Columnus Metallicus: Heavy Metal for May Reviewed by Kez Whelan

Conan fans should absolutely not miss the new Coltsblood album either, the band formed by their original bassist John McNulty after playing on their classic Horseback Battle Hammer EP. Coltsblood have long since blossomed into a great band in their own right of course, and to my ears, one of the most distinctive, fresh and powerful doom acts to emerge from this rotten isle over the last decade, pulling strands of the most subterranean black metal and funeral doom into their sludgy morass. This long-awaited third album is their most focused and impactful yet – it’s significantly shorter than their first two but manages to feel even more immersive, thanks to the instantly enveloping atmosphere it creates and sustains throughout. 

‘Until The Eidolon Falls’ is an immediately arresting opener, as guitarist Jemma McNulty’s ethereal, melancholy leads twinkle like stars in the jet-black night sky of John’s earth-rumbling bass tone, before the blackened onslaught of ‘Waning Of The Wolf Moon’ finds drummer Jay Plested unleashing bestial blastbeats as John pitches his sub-sonic growl up into a fiery shriek. The record’s last two tracks delve even further into the funereal atmospheres the trio hinted at towards the end of their second album, 2017’s Ascending Into Shimmering Darkness, with ‘Transcending The Immortal Gateways’ unfolding patiently into a beautiful tapestry of hazy, astral keys, glistening guitar textures and lumbering sludge riffing. The title track, meanwhile, begins as a belligerent dirge, John belting out caveman war cries atop brutish low-end pummelling, before some genuinely emotive melodies emerge at the pace of shifting tectonic plates as yearning guitar leads bring the album to a melancholy close. This is Coltsblood at their most potent yet, don’t miss it. 

Speaking of potency, the ludicrously intense Teitanblood show no signs of mellowing on this pulverising fourth album, even if it does approach their imposingly hostile sound from a significantly different angle. For one, the mix feels like the total inverse of their previous records, with the drums way up in the front over the churning din of the guitars, captured with total clarity rather than blending into the band’s writhing cacophony. Perhaps this effect is heightened after opener ‘Enter The Hypogeum’’s fake-out intro, in which an even tinnier production abruptly gives way to a full on roar in a move that will have dozens of tinnitus-addled longhairs like myself reaching for the volume button before having their skulls deftly trampled (again, almost the inverse of a record like Death, which chose to get the skull trampling out of the way right off the bat). 

This gives the album a slightly different atmosphere, that remains suitably hellish whilst also feeling razor-sharp – if the doomier qualities of their last album, 2019’s The Baneful Choir, presented a deep, sumptuous darkness you could sink yourself into, this one feels more like a vat of boiling acid, relentlessly abrasive and incessantly prickly, to say the least. The likes of ‘From The Visceral Abyss’ feel astonishingly brutal, even for Teitanblood, whilst ‘Strangling Visions’ somehow manages to be oddly catchy and anthemic despite its abundant ferocity. The lead guitars have a different feel too, serving up more melodic, soaring heavy metal heroics than the Kerry King indebted atonal shred fests that peppered past records – and whilst I feel that approach is absolutely perfect for this kind of metal, they really manage to make the more bombastic leads work here, adding bags of atmosphere to the song’s chaotic climax. With towering closer ‘Tomb Corpse Haruspex’ ending with the same Penderecki sample that began their classic 2009 debut Seven Chalices, there have been rumours this could end up being the band’s final album – if it is, it’s a fine note to bow out on, presenting a whole new perspective on their established wall of sound. 

This Leeds quartet quietly released one of 2022’s best black metal records under the name Fatalist, but after changing their name to the more distinctive Acceptance and linking up with Road To Masochist for a proper vinyl release, here’s hoping this new record reaches the wider audience it so clearly deserves. Boasting a much fuller, crisper production than the Fatalist debut, Crucifixion Of Orchids sees Acceptance’s sound coming into clearer focus, refining that last record’s passionate sprawl into a tighter and even more cathartic listening experience. Drawing from the epic structures of post-Weakling black metal and the sumptuous textures of the more shoegaze inflected end of the genre without neatly fitting into either, Acceptance’s dense, mournful sound manages to feel acutely contemporary and strangely ancient at the same time.

Despite how hypnotic Crucifixion Of Orchids can be, it’s a terrifyingly focused record, covering a lot of ground in just over half an hour. Just take crushing album centre-piece ‘Wither’ for example, a song that ties together frantic blasting and abrasive tremolo riffing with pounding crust punk rhythms, shimmering post-rock textures and crystal clear, emotive vocals in just over seven minutes without feeling forced or rushed at all. The two and a half minute ‘Ark’ is even more impressive, feeling like a vast Wolves In The Throne Room-esque epic comfortably shrunk into a punky nugget of energy without losing any of its grandeur, whilst the eleven minute ‘Paradise’ allows the band to stretch out into even more trance-inducing territory. The moment the band’s yearning riffing breaks into a thick, black void around halfway through is vertigo inducing, making its subsequent build from twinkly, wounded tremolo picking to its roaring climax feel even more rewarding. Whilst the record feels like a clear continuation of the Fatalist sound, Crucifixion Of Orchids is such a fresh, powerful statement of intent that the band’s name change makes total sense.

After Witchcraft’s ever-changing line-up fell apart completely after 2016’s Nucleus, leaving guitarist and vocalist Magnus Pelander on his own for the underwhelming acoustic record Black Metal in 2020, you’d be forgiven for assuming the band had run its course. Thankfully, Pelander assembled a new power trio for a triumphant Desertfest set in 2022, liberally strewn with classics from Witchcraft’s legendary original three-album run interspersed with fuzzy new cuts that hinted at a return to the band’s roots looming in the near distance – and that’s precisely what Idag is (albeit with yet another new rhythm section in tow, naturally).

The smoky 70s tones and breezy grooves of ‘Irreligious Flamboyant Flame’ could have come straight from the band’s cherished 2005 album Firewood; lead single ‘Drömmar Av Is’ could too, if not for the noticeably denser guitar sound, with Pelander’s scorching acid rock lead guitar injecting a more urgent, driving presence. Indeed, Idag contains some of the heaviest material Pelander has ever put to tape. The leaden gloom of ‘Spirit’ is considerably more crushing than the whimsical feel of their early work, as are the weighty grooves of the opening title track – which is Swedish for ‘today’, perhaps a clue the band aren’t just trying to recapture former glories. The morose folk of Black Metal is much better integrated into the band’s sound here, with sinister ballads like ‘Om Du Vill’ and ‘Christmas’ providing some haunting dynamics to the record and helping doomy bangers like ‘Burning Cross’ hit even harder. For my money, this is easily Witchcraft’s best since those first three records, reinstating everything that made those albums so great whilst having a fresh approach and distinct identity of its own (not to mention riffs by the bucketload). 

Italian doom quartet Messa are also looking beyond the organic 70s vibes of their stunning 2022 opus Close on their new record The Spin, which self-consciously harks back to the glitzy synthesisers and heavily gated snares of the 80s instead – and if that admission just filled you with the same dread I got upon initially reading it, then fear not, as not only do the band wear this sound well, it’s resulted in perhaps their most focused, punchy album yet. There’s a strong goth influence throughout, readily apparent from both the spidery guitar twangs, crepuscular keys and pulsating bass lines that kick off both opener ‘Void Meridian’ and the stomping Siouxsie-fronted Killing Joke-isms of ‘At Races’. 

‘Fire On The Roof’ and ‘Reveal’, meanwhile, are two of the most driving, anthemic tunes the band have written yet, recalling the flamboyance, guitar heroics and earnest song-craft of ‘80s Ozzy (with some cheeky blastbeats thrown in for good measure in ‘Reveal’s case) whilst showcasing some of frontwoman Sara Bianchin’s most expressive and powerful vocals to date. The dark jazz influences that made the band’s previous work so intoxicating may be scaled back here but they’re thankfully far from absent, with stunning centrepiece ‘The Dress’ whipping out an utterly gorgeous trumpet solo atop a blissed out bossa nova groove, nestled snugly between some of the album’s doomiest riffing. The Spin is a very different beast to the earthier, roots-ier Close but it’s an equally nourishing experience, condensing that album’s luxurious sprawl into a tighter, more digestible package without losing any of the band’s nocturnal magic. 

This French collective’s 2020 debut album, the two-hour long Éons, was an absolute revelation, a sprawling voyage through doom metal, free jazz, dark ambient and psychedelic rock that certainly lived up to the group’s name. After releasing a series of increasingly ambitious live releases in the interim, this hefty follow-up is a relatively more focussed affair; the phrase ‘relatively’ doing a lot of heavy lifting here, as this is still a gigantic 98 minute opus, but one that largely forgoes the frenetic eclecticism and overt jazz influences of its predecessor to focus more intently on deep, sumptuous drones.

Recorded in London’s church of St John on Bethnal Green, the record is centred around three Indian classical ragas, which serve as a launch pad for the group’s heady free-form jamming. The first of which, ‘Raag Marwa’ (or alternatively, ‘At Dusk’), really hammers home the group’s drone metal origins, as intoxicating Eastern licks gradually spiral out of thick, cavernous Sunn O)))-esque tones, before erupting into a grandiose horn-backed dirge that sounds a bit like Celtic Frost’s ‘Innocence & Wrath’ played at the wrong speed after a heroic dose of psychedelics. This segues smoothly into ‘Raag Todi’ (AKA ‘Arcana XX’), which begins with a lengthy surbahar (also known as a bass sitar) intro, before erupting into perhaps the album’s most hyper-kinetic passage, as jittering drumming and swirling bursts of searing psych rock guitar dance around an ominous vortex of deep, droning bass. A trumpet blasts into earshot just as the whole thing collapses into an anxious groove centred around a huge, throbbing bassline, like Al Cisneros trying out for Aluk Todolo. ‘Raag Bairagi’ (or ‘At Dawn’) makes for a suitably climactic finale, as flowing licks straight out of the Mike Vest school of feedback drenched guitar freakouts gradually evolve into thunderous doom metal riffage, bringing the whole thing to a rapturous finish. Le Sacre Du Soleil Invaincu may not have the same dazzling, sensory-overload affect as the band’s debut, but if you’re willing to sit with it, it’s a beautifully hypnotic and immersive listening experience in it’s own right; if you’ve spent most of the 2020s clamouring for a new Bong album, this is an essential purchase. 

If you’re after something a bit more upbeat, however, London thrashers Inhuman Nature have got you covered. Their self-titled debut was certainly solid, but Greater Than Death feels like a big step up – having spent the intervening years gigging relentlessly, the band have gelled into a ruthlessly tight unit here, imbuing their crisp crossover thrash anthems with an infectious swagger and an even higher energy dosage. Songs like the raging ‘Dawn Of Inhuman Man’ and ‘Lines In The Sand II’ feel custom-built for stage-dives and circle pits, the latter even dishing out one of those great ‘band-yelling-their-own-name’ moments in a way that practically begs young heshers to leap up and grab that mic. Frontman Christopher Barling’s vocals sound particularly vicious here too – whilst the first album still had a hint of the shriller metalcore bark he utilised in his previous band Hang The Bastard, his voice sounds even more venomous and unhinged this time round, snarling atop the band’s pounding battery with murderous intent. 

Greater Than Death doesn’t reinvent the band’s sound by any stretch, but it refines it in a supremely confident manner. In addition to their usual breakneck approach, the moments when they slow down are very effective – the sinister South Of Heaven-esque intro to ‘Fortress Of Delusion’ adds some welcome atmosphere, whilst the churning grooves that kick off the title track make a perfect springboard for all kinds of wild dive bombs and whammy abuse. For big, brash, no bullshit thrash, this does the job and then some. 

It’s been a whole twelve years since the last Iron Lung full-length, which is a long enough time anyway but an eternity in grind years. 2013’s White Glove Test was decent, but with its extra disc of noise designed to be played simultaneously, it always felt like you were getting a slightly lessened experience unless you were willing to set up a second stereo every time you spun it; thankfully Adapting // Crawling feels much more cohesive and complete. The duo’s trademark sound still feels fresh and stands out amongst a lot of more generic fast hardcore, marrying furious No Comment-esque powerviolence with the brutish repetition of early Swans – for the uninitiated who are wondering how those seemingly diametrically opposed styles would work together (where have you been?), just wrap your ears around the likes of ‘Shift Work’, the churning, pummelling ‘A Loving Act’ or the crawling ‘Hospital Tile’, a harrowing dirge that taps into a profoundly uncomfortable bleakness most contemporary powerviolence bands don’t dare approach for fear of bumming out the moshers. 

The duo’s songwriting feels especially sharp here too, with a surprising number of hooks revealing themselves through repeated listens. The album’s structure is fantastically disorientating whilst somehow feeling fully cohesive – check out the way the curiously infectious ‘Purgatory Dust’ comes back for a reprise after just one song, the caustic, staggering ‘Virus’, for example, or how the dissonant chords that end ‘Cog II’ bleed into the intro of 30 second rager ‘HeLa Cells’. If White Glove Test felt a little disorganised, this one is much more well-realised, dishing out a razor-sharp set of prime Iron Lung bangers that seems to hit harder each time I spin it. It’s good to have them back.