Welcome to the new breed of hopelessness, population: two. Thrillrot, the Denver duo, isn't interested in making friends or easing you into the water. This self-titled debut is a full-fledged savage punch to the gut, channelling everything from economic despair to existential rot and spitting it back out as hard-hitting, energetic metalcore/hardcore crossover. They even cite philosopher Peter Wessel Zapffe, which tells you they aren't just angry, they've done the homework on why we're all miserable.
Across twelve tracks, the band delivers raw intensity without apology. This is a tight, visceral sound, driven by thunderous drums and blistering guitars that somehow manage to sound both incredibly massive and incredibly focused, like a perfectly aimed lightning strike. Every song feels like a wound—self-inflicted and wide open—and the surgical precision of the songwriting just twists the knife.
The album starts banking on pure aggression from the jump. The Dissolution Of Life and A Pledge, A Promise fly past like a highway pile-up, blending urgency with rhythmic complexity. They manage to find the groove in the breakdown, making the violence entirely head-nod worthy. H.O.L.E. keeps that pressure locked in, proving that you don't need five people to create a wall of sound; you just need two people who know exactly where to apply the pressure.
Feedback Loop stands out as a commentary on mental weariness, delivering a kind of sonic whiplash as it whips between frantic pacing and sudden, crushing slowdowns. But the absolute highlight is Anthem, a track that lives up to its name: a rallying cry for the disillusioned and defiant. It’s got that raw, relentless edge that cuts through the noise. It’s a track that says, "This ain't for the faint of heart," and you believe every word of it.
Thrillrot is not a meditation; it's a confrontation. It takes generational trauma, channels it through a high-gain amp, and offers zero resolution, only the savage satisfaction of shared aggression. If you've been looking for music that validates your suspicion that everything is, in fact, getting worse, this is your soundtrack. It’s a brilliant, brutal feast of fury. 8/10
IAN – Come On Everybody, Let's Do Nothing! (Human Worth)
Let's start with the band name: IAN. It’s hilariously understated, like naming your existential doom project Dave. The album title, Come On Everybody, Let's Do Nothing!, reinforces the joke, a wry reference to the maddening stasis of modern life, delivered by a band that self-describes its sound with the same chaotic poetry: "the fur of a cat, the scowl of an old man." Don't let the silliness fool you. This East London quintet is a lightning bolt of post-rock grandeur fused with the bite of post-metal titans like Cult Of Luna. They are the sound of smiling while the sun consumes the Earth.
The core strength here is the contrast they deliver. They appreciate the peaks and troughs of post-rock as much as the sheer crunch of the riff, and they use a cello; yes, a cello to pull off this balancing act. Hannah Asprey's strings are the mournful, elegant counterpoint to the anguished, visceral screams of Ted Reynolds.
Opener Manuel comes out of the gate with the ferocity of sludgy hardcore, all abrasive noise and agonized yelling. Then, seamlessly, they pull the rug out, dropping into a beautifully sorrowful cello-led mid-section before resolving the chaos back into a crushing, instrumental groove. It’s a statement of intent that says, "We know the rules, and we're using them as kindling."
The mastery continues with Building Pyramids, a track that makes the long, drawn-out introduction a purposeful act of mental endurance. It rolls on, building tension for what feels like an eternity, before finally bursting into a volatile, cathartic tirade of noise. This is pure dynamic songwriting, proving that the wait isn't procrastination, it’s just nasty preparation. And for pure spite, look no further than Fennel, which returns to the same sludgy, confrontational weight as the opener, hitting like they owe IAN serious money.
But the real showpiece is the near-fourteen-minute closer, Not Erotic / Cop Film (End Credits). It traverses every corner of their sound: light, serene ambience gives way to dark, head-crushing passages. It’s the kind of complex, sprawling composition that makes a four-track band look lazy. Come On Everybody, Let's Do Nothing! is a triumphant, emotionally devastating record that finds the strange joy in total collaboration and collective misery. 8/10
Gorleben – Menetekel (Darkness Shall Rise Productions)
When a band names itself after a radioactive waste controversy, and the members use chemical symbols (235U on bass, 60CO on guitars/vocals), you know the listening experience isn't going to be a picnic in the park. Gorleben's Menetekel is a warning about the destruction of our civilization, and they’ve set the clock ticking with the kind of apocalyptic dread that seeps into your bones like background radiation. This album operates as a kind of sonic time machine, pulling the predicted apocalypse right into your present, making the voracity of humanity feel like a very immediate, very toxic threat.
This Dresden crew describes their sound as death, doom, and black metal mashed together, but that’s like saying a neutron star is just a heavy rock. What sets this apart is the psychedelic, unsettling atmosphere woven in by the keyboards and electric piano. It turns the sludge into a strange, hallucinatory film score. The thick, two-note riffs which hit with the repetitive, grinding impact of prime Sabbath or Mastodon aren’t just heavy, they’re hypnotic. This is a soundtrack for a smoky cantina built from rusted scrap in a wasteland.
The whole thing is structured around four long compositions, a commitment that forces the listener to abandon normal pacing. The album opens with Countdown (nearly 13 minutes), a track that commits the nasty joke of lulling you into a false sense of security with gentle birdsong before a heavily distorted riff drops in, arresting the pace like a pub door slamming shut in a storm. It sets the tone: a slow, relentless, chainmail-clad march.
The journey continues with Sarkophag, which leans heavier into the psychedelic fog. The way the keys and guitars wrap around each other is less a jam session and more the feeling of being spun around in a dusty centrifuge. This is where the Death Metal aggression of the band’s DNA gets thoroughly swallowed by the suffocating Doom atmosphere. The dynamic between the gravelly roar (235U) and the parched, blackened shriek (60CO) creates a disquieting push-pull, like two panicked voices echoing across a vast, barren desert.
Erg introduces that fragile, beautiful clean vocal, the moment the human element, the sorrow, finally breaks through the metallic static. It feels like a genuine, sad spell being cast, a sliver of fragile melody wrapped in an outer coating of black coloured garments. The band’s real weapon is that atmospheric layering, it’s immediate yet ancient, like hearing a prophet speak in a haze of toxic gas. The final title track, Menetekel, offers no grand explosion. It’s simply the final, crushing statement that this is it. A definitive, heavy, hopeless slam that confirms the countdown has ended.
Menetekel is not an easy record to penetrate, but once its strangeness manifests, it gets under your skin. It demands attention, forcing you into its toxic soundscape. It doesn’t want to be easy; it wants to haunt your waking hours. This one's an acquired taste, and frankly, I'm addicted to the poisoning. 9/10
Bentrees – Silver Veins (Argonauta Records)
Bentrees, the Sardinian stoner/psych duo, have returned, and apparently, they’ve been spending their downtime staring at the horizon and pondering the nature of sand. Silver Veins isn't their heaviest work but it’s their most atmospheric. This album blends the kind of fuzzy power blues that smells like scorched earth with the drifting, introspective haze of psychedelic desert rock. If Kyuss got stranded on the coast of Italy and decided to write a melancholy concept album about the duality of going home and wanting to escape, this would be the hazy result.
For a duo (guitar/vocals and drums), the sound here is massive. Not heavy in the crushing death-doom sense, but spacious, thick, fuzz-drenched riffs spread out like heat shimmer on asphalt, anchored by drumming that manages to be both complex and laid-back. It’s a masterclass in controlled expansion.
The journey begins with The Sea, a track that instantly establishes the emotional palette: heavy but soulful, with that distinct 70s-inspired hard rock pulse acting as the band’s backbone. It builds momentum that feels less like acceleration and more like a massive ship slowly pulling away from the dock. This fits perfectly into The Sky Never Dies, which is a statement of intent, fusing that familiar stoner groove with textural guitar work that spirals out into the great unknown.
Where the album truly stakes its claim is in its ten-minute-plus excursions. The sprawling Harmony is where Bentrees puts their foot down, letting the music breathe and evolve. This isn't three riffs repeated; it's a careful, meditative piece where the heaviness meets genuine soul. You can hear the introspection in the way the central riff repeats, not out of simplicity, but out of ritual, it’s the sound of a mantra being etched into sun-baked rock.
The thematic tension of the record remaining rooted versus venturing out is palpable, especially on tracks like Alienated and the title track, Silver Veins. The latter is a winding, slow burn that feels like digging deep into the earth only to realize the treasure was the dirt itself. It’s introspective, sure, but in a raw, earthy way.
This isn't just background music; it's the soundtrack for that moment when you’re utterly alone in a vast landscape and the silence starts talking back. Silver Veins reaffirms Bentrees' place in the upper echelon of European stoner rock. It's an immersive ride, provided you can handle the intensity of your own thoughts when the dust settles. 8/10
Across twelve tracks, the band delivers raw intensity without apology. This is a tight, visceral sound, driven by thunderous drums and blistering guitars that somehow manage to sound both incredibly massive and incredibly focused, like a perfectly aimed lightning strike. Every song feels like a wound—self-inflicted and wide open—and the surgical precision of the songwriting just twists the knife.
The album starts banking on pure aggression from the jump. The Dissolution Of Life and A Pledge, A Promise fly past like a highway pile-up, blending urgency with rhythmic complexity. They manage to find the groove in the breakdown, making the violence entirely head-nod worthy. H.O.L.E. keeps that pressure locked in, proving that you don't need five people to create a wall of sound; you just need two people who know exactly where to apply the pressure.
Feedback Loop stands out as a commentary on mental weariness, delivering a kind of sonic whiplash as it whips between frantic pacing and sudden, crushing slowdowns. But the absolute highlight is Anthem, a track that lives up to its name: a rallying cry for the disillusioned and defiant. It’s got that raw, relentless edge that cuts through the noise. It’s a track that says, "This ain't for the faint of heart," and you believe every word of it.
Thrillrot is not a meditation; it's a confrontation. It takes generational trauma, channels it through a high-gain amp, and offers zero resolution, only the savage satisfaction of shared aggression. If you've been looking for music that validates your suspicion that everything is, in fact, getting worse, this is your soundtrack. It’s a brilliant, brutal feast of fury. 8/10
IAN – Come On Everybody, Let's Do Nothing! (Human Worth)
Let's start with the band name: IAN. It’s hilariously understated, like naming your existential doom project Dave. The album title, Come On Everybody, Let's Do Nothing!, reinforces the joke, a wry reference to the maddening stasis of modern life, delivered by a band that self-describes its sound with the same chaotic poetry: "the fur of a cat, the scowl of an old man." Don't let the silliness fool you. This East London quintet is a lightning bolt of post-rock grandeur fused with the bite of post-metal titans like Cult Of Luna. They are the sound of smiling while the sun consumes the Earth.
The core strength here is the contrast they deliver. They appreciate the peaks and troughs of post-rock as much as the sheer crunch of the riff, and they use a cello; yes, a cello to pull off this balancing act. Hannah Asprey's strings are the mournful, elegant counterpoint to the anguished, visceral screams of Ted Reynolds.
Opener Manuel comes out of the gate with the ferocity of sludgy hardcore, all abrasive noise and agonized yelling. Then, seamlessly, they pull the rug out, dropping into a beautifully sorrowful cello-led mid-section before resolving the chaos back into a crushing, instrumental groove. It’s a statement of intent that says, "We know the rules, and we're using them as kindling."
The mastery continues with Building Pyramids, a track that makes the long, drawn-out introduction a purposeful act of mental endurance. It rolls on, building tension for what feels like an eternity, before finally bursting into a volatile, cathartic tirade of noise. This is pure dynamic songwriting, proving that the wait isn't procrastination, it’s just nasty preparation. And for pure spite, look no further than Fennel, which returns to the same sludgy, confrontational weight as the opener, hitting like they owe IAN serious money.
But the real showpiece is the near-fourteen-minute closer, Not Erotic / Cop Film (End Credits). It traverses every corner of their sound: light, serene ambience gives way to dark, head-crushing passages. It’s the kind of complex, sprawling composition that makes a four-track band look lazy. Come On Everybody, Let's Do Nothing! is a triumphant, emotionally devastating record that finds the strange joy in total collaboration and collective misery. 8/10
Gorleben – Menetekel (Darkness Shall Rise Productions)
When a band names itself after a radioactive waste controversy, and the members use chemical symbols (235U on bass, 60CO on guitars/vocals), you know the listening experience isn't going to be a picnic in the park. Gorleben's Menetekel is a warning about the destruction of our civilization, and they’ve set the clock ticking with the kind of apocalyptic dread that seeps into your bones like background radiation. This album operates as a kind of sonic time machine, pulling the predicted apocalypse right into your present, making the voracity of humanity feel like a very immediate, very toxic threat.
This Dresden crew describes their sound as death, doom, and black metal mashed together, but that’s like saying a neutron star is just a heavy rock. What sets this apart is the psychedelic, unsettling atmosphere woven in by the keyboards and electric piano. It turns the sludge into a strange, hallucinatory film score. The thick, two-note riffs which hit with the repetitive, grinding impact of prime Sabbath or Mastodon aren’t just heavy, they’re hypnotic. This is a soundtrack for a smoky cantina built from rusted scrap in a wasteland.
The whole thing is structured around four long compositions, a commitment that forces the listener to abandon normal pacing. The album opens with Countdown (nearly 13 minutes), a track that commits the nasty joke of lulling you into a false sense of security with gentle birdsong before a heavily distorted riff drops in, arresting the pace like a pub door slamming shut in a storm. It sets the tone: a slow, relentless, chainmail-clad march.
The journey continues with Sarkophag, which leans heavier into the psychedelic fog. The way the keys and guitars wrap around each other is less a jam session and more the feeling of being spun around in a dusty centrifuge. This is where the Death Metal aggression of the band’s DNA gets thoroughly swallowed by the suffocating Doom atmosphere. The dynamic between the gravelly roar (235U) and the parched, blackened shriek (60CO) creates a disquieting push-pull, like two panicked voices echoing across a vast, barren desert.
Erg introduces that fragile, beautiful clean vocal, the moment the human element, the sorrow, finally breaks through the metallic static. It feels like a genuine, sad spell being cast, a sliver of fragile melody wrapped in an outer coating of black coloured garments. The band’s real weapon is that atmospheric layering, it’s immediate yet ancient, like hearing a prophet speak in a haze of toxic gas. The final title track, Menetekel, offers no grand explosion. It’s simply the final, crushing statement that this is it. A definitive, heavy, hopeless slam that confirms the countdown has ended.
Menetekel is not an easy record to penetrate, but once its strangeness manifests, it gets under your skin. It demands attention, forcing you into its toxic soundscape. It doesn’t want to be easy; it wants to haunt your waking hours. This one's an acquired taste, and frankly, I'm addicted to the poisoning. 9/10
Bentrees – Silver Veins (Argonauta Records)
Bentrees, the Sardinian stoner/psych duo, have returned, and apparently, they’ve been spending their downtime staring at the horizon and pondering the nature of sand. Silver Veins isn't their heaviest work but it’s their most atmospheric. This album blends the kind of fuzzy power blues that smells like scorched earth with the drifting, introspective haze of psychedelic desert rock. If Kyuss got stranded on the coast of Italy and decided to write a melancholy concept album about the duality of going home and wanting to escape, this would be the hazy result.
For a duo (guitar/vocals and drums), the sound here is massive. Not heavy in the crushing death-doom sense, but spacious, thick, fuzz-drenched riffs spread out like heat shimmer on asphalt, anchored by drumming that manages to be both complex and laid-back. It’s a masterclass in controlled expansion.
The journey begins with The Sea, a track that instantly establishes the emotional palette: heavy but soulful, with that distinct 70s-inspired hard rock pulse acting as the band’s backbone. It builds momentum that feels less like acceleration and more like a massive ship slowly pulling away from the dock. This fits perfectly into The Sky Never Dies, which is a statement of intent, fusing that familiar stoner groove with textural guitar work that spirals out into the great unknown.
Where the album truly stakes its claim is in its ten-minute-plus excursions. The sprawling Harmony is where Bentrees puts their foot down, letting the music breathe and evolve. This isn't three riffs repeated; it's a careful, meditative piece where the heaviness meets genuine soul. You can hear the introspection in the way the central riff repeats, not out of simplicity, but out of ritual, it’s the sound of a mantra being etched into sun-baked rock.
The thematic tension of the record remaining rooted versus venturing out is palpable, especially on tracks like Alienated and the title track, Silver Veins. The latter is a winding, slow burn that feels like digging deep into the earth only to realize the treasure was the dirt itself. It’s introspective, sure, but in a raw, earthy way.
This isn't just background music; it's the soundtrack for that moment when you’re utterly alone in a vast landscape and the silence starts talking back. Silver Veins reaffirms Bentrees' place in the upper echelon of European stoner rock. It's an immersive ride, provided you can handle the intensity of your own thoughts when the dust settles. 8/10
