Kontinuum hail from Iceland, a fact I find intriguing in itself because while there are certainly other musical artists from that country (Sólstafir, Björk, The Sugarcubes, Sigur Rós, etc.) it is not exactly the first place that springs to mind when I think about the origins of metal bands. It seems somewhat unknown and mysterious and Kontinuum contribute to that notion in their own way. Despite forming back in 2001 (though with fewer members and going by the name Pornea until 2010) they have produced virtually no material prior to this release. Even now that we have these nine songs from them they somewhat defy categorization. The first and most consistent impression is that of a gothic style. Birgir Thorgeirsson’s voice has that deep, resonating Bauhaus character to it that became the de facto method for goth rock singers. Not only that, but the melodies too have a gloomy Fields of the Nephilim quality about them. Still the chords are bigger, louder, more metal and so we arrive at the intriguing nature of Kontinuum. The melody line at the heart of “Steinrunninn Skógur” is simple yet powerful, emotionally evocative in a way unique to great gothic metal such as Paradise Lost’s Draconian Times. “Moonshine” is similar with perhaps a bit more goth pop to it and has an enrapturing guitar melody that reminds me of Disintegration-era Cure. Yet it also has some distinctly metal breakdowns as well. The line “my soul is sinking” is repeated throughout and helps to lend that unmistakable goth element. Lest you think you have Kontinuum pegged, “Lightbearer” switches things up significantly with driven prog­metal keyboards and a rapid tempo, even spiraling headlong into genuine black metal fury during what might be considered the chorus. “City” is frenetic and verging on dissonant, damn near thrashy at times, and has a big metallic groove­laden bridge. “Lýs Milda Ljós” again has major Paradise Lost overtones and is oozing with guitar melodies everywhere. “Red” is a very interesting track that diverges from the rest with female vocals that might bring to mind Anneke from The Gathering or others from the ‘90s heyday of woman-fronted metal bands. And while the song initially seemed somewhat dated due to this style it really grew on me after a few listens, the chorus proving quite seductive. The latter part of the track is easygoing with gentle acoustics, again reinforcing the impression of The Gathering, until darkening for its finale. “Í Gljufradal,” though returning to male vocals, has a very similar feel due to its quiet nature and piano work but it also pulls off a cool Antimatter/Anathema vibe with the use of strings and piercing guitar lines in the background. These final two tracks of the album at first seemed like an odd detour, leaving it feeling disjointed or unfinished but ultimately they provide diversity and meld with the cohesive whole. Earth Blood Magic is both simplistic on the surface yet complex in the way that it brings metal and gothic pop elements together. In the end it succeeds admirably in creating a compelling, intriguing listen with loads of charm.

The opening track of Arbors, the third album by this independent, unsigned band out of Chicago starts out innocently enough with what might be a string quartet. The melody is lilting, soothing, and a bit melancholy. It is then utterly swallowed by gigantic guitar riffs, thick and resonating, akin to those in Agalloch’s “Limbs.” Whilst one is marvelling at the glorious production and sheer heaviness of the sound it ups the ante, shifting again to thunderous double­bass drumming and sublime distortion that would leave most death metal bands envious. The track is aptly titled “Avenue of the Giants” and truly sounds like juggernauts are parading down your street, threatening to rumble your world to ruin. This song being my first-ever foray into Arctic Sleep, I was left in stunned awe. Over the course of the nine remaining tracks on the album these talented musicians deliver a similar attack. The basis of many tracks is of the shoegaze variety, comparable to Jesu, but nearly every one contains at least one section of jaw­dropping riff destruction that has to be heard to be believed. In this way I actually liken the band more to True Widow, another group that can deliver pummeling heaviness yet are by no means classifiable as metal. “Sea of Origins,” an instrumental, falls more in an Isis vein. A track such as “Wolf Nature” perhaps sums up the band best. Over nine minutes in length, it starts out sounding very much like The Smashing Pumpkins in their Siamese Dream heyday and your altie friends would probably blissfully go along with its mellow strumming, alternating with hefty guitar chords, reliving the glorious ‘90s. Midway through it turns darker and crunchier and over the last few minutes is a rock monster, throwing low­end punches with devastating effectiveness. “Release the River” is similar, grinding through chugga-chugga riffs at its finale and dealing out shuddering power. There are few bands that can sound equally beautiful and vicious within the same album and Arctic Sleep are one of them. In fact I can honestly say I have never heard their formula done in quite such a way before and for that distinction Arbors stands out as fresh, exciting, and one of the year’s best.

Musical engineering supergenius Tristan Shone delivers unto us another slab of crushing power that has to be heard to be believed. If you missed out on his 2010 opus, Drone Machines, then you missed out on a mindblowing experience. Ursus Americanus is arguably no less mindblowing, minus the fact that we now know the formula and are least somewhat (barely) prepared. You see, Mr. Shone created a style of industrial music that is truer to the term than you might ever imagine. Every instrument he plays was designed and built entirely by him, machines such as voice modulating masks, multi­channel microphones, throttles and of course the Linear Actuator. Quite frankly I understand very little of it but the proof is in the charred, shrapnel-ridden pudding that is guaranteed to tear apart your throat as you swallow it. The aptly named “Terrorbird” opens the assault and proves again that A&P has the wherewithal to create maniacally disturbing sounds. The track begins with pulsing bass that gurgles to the surface like noxious swamp gas, then come heavily distorted vocal scrapings and bass explosions that threaten to annihilate any structures within a 500-foot radius. “Lonely” goes rather techno but would rend the dance floor asunder if you dared set foot on it. Its oscillating menace is showered with Justin Godflesh-like bellows punctuated by shuddering attacks that ramp up and coast down. “Set Flames” stands out as slightly more disturbing among an array of disturbing cacophanies, with violent rhythmic eruptions and screaming/roaring that could peel paint. Noises not unlike jet turbines spinning to life escalate the tension to the point of bursting until the track settles into hypnotic chant, only to once again detonate with rage. Despite the very impressive showing of power and aggression throughout the album it is in a departure from that approach where it truly excels in my favorite track “Below and Above You.” A slow, vaguely orchestral opening is joined by light percussion, then by a quavering and ghostly vocal. A buzzing drone makes an entrance, rising and falling, fading in and out and enveloped in static and hiss. The effect is simultaneously mesmerizing and unnerving, as if something terrible is about to happen and you are transfixed, powerless to stop it. Somber and audible vocals are overlaid with distant and ultra­distorted ones, like a wraith shrieking warnings from the beyond. This injection of diversity into the album makes it all the more compelling and shows us that Mr. Shone still has some tricks up his sleeve, his songcrafting ability as keen as his technical skills. Literally translated the Ursus americanus is the American black bear, but even the fiercest of those creatures would turn tail and run for dear life when confronted with this barrage of brilliantly horrifying sounds.

Doc Hammer is a co-creator, writer, and editor behind the Adult Swim cartoon series The Venture Bros. In 2008, after many years in Requiem in White and Mors Syphilitica, he formed Weep. Taken in conjunction with Brendan Small’s work on and in Metalocalypse, there is a lot of talent bleeding between animation and music and subsequent rewards to be reaped by audiophiles. Unlike Small’s Dethklok, however, Weep is not a metal band nor anything even resembling one. Alate features eleven tracks of goth-tinged pop but that classification does not do justice to the treasures to be found within this album. Similar to Faunts, what might first seem simplistic and superficial is but an entrance to a enchanting world. Speaking of Faunts, “It’s So Late” has keyboard work that would be at home on their stunning Feel.Love.Thinking.Of. Particularly in that track, Hammer’s vocals have a Dylan­esque nasal quality that briefly caused me to balk at them on first listen but by album’s end that thought was lost in the wake of an endless string of great songs. ‘80s influences are a dominant factor in many of the tracks as in the remarkable “This Stolen Moon.” Possibly my favorite track, the keyboards that introduce it are totally retro but that does not detract one bit from the powerful effect it renders. Its chorus is languid and moody, Hammer’s voice sounding slightly gritty and deeply sincere and those keyboard swells are the perfect accompaniment. “Away to Nothing” also has a bouncy ‘80s intro but more than anything it sounds very much like Mew circa their brilliant And the Glass Handed Kites release. Sounds of The Cure can be picked out in numerous places including in the main rhythm guitar line of “Drift Towards Home” and the bass line of “Fifteen Times.” The latter is especially glorious, straight out of early ‘80s Cure classics such as Faith or Pornography. “The Passion of Lovers” has a fantastic Sixteen Horsepower-styled swagger to it that makes it stand out among the other songs. By the time the lilting, sweeping “Alate Ardor” closes out the album you realize every single track has been appealing for one reason or another. Alate is one of those recordings you come to love but never fully understand WHY you love it. Listen after listen it proves deeply compelling, somehow more than the sum of its parts. Sometimes you have to stop trying to decipher something and simply be content to enjoy it, and Weep give much to enjoy.

Cascadia delivers unto us yet another band of pagan warriors but they deviate from the style established by Wolves in the Throne Room, Skagos, and others of that area. In fact they generally sound like they are arriving about fifteen years too late. With its use of keyboards and female vocals SEED would have been soundly at home in the late ‘90s and may well have garnered real attention on a label such as Century Media or Avantgarde. Despite arguably being late to the show this release is still immensely appealing in the present day. A large part of that appeal is the use of diverse traditional instruments such as mouth harp, accordion and sitar, among others. The band are clearly practitioners of ancient pagan ways and the presence of such instrumentation lends authenticity and sincerity to their approach. Even more impressive, there are only two people in the band and Cavan Wagner plays all those instruments himself while Jenn Grunigen handles drums and percussion (girl drummers rule!). That is not to say that SEED is a folk album; it is metal first and foremost with folk influences. In fact I keep thinking of Moss of Moonlight as a black metal Omnia, for those familiar with that band of endearing misfits. For black metal there is, though typically in the form of rapid guitar melodies woven through songs. No track is ever overtly blackened or blasting but a pagan black metal vibe is still present. “Faran” makes a powerful opening statement with the use of throat singing and chanting that will have you envisioning naked heathens dancing around a forest bonfire. “Existent No More” is thunderous, riddled with mouth harp and speedy melody as a backdrop to the steady middle tempo. "Together, United" starts with flute and strings but becomes fierce, a clarion call to the pagan hordes. The guitar melodies here are at times quite fast, lending a definite black metal feel. One reference that repeatedly comes to mind when listening to SEED is Moonsorrow, with “Follow the Owl” being a prime example of folk-tinged melodies that seem to emulate those Finnish masters and the mouth harp and chanting in the latter parts of “Internal Epilogue” doing the same. Moonspell influences too can be heard in spots, such as in the sweeping keyboard work of “Internal Epilogue” or in the powerful atmosphere of the “The Grand Parcel.” Moss of Moonlight, Moonsorrow, Moonspell ­­ clearly there is a lot of moon madness going on. Then there are totally unexpected moments such as the surging, prog metal keyboard breakdown that occurs near the end of “Cascadia.” That tune also has some amazing melodic blackness shot through it and overall is one of the album’s best. And -- dare I say it -- there are times throughout the album that the warbling guitar melodies bear a passing resemblance to those of the mighty and enigmatic Gods Tower. Despite some of the trappings that ostensibly pigeonhole the band as being from a different era, Moss of Moonlight are incredibly charming and SEED is easy to return to again and again. A friend put it well when he said some of their material is “verging on brilliant” and with more time and experience they could blossom into something even greater.

Alcest and Les Discrets have got to stop releasing albums within the same year. When doing so they are practically guaranteed to occupy two spots in my Top 15. That is because their skill at creating beautiful, moving works of art has become virtually unquestioned. I suppose it is fitting that their releases parallel one another for the bands are really just branches of the same tree, the roots of which are Amesoeurs. Fursy Teyssier, Winterhalter and Neige were all once in Amesoeurs and Winterhalter continues to perform drumming duties for both Alcest and Les Discrets. This whole French gothic black metal/shoegaze scene is so incestuous anyway and there are other associations such as Peste Noire and Phest but I still see Alcest and Les Discrets as the dichotomy. On these latest releases neither band are doing anything new or groundbreaking but boy are they good at what they continue to do. Alcest’s opener “Autre Temps” is dreamy and ethereal, starting with elegant acoustics and moving to a chorus rich with beauty and texture. “Là Où Naissent Les Couleurs Nouvelles” has a harder edge to the initial guitar riffs but melds them with angelic, swooning vocals then delves into harsher territory and brings the first black metal influences. First a vicious scream scrapes across the background, then the instrumentation kicks up to a blackened tempo only to subside into acoustics that bloom with gorgeous melody, culminating in an aching loveliness. The title track has more black metal flourishes with fast melodies woven throughout. The real contrast between these bands is that Alcest maintain a balance of light and dark, barreling through some black metal tempos one moment while sounding bright and lighter than air the next. Actually, even when they accelerate they do so with a gleaming lightness. Les Discrets, much as they did on their last album, choose to enclose their material in a pall of sadness and gloom most of the time. Their “La Traversée” has an excellent melody but more of the kind you might hear from Paradise Lost or some other purveyor of grief. That same track also delves into black metal but when Les Discrets take that approach the result is a somewhat grimmer, meaner beast. “Le Mouvement Perpetuel” is a downtrodden foray into a bleak horizon punctuated by chiming, morose melody. “Ariette Oubliées I: Je Devine à Travers Un Murmure...” is just as gray, maybe more so, but there is unmistakable beauty behind its rainy veil and the final two minutes pull off a nice Anathema approximation. The vocals sung in French really come through here and, perhaps stereotypically, are so fitting for the despondency. “Après l'Ombre” is the pinnacle for me with a spectacular melody that rises out of the gloom, yet is itself so powerfully melancholy that it drags the song into even deeper corners of poignant misery. Back on the Alcest side “Beings of Light” is all speed, purely blackened in pace, yet buoyed by heavenly female vocals floating like disembodied voices from a serene afterlife. “Faiseurs De Mondes” is near perfection, meandering through a tapestry of incredibly textured riffs while introducing harsh vocals, then dropping into a racing assault of wicked melody that is dumbfoundingly epic in tone. The instrumental “Havens” is a mere two minutes in length but summons such a ravishing dreariness as to be an album highlight. For finale “Summer’s Glory” Alcest get downright pleasant with a fanciful track that lets almost all the clouds roll back, the warm sun pouring down, and actually reminds of Type O Negative in those moments when they too sounded “happy.” Somewhat similarly, Les Discrets’ closer “Les Regrets” is a reprise of the intro track “Linceul D'hiver” yet it releases perhaps the first rays of hope to be found on the album, the melody and middle tempo feeling lighter and less burdened but still sad at their core. Les Voyages de L'Âme and Ariettes Oubliées are both rich and impressive works from two bands with very effective formulas. As usual, though, I have to give the upper hand to Alcest as I think their blend of black metal and morose beauty hits the mark with slightly more accuracy; their blade has a keener edge. It was surely a close competition and I loved every minute of the gut-wrenching, heartsick dejection. Alright, I take back what I said; bring on the simultaneous releases. In fact, make them double albums.

Noctourniquet is the album where The Mars Volta get weird. That statement may seem like a strong one about a band that has made weird its modus operandi over five prior full-lengths and their debut EP but within the context of their catalog this album stands out as different. The change becomes immediately clear as “The Whip Hand” starts things off with stuttered, arrhythmic percussion and loud, robotic keyboard blasts. Not exact something to which you can tap your foot but an intriguing introduction nonetheless. “Aegis” is more aligned with previous output but even it has an ambient, shimmery vibe to the verses and thus you start you see a theme emerging. Noctourniquet embraces electronica in a major way, certainly more so than the band ever have before. It is still progressive rock but with less traditional rock. If that does not sound appealing, take heart; there is still plenty of attitude to go around. “Dyslexicon” is brimming with it through the chorus though the song repeatedly uses a vocal style and inflection that is very nearly an exact replica of Blondie’s “Rapture.” I find that a bit troubling because “derivative” is certainly not a word I could have ever leveled at The Mars Volta before but this quibble is a minor one in the context of many other great and strikingly original tracks. “Empty Vessels Make the Loudest Sound” shifts gears and is mellow and dreamy with a mesmerizing refrain. “In Absentia” enters with malicious, muffled synth grinding and bounces around with spacey percussion but the chorus is hazy, ethereal and intoxicating. On the title track Cedric Bixler-Zavala’s voice strains with passion at the end of every verse, burying the intensity needle. There is not a single dud on the entire album but “The Malkin Jewel” best showcases how the band stride down a new and different avenue while still being uniquely them. It has a Tango-like ‘50s rhythm about it with echoey surf guitar harmonics to match. The Mars Volta have always taken liberties with language, fusing two words together to form a new nonsensical word. They have done it throughout their career with “Televators,” “Amputechture” and “Luciforms” being just a few examples. The title of this very album showcases this habit but their plays on words extend beyond album and song titles to create some delightfully odd lyrics as well. In “The Malkin Jewel” they use the trick to insidious and powerful effect with:

"All the traps in the cellar go clickety clack ‘cause you know I always set them for you... And all the rats in the cellar form a vermin of steps yeah you know they’re gonna take me to you..."

Here "vermin" is used as an adjective and certainly in an unorthodox way. More importantly the phrase “a vermin of steps” is provocative and creepy yet totally fitting in context. It is a creative and brilliant use of language to effectively convey emotion and is not that what art is essentially all about? At the time of this writing I was saddened to learn the band had broken up. If Noctourniquet is truly to be their swan song then it stands as another marvelous piece of work in a stellar career. It is not as obviously compelling as earlier works but with time its genius emerges and there is no question that it comes from the always remarkable, forever inimitable, Mars Volta.

I can hardly believe it but five years have passed since Neurosis released Given to the Rising, their last album. At the time I found it somewhat lacking but now I think I just did not appreciate it properly. Youth is solidly behind me at this point yet I cannot help but think of Neurosis as “grown up” music and it took me some time to grow up. With Honor Found in Decay I relish the thoughtfulness and nuance the band bring. “We All Rage in Gold” is a fine opener, particularly for the giant, driving guitars in its final minutes. “At the Well” is even better with a moody and deliberate build that trudges toward synths that sound remarkably like bagpipes shortly after the four-minute mark. Scott Kelly’s voice is wonderfully emotive, straining and cracking at times. For its finale it pummels through the repeated phrase “in a shadow world, in a shadow world,” broken for a time by wavering melody and an entrancing rise/fall of harmonic humming and buzzing. Yet these first two strong tracks are mere introductions to the colossal “My Heart for Deliverance.” A gloomy synth intro is blasted apart by powerful riffs that are chased by shimmering, hazy melodies. The chorus, in so far as Neurosis can ever be said to have a chorus, turns to major chords with full and rich keyboard work resembling a church organ. After settling into near-ambient territory and showing remarkable gentleness and fragility the track explodes with larger-than-life riffs and emotionally stirring melodies that have a definite country feel to them, coupled with something that almost sounds like harmonica or a type of pipe, but is just those chameleon synths again. “Bleeding the Pigs” is mean, even vicious, and not to be trifled with in the slightest. It is also filled with curious electronica that sound like effects from the recent Transformers movies as if some cybernetic villain is behind the track, plotting doom with cold, calculating malice. It sets the tone for another absolute monster of a song, “Casting of the Ages.” The morose, folk-like opening of it is decimated by the biggest riffs yet, massively supercharged doom-like guitars that cause everything around them to tremble. The song never moves beyond a snail’s pace but it is a mammoth piece that resonates with total authority. Few bands can conjure something that simply sounds this BIG. Jason Roeder gives his drum kit a workout to kick off “All is Found...in Time,” rolling across the skins in a total fervor. Then the track shifts down to a slow but purposeful march toward oblivion, culminating in spacey, pulsing synths and coming full circle to another rapid-fire percussive assault. “Raise the Dawn” starts off subdued but ominous and makes good on this portent by slamming through more gigantic, dominating guitar riffage. It is shocking to think and more shocking to say but Neurosis are edging up on 30 years in existence. Some things only come with time and wisdom and the eloquence with which they render their art is virtually unmatched. Even more impressive, they continually push themselves in new and fascinating directions. Here is hoping for 30 more years.

Yet another Cascadian black metal band to shower us in glorious pagan dissonance and primal magnificence but for one minor detail: they are not from Cascadia. Nor are they even from North America. Nor Europe. Their bandcamp page innocently and simplistically describes them as “Four friends from the southern suburbs of Cape Town, South Africa making music together.” That is quite modest and makes them sound (as their photos and videos make them look) like a bunch of young 20-somethings just casually hanging out for fun. But the material of The Writing of Gods in the Sand speaks volumes more and paints these lads as wise and experienced beyond their years. Their sound is emotionally evocative with a riffing style that would make you think they are from the Pacific Northwest, springing from heathen fires with the likes of Skagos or Wolves in the Throne Room. A cracked, bitter vocalization rends the air as “Rubicon (The Fleeting Vessel)” kicks things off and when the guitars come in a second later they attack with blinding speed and astonishing melodies. The track utilizes a stop/start technique for the riffing that sounds hugely epic. “River (Nectar of Earth)” blew my mind on initial listen and still very nearly brings me to my knees every time I hear its opening strains. It harnesses a cosmic pagan power that is utterly spellbinding, the guitar tones beyond sublime. After moving at a slow pace for the first half it snaps into a high speed rhythm but that same amazing guitar work is always there. It is simply a staggering song from start to finish that succeeds in achieving that all-important aspect of truly great black metal: atmosphere. “Utopia (Throne of Earth)” has a more rock ‘n’ roll feel to it but again those mesmerizing guitar riffs elevate it to something more, something on a higher plane of artistry. Still the song proves that Wildernessking know not just how to make your eyes roll back in black metal bliss but how to make you bang your head as well. “Reveal (Nightfall)” also rocks like hell with rolling percussion and flashy, fiery melodic bursts. “Infinity (And the Dream Continues...)” is a diverse closing track with a somber intro, a nice ascension to a rollicking mid tempo, a galloping speed breakout, and of course more great melodies. For all their formidable strengths I still get a sense of youthful enthusiasm from the band rather than polished professionalism. The former has its charms but there is room for them to hone their style and tighten things up a bit. Given the tracks I heard from their follow-up EP that was also released last year they may well be going in that direction already. Wildernessking pour forth enveloping blackness but their future is unquestionably bright.

San Francisco was known in the ‘80s for being the genesis of a thrash metal scene. Testament, Death Angel, Heathen and many more sprang from those shores to define a benchmark sound in the metal world. I have no doubt that the city never stopped birthing many more great artists but as the metal world goes it is once again becoming known for something and that thing is black metal. Weakling set a new standard of what US black metal could be, Ludicra was at the top of their game when they disbanded two years ago, Deafheaven was responsible for one of 2011’s best releases, and it seems like every time I investigate some great new USBM band they are from the San Francisco area. Enter Bosse-de-Nage. This secretive group that rarely play live, with members known only as M., H., B. and D., has virtually created a new subgenre: emo black metal. Now before you go rolling your eyes know that they are not peddling tales of how their girlfriends broke their hearts. No, their lyrics are actually quite curious, introspective and esoteric, and written in a prose style. Not that you will know it by listening as B.’s delivery is a cracked, scathing scream most of the time. Yet musically there is something emo, more accessible, more pop-oriented in their sound. “Cells” is entirely presented with spoken word vocals as are some of “The God Ennui” and a section of “The Arborist” and B.’s gentle voice is similar to that heard in emo circles. Sure that makes certain tracks gray and quietly somber but do not think the band lack intensity when they want it. “Desuetude” in particular could by no means be considered weak or poser. The speed at which it is delivered is at times jaw­dropping, its violent flailing threatening to spin itself to pieces but it is precisely the fact that it does not implode into an indecipherable mess that makes it so appealing. Have no doubt, Bosse-de-Nage have supreme black metal skills. H.’s drumming is of special note, punchy and sharp but tightly controlled with razor precision. In fact my breakthrough moment of realizing III was something special came with a sudden awareness of just how amazing the percussion is. The latter part of “The God Ennui” is but one instance of a phenomenal drumming attack as H. nails every hit with breathtaking accuracy, slipping in snare rolls so effortlessly and quickly that you barely realize they are there. His work on “The Arborist” is absolutely dizzying, nearly impossible to believe. Throughout the album he elevates what is already impressive musicianship to the level of true prodigy. “An Ideal Ledge” has more of the aforementioned emo quality in its early stages but its finale, which is also the album’s, spends several minutes setting off massive, resonating detonations of drums and guitars that radiate with glorious feedback, punctuated by agonized cries from B. Bosse-de-Nage play an unusual style of black metal that sets them apart. To make a bizarre analogy I might call them Weakling by way of Underoath. Whatever you want to call them, their professionalism and musical abilities are nothing but exceptional.

Another US west coast black metal band is proving just how devastatingly effective that scene continues to be. Cold of Ages undoubtedly draws comparisons to one of the progenitors of the movement, Wolves in the Throne Room, and has specific parallels to WITTR’s debut, Diadem of 12 Stars. Namely, both albums have four tracks and all tracks are well over ten minutes in length with one stretching to a whopping 18:09. And of course both bands traffic in a glorious, fevered blackness before which any fan of the genre will fall down in worship. Yet this album is not really imitation and there are differences as well. WITTR always have a way of letting a certain pagan majesty shine through and while there are shades of that in Ash Borer their style is more grim, biting and frigid. More importantly they make this approach work to their utmost advantage. As opener “Descended Lamentations” moves past its keyboard-driven prologue the merciless attack that ensues is Burzum-esque in its buzzing intensity. Only when furious melodies arise from this icy landscape is a tinge of warmth added. About ten minutes in it downshifts to shimmering, echoing riffs what definitely do remind of WITTR only to resume a churning maelstrom of frenzied darkness. “Phantoms” is similarly wicked, dazzling with speed and melody until the final three minutes of ambient creepiness. It segues into “Convict All Flesh,” the aforementioned longest track. It has a languid, atmospheric intro that is particularly akin to WITTR then transitions to a chorus of ethereal female voices, ultimately giving way to a frenzy of speed-drenched obsidian bliss. “Removed Forms” likewise opens with several minutes of echoing, lonely guitar before becoming tense and unleashing a battery of seething, melodic wrath that is awesome to behold. Later it repeats the exercise, this time with slow and melancholy melody overtaken by more scathing extremity. The melodies that follow are sublime and in the midst of the furor a high female croon pierces the murk to spectacular effect. Cold of Ages is not so much new or groundbreaking, not delivering anything unfamiliar to those that follow USBM, but the skill behind it is of the very highest caliber. Ash Borer are a dark and lethal force, unflinching ice warriors ironically operating within the sunny confines of Arcadia, California. Their art is so supreme that they do not require frozen windswept peaks or damp forests to achieve their vision. Rather they effortlessly inspire a blackened pagan utopia in the listener, transcending the physical and spiritual realms with exhilarating power.

Bell Witch are Dylan Desmond (vocals and bass) and Adrian Guerra (vocals and drums). That is all -- no third member, no six-string guitar. As only a duo they still manage to create some of the heaviest, most smothering doom metal to be heard. In the interest of full disclosure I should state that music of this nature is by no means guaranteed a spot on my list. I often find the plodding, trudging style of doom to be quite dull after the first favorable impression of heaviness. So it was initially with Longing and at one point I had actually written it off as something unlikely to make this list. It was evident that there was more going on than found on a typical doom album but still -- “Bails (of Flesh)” is over 20 minutes long and it is only the first track! Moreover, it often moves at a snail’s pace with monstrously guttural vocals that bulldoze over your eardrums. Yet there is a lonely melody that pervades the track and adds interest. About eight minutes in it morphs out of doom metal completely and remains just as somber while sounding more like True Widow or a lighter Slow Horse or even Spain. In other words it starts to come off as distinctly shoegaze. Vocals are no longer an avalanche of boulders but a gentle stream, sung in an even monastic style. Near the end pure doom returns and so does the avalanche, burying the sonic landscape in rubble. "Rows (of Endless Waves)" immediately brings the devastating crush, adding some higher-pitched screams for variation but before long is back in mellow territory. Here it becomes not just gentler but beautiful and even fragile, the vocals melancholy and vulnerable, occasionally descending into whispers. Lulled into slackjawed awe you are once again beset upon by furious doom before the track moves into its final moments of measured clean singing that also brings Slow Horse to mind. The wondrous journey this track takes over thirteen minutes and its potency throughout cannot be overstated. "Longing (the River of Ash)" is a nice blend of doomgaze, feeling bombastic and powerful while not being as heavy as other tracks and here the vocals are even more like monks chanting in some medieval cathedral. For all the album's moments of volume and sheer force they are upstaged by what is essentially an instrumental. "Beneath the Mask" is nothing but bass guitar and no vocals but rather parts of the 1964 film The Masque of the Red Death with Vincent Price. Rarely does one hear samples used quite so expertly and rarely does one hear a bass guitar played this way. Instead of being a percussive anchor it is the star, its tones deeply melancholy yet incredibly beautiful like a dying star in the inky blackness of space. Its aura, combined with that from the film snippets, conjure absolute dread, hopelessness and despair. “Beneath the Mask” is incredible and despite its simplicity it is quite possibly the Song of the Year. The band appreciate it so much that they essentially repeat it in "Outro" to finish the album but this time without the film samples and more than two minutes shorter. That suits me fine as I could listen to those bass tones for hours. But in between is one more epic doom track entitled "I Wait." It offers more of that at which Bell Witch excel, monastic/thunderous/acidic vocals over a slow crawl, wound through with a great melody. Longing is remarkable not for its moments of epic doom, which are impressive in their own right, but for everything it does to contrast those moments. It is the play between them that marks it as one of the year's most spectacular releases.

The first time I heard Adrift for Days they really threw me for a loop. I was casually spinning a copy of Come Midnight... while busy with other things and my first thought was “Why is this album so QUIET?” I am a big fan of dynamics, mixing quiet and loud passages well to achieve a successful whole but here the balance seemed way off. Half the time it seemed I could not even hear the damn thing. Yet this aspect was enough to intrigue me and pull me back in for a second listen and there was something compelling about it that made me order a copy. It was not long before I was incredibly thankful for making that decision. After a slow and doom-ridden intro with an Acid Bath-styled vocal punishment the three­pronged attack of "A Premonition/Void/The Aftermath" shifts down into a fat guitar tone that sounds like a revving Harley­Davidson. It also has a great blues rhythm further enhanced by gritty vocals very much like Neil Fallon's of Clutch. By song’s end it throws down the gauntlet and induces subsonic intensity that could grind mountains to dust. "Gravity Well" is a good example of that quiet I mentioned. It spends almost precisely its first half in a slow and somber approach with vocals that walk the line between Dax Riggs and Neil Fallon but when it finally bursts forth it pours every ounce of vehemence into the attack. The guitar riffs sound huge, distorted and crunchy, as urgent as vocalist Mick Kaslik’s cries. As well as any other this track cuts to the heart of what makes Adrift for Days’ music so great: they sound like they really, REALLY mean it. You cannot honestly say that about many bands in a studio setting and this kind of sincerity and conviction cannot be faked. “House of Cards” again spends several minutes in a slow, reserved build with dual vocal tracks, one quiet and one distant and echoey, and yet more Acid Bath parallels. And once again when it brings the hammer down the assault is breathtaking. The chords are low, way low, and seem all the louder for the quiet that precedes them. They rattle the speakers, rattle your skull, rattle the very earth with their quaking roar. And then...near­silence resumes. Over and over again the band play this game throughout the album, the lulling into peace and calm, the bludgeoning of volume and pulverizing force. By its end “House of Cards” sounds even heavier, impossibly heavy, while deep and clean vocals are overlaid with harsh and shrieking ones in the background to amazing effect. The pealing guitar melody is dripping with blues-laden passion. After the brief (a relative term in Adrift for Days’ world) interlude of the solemn “The Stonebreaker” the band deliver my favorite track of all, “Back of the Beyond.” The craftsmanship of this song almost stymies my ability to describe it. It opens with Spanish guitar and carefully lays down each note, every guitar strum, every drum beat from there to build and build. Vocals are pure Clutch, like Neil Fallon gifted by a muse to sing his heart out until the song reaches full volume and then the spirit of Dax Riggs merges in to take things to a new feverish level. Of course the band cannot help but utilize more dynamics, settling back into a quiet section as they near the end of track and pouring on more bluesy, soulful goodness. Truly this song is an aural wonder of special magnificence such as only comes along once in a great while. As if their ability to bring the heavy were not already firmly established they save the atom bomb of their arsenal for the end. To call finale “Eyes Look Down from Above” a behemoth is an understatement. It is shockingly loaded with low end, with a rumbling that is surely a harbinger of the end times. Par for the course, nearly the first four minutes are of quiet construction, culminating in the phrase “Dispose the contaminated into the sea” sung repeatedly. Over a journey of nineteen-and-a-half minutes this enormous song trudges across a sonic landscape reducing everything in its path to smoking rubble. It marks its end, and the end of this momentous collection of songs, with nuclear detonations of riffs, oh so slowly unfolding and roaring out of the abyss randomly and unpredictably. Come Midnight... is a new animal, an intoxicating blend of fuzzed-out doom and blues never before worshipped by my ears. And the final kicker? The band is not even signed to a proper label, instead being distributed by what appears to be guitarist Lachlan Dale’s own label, Art as Catharsis. Maybe that is by choice but if not then some label reps need to step up and sign Adrift for Days to a multi­album deal with a huge bonus up front. They are worth their weight in gold and then some.

I wonder if Anathema are even aware that they now write hit Broadway musicals. Or at least that is what they may as well be doing. When reviewing their 2010 release We’re Here Because We’re Here I could not help but compare it to songs from the television show Glee, as uplifting and harmonious as that recording was. On Weather Systems Anathema do not just see that bet, they unabashedly raise it tenfold. As the beautiful acoustic guitar opens “Untouchable, Part 1” the stage curtains are drawn back and we begin a journey that feels very much like a dramatic tale. The song makes for a perfect intro -- energetic, passionate and rocking. “...Part 2” slows it down, using the same chorus but this time set to piano and introducing the wonderful Lee Douglas and her dulcet tones. “The Gathering of the Clouds” is rapid and urgent with frenetic string arrangements zipping up and down its spine as background vocals are impeccably overlapped with those in the foreground. “Lightning Song” is so inspirational as to almost be nauseating yet just like similar moments on We’re Here... it still comes off as genuine and riveting. “The Storm Before the Calm” is a turning point in the album and begins a shift toward a darker feel. Its vibe is ominous with lots of synth and the repeated phrase “It’s getting colder...until I can’t feel anything at all” eventually drowning in a wash of what might best be described as an electronic howling wind. Quiet ensues then acoustic guitar and airy vocals emerge, then orchestral swells rise beneath the finale. The track has both storm and calm within itself but it is all a lead­up to the real powerhouse, the crowning jewel of the album entitled “The Beginning and the End.” Here we leave behind the trappings of musical theater and show choir competitions and hear what Anathema do best: craft monumental, epic tracks with emotional weight that belie their seeming simplicity. Its brooding minor piano chords are very nearly Tori Amos-like and Vincent Cavanaugh’s voice shines with clarity while being both lovely and urgent, straining at emotional bonds. The song slowly builds with tension and then explodes in wailing, gut-wrenching torment all while sounding fully in control. The genius of this track is that to the average ear it might seem reserved, even subdued, but its sequence is constructed so well that when bigger guitar chords hit they do not just seem bigger, they seem impossibly gargantuan. They coincide with the culmination of the vocals’ feverish pleading and together are so electrically charged that they sizzle. This song is the stuff of legend, of arena rock at its most potent, of a Pink Floydian, progressive, blues-laden rollercoaster that you talk about years later as a “Remember when we saw that song live...?” Yet here it was captured in a studio, immortalized forever. After this stunning experience “The Lost Child” seems especially restrained even though it is truly the darkest and quietest track on the album. In its way it is classic Anathema, sounding very much like the later tracks on Judgement. Finally we arrive at “Internal Landscapes,” the fitting denouement of this stellar trip. The track opens with a recording from 1981 of a man named Joe Geraci recounting what he believed to be the experience of dying. The message is beautiful, mentioning “bright light” as so many of these accounts do but taking it further by saying not just that he saw the light or felt it, but that he “was peace...was love...was the brightness.” It speaks to an idea of eternity, of the Great Cycle to which we are all linked, to which we will always return and where some part of us always remains. Vincent’s and Lee’s vocal exchange is perfection and as the number builds to crescendo we are back on that stage, the full ensemble giving their all for the final performance; as Vincent belts out “I was always there, and I will always be there,” repeating a phrase from Mr. Geraci’s own words, it is the massive finale that overwhelms the senses before the curtain falls and you jump to your feet, applauding wildly in stunned amazement. Seriously, Vincent and Danny, give Stephen Sondheim and Andrew Lloyd Webber a call. There may be a Tony in it for you.