“Phoenix, Arizona’s Thorn, in spite of having a ridiculously generic name, has its trademark sound down to a science. Featuring a blasting and impenetrable wall of death metal, as cavernous as Cruciamentum and as sticky as Chthe’ilist, the sound has transferred neatly across the act’s three full-lengths – the only issue is just how fast to play it.” Thorn in the ears.
“The somewhat ominously titled…However, It Still Moves is the debut of Chilean death-doomsters Sporae Autem Yuggoth. Without being able to parse the Latin, but being informed by the promo material that theirs is a “Lovecraftian moniker,” all this adds up to quite a foreboding piece. This portent proves pretty accurate upon pressing play. What unfolds is an hour of spooky, synth-accented, gritty death metal that’s essentially funeral doom with a grimy low-fi production.” No sudden movements.
“Dreams of Dysphoria certainly has its atmospheric moments—and those are the best bits by the way—but it feels closest to a more sprawling disso-death, if we had to pigeonhole. Melody is almost entirely absent, along with comprehensible vocals, traditional song structures, and reason.” Death dreams, waking nightmares.
“Another day, another death metal album. This must have been how reviewers back in the time of my younger youth felt when rethrash brought us swaths of sweaty song-named bands who littered the 4th to 5th spots on the local concert circuit. For every Blood Incantation or Astral Tomb that pops along—bands who play recognizably death metal but with a sense of ambition or divergence—there are at least a dozen other Dead and Dripping or Molder style bands that leak out of the collective pool of putrid palm-muted chugs. From this same OSDM ooze Fleshrot has seeped into our sudoriferous sump leaving enough of an odor for me to take a second look in the perennial quest to find the most 1991 of what 2022 has to offer.” Slowly we Fleshrot.
Steel Druhm dragged a mammoth set of winners up to the peaks of Mount Trve and carved the chosen names into stone. You will now receive them as the Top Ten(ish) of Steel. Rejoice!
Saunders, Huck and Cherd deliver their weighty Top Ten(ish) lists and try to get along in the process.
“Over a year and a half ago, Floridian band WORM released Gloomlord, a funeral/death doom album that marked a left turn for the former black metal outfit. I found it below average. Remarkably, my proclamation of its deficiencies wasn’t enough to keep others from enjoying it. The absolute fucking nerve. An inordinate number of other metal polymaths in the blogosphere sang its dolorous praises to the point that I wondered if maybe I had been mistaken, as rare an occurrence as that may be. When follow-up Foreverglade was announced, I decided to revisit Gloomlord, and I found it…about the same. Two good tracks and three duds. As I hit play on Foreverglade, I mentally prepared to be the bearer of bad reviews a second time.” The WORM has turned.
“Nightmother is a malevolent ode to the “unholy feminine.” The band promises an “opus bereft of the warmth of the womb” and a “sublime and bacchanal celebration of matriarchal sovereignty.” I’m not 100% sure what this all means, but it looks suitably fun and debauched. The sound Wormlight employs is a (relatively) accessible form of melodic black metal.” Happy Nightmother’s Day!
“It never bodes well when a writer with squatter’s rights to a promo doesn’t raise a fuss when you snatch it from them. I selected Floridian death-doom band Worm’s second album Gloomlord from our putrid promo pit without doing my due diligence to see if they had been covered on the site before. Turns out they have, and the good Dr. Wvrm wasn’t even a little sorry to see this one go to a different writer.” Worm turns.
“Iron Bonehead doesn’t do nice. With more goats in their stable than a petting zoo, their outfits strive for all things nasty, brutish, and Satanic. What’s a poser to do when confronted with such trveness? Worm couldn’t care less. In their mind, it’s still 1994: if your metal doesn’t sound like it was recorded on tape strung through Satan’s butt crack, no dinner and 666 lashes for you, buster brown.” Butt crack blackness rides again.
