Ah, Darkthrone. Enigmatic, hilarious, prolific -- legends in their own time. More than 20 years on from their inception, Circle the Wagons finds this duo farther away from the "Norwegian Black Metal" tag than ever before. But that is not to suggest they are any less METAL. Quite the contrary; albums don't get much more metal than this one. Leading track "Those Treasures Will Never Befall You" is grim, gritty, balls-out rock beauty. Drummer Fenriz' love of Motörhead is no secret and that influence is exactly what you get here, with a crusty punk edge. "Running for Borders," on the other hand, has a nice Venom/Bathory feel to it, coupled with an old-school doom vibe. Darkthrone has a tongue-in- cheek way of naming songs that makes you question whether they're intended to be tongue-in-cheek at all, but there's no question that "I Am the Graves of the 80s" is a ridiculously awesome title. It's also a ridiculously awesome tune, burning up the road right out of the gate with more raw punk goodness then piling on a badass guitar melody. The title track is a mean, lean, take-no-prisoners gallop but wait, what's that? Weirdly clean, almost operatic vocals on the chorus? Upon first listen they're a little bizarre and purists may be turned off, but subsequent spins reveal them as a great choice. They lend an epic feel to the number yet work well with the dour riffing. Another ass-kicking guitar melody threaded through the track doesn't hurt either. "Black Mountain Totem" has a style of guitar playing that reminds me, of all things, of Algaion on their classic General Enmity disc. A welcome if utterly surprising approach. Issuing yet another self-proclamation from these hardened old bastards, "I Am the Working Class" is fittingly titled, brimming with blue-collar rage and disgust at a life of busting your hump for little reward. It thrashes away with wild abandon, psyching out the listener by fading out with one minute of track time remaining, but surges back in to throttle you with more righteous riffery. Darkthrone can change their sound however they like, from doom/death to necro black to punk, but they remain revered in the metal realm and their integrity is unquestionable. They create music that is often simple, but its genius lies in the way it effortlessly summons a vibe of pure metallic attitude. Raise one fist in the air, grip a tankard of beer with the other, and revel in the essence of filthy rock 'n' roll.

Drudkh has gone Katatonic on us. Excepting a couple of notable folksy detours, these Ukrainian metallers have been churning out pagan black metal of the highest quality since 2002, and at a surprising rate too. Handful of Stars is their eighth full-length release. Their penchant for speed, melody and atmosphere has marked them as a solid go-to band that can be expected to consistently deliver the goods. But after the intro "Cold Landscapes" has passed and "Downfall of the Epoch" picks up steam, perceptions are shaken as one realizes the rhythm and melody are straight out of early Katatonia. At first this stylistic shift struck me as quite pleasing, maybe even for the sheer novelty of it, but at one point I came to the conclusion that the band just wasn't convincing enough to operate in this corner of the genre. I felt that they did not have the chops to back up this particular direction and I very nearly wrote the album off entirely. Sorry and better luck next time. But in the late year review of all things 2010 I gave it another shot and still found my opinion unresolved. There was something there, something tugging at me and calling me back to it. And then it got to me, nibbling away at my psyche until the light of understanding glimmered in the haze. The album is a grower, no doubt about that, and it owes that to its subtlety. There is something about these guitar chords, their high echoing quality, that is rather magical. Black metal is not completely absent, as sections of "Towards the Light" prove, but the appeal of this song lies not there but rather in the main guitar melody that is repeated over and over. It is slightly angular and maybe just a little rough around the edges. I think this might actually be what makes the playing so attractive. The band's sound has always been organic and it is just as much if not more so now, but in a different way. Also, Ukrainian folk heritage has always been a big driving force for the band and there's a mystical element to these trebly, slightly fuzzy guitar riffs that speaks of ancient tales and gypsies in deep woods. "Twilight Aureole" and "The Day Will Come" follow suit and bring more of the same riffing and atmosphere. The album is not especially long but the tracks sandwiched between the intro and outro are nine minutes each except for the 12-minute "Downfall of the Epoch," so there's sufficient substances to make it feel like a well-rounded affair. Handful of Stars is a departure for Drudhk, but it shows itself to be another admirable chapter in their catalog. Despite my previous thoughts, it makes them even more mystical and wonderful, not less so.

"Boring, self-indulgent, aimless nonsense." Probably not a direct quote, but that roughly sums up what my thoughts were upon first hearing this band. I had initially been exposed to them when they released a split with Alcest in 2009 that obviously failed to make its mark on me. So too with this debut full length after a spin or two. I was ready to write off this group which features Fursy Teyssier (ex- Amesoeurs) and Winterhalter (Alcest/ex-Amesoeurs/ex-Peste Noire) in its ranks. One side note: could this French scene get any more incestuous? It's getting a little ridiculous. Anyway, a third listen made me suddenly realize how horribly mistaken I was. With a distinct Katatonia edge to their sound these morose bastards are practicing a high art of bleak depression. There's also no shortage of downtrodden melodies inspired by The Cure, such as the main one running through "L’Échappée." With the exception of the strangely light-hearted title track (perhaps not coincidentally also one of the album's shortest tracks) and the poppy "Une Matinée d’ Hiver" there are few notes of joy to be found here. By and large it is just...sad. And really there's no better way to describe it, despite my usual bevy of hyperbole and synonyms for the emotion. The album is just laden with sadness yet this tone is powerfully delivered via eloquent playing and impressive songwriting. Unlike related bands Alcest and Lantlôs, Les Discrets mostly refrain from mixing in the black metal card as their modus operandi. "Les Feuilles de l’Olivier " does burst into a black metal section but given the context it hardly seems that way. This song is surely more aggressive than the others though and as such injects a nice element of roughness into what is otherwise very serene, very elegant songcraft. It even takes on a Primordial-like feel at one point which is a welcome surprise. The vocals are always cleanly sung, genteel, reserved, youthful to the point of almost being childlike, but they pair well with the gloomy instrumentation. "Song for Mountains" is particularly excellent with its repeated spiraling melody line that is delivered both electrically and acoustically at different points in the song. "Effet de Nuit" delights with major Katatonia overtones in its eloquent acoustic passages and heavier moments as well. "Chanson d’Automne," the album's longest track, delivers more Katatonic goodness as it languidly unfolds and ends with high, poignant guitar lines that smack of a progressive psychedelia. Despite being from the same scene as Alcest and Amesoeurs and clearly having some commonalities with those bands, Les Discrets do a fine job of taking the sound in their own personal direction. Though influences can be cited, the final result is a unique and stirring piece of work.

The United Kingdom has seen an interesting emergence of black metal in the last few years. Caïna, though maybe not best tagged with the "black" label, has those elements and certainly showed that the Brits could do wondrous things in the atmospheric music realm. A Forest of Stars has only been around since 2007 but in that same year released a magnum opus called The Corpse of Rebirth. It flew way under the radar and went unnoticed when it was list-making time but would have likely popped up on a top 15. Thus it was with some anticipation that I welcomed the arrival of this sophomore release. At first, however, I found disappointment. Strings are a central component of this band's approach yet they seemed overused here, or used in a pompous and overbearing way. But really the issue with this album is that it takes a little too long to get to the heart of its splendor. Divided into six chapters, "Chapter One: Sorrow's Impetus" is a fine song, whooshing in at light speed and dazzling the ear with its flailing assault, but it's not new or special. "Chapter Two: Raven's Eye View" has some nice parallels to classic Solefald, namely in the use of mouth harp and the vocals/flute near the end, but again the song is good not great. "Chapter Three: Summertide's Approach" is where things really get interesting. Starting in a charmingly folksy manner that conjures images of Hasidic Jews kicking out their heels in circular dance, the song turns darker and heavier with real weight and presence. It is at once more serious and deliberate than the preceding tracks, unfurling slowly with sinister intent. Graced by guitar melodies and thick, resounding rhythm riffs it reaches a piano section that signals the next phase of the song. A riveting chord progression ensues, alternating with that same piano passage, with desperate vocals shrieked over the top. Yes, now this is the Forest of Stars I came to know and love. Strings are used judiciously with powerfully melancholy effect as the final minutes lead into a beautiful downward spiral, epic and momentous. "Chapter Four: Thunder's Cannonade" begins delicate and fragile, the string work haunting and lovely as it segues into acoustic guitar. When drums, bass and guitar burst forth in full force thereafter they sound all the richer and lusher for the strings played atop them. "Chapter Five: Starfire's Memory" eclipses everything that has come before it, pouring on the atmosphere with baleful whispered vocals while it rumbles along like an unstoppable machine. By the midway point it dives below a murky ambient surface, remaining there for several minutes while ominous sounds echo in the void and the noise of what seems like faintly buzzing bees lurks in the foreground. Malignant black metal slowly fades in to drag the track to a beleaguered conclusion as discordant melody is smeared across the face of it. All in all a brilliant track, yet despite its glory the best is saved for last. "Chapter Six: Delay's Progression" is utterly stunning. Pouring rain and ambient keyboard introduce it, then the rain is reduced to a trickle as the keyboards deepen and hum. More hushed vocals, now female, lead to a beautiful acoustic passage akin to Anathema and then -- fireworks. The song detonates in a cosmic blast, reverberating with enormous riffs at which the mind and soul quake and reel. The vocals are synthesized into a high robotic pulse; this might seem an odd or trite choice but it works brilliantly, both here and when they are revisited later when backed by only acoustic guitar. The effect is positively chilling. As we near the final moments of this masterpiece track black metal makes a triumphant return, blasting away in furious abandon while coupled with soaring keyboards for ultimate atmosphere. This section subsides, those buzzing bees briefly reappear in their ambient vacuum, and the affair is brought to a close with sparse riffs and keyboard melodies that stretch out to meet a fading horizon. Ethereal and sublime. While Opportunistic Thieves of Spring loses some points for a lack of consistency and not being as strong across the board as it could be, it does offer up a significant amount of headturning moments and remains very worthy of attention. A Forest of Stars has the uniqueness factor in their court as no one else creates the same bizarre yet wonderful concoction as they do. As long as they keep pushing boundaries and staying true to their vision they could unleash many more listworthy albums for years to come.

"I think I got the mean back." Quiet, low, and almost unnoticeable (save via headphone listening), these seven words usher in the latest from New Jersey's Solace and truer words were never spoken. To my mind Solace had practically fallen off the musical map following 2003's 13, relegated to a footnote on the stoner rock scene. A curiously-named EP entitled The Black Black was released in 2007 but utterly escaped my notice. I was therefore intrigued to see what this seemingly long-absent band was up to. Apparently they were balling up all their vitriol and mayhem to unleash upon an unsuspecting world circa 2010. "Mean" is a fine way to describe opener "The Disillusioned Prophet" which comes roaring out of the speakers with the pedal mashed to the floor, Jason's vocals on a demonic rampage. Solace was always a band that came across less stoner and more just badass rock to me, but there's some fuzzy downtuned goodness to be found here. The rumbling riffage found in "The Immortal, the Dead and the Nothing" and "Za Gamman" are sure proof of that. But what makes this album truly special is its dedication to old-fashioned blues-based rock and roll. "Six-Year Trainwreck" is just fucking oozing with it, all that bluesy guitar goodness pouring out all over your eardrums. There's a lot of great music out there, but it is so rare to encounter guitar playing where you can literally hear the passion in it. In the stoner rock realm Eternal Elysium did it with Spiritualized D and here Solace captures the magic themselves. Every note of the rollicking guitar solos is an absolute joy. "The Eyes of the Vulture" had me thinking its thunderous riffs were an homage to Black Sabbath until I realized it was (unconsciously?) aping Kiss' "God of Thunder." Imitation aside, it is monstrously heavy. "The Skull of the Head of a Man" starts with delightfully old-school NWOBHM riffs then blasts to top speed with total punk fury. Grand finale "From Below" gurgles and bubbles to the surface with a subsonic bass line, then brings the fireworks with quiet/loud dynamics and punishing, groove-laden rhythm. In sum total A.D. is nothing short of amazing, a rousing reintroduction to a band with plenty of fire left in their bellies. After 15 years of existence they may just now be reaching their pinnacle.

There are some talented musical artists in the world, no question. They mold guitar, bass, and drums into expressions both personal and profound, these instruments becoming extensions of themselves to bring their unique message to the world. But here under a seemingly curious moniker dwells an altogether different type of genius. Author & Punisher is one man: Tristan Shone. Mr. Shone, through some demented muse heretofore unknown to me, decided to make heavy music by inventing and building his own machines and utilizing them as his instruments. Yeah, read that part again; not standard instruments, but industrial machines. His creations are bizarre and, at least to me, utterly incomprehensible. What are yet more bizarre and incomprehensible are the sounds birthed from these instruments. With names like the Rotary Encoder (a spinning 300 lb. disc) and the Linear Actuator (essentially a drum trigger), who the hell would guess what they would sound like? Well I'll tell you what they sound like: YOUR DOOM. Remember the first time you heard Godflesh's Streetcleaner? That deep, shuddering, punishing sound? That's what Drone Machines is, except updated for the 21st century and, dare I say it, arguably heavier. Opening track "Sand, Wind and Carcass" says it all, really. A monumental hum that sets your eardrums to vibrating violently, scored by what sound like sparse and vacuous snare hits and cymbal crashes, scraped dry by a scathing, relentless wind of horror and waste. Then it goes deep, deeper than you could imagine, bass notes of immense proportions welling up out of the ether and pulsating through your body from the tips of your toes and out the top of your flabbergasted head. "Burrow Below" really brings on the Godfleshian crush, truly sounding like it could have come from that band's seminal early works. "Blue Flame" is a terrifying highlight, with humongous "riffs" being warped forward and backward, twisted out of time and space, creating a distortion as glorious as it is perverse and vile. This may literally be what the Apocalypse sounds like. You have to remind yourself again and again that none of this is being done with conventional instrumentation. What sound like percussion hits are not; what sound like gigantic guitar riffs are not. It is all the product of these wicked machines, surely possessed by demonic forces. All of it is utterly convincing and the fact that one man with a bunch of self-built toys would out-heavy many of the heaviest bands on this planet is a sobering thought. The term "industrial" got thrown around a lot in the '90s and was often used to describe Nine Inch Nails and artists of that ilk. Well Author & Punisher is the true industrial; you don't get any more industrial by definition. In the end the name makes perfect sense: Author, certainly. Punisher, oh hell yes. Approach with caution. Not for the faint of heart.

Yet another album from Norway's hardest-working, longest-lived band of Viking marauders. On average they release an album every two years (which is impressive enough compared to most bands) but some of them have been a mere 18 months apart. Perhaps one key to this prolific longevity is that they always seem to keep us on our toes. 2008's Vertebrae threw caution to the wind and dove headlong into progressive waters. It was brilliant, but it was also the Norwegian Pink Floyd. Axioma Ethica Odini swings us back in the other direction, for the most part. "Ethica Odini" starts it off with surging, epic rhythm and melody, reminding of Primordial's stunning To the Nameless Dead. I'd have been thrilled with an entire album's worth of songs just like this one. After the first couple minutes the raspy vocals give way to beautifully sung clean ones, so this aspect that started cropping up on Enslaved albums many years ago is still firmly intact. Still, this track is about raw power and inspiring grandeur. "Raidho" regresses even more, returning us to 2003's classic thrashy masterpiece Below the Lights. It too subsides into brief gentler passages, but its strength lies in its relentless guitar and percussive attack. In its latter half it offers up a tantalizing display of true rock awesomeness: all instruments drop away except the guitar, punctuated by occasional rhythm blasts. Then a steady beat joins up, then the bass guitar is added, then the whole song comes back together as it was originally. It's a total arena rock technique but in spite of that, or more likely because of it given the band in question, this track kicks serious ass. "The Beacon" opens with flesh-searing black metal intensity and even after it settles into steady mid-tempo groove the chord progression is brimming with menace. You might go thinking that, at least for this round, Enslaved have traded in their prog tendencies to navigate harsher waters, but a different kind of progressive influence enters the picture: Opeth. It's true. Are there no limits to the influence of those Swedish masters? Check out the enchanting "Night-Sight" or the amazing "Giants" and I challenge you to tell me you don't hear the Opeth in there. The latter showcases powerful dynamics with thundering double-bass set against a mixture of clean and harsh vocals, but musically there is some definite Opeth going on. The former has a delightful quirkiness about it, a '70s vibe that, while not outside the realm of something Opeth might do given their preoccupation with '70s prog, actually calls to mind another band from northern Europe: the enigmatic and long-defunct stoner group Beaver. Other passages are most decidedly Opethian in their design and execution. "Lightening," one of the album's best songs, closes out the disc with almost a slinky, sultry rhythm that breaks into punishing sections, really laying on the gas about midway through and bringing on some thrashy intensity, and briefly but routinely arching to the heavens with more of those sweetly sung vocals. There are also some incredibly soulful guitar licks thrown about to give some extra panache to the song. The track is a mindblowing journey through groove/blues/death/thrash/prog, much like the album as a whole. After all these years Enslaved continue to gratify and astonish with their effortless melding of these elements. They make it look easy, but few bands could pull it off with this level of wit and eloquence.

Do you ever just get a "feeling" about an album before you even hear it? Like you just know somehow that it's going to be great? Kylesa's been getting hyped for some years now, bandied about by the likes of Mastodon and others from the southern rock scene. Up until now, however, what I'd heard was good but never compelled me to purchase an album. For whatever reason Spiral Shadow changed that. There's a quote somewhere about how this album finds the group "metamorphosing from a good band to something truly special." Indeed, from the first listen it was evident that something special is happening here. Pigeonholed as a "sludge" band, Kylesa has become far too varied to be burdened with such a simplistic tag. "Tired Climb" may start the album sounding like something out of 16's late-'90s material, but when Laura Pleasants' sultry/deadpan vocals kick in, you realize this is not the average sludge album. "Cheating Synergy" has a bit more of that 16-ish vibe going, but actually ends up sounding a whole lot more like Alchemist due to the hypnotic guitar melody that's threaded through it. Atmosphere and psychedelia are key to the Kylesa sounds and these elements are wielded expertly, set against heavy downtuned guitar parts as a perfect foil. The album is very rhythmically aggressive, tribal at times, but with two drummers in the band (yes, two) one might expect as much. "Crowded Road" has a Middle-Eastern writhing snakecharmer melody that marks the track as distinctive. This is another parallel with Alchemist, a band known to incorporate such ethnic influences into their work. Tracks "Don't Look Back" and "Back and Forth" are more poppy, written in major chords that normally turn me off, but they succeed brilliantly in giving this album a brightness and lift that tie seamlessly into the whole. In many ways the style of Spiral Shadow is squarely in Fugazi/Quicksand/Sparta territory. Yet Kylesa can really turn on the drama when they wish, as in the remarkable "Distance Closing In." The bass guitar notes become downright menacing, thrumming through the speakers and your skull with a vengeance. "To Forget" smacks of the regret and longing the title implies, opening with gloomy Pist-On-like acoustics and continuing along the avenue of that lost-to-the-passage-of-time '90s band. As the song becomes rougher and more distorted it ultimately breaks out into chunky chords with a definite ...And You Will Know Us By the Trail of Dead vibe. "Forsaken" may be the album's heaviest track, thick with divine distortion and mammoth riffs, painted over with more of Ms. Pleasants' signature creepy deadpan vocal delivery. In many ways her vocals and the fantastic atmosphere they create make this release the joy that it is. The title track is a special highlight, opening with a big, open guitar melody that's not a far cry from the sort employed by desert fuzz merchants Los Natas. Spiral Shadow may often be more pop or post-rock than sludge or crust, but therein lies its brilliance. It is diverse, it is unexpected, and it kicks righteous ass in its own special way.

A couple of years ago I went on a quest to find this band's first, self-titled album. I was turned on to them by a CD-R recording that immediately struck me as something special. Trouble was I thought their name was "Lantios" and was stymied by a total absence of information on them. And now that first release is hard to come by, so thank goodness we have .neon in the present. Lantlôs hails from Germany but is stylistically very much along the same lines as French bands Alcest and Amesoeurs. The reason is no mystery: one of the band members is Neige who also occupies roles in both of those bands. And so he brings his trademark style with him, a tendency toward lush ambience that gives way to searing, atmospheric black metal passages. "These Nights Were Ours" is one such textbook example that could be seamlessly dropped into an Amesoeurs or Alcest album. But lest you get the idea that Lantlôs is mere spin-off, a carbon copy with nothing new to offer, take note that there is indeed more going on here. The entrancing "Pulse/Surreal" brings on a languid, slow jazz style with emphasis on a semi-funky bass line. The track unfolds quietly, serenely, with lovely understated vocals. Thus when black metal makes a return in the latter portion of the song it sounds all the more furious, razing everything to the ground before things settle down again and finish with a high, reverberating guitar melody. "Coma" is very much in an Alcest vein but highly excellent with a a sort of pop sensibility about it that gives it great lift and again marks a dynamic contrast to the speedier blackened section that follows. The title track fades in with creepy Burzum-like guitar, then moves at a slow plod but is rife with atmosphere, giving way to almost improvisational drumming at the end while glorious guitar noise thickly coats everything. It all comes off as a freaky, badass jam session. And again there's a great bass line as a backdrop. After a few listens I realized that bass is a key element of this release. It opens the album in the pensive "Minusmench" and is undoubtedly the spine of the song, powerfully present in the mix. With its potent atmosphere and hypnotic grace .neon is truly worthy of time and investigation, not just another notch on the belt of Neige's many projects. The man certainly does stay busy and virtually everything he touches is gold. Or in this case, golden neon, cutting through the night with luminous beauty and intensity.

Who knew that Dax Riggs had become a folk/indie rock superstar? Well some dedicated fans did I'm sure. But despite my adoration for Acid Bath, his seminal, one-of-a-kind wonder that put out two amazing albums in the '90s, I didn't keep up with him after that. Through his Agents of Oblivion and Deadboy & the Elephantmen years I never got pulled in. Now along comes this little gem and I fear I may have been missing out. 2010 finds Dax practicing nothing that could even be remotely called metal or sludge. Instead there is a heavy folk/blues vibe that runs the gamut from Chris Cornell to Mark Lanegan to Roy Orbison to Wovenhand. It turns out to be a heady mix simply because the songwriting is so damn good. An item that struck me before even spinning the disc were the great song titles: "You Were Born to be My Gallows," "Gravedirt on My Blue Suede Shoes," "Let Me Be Your Cigarette" -- the list goes on. "...Gallows" is utterly mesmerizing, pure Roy Orbison, the vocals high and lilting while "Gravedirt..." is an up-tempo rocker with no shortage of indie grit. "Let Me Be Your Cigarette" is a personal favorite and strikes like early Queens of the Stone Age minus the fuzz but with all the groove. "Like Moonlight" is a transfixing trudge, walking a line between Nick Cave and slowcore icons Low or Spain. One of the absolute highlights is the cover of Elvis' "Heartbreak Hotel." The customary swagger of this song is here obliterated, a fitting spin on it because if you actually listen to these lyrics it's a little absurd that young girls in the 1950s should have been fawning over The King while he performed the tune. In fact it is based on the report of a man that committed suicide by jumping from the hotel window, with severe loneliness as the apparent cause. Riggs returns the song to these morbid roots, creating a track that moves along at a snail's pace and sounds like a cross between Chris Isaak and Slow Horse. The miserable cries of "I get so lonely baby, I could die" are anything but a light-hearted romp, yet there's also an intoxicating country twang present, a ballsy hint of attitude. "See You All in Hell or New Orleans" finishes the disc out brilliantly, plodding along like Spain in their finest moments, brilliantly morose and desolate. Acid Bath split up in 1997 following the tragic death of bassist Audie Pitre at the hands of a drunk driver, but Dax Riggs has kept carrying the torch in various ways these many years. Say Goodnight to the World paints a picture of a driven, passionate man, helpless in the face of the anthems that wrench themselves out of him and compel him to sing his woes in smoky bars and roadside clubs. As long as he's cranking out material this good, I hope his muse continues to carry him forward.

The Pacific Northwest has been ground zero for the detonation of an amazing pagan black metal scene for several years now. As much as I adore the subgenre, one could make the argument that most of the stuff sounds the same despite the fact that I'm content to gobble up every note of it. Still you have to hand it to a band (a single person actually) that comes from the region and embraces the general musical ethos of the scene yet turns the entire thing upside down. Westering is not from the forests of Cascadia, but rather the streets of Seattle. Skagos, Agalloch and Wolves in the Throne Room deliver a nature-centric approach that is as enthralling as it is wild and unfettered, truly summoning the spirits of water, fire, earth and air. Westering is equally inspired, but operating from the other end of the spectrum. Westering is not of tree and river, but of glass and concrete and sickly, putrid fluorescence. Westering is the sound of a cold, gray, brutal urban monolith. The concept is borne out through swirling, buzzing, hazy riffs that are as disorienting as staring up at the faces of frigid skyscrapers. Though the album's black and white cover art depicting a distant, creepy corridor of columns certainly assists with the presentation, the fact is that there is something about this music that just sounds urban. Described by the label as "lo-fi outsider black metal," this is not for the average black metal fan, despite being Burzum-esque in its cracklings and haunting atmosphere. A high-pitched background melody (if you can call it that) on "White Haired" sounds like a cross between sirens and a subway train. "We Buried Him Preciously" is the cyborg to WITTR's cavorting wood nymphs. "My Naked Hands" rumbles with the noises of industrial construction equipment, the double bass setting the beat of relentless, heartless progress, whilst haunting melodies dance atop rusty graveyards. "An Old Confusion" brims with malevolence and brings a delightfully disturbing Lurker of Chalice vibe with it. To top it all off this blackened cityscape has avenues of pure ambient electronica running through it. These passages are spaced perfectly with the black metal tracks, creating balance but boring straight to the core of the brain with their purity when they take center stage. They never overstay their welcome but succeed admirably in drowning the senses with ethereal noise. The potent desolation inherent in these tracks allows their cold white light to not just shine in transience, but rather to illuminate smaller pieces to the larger puzzle of this beautiful madness. "I Soon Will be Myself Again" is the only one of the non-metal tracks that isn't an instrumental and the effect is intense, awash in layers of freezing ambient with scathing, reverberating vocals dragged over the top. Westering is something special. While it runs contrary to all the pagan glories I revere in other bands from the same region, Help a Body unquestionably sets itself apart by representing the modern mechanical world while using the same medium as dwellers of darkened woods. The results are spinetingling, mesmerizing, and make an indelible mark on the realm of extreme music.

I've been behind the curve on Ludicra. These San Francisco stalwarts have been belting out crusty black metal for well over a decade now but I had never kept pace. I picked up the last two albums well after release and it took a while before I finally started to started to see the greatness in 2006's Fex Urbis Lex Orbis. Four years passed and now The Tenant arrives as a revelation. But then this is not exactly the Ludicra of old. From lead track "Stagnant Pond" it becomes evident that something remarkable is going on here, as the halfway point erupts into black metal fury graced by ornate melody on a new level of eloquence. With the presence of guitar virtuoso John Cobbett (also of Hammers of Misfortune) in the band, some melody should come as no surprise. Still I would posit that the Hammers influence can be heard even more prevalently on this song with a rollicking intensity consistent with that band and a streak of classic melodic metal running through it. Switch gears on "A Larger Silence" with a pagan black metal blast to the skull, guitar lines whirling about in a seething mass that would do Wolves in the Throne Room proud. But then check out the inherent beauty of the fast acoustic strumming near the end, capped by Cobbett's mindblowing neoclassical stylings. A breathtaking climax to be sure. Laurie Sue Shanaman's vocals are fantastic throughout the disc, alternating between warm but haunting vs. cold, deadly vitriol. "In Stable" takes its cues from Coroner and NWOBHM, with Cobbett again showcasing impeccable playing. For all the jaw-dropping mayhem that precedes it, "Truth Won't Set You Free" is the absolute pinnacle and the finest song the band have thus far crafted. Opening with a brief acoustic melody that will become the cyclical theme of the track, it then lays down lightspeed riffery that is pure pagan glory, hearkening again to the mighty Wolves in the Throne Room, echoing out to the stars and repeating back on itself with dire portent. The track gets grittier from there, not letting off the pedal a single bit, rougher around the edges but still awash in guitar acrobatics. Then suddenly -- with two minutes remaining -- it pulls your bewildered soul into a new and radiant loveliness. The melody that opened the song is now repeated, riding on a backdrop of enormous, resounding, shimmering riffs that explode into the dark void and fill every corner of it with lush waves of sound. Sheer, unexpected brilliance. Speaking of unexpected, the title track brings the album to its finale with an open, flowing rock 'n' roll tempo at odds with all the shredding prior to it, and with a melody line akin to something out of The Cure's Seventeen Seconds. Yet it works wonderfully, another gem in the crown of this artistic achievement. Ludicra traffic in bleakness and desolation born of urban squalor, of a populace living shoulder to shoulder yet desperately alone. The Tenant is the soundtrack to that existence, to every fit of rage and moment of quiet, aching longing. Consider me out of the loop no longer; henceforth I shall await their next set of hymns with bated breath.

Alcest put out a great, but not flawless, album in 2007 with Souvenirs d'un Autre Monde. Three years later they raise the bar higher -- significantly higher. Part I of the title track pours on heartfelt, Anathema-like murk in its haunting waves of melancholy melody. And it only gets better, airy pop abruptly melting into furious blackened splendor for the final two minutes of the track. There are heavy doses of Amesoeurs in this song, not surprising given the association of members Neige and Winterhalter with that now-defunct band. After a brief acoustic intro coupled with the soft crashing of ocean waves, Part II takes it up another notch on the wickedness scale, flailing with speed-drenched abandon and raining down a caustic vocal assault. When the album locks into these moments of melody and madness it is nothing short of enthralling. After settling into a middle tempo, the harsh vocals are alternated with clean ones and another guitar melody is heaped on to great effect. The halfway point of the tune returns it to soothing acoustics, then back to resonating riffs, then it closes with the acoustics again and yet more melody sprinkled on. This two-part epic is nothing short of a masterpiece. From here the album never buries the speed needle again, but there is no shortage of breathtaking moments to follow. " Percées de Lumière" does offer up more of the harsh vocals, conjuring a delightfully stark mood. That is, until warm and lush female vocals permeate the barren landscape. Again, melodies are the icing on the cake, causing the latter part of this track to sparkle and shimmer against the curtain of darkness. "Solar Song" is all clouds, weightless and lovely and lilting. The vocals actually call to mind a bit of Type O Negative at their most (sarcastically?) harmonious. For all their sulking, Alcest have a curious way of being suddenly and strangely uplifting, so ethereal and delicate is their touch at times. Final track "Sur l'Océan Couleur de Fer" is sullen pop brilliance, with beautifully strummed guitar and dashes of The Cure to top it all off. Éscailles de Lune is masterfully rendered, a jewel of stunning clarity amidst an ocean of gray. In both its hardest and softest moments it is almost painfully beautiful, painting from a rich palette of polished sound. Alcest were impressive before, but now they have ascended to the upper echelons of the musical realm.

My love affair with Agalloch has been going on for more than ten years now and I more or less know what to expect from them. Some beautiful acoustics here, some soul-stirring pagan folk metal there...I eat the stuff up and there have also been some nice surprises as the band evolved and broadened their horizons. But the first time I heard the deeply melancholy string intro "They Escaped the Weight of Darkness" give way to the thunderous hyperspeed black metal of "Into the Painted Grey," I was completely taken aback. It was so aggressive, so rough-and-tumble and I wasn't convinced it suited the band well. That momentary doubt soon vanished in the wake of repeated listens as this album's innumerable charms latched onto me and dragged me into the vivid pool of Agalloch's imagination. Melodies abound everywhere, ringing peals to the pagan gods, crystal clear and piercing the hearts of quavering misfits in a forsaken world. It would seem that perhaps the teachers have become the students, as the aforementioned "...Grey" bears no small resemblance to the woodland fury of northern neighbors Wolves in the Throne Room. "The Watcher's Monolith" sets the disc squarely back in familiar Agalloch territory with all the trademark eloquence, beauty and heathen longing any fan of this band has come to adore. Haughm's vocals do their usual alternation between clean and harsh, gentle and malevolent. In short the song is totally classic Agalloch, glorious at every turn. Yet there is something new here too, a rock sensibility that lends a loose rhythmic feel with excellent flow. The band sound more accessible than ever before. That is repeated again later on "Ghosts of the Midwinter Fires," an incredible song with an echoey guitar intro, more classic Agalloch mystique, and blazing blackened melodies. Far and above the highlight of this album, however, is the epic "Black Lake Niðstång." Practically pulling an Opeth with this 17+ minute wonder, the band take us on a trance- inducing journey the likes of which have never been heard from them. The song unfolds slowly, languidly, but with intense purpose. Its structure is that of an epic doom song, trudging through the listener's consciousness at what pace it sees fit but never becoming dull. On the contrary, these early moments build a chilling foundation with an obsidian soundscape and the withering, ghoulish vocals are an ominous warning of a greater coming darkness. Then comes rarely-tread territory for the band: dark ambient, which they yield as expertly as if they'd been practicing this art their entire career. Tides of droning sound rise and fall, turning this way and that through a maze of anticipation. The tension it builds is both alarming and enthralling, culminating in prog-rock keyboards straight out of the '70s. They repeat and repeat, looping inward on themselves in a hypnotic spiral, and then -- explosion. Flames illuminate the darkness, abrupt and shocking, burning white-hot into and beyond consciousness. Guitars return, sounding impossibly large, and threaten to split you to your very core as a melody emerges and dances across your shattered, reeling mind. "Where have all the noble cranes gone?" cries Haughm. "Where have all the stags disappeared to?" "Buried below in the tomb of the burdened pool" comes his pained answer. He spits "A curse to those who corrupt these sacred woods! A curse to those who taste this solemn water!" his rage a tangible force pummeling your stricken soul. Once again these artists cut right to the core of my pagan heart, bringing tears to my eyes and filling me with a potent concoction of pride, fury and euphoria. This momentous track wracks me with emotion in a way that only the most special music does. I do not state the following lightly, considering that this group has created some of the very finest albums of all time, but I do believe it: this song is the absolute finest the band has ever written. Its vast expanse, its ambition, its ambience, its flawless execution -- all of these boggle the mind just as they caress the heart. This song is simply perfect. Many bands with progressive tendencies become more and more progressive with age, opting for complexity in lieu of intensity. Occasionally some go the other direction, throwing off the shackles of prog thoughtfulness and returning to brutal roots. Agalloch have somehow managed to do both simultaneously, a masterful and astonishing achievement.

To tell the truth I find myself surprised to be back here again, ranking another Anathema album at number one. Okay, yes, I first fully embraced Anathema in 1996 and have been a rabid fan ever since, while they've continued to stray farther and farther from their gothic doom genesis and become a true progressive rock band. Yes, my list of top albums of the '90s contains no fewer than four of their albums. In 2001 A Fine Day to Exit was a slipping point for me but 2003's A Natural Disaster rescued the band's output for the decade and is one of the finest releases of those ten years. But then...seven years passed. Seven! We were promised an album several times within the latter part of those years but it never came to fruition for various reasons. Following that long wait, We're Here... has finally emerged. Seven years is a long time. What might have happened to the band in that time? Evolution? Devolution? Simplification? As I cautiously entered this band's world once again I had my doubts about what I was hearing but I remained steadfast in my determination to give it a fair shake. Then, as is so often the case with this absurdly talented group of musical artists, the veil was peeled back and I saw the glorious light. Anathema achieved a remarkable level of refinement long ago, but this release is as focused and polished as can be. The production is lovely, clean and warm. The songwriting and playing are stunning to behold, every note placed with precision and delivered flawlessly. The cohesion of these songs is magnificent, unparalleled by all but a very few bands' material. There are plenty of recognizable Anathema elements here but novelty is introduced as well, primarily in the area of vocal melodies. The use and blending of female vocals into the Anathema sound is by no means new, hearkening all the way back to songs such as "J'ai Fait une Promesse" and others from the Serenades period. Here, however, we have a whole other kind of vocal harmony, male and female voices coming together in an uplifting groundswell of soaring grace. The twist is that the end result on tracks "Summernight Horizon" and "Everything" makes me feel like I'm watching an episode of Glee. That is to say, Anathema sound like they're running their own show choir. The notion is ridiculous but there is absolute magic happening in these songs. "Dreaming Light" nearly has an adult contemporary feel to it, starting as it does with gentle piano and again featuring sweet crooning. Its ending even calls to mind Annie Lennox's "Into the West" (nerdy reference point: that's the song playing over the final credits of Peter Jackson's The Lord of the Rings trilogy). I think what I find so beguiling about this album is that by all rights I should hate it. I could easily construe these vocal harmonies as sappy and overdone, and maybe I did early on but that was just ignorance. Part of the appreciation comes from the paradox; when the vocals in "Summernight Horizon" are gliding majestically through the heavens, but with the lyrical back drop of "In blood red skies, tears won't dry," I can't help but love it. Or take "Angels Walk Among Us" which ought to be disqualified and ridiculed based on the title alone. Yet the song is mesmerizing, featuring a haunting, piercing guitar line that any fan of Eternity will appreciate. The dulcet tones of the chorus, again in agonizingly beautiful harmony, are made even better by the simple truth so inherent in the words "Only you can heal your life. Only you can heal inside." This astonishing track segues into the equally astonishing "Presence," a spoken-word song akin to "Hope" from Eternity that swings back around near its completion to find Lee Douglas repeating the chorus of "Angels..." Her tone here is so rich, yet so dark and melancholy; it speaks so directly and personally to the soul that one cannot turn away. She has never sounded better. If this one-two punch weren't enough, it is followed by "A Simple Mistake," a jewel of a song that more than any other on here recalls the Judgement release, one of my all-time favorites. The song is positively ethereal, gorgeously fragile and dreary but offering a message of hope. Its final moments may well be the album's heaviest, introducing cosmically resonating riffs that create a wall of sound backed by fevered cries. This track is mindblowing in its execution and will go down as being among the band's finest. As the progressive rock vein goes, "Get Off Get Out" is a veritable simulacra of a Porcupine Tree song and also one of the most rocking of the bunch with raucous guitars and big cymbal crashes. "Universal" is symphonic in its use of strings, but more than that it is just a huge song with huge atmosphere, reminding yet again of the Pink Floyd tendencies Anathema have had for many years now. In the end the quality of We're Here Because We're Here is undeniable. It is a flawless collection of songs that may cause some raised eyebrows on longtime fans at first, but anyone that has stayed with this band lo these many years should expect no less of them than to take their craft to the next level. And so they have and I am left dazzled and breathless once again.