I have never been a big death metal guy, with a few notable exceptions such as bands from the Swedish scene of the early 90s. I can appreciate the style of DM, but I do not generally find it to be that engaging and I tire of it quickly. Buried Death, however, refuses to be denied. Hailing from nowhere near Sweden (or Florida, the other traditional hotbed of this kind of music), the Tokyo-based Coffins have crafted a crusty slab of such immense proportions that it challenges the very definition of death metal. Sure, the cover art depicts zombies rising from the grave. Yes, song titles like "Cadaver Blood" and "Altars in Gore" fall perfectly in line with the standard death metal schtick. But musically this disc walks a line between death and apocalyptic doom. The guitars are tuned low, and I mean LOW. The rumble is decidedly palpable, thudding through your chest and skull with every riff. Okay, so lots of bands tune low; there is a whole scene of doom and stoner bands whose guitar strings are nearly falling off, they are tuned so low. But Coffins have also found the perfect production to go with their earthshaking chords. It is muddy, not too muddy, but enough to pile another layer of smothering decay over the whole sound and take it to a frightening level. The result is dirty, nasty, downright filthy, and absolutely glorious. Opener "Under the Stench" digs down, way down, and exhumes riffs from the grave that are caked in black muck and grime. It sets the tone for all that follows and makes apparent the fact that Buried Death is hardly standard for the genre. Vocals are in the guttural style, another method I have never been overly fond of, but they work well in tandem with the insane brutality. The songwriting on offer here is nothing new; aside from slowing things down to a true doom pace on the crushing finale "The Frozen Styx," these tracks are death metal in structure and timing, and I have heard it before. But the overall aura makes that nearly irrelevant, rendering me too awed to care, because in crafting such a monolithic beast they have in fact created something that sounds new. Oh, and I love the feedback that can be found here and there throughout the album. It lends a sludge vibe (a la Louisiana bands like EyeHateGod) to the affair. So no, "traditional" this release is not, and it is this kind of shake-up to a genre that makes me start paying attention again. Hell, I am ready for an entire death metal revolution, as long as Coffins are leading the way.

Well Evergrey are back in form, sort of. Their last release, Monday Morning Apocalypse, set off instant alarm bells with its lame title and cover art. Alas, that alarm did not prove to be unfounded and the album was disappointing. In hindsight I think I was a little hard on it because it followed The Inner Circle, a profound work that shook my world and very nearly claimed the top spot for 2004. If you are going to set the bar that high, then for Christ's sake do not drop the ball on the next round. But I digress. While Torn is not perfect, and finds the band lacking longtime bassist Michael Håkansson, it is immediately apparent from the first notes of opener "Broken Wings" that things are more or less back on track. As usual the band have based the album around a singular concept. This time the topic is abuse, physical and mental, and all its ugly consequences. Things move along well enough but it is not until the last third of the album that it really kicks in and showcases the greatness of which these guys are capable. "Nothing is Erased" has a wicked guitar tone, low and rumbly, and a little dirty and fuzzy. It is closed out by dual harmonies that add a touch of class. "Still Walk Alone" is next and delivers the Evergrey formula at its best: mammoth riffs, a powerhouse chorus, moving lyrics, and all- important passion. It also utilizes a bit of electronica to great effect when a lonely, echoing keyboard synth line segues into, and is then overwhelmed by, giant, shimmering guitar chords. This track, more than any other, hearkens to the best moments of the band's prior work. "These Scars" brings some of the best guitar work on the whole album, the solo shining brightly and eloquently executed, just classically metal all around. If you are considering buying the album, I highly recommend you seek out the version that contains the bonus track "Caught in a Lie." A catchy, provocative chorus, sing-along lyrics, and jolting riffs make it one of the album's finest tracks. While I will admit that this overall album lacks the pizzazz to really wow me and bring me to my knees, what I ultimately find compelling is that I am able to listen to it over and over again without tiring of it. Every one of the twelve tracks delivers in some way; there is not a dud among them. In time the disc became like a comfortable pair of shoes that I could slip on any time and settle into. Not the flashiest compliment I can pay an album, perhaps, but fitting and not to be taken lightly as it indicates a high level of listenability. The fact is that Evergrey continue to exhibit the grace, integrity, and talent to make them one of the best bands around.

Apparently Akimbo have been busy pumping out albums in the last three years, but I have been oblivious to those releases. The last one I have is Elephantine, and I enjoyed the rollicking, swinging groove of that disc. Despite my apparent neglect of the two albums that followed, when Jersey Shores appeared I did not really give a second thought to ordering it. When I removed it from its cardboard shipper, however, I knew immediately that something had changed since my last foray into the band's world. First there is the slipcase, featuring only the band and album names over artwork that looks rather like a microscopic view of red blood cells. Examine the jewel case cover and you will find that "blood" is the operative word, as you face a depiction of a man being consumed by an enormous shark. No symbolism there, by the way...Jersey Shores is a concept album about a series of shark attacks that took place in 1916 along -- where else? -- the New Jersey shoreline. Five shark attacks occurred in twelve days, leading to state- wide panic and, as seems to be the human tendency, a vengeful witch hunt exacted on just about anything with fins. So how do Akimbo render this horror and madness into an album? Maybe not the way you would think. The band are largely true to their style, and songs like "Great White Bull" showcase their ability to pound out slamming, swaggering heavy rock that is sure to get your head bobbing in rhythm. What makes this recording special, however, are those other moments when it takes on a more pensive mood. Instrumentation is at times rather expansive and charming, not unlike Red Sparowes. The 11+ minutes of "Lester Stillwell," arguably the centerpiece track of the whole affair, run the gamut from quiet, contemplative buildup to an all-out rocking jam and back again. "Rogue," on the other hand, keeps a steady pace but is a track I love for its glimmering, ringing guitar notes and its resemblance to Clutch. Tracks segue seamlessly into one another, nicely reinforcing the concept album feel. It is all one big journey, and that journey ends with the instrumental title track, again using the tactic of a slow build that culminates with an enormous wall of bruising riffage, swathed in squealing feedback, then subsides and becomes nothing but the sound of ocean waves. This outro is beautiful but somewhat disquieting, obviously fitting with the theme of the album. Near the end it is broken by the reintroduction of some gentle guitar, a nice touch that adds interest to what might have otherwise become tiresome. And that is precisely how Akimbo play their hand: expertly, as musicians that know they have taken their art to the next level.

Mourning Beloveth used to be a band that draped the listener in curtains of sodden doom for what seemed like hours on end. In other words, the stuff was impressive enough for its sheer weight, but then threatened to drive you mad from sheer boredom. Thankfully they have now awakened to the possibilities of melody and interesting songwriting, and have wrought a wonder upon the masses. For several minutes of opener "The Sickness" you might think you are listening to a classic My Dying Bride album. But while it starts off predictably enough, things soon take a very refreshing turn as the material begins to bear more than a passing resemblance to the mighty Morgion. In fact much of this album seems to follow the same pattern: creeping doom, decorated by clean gothic vocals at times, then suddenly made eloquent by gloriously morose melodies. Such a shift occurs most notably on "Primeval Rush" where, shortly after the midway point of this bruising epic, guitars come forward and breathe forth notes of painful beauty. A second guitar gets layered on for dual harmony and little flourishes that take the track to a higher level. "Poison Beyond All" pounds and stomps through the sludge, but fills in the gaps with guitar notes that ring bright and resonate through the haze. "The Burning Man" is a steamroller of massive decay, like quicksand slowly devouring life. When the somber acoustics break out, the Morgion comparison once again has to be made. What is most remarkable about these songs (there are only five total, and all are immensely satisfying) is how sublimely crafted they are. Chord changes fall into place exactly where they seem they ought to, rendering the compositions truly engaging and memorable. But the primary reason why one listens to this genre is still intact: thunderous, earthquake- inducing heaviness with a guttural vocal roar that will cause frail hearts to quiver and implode. Yes, Mourning Beloveth do right by the doom style and should have legions of the faithful donning their black cloaks in agreement. The trick is that they also elevate the total package with skillful use of phrasing and melody, rendering it emotionally evocative and infinitely expanding the reach and power of their music.

San Francisco oddities Hammers of Misfortune have always had an ambitious sound, but now that ambition has prompted them to release a double album. What better hallmark of prog greatness than to unload a massive, intimidatingly dense block of material, complete with several 8-10 minute songs, a trilogy and repeated lyrical themes? The release is a grower, but I found myself gravitating toward Fields from the start. The journey that is "Agriculture," "Fields" and "Motorcade" (forming the aforementioned trilogy) can hardly be called metal, and has them sounding more like Kansas than the HoM of past releases. But among the gobs of keyboards and the arguably upbeat melodies, there is a mesmerizing charm. The more you listen, the more it tugs at you, pulling aside a curtain to reveal something new and magnificent. Alternating male/female vocals give a conversational quality to the piece and weave it all together. Once that progressive triple threat has passed we are led back into more familiar Hammers territory with "Rats Assembly," though keyboards are still ubiquitous and quite manic. "Always Looking Down" is engaging and fast-paced, with John Cobbett's guitar wizardry scrawled all over it. "Too Soon" closes the first album, and is my favorite song of the entire opus, with a main guitar line that sounds distinctly like it is coming from the legendary guitarist Wino. If I did not know better I would think I were listening to Spirit Caravan or late- period Obsessed. Amazing tune. Moving on to Church of Broken Glass, I initially had a hard time making it through these songs and thought they might even knock this album out of contention, despite the strength of the first disc. But the magic that delights the ears within the "Fields" trilogy is sprinkled throughout Church... as well. "Butchertown" is certainly daunting, creeping along, strung on a pervasive keyboard backbone, and hardly changing pace for its entirety. The chorus is repeated over and over and over, and while that initially seems grating, it comes to makes sense. Still, this is not a song for the impatient. "The Gulls" requires less focus on the listener's part, dazzling with dueling guitar and keyboard lines. "Train" brings it all to a close with a bright, rocking style that seems downright happy in tone, but again shows off Cobbett's excellent abilities. It is a shame that mainstream progressive rock fans will probably never hear this album, because it is prime stuff. Hammers of Misfortune have attained a new level of class and musicianship with this bewitching release.

Nevermore frontman Warrel Dane splits from his main project for this independent foray, though Nevermore guitarist Jeff Loomis does provide a guitar solo for one track. In some ways this is a kinder, gentler Nevermore that rarely reaches the feverish intensity of the heaviest tracks from Dead Heart in a Dead World or This Godless Endeavor, but succeeds in being excellent nonetheless. It is an album that is polished and precise, but brimming with a different kind of intensity, a richness and a deep emotive power. The first three tracks are all fine songs, getting things off to a powerful start. "Messenger" is particularly good with its sneering lyrics and pulsating groove. But the first stellar moment ironically comes with a tune that is not even the band's own, but rather a Sisters of Mercy cover. "Lucretia My Reflection," already a great song by any standard, is here made into a swinging, grooving, seething monster of a track, heavy as hell and hopelessly irresistible. From this point on the album seems to spark more, starting with "Your Chosen Misery." With its acoustic base, quiet but contemptuous vocals, and the power- chorus cries of "Hail, Yesterday!" it is an absolute gem. "The Day the Rats Went to War" elaborates on the central theme of the album, and is a brilliant political firestorm. "This Old Man" features a great spiraling melodic guitar riff that could be likened to Iron Maiden or the Gothenburg scene of the mid-90s. Another cover, their rendition of Paul Simon's "Patterns," is a true wonder, a gripping, melancholy song with biting riffs and an introspective theme. A lot of that credit goes to Simon's amazing lyrics, but kudos to Warrel and crew nonetheless for taking the spirit of the song and bringing it home to listeners in 2008. A great track that lodges itself in your skull and will not be shaken free easily. A lot of bands tend to render covers rather blasé, but Dane and Nevermore always had a talent for taking songs that are not their own and making them potent and relevant within the context of their albums. When all is said and done, Praises to the War Machine comes across as not just heavy and engaging, but as an example of consummate professionalism, an expert work from one of the of the most talented men in the business.

I am always impressed by projects that essentially have only one person behind them. When those projects are as good as October Falls, I verge on being dumbfounded that a single individual can be the source of such inspiring output. Mikko Lehto is the man behind it all, and he's been doing his thing in this "band" since 2001. On this release he gets some help from V. Metsola on bass and Marko Tarvonen of Moonsorrow on drums, but all other instrumentation is performed by him. I do not know if it is Tarvonen's involvement, or the shared Finnish heritage, but this album bears many similarities to Moonsorrow's last two releases. It does not have quite the same level of intensity or majesty, but still weaves a spellbinding tale strung together by blazing, mesmerizing guitars, somber and lovely melodies, and rumbling percussion. Largely black metal in approach, it also frequently utilizes many evocative and well-played acoustic passages. Vocals are in a standard black metal style, high and scathing, but they work well. The album concept is thoroughly pagan, reflecting on the intertwined beauty and harshness of the natural world and the primal beast within us all. An epic work, it contains four tracks averaging about ten minutes each, no song titles other than "Part I," "Part II," etc., and a seamless flow from track to track. As a concept album one would hope for such a flow, but I would argue that this album does it better than most. If you are not watching the tracks tick by, it is virtually impossible to tell where you are at any given point on the album. The songwriting is cyclical; a melody line that introduces a section will be revisited to close that section out later and these themes bleed between tracks. There is a great sense of completeness to the recording because of all these interwoven parts, like an ornate tapestry dazzling the eye with its striking patterns and causing you to get lost within it. It is all just one long song, a song of ambitious scope, melancholy beauty, and inspiring heathen grandeur. Highly recommended for all fans of atmospheric, melody- driven black metal.

Burst have churned out some impressive slabs of melody-driven metalcore in their time. Prey on Life is a classic, and 2006's Origo just barely missed making my list that year. Lazarus Bird, however, is on a whole other level and it does not take long to realize that. Witness the striking dynamics of opener "I Hold Vertigo," with its staccato stops/starts. And then there are the melodies, and they are better than ever. Burst have always held melody close to the core of their style, but it achieves breathtaking levels on songs such as "We Are Dust" and "Cripple God." The latter also showcases remarkable layering, with beautiful, lilting sections giving way to hardcore beatdowns, then going back the other way again. There is a lot going on here, and on first listen it can be difficult to sort through it all. One reason for that is the introduction of progressive elements, such as the bass work near the end of "I Exterminate the I" or the dual-guitar harmonies that pop up here and there. A little persistence in digesting it all will go a long way, however, and bring great rewards. You will start to realize just how brilliant the songwriting is, how carefully constructed these songs are. No energy is wasted, no good idea utilized in the wrong place or at the wrong time. One of the most achingly gorgeous parts of the album is its final fadeout, the end of "City Cloaked," where a mournful guitar waxes and wanes, reaches for the heavens then falls to the earth, sounding very nearly like a classical stringed instrument. This section grows softer and softer as the track is led to its conclusion, and the sadness and longing grow and grow. This part, more than any other, is what caught my attention on the first listen. It made me sit up, take notice, and start the album over again from the beginning. Then the brilliance began to reveal itself, shade by shade and moment by moment. Allow yourself the same indulgence and watch this Lazarus Bird rise majestically from the abyss.

Out of the unlikely locale of Pennsylvania come this no-name band on a no-name record label (Stronghold). But do not expect them to be no-name for long, because Woe tread a path somewhere between atmospheric black metal luminaries Wolves in the Throne Room and Weakling. What is more, they do it very well. Buzzing, hypnotic guitars and spellbinding melodies sail atop fevered, blasting percussion to fit nicely into what has become a burgeoning genre right here in the U.S., eclipsing what many European black metal bands are doing, or have ever done. Woe are not just coattail riders, however...what make them different and worthy of your time are the surprising and delightful injections of alt-rock timings and structures in some songs. "Solitude" and "Longing is All That Will Remain" are the two best examples, where you will suddenly find yourself in a groovy, head-bobbing rhythmic breakdown right out the blue. And really, there is an overall "rock" aesthetic to this album. The band never get so swallowed up in their blackened fury that they forget to write catchy music. "Wake in Mourning" even goes so far as to explode into punk/grindcore territory, bashing away in a simplistic 1-2 tempo with wild abandon. That genre comparison is apt, because at the time of this writing the band have a Dystopia cover up on their MySpace page. They clearly have an affinity for the grinding side of the musical realm. For final track "Memento Mori" they switch things up with some mid-paced gloom, showing they are not just about the speed. Woe could tighten up their game just a bit and introduce a sharper edge to their compositions, but this is one hell of an impressive debut. With more work, and time and experience on their side, they stand to be a serious reckoning force in the U.S. black metal scene.

Anyone that thought prior Enslaved albums like Monumension or Mardraum were too influenced by progressive rock should not even bother to hop on the ride that is Vertebrae. Sure, it still sounds like Enslaved at times. There are harsh vocals, heavy riffing and galloping tempos in songs such as "New Dawn" and "Reflection." But these Norwegian veterans of the Viking/black metal scene have fallen headlong in the prog waters this time. "Ground" can barely be called metal at all, and midway through sounds so much like Pink Floyd you would think Roger Waters had done a guest spot. It also features an incredibly soulful guitar solo, bluesy as hell and totally piercing. While there is nothing exclusively "progressive" about that, it is certainly a departure for this band. Even the aforementioned "New Dawn," once you get past the shredding black metal intro, has a smooth, almost loungey chorus. It is backed by dissonant guitars, and the track ends with airy synths in the vein of Porcupine Tree. And then there are progressive influences of a different type: the second half of the excellent "Center" descends into a sullen headspace that sounds like Tool in one of their slow jam moments from Aenima or Lateralus. I never thought I would be comparing Enslaved to Tool, but there it is. So does all this proggy madness dilute this album? Does it render Enslaved impotent, their Nordic fire and passion a thing of the past? Not at all. In fact, Vertebrae is a testament to the level of true greatness Enslaved have achieved. It is thought-provoking and emotionally stirring without ever making it particularly apparent that it is trying to be those things. It almost comes off as simplistic, but peer beneath the surface and it is teeming with creative energy of which many bands simply are not capable. No, Enslaved have not gone wayward, they go precisely as they mean to and they wield their music as a razor-sharp knife, expertly carving out artistic brilliance. There is still metal here, and dark elements that can satisfy the black-hearted among us, but there is also light, gleaming and dancing among endless clouds of musical nirvana. It is the melding of these elements, the light and the dark, the progressive and the primal, that makes this disc so successful.

Cult of Luna's last album, Somewhere Along the Highway, showed the band tackling some bold new avenues for themselves. Songs were quieter, more pensive, and there was even a banjo in one of them. The result is amazing, but I am not sad to say that Eternal Kingdom finds the band falling more in line with the style of 2004's Salvation. Maybe even more than that, there is a vibe akin to fellow atmospheric noisemongers Isis at the best moments of their career. I have spent a lot of time trying to pin down just what this album sounds like, because it seems familiar to me, but have been unable to point to a single source. I think that is because there is no one source. CoL take their own experience, and the finer points of albums such as Isis' Oceanic, and brew up their own potent concoction. Dynamics are key, as the best songs saunter between quiet introspective passages and thundering tumultuous volume. And speaking of volume, these Swedes have a tendency to craft singular moments of such terrifying heaviness and intensity that they are almost difficult to take in. On this album the end of "Ghost Trail" is that moment, shifting suddenly from gentle instrumentation to resounding, behemoth chords that come faster and faster until they reach a frenzied crescendo. In the end you are left with the ringing echo of a detonation, like an A-bomb that has gone off in the distance. The effect is staggering, violent, and transfixing. If the whole album were full of moments like this one it would have claimed the #1 spot, hands down. Then again, a whole album of moments like this one would also likely give me a cerebral hemorrhage, so it is probably just as well that it is singular. Funny I should use the word "cerebral," as the inspiration for this record comes from a story in a journal written by a homicidal mental patient in the early 20th century. Perhaps this disturbing muse helped to add new and interesting elements to the band's sound. Take the horns in instrumental "The Lure," for example, or "Ugín," another track sans vocals which has a beautiful, sparse, surf rock feel to it, like something you might hear on a Dick Dale album. These sections add unexpected twists to the listening journey, but they all work together without throwing you completely off course. "Following Betulas" ends the album with a wallop, adding spacey, murky synth effects to create a disorienting feel. In the end the song shifts over to heavy riffing and more horns, this time sounding like they are from a medieval kingdom -- the Eternal Kingdom -- heralding the arrival of the evil owl king, preparing to wage his war against the forces of goodness and light. Or so goes the story born from the mind of that mental patient. On some level Cult of Luna have tapped into the dark forces behind that story and formed a bond with them, a bond that gave them the creative power to unleash this masterful work of art upon the musical realm.

About eight years ago the band Zao unleashed an album simply called (self-titled), a crushing slab of death-tinged groove, decorated with bouts of sinister electronica. The Way of All Flesh is a worthy successor to that album, with uncanny parallels. Twisting guitar melodies, thunderous machine-gun double bass, and scathing vocals add up to one serious mountain of gorgeous brutality. The production is ideal for this style: crisp, punchy, and eye-poppingly heavy. "Toxic Garbage Island" would have a mosh pit on the verge of tearing itself to shreds within the first minute, its vicious machine-like rhythms calling classic Fear Factory to mind. "A Sight to Behold" is largely bathed in synths and robotic vocals, but also features great guitar melodies. "The Art of Dying" is the very pinnacle of merciless, crushing power, with tight and deadly drumming that functions as the epicenter of a rumbling attack. The rhythm starts out as tribal, then becomes tribal gone murderously berserk. It roars along in a rolling, stuttering fashion that will rattle the fillings from your teeth. Not to be outdone, the chorus obliterates your senses with a rapid-fire percussive assault. "Esoteric Surgery" follows with glorious and entrancing black-metal-like melody. "Vacuity" thuds along at a middle pace, fiercely driving home each riff like nails through flesh. "Wolf Down the Earth" hits like a derailed freight train, creating a massive swath of destruction. These four tracks, beginning with "The Art..." and culminating with "Wolf..." run sequentially and are the best of the album, achieving levels of ferocity that will make your eyes roll back in your head. It is remarkable to behold an album of such exacting prowess; it never gets sloppy and never lets up. To complement this top-notch musicianship, Gojira write biting and powerful social lyrics. They decry humankind's self-made fate, our pillaging of this planet, our seemingly endless ignorance, and it is their ardor on these topics that take this album to another level of brilliance. There is such rage and intensity here, terribly beautiful to witness. Provided that your ideology falls in line with theirs (and maybe even if it does not), it is easy to get caught up in the feverish passion, fists clenched, nails biting into your palms, your whole body quaking in fury. The band's previous work hinted at greatness, but could not prepare the unsuspecting masses for this crazed sonic juggernaut. It is nothing short of exceptional.

This disc practically escaped notice because it was one of the very first releases of 2008, coming out way back in January. At that time it established itself as a serious best-of contender, but when I revisited it I realized just how mind-blowingly good it truly is. Two years ago I wrote that The Mars Volta "swing on some kind of prog rock pendulum," by which they seem to have gone from brilliance to over-indulgence and then back again. Yeah, well to hell with that pendulum, as it has come unhinged and flung itself squarely back in genius territory. If you have ever loved this band's work then there is almost nothing but unadulterated joy to be found here. Spastic rhythms, brain-twisting guitar histrionics, and loads of progressive mayhem await all that venture within. And it is all wrapped up in Cedric Bixler Zavala's customarily sizzling vocalizations, with him crooning in high pitch and reaching fevered supersonic levels at his best. "Ilyena" is prime Mars Volta, dancing around on a twisted salsa beat and letting loose with exquisite funk and groove. It just makes you want to move your whole body. The brief "Wax Simulacra" is perfection, with Zavala's cries of "Am I waiting now? Does my waiting howl?" blasting through the stratosphere as enrapturing rhythms slither and slide around him. "Ouroborous" is one of the finest songs the band have ever written, peppered with crazy Middle Eastern squawkings and utilizing great dynamics by shifting to a beautiful and somber chorus. What marks this release as different from its two predecessors is that the energy level is burying the needle and blowing out the gauges. With the exception of the dull "Soothsayer," every track is absolutely riveting, twisting and turning, firmly jamming hooks into your cerebrum and dragging you around by it. Not that I had ever really written them off, but this album has the band back in my good graces. Easily their best since the classic De-loused in the Comatorium.

"Through the whole void of night I search,
So dumbly crying out to thee,
But thou art not, and night's vast throne
Becomes an all-stupendous church,
With star-bells knelling unto me, who in all space am most alone."

These striking lines come from "Grief" by English author William Hope Hodgson, and they serve as the introduction to this album. Like any good introduction they set the tone for what will follow, and what follow here are despair, desolation, and bleakest loneliness. Caïna is an intriguing project, the domain of a single man: Andrew Curtis- Brignell. The style is unclassifiable but prior albums could have been lumped in with black metal. While there are black metal passages, such as sections of the raging "Tobacco Beetle," a lot of this album draws parallels instead to The Cure, Red House Painters, and Eternity-era Anathema. The last is most evident in the title track (which also nods to Agalloch a bit) and "None Shall Die," where even the vocals bring to mind Anathema's Vincent Cavanaugh as he sounded 12 years ago. And like Eternity, one of the most compelling aspects of Temporary Antennae is the heart-rending fragility of several of these tracks. The meek, child-like female voice that precedes and follows "Willows and Whippoorwills" is truly haunting as it sings a cappella. "None Shall Die," with its gently picked acoustic notes and quiet lyrics, pleads for change and salvation, but ultimately resigns itself to the cruelty of the world. As somewhat of a counterpoint to these grim aspects, the pop and electronica elements on this disc add another fascinating layer. Instrumental "Larval Door" starts out with precisely the same beat as The Cure's '80s classic "Close to Me," then takes on a weirdly upbeat quality akin to early Depeche Mode. It later opens up into a full, rich wall of guitar, bearing a resemblance to tracks from Alcest's Souvenirs d'un Autre Monde, one of last year's best albums. "...and Ivy Round Wound Him," another instrumental, returns firmly to Cure territory, conjuring an airy melancholy on par with that band's early works Faith and Pornography. Upon first listen these songs come as a surprise, seeming bizarre and out of place, but ultimately they come to make perfect sense. Curtis-Brignell has created an album of remarkable vision, creativity and boldness, that is both emotionally lush and sonically restrained. It is certainly unique from the other albums released this year, both those that made this list and those that did not, but is unquestionably inspired, and inspiring.

When I read that members of this band were in projects such as Orthrelm, Ocrilim and Behold... The Arctopus, I, like other people, was wary. Those bands, while guitar-based, are in the same category as experimental noise artists. They create mindwarping, insane vehicles for sound that, if expressed mathematically, would surely be some perverse new form of advanced calculus. In short, I find it to be high wankery, and interminably boring after the first five minutes. So I feared that Krallice might fall prey to the same treatment, but nothing could be farther from the truth. Instead the band create enormous black hymns of epic grandeur, blasting out waves of hypnotic guitar buzz and mesmerizing melodies. Stylistically falling in line with Wolves in the Throne Room, they command feelings of cosmic vastness and pagan glory. When they really lock in to a swirling melody, ensconced within a relentless percussive battery, the result is positively transcendent. "Cnestorial" and "Energy Chasms" are two great examples; you can easily get lost within the spellbinding labyrinths they build up around you. "Timehusk," on a fun note, switches things up a bit as it breaks into thrash/speed metal territory during its final moments. Despite this release being very listenable and "musical," as opposed to avant-garde or experimental, skilled guitarists Mick Barr and Colin Marston do not forego a display of technical prowess. While "Cnestorial" is a tune of sweeping, atmospheric power, from the 9- to 10-minute mark it presents some the fastest, most furious guitar playing I have heard in many years. It is absolutely stunning and guaranteed to make your jaw hit the floor and stay there for a while as you attempt to comprehend what you are hearing. Like Wolves in the Throne Room's Two Hunters, the finale of this album is the high point. "Forgiveness in Rot" blazes along for a full 15 minutes, and in the last third of the song introduces alternating magical riffs that are repeated over and over, while melodies gleam with blinding light and cymbal clashes explode like heaven being ripped asunder. It is almost suffocating in its intensity, pressing down upon you, threatening to strain your very molecules through the floor and fuse you with the earth. It finally relents and leaves you gasping for breath as a mountain of feedback washes over you, then dissipates into the void. Krallice have created a monumental work that strikes an expert balance between uncanny technical proficiency and raw, primal emotion. Black metal for guitar nerds and pagans alike.