There is a specific, cold-blooded elegance to the way the Italian occult scene handles its darkness. It’s never just about the noise; it’s about the theatre, the grime, and the lingering scent of incense in a room that hasn't seen the sun in decades.
Ponte Del Diavolo emerged from Turin with a tag they call "blackened post-punk," but their second full-length, De Venom Natura, proves that they are far more interested in the "blackened" side of the equation than most of their contemporaries. Following a relentless two-year stint on the road that saw them haunt stages from Roadburn to Inferno, this new record feels like a band finally realizing that their uncommon architecture, specifically that dual-bass setup is their greatest weapon.
The record opens with Every Tongue Has Its Thorns, and the intent is clear from the first vibration. It’s a six-minute immersion in tension, where Erba del Diavolo’s wave-tinged vocals act as a flickering candle in a very large, very dark room. The dual-bass assault of Khrura Abro and Kratom creates a low-end frequency that feels properly tectonic, allowing the guitars of Nerium to dart around like shadows. The addition of Sergio Bertani’s theremin and Andrea l'Abbate’s programming adds a layer of sci-fi dread to the gothic grime, making the whole thing feel like a transmission from a different, bleaker dimension.
The collaborative spirit of the record is where it truly finds its teeth. Spirit, Blood, Poison, Ferment! features a guest trombone spot from Francesco Bucci (Ottone Pesante) that provides a brassy, apocalyptic funeral march energy. It’s a masterclass in building a "flaming core" of sound without ever losing the rhythmic pulse provided by Segale Cornuta.
You can hear the growth in the songwriting on the Italian-language tracks Lunga Vita Alla Necrosi and Il Vleno Della Natura. There is a raw, dynamic pulse here that refuses to settle into a standard doom-crawl. Instead, it moves with the nervous energy of early 80s post-punk, but with the vocal delivery of someone who has spent far too much time reading the darker corners of the Necronomicon.
The centrepiece of the record is the sprawling, near-nine-minute Delta-9 (Δ9). It’s a monolithic bit of songwriting that features Vittorio Sabelli on bass clarinet, adding a woody, subterranean texture to the usual blackened churn. It’s dense, immersive, and allows the specific "venom" of the instruments to breathe without becoming a muddy mess. It’s interesting that the addition of instruments you don’t associate with this genre really takes it up a level.
Silence Walk With Me brings in Gionata Potenti (Omega/Nubivagant) for a bit of acoustic guitar and vocal support, offering a moment of fragile, atmospheric beauty before the record hits its final, surprising threshold. The closer is a cover of Bauhaus’s In The Flat Field, and it’s a stroke of genius. It’s the sound of the band acknowledging their lineage while simultaneously dragging Peter Murphy’s ghost through a black metal furnace. It’s aggressive, disrespectful in all the right ways, and a perfect final shrug toward the light.
Is it a comfortable listen? Not even slightly. De Venom Natura is a record that demands you inhabit its shadows. It’s delivered with a level of professional, blackened confidence that suggests Ponte Del Diavolo are no longer just a "cult" secret. They are the new architects of the Italian gloom. 9/10
De L'Abîme Naît L'Aube – Rituel: Initiation (Hypnotic Dirge Records)
This took a couple of listens to dial my thoughts into what’s actually happening here. There is a lot going on. So let’s get after it.
Most "atmospheric" bands treat the term as an excuse to hide a lack of ideas behind a wall of reverb. De L'Abîme Naît L'Aube (DANA), however, uses atmosphere as a physical medium. Emerging from the Valais region of Switzerland, this six-piece has spent the last few years refining a sound that they describe, quite accurately, as a "mystical initiation." Their debut full-length, Rituel: Initiation, is a 52-minute journey that blends an essence of folk, bits of tribal rituals and other levels of transcendental vocals with more aggressive margins of post-black metal.
The record is structured around five expansive movements, and it doesn't bother with a polite introduction. Une Pleine Absence clocks in at nearly twelve minutes, establishing a progressive blueprint of suspended calms and sudden, violent tempo shifts. The vocal interplay here is nothing short of extraordinary; you have the high-pitched, blackened screams of Sébastien Defabiani clashing against shamanic throat singing.
The record opens with Every Tongue Has Its Thorns, and the intent is clear from the first vibration. It’s a six-minute immersion in tension, where Erba del Diavolo’s wave-tinged vocals act as a flickering candle in a very large, very dark room. The dual-bass assault of Khrura Abro and Kratom creates a low-end frequency that feels properly tectonic, allowing the guitars of Nerium to dart around like shadows. The addition of Sergio Bertani’s theremin and Andrea l'Abbate’s programming adds a layer of sci-fi dread to the gothic grime, making the whole thing feel like a transmission from a different, bleaker dimension.
The collaborative spirit of the record is where it truly finds its teeth. Spirit, Blood, Poison, Ferment! features a guest trombone spot from Francesco Bucci (Ottone Pesante) that provides a brassy, apocalyptic funeral march energy. It’s a masterclass in building a "flaming core" of sound without ever losing the rhythmic pulse provided by Segale Cornuta.
You can hear the growth in the songwriting on the Italian-language tracks Lunga Vita Alla Necrosi and Il Vleno Della Natura. There is a raw, dynamic pulse here that refuses to settle into a standard doom-crawl. Instead, it moves with the nervous energy of early 80s post-punk, but with the vocal delivery of someone who has spent far too much time reading the darker corners of the Necronomicon.
The centrepiece of the record is the sprawling, near-nine-minute Delta-9 (Δ9). It’s a monolithic bit of songwriting that features Vittorio Sabelli on bass clarinet, adding a woody, subterranean texture to the usual blackened churn. It’s dense, immersive, and allows the specific "venom" of the instruments to breathe without becoming a muddy mess. It’s interesting that the addition of instruments you don’t associate with this genre really takes it up a level.
Silence Walk With Me brings in Gionata Potenti (Omega/Nubivagant) for a bit of acoustic guitar and vocal support, offering a moment of fragile, atmospheric beauty before the record hits its final, surprising threshold. The closer is a cover of Bauhaus’s In The Flat Field, and it’s a stroke of genius. It’s the sound of the band acknowledging their lineage while simultaneously dragging Peter Murphy’s ghost through a black metal furnace. It’s aggressive, disrespectful in all the right ways, and a perfect final shrug toward the light.
Is it a comfortable listen? Not even slightly. De Venom Natura is a record that demands you inhabit its shadows. It’s delivered with a level of professional, blackened confidence that suggests Ponte Del Diavolo are no longer just a "cult" secret. They are the new architects of the Italian gloom. 9/10
De L'Abîme Naît L'Aube – Rituel: Initiation (Hypnotic Dirge Records)
This took a couple of listens to dial my thoughts into what’s actually happening here. There is a lot going on. So let’s get after it.
Most "atmospheric" bands treat the term as an excuse to hide a lack of ideas behind a wall of reverb. De L'Abîme Naît L'Aube (DANA), however, uses atmosphere as a physical medium. Emerging from the Valais region of Switzerland, this six-piece has spent the last few years refining a sound that they describe, quite accurately, as a "mystical initiation." Their debut full-length, Rituel: Initiation, is a 52-minute journey that blends an essence of folk, bits of tribal rituals and other levels of transcendental vocals with more aggressive margins of post-black metal.
The record is structured around five expansive movements, and it doesn't bother with a polite introduction. Une Pleine Absence clocks in at nearly twelve minutes, establishing a progressive blueprint of suspended calms and sudden, violent tempo shifts. The vocal interplay here is nothing short of extraordinary; you have the high-pitched, blackened screams of Sébastien Defabiani clashing against shamanic throat singing.
While Fantine Schütz provides a folkloric, enchanting female counterpoint. It shouldn't work, it sounds like three different centuries fighting for space but under the direction of DANA, it feels like a cohesive, ancient dialect. The vocals for me were the parts that just made this album, this is like a blender of genres producing something greater than it’s parts.
The guitars of Dominique Blanc and Kilian Caddoux are heavily indebted to post-rock, layering airy textures and soaring leads that elevate the compositions out of the "abyss" promised in the band's name. On Un Sanctuaire De Cendres, the 13-minute centrepiece, the rhythm section maintains a minimalistic, hypnotic pulse that allows the "theatre" of the song to breathe. It’s here that the band’s signature gong punctuates the key moments, sealing the ritualistic aspect of the music with a metallic resonance that lingers long after the note has passed.
It’s a record that understands the value of silence just as much as it understands the power of the blast beat.
The guitars of Dominique Blanc and Kilian Caddoux are heavily indebted to post-rock, layering airy textures and soaring leads that elevate the compositions out of the "abyss" promised in the band's name. On Un Sanctuaire De Cendres, the 13-minute centrepiece, the rhythm section maintains a minimalistic, hypnotic pulse that allows the "theatre" of the song to breathe. It’s here that the band’s signature gong punctuates the key moments, sealing the ritualistic aspect of the music with a metallic resonance that lingers long after the note has passed.
It’s a record that understands the value of silence just as much as it understands the power of the blast beat.
Le Vertige D'une Descendance continues this trend of "long-form" storytelling, moving through a series of crescendos that feel genuinely earned rather than just mathematically calculated. After the brief, four-minute respite of Une Première Epiphanie, the record reaches its climax with Une Absolue Présence. It’s a final, 11-minute shrug toward the light, a track that manages to feel both transcendent and grounded. It successfully navigates the "Abyss to Dawn" transition of the band's name, leaving the listener in a state of captivated trance.
Is it a demanding listen? Hell Yes it is, I think I listened to this at least 4 times just to level set. Rituel: Initiation requires you to commit to its pace and its unconventional vocal palette (again the vocals are amazing). But for those willing to step into the circle, it offers one of the most unique and immersive experiences in modern post-metal. This isn't just a debut; it’s a fully formed vision from a band that clearly understands that the best music is often a ceremony. 9/10
Slaughterday – Dread Emperor (Testimony Records)
There is something deeply reassuring about the way Slaughterday approaches death metal. While the rest of the world is busy arguing over sub-genre prefixes and technical wizardry, this duo from Leer has spent sixteen years perfecting the art of the morbid, mid-paced chug.
Is it a demanding listen? Hell Yes it is, I think I listened to this at least 4 times just to level set. Rituel: Initiation requires you to commit to its pace and its unconventional vocal palette (again the vocals are amazing). But for those willing to step into the circle, it offers one of the most unique and immersive experiences in modern post-metal. This isn't just a debut; it’s a fully formed vision from a band that clearly understands that the best music is often a ceremony. 9/10
Slaughterday – Dread Emperor (Testimony Records)
There is something deeply reassuring about the way Slaughterday approaches death metal. While the rest of the world is busy arguing over sub-genre prefixes and technical wizardry, this duo from Leer has spent sixteen years perfecting the art of the morbid, mid-paced chug.
Dread Emperor, their sixth full-length, arrives with the kind of "death metal nobility" pedigree that you only get from veterans like Jens Finger (ex-Obscenity, Temple of Dread) and Bernd Reiners. It’s an album that understands that the real power of the genre doesn't come from speed alone, but from the friction between a crushing doom-crawl and an outbreak of total, unadulterated brutality.
The record opens with Enthroned, and immediately makes its presence felt. It’s thick, gritty, and possesses that "no triggers" honesty that acts as a healthy antidote to the over-polished state of modern deathcore. By the time the record moves into Obliteration Crusade and Rapture Of Rot, you realize that Slaughterday haven't just stuck to their Autopsy and Massacre-worshipping roots; they’ve refined them. There’s a melodic sensibility lurking beneath the filth, haunting choruses that stick in your brain long after the last blast beat has subsided.
Lyrically, the band has pivoted away from simple tentacle-horror tropes. While the Great Old Ones still haunt the periphery, these monsters have been repurposed as metaphorical ciphers for the hardening of modern society. It gives tracks like Astral Carnage and Subconscious Pandemonium a weight that goes beyond the typical gore-obsessed tropes. It’s "intellectual" death metal that still manages to sound like it was recorded in a damp cellar during a thunderstorm.
The title track, Dread Emperor, is the record’s tectonic heart. It’s a monolith of tension-building, where the guitar work switches between soaring, cosmic leads and the kind of bone-shaking riffs that anchor the entire Northwestern German scene. It’s a stark, effective reminder that you don't need a nineteen-minute concept piece to describe the end of the world, you just need the right frequency of fuzz.
The back half of the record, The Forsaken Ones, Necrocide, and the aptly titled Dethroned maintains a relentless momentum, refusing to offer a single moment of respite. The experience is then capped off with a cover of Protector’s Golem. It’s a brilliant final nod to their heritage, delivered with a level of aggression that proves the duo still has plenty of venom left in the tank.
Is it a revolutionary departure? No. It’s exactly what the fans want: perfectly executed old-school death metal with a wicked, cosmic twist. Dread Emperor is an essential document of survival for anyone who still values a beating death metal heart. 8/10
Bloodred – Colours Of Pain (Massacre Records)
There is a persistent, hardening shell forming around modern society, a shifting of truth until it becomes as malleable as clay, and it is exactly this friction that this album documents.
The record opens with Enthroned, and immediately makes its presence felt. It’s thick, gritty, and possesses that "no triggers" honesty that acts as a healthy antidote to the over-polished state of modern deathcore. By the time the record moves into Obliteration Crusade and Rapture Of Rot, you realize that Slaughterday haven't just stuck to their Autopsy and Massacre-worshipping roots; they’ve refined them. There’s a melodic sensibility lurking beneath the filth, haunting choruses that stick in your brain long after the last blast beat has subsided.
Lyrically, the band has pivoted away from simple tentacle-horror tropes. While the Great Old Ones still haunt the periphery, these monsters have been repurposed as metaphorical ciphers for the hardening of modern society. It gives tracks like Astral Carnage and Subconscious Pandemonium a weight that goes beyond the typical gore-obsessed tropes. It’s "intellectual" death metal that still manages to sound like it was recorded in a damp cellar during a thunderstorm.
The title track, Dread Emperor, is the record’s tectonic heart. It’s a monolith of tension-building, where the guitar work switches between soaring, cosmic leads and the kind of bone-shaking riffs that anchor the entire Northwestern German scene. It’s a stark, effective reminder that you don't need a nineteen-minute concept piece to describe the end of the world, you just need the right frequency of fuzz.
The back half of the record, The Forsaken Ones, Necrocide, and the aptly titled Dethroned maintains a relentless momentum, refusing to offer a single moment of respite. The experience is then capped off with a cover of Protector’s Golem. It’s a brilliant final nod to their heritage, delivered with a level of aggression that proves the duo still has plenty of venom left in the tank.
Is it a revolutionary departure? No. It’s exactly what the fans want: perfectly executed old-school death metal with a wicked, cosmic twist. Dread Emperor is an essential document of survival for anyone who still values a beating death metal heart. 8/10
Bloodred – Colours Of Pain (Massacre Records)
There is a persistent, hardening shell forming around modern society, a shifting of truth until it becomes as malleable as clay, and it is exactly this friction that this album documents.
Bloodred has always been a project defined by a singular vision, but Colours Of Pain feels like the moment that vision finally stopped looking at the genre’s horizon and started looking inward. Self-released and unapologetically nonconformist, this is a record that uses the vocabulary of blackened death metal to write a very personal, very uncomfortable letter about the state of the world in 2026.
The collaboration with Alexander Krull at Mastersound Studio remains the structural backbone here, but there is a noticeable grit to the guitars and bass, that prevents the production from becoming too "polite."
The record begins with Ashes, a track that serves as a smouldering preamble to the title track, Colours Of Pain. It’s here that you notice the return of Joris Nijenhuis on the drums; his precision provides a mechanical, almost industrial heartbeat that allows the riffs to sprawl. The title track isn't just a display of force; it’s a canvas for the lyrical themes of shifting boundaries and the "enemy-making" machine of modern discourse.
The centrepiece, Mindvirus, is where the record truly flexes its muscles. There’s a blistering solo that cuts through the thick, rhythmic churn like a lightning strike.
The band’s decision to move toward more personal lyrics pays dividends on Heretics and A New Dark Age. These aren't just fantasy tropes; they are reflections on a society that is accelerating toward an uncertain conclusion while its empathy hardens into something unrecognizable. The music matches this intensity, moving between high-velocity blackened thrash and the kind of mid-paced, crushing weight found on Death Machine.
By the time the record closes with Resist, the intent is clear. Bloodred hasn't just made a death metal album; they’ve made a document of defiance. It’s an honest, unvarnished look at the "flexible truths" of our era, delivered with a level of professional craft that justifies its place in the upper echelons of the independent scene. It’s a heavy, thoughtful, and ultimately necessary bit of noise for anyone who feels the same hardening of the world that they describe. 8/10
The collaboration with Alexander Krull at Mastersound Studio remains the structural backbone here, but there is a noticeable grit to the guitars and bass, that prevents the production from becoming too "polite."
The record begins with Ashes, a track that serves as a smouldering preamble to the title track, Colours Of Pain. It’s here that you notice the return of Joris Nijenhuis on the drums; his precision provides a mechanical, almost industrial heartbeat that allows the riffs to sprawl. The title track isn't just a display of force; it’s a canvas for the lyrical themes of shifting boundaries and the "enemy-making" machine of modern discourse.
The centrepiece, Mindvirus, is where the record truly flexes its muscles. There’s a blistering solo that cuts through the thick, rhythmic churn like a lightning strike.
The band’s decision to move toward more personal lyrics pays dividends on Heretics and A New Dark Age. These aren't just fantasy tropes; they are reflections on a society that is accelerating toward an uncertain conclusion while its empathy hardens into something unrecognizable. The music matches this intensity, moving between high-velocity blackened thrash and the kind of mid-paced, crushing weight found on Death Machine.
By the time the record closes with Resist, the intent is clear. Bloodred hasn't just made a death metal album; they’ve made a document of defiance. It’s an honest, unvarnished look at the "flexible truths" of our era, delivered with a level of professional craft that justifies its place in the upper echelons of the independent scene. It’s a heavy, thoughtful, and ultimately necessary bit of noise for anyone who feels the same hardening of the world that they describe. 8/10
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