, it’s worth its weight in gold, and is heavier than radioactive osmium.

I don’t know why I’ve never heard The Dwarves before in all my many years and decades on this wretched planet, but I somehow managed to avoid them. That’s yet another in a long list of mistakes. This infamous Punk band has been at it since the early ’80s, and until now all I knew about them was that they typically have interesting album art (I’m thinking specifically of 1990’s Blood, Guts & Pussy, which naturally features two naked women covered in blood), and Entombed’s 1997 cover of “Satan.” So, really only knowing that The Dwarves are supposed to be pretty weird, and incorporate every musical style under the sun, I was very happy to discover that The Dwarves Are Born Again is a fairly focused LP, simply covering the range from Pop Punk, with tracks like “Looking Out for Number One,” “Happy Birthday Suicide,” and “Working Class Hole,” to the more intense Hardcore of “Stop Me” and “It’s a Wonderful Life of Sin.” Main-man/singer Blag gets a little secret guest vocal help occasionally, which is great, but I frustratingly can’t find any verification of who’s involved… Admittedly, there are some slight lulls here and there (the perhaps too-silly “Zip Zero”), but the first thing I thought upon hearing album-opener “The Dwarves Are Still the Best Band Ever,” was that I needed to track down their entire back-catalog immediately. And I haven’t even mentioned the bonus DVD yet, which features all kinds of archival live footage, video clips and other insanity. Even the menus are cool! “I am the Jesus Christ of sin and vice!”

So here we have the Metal Blade debut from Raleigh’s veteran heavyweights, a 3-song EP of brand spanking new material. But this is Between the Buried and Me we’re talking about, so this 3-song “EP” is longer than Reign in Blood and any Metalcore/Deathcore full-length album in the last 8 years. It’s essentially three 10-minute slabs of genre bending mind rape. In the first five minutes of “Specular Reflection” alone, we are treated to a bevy of different styles. BtBaM come at the listener softer than a wet baby’s ass one minute, then the next riff is capable of creating a circle pit that could invade North Korea. Their virtuoso mix of Prog and Metalcore is unparalleled at this level, and Hypersleep Dialogues shows them expanding their pallet to even more refined moments of pure Death Metal fury, Indie Rock sincerity, and… what the fuck? Did I just hear a fucking Polka arrangement? Seriously? They just did a Polka thing that was fucking weird. “Augment of Rebirth,” towards the end. This is, like, the sixth time I’ve listened to this all the way through. Never noticed the Polka thing with the accordion. Wow. This is clearly the type of recording that you can take something new from, that you didn’t notice before, with each listen. And of course the Polka part is followed by crushing heaviness. What makes all of these wacky transitions seamless is vocalist Tommy Rogers. He has great harsh vocals, he has a great singing voice. He makes everything work (and he can pull it off live). I guess if anything is lacking here it’s the signifying anthem I was hoping for to usher in this new chapter of their career. Sure, there are anthemic qualities to some of the segments of these epic tracks, but there is also some noisy filler and masturbatory Prog noodling you have to sift through to get there. If anything, these guys always leave you wondering what they’ll do next. (I have to subtract a quarter of a point for the Polka shit, though. I mean, c’mon.)

Oh my. Please, Satan, not Decapitated, too. Please don’t take them all from me this year. Get behind me, Jesus! The first new album from these Polish Death legends in five years, and first since the tragic accident that claimed the life of drummer extraordinaire Vitek much too early. I rushed to get this as soon as possible. I even paid a little extra to get it on the Friday before the Tuesday it came out. I’m not going to say it’s a letdown in league with the new Morbid Angel after only a few spins, but after only a few spins I don’t like it at all. Guitarist Vogg is the only remaining original member, and holy shit can you tell. This new singer SUCKS! He sounds like some kind of castaway from a tenth rate Machine Head cover band. His almost complete lack of anything resembling a coherent vocal pattern doesn’t help his cause either. That parrot from Hatebeak sounds more brutal. The pit bull from Caninus would’ve been a more suitable replacement. And these are just my vocal complaints. The music is a lightweight, hollow shell of its former self as well. Don’t look for a fucking “Spheres of Madness” on this one, folks. First and foremost, the songs are way too long (even the four minute ones). I raised a family during the title track. Don’t expect any masterfully technical Death Metal either. These songs are Thrash-infused Death Lite, which at their most heaviest moments might resemble mid-career Lamb of God (except nowhere near that memorable). With a vocalist that had fully formed testicles this music would be tolerable, perhaps even enjoyable, but upon initial inspection, Phil Anselmo’s Polish nephew single-handedly wipes his ass with all of this album’s potential. I’m not giving up on this release totally just yet. I’m going to spin it for another week or so and pray to Baphomet that the songs reveal some worth. But as for this exact place and time, this album deep throats rhino dicks all the way to the balls.

I’ve been anxiously waiting to hear Disma’s debut full-length since it was announced several months ago. While the official release date is July 19th, I jumped at the opportunity to listen to Towards the Megalith in its entirety on NPR’s website (National Public Radio is exclusively streaming it for the week prior its release). Death Metal sure has come a long way with acceptance outside the underground since its inception, but that’s a separate discussion to be had with a night of heavy drinking. My anticipation wasn’t met with disappointment and this is a “must buy” for any old school Death Metal fan. It really doesn’t get any more old school than Craig Pillard’s monstrous vocals since he growled into infamy on Incantation’s genre-defining classic Onward to Golgotha back in 1992. If that isn’t enough of a selling point then consider guitarist Daryl Kahan and drummer Shawn Eldridge, both from the mighty Funebrarum, are also in the lineup. The logical result is darkened Death/Doom Metal that breaks into ultra heavy mid-tempo riffs (if only there were more of them) accentuated with the perfect hollow sound at the end of each snare drum strike. Aptly titled, Towards the Megalith is the album you’d want to listen to before, during, and the morning after that nocturnal debate coupled with copious rounds of libations.

Cianide, suicide, no prayers or foolish whims.
I am fucking sick of reading bullshit reviews of this album written by clueless dickholes who all seem to think that this is the first time Cianide has ever played at a pace any faster than Godzilla’s slow march to Toyko to rape the Diet building. Satan’s speed is Cianide’s speed, you hydrocephalic living abortions! Go listen to “Human Cesspool” or anything from 1996’s Rage War (I don’t think anything here is faster than “Deadly Spawn”) onward for examples of Chicago’s Most Brutal kicking 666 spectrums of ass at whatever tempos they see fit. Almost all of the band’s previous album, 2005’s Hell’s Rebirth, is this fast or beyond. I do still miss the oppressive, ultra-viscous guitar tone of the first two albums, though, but if Gods of Death were your Cianide cherry-pop, you might think that this guitar sound is as apocalyptic as it gets. And speaking of the monstrous Doom of the first two albums, check out “The One True Death” for a taste of the slow-motion, old-school glory still in this band’s veins. The lethal “Dead and Rotting,” with Mike’s Cronos-worshipping bass slides, is another key in the air nocturnal, and in fact there’s nothing here that is anything less. Gods of Death is Death Metal as it should be, at its ferocious, bestial zenith, and that should be no surprise to anyone, because Cianide’s evil always reigns.

After a somewhat underwhelming return with last year’s The Tomb Within EP, Autopsy is back with the band’s first new full-length album since 1995’s Shitfun, and I honestly didn’t know what to expect. Macabre Eternal is incrementally better than, but essentially cast from the same mold as, the aforementioned The Tomb Within EP, which I think I may have judged slightly too harshly in my review. The Autopsy guys are… holy shit, man, it’s fucking Autopsy for fuck’s sake, so I would really prefer if I liked this album a lot more than I do. And if all the songs were as memorable as the deranged, Impetigo-ish “Dirty Gore Whore,” I could give this a rating much closer to a ten. I wish that I could have done that, but unfortunately I’m stuck with reality, and that means that I have to admit that something isn’t quite right. Autopsy needs a grimy, raw, diseased sound, and that’s missing here. This is just too clear and clean for its own good. Who would have ever thought that these sick bastards would need more filth?

After some surprising disappointments so far this year (Morbid Angel, My Dying Bride, and to a lesser degree Pestilence, plus a couple more I don’t even want to mention), it’s encouraging to know that the old school defenders of the Metal faith collectively known as Deceased will never let us down. Main-man King Fowley had to take several years off of drumming to recover from some health problems, and so the band’s previous album, 2005’s As the Weird Travel On, featured October 31’s excellent skin basher, Dave Castillo, with King relegated to just singing. And as great as that album was and is, and certainly no disrespect intended to Castillo, it just wasn’t quite 100% up to snuff (very close, though!). But now, with my #1 pal King back behind the kit, all is right in the Metal world once more, and Surreal Overdose is absolutely unstoppable. Deceased has long mixed bits of Thrash and earlier Heavy Metal elements into a very unique, intricate, and instantly memorable Death Metal style, complemented as always by King’s singular vocals, which are perhaps more gruff than raw. This is one of those rare bands that seems utterly incapable of writing a bad riff, or even a merely okay one, and so the first listen to each new album is a celebration of how things should be done, with each subsequent spin revealing more and more depth, as only the true classics can. And that is what Deceased delivers -every time: a masterpiece.

I went into this thinking it was a brand new studio album and was mightily confused by many things. Why are there three different vocalists? Why is the production value so drastically poorer than the last two records? Haven’t I heard some of these tunes before? Where do babies come from? Well, not really the last one, but I clearly began to discover that something was awry here. Sure enough, this is, in the band’s own words, “…based on unreleased demo recordings… recorded between 1996-2004 and remastered in 2010…” So that answers a few of my questions. I still have more but we’ll get to that later. As for the material, it’s best dissected into three parts. The first four cuts are the Funeral I know and love. Somber, solemn, despondent Doom with the graceful clean voice of Frode Forsmo guiding the misery. For those unaware, this is the band from which the term Funeral Doom was coined. Their early ’90s material fit the description perfectly, and although they don’t really play at that slow motion pace anymore, it still hurts plenty, probably even more so. If you don’t own 2006’s From These Wounds you really don’t deserve life. This was Forsmo’s debut with the group and it remains literally their finest hour. 2008’s As the Light Does the Shadow was also a suitable follow up. (“Hunger,” the first song on this comp is a demo version from that album.) Now I’ve been told that Frode is no longer in the band. That puzzles me. Unless Jonas Renkse is taking his place they won’t do any better. Perhaps he killed himself? This Norwegian band does have a long history with fatal tragedy. I suppose considering their music that makes them the ultimate non-poseurs? Anyway, the next four cuts are in the same musical vein but with a different singer that I don’t much care for. Oystein Rustad, session backing vocalist from 2002’s Fields of Pestilent Grief, can’t hold a candle to Forsmo, so these songs pale in comparison. The last song features vocals from Sara Eick, one of the band’s many different female singers from their early days, who first debuted on the band’s 1997 demo. Her voice is quite angelic, but even she can’t match Frode’s sorrowful tone. So, there you have it. A collection of remastered demos that is about 45% essential. Not entirely what I was hoping for, but a nice addition for the completist. I wonder who the new vocalist will be, and will he be able to fill Forsmo’s shoes? Why did Frode leave the band? Will he continue with his original band, Minas Tirith? His he even still alive? Will I ever meet a girl that isn’t a retarded whore? Stay tuned.

Not much this band has done since their debut, the crushing Doom EP, has been worth a rat’s piss. Their highly anticipated 2007 Metal Blade full-length debut, Genesis, was a dismal failure. I think even the majority of the band’s prepubescent fan base would agree with that statement. However, the follow up, 2009’s Ruination, showed a bit of improvement. Some of those songs were not just all about speed and technicality, seeing a return to heaviness and groove. Would this EP -that perhaps only coincidentally rhymes with their first EP- finally be their much needed return to form? No, not at all. In fact, it’s by far the worst thing they’ve ever done. Just a coincidence indeed, as this material is starting to make Genesis look better all the time, not to mention the progress shown on Ruination thrown out the window. This doesn’t even sound like Job for a Cowboy. It sounds like some kind of cheap Black Dahlia Murder clone. I had to check to see if this was still Jonny Davy singing because it sounds like a newborn baby just learning how to scream. These songs are essentially super-tech melodic Thrash with a few Death Metal chops thrown in. I’ve listened to this about half a dozen times and the only thing that stands out are the annoying paper-thin-scream vocals and a complete lack of anything even remotely memorable or relevant to the band’s past efforts. Maybe this EP is a subtle fuck you to the fans? It’s possible, as I briefly met Davy at a show in Michigan and he was a total dick. I can understand somewhat, given that this was at the height of their Myspace popularity, and it’s tough when the majority of your groupies haven’t had their first period yet.

It was once said by the wise, great prophet Raymond H. Miller II, that any band is capable of writing at least one good song. At the time of this knowledgeable quote, I don’t believe The Dillinger Escape Plan had yet come to exist, so I won’t hold that against him. Night of Suicide’s third record is evidence of this truth. I’m referring, of course, to leadoff cut, “My Thoughts.” Everything gels perfectly for this Dutch Doom outfit throughout this epic track. A blend of My Dying Bride worship with a touch of that funereal negativity bands like Evoken so brilliantly execute. It’s near 12 minutes in length, but you don’t even realize it as you are being sucked in by the repetitive despondent melodies. The rest of the album, by comparison, is a joke. The remaining three tracks come nowhere near “My Thoughts” territory. Boring, sloppy, and thrown together carelessly. Not the way Doom should be handled. I honestly have never heard so many guitar fuckups actually make it to the finished product. And this is their third album? Overdubs, bitches! Punch that shit in! I tried to find something positive to say about these last three cuts, but it’s almost like a completely different band wrote and performed the first song. I guess if anything Night of Suicide does show future promise, but as of right now they are only getting it right 25% of the time.

I met Merle Allin at one of those Expo of the Extreme festivals many moons ago. He seemed very cool. A little burnt out, but perhaps the most down-to-Earth person I met that day. He knows more about sports than you would think. So, I don’t want to come off as anti-Merle during this review at all. Dude hates internet fanzines enough already. But, I don’t think that I’m going out on too far of a limb when I say that the Murder Junkies minus the late, great GG Allin, is pretty much the equivalent to an O’Douls. It still has that same taste (whoever the singer is -I think Merle only plays bass- he’s doing a great job mimicking GG’s vocal style from the Brutality and Bloodshed for All album) but something’s definitely missing. They’ve done the best they can. Album opener, “Once a Whore,” is an instant classic. Great lyrics and catchy-as-fuck Punk hooks. “Stab You 50 Times” is the exact reason I carry a pocket knife. A lot of the songs on Road Killer are funny, whether that be intentional or not I don’t truly know, but I’m not often seeking a good laugh when Punk, or anything else for that matter, fits the mood. So, I’m just not sure when I would reach for this. When I need my Murder Junkie fix, I pretty much own everything Jesus Christ Kevin Michael Allin did. How do you replace the only true Rock ‘n’ Roller left in the world once he’s left the world?

Not since Internal Bleeding’s early days have I heard so many trippy beats and slamming pit riffs! Masshole Death quartet Dysentery are seriously fucking brutal. The foundation is pure Death Metal in that classic East Coast vein (Suffocation, Internal Bleeding, Pyrexia, etc.), but there is also a definite Deathcore vibe woven into the aesthetic. Pit riff! Not to the point that anyone should actually refer to them as Deathcore, but it is there and should be acknowledged. So if you’re anti-mosh when it comes to your Death preference, don’t even bother is the key point here. Pit riff! Not counting the intro and outro, Dysentery blaze through 12 tracks of raucously precise carnage in what seems like no time at all. The songs are so indistinguishable from one another that the album feels like one half-hour long song. So, not the most memorable listen, but the album has a very high quality vibe to it. That vibe being bang your fucking head and get in the pit. Pit riff! These guys crush, chop, hammer, slash, blast, pinch, and liquefy the listener, with a guitar tone heavier than a gaggle of dicks. It should also be noted that Will Caruso’s demonic, cement mixer voicebox is one of Internal Devastations’ s most impressive highlights. No standout tracks, but definitely a standout album. Pit riff!

Do you remember the feeling you had when you first heard As the Flower Withers, Lost Paradise or Serenades? If you’re like me and thought this genre had seen it’s best albums almost two decades, or you agree with Ray’s review of the most recent My Dying Bride album (2011’s Evinta), then you need to track this album down! Originally self-released on vinyl LP in 2009, this is the CD version with “improved mastering and layout.” Regardless of your format choice (I own both for good measure), this Finnish band’s debut full-length is outstanding. While easily categorized as Death/Doom, what sets W.A.I.L. apart is how they managed to capture the feeling of the pioneers, My Dying Bride in particular, while crafting original songs with near perfect tempo variation. Their music is laden with crushing, memorable riffs and tons of atmosphere. The percussion incorporating drums, keys, bongos, djemble, tambourine, triangle and maracas is brilliantly arranged, adding to the either the ambiance or heaviness as needed. The vocals follow suit and the “clean” vocals never cross that line leading into pure weakness like so many recent Death/Doom offerings. There aren’t female vocals, but if there were they’d be deadly. There are violins by a guest musician and, while not offering anything you haven’t heard before, they fit perfectly in place in the one song they’re used. This concept album, based on the band’s acrostic name, is it sure to please all die hard fans of the Doom trinity, and I predict W.A.I.L. will be signed to a major indie label (Profound Lore Records?) if they haven’t already.

There is no bigger fan of Roger “Rogga” Johansson than myself, but even I am starting to wonder if the man isn’t spreading himself a little bit too thin. Encyclopaedia Metallum can’t even keep tabs on how many bands “Revolting” Rogga is currently or formerly a part of. It seems like every time you turn around he’s in some new project that, aside from a few slight dissimilarities, sounds exactly like his other bands. Altogether it seems as though he’s putting out a new album every month! It’s for this reason I ponder whether his bread-and-butter bands, Paganizer and the mighty Ribspreader, suffer the consequences of his idea well being run dry. He is somehow still a monster on the mic. Only a select handful of vocalists can lay claim to being more brutal while still retaining some element of intelligibility. For Revolting he also handles six-string duties, and talk about a riff machine. If I had a dollar for every good riff Rogga wrote I wouldn’t need to work (or rob folks). Again, not much stylistic difference from his main bands. Perhaps a wee bit Thrashier than most of his projects, but still pure Old School Swedeath to the core. In Grisly Rapture starts off solid with the powerful one-two punch of “Hell in Dunwich” and “The Plague of Matul.” Unfortunately, things really kind of taper off from there, which brings me back to my operational exhaustion theory. Not much else on the album is all that memorable, save for the dynamic melodic interplay on “(Beyond) The Book of Eibon.” Rogga’s rugged pipes work very well with melancholy (see The 11th Hour). Maybe that’s an avenue he should explore in the future. The man eats, sleeps, shits, and breathes high quality Swedish Death Metal, and that’s why we love him, but everyone is susceptible to burn out. If anyone has earned a vacation…

You never can predict what bands are going to catch fire when it comes to Extreme Metal. For whatever reason, Michiganites The Black Dahlia Murder are huge. I think they’re currently touring with Godsmack for fuck’s sake. What’s surprising is that they’ve managed to get to the top by not really sacrificing any heaviness when it comes to their Thrash-infused brand of Death Metal. Almost as if they were randomly cherry picked to be a success story while countless Death Metal bands that pack a million times more punch are paying to play free shows with Bitchslicer. Not that I’m hating. I’m sure they’ve paid their dues, and truthfully, these guys aren’t that bad. It’s just that it’s been a decade, five full-length albums, and we’re still waiting for them to write their first memorable riff. I’ve read many interviews with the band and they usually prove to be more entertaining than their actual music. They seem to be pretty down-to-Earth guys, as if the vast wastelands of Michigan could bear anything but. The kind that would be cool to have a beer and talk Metal with. As for Ritual, it’s pretty much indistinguishable from any of their other records. Fast, heavy, boring. I think the main obstacle that prevents me from enjoying this - and makes their success even more perplexing - is vocalist Trevor Strnad. Like I said, cool guy. No question about it. His vocals? Awful. Pure shit. No ability whatsoever. Whether it’s his pitiful basic growl or his beyond annoying screech, it’s hard to make it through one full song. Yet, they’re probably playing a sold out Soldier Field tonight. Maybe people just like what they’re told to? Good karma? Mafia ties? Okay, maybe I’m hating a little. But seriously, some kind of Upper Peninsula djinn? Illuminati?

I usually don’t bat an eye when I read something advertised as “the most brutal Death Metal album of the year” anymore, because you see that promised with such frequency these days. However, Italy’s Putridity back up Willowtip’s claim with unapologetic force on their second “full length” album. No gay intro necessary, you hit play and are instantly pulverized by machine gun snare hits, jackhammer double bass, a hail storm of pinch harmonics, downtuned buzzsaw guitars, rumbling bass sewage, and guttural vocals so over-the-top that a lyric sheet wouldn’t stand a snowball’s chance in Hell. The songs are completely indecipherable. I honestly don’t know how the band even tells them apart. Only the pauses in between songs alert you that the tracks have changed. So, you can throw memorability out the window, but this is one of those rare albums that can be appreciated for its sheer, inhuman brutality alone. This 24-minute, swarming, rabid flow of dizzying truculence is like a warm, fuzzy, electric blanket that comforts and soothes the cold and weary Death Metal fiend. Once the album comes to its abrupt end, it immediately leaves a void that can only be filled with more insanely brutal Death Metal. Now where the fuck is my copy of that new Defeated Sanity?

Nashville Doomsters Loss write long songs, but it takes them even longer to actually get the album out. Despond is a debut full-length seven years in the making. And if you want to knit pick, it only contains three new songs (not counting the intro/outro, and two instrumental segues). Two tracks here originally appeared on the Life Without Hope… Death Without Reason demo, and another is from the split with Worship. Okay, that’s as much as I’m going to bitch about because I actually love this album more than I hate life. They have vastly stepped their game up. I have Deathgasm’s pressing of said demo, and it was just okay. The production was a little too crude to suit Funeral Doom and, sadly for me, the bonus cover of Katatonia’s “Brave” -albeit done well- was live and therefore even more crude sounding. Apparently these guys have spent every day of that seven years honing their craft to perfection, as Despond shimmers with beautiful negativity in its crushing, surreal heaviness. The production flaws have all been ironed out. The aforementioned older cuts sound a million times better, with the elegantly titled, “Cut Up, Depressed and Alone,” stealing the show. Loss weave the saddest clean guitar licks into their oppressively brutal epics. Imagine Pink Floyd jamming with Ahab! The bestial, suicidal mourning that haunts every passing second of this hour-long journey through human suffering never once sounds forced or faked, the common trappings of the bands of this ilk who fail. This is the soundtrack to pure depression, and quite possibly the finest Funeral Doom offering any American band have or ever will contribute to the scene. No foolies.

This is just one of those bands that will never go away until the members are finally dead. I don’t want to make it sound as if I’m not a fan at all. I proudly own Humanity Is the Devil and Seasons in the Size of Days, both great albums from the mid-’90s that still sound great today. It’s just that.. well… check this band’s discography out on Wikipedia sometime when you get the chance. Even with the compilation tracks subtracted it’s still uncountable. You can have too much of a good thing, let alone a mediocre thing. Here I’d thought this band had called it quits for awhile. Judging by what I’ve heard recently, including this new album, it’s writing quality songs that they quit doing. This album sounds like it was recorded live and, oops, someone forgot to mic the drums. Unless they want you to only hear the drums when the guitars aren’t distorted. You never know, some people really want you to think they’re crazy, or different, or both, or that they just don’t give a fuck (see album title). They do, trust me. You don’t release 37 recordings per year solely for your own enjoyment. Even if this didn’t sound like it was recorded at a truck stop bathroom, not much here would be salvageable. “Sermon Thirteen” and track 5 (the name of the song, much like the album title, too stupid to type) are the only songs I can actually remember, but that’s just because they were gayer than the rest. One is spoken word to some kind of hippie jam band music, the other is just noise filler, and again, this is the standout material. The rest is a balance of Crusty and Sludgy Hardcore so unmemorable and dull that I momentarily forgot who I was listening to. So, yeah, go check out Humanity Is the Devil and Seasons in the Size of Days, leave this one on the shelf. It wwas extremeLEE PAINfull to sit THReww.

Finnish gloom masters Insomnium are a pillar of consistency in the field of Melodeath. They’re right up there with Amon Amarth when it comes to manipulating melody to get the exact feel you want. For the Swedes it’s epic majesty, for these Finns it’s energetic melancholy. I actually heard “Weather the Storm” for the first time late last year. I figured it was a castaway from the Across the Dark sessions or maybe the Lithuanian bonus track. The release of this single, however, has me leaning more towards something from an upcoming new album, or perhaps just a stopgap treasure. I wasn’t able to detect it back then, but this cut actually features Dark Tranquillity’s Mikael Stanne with a little guest vocal action on the pre-chorus. Nice to hear his raspy snarl mesh with the sorrowful roar of Niilo Sevanen. This is a fantastic song with terrific buildup. One arrangement sets up the next perfectly, with climactic melody being the vehicle. The kind of song that makes you want to climb a mountain, stand proudly atop, then jump off and end your miserable life. What keeps this release from perfection is the B-side. A true B-side in every sense of the word, an instrumental. Don’t get me wrong, for lack of a better a word, “Beyond the Horizon” is pretty. It’s just a little mellow, hinting at boring, and really pales in comparison to the brilliance of the A-side. An A-side in every sense of the word.