There is a candid sense of liveliness and joviality that pierces Tempel’s compositions. Much of the record leaves an impression of a hard/classic rock aesthetic, however, the way they dig their heels into metallic qualities, carried by vociferous rasps, makes the album feel retro and simultaneously progressive.
The murky and washy texture of the music, the clean interludes, and the dismal tropospheric layering of blast beats and vocals competing for the title of the least clear sound in the mix lend to this positive and generally empowering aura Strävan exudes.
Elegiac are Emily Highfield’s compositions as she effortlessly floats from warm guitar passages to forlorn bogs of blackened malice. Amidst her transitional wafts, she often caresses listeners with witch-like whispers. And in flashes of ember-tinged light, she glides upward, transcending her auditory structures into feverishly blissful twinkles of awe.
A new album review podcast series between podcast host Ryan and album review writer, Tim. We discuss four albums for about 10 to 20 minutes apiece, expounding upon qualities we enjoyed as well as qualities we were not necessarily fond of.
Tårn delivers on so many fronts: it’s groovy, it’s heavy, and it’s catchy, a winning combo. Though Ruff Majik has never been as heavy as to be labeled a doom metal act, with each album they grow darker and more brooding and their sound here is a far cry from the stoner rock sounds heard on their debut, The Bear.
Sulphur English is utterly sullen and crushing, yet simultaneously intoxicating, triumphant, and revitalizing. It latches onto an ancient strand of DNA residing in each of us. And it strives to ignite a smoldering flame to illuminate an ancient path we have strayed.
A despondent expanse made verdant by its lush, transfixing melodies; a seamless wayfaring, Jord och aska harbors an elegant blissfulness sodden in melancholy.
We reach a lull as the abrasive yet alluring wall of sound is broken by swirling keyboards and reverb-drenched guitar. This respite is accompanied by visions of lush, green, cold forests that seems to pass by as if in some sort of fevered dream.
Etched into this album’s enigmatic fabric are dizzying patterns of electronic soundscapes, an unflinching quantity of bizarre timbres and transitions, and a keen sense of mania.
The saying goes: “In his house in R’lyeh dead Cthulhu waits dreaming.” After listening to “kOsmik,” I’m pretty sure Cthulhu’s writing vicious atmospheric metal.
The unbridled melancholy pouring from each individual note swirls together to forge a blizzard of biting anguish, though amidst the relentless gales, moments of sunlight manage to break through.
When listening to Heretics a few key words came to mind, those being: heroic, brooding, reverend and dare I say, heavenly at times.