Sidious return with their latest and genuinely unsettling studio album Malefic Necropolis.
Opening with Shears Of Atropos, the album establishes its credentials immediately with nearly six minutes of unrelenting blackened assault. Named after one of the three Fates in Greek mythology—the one who cuts the thread of life—the track sets an appropriately grim tone for what's to come. You can hear every instrument carving out its own space in this grotesque soundscape, yet everything melds together into this oppressive wall of sonic decay that feels like it's physically pressing down on you.
Rotborn Terror follows, a compact blast of putrid fury that doesn't waste a second of its four-minute runtime. The title alone conjures images of decay and undeath, and the music delivers on that promise with relentless aggression. The guitar work throughout these opening salvos is genuinely inventive stuff—riffs twist and contort like something that has been left to fester in darkness.
There is a real sense of composition here, with passages that build tension methodically before erupting into absolute chaos. The lead work, when it appears, cuts through the murk like shards of broken glass, dissonant and thoroughly effective at maintaining that atmosphere of dread.
The brief but effective Inversion And Collapse serves as a dark palate cleanser, a minute-long descent into something even more disturbing before Cosmossuary unleashes nearly five minutes of cosmic dread. This track showcases the band's ability to create atmosphere whilst maintaining their savage attack—it's not just mindless blasting, there's genuine songcraft buried in this filth.
Grave offers another brief interlude, perhaps a moment to catch your breath before being plunged back into the abyss Crows Atop The Gallows takes over with more than four minutes of blackened majesty. The imagery evoked by the title—carrion birds waiting for death's harvest—is perfectly matched by the music's predatory ferocity.
The brief but effective Inversion And Collapse serves as a dark palate cleanser, a minute-long descent into something even more disturbing before Cosmossuary unleashes nearly five minutes of cosmic dread. This track showcases the band's ability to create atmosphere whilst maintaining their savage attack—it's not just mindless blasting, there's genuine songcraft buried in this filth.
Grave offers another brief interlude, perhaps a moment to catch your breath before being plunged back into the abyss Crows Atop The Gallows takes over with more than four minutes of blackened majesty. The imagery evoked by the title—carrion birds waiting for death's harvest—is perfectly matched by the music's predatory ferocity.
This is where Sidious really demonstrate their range, shifting between tempos and moods whilst never abandoning their core aesthetic of pure malevolence. The rhythm section here deserves special mention, with drumming that's both technically accomplished and musically intelligent, knowing when to blast and when to pull back for maximum impact.
Vortex Of Boundless Unlight is another standout, with its title perfectly encapsulating the sonic experience. There is a genuine sense of being pulled into something vast and terrible here, a maelstrom of darkness that threatens to consume everything in its path. You can really hear and almost feel the bass rumbling beneath everything, adding weight and heft to the proceedings.
Sanguineous Art continues the assault with nearly five minutes of violence, its title suggesting blood-soaked creativity and ritualistic horror. The vocals range from tortured shrieks that sound genuinely anguished to deeper growls that add another dimension to the sonic attack.
The album concludes with Bloodlust Command Infinite, and at over six minutes, this closing track is one of the album's lengthier pieces. It earns every second of its runtime, serving as a fitting conclusion to a journey through increasingly nightmarish territory. The track encapsulates everything that makes Malefic Necropolis work—the savage aggression, the atmospheric depth, the intelligent songwriting, and that intangible quality of genuine darkness.
What really sets this album apart is its atmosphere. This is genuinely dark, oppressive music that creates a tangible sense of dread and every element here, from the production choices to the song structures to the performances, contributes to this overwhelmingly dark aesthetic.
This is an album demands your full attention, drags you into its abyssal depths, and doesn't let go until you've experienced every last malevolent moment of its dark vision. 9/10
Witch – The Hex Is On … And Them Some! (Lost Realm Records) [Rick Eaglestone]
California Chaos of the 80's gets thrust into 2026 with the compilation The Hex Is On… And Then Some – a comprehensive retrospective that serves as both time capsule and testament to what might have been. This double-disc collection assembles the complete studio catalogue from 1984 to 1989, including the iconic 1984 EP The Hex Is On, the 1987 12" single Nobody Sleeps and a collection of rare demos from 1988 and 1989 that have remained largely unheard until now.
Witch were one of those bands that embodied the raw, unfiltered energy of the Los Angeles underground metal scene – full of flamboyance and theatrical swagger yet unfortunately plagued by too much internal strife to ever attract major label attention. Listening to this collection, you cannot help but wonder what could have been.
Vortex Of Boundless Unlight is another standout, with its title perfectly encapsulating the sonic experience. There is a genuine sense of being pulled into something vast and terrible here, a maelstrom of darkness that threatens to consume everything in its path. You can really hear and almost feel the bass rumbling beneath everything, adding weight and heft to the proceedings.
Sanguineous Art continues the assault with nearly five minutes of violence, its title suggesting blood-soaked creativity and ritualistic horror. The vocals range from tortured shrieks that sound genuinely anguished to deeper growls that add another dimension to the sonic attack.
The album concludes with Bloodlust Command Infinite, and at over six minutes, this closing track is one of the album's lengthier pieces. It earns every second of its runtime, serving as a fitting conclusion to a journey through increasingly nightmarish territory. The track encapsulates everything that makes Malefic Necropolis work—the savage aggression, the atmospheric depth, the intelligent songwriting, and that intangible quality of genuine darkness.
What really sets this album apart is its atmosphere. This is genuinely dark, oppressive music that creates a tangible sense of dread and every element here, from the production choices to the song structures to the performances, contributes to this overwhelmingly dark aesthetic.
This is an album demands your full attention, drags you into its abyssal depths, and doesn't let go until you've experienced every last malevolent moment of its dark vision. 9/10
Witch – The Hex Is On … And Them Some! (Lost Realm Records) [Rick Eaglestone]
California Chaos of the 80's gets thrust into 2026 with the compilation The Hex Is On… And Then Some – a comprehensive retrospective that serves as both time capsule and testament to what might have been. This double-disc collection assembles the complete studio catalogue from 1984 to 1989, including the iconic 1984 EP The Hex Is On, the 1987 12" single Nobody Sleeps and a collection of rare demos from 1988 and 1989 that have remained largely unheard until now.
Witch were one of those bands that embodied the raw, unfiltered energy of the Los Angeles underground metal scene – full of flamboyance and theatrical swagger yet unfortunately plagued by too much internal strife to ever attract major label attention. Listening to this collection, you cannot help but wonder what could have been.
The opening salvo of tracks like Nervous Wreck and Bewitched fires through the speakers with a splash of arrogance that feels both earned and infectious. There is an interesting dynamic at play – you can hear elements of early Skid Row creeping into the songwriting, that perfect balance between street-level grit and arena-ready hooks that defined the era's most successful acts. Yet Witch maintained their own identity, refusing to sand down their rough edges completely.
The first disc is where this compilation truly shines. Now, I love the animated 1986 Transformers movie and its accompanying soundtrack – it's a perfect snapshot of mid-80s hard rock bombast – and Can't Take Our Rock would've fit seamlessly into that collection. It has that same anthemic quality, that defiant energy that made you want to pump your fist in the air. But what's remarkable is how the album moves beyond simple nostalgia.
The first disc is where this compilation truly shines. Now, I love the animated 1986 Transformers movie and its accompanying soundtrack – it's a perfect snapshot of mid-80s hard rock bombast – and Can't Take Our Rock would've fit seamlessly into that collection. It has that same anthemic quality, that defiant energy that made you want to pump your fist in the air. But what's remarkable is how the album moves beyond simple nostalgia.
As you progress through tracks like Take Me Away, this stops being just a trip down memory lane and transforms into something genuinely compelling that demands repeated listens. The songwriting reveals layers that were not immediately apparent on first spin, and I find myself returning to these tracks more and more, discovering new details each time.
The second CD shifts gears dramatically, focusing on the God Box Sessions. This material has more of a blues rock feel, a conscious evolution that demonstrates the band's desire to mature beyond their earlier sound. The production here is notably more polished – and honestly, that's something of a double-edged sword.
The second CD shifts gears dramatically, focusing on the God Box Sessions. This material has more of a blues rock feel, a conscious evolution that demonstrates the band's desire to mature beyond their earlier sound. The production here is notably more polished – and honestly, that's something of a double-edged sword.
While the cleaner sound showcases the band's technical abilities and more sophisticated arrangements, it simultaneously takes away some of the raw appeal that made the first disc so captivating. That first disc sounds like it was transferred from a cassette, and I genuinely enjoyed that aesthetic – there is an immediacy and urgency to those lo-fi recordings that feels authentic.
That said, the second disc's saving grace is its variation and willingness to take risks. The slower, more ballad-oriented Games That People Play is particularly well-structured, featuring some genuinely beautiful guitar passages that showcase a different side of the band's capabilities.
That said, the second disc's saving grace is its variation and willingness to take risks. The slower, more ballad-oriented Games That People Play is particularly well-structured, featuring some genuinely beautiful guitar passages that showcase a different side of the band's capabilities.
Overall, this portion demonstrates a more stripped-down approach and a willingness to demonstrate a more mature attitude toward studio recordings. The two discs are night and day in terms of production and approach – and yes, this does effectively demonstrate Witch's evolution and career arc as a whole.
But here's the thing: there's something in the unadulterated rawness of that pyro-fuelled aggression on the first disc – that whirlwind chaos – that I simply cannot get enough of. It captures a moment in time, a specific energy that can never quite be replicated once you start worrying about production values and commercial appeal.
This is a well-presented set that clearly has love behind it. The packaging and curation are solid, giving these recordings the respect they deserve after decades in the shadows. However, I do think the inclusion of some live cuts would've really highlighted the band's anarchic reputation and stage presence that contemporary reviews often mentioned. Live recordings would have added another dimension to understanding what made Witch special, capturing the raw energy that reportedly made their shows legendary. 7/10
Agenbite Misery – Remorse Of Conscience (Independent) [Spike]
Most metal bands think "literary ambition" means reading a H.P. Lovecraft summary on Wikipedia and mentioning a tentacle. Agenbite Misery, however, are coming from a different place entirely. Formed by a trio with a shared academic background in literature, they’ve taken the Middle English "agenbite of inwit" that specific, gnawing "remorse of conscience" (I looked that bit up) that haunts Leopold Bloom and translated it into eight chapters of experimental, high-velocity violence. This isn't just "concept" music; it’s a systematic attempt to convert stream-of-consciousness prose into aural energy.
The result? It’s a total wrecking ball of a record that manages to be as smart as a PhD thesis and as heavy as a collapsing star.
The record doesn't just "blend" genres; it pulls them apart to see how they work before chucking the pieces into a furnace. You can hear the pedigree of the members, Sam Graff and Adam Richards from the avant-garde chaos of Under Green Suns, and Cam Netland, who clearly hasn't forgotten the blackened stoner-grit of Coagulate. Together, they’ve created a collective voice that sounds like black metal having a violent argument with noise-rock in the middle of a post-punk ambient fog.
Each of the eight songs adapts a specific chapter from Ulysses, and the lyrics are pulled directly from Joyce’s own labyrinthine sentences. It shouldn't work. By all rights, it should be a pretentious, unlistenable shambles. But when the rhythmic force of the drums hits, you realize that Joyce’s prose, all that stuttering, overlapping internal monologue actually shares a common pulse with the more extreme ends of metal. It’s frantic, unpredictable, and entirely immersive. (It made me think how my “O” level English classes could have been so much more interesting).
The production avoids the high-gloss traps of modern metalcore. There’s a "maximalist" honesty to the sound, a dense, multi-layered thickness that feels like it’s physically pressing against your chest. Whether they’re leaning into a suffocating sludge crawl or a frantic, blackened death-metal sprint, the intent remains constant: to challenge the listener to keep up.
I’ve always reckoned that the best art should feel like a struggle. You shouldn't be able to just "put it on" while you're doing the washing up.
By the time you reach the final "translation" of the record, you’re left with a sense of total exhaustion. It’s an album that demands you engage with its abstract ideas, yet never lets you forget the concrete force of the noise. They’ve aimed high, dug deep, and managed to create something that refuses to repeat what’s been done a thousand times before.
But here's the thing: there's something in the unadulterated rawness of that pyro-fuelled aggression on the first disc – that whirlwind chaos – that I simply cannot get enough of. It captures a moment in time, a specific energy that can never quite be replicated once you start worrying about production values and commercial appeal.
This is a well-presented set that clearly has love behind it. The packaging and curation are solid, giving these recordings the respect they deserve after decades in the shadows. However, I do think the inclusion of some live cuts would've really highlighted the band's anarchic reputation and stage presence that contemporary reviews often mentioned. Live recordings would have added another dimension to understanding what made Witch special, capturing the raw energy that reportedly made their shows legendary. 7/10
Agenbite Misery – Remorse Of Conscience (Independent) [Spike]
Most metal bands think "literary ambition" means reading a H.P. Lovecraft summary on Wikipedia and mentioning a tentacle. Agenbite Misery, however, are coming from a different place entirely. Formed by a trio with a shared academic background in literature, they’ve taken the Middle English "agenbite of inwit" that specific, gnawing "remorse of conscience" (I looked that bit up) that haunts Leopold Bloom and translated it into eight chapters of experimental, high-velocity violence. This isn't just "concept" music; it’s a systematic attempt to convert stream-of-consciousness prose into aural energy.
The result? It’s a total wrecking ball of a record that manages to be as smart as a PhD thesis and as heavy as a collapsing star.
The record doesn't just "blend" genres; it pulls them apart to see how they work before chucking the pieces into a furnace. You can hear the pedigree of the members, Sam Graff and Adam Richards from the avant-garde chaos of Under Green Suns, and Cam Netland, who clearly hasn't forgotten the blackened stoner-grit of Coagulate. Together, they’ve created a collective voice that sounds like black metal having a violent argument with noise-rock in the middle of a post-punk ambient fog.
Each of the eight songs adapts a specific chapter from Ulysses, and the lyrics are pulled directly from Joyce’s own labyrinthine sentences. It shouldn't work. By all rights, it should be a pretentious, unlistenable shambles. But when the rhythmic force of the drums hits, you realize that Joyce’s prose, all that stuttering, overlapping internal monologue actually shares a common pulse with the more extreme ends of metal. It’s frantic, unpredictable, and entirely immersive. (It made me think how my “O” level English classes could have been so much more interesting).
The production avoids the high-gloss traps of modern metalcore. There’s a "maximalist" honesty to the sound, a dense, multi-layered thickness that feels like it’s physically pressing against your chest. Whether they’re leaning into a suffocating sludge crawl or a frantic, blackened death-metal sprint, the intent remains constant: to challenge the listener to keep up.
I’ve always reckoned that the best art should feel like a struggle. You shouldn't be able to just "put it on" while you're doing the washing up.
By the time you reach the final "translation" of the record, you’re left with a sense of total exhaustion. It’s an album that demands you engage with its abstract ideas, yet never lets you forget the concrete force of the noise. They’ve aimed high, dug deep, and managed to create something that refuses to repeat what’s been done a thousand times before.
Is it an easy listen? Don't be daft. It’s a rewarding, claustrophobic, and brilliantly intellectual document of survival. In a world of "by-the-numbers" releases, Agenbite Misery have delivered a masterstroke of sonic transformation. Who knew literature could be this interesting. 9/10
Poor Bambi – Skyscrapers Soaring, Yet We're Drowning (Apollon Records) [Spike]
There is a specific kind of momentum that occurs when a band stops asking for permission and simply starts taking up space. For Stavanger’s Poor Bambi, that momentum has been a bit of a vertical climb since they formed in 2020, taking them from the Norwegian festival circuit all the way to a random, rain-slicked stage in New York. Their debut, Skyscrapers Soaring, Yet We're Drowning, is a bold, immersive noise-rock manifesto that manages to capture the vertiginous anxiety of modern life without ever resorting to the usual "look at how clever we are" tropes that usually clog up this genre.
The title track, Skyscrapers Soaring, Yet We're Drowning, acts as a masterclass in controlled chaos. Sarah Hestness’s vocals possess a crystalline, almost defiant quality that manages to pierce through the thick, rhythmic noise provided by Espen Eidem and Simen Amundrud. It’s a literal sonic representation of the album’s name, a melodic line trying to keep its head above a rising tide of distorted guitars. It doesn't just describe a feeling; it forces you to experience the claustrophobia of the climb.
By the time Midtown Madness and You Were My Lifetime arrive, the record reveals a surprising amount of cinematic weight. Eidem, who handled the production himself, has given these tracks enough air to breathe, which is a rare mercy in noise-rock. It isn't "clean" in any radio-friendly sense, but there’s a spaciousness to the friction on Lost In Translation and Let Me Speak that makes the aggression feel properly physical rather than just a muddy mess.
The energy shifts into something far more frantic with This One Is for Free and Cherry Picking. This is the heart-attack pulse of a band that has clearly spent a lot of time in cramped, sweat-drenched clubs where the amps are always one turn away from a total mechanical meltdown. There’s a "North Sea" grit to the rhythm section here, a jagged, resilience that refuses to sound like some polite Brooklyn export.
The back half of the record, Partners In Crime and Turn Back Time, descends into a much more introspective territory where the guitars stop playing riffs and start creating weather systems. It’s a dense, swirling atmosphere that leads directly into the closer, I Don't Want You To Die. It’s a staggering, vulnerable bit of songwriting that refuses to offer an easy exit or a comfortable resolution. It’s a raw, unvarnished look at the fear of loss, wrapped in a wall of feedback that eventually just... stops. No fanfare, no fade-out, just the sudden silence of a city lights going out.
Poor Bambi haven't just delivered a debut; they’ve documented a struggle. It’s an exhausting, brilliant listen, the kind of record for the long nights when the city feels too vertical and the water feels too high. 8/10
Poor Bambi – Skyscrapers Soaring, Yet We're Drowning (Apollon Records) [Spike]
There is a specific kind of momentum that occurs when a band stops asking for permission and simply starts taking up space. For Stavanger’s Poor Bambi, that momentum has been a bit of a vertical climb since they formed in 2020, taking them from the Norwegian festival circuit all the way to a random, rain-slicked stage in New York. Their debut, Skyscrapers Soaring, Yet We're Drowning, is a bold, immersive noise-rock manifesto that manages to capture the vertiginous anxiety of modern life without ever resorting to the usual "look at how clever we are" tropes that usually clog up this genre.
The title track, Skyscrapers Soaring, Yet We're Drowning, acts as a masterclass in controlled chaos. Sarah Hestness’s vocals possess a crystalline, almost defiant quality that manages to pierce through the thick, rhythmic noise provided by Espen Eidem and Simen Amundrud. It’s a literal sonic representation of the album’s name, a melodic line trying to keep its head above a rising tide of distorted guitars. It doesn't just describe a feeling; it forces you to experience the claustrophobia of the climb.
By the time Midtown Madness and You Were My Lifetime arrive, the record reveals a surprising amount of cinematic weight. Eidem, who handled the production himself, has given these tracks enough air to breathe, which is a rare mercy in noise-rock. It isn't "clean" in any radio-friendly sense, but there’s a spaciousness to the friction on Lost In Translation and Let Me Speak that makes the aggression feel properly physical rather than just a muddy mess.
The energy shifts into something far more frantic with This One Is for Free and Cherry Picking. This is the heart-attack pulse of a band that has clearly spent a lot of time in cramped, sweat-drenched clubs where the amps are always one turn away from a total mechanical meltdown. There’s a "North Sea" grit to the rhythm section here, a jagged, resilience that refuses to sound like some polite Brooklyn export.
The back half of the record, Partners In Crime and Turn Back Time, descends into a much more introspective territory where the guitars stop playing riffs and start creating weather systems. It’s a dense, swirling atmosphere that leads directly into the closer, I Don't Want You To Die. It’s a staggering, vulnerable bit of songwriting that refuses to offer an easy exit or a comfortable resolution. It’s a raw, unvarnished look at the fear of loss, wrapped in a wall of feedback that eventually just... stops. No fanfare, no fade-out, just the sudden silence of a city lights going out.
Poor Bambi haven't just delivered a debut; they’ve documented a struggle. It’s an exhausting, brilliant listen, the kind of record for the long nights when the city feels too vertical and the water feels too high. 8/10
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