Weedpecker by now are no strangers to lush soundscaping. In 2026, they stand as one of Europe’s foremost in progressive heavy psychedelia, the product of a mature and broadly respected Polish heavy underground, with an expansive style and a fanbase that continues to grow. Their fifth album, titled simply V, comes five years by the numbers (it was late 2021, so take that as you will) after IV: The Stream of Forgotten Thoughts (review here), which was duly encompassing, and once again sees founding guitarist, vocalist and keyboardist Piotr Dobry heading a partially-revamped lineup.

Tomasz Walczak (Tankograd, ex-Dopelord), who played drums last time, returns on synth alongside Piotr “Seru” Sadza (“Cheesy Dude” in Belzebong), while Piotr Kuks, who played with Dobry in the apparent side-project Atom Juice for last year’s self-titled debut (review here) takes up the bassist role and Zbigniew Promiński of Behemoth, Witchmaster and others steps in on drums.

Longtime associate and former member Bartłomiej “Bartek” Dobry adds guitar and continues his role as producer, working with Haldor Grünberg at Satanic Audio (who also mixed and mastered; Mikołaj Kiciak recorded the drums), and for those who’ve followed Weedpecker on the path they’ve laid out, the six-song/40-minute procession will feel familiar in tone and even more consistent in its purposeful exploration.

With marked flow within and between the songs, a clear two-sided LP structure, rampant melody and Mellotron-fueled etherealism, the band 13 years on from their self-titled debut (review here) still sound like they’re discovering fresh ground, but doing so with a maturity and a sense of intention that a newer band couldn’t have. That is to say, V offers both the sun-coated breadth of the view and the perspective to see it fr om, teaching patience with patience guided by a hand of mastery.

Side A establishes fluidity as a key component with deceptive efficiency. The two-minute “Intro” sets forth, fading in on a sustained and undulating synth line, almost a drone but moving, and is joined by more keys as a wash emerges. It becomes its own movement enough to be distinct from the subsequent “Fading Whispers” (which is also the longest inclusion at 11 minutes), but the two feel like a stage-ready complement just the same, and the guitar that enters to start “Fading Whispers” could hardly seem as serene without the lead-in it gets.

That’s part of what the “Intro” accomplishes, but not all of it. It is foremost a two-minute chillout; playing to transition from the headspace of the moment you just left to your experience of the album. It is the entryway, or if you prefer to think of it as going outside into sunlight and breathing fresh air, the quick contemplation carries that as well. “Fading Whispers,” then, becomes where Weedpecker first unfurl the fuller vision of V; the airy guitar strumming, the harmonized vocals, continued melodic backdrop of keys/synth, the drums distant but not so far off as to be lost in the mix, enhancing the sense of texture while subtly providing the ground beneath the rampant atmospherics.

“Fading Whispers” is not without its own introduction, and it does the work of building on the soothing mood of “Intro” in its opening minutes before shifting into a more tonally weighted (read: “heavier”) roll, full, stately and no less immersive than anything they’ve wrought to that point. The going is smooth and the mix is dynamic, and as vast as “Fading Whispers” gets, it never loses sight of its structure.

It could be an album unto itself, but the driftier “Ash” (9:10) answers, picking up from the comedown to close the (longer) first half of V, with long, pulled lead guitar notes over its initial strum and currents of distortion peaking through, reminiscent of the heft of “Fading Whispers,” but not relying on that as a crutch so much as a piece of the entirety of their presentation. When they lock into the central riff, the affect reminds of Elder, which isn’t at all the first time I’ve said that about Weedpecker but is true nonetheless, and what plays out over the nine minutes is a reverbed cascade of gorgeous tone and outreach. The later moments are more clear-eyed than the middle movement, but they not only payoff the build with due crunch, but do so, again, without departing from their purpose.

None of the songs on side B — “In the Dark We Shine” (4:27), “Mirrors” (6:16) or “The Last Summer of Youth” (7:14) — is long as either of side A’s non-intro cuts, but they flow together more directly and the Rhodes (I think) amid the acoustic/electric blend of “In the Dark We Shine” is worth whatever temporal tradeoff you might want to make. The acoustic solo just past the halfway mark is a shift, but not radically so, and the verse comes back around before a synthier finish leads into the stark and more immediate, heavier push at the start of the penultimate “Mirrors.”

Mellotron/keys again play a major part as they have all along, but while “Mirrors” comes gradually to hit more forcefully and, as it is wrapping up tears willfully into a standout (electric) guitar solo which gives over to the residual feedback that ends, the contrast of ‘now it’s pretty again’ as “The Last Summer of Youth” emits its nostalgic crux — string Mellotron sounds over acoustic guitar will do that — the transition isn’t exactly intuitive, but works because of the prior established scope.

The vocals aren’t whispered but give a breathy impression just the same, and seem to come from deeper in the mix of guitar. There is sitar for flourish and classic-psych vibing, and where the closer really triumphs is in the band’s ability to telegraph the fact that they’re about to get much heavier, then to do that and continue to hold to their path. It’s been the case throughout the entire album that they’ve demonstrated and preached patience through their songwriting, but the level of consciousness in V remains striking, and even as the lineup has shifted, Weedpecker has only grown more self-aware with time.

As to whether or not that holds them back, like anything, there are arguments to be made on either side. I would say that the strength of purpose laid out across V is a strength in their songwriting, and that the fact that they know what they’re doing and have an idea of where they want their sound to go — and that then those things are what happens in the material — are emblematic of the growth they’ve undertaken over the last decade-plus. V is often beautiful, while still unmistakably heavy, and it creates its own (better) world and organic warmth with poise and what sounds an awful lot like a will to keep searching. At properly loud volume, it is easy to feel surrounded by the music, and that is a lucky place to be.

Weedpecker, V (2026)

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Heavy Psych Sounds website

Heavy Psych Sounds on Bandcamp

Heavy Psych Sounds on Instagram

Heavy Psych Sounds on Facebook

Bemasked UK ubersludgers Froglord are issuing their new album, the live-recorded Lower & Slower Vol. 1, on March 4 as a charity offering for, suitably enough, the Waterfowl and Wetland Trust (WWT). It’s the sixth full-length outing from the Bristol four-piece, and is comprised of songs from their already-weighty back catalog reinterpreted as per the title. Thus opener “They Came From Saturn,” which was about five minutes long on 2021’s The Mystic Toad, now tops seven. And even if the subsequent “Road Rasin” from 2023’s Sons of Froglord (review here) isn’t much slower than the original, the ‘lower’ part comes into play for sure, as the bottom end density is increased and the whole thing lurches in a different way.

I’m all for bands screwing with past material — there’s no reason not to if you’re so inclined; just because something’s recorded once doesn’t mean that’s the way it has to be played or heard forever — and Froglord have good cause to re-tackle “Green Inferno” (also from The Mystic Toad), the feedback, low-mouth vocal declarations and chunk-riffing of which comes across with all the more a sense of tonal worship in this incarnation. The vocals are cleaner than the original, but work with the drama of the lurching procession, in which Froglord revel. And in no small part because they’re so very obviously having fun taking it down a notch in terms of tempo and tuning, Lower & Slower Vol. 1 is a good time.

Plus helping wetlands. The reason I’m hesitant to think of Lower & Slower Vol. 1 as Froglord‘s sixth record is that the band usually follow some version of a stated narrative in terms of lyrics, and with a compilation of past material topped off by a cover of Black Sabbath‘s “Iron Man,” that becomes a harder aesthetic sell. They call it a pause.

Does it matter? Not really. The seven-track collection proceeds (the weedian) with aplomb regardless, and if they’re willing to break the fourth wall of their own presentation, I don’t think that invalidates the work. Maybe if one had a sentimental attachment to “Die by the Slime” as it appeared on 2024’s Live by the Fuzz or Die by the Slime EP, they’d be pissed about how that chugging hook takes on a different feel here, but come on. You’re listening to a band comprised of four dudes in frog masks singing and playing theatrical songs about magic swamp creatures. Maybe you’re more open-minded than you think.

“Ecocide” makes its second charitable appearance on a Froglord release, having shown up on 2021’s Save the Frogs EP, which benefitted savethefrogs.com. After the cleaner vocals in “Road Raisin” and “They Came From Saturn,” some rawer shouts and screams are a welcome shift into sludgier extremity. It might be my favorite of the bunch, but “Swamp Boogie” is a Froglord staple, and it closes the originals on Lower & Slower Vol. 1 with a duly massive roll. It’s less boogie than the title would have you believe, but it’s a tradeoff when thickened up, and the nod and noise satisfy going into the fade from which the telltale thuds of “Iron Man” begin.

That’s not a minor song to take on. It’s one of the most broadly recognizable pieces of heavy metal — never mind sludge, doom, etc. — ever made, and Froglord go the correct route in making it their own in keeping with the titular ethic of this LP. They tune it lower, and they play it slower. Shocking, I know. It’s a good bit of fun, which I guess you could say for the whole release, but don’t take that to mean it isn’t gruesome in its darkness or oppressive in tone, because it very much is both of those things. It might seem a little out of place in concept — here’s a revisit of older songs oh and by the way we also did metal’s national anthem — but it makes more sense when you hear it. If Froglord have emerged from the swamp, surely Black Sabbath are the mud in which they spawned.

Hail that spawn, and hail the mud. Hail the wetlands and dirt-distortion and you for embracing weird shit.

More info on the charitable aspect follows “Iron Man” below, courtesy of the PR wire:

Froglord, “Iron Man (Lower & Slower)”

FROGLORD – Lower & Slower Vol. 1 – Raising money for WWT – the wetland charity

Returning with brand new masks, costumes, and a 6th studio album, Froglord deliver another massive offering of amphibious swamp doom. Recorded live in the studio in a single take, Lower & Slower briefly pauses the band’s concept storytelling of the Tale of The Froglord saga, instead revisiting six previously released tracks from across their discography.

Presenting alternate versions of each track, the band downtunes even lower, playing each at funeral marching speeds. The result; the heaviest fuzz-drenched doom, the band has ever produced. Like a black hole at the centre of the swamp, this album is a nod to bands like Conan, Monolord, and Weedeater. As well as covering several of their biggest swamp anthems, including They Came From Saturn and Green Inferno, the record concludes with a collosal cover of Sabbath’s Iron Man.

At its core, Froglord have always been an enviromentally-driven band. Through their fundraising and tale of an amphibious deity, reeking vengenace on humanity for the environmental destruction they caused. Froglord continue that legacy, using this album to campaign and raise money for Waterfowl & Wetland Trust (WWT) – the wetland charity.

Wetlands are one of the most important and biodiverse ecosystems on the planet, which is why WWT are on a mission to create and restore 100,000 hectares of wetlands across the UK, by 2050.

To support this cause, Froglord are donating 100% of all digital proceeds from Lower & Slower, and 50% of all physical media and merch profits to WWT.

With digital preorders available from the band’s Bandcamp page; CDs, Cassettes and merch available from Bigcartel, the campaign will running until the end of May. Lower & Slower Vol.1 will out on March 4th.

Froglord BigCartel store

Froglord on Bandcamp

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Froglord on Facebook

There are few psychedelic escapes as distinctive as that of Craig Williamson‘s Lamp of the Universe. The Hamilton, New Zealand, solo artist is now 27 years deep into the exploration with the project — this year makes it 25 since the first album, The Cosmic Union, which has already been reissued — and Existence of the Self reconciles with some of that personal history in a piece like second cut “Ship of Eternity,” based around acoustic guitar and sitar drone with tabla percussion and Williamson‘s at-times-fragile vocals, the human presence conveying a searching that’s been evident in creative growth now across (I think?) 15 full-lengths, but also accounts for later movements in its mellotron-centered second half.

Layering has always been a part of Lamp of the Universe‘s approach, both by necessity — it would be difficult for Williamson to handle the sitar, the guitar, the percussion, the various synths and the singing all at once — and by aesthetic, which is to say, the balance and depth of the mix is also an instrument being utilized in the recording. Existence of the Self is characteristic in this at its outset as “Sceptre of Healing” unfolds with lush and ethereal melody that will be familiar to those who have followed Williamson on this journey likewise outward and inward, and the opening track signals some measure of departure from late 2023’s Kaleidoscopic Mind (review here), which had been following a trajectory toward a more full-band-style sound, principally expressed in the use of a full drum kit.

Williamson, of course, is no stranger to bands. His roots in the heavy rockers Datura, or his stint with the trio Arc of Ascent in the first half of the 2010s, or his current, ongoing solo band Dead Shrine, whose second album, Cydonia Mensa (review here), came out in April 2025, all provide relevant examples, but while Lamp of the Universe has a history of collaborations and in the last couple years has produced releases working with Dr. Space of Øresund Space Collective (review here) and Trappist Afterland (discussed here), it also retains an identity that’s readily apparent throughout the six-song arc of Existence of the Self.

Some of what that means is you’ll know it’s Lamp of the Universe when you hear it, if you know the project or Williamson‘s work with and around it. That’s a strength in terms of aural persona and the material in question, even if the tradeoff is there’s probably little in Existence of the Self that will be a blindside, even with the drums in “Mantric Waves” and the eight-minute penultimate title-track and the cinematic blend of mellotron and other keyboards in subsequent closer “Arkkadian Ritual,” but this too is part of the appeal.

Especially given the longterm nature of the project and its expressive, Eastern-stylized core, a strong thread of continuity exists from album to album while a fittingly organic progression in songwriting, arrangement, delivery and production. Thus, while most of the ‘shock factor’ for longtime fans will be in how folkish “Ship of Eternity” is in relation to Williamson‘s recent output, or in the way “Mantric Waves” (the longest inclusion here at 8:49) uses repetition to create a sense of drone that’s just as likely as not what the title is speaking to without giving up actual forward movement, the album is part of a throughline of crafted manifestation.

All of this is to say that whatever elements across Existence of the Self might feel familiar to longtime listeners, that’s an asset, not a hindrance to the listening experience. And every record is somebody’s introduction. I’ve been listening to Williamson‘s records for over 20 years, and writing about them nearly that long as well (predating this site), but in the warm fluidity of strum in “Sceptre of Healing,” the swirl and shaker-based movement of “Into the Light” and the outbound direction of “Existence of the Self” and “Arkkadian Ritual” at the record’s finish, I have to think that this LP, more than some of the other recent offerings under the Lamp of the Universe banner, would make a suitable place for a new listener to get on board. I know that sometimes when a band, artist, etc., has a significant back catalog, that in itself can be a barrier since as a newcomer it seems like there’s a whole world (spoiler in this case: there is a world) to take on and who the hell knows where to begin that process, but much of the scope of Lamp of the Universe is accounted for here, in some measure or another.

For that reason, if Existence of the Self — and surely there’s no lack of self-awareness at this point in Williamson‘s songwriting — is or would be your first experience with Lamp of the Universe, it’s a good place to start, because while it speaks somewhat to the molten psych-folk serenity of early days, it does so as part of a framework that’s grown broader-reaching over the last two and a half decades while maintaining its central crux. The acoustic guitar, the sitar, and Williamson‘s voice are, in some ways, part of that crux, and the expanded arrangements around them feel built up through exploration. In some ways, one might approach Existence of the Self in pairs.

“Sceptre of Healing” and “Ship of Eternity” set forth on the journey. “Mantric Waves” and “Into the Light” carry a sense of motion and push deeper through the psychedelic far-out, while “Existence of the Self,” with its soulful strum and down-to-get-down sleek underlying groove mark the arrival point and “Arkkadian Ritual” backs that with a particular feeling of space. I don’t know if Williamson intended the flow of Existence of the Self to be that kind of pilgrimage narrative or not, but it’s a structure that has let me engage the album as a whole work while accounting for the shifts in mood and tone throughout, and to which the overarching procession holds up. It’s a fitting moment for Lamp of the Universe to look back and see the path laid out behind, but Williamson has always kept a (third?) eye directed on the future, and that very much remains the case. In concept and realization, singular.

Lamp of the Universe, Existence of the Self (2026)

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Sound Effect Records store

Sound Effect Records on Facebook

Roman heavy psych instrumentalists L’Ira del Baccano issue their fifth full-length, The Praise of Folly, tomorrow, Feb. 20, through Subsound Records. It follows behind 2025’s split with Yama, Tempus Deorum (review here) and the increasingly progressive four-piece’s 2023 outing, Cosmic Evoked Potentials (review here), comprising four tracks splitting with longest-then-shortest symmetry across two sides for a total 42-minute run keyed on immersion and dynamic.

The latter is showcased quickly amid the resonant tonality of “The Praise of Folly (Pt. 1),” which in its first half enacts a fully realized linear build brought from silence to a howling clarion set to the slow march of Gianluca Giannasso‘s drumming before, shortly past the six-minute mark, the lead cut breaks to mostly-standalone guitar exploration from Alessandro Santori and Roberto Maldera, with newcomer bassist Gabriele Montemara renewing the heft gradually as they go. They finish big, as one frankly would hope, but “The Praise of Folly (Pt. 1)” is more about getting there than resting upon arrival, and the transition to “The Praise of Folly (Pt. 2)” introduces more synth to the proceedings, ending up somewhere along the lines of a sharper-cornered, earlier My Sleeping Karma, deceptively heavy and delivered with remarkable poise.

You can see in the tracklisting below that each half of The Praise of Folly breaks down to a song around 13 minutes long and one in the eight-minute range. I don’t know how the writing process goes for L’Ira del Baccano, but 12 years on from their debut, Terra 42 (review here), the band have never lost their sense of purpose or forward progression. The patience across side A here speaks to that, with side B for reinforcement as “Stigma” grows from its initial guitar line to answer the synthery of “The Praise of Folly (Pt. 2)” while also getting very, very heavy in a way that satisfies for both immersion and impact even before you get to the first solo — nearly but not quite three minutes into the song. It doesn’t meander from there, but neither does it take such a clear structural approach, feeling fluid as it lumbers, twists for a time and then floats on the other side of its midpoint, gradually shaping itself around the guitar line, which hits into a more solidified payoff riff after 10 minutes in and rides that to an engaging finish just in time for “Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead” — sharing its title with the Tom Stoppard play turned into a 1990 film based around the Hamlet characters — to slam in with immediate, purposeful heft.

That transition isn’t to be understated, as it speaks to the ways in which the material is in conversation with itself throughout The Praise of Folly, one part complementing the next, referencing what’s come before without repeating, and so on. They don’t exactly finish “Stigma” light, but even a momentary drop of the roll is enough for “Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead” to feel monolithic. They soon enough shift to dreamier fare, and that raw heft doesn’t show up again, but a rumbling threat persists as they delve toward proggier atmospheres topped with liberally-strewn shred, resolving clearheaded as they nod into the last fadeout, encompassing and expansive in kind. Like the record as a whole, those last moments are rife with energy despite a moderated tempo, and they feel likewise thoughtful and explorational. This is where L’Ira del Baccano have come to reside in terms of style, and the level of craft on The Praise of Folly is one at which the band have likewise arrived organically over time.

Live shows to support the record start this weekend, appropriately enough, and will continue through next month with more reportedly to come. On the player below, The Praise of Folly premieres in full. Subsequent info came down the PR wire.

Please enjoy:

Doomdelic Instrumental Space Prog Rockers L’IRA DEL BACCANO are back with their official 5th full length album on Subsound Records “The Praise of Folly”. Out on February 20th 2026.

Preorders: https://subsoundrecords.bigcartel.com/product/lira-del-baccano-the-praise-of-folly-lp-limited-cd

Rome based L’IRA DEL BACCANO melt doom & stoner rock influences such as Black Sabbath, Kyuss, Monster Magnet ; the psychedelia of Pink Floyd & Hawkwind; the heavy-prog vibes of early Rush; modern bands like Motorpsycho, Elder, Monolord and the italian progressive heritage. Since 2014, the collaboration with the Italian label Subsound Records has led to the release of four full-lengths and one split album : ‘Terra 42’ (2014), ‘Paradox Hourglass’ (2017), ‘Si non Sedes is Live’ (2018), ‘Cosmic Evoked Potentials’ (2023) & ‘Tempus Deorum” (2025).

In february 2026, the fifth album, “The Praise of Folly”, will be released. L’IRA DEL BACCANO has toured intensely in Europe and participated in festivals as Dome Of Rock , Psychedelic Network Festival, Pietrasonica Fest… Thanks to the broad and heterogeneous kind of listeners, who goes from metalheads to progressive rock fanatics and Stoner-Doom fan the band played in different kinds of venues and shared the stage also with different types of bands. (Church of Misery, Ozric Tentacles, Ufomammut, Zu, Nebula, Orange Goblin, Samsara Blues Experiment and more).

Power, dynamics, psychedelic sounds layers and a love for improvisation are the defining features of the Italian combo’s live shows. The long tracks that have always characterized L’Ira Del Baccano are in constant evolution and motion during every concert.

Tracklisting:
1. The Praise of Folly (Pt.1) (12:55)
2. The Praise of Folly (Pt. 2) (8:08)
3. Stigma (13:04)
4. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead (8:45)

The band will begin the live promotion of the album immediately after its release with an initial series of concerts across Germany and Austria :

The road to Folly 2026 part 1
22/02 Bologna – Freakout Club
25/02 Salzburg – Rockhouse
26/02 Wien – Venster 99
27/02 Bayreuth – Glashaus
28/02 Berlin – Neue Zukunft – Blues Bumps Fest
01/03 Dresden – Chemiefabrik
03/03 Weimar – C. keller
04/03 Nuremberg – Kunstverein
05/03 Recklinghausen – Backyard Club
06/03 Würzburg – Immerhin
07/03 Erlangen – Transfer
27/03 Rome – Defrag
More TBA

Production & Mix: Alessandro Santori
Main Instruments recorded LIVE in one take
Music by: A. Santori & R. Malerba
Arrangements: Santori with Malerba, Giannasso & Montemara’
Mastering by Claudio Gruer at Pisistudio
Artwork by Michele Carnielli

L’IRA DEL BACCANO is:
Alessandro Santori- Guitars, Loops, Synths
Roberto Maldera- Guitars, Fx, Slide Guit, Synths
Gabriele Montemara’- Bass
Gianluca Giannasso – Drums

L’Ira del Baccano website

L’Ira del Baccano on Bandcamp

L’Ira del Baccano on Instagram

L’Ira del Baccano on Facebook

Subsound Records webstore

Subsound Records on Facebook

As it’s drawn together by an overarching lushness of melody and a vinyl-minded warmth of sound that extends even to Pedro Lopes‘ snare drum, one would not accuse Portuguese psych rockers Summer of Hate‘s sound of lacking variety. Across the band’s second full-length and label-debut for Tee Pee Records, Blood and Honey, the Espinho-based six-piece tangle with ’60s pop, doom, shimmering shoegaze, Iberian folk and Middle Eastern sounds — the opening title-track and the finale “The Gospel (According to Summer of Hate)” have a bit of a goth infection, melodically — except that it isn’t a tangle at all. It’s a cogent, individual expression of purpose and songwriting, and from the outset of that same title-track, there is nowhere Summer of Hate go that they don’t either find or make into solid ground. Blood and Honey is the band’s follow-up to 2022’s Love is Dead, Long Live Love, and in its 48-minute/seven-track run, one finds disparate-seeming ambitions realized in pieces that work toward their own ends while unquestionably enriching the whole.

Vocalist Laura Calado and founding guitarist João Martins would seem to be the team leading the unit as regards songwriting, but with Xavier Valente and Ricardo Fonseca (also keys) on guitar, bassist Fábio Pereira, the aforementioned Lopes on drums, plus guest contributions from Thomas Attar (ex-Blaak Heat Shujaa), who produced the ‘Blood’ side, on second cut “El Saif” and guest percussion from Regina Faria, there is no want of persona throughout. And the breakdown into two sides, which isn’t even as it seems centerpiece “Mayura” — one of three longer inclusions with “Blood and Honey” and “The Gospel (According to Summer of Hate)”; they’re placed as landmarks along the way with two five-to-six-minute songs spaced between; none of it lacking substance or intent — ends the ‘Blood’ portion before the Rafael Silva-produced ‘Honey’ starts, may just owe its distinction to the shift in who recorded, but once you know, there is a perceptible shift as “Além” takes hold subsequent to the so-blown-out-it-that-in-another-context-it-would-be-black-metal crescendo and handclap finish of “Mayura” (they cover a lot of ground in that eight minutes, if you couldn’t tell), twisting into an organic wash that’s more ’80s than ’60s, more Duran Duran than Beatles, and catchy even in Portuguese for someone who doesn’t speak the language.

But even the turn from ‘Blood’ to ‘Honey’ — which moves into the penultimate “Joy” with an intro that had me wondering the first time on a blind listen if I was about to hear a cover of A-Ha‘s “Take on Me” (which no doubt Summer of Hate would nail) before the patiently-unfolding epic-strum expanse of “The Gospel (According to Summer of Hate)” rounds out — doesn’t necessarily interrupt the front-to-back fluidity that emerges from the moderated tempos, the melodies, and the noted warmth of tone. Summer of Hate aren’t pop, but they’re influenced by pop from across decades enough that my Northeastern ears can’t help but hear Type O Negative in the second half of “Blood and Honey” and the dreamy latter reaches of the closer — you’ll recall the Beatles-plus-Black–Sabbath formula there; it would seem to apply here as well, if only as part of the broader stylistic pastiche — and in “El Saif,” they speak to the history of Mediterranean psychedelia in the movement and scales employed, but Calado‘s voice ties the track to “Blood and Honey” just before, and here too, a hook helps. “El Saif,” immediately notable for its inflection in the guitar, is a big jump in physicality from the rolling chorusmaking of “Blood and Honey” as well, but it is executed artfully and in such a way as to make a statement early in the record that Summer of Hate aren’t going to be tied to a single idea or sound. Or if they are, they’re setting their own varied terms for what that means and how it manifests.

Thus is Blood and Honey often beautiful. It changes hue from moment to moment, but is never not rich with color, and as “Ashura” follows “El Saif,” some of that song’s Middle Easternism is answered in the guitar and rhythm, but as the second half unfurls, it’s as much about atmosphere as motion, and that leads into the foreboding start of “Mayura,” with more prominent bass and guitar pushed back in the mix for ambient effect behind the verse; a not-exactly-subtle-but-not-beating-you-over-the-head change and the beginning point of a build that happens creatively and smoothly as the tension mounts in the plunge of a chorus, “Chase me in circles/And tear me down/Chase me in circles/And wear me down,” and the memorable lines, “Hey, chase me around/And open every door in my house/Hey, what are you looking for/I’ve got nothing for you, nothing more.” They’re still a ways from the actual payoff at that point, which speaks to the whole side as much as its own progression, but the going is satisfying enough that when they let go into the drifting midsection, the distorted guitar that hits right at 5:37 after the quick stop is a clarion that immediately tells the listener ‘you have arrived.’ The rest of the song bears that out.

That’s a crucial moment of culmination, but upped a degree by “The Gospel (According to Summer of Hate),” which is the longest inclusion at nearly 10 minutes and caps Blood and Honey with an emotionality that reaches for authenticity like ’90s revivalism but is both working to a terrestrial structure (that is to say it’s played in a grounded manner) while being ethereal in its affect. There’s a plan, but one might be forgiven for closing ones eyes and just following along at that point in the album; the band make the going such an encompassing pleasure, after all. Perhaps most of everything, they underscore how much identity there is in their work — drawing influence from such a range of elements, it would’ve been easy for Summer of Hate to fall flat if the craft and effort weren’t there to draw their songs together — and just how much it is their own. I wouldn’t hazard to predict what they might do from here or when. I find myself genuinely unconcerned with these things while listening, and whatever else might eventually come or not, I’m just really happy this exists. Recommended.

Summer of Hate, “El Saif” feat. Thomas Attar official video

Summer of Hate, Blood and Honey (2026)

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Resonance and texture are not new elements in the work of Oregonian heavy psychedelic Americana explorers Abronia. Indeed, one could argue their principal stylistic declarations were made nine years ago on their first album, Obsidian Visions / Shadowed Lands (review here), at least as regards arrangements centered around the ‘big drum’ rather than a traditional kit — and yes, it is a large bass drum being hit, complemented by cymbals, shakers and various other now-you-have-to-be-creative-type percussion — with pedal steel guitar used for place-setting (‘vibes’ they call it now; everything is vibes) and lysergic flourish. And I’ll point out that I don’t think that’s a bad thing. Abronia showed up nearly a decade ago with a clear idea of what they wanted to do, and as they’ve refined their approach, their music to-date has painted pictures accordingly. Never with so purposeful a hand and never quite so vividly as on Shapes Unravel, their fourth full-length.

The guitars of James Shaver (who was originally on the drum) and Eric Crespo (also backing vocals) are recognizable in style and tone and breath, and Keelin Mayer remains of marked vocal presence and command, be it the primal scream therapy taking place at the end of opening track “New Imposition,” which holds a grandeur that makes it feel broader than its four-and-a-half-minute runtime, or the confident staccato delivery alongside Mayer‘s own flute in “Gemini” regrounding with a hook after the expansive “Walker’s Dead Birds,” which isn’t to mention the tenor sax in the latter track with which she seems to be in a nonlingual conversation. Rick Pedrosa‘s pedal steel can add twang or mood, depending on the need, and Danny Metcalfe‘s bass is given all the more room for the compared-to-a-full-kit stripped-down nature of the drum, handled by Robert Grubaugh. But as second cut “Mirrored Ends of Light” eschews the rawer payoff of “New Imposition” and moves from its earlier ’60s-ish shuffle in favor of a more poised-feeling, Morricone-cinematic crescendo (not their first time in the Spaghetti West), Shaver‘s arrangements of viola and violin (played by Miles Wierer-Huling) and trumpets (played/recorded by Cory Gray) bring the procession to another level. It is not bombastically heavy and it doesn’t need to be. It carries a sunbeaten weight of centuries in its atmosphere.

In addition to this, there is a maturity in the songwriting across Shapes Unravel that gives a greater sense of flow between tracks even as each one adds something different to that mix. At seven songs/35 minutes, it’s not by any means an unmanageable listen, but in part not being overloaded in terms of runtime is emblematic of how Shapes Unravel makes its every decision count. The way that crescendo in “Mirrored Ends of Light” builds up around Mayer‘s vocalizing. The way “Weapons Against Progress” conveys a forward movement in its rhythm and puts a bluesier twist on the guitar, or the matched step of the lyric “I’m all over your cold shoulder” with the light-footed instrumental march of “Petals and Sand.” Shapes Unravel makes highlights of its details, and it’s not about one instrument or the other being pushed higher in the mix to get a showcase, but instead about where a song is going and what most serves it.

“Walker’s Dead Birds” is the longest inclusion at 6:35 and starts with a prairie raga pedal-steel daybreak, shifting smoothly into its verse before introducing the crashes that hint at a volume surge to come. The verses are declarative, the execution patient and confident because they know where they’re going and why, even as the second half lets loose into a drift of intertwining layers of guitar, saxophone and a mounting swell of distortion, but when the peak has been reached, it’s the central, quiet verse progression that remains, and they push through a return from whence they came before the song is done, tying it together fluidly and leaving little question as to how “Walker’s Dead Birds” wound up as the centerpiece that it is.

Abronia‘s last outing was the 2023 live-in-a-cabin release The High Desert Sessions (review here), which came just a year out from 2022’s third album, Map of Dawn (review here). There have been some lineup changes around Crespo, Mayer, Pedrosa and Shaver, as Grubaugh and Metcalfe are making their respective first appearances with the band, but the freshness of the rhythm section certainly doesn’t hurt, as both the steady roll of “Weapons Against Progress” and the subtle motion of the penultimate “Petals and Sand” — which feels almost minimalist at its outset but grows organically to a wash by its finish without losing control of the melody so central to its effect on the listener. Preceded by a return of strings on “Gemini” (this time played by Kate Kilbourne), ” along with the already-noted flute and I’ll just call it grace, “Petals and Sand” is melancholic triumph of a manner that emphasizes the care put into the craft across the board, and closer “Asleep in the Porcelain House” offers a tasteful linear build that, to the last, brings to light just how many routes Abronia have to get their material where it’s going, seeming to push beyond “Petals and Sand” to a next stage, Mayer‘s screams recalling “New Imposition” or the ending of “Walker’s Dead Birds,” other moments where the restraint gives way.

Shapes Unravel was recorded by Evan Mersky, with additional recording by Crespo, TJ Thompson and Cory Gray, and mixed by Larry Crane. And even before you get to the strings or the trumpets or Mayer‘s sax or Grubaugh‘s melodica, there’s a lot put into even its most subdued-feeling moments. Ultimately, though, the balance Abronia strike in these songs demonstrates not only complexity, but the reasoning behind it, and whether one wants to sit and peruse the ambient details of “Weapons Against Progress” or let the whole album play out as one longer, cohesive mass, it works, and the title repetitions in “Gemini” are as much a part of why as the illustrated scope of “Mirrored Ends of Light.” It is an accomplishment that could only have come by the manner it did — something a band pursued as they pushed themselves creatively on ground new and familiar — and so feels all the more masterful.

Abronia, “New Imposition” official video

Abronia, Shapes Unravel (2026)

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Generally speaking, reviewing compilations is kind of pointless. I recognize that’s no way to start a compilation review — at least not the most encouraging way — but I’ve found over the years that by the time you get done saying who’s involved, maybe why if there is a reason as there is here, and what they’re doing, you’re done. There’s no real chance to dig in, and I’ll admit that with a digital comp of the sort that boasts 21 bands and runs 111 minutes long, that’s no less the case. But The Mindful Collective was put together at the behest of OHMs Peak, which does these things, to benefit Music and Memory, which uses playlists (né mixtapes) to trigger recognition from dementia and Alzheimer’s patients. Thus the full title: The Mindful Collective: A Charity Compilation Supporting Music & Memory. The idea is that music can “restore a sense of self.” Fair enough. It’s been giving me a sense of self since I was like eight.

I could sit here and list out the 21 acts taking part, but cut and paste is more efficent, so here it is from the Bandcamp page:

Tracklisting:
1. Lower Slaughter – Take A Seat 04:02
2. Torpedo Torpedo – Fade 05:22
3. Domkraft – Spiral Noises 05:16
4. KNUB – Wet Lung 05:34
5. Spiralpark – Slumber 04:47
6. Kal-El – Cloud Walker 06:55
7. Beneath a Steel Sky – Everyone you’ve ever known 04:35
8. Fomies – Neon Gloom 03:35
9. Blessings – No Good Things 03:44
10. CHEEKS – hi list 2 die list 03:21
11. Pothamus – Zhikarta 07:26
12. Cosmic Reaper – Bloodfeather 06:03
13. Apex Ten – Ruthless 06:26
14. Froglord – Follow the Star 04:00
15. All is Violent – Born Of Kalahari 04:47
16. Sheev – Tüdelüt 05:01
17. coastlands – hollowing 05:51
18. Bask – In the Heat of the Dying Sun 04:57
19. Sunbreather – WINE 06:07
20. Doble Sesión Nocturna – Acto III: Que No Quede Ninguno 05:44
21. K L P S – TRIBULATION 08:06

Now you see why we’re really here. From the big tones of Froglord to the big melodies of Fomies to the big tones and melodies of Kal-El, the listener taking on The Mindful Collective will definitely get a sense of the taste behind the curation, and that gives a progression to the tracks as each plays out. Torpedo Torpedo are thicker sounding than Lower Slaughter, who give a rocking start, and Domkraft make density groove. They, Kal-El, Bask, Pothamus and KLPS brooding and lumbering at the end might be the heaviest of what’s included, but All is Violent — who are new to me, thanks OHMs Peak — the blackened post-rock of lowercase-‘C’ coastlands remind that there’s more than one definition of heavy. So it is that KNUB‘s noisy crunch speaks to the punk underlying the rush of Spiralpark‘s “Slumber,” or the cultish riffing of Cosmic Reaper acts as a go-between for the crush of Pothamus and instrumentalists Apex Ten, whose melodic flourish is recognizable in “Ruthless.”

Understand, I’m not saying that what I generally think of reviewing comps doesn’t apply here, just that it doesn’t actually stop the compilation from either (1:) being good, or (2:) attracting attention and some amount of money for a worthy cause. The Mindful Collective does both these things, while remaining stylistically cohesive despite showcasing variety. Sheev later on hint toward the hardcore aspects of Cheeks earlier, whereas the bombastic breakout later in Cheeks‘ “Hi List 2 Die List” locks in a nod that would have to make Domkraft smile. One foot seems to be kept in the post-metallic, or at very least atmospheric heavy — to be less genre-specific; because it isn’t about genre so much as the music itself — but the fuzz-laden roll of Sunbreather‘s “Wine” makes a welcome touch-ground after the progressive churn of Bask‘s “In the Heat of the Dying Sun,” and Doble Sesión Nocturna drench their doom in reverb and space it out, adding both a meditative aspect and echoing reach in the penultimate spot before KLPS bring it back around to the onslaught.

The primary power of compilations comes in exposure. A comp can let a band give a listener a sampling and entice them to dig further. Maybe that’s an oldschool way of thinking — or just old — but if you replace ‘comp’ with ‘algorithm-dictated playlist’ the same applies. I said above that All is Violent were new to me, and they’re not alone here. Blessings, Coastlands, Spiralpark, Doble Sesión Nocturna, Cheeks and the airy post-sludge of Beneath a Steel Sky are less familiar than the likes of Kal-El or Domkraft or even the mighty Froglord for me, and of course no experience is universal, so a given listener will be intrigued by different stretches of the 21-track outing, and it feels like The Mindful Collective is aware of this (that’s not to say ‘mindful,’ because if I did I’d have to punch myself in the face) and accounts for it in the curation. You might think of a compilation modeled on style, where it’s less about what a given act is saying than how they ‘fit’ in terms of genre. As noted, this isn’t that. There’s cohesion in sound as it all works under the umbrella of ‘heavy,’ but even among groups who share arrangement elements or have some likeness of mood, each is differentiated by its place in the overarching flow, and so each gets its moment of genuine showcase. I could see wanting to chase down more from any number of these acts, from Lower Slaughter to KLPS, in no small part because I have.

And then you get to the practical reality that when you shell out eight dollars or however much of your hard-earned, you’re supporting the same people who someday are going to come to you in the rest home and play you this mix so you can remember who you are, and that adds another layer of meaning. So often a compilation’s true impact isn’t until years and years afterward, and I don’t think there’s anything so ambitious happening here — the songs donated by bands aren’t exclusive so far as I’ve checked, for example — but the fact of the matter is whether you’re a longtime convert or making your first forays into heavier styles, there is a ton on The Mindful Collective to dig into, and the worthiness of the cause speaks further to the value of the art. At the very least, it’s the kind of thing one might want to support, regardless of how a given individual feels about reviewing compilations.

Various Artists, The Mindful Collective (2026)

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Cypriot heavy rockers Stonus will release Space to Dive on March 20 as their first offering through Ripple Music. And ‘space’ is definitely a factor, but whether that’s cosmic or room to let the tones breathe depends on a given part or song in the 10-track/49-minute procession. It’s the first studio offering Stonus have made since 2021’s Séance EP (review here), and it continues the thread of the now-five-piece finding their niche somewhere between the classic and the modern, the grounded and the psychedelic, the meditative and the party. That they open with their second longest track in “Berlin” tells the listener they’re looking for immersion, and the ebbs and flows across that stretch stand as analog for the record as a whole, with a fuzzy drift and shove echoed later by the penultimate “The Hermit,” which owing to its place as the apex of the LP, is denser tonally and ‘bigger’ feeling. More room. They even dare a bit of crush there, handling the album-closer role with “Steiermark” — named for the Austrian state one finds Graz; clearly they’ve been traveling — as a markedly quieter epilogue.

Space to Dive is the band’s second full-length and will likely be the introduction for some listeners. Not unreasonable. What you need to know is that the cohesion it presents in songs like the title-track, or “Psychoactive Baby” with vocalist Kyriacos Frangoulis calling to mind Dave Wyndorf corralling the void to his whims, or the trades in “In Loop” that go from empty space to fuller movement before a slow, shimmering lead line draws you through the second half with a nod, etc., is not happenstance. Rather, that cohesion is the result of an intentional creative progression on the part of the band. With hints of prog-metal in some of its starts and stops and aggressive undertones, “Colours” builds on the mountainous tones of “Follow Me,” but the point is through songwriting, touring and sundry other factors that round out to ‘effort on their part,’ Stonus have become able to tie disparate ideas together through shared elements of melody and groove. On Space to Dive, they do this while seeming to wear their heart on their collective sleeve, and so the results are doubly impactful for the emotional aspect running alongside a sound that can be rich or minimal depending on where the song is going.

In the case of lead single “Hope Dose,” it’s a more rocking place, but the title-track (video premiering below) takes that fluidity and brings it more into focus. Like “Berlin” — and it’s next in the tracklisting, so I’m not just sitting the title-track alongside the opener — “Space to Dive” is nigh on hypnotic, but it’s also shorter and more accessible. Maybe the story of the record is Stonus finding a place for themselves in that balance. They loosely follow an ethic of keeping the shorter songs toward the beginning and the longer ones on side B, and sure enough some of the more into-the-beyond fare is late, but it’s not so black and white as a mullet structure — business up front, party in the back — and that doesn’t withstand either “Berlin” at the outset (which is longer) and “Steiermark” at the end, but that speaks double to the band’s intention. It’s not just about separating different sides of what they do, but about the places their music goes, the room it occupies at any given moment and where it’s headed from there. That hypnosic state in “Berlin” comes back around in the procession through “In Loop” and the album’s longest cut “Tangerine” and even “The Hermit” as the record winds down by branching out, and all the while Stonus maintain a distinctive sense of craft.

Yes, some of their influence comes from their Mediterranean background, but that makes the story they’re telling — ultimately one of journeying, going; the album starts in one place and ends in another, aurally and in the titles — that much more human, because they’re the ones telling it, and rather than a cold execution of genre elements, Stonus put themselves in the songs, and it’s from this that much of Space to Dive‘s identity is constructed. That the band are geographically spread out, as the PR wire discusses below, makes a whole lot of sense in terms of the sprawl in their sound, but there is no part of the album that feels any more incongruous than they want it to. That is, when they turn around in “Space to Dive” and bring in the shoutier vocals to smack you upside your entranced head, they know what they’re doing and it’s happening the way it’s meant to. I invite you to keep this intentionality in mind as you listen and watch the video here.

PR wire info follows, because thoroughness. Please enjoy:

Stonus, “Space to Dive” video premiere

Stream: https://found.ee/stonus_spacetodive

Straight from the depths of the Mediterranean Sea, Cyprus heavy rock torchbearers STONUS return with their sophomore full-length “Space to Dive” this March 20th on Ripple Music!

Recorded at Wreck It Sound Studios in Corinth, in collaboration with Johnny S.A. (former 1000mods), “Space to Dive” captures the fiery quintet at the peak of their creativity. The mastering, handled by legendary engineer Howie Weinberg (Nirvana, QOTSA, Deftones, Kyuss, Metallica), adds both sonic depth and a rare prestige to the final work. The visual world of the album was crafted by Kamil Czapiga of Cosmodernism, whose mastery of cymatics translates sound into geometry with alchemical precision.

Despite the challenges of being spread across three countries whilst touring and working simultaneously, the realisation of this concept proved essential to the band. “Space to Dive” stands as both a personal reckoning and a universal exploration – an invitation to dive inwards to better understand the whole.

STONUS “Space To Dive”
Out March 20th on Ripple Music – PREORDER: https://stonusofficial.bandcamp.com/album/space-to-dive

Tracklisting:
1. Berlin
2. Space to Dive
3. Follow Me
4. Colours
5. Psychoactive Baby
6. Hope Dose
7. In Loop
8. Tangerine
9. The Hermit
10. Steiermark

STONUS is
Nikolas Frangoulis – Guitar
Kyriacos Frangoulis – Vocals
Kotsios Demetriades – Drums
Pavlos Demetriou – Guitar
Alaa Albaharna – Bass, Additional Vocals

Stonus, Space to Dive (2026)

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