Cancervo will release their new album, III, this Friday, March 29, through Electric Valley Records (US distro through Glory or Death Records). And it’s by far the darkest, bleakest affair the first-names-only Lombardy, Italy, three-piece of bassist/vocalist Luka, guitarist Francesco and drummer Sam have yet manifest, as an ongoing incremental evolution of their take on cult doom over the last three years has seen them grow from the instrumentalist beginnings of 2021’s I (review here) and Luka‘s emergent metal-of-eld declarations across most of early-2023’s II (review here) to the 32 minutes and five tracks — four plus the sans-vocals church organ mood-setter “Intro” — of III, each numerical outing presenting a deeper plunge into their lurching and abyssal nod.

And III goes fairly deep into its own inky atmosphere, even before “Burn Your Child” wraps side A with its repetitions of “Burn your child/Burn your child,” with the band having already underscored their malevolence as the organ “Intro” gave over to the riff-forward march of “Sacrilegious Mass,” which in its sub-six minutes quickly establishes the vocals not only as an element of the band’s sound of increasing prominence, but as a defining feature. Luka, working in a low register not-quite-monotone that speaks to influences far and wide while carrying a distinctly Celtic Frostian poise, follows the pattern of the riff in the song’s midsection hook, letting the listener know “You’re gonna suffer” as a central line that feels by the time it comes around again like he’s as much in the trance as he is a part of making it. Meanwhile, Sam‘s drums keep a steady swing beneath a noisy ripper of a solo from Francesco, filled out in the bottom end by Luka‘s bass. The difference is confidence.

I wouldn’t call II or even I tentative in their approach, but what the band has wanted to accomplish has grown along with their sound, and in “Burn Your Child,” “St. Barnabas” and “Red Pig” — two near-eight-minute tracks bookending the nine-minute “St. Barnabas” — their ambitions resonate in kind with the drear, reaching into more extreme fare for a d-beat stretch in “Burn Your Child” that admirably holds to the same riff that led into it before going back to the second of three choruses, the last of which swaps “wife” for “child” in the lyrics and leads to another furious solo and speedy drum breakout to finish. Momentum on their side, the trio feel willful in the contrasting quiet open to “St. Barnabas,” which builds up around the guitar over its first minute before ultimately slamming into its grueling procession. As noted below, Cancervo take their lyrical inspiration from regional folklore, and while the connection between a saint who lived in Cyprus isn’t immediate, in nearby Milan, there’s a sect called the Barnabites that was founded in the 1500s, so yeah, it fits, and yeah, I had to look all that up. You’re welcome.

“St. Barnabas” lumbers to its close and brings about the final immersion of “Red Pig,” with a looser-feeling chant and a resumption of the overarching nod that has been at the core all along and remains even as the finale shifts after three-plus minutes into more ambient sounds, either actual bells or evocations thereof soon enough transitioning back into the riff as Cancervo drop hints as to where their continued explorations of style and craft might lead without giving up the for-the-converted worship of slow-delivered distortion until the solo builds on “Sacrilegious Mass” and “Burn Your Child” and “St. Barnabas” with a more brazen overall freakout. But that they know who they are is never in doubt across III, and sure enough, “Red Pig” turns back to a few measures of riff to end, the message of structural priority consistent and welcome.

Because of the thread of progression across their work thus far, I’m not at all willing to say Cancervo are done growing or that they’ve realized everything they could ever hope to do musically here. They follow patterns well, and that helps give III a defined shape where much cult-leaning doom feels content to disappear in its own murk, and it’s easy to imagine that intention as a way for them to keep pushing themselves as songwriters and performers. As it stands, III comes across as sure of what it wants to be and casts Cancervo as increasingly individual within their genre, finding their niche and taking it as far into the depths as they can go, candles lit for thanatos behind them. Until they next arise, then.

PR wire background follows the full stream of III on the player below.

Please enjoy:

Cancervo, III album premiere

Cancervo derive their name from an iconic mountain near Bergamo, Italy, nestled in a valley steeped in rich traditions and folklore. Charmed by the tale of a mythical creature, part dog and part deer, that roamed on Cancervo, three local heavy riff enthusiasts from San Giovanni Bianco formed the band as a homage to their cherished valley and its mystical legends.

Their 2021 debut, simply titled I, represents local places and myths. A complete instrumental outing, the album dabbles in sedating psych, deserted stoner/doom, and preternatural prog.

II, the sophomore album, released in 2023, continues Cancervo’s occult narratives of their land. In search of doom roots, the album takes more and more motivating forces from the early ’70s and passably abandons the psych moments of the first album. Unlike the first full-length, I, which was entirely instrumental, this record incorporates vocals on most tracks.

The forthcoming full-length, III, heralds a darker and more introspective phase for the band. Each track on the last album evolved from concert to concert, paving the way for this transformative phase. A distinct vocal presence emerges as the guiding force, alongside the inevitable and recognizable doomy riffs that have always been the trio’s trademark. This tale promises to immerse listeners in the timeless struggle between the sacred and the profane — a theme deeply ingrained in the folklore of the valley beneath the shadow of Mount Cancervo.

Track Listing:
1. Intro (1:52)
2. Sacrilegious Mass (5:50)
3. Burn Your Child (7:52)
4. St. Barnabas (9:02)
5. The Red Pig (7:55)

Album Credits:
All songs written and played by Cancervo. (“Intro” written and played by Fido)
Recorded, mixed and mastered by Alessandro “Otto” Galli at the Otto Engineering Mobile Studio 2029.
Band Photo by Christian Riva.
Graphics by EVR Studio.

Band Lineup:
Luka – Bass & Vocals
Francesco – Guitars
Sam – Drums

Cancervo on Facebook

Cancervo on Instagram

Cancervo on Bandcamp

Electric Valley Records website

Electric Valley Records on Facebook

Electric Valley Records on Instagram

Electric Valley Records on Bandcamp

This Wednesday, March 27, Swedish heavy and progressive rockers Skraeckoedlan return with their fourth full-length, Vermillion Sky. It is their second LP through Fuzzorama Records behind the sprawling realization of 2019’s Eorþe (review here), with the years between finding the Borlänge/Norrköping four-piece reissuing their 2011 debut, Äppelträdet (review here) and its 2015 follow-up, Sagor (review here), through The Sign Records, and its arrival has been anticipated since the band unveiled “The Vermillion Sky” as a standalone single over half a year ago.

Vermillion Sky is a multifaceted project even before one gets to the rhythmic twists and melodic reaches, the grandiosities and quiet moments offered in its component eight tracks and 47 minutes, and if part of either that span of months or the not-accounted-for-by-plague portion of the five years it’s been since Eorþe comes from lining up logistics on either the video game or English-language novel intended to be released to complement the music, fair enough, though it was four between Sagor and that record as well, so it’s not an outlandish dearth of activity by any means. The novelization of Vermillion Sky, reportedly broken into chapters around each song, will perhaps be of particular interest to that non-Swedish-speaking contingent of their listenership who’ve maybe not been curious enough to run their lyrics through a translation matrix to get a semblance of the themes out of science-fiction, daikaiju, and so on.

To wit, “The Vermillion Sky,” caps an expansive A-side that begins with the drone-backed staticky dialogue in the two-minute intro “Cosmic Dawn” from whence a Devin Townsendy prog flow emerges with the anchoring fuzz on Erik Berggren‘s bass and fluid drumming of Martin Larsson‘s drums complemented by shimmer of synth and the guitars of Robert Lamu and Henrik Grüttner in a showcase of maturity and (condensed) patience that serves as preface to the stately composition of the title-track and others here. That obscured speech, mixed low enough that you genuinely might not hear it the first time through, ties into the escape-from-earth — and no, it’s not lost on me that their last record was ‘earth’ in translation — narrative of “The Vermillion Sky,” and while they seem to work in as well as around this thematic and it might at first be unclear how the hooky repetitions of the in-English title lyric to second single “Night Satan” fit in, the concept remains present for the lines, “Så lägg din hand i min och visa mig bland stjärnorna/Jag la min hand i din och du visa mig oändlighet” (“So put your hand in mine and show me the stars/I put my hand in yours and you show me infinity,” according to the internet), so those connections are there if not always obvious. One assumes the same applies for the likes of “Starsquatch,” “Metagalactic Void Honcho,” who sounds as burly as one might expect given the title, “Meteorb” or “Astronautilus” as well.

But even if you as the listener don’t take Vermillion Sky on for its storyline at all or if scrolling shooter games aren’t your thing, the songs are enough to carry you through. “Starsquatch” enters with a burst, resets in an open expanse of keyboard and sweeps in the first of a vast collection of massive grooves, characteristic in its adherence to fuzzier tonality and arrangement depth evident even just in the space between the guitar and drums, never mind the e-bow or whatever effect it is or the arrangement of lead and backing vocals in the rolling chorus. Hitting a stop at 4:40 into its 7:58, they break to echoing vocals and standalone guitar before surging forward again in a pointed wash of distortion that turns out to be a misdirect as they cut to clearer-sounding dual-guitar leads and a faster tempo verse ahead of the actual solo. Of course the riff comes back, bigger and more consuming, and the pattern of side A is set when “Mysteria” takes its turn riff-punching through the wall with dense low end and purposeful shove — the first half of the album trading shorter-to-longer pieces starting with “Cosmic Dawn” and the second half switching that to its own two longer tracks bookending the relative brevity of “Night Satan” and “Meteorb.”

So Skraeckoedlan are playing with time as well as space on Vermillion Sky, and the level of composition and nuance with which they do so shouldn’t be understated. Lamu‘s vocal melodies — and I’m sorry, I don’t know every detail on who’s doing what vocally here, but there are voice-swaps enough to make me think it’s multiple singers — go beyond following the riffs, which are occasionally busy enough that that would be a challenge anyway, and feel like part of the atmosphere along with the Mellotron and Rhodes (or some such) that further distinguish “Mysteria” after the push through its first half has already brought intense strikes of piano as part of its culminating build just before the two-and-a-half-minute mark.

That holds true in rougher-delivered or shoutier stretches like the end of “Mysteria,” or the gutted-out verses of “Metagalactic Void Honcho” surrounded by what sounds like duly gravitational destruction that dares some hope in its lead-topped final nod before it cuts to far-back guitar echoes and thud to end, or the galloping midsection of “Meteorb,” wherein even the air-tight structure and quick 3:38 runtime are enough for the band to use vocals as an instrument corresponding to the mood of a given part. The scorch of keyboard in that song’s charge, the way the drums open up the groove in the last hook, the details and nuance of the keys, synth, guitar, effects, whatever, in the mix — it all comes together as a complete representation of craft from Skraeckoedlan that feels deeper and more dug into its own processes than they’ve been before, but at the same time is more engaging and outward-reaching for that. If that’s a mature Skraeckoedlan self-producing and wielding their own sound, cognizant of their dynamic and the physicality of the material they’re writing, I’ll take it happily. They always feel like they’re ready to break out and run. That catch-up-to-this energy is always there, pulling the audience forward.

At the same time, their sense of control is palpable, whether it’s the look-what-we-can-do-with-a-stoner-riff mid-tempo chug in the verses of “Night Satan” — lest we forget their tonal and recording tutelage under Truckfighters (who also run Fuzzorama Records) — or the furies manifest in dramatic style on “Metagalactic Void Honcho” just before, but detracts neither from the energy in their delivery or their willingness to go all-in on an arrangement like “Astronautilus,” mellowing after its verse for a moment of proggy, key-topped exploration as it circles around and builds tension for its flowing, deceptively graceful emergence, leading into a solo and chorus that reinforce notions of structure even as they adrenaline-boost Vermillion Sky out of the atmosphere and into the resonant float of its comedown, some staticky layer there calling back to the opening of “Cosmic Dawn” as that structural cohesion finds its own meta level on which to operate.

Each album Skraeckoedlan have released has been an incremental step forward creatively from the one before it, and that applies to Vermillion Sky even as the band further define and distinguish an idea of their individual sound. That they recorded and mixed it themselves (Magnus Lindberg mastered) is also a crucial consideration — not because of any kind of down-scaling in production value; there isn’t one — but as another way to continue to grow as a unit and a means of more directly bringing their music to life. And whatever else is happening around them in various media, whatever apocalypses they’re conveying in the world they’ve conjured, these songs feel utterly alive.

The album streams in full below. Please enjoy:

Skraeckoedlan, Vermillion Sky album premiere

Order link: https://eu.fuzzoramastore.com/en/skraeckoedlan.html

In short, this is a sci-fi themed concept piece that screams DIY, having been entirely written, recorded, produced and mixed by the band themselves. A huge undertaking, especially considering one of the first steps in the process was basically to google: “how to properly mic a snare drum”. Mastering however has been beautifully done by Magnus Lindberg (Cult of Luna), which as always has yielded fantastic results.

Speaking of DIY and huge undertakings, Vermillion Sky will also be available as a novel (date to come), where each chapter corresponds to a track on the album. The story has been written by the band and is for those that want to take a real deep dive into the concept and join the crew of the Vermillion Sky as they unravel a mystery with galactic consequences. Contrary to the signature Swedish lyrics of the songs, the novel is in English.

An even more active way to interact with the release is to play the Vermillion Sky computer game the band has helped create. It’s an 8-bit style point chaser, where you travel through the Void as the ship, collecting upgrades to survive the multitude of enemies trying to put an end to your journey. If you want the absolute best experience of the game, make sure to come to one of the release tour shows, where Skraeckoedlan’s very own Vermillion Sky-arcade machine will be featured.

Live long and prosper!

Vermillion Sky tracklist
1. Cosmic Dawn (2:42)
2. Starsquatch (7:58)
3. Mysteria (5:21)
4. The Vermillion Sky (7:10)
5. Metagalactic Void Honcho (8:07)
6. Night Satan (4:53)
7. Meteorb (3:38)
8. Astronautilus (7:50)

Skraeckoedlan:
Robert Lamu – Vocals, Guitar
Henrik Grüttner – Guitar, Vocals
Erik Berggren – Bass, Vocals
Martin Larsson – Drums, Vocals

Skraeckoedlan, Vermillion Sky game preview

Skraeckoedlan’s website

Skraeckoedlan on Instagram

Skraeckoedlan on Facebook

Fuzzorama Records website

Fuzzorama Records on Facebook

Fuzzorama Records on Instagram

Fuzzorama Records on Bandcamp

Barcelona trio Maragda will release their sophomore full-length, Tyrants, on May 8 through Spinda Records. At the bottom of this post, you’ll find two versions of the title-track premiering — the album version of the song and a live-in-studio take as if to demonstrate, “yes, we really can pull this off.” And so they can. And hopefully will for much of the rest of this year on tour in Europe.

Officially, that’s the point of this post. Between you and me, sitting comfortably having a friendly chat together about the things in life that make it tolerable, I’ll tell you that I’ve had the chance to dig into the record and that the hooky proggy cosmic modern space boogie bop of “Tyrants” is no fluke. Maragda pinpoint genre intersections and explore sounds throughout Tyrants that go beyond manifesting the potential of their 2021 self-titled debut (review here). Clear-eyed in their composition, rich in melody and atmosphere, they could hardly be doing more to signal their arrival to the heavy underground in Europe and beyond.

Preorders open tonight at midnight CET, and while I acknowledge that not every track is going to land with every listener, I urge you to take a few minutes for “Tyrants,” which opens the album, to get a glimpse at the sprawl Maragda are conjuring and the manner in which they careen through it. European tribalism has for the better part of 40 years ignored the development of Iberian heavy and progressive rock. Tyrants shows this for how ridiculous it truly is in its flourishing realization and the outreach in the production at Big Snuff Studio by the esteemed Richard Behrens (he was in Heat and Samsara Blues Experiment, has helmed records for Samavayo, Delving and Weite, Abanamat, countless others), actively working to engage the modern heavy psych sphere with all its king-this-and-thats and bouncy galaxial thrust, while also tapping into Spain’s long history of prog melody. Shit, it’s even in English (as was the first record). They could hardly do more if they offered to put your name in a song.

It is an exciting listen. It is not the most hyped album you’re going to hear in 2024, but if you do catch it — and now’s a good time to be introduced — it might just be something you come to treasure.

To wit, it’s one I feel strongly enough about that, in addition to premiering the studio and live versions of “Tyrants” at the bottom of this post, I’m slated to stream the album in full Tuesday, May 7. Keep an eye out.

Art, PR wire info and, crucially, the music, follow. Please enjoy:

MARAGDA DROPS ‘TYRANTS’ AS FIRST SINGLE OF THEIR UPCOMING SECOND STUDIO ALBUM

Preorders (midnight CET March 22): https://spindarecords.com/

Maragda, the energetic power-trio from Barcelona, announces the release of their second studio album, “Tyrants”, available on May 8 via Spinda Records. The band is offering a sneak peek of the album with the release of its title track, showcasing both the studio and live versions taken from their recent live session recorded at Siete Barbas Studios.

This highly anticipated album follows their successful self-titled debut album (2021, Spinda Records) and the live EP “The Reckless / Evil Seed” (2022, Spinda Records). In this new musical journey, the band immerses listeners in introspective themes ranging from self-imposed limitations to the fight for values, love, hope, and farewells. All of this unfolds in a hypothetical fantasy universe, where psychedelia and progressive rock continuously merge, adding nuances of other styles like garage.

For the creation of the album “Tyrants”, Maragda embarked on a creative journey that took them to the Big Snuff Studios in Berlin, where they collaborated with studio engineer Richard Behrens, renowned for his work with bands like Kadavar and Elder. Subsequently, the mastering was handled by acclaimed engineer Peter Deimel (known for his work with bands like Motorpsycho) at the Black Box Studios in France, solidifying a successful collaboration that began with their debut album.

In the visual department, the band has once again partnered with Error! Design studio (known for works with Explosions In The Sky, Russian Circles, Mastodon) for the album’s graphic design, ensuring a cohesive and captivating aesthetic experience for their followers.

TRACK-LIST
1. Tyrants
2. Skirmish
3. Endless
4. My only link
5. Sunset room
6. The singing mountain
7. Godspeed
8. Loose

PRE-ORDER:
22 march 2024

RELEASE DATE
8 may 2024

‘Tyrants’ will be available on May 8 through Spinda Records, although album pre-orders will kick off at midnight on Friday, March 22nd, in both CD and vinyl formats. The vinyl edition will be part of the ‘Trippy Series’ from the Andalusian label, alongside acts such as Viaje a 800, Moura, Empty Full Space, or Moundrag. It will be limited to 400 copies on white vinyl with orange splatters and 100 copies on standard black vinyl.

LIVE SHOWS
May 17 | Madrid (ES) @ Madrid Psych Sessions
June 8 | Barcelona (ES) @ Sala Upload (fiesta de presentación)

https://www.instagram.com/maragda.band/
https://www.facebook.com/maragdaaa
http://www.maragda.bandcamp.com/
https://linktr.ee/maragdaband

https://www.facebook.com/SpindaRecords
https://www.instagram.com/spindarecords
https://spindarecords.bandcamp.com/
https://www.spindarecords.com/

Maragda, “Tyrants” track premiere

Maragda, “Tyrants” Live at Siete Barbas Studios video premiere

[Click play above to stream Iota’s Pentasomnia in full. It’s out this Friday, March 22, through Small Stone Records.]

Behold the album of five sleeps. Positioning themselves at the junction between the conscious and unconscious feels fair enough for Salt Lake City trio Iota, whose five-track Pentasomnia LP marks a return from the ether some 16 years after their debut, Tales (discussed here, also here, and I wrote the bio for the reissue), appeared via Small Stone Records and heralded a new generation’s take on what turn-of-the-century heavy rock had accomplished, blowing it out with purposefully epic jamming and putting cosmic-minded heavy, blues and intense desert thrust together to create something immediately of its own from it. I could go on about it — which is obvious if you click those links — but the bottom line is Iota tapped into something special and the 32-minute Pentasomnia is arrives not as the follow-up Tales never got, but as a new realization of self formed from the same components.

Founded in 2002 by guitarist/vocalist Joey Toscano (also synth), who would put out two albums with the more pointedly bluesy Dwellers in 2012’s Good Morning Harakiri (review here) and 2014’s Pagan Fruit (discussed here, review here), Iota solidified as the trio of Toscano, bassist Oz Yosri (who’d later join Xur and Bird Eater) and drummer/engineer Andy Patterson, who had already joined SubRosa by the time Tales was released, would play with that band for the rest of their time and is now in The Otolith and sundry other projects in addition to helming recordings at his studio, Boar’s Nest. That’s where Pentasomnia was assembled and recorded, at least partly live, between late 2018 and early 2019, to be mixed at some point in the last half-decade by Eric Hoegemeyer, mastered by Chris Goosman and issued now through Small Stone.

Those who caught onto Iota and made the jump to Dwellers will recognize elements of his approach in Pentasomnia, particularly in the vocals. Where much of Tales was topped by a reverb-laced Pepper Keenan-esque shout, Pentasomnia brings a more patient take, melodic layers weaving into and out of harmony on closer “The Great Dissolver,” which loses none of its guitar’s shimmering resonance for being just three and a half minutes long and which, like much of what precedes it from the immediately-into-the-verse-maybe-because-it’s-been-long-enough smokey blues of leadoff “The Intruder” onward, feels suited to the dream-state being conveyed. “The Intruder” soon enough fills the space in the mix left open in that verse with rolling distortion and a solo overhead, building through the chorus, exhales and inhales again during the bridge (instrumentally speaking) and shifts into a cascading gallop before the riff and vocals come back ahead of the final comedown. Toscano‘s delivery complements both languid sway and Pentasomnia‘s most active moments, lending character and emotional depth to the songs as a defining feature.

One of the two longer inclusions at 8:14 — the other is centerpiece “The Returner” at 9:15 — “The Intruder” is perhaps named for that willful post-midpoint flow disruption, but the work that the opener does in aligning the listener to where Iota are circa 2024 (or were circa 2019, as it were) is pivotal. It tells you in clear terms that at no point on Pentasomnia are Iota trying to dream it’s 2008, but back then you could hear them pushing themselves creatively and you can hear it now too.

Amid the Soundgardeny thrust of “The Timekeeper,” the vocal reach at the end preserves the moment where breath gives out, and the way the three of them dig into the angular-but-fluid rhythm of “The Witness,” meeting a riff that wouldn’t be out of place in progressive metal with an organic nod and distinctly grunge-tinged vocal harmonies, likewise comes across as a manifestation of personal growth. If you are or think you are the same person now you were 16 years ago, well, you might want to have a hard look at that. By not aping what they did on the debut, by not trying to rebottle that particular lightning, Iota allow themselves to emphasize the sonic adventurousness was so much a part of the band’s appeal in the first place. Pentasomnia doesn’t take you to the same places as Tales, and it’s not supposed to. This is a new journey.

I suppose all of this is in some way an attempt to prepare those who got on board with Tales for the differences in aesthetic and intensity wrought through Pentasomnia, but honestly, I’m not sure it’s that big a deal. It’s the same players, even if Yosri is credited as Oz Inglorious, and the new collection is unquestionably a richer listening experience that accounts for Iota as its own entity in its creative drive, atmosphere and groove — Yosri‘s basswork being the very opposite of his nom de plume — while sharing its predecessor’s lack of pretense and bent toward individual expression in an updated way. I was a big fan of Tales. Hell, I had it on yesterday ahead of writing this review. It holds up. Pentasomnia says and does more than Iota could have during their first run, codifying elements of their style that they never had the chance to reaffirm as their own in Toscano‘s sleek riffs and transcendental soloing and Patterson‘s stately flow on drums — both the motor behind “The Witness” and the sunny hilltop on which the pastoralia early in “The Returner” takes place — and a range in songcraft that makes them all the more identifiably themselves.

The inevitable next question is to what, if anything, it will lead. A threat of live shows has been issued, but would Iota come back after 16 years, put out an album and do ‘select appearances’ in the manner of, say, Lowrider? I don’t know. Further, if these songs started coming together in 2018 and are landing now, what does that mean for their future? Could they not already have another LP ready to go when they need it, and is it any more or less likely that Pentasomnia will land, hit hard with those it’s going to hit hard with, and the band will re-recede in the face of other priorities in music and life, possibly either for good or some other extended period of time? I don’t know that either. And like the shifts in sound, those kinds of considerations become secondary to the actual listening experience. Part of what allowed Iota‘s music to endure over the course of their long absence was the cohesion they found bringing disparate ideas together. Pentasomnia feels a little more like a fourth LP than a second in how it’s grown, but if you’d hold that against it, you’re making the choice to miss out.

I find that, as regards bottom lines, I’m just really glad Pentasomnia exists. Again, I’m a fan. It’s personal for me, and I’m not going to try to speak to anyone else’s experience. I’d heard rumblings of Iota activity circa the end of the 2010s, but can’t say I ever realistically expected anything else from them, and even if I had, I likely wouldn’t have imagined the kind of progression they have on offer. Whatever is to come or isn’t, the dreams they’re having are real and vivid. This is worth appreciating now before we all wake up and everything disappears.

Iota, “The Timekeeper” official video

Iota on Facebook

Iota on Instagram

Iota website

Small Stone Records on Facebook

Small Stone Records on Instagram

Small Stone Records on Bandcamp

Small Stone Records website

https://soundcloud.com/carpet-43360131/sets/carpet-collision-prelistening/s-toatP4L9yE8?si=17e9105cf81a4247a0cbfc3472b02e4c&utm_source=clipboard&utm_medium=text&utm_campaign=social_sharing

[Click play above to stream Carpet’s Collision in its entirety. It’s out this Friday, March 22. At 21:30 CET today, which is 4:30PM Eastern and 1:30PM Pacific, the band will host a listening party on Bandcamp. The invite is here.]

While celebrating the 15th anniversary of their debut album, 2009’s The Eye is the Heart Mirror, Bavarian heavy progressive rockers Carpet move inexorably forward with their fifth long-player, Collision. Releasing through the duly eclectic Kapitän Platte, the seven-song/47-minute offering builds on the songwriting accomplishments of 2018’s About Rooms and Elephants (review here), harnessing an expansive but generous and welcoming sound that is thoughtful in its whole-record flow while showcasing a varied, mature character. They’re veterans of Elektrohasch Schallplatten, having released 2018’s About Rooms and Elephants (review here), 2017’s Secret Box (review here) and 2013’s Elysian Pleasures (review here) via Stefan Koglek of Colour Haze‘s now-dormant label, and heavy psychedelia is an aspect of what they do, but as the eight-minute “The Moonlight Rush” unfolds its immediately-multifaceted take, shifting from a riff-led verse through an atmospheric midsection that’s certainly not any less jazzy for the sway of Martin Lehmann‘s trumpet, into its louder payoff and through to a slowdown finish, Carpet are clear-eyed and purposeful in guiding the listener across what might otherwise be a tumultuous course. Here, one might think of it as an energetic stroll.

As the opener, “The Moonlight Rush” presents a crucial summary of some of the places Collision will go. Is it about impact, in raw sonic terms? Not as much as texture, so if one imagines the title referring to running ideas into each other and taking what works from that in terms of the material itself, that seems like a fair interpretation if not necessarily what the band meant in the choice (and it may or may not be, I don’t know). Founding guitarist/vocalist Maximilian Stephan — who released that first 2009 Carpet album as mostly a solo endeavor with some drums by Jakob Mader, who’s been on board since — is distinguished and suited to the instrumental flow in his melodic vocal approach, and while each song has its own intent as well as its own place in the entirety of the release, Stephan‘s vocals and the backing contributions of recording and mixing engineer Maximilian Wörle (presumably) in the chorus harmonies of “The Moonlight Rush,” the repeated line, “Can I just put my foot down,” in “Dead Fingers,” amid the rush of “Passage” later, and so on, are thoughtful in their arrangements and effects treatments, giving a unifying presence and drawing the material together without actually doing the same thing all the time.

Heads more attuned to the realms of desert and heavy rock will hear some Josh Homme in the sinewy semi-falsetto of “Ghosts” and centerpiece “P is for Parrot,” but it’s similarity not impersonation, and considering that the context surrounding in the latter cut is a start-stop crunch take on the angularity of King Crimson until it weaves through pastoral psych highlighting the keys from Sigmund Perner (he’s credited with Fender Rhodes and Roland Juno; I’m pretty sure I’m talking about the Juno in “P is for Parrot”) before bassist Hubert Steiner and Mader bring the group back to its initial shove, more urgently for the payoff finish, well, Carpet end up sounding more like Carpet than whatever other name one might drop. This individuality is something that’s manifest gradually over the course of the band’s time, and as much as one would call them ambitious in terms of growth — that is, actively pursuing a vision of their sound — if they’re chasing anybody, it’s themselves. The linear, almost narrative manner in which Collision unfurls highlights a dynamic that has become essential to who they are.

With malleable balance in Wörle‘s mix and breadth in Dimi Conidas‘ master, Carpet gracefully follow the plan that “The Moonlight Rush” sets out. By the time they get to nine-and-a-half-minute bookending closer “Cosmic Shape Shifter,” with its riffier, nodding resolution arriving with a swing and strut that even Uncle Acid fans should be able to appreciate, their path has veered into and through the more straight-ahead structures of “Dead Fingers,” its tolling bell in the intro serving as a memento mori complementary to the lyrics and a chorus that’s likewise catchy and sad and an emergent push in the bass as the trumpet sounds and the bell returns and the almost drawling lyrical repetitions noted above, and “Ghosts,” which in the early going of its 5:41 reimagines the beginning of Black Sabbath‘s “Children of the Grave” as shimmering bright and holds that energy for the sweep of its hook offset by a more subdued verse, en route to “P is for Parrot,” which feels like as far as they’ll go into their interpretation of ’70s groove until the boogie-in-earnest of “Passage” kicks in as the apex in that regard. The pivot from airy wash and strum at the end of “Passage” into the tropical jazzscape of the penultimate “Lost at Sea” isn’t to be discounted, and neither is the lush melodic prog that accompanies that rhythmic motion, but again, Carpet own the procession and it’s barely a hiccup one to the next in the mind of the listener despite the amount of ground actually covered.

This is the result of Carpet having already cast such a reach across the span of Collision, and “Cosmic Shape Shifter” answers with a victory lap of affirmation for what the album has presented leading to it, while underscoring the band’s overarching intent in how it digs into both its atmospheric stretch — there’s the Rhodes — and the subsequent, very much held-in-reserve groove that caps. This duality is essential to understanding who Carpet are as a band and the work their material does, but it’s no less crucial to point out that it’s only in that ending where they really seem to pair the opposite ends of that scope together — and it still works, encapsulating the poise with which “Ghosts” and “P is for Parrot” and “Passage” move into “Lost at Sea,” or how “The Moonlight Rush” and “Dead Fingers” act as complements at the outset within its own movements. Mature and considered as it feels, Collision still has outreach in its energy, and its execution leaves a warm, safe space for the listener to inhabit as the choruses ingrain themselves in the memory before departing on dreamy flights. And if you’ve ever believed progressive rock to be staid or emotionally void, Carpet provide ready counterpoint.

Carpet, “Ghosts” official video

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Based in Austin but generally found rambling through one open-highway tour or another, Cortége encapsulate a particular vista with their latest EP, Under the Endless Sky. Out May 10 as a self-release from the avant heavy post-Americana outfit — who in 2021 had two offerings on Desert Records in featured in the Legends of the Desert: Vol. 2 (review here) split with The Penitent Man and the prior short release Chasing Daylight (review here) — it resides very much in the band’s sphere of sounds that resonate traditionalism in their cinematic Westernism while also serving as the studio introduction for multi-instrumentalist April Schupmann, whose trumpet is a standout high-end complement to founder Mike Swarbrick‘s low frequency bass VI and the cymbal wash from drummer Adrian Voorhies as “Under the Endless Sky, Pt. 2” sweeps in following the two-minute sounds-of-outside-plus-synth opener “Under the Endless Sky, Pt. 1” in a near-immediate showcase of the dynamic that’s manifest in the band’s sound since Schupmann joined in 2021.

Those first notes resonating from “Under the Endless Sky, Pt. 2” are presented with a starkness that calls to mind Angelo Badalamenti‘s work on the tv show Twin Peaks, which is also in the wheelhouse of alt-universe Americana, so fair enough. Eight years on from their debut EP, Cortége for sure have a defined modus they’re working from, but Under the Endless Sky emphasizes what the true appeal of the band has become, which is their evolution toward that ideal. The process of becoming. “Under the Endless Sky, Pt. 1” is barely there at the start, with some rustling and wind chimes on a neighbor’s porch, layers of drone, a rattle, a vague threat looming before piano emerges to clear the air, soon joined by keyboard in the transition to the second part. One might wonder why Cortége would bother including an intro at all to an 18-minute release, but the easy answer is because it matters, especially when mood is so much of the point.

The tubular bells in “The Relentless Sun” — premiering below, and the only one of the included pieces not titled as part of the “Under the Endless Sky” procession, which I’d call a ‘cycle’ were it not so god damned pretentious to do so — will be familiar to those who’ve encountered Cortége throughout their tenure, but what emerges from that churchy beginning, bolstered by melodica from Schupmann as well as the drums and surrounding percussion, is a klezmer-esque bounce. With a bassline you could liken to Fugazi more than Morricone (gotta change it up, right?), what sound like handchimes for melodic flourish and choral keyboard, “The Relentless Sun” is only a little over three minutes long, but it brings new ideas to Cortége and finds a playful moment as it passes through its middle en route to the sharp turn at 2:24 when the bass returns. Tone and crash echo in the stops, and the drum fills between are tense, but Cortége have bigger fish to fry, aesthetically speaking, than just a volume-burst payoff.

Waiting on the other end of the final crash and wash of “The Relentless Sun,” an image of which you’ll recognize if you’ve ever driven across the Great Plains surrounded by the titular ‘endless sky’ itself that seems to touch the ground on all sides of you, deep blue with maybe some high clouds mercifully breaking up a monotone in which one just might drown — ironic since the ocean’s promise of escape is so far away — is “Under the Endless Sky, Pt. 3,” which embarks on a lumbering roll in the drums and bass. Punctuated by tolling bells, synth and a melody that’s there in layers of keys and maybe-piano, it is most evocative for being somewhat vague and unknowable, and made huge by virtue of the bass, drums and its depth of mix.

That Cortége could construct such a feeling of place isn’t a surprise given what they’ve done over the course of their two albums and various other offerings — I think they’ve discovered the EP format suits them, and it does, but there’s nothing to say a third full-length couldn’t or wouldn’t happen — but the mature grace with which they execute the eight-minute focal-point of the release isn’t to be understated, and neither is the breadth of the arrangement as horns and keys harness grandiosity with the rumble of bass still beneath like gravity stopping it all from floating away. As “Under the Endless Sky, Pt. 3” rolls into its second half, some flourish of keyboard circa 4:30 steps out as more X-Files than Gunsmoke — not a complaint; I want to believe… in an expanded sonic palette — and over the course of the next minute, shift toward a droning stretch with the bells and thud/crash/wash of drums holding out. It becomes increasingly obvious they’re not coming back.

And just in case you thought they forgot or that they’d leave a plot thread unresolved in the otherwise so mindfully immersive sprawl, “Under the Endless Sky, Pt. 3” caps by fading out that last crash-laced synth/bass drone and returning briefly to a reprise of the EP’s intro, going so far as to include the windchimes again, which I swear to you I’m not imagining, however much that breeze seems to keep blowing after the track has actually stopped. There’s a lot to take in for a release that’s under 20 minutes long, but Cortége are that much more able to let the listener process what they’re hearing by conveying a sense of overwhelm — as surely the state of being Under the Endless Sky will do — without actually being too much or doing more than the songs seem to call for. More textured and progressive than they’ve yet been, and maybe more patient, which is saying something, Under the Endless Sky establishes this semi-new incarnation of Cortége in the band’s oeuvre while expanding the conceptual parameters there included.

In its overarching atmosphere and in the adventurous courses of its individual pieces, it shows Cortége‘s commitment to ongoing creative growth and leaves a trail behind of hints as to where that may be headed. Hitting play again to go back through Under the Endless Sky for another round, I can only look forward to discovering where it leads.

“The Relentless Sun” premieres below, followed by more info from the PR wire including your dates Swarbrick will do with Destroyer of Light, for good measure.

Enjoy:

CORTÉGE IS SET TO RELEASE THEIR INSTRUMENTAL POST-WESTERN CINEMATIC OPUS TITLED, UNDER THE ENDLESS SKY, ON MAY 10, 2024

Preorder: https://cortege.bandcamp.com/album/under-the-endless-sky

Instrumental, post-western, retro-futurism innovators Cortége will release their new album titled, Under The Endless Sky, worldwide on May 10, 2024.

Cortége (pronounced kor-‘tezh) is the French word for funeral procession. The band was co-founded in 2012 by Mike Swarbrick, who holds a degree in Mortuary Science. Originally rooted in doom, Cortége expanded into the realms of drone and electronic soundscapes. Drawing from early electronic composers, progressive rock icons of the ’70s, instrumental music, film score elements and the cowboy psychedelia-drenched guitar twang of famed Lee Hazelwood discovery Duane Eddy, the band’s sound continued to evolve and draw influence from the aesthetic of the old West. A hallmark of the trio’s sound is their use of tubular bells both in the studio and live.

Austin-based drummer Adrian Voorhies (Humut Tabal, Canyon of the Skull) joined the band in the fall of 2017. By 2021 April Schupmann (Sniper 66) joined on trumpet and percussion. Cortége will appeal to fans of Bell Witch, Earth, Pink Floyd, King Crimson, Spindrift and Federale.

Under The Endless Sky was recorded at Red Star Mule Barn Sound Studio in Austin, Texas, and engineered by Sam Whips Allison. “The name of the album, came from touring and driving across the plains in ‘big sky country,'” says Mike Swarbrick.

The band has shared the stage with acts such as Mdou Moctar, Rezn, Hippie Death Cult, The Well, Duel, The Schisms and Dead Register. Cortége plans to tour and perform frequently in 2024. They are confirmed to play Surf by Surf East in Austin, Texas on March 2, 2024 at Hi Sign Brewing.

Under The Endless Sky track listing:
1. Under The Endless Sky part 1
2. Under The Endless Sky part 2
3. The Relentless Sun
4. Under The Endless Sky part 3

Sam Whips Allison: Engineering
Matthew Barnhart: Mastering
John Pesina, Bryan Haile: Photography
David Paul Seymour: Logo
April Schupmann: Layout
Rosie Armstrong: Saxophone
Kurt Armstrong: Trombone

Mike Swarbrick of Cortége on tour with Destoryer of Light:
4/10 – El Paso @ Rosewood
4/11 – Tempe, AZ @ Yucca Tap Room
4/12 – Las Vegas, NV @ The Usual Place
4/13 – Oceanside, CA @ The Pourhouse
4/14 – Palmdale, CA @ Transplant Brewing
4/16 – San Francisco, CA @ Knockout
4/17 – Portland, OR @ High Water Mark
4/18 – Seattle, WA @ Substation
4/19 – Boise, ID @ Realms
4/20 – Salt Lake City @ Aces High
4/21 – Denver – @ Black Buzzard
4/23 – Lawrence, KS @ Replay Lounge
4/24 – Oklahoma City, OK/Wichita, KS @ TBA
4/25 – Tulsa, OK @ Whittier Bar
4/26 – Van Buren, AR @ Iron Horse Records
4/27 – Little Rock, AR @ White Water Tavern
4/28 – Arlington, TX @ Growl

Cortége is:
Mike Swarbrick: bass VI, synthesizers, tubular bells, piano
Adrian Voorhies: drums
April Schupmann: trumpet, melodica, percussion

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Tomorrow, March 15, is the release date of the fourth Långfinger full-length, Pendulum. It’s the Gothenburg, Sweden, classic heavy rock trio’s first long-player since 2016’s Crossyears (review here), which, if you live in an anachronistic time bubble as I do, I’ll remind you was eight years ago. Even with their 2019 live album, aptly-titled Live (review here), and a concurrent split shared with countrymen JIRM, plenty of live work in the intervening time and guitarist Kalle Lilja‘s involvement with Wolves in Haze, Toad Venom and Welfare Sounds Studio, the latter being where Pendulum and Crossyears and a whole bunch of stuff for other bands have been recorded over that span of time, it’s probably been long enough. Comprised of 10 tracks — the player on their Bandcamp lists “Towering” twice, so shows 11 — the well-appreciated check-in from Lilja, vocalist/bassist Victor Crusner, who caps the aforementioned track with Mellotron as well, and drummer Jesper Pihl reminds of their foundation vintage-style heavy songcraft while expanding on the modern sound with which the album prior presented it.

Offered with a clarity of vision and sharp, clever twists of craft across its 36 minutes, Pendulum has no time to waste at its outset as “A Day at the Races” all but dispenses with intro formalities to start with its verse. That makes the trip to the chorus that much more efficient, and with a Spidergawdian electric surge in its hook and a quick glimpse in the bridge at some of the bluesy Greenleafery to come as “Dead Cult” caps side A and answers back to the strut and clearly purposeful kick-in-the-pants momentum-gathering of “A Day at the Races” and the subsequent “Cycles,” which is more brash as it proceeds through a still-efficient three-plus minutes, as well as some of the moodier Graveyard-style groove of “Arctic” before that song’s especially fervent payoff, with a full tonal push, lead notes in the chorus, and an adrenaline-bent last course of riffing. “Arctic” makes it clear that Långfinger are doing more on Pendulum than straight-ahead rocking, but in both that and “Towering,” which starts out mellower and lets its chorus largesse rear up from the verse with unhurried-but-not-lifeless guidance — also a ripping solo just past the middle before Lilja breaks out the Mellotron near the end; a stark change but well in line with both the traditions Långfinger are playing toward and the flow of the track itself — Pihl, Crusner and Lilja resonate with a command over their twisting grooves, melodies and structures that they’re not the same kids who put out Skygrounds in 2010, though even that debut knew where it wanted to be sound-wise.

And to that, weren’t Långfinger a boogie band? Retro ’70s vintage heavy? Wasn’t that the thing? Yeah, that’s part of it, but it’s hard to ignore Pendulum swinging like some kind of summary of the last two decades of pan-Scandinavian heavy highlights or the manner in which the three-piece place themselves in that same sphere. If they’re playing classic heavy, they are the classic heavy ideal they’re working toward. Side B rolls out with the two-minute instrumental “Observationsnivåer,” which meets its early drum gallop with a slap of Iommic shred — and did I actually hear piano flourish in that transition after? — and the saunter of “Team Building” that becomes a light lumber as the second verse sets up the solo turn at 2:05. Do they bring back the chorus of course they bring back the chorus. How do you think teams are built? “Orbiter,” which follows, is the longest inclusion on Pendulum at 4:33, and is more charged than “Team Building” while working in a similar atmosphere early on, bringing together some of the impulses from side A and finding its own balance. A brief moment of heavier pummel gives over to a psychedelic wash of effects and toe-tapper shimmer-prog, but by this point the listener can readily trust Långfinger won’t lose the thread, and indeed they don’t.

The arrival of the organ that leads into the penultimate title-track stands it out from its surroundings, but becomes a grounding element for a song that seems to find the farthest points of shove and drift on the album that shares its name. As they have all the while, Långfinger demonstrate a particular attention to endings, and “Pendulum” races to its own to let closer “Skuggornas Hov” stand apart with the returning Mellotron and what I’m pretty sure are the first in-Swedish lyrics they’ve ever had for a song. Led by acoustic guitar with its vocals sounding farther off the mic and loosely folkish, “Skuggornas Hov” is no less considered in not kicking into full-weight tone and half-shouted urgency than “Towering” or “Pendulum” were in doing so. It’s been a hell of an eight years for just about everybody on the planet one way or the other, and Långfinger — who were actively tracking a follow-up to Crossyears in 2021 — are no exception, but the maturity that bleeds through Pendulum‘s component material delivers the record as a whole with a firm sense of intention, and however much went into its construction over whatever stretch of that time, it was anything but wasted.

Pendulum premieres in its entirety below, followed by the album info unceremoniously hoisted from Bandcamp.

Please enjoy:

Stalwarts of the underground rock scene in Sweden for the better part of two decades, Långfinger is set to release their fourth album “Pendulum”. An album that is as much of a retrospective as it covers new methods of noise as the band reemerges for the first time since 2016’s LP “Crossyears”.

“Pendulum” delivers direct, intense and playful rock music in an immersive long play format which might not make sense in the grown-up digital age, but for Långfinger, rock n roll is not about growing up, or making sense for that matter. It’s about the exploration and continuum of all things related to their sound that was, is and will be.

Tracklisting:
1. A Day at the Races
2. Cycles
3. Arctic
4. Towering
5. Dead Cult
6. Observationsnivåer
7. Team Building
8. Orbiter
9. Pendulum
10. Skuggornas hov

Produced by Olle Björk, Johan Reivén & Per Stålberg
Recorded at Welfare Sounds by Olle Björk, Johan Reivén, Per Stålberg & Kalle Lilja
Mixed by Olle Björk at Welfare Sounds
Mastered by Johan Reivén at Audiolord Mastering
Additional Engineering & Editing by Kalle Lilja
Artwork: Tage Åsén
Cover Design: Emma Lilja

Långfinger are:
Kalle Lilja – guitar/backing vocals
Victor Crusner – vocals/bass/keys
Jesper Pihl – drums

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Swedish gruel-sludgers Walk Through Fire will self-release Till Aska on April 12. And, I mean, you can like the record if you want, but they’re not gonna take it easy on you. By design, Till Aska is extreme in sound and intense of purpose, with quiet stretches throughout like the intro to its opening title-track (and thus the record as a whole) and the first-five-minutes dirge reply of the finale “Rekviem” that are creepier than they are bludgeoning, but still carry a violent threat. With Andreas Olsson‘s low end punching you repeatedly about the head as the four-piece slog through churning wretched miseries made all the more monolithic by virtue of the lyrics being in Swedish — that is, the language barrier becomes part of the heavy — and delivered at the fore of the mix in harsh, mid-range, nodule-forming post-hardcore barks.

I’ll spare you the Ingmar Bergman comparisons, but yes, Till Aska‘s 53-minute/five-song stretch is plodding of tempo and seems to drain all the color from the world surrounding. It is either the band’s fourth or fifth album, depending on whom you ask, and follows the live-recorded 2020 outing Vår Avgrund, which, guess what, was also really, really fucking heavy and miserable, with longer songs and more noise. Lineup changes between the two releases have seen the band go from two guitars to just that of Ufuk Demir — who’s also the one self-flagellating those vocals — and brought Esaias Järnegard in on organ, while Olsson and drummer Juliusz Chmielewski give shape to the sad motion of the down, down, downer riffs in “Fall I Glömska” as the band conjure visions of being buried alive after tree roots pull you under the dirt by your ankles.

With the guitar so densely distorted, the bass chucking concrete throughout most of the proceedings and Demir‘s unipolar viciousness as a defining element, there are times like in the later reaches of centerpiece/shortest-track “Genom Sår” where Järnegard‘s organ is the only thing coming close to some kind of melody, and as that takes the form of sad notes floating and drawn out over the measures, even the idea of hope seems distant. They very clearly made it to be unsettling, and it is.

Till Aska is my first experience with Walk Through Fire — though they appeared here when announced for Desertfest London 2015, then supporting 2014’s Hope is Misery and sharing a stage with (among others) Noothgrush, which fits — and the spaces they leave open in the material, whether loud or subdued as they are building into the lurch of “Självförintelse,” are like traps for the listener. Some bands hook you with catchy choruses and uptempo movement, etc. Walk Through Fire, with an abiding bleakness of atmosphere and roiling aggression, feels as it plays out like you’re sinking deeper. The crash and feedback and scathe of “Självförintelse” gives way shortly before the nine-minute mark to a drone that’s not actually a sample of a cardiac monitor flatlining, but is evocative of one all the same, and it’s from there that “Rekviem” begins its instrumental course, mournful and disdaining.

Yeah, I was being glib above with ‘you can like it if you want,’ blah blah, but the truth is that Till Aska comes across as being precisely what Walk Through Fire wanted to make it, even unto the way the songs are laid out with the two longest pieces bookending and the others working toward the shortest in the middle. The seething, low, slow grind feels born of sludge but is darker, less punk and leant an almost gothic presence at times by the organ, and like a lot of extreme music across a spectrum of microgenres heavy or not, it’s not the kind of fare every listener is going to call accessible. That’s probably putting it mildly. “Resonates omnidirectional disgust” might be a better way to phrase.

But you know, sometimes that’s just what you need.

“Fall I Glömska” premieres below, followed by the preorder link and more info from the PR wire:

Walk Through Fire on “Fall I Glömska”:

This song was written on a piano and had the working title Nortt (referring to the Danish artist). The lyrics are a mantra repeating, “fall i glömska, fall isär, fall på plats” — “fall into oblivion, fall apart, fall into place.”

Walk Through Fire – Till Aska

Out on April 12, 2024 | Pre-order: https://walkthroughfire.bandcamp.com/album/till-aska

The Swedish avant-garde doom/sludge stalwarts Walk Through Fire are releasing their fourth full-length Till Aska on April 12, 2024. A monolithic portrayal of loss and grief, Till Aska – “To Ashes” in English – will first debut only on digital formats and streaming platforms. While physical releases aren’t currently planned, the band are open to label collaborations should the opportunity arise.

Representing the finest edge that their respective genres can offer on a global scale, Walk Through Fire has been steadily cementing themselves as a notable phenomenon over the past seventeen years. Blending down-tuned oppressive soundscapes with contemporary and classical music, the sonically unrelenting act has crafted a unique appearance for itself by means of uncompromisingly expanding the perimeters found in the more common understanding of what heavy music can be, resulting in an annihilating force to be reckoned with. Whether the black metal tendencies of their debut Furthest From Heaven or the dirges for life tones of Vår Avgrund, Walk Through Fire’s musical focal point has always been to become an aural catharsis – Till Aska being perhaps the most potent and poignant example of reaching that exact state.

From the most profound hellish depths to the soaring heights, the five tracks of Till Aska contain the very essence of Walk Through Fire while stretching the spectrum wider than ever before. The over fifty-minute endeavour is equally captivating as it is difficult, guaranteeing an immersive and rich experience to anyone willing to place themselves under its crushing weight. Walk Through Fire are no strangers to the transcendence of dread and its multiple manifestations, and while Till Aska crawls around its listener’s spine as a fiery serpent, it also offers resolve and spiritual consummation unlike ever heard before.

Walk Through Fire – Till Aska
1. Till aska (11:39)
2. Fall i glömska (10:50)
3. Genom sår (7:24)
4. Självförintelse (11:43)
5. Rekviem (12:09)

Recorded, mixed and mastered by Linus Andersson at Elementstudio, Gothenburg
Original artwork Frau mit totem kind (1903) by Käthe Kollwitz

Ufuk Demir — Guitars & Vocals
Andreas Olsson — Bass
Juliusz Chmielewski — Drums
Esaias Järnegard — Organ

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