Album Review: Goya, In the Dawn of November
Eight wretched years after their last missive, Harvester of Bongloads (review here), depressive Arizona riffers Goya return with In the Dawn of November, which is unmistakably their most miserable work to-date. Of course that’s a compliment, since misery is what they’re shooting for. All your faux, on-the-internet spiritual enlightenment, toxic positivity and birthday wishes can fall down a well; it’s time for “Sick of Your Shit.” It feels like a hallmark of our age that something dark and downer is automatically considered more realistic, but if you can look at the world around you in 2025, planet and people, and feel good about it, you’re either clueless or an asshole.
It’s not with pseudo-Buddhist posturing that guitarist Jeffrey Owens opines that “Existence is pain” so much as casual observation. As Goya close in on the band’s 15th anniversary next year, Owens is the remaining founding member and as In the Dawn of November rolls out with its eight-minute title-track, his delivery and cynicism become a major part of the impression and persona of the album. Not surprising, right? That’s kind of always been the case with Goya, but — and this might be maturity creeping into their approach; this is their fourth LP after all — the weed-worship and horror-cinema themes have been largely put to the side in favor of honing in on the despondent.
Production by Jack Endino — as if to say ‘we’re not screwing around this time’ — who of course is known for his work in the heavy underground with High on Fire, Windhand, Nebula, etc., never mind CV lines like Nirvana, gives life to the lumbering roll of “In the Dawn of November,” and from CJ Sholtis‘ bass intro onward, a current of Type O Negative creeps into Goya‘s sound instrumentally, offering sympathy in the culminating leads, but coming across as resigned more than hopeful with the repeated line, “Please let me go.” This ending is backed by the declarative, righteous, highlight swing of “Cemetery Blues,” punctuated by Marcus Bryant‘s thudding toms and marching to the hi-hat and smooth kick.
The underlying influence of Electric Wizard is still there — the Dorset doom mainstays have always been a factor in Goya‘s approach — but “Cemetery Blues” is less stoned, swings more and hits lands harder. Preston Bryant‘s synth later on gives a sense of flourish that “In the Dawn of November” seemed to purposefully withhold, and there’s more lead guitar antics, but “Cemetery Blues” is still about the riff at its foundation. It holds its direction for the duration, and is right to do so, sounding inspired in addition to making a show of its wretchedness and wanting to die. In succession, “Depressive Episode” and “Sick of Your Shit” follow. The former is faster, speeding up the swing, and “Sick of Your Shit” brings lines like, “You think you’re fucking cool/You’re just another piece of shit I despise,” that, if you’re the ‘you’ in question, is probably enough to ruin your day.
So much the better, then, to be in the proper headspace for the remainder of In the Dawn of November. It’s noteworthy that “Depressive Episode” manages to speed up the proceedings without losing the clarity in Sholtis‘ bass or Owens‘ guitar. The rumble is there, it just moves, and the Endino mix gives it the space to do so, even amid the wah-insanity atop the gallop in the back half. “Sick of Your Shit” is slower and marks the presumed start of side B. It makes itself welcome with a quick intro groove before a “blech” marks the transition to the riff-proper, and goes on to position itself in the running for your feel-awful hit of the summer. Just in time for wildfires, continued daily numbing to corruption and political violence, and ongoing genocide. The song isn’t about any of that stuff, at least not outwardly, but again, it for sure feels like it’s speaking to the moment we’re in.
To that end comes the 12-minute “I Wanna Be Dead.” With just the instrumental epilogue “Comes With the Fall” after it — which I think makes the penultimate track ‘the fall’ in this case — “I Wanna Be Dead” is as much a blanket musical statement as it is a straightforward lyrical declaration. In Sabbathian tradition, it starts with a storm and a bell tolling, and it gradually unfolds around that backdrop with crashes and a pointedly doomly cast. It is Goya at their most Goya, with Owens layering vocal lines for emphasis on his way to shouting into the void, “There’s nothing after this/To be a corpse/But of course,” in unmitigated and winking glorification of death.
The next lines lay it out: “It’s just the fantasy within my head/I’m hoping/I’m praying/I’m waiting/I wanna be dead,” and then the title lyric repeats to really nail down the hook. That chorus is definitive for the song itself, but at 12 minutes, obviously there’s more going on than Owens saying he wants to die. The spacious, organ-laced break in the middle allows for atmospheric flourish in a way that a lot of the album has eschewed — preface for “Comes With the Fall,” which is more obscure with its vague speech sample, noise and meandering layers of guitar — and gives over to the solo in an effective reveal of the build the band has just begun to pay off.
It finishes by casting ‘a pox upon the human race’ and pushing into deeper heft after a last run through the chorus, complemented by the returning keys. A lot of how a given listener approaches In the Dawn of November will probably come down to their own disposition in the world around them. How much misanthropy can you take? How much negativity is too much? How low can you go? Goya make a show of their depression, and dare to make it a very specific kind of fun — again Type O Negative feel like a factor — but if you can’t hang with a dude talking straight up about how he wants his life to be over, well, this probably isn’t the first time you’ve run into the problem in doom.
There’s a challenge in there as well, though. Doom, as a genre, as a worldwide community, has a problem with mental health and the ongoing spate of suicides and early deaths to prove it. I don’t know if it’s something to be reconciled with or just sad about, but In the Dawn of November is unflinching in accounting for its own joylessness. If Owens or anyone else in the band needs help, I hope they get it, but I’ve been in that place where it feels like there’s no point in moving forward and found myself repeatedly turning to music to prove myself wrong. Perhaps there can be catharsis here, in such a vivid expression.
Either way, please don’t kill yourself.
Goya, “In the Dawn of November” official video
Goya, In the Dawn of November (2025)
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