I am embarrassed to admit that it took me until 2014 to explore and embrace these post-rock stalwarts. Releasing material since 1996, Mogwai have what I would still describe as a cult following, but it’s no small cult.

The name perhaps offers a hint, but this album is less post-rock and more electronica. It’s not techno, nor anywhere close to that, but there are pervasive elements of electronic music dominating these tracks. Traditional drums, bass and guitar still anchor many of the compositions but keyboards and synths play a huge part. Whether it’s the buzzes and robotic moans of “Simon Ferocious,” the rising and falling synth croons of “Repelish,” or the murky gray keys and animatronic grunts of “Deesh,” many of these tracks seem driven and defined by the electronic elements. Yet that is not to say they are a distraction or fail to be used effectively.

“Heard About You Last Night” is a fine example. It’s a song with electronics all the way through, but seems equal parts guitar, drums and chiming keyboard on what I will call the verses, despite being instrumental. But then it alternately turns much darker and the keyboards turn utterly ethereal. “Remurdered,” too, is an enjoyable track for its initial portion, smacking of a Depeche Mode remix, but really hits its stride when the electronics become a grinding throb and lend genuine heaviness to the proceedings.

Mogwai are also not without a sense of (sometimes dark) humor. Previous song titles includes such quirks as “A Cheery Wave from Stranded Youngsters,” “I’m Jim Morrison, I’m Dead,” and “I Love You, I’m Going to Blow Up Your School;” and their last album was called Hardcore Will Never Die, But You Will. Which is just about the greatest album title ever. On Rave Tapes one such twisted amusement comes in the form of “Repelish,” which features spoken word attributed to one Reverend Lee Cohen, a reported friend of the band. Cohen delivers the classic rant against “rock singers” that we’ve heard a million times, that when you play some records in reverse they reveal Satanic messages. The specific target here is Led Zeppelin’s iconic “Stairway to Heaven,” purported to contain such subliminal messages as “We gotta live for Satan.” Whether Cohen is sincere or satirical is unclear, but he captures the essence of lunatic Christian fundamentalism perfectly. His tone is dripping with self-­righteousness and more than a little vehemence. I find it hysterically funny while the song as a whole is strangely moving.

While this album is chock full of choice bits, it ascends to amazing new levels with the final trio of songs. “Blues Hour” is that rare Mogwai track that actually features vocals, and lovely soulful ones at that. This song is palpably dark, the gloomiest of the record, yet so exquisitely airy and beautiful at the same time. Piano is the centerpiece, but at one point the track grows sublimely lush with what could almost be described as black metal tremolo picking awash in a sea of white distortion. This piece is just stunning and possibly my favorite, but “No Medicine for Regret” and “The Lord is Out of Control” vie for that title. “...Regret” has this incredible trilling synth at its core, producing incredibly evocative harmonic vibrations moving through a melancholy melody. Plus I just adore the title of the song, as it so succinctly sums up the feeling of powerlessness in the face of lament. “The Lord is Out of Control” is divinely haunting, again featuring vocals, but this time the singing is heavily masked and synthesized, rendering the words unintelligible. The effect, however, can most certainly be felt.

Due to the opportunity to see Mogwai live in concert, I didn’t just tackle Rave Tapes last year, I embraced their entire catalog. Or at least as much as I could readily get my hands on. They’ve put out some fantastic material and Rave Tapes sits proudly among it. I’m fully ensnared and looking forward to more.

‘Twas sad in 2007 when Finnish doom gods Reverend Bizarre knowingly released their final full length to the world and called it quits. Yet their spirit lives on in this unlikely duo from Rhode Island. The album title gives it away, obviously, but Void Worship is their second release, yet they were completely unfamiliar to me. To make matters worse I initially thought they might be The Pilgrim, a completely different (yet also very cool) band from Baltimore that I also first learned of last year. Having sorted all that out, mine ears were delighted to hear molasses­-paced doom pouring forth from the CD player when I first checked out this album. Furthermore, The Wizard’s vocals really are a striking approximation of Albert Witchfinder’s from Reverend Bizarre. The similarity of Pilgrim to the Reverend is thus uncanny.

One complaint that has been leveled against this release is that, of the eight songs here, four are instrumentals. I agree that this may be less-­than­-ideal bang for the buck, but it does not affect the flow of the album for me nor make it seem like it is hollow or lacking. I think that is simply because of the strength of the other tracks. “Master’s Chamber,” for example, moves at a sodden trod, positively shaking with doom supremacy. Near the end it kicks out some jams that are by no means speedy, but by comparison rock out pretty hard. “The Paladin,” on the other hand, is the fastest track on the album with a shuffling groove more aligned with The Obsessed or classic Trouble. Of the instrumentals, “In the Presence of Evil” is my favorite due to some cool riffing in the higher range with great harmonic resonation, coupled with gut­punching, chugging riffs like mini detonations in their own right.

The title track is another juggernaut, a doomed snake slithering out of the abyss and coiling itself around your eardrums to mercilessly suffocate them. This song especially could have been lifted from a Reverend Bizarre album, so similar are the pace, vibe, and thunderous devastation. Still, my absolute favorite tune comes at the end with the brilliant “Away from Here.” Not only is it another soul­crushing dirge, but The Wizard’s vocals are especially poignant, reaching a new emotional peak on every chorus.

Ultimately the joy of Void Worship is not that it is new or groundbreaking, but that it is just the opposite. It seethes and foams with rabid doom mastery, the enormous riffs sagging with elephantine weight. The low­frequency hum is pure delight. That a new minister to the masses has stepped forth in the absence of the bizarre reverend pleases me to no end.

I was fortunate enough to see this band open for Pallbearer near the end of the year and they played an amazing set. I picked up this album at the show and after some time to dig into it I’m even more impressed.

Mortals are an all-female three-piece from Brooklyn, New York and Cursed to the See the Future is actually their second album. I was completely unaware of them and evidently they started out playing a form of metallic punk. These days they march to a brutal style of bleak, sludgy black metal, yet knowing a bit about their history, the links to their past are evident. A rollicking, High on Fire­-esque punk ethos pushes these songs forward with determined, furious momentum. There is also a pervasive Ludicra element to many of these tracks and that too is no bad thing. There’s just a raw urgency about their sound that is so, so compelling. But my favorite aspect of this album is how each track finds at least one section to rock the fuck out. In opener “View from a Tower” it happens when, after hurtling along through some neck­snapping black metal, the last two minutes of the track lock into an almighty sonic groove that quite simply slays.

“Epochryphal Gloom” enters the room at a doomed trudge with huge bass chords, and when it brings the black it does so with a Darkthrone-­style punk assault. Caryn Havlik’s mastery of the drum kit is fantastic to behold as she mercilessly beats the skins to a pulp on the rocking sections and flays them within an inch of their life on the blackened ones. “The Summoning” brings one of the album’s greatest moments as it bashes out some punishment, hangs on a fading guitar chord for a moment, then plucks out some amazing, smoky guitar notes that grow and build and pick up speed until the song once again slams down the pedal and accelerates back to blackened mayhem.

Of all the tracks here, “Devilspell” is probably the one most rooted in black metal and it is absolutely vicious, but it too slows down for some mid­paced sludge before again kicking in skulls during its final moments. The riffing in “Series of Decay” is delightfully Cascadian at times, relentlessly grimy and murderous at others, and downright thrashy at still others. It transitions seamlessly into monstrous doom finale “Anchored in Time,” its massive riffs shuddering and collapsing into the abyss. Every one of these six songs, half of which are each over nine minutes in length, delivers the goods.

Not so long ago I was researching a female-fronted black metal band and it was alarming and disgusting to see how much blatant misogyny and ignorance exist among some metal fans. They were instantly dismissive at the very notion of a woman in black metal. Well Mortals are here to offer a big Fuck You, shitheads. They should not be dismissed, and woe to those who even try.

There seem to be no band hotter in metal circles right now than Pallbearer. This damn record has been an absolute critical darling and if you read other annual lists (all of which were available before this tardy one) then you’ve surely seen it somewhere. I am naturally averse to that kind of hype and it makes me want to like an album less, or even be less likely to explore it in the first place. But this story really begins with Pallbearer’s 2012 debut Sorrow and Extinction because I was very late to the game on that, only paying attention the following year and then realizing I had missed out on something great. So when F​oundations...​came along I eagerly snapped it up, seeing the hype build and build in the following months.

Then as fate would have it, the opportunity arose to see the band live in December. Thus I was prompted to do a deep dive not just into this record, but also the first, and approach both for the first time simultaneously, something not often done. And in the end, hype or no hype, there was no denying that I found myself falling in love with this group. I think anything “popular” (most certainly a relative term in metal) will always cause schism and controversy, but at least for me I quickly landed on the side of adoration.

So to the uninitiated, Pallbearer are a doom metal band. They are nothing more and nothing less. Again I think “popularity” informs a certain audience to be distrustful and assume there is some yearning for commercialism from a band meeting with success, but I see none of that in Pallbearer. They are not trying to be different and appeal to the masses, nor are they stubbornly sticking to some tired formula. I really believe they simply write, play and sing what they feel.

Brett Campbell’s voice is very much akin to Jason’s of Solace, and the higher pitch might also bring to mind a bit of Trouble as well. More importantly, his delivery is emotive, sincere, and fits well with the doomtrodden misery on display here. On that note, Pallbearer’s brand of doom is by no means the darkest and dreariest out there. Not by a long shot. But neither is it at all “happy,” which is one bizarre criticism I’ve seen. Good doom metal should crush you, emotionally or sonically or preferably both, and these guys have the very real chops to deliver that blow.

Take opener “Worlds Apart;” it’s a fine enough song, opening with Trouble­like guitar melody and supplying a moody catchiness, Campbell’s semi­-wail setting a bleak tone. It goes on that way, slowing to a near crawl for what passes as a chorus, and settling into an atmospheric trudge around the halfway mark. After kicking into a nice groove it shifts down hard to a slothy pace and suddenly you realize it got heavier ­­ WAY heavier. In fact the end of this track is gloriously devastating, relentlessly punishing, and still amazes me every time I hear it.

“Foundations” is lighter in tone but engaging nonetheless, with evocative riffs and a sense of wistful longing and loss. It segues seamlessly into “Watcher in the Dark,” so much so that “Watcher...” seems to be the second act or conclusion of “Foundations.” This trick gives the impression of the album being a holistic journey rather than segregated songs, something I always appreciate. I also appreciate the mountainous doom riffs that “Watcher...” brings, coupled with Campbell’s impassioned cries and the somber chorus graced by ringing guitars. Surpassing both of these solid tracks, however, is the fantastic “The Ghost I Used to Be.” This song’s power is in the central opening riff with its expressive chord changes, repeated over and over again but always sounding epic. Later we find some lovely, lonely guitar shimmering with reverb before the song subsides into a slow, pensive epilogue.

As much as Pallbearer wear their doomed hearts on their sleeves, “Ashes” is the song where they do go to new places and only for the better. A quiet, keyboard­-dominated track, its sadness and fragility are remarkable to behold. In its short, roughly three­-minute running time it manages to be the emotional atom bomb at the heart of this record.

For the finale we receive the enormous, plodding “Vanished,” the album’s longest track. Campbell really delivers here, sounding as animated as he gets, but the real gold comes as the track enters its second half with melodies and rhythmic inflection that sound very much like mid­’90s Anathema, a doom heaven for yours truly. It is rounded out by a haunting ending that slowly fades and dissipates, leaving a murky gray in its wake.

Make no mistake ­­ Pallbearer are very, very good at what they do. They aren’t blowing the doom genre wide open, they aren’t competing for the heaviest riffs, and they certainly aren’t selling out. They love their Black Sabbath and seek to crystallize their own vision of gloom, mourning and some kick­ass heavy metal. At that they succeed admirably.

Strange as it may sound, YOB have been a band that I have “force fed” myself for years. I got into them with their sophomore release, Catharsis, back in 2003. And referring back to my review of it (it ranked a healthy number ten on my list), I was clearly quite enamored. Then the band released two more albums the following two years, then one another four years after that. I acquired them out of some warped sense of loyalty but I don’t think I could even tell you anything about them now. They ended up being faceless white noise in my musical universe.

Clearing the Path to Ascend could not possibly be subjected to the same fate. It did take a long, long (frustratingly long) time to click with me though. I think that may just be the nature of YOB. When a band routinely submit songs that are 15­-20 minutes in length, it ain’t gonna be easy listening. But I can tell you that if you persist, tremendous rewards await.

“In Our Blood” is a shuddering behemoth of a track, particularly when Mike Scheidt’s vocals go from his distinct nasal whine to a death bellow. YOB are a doom band and they know how to doom it up, but the twist on this release is that they introduce a hefty chunk of Neurosis-­style atmosphere into the mix. It is as if their presence on Neurot Recordings, Neurosis’ own label, worked by osmosis to influence them with that characteristic sound. Likewise, “Nothing to Win” exudes this same quality but the main riffing takes a sort of slowed­-down black metal approach. Very cool, but the true greatness of the track lies in its last few minutes when thick bass chords lead into massive riffs that swing to a punishing groove. “Unmask the Spectre” is a languid serpent, slithering through a hallucinogen haze for much of the first half, which makes its bombastic explosions all the more astonishing and mercilessly heavy when they come. This exercise is repeated to a lesser extent in the latter portions of the track, but as it draws near the end there’s a fantastic harmonic fuzz hovering over it.

Finally we come to the monumental “Marrow.” Quite frankly, this track makes the album for me. Had the entire record sounded like this song, it would have ranked in the top five. Easily. Despite my initial difficulty in sifting through these gargantuan tunes, it was immediately evident that this song is special, and it only got better from there. What’s interesting about it is that, as much as I favor minor chords over major ones, this song features many of the latter. It is a strange dichotomy of light and dark, of flying free and being crushed under suffocating weight. Roughly past the midway mark it goes quiet, as achingly lovely guitar drenched in reverb rises up. A clean, soft vocal emerges. A short guitar solo with a vague alt­-country twang ensues. And then the universe is opened wide, all the power of stars, planets and meteors roaring through the gaping maw of eternity. The riffs ­­ oh god those riffs ­­ are so enormous, so rich, so charged with brilliance and warmth. One is lifted up, borne upon rays of light and carried into infinite bliss. Words cannot do justice to the magic of this song.

With YOB’s impending appearance at Maryland Deathfest in 2015, I will be studying up on their back catalog. I am sure I will find and rediscover treasures but I suspect in the end I will determine that not only is Clearing the Path to Ascend their strongest release since Catharsis, it is the strongest of their career. Monstrously heavy and deeply evocative, it is well worth the time it may take to appreciate it.

Last year I proclaimed that Windhand’s crushing Soma was the successor to Electric Wizard’s Dopethrone. It was a bold statement but one I truly believed at the time. Oh, how naive. How very 2013. I mean, that was forever ago, right?

Sweden’s Monolord have taken my statement and made it seem deliriously misguided. Nothing against Windhand (I saw them live three times in 2014 and they killed every time), but Monolord are on a different frequency altogether, and that frequency is LOW. Intestine­-rumbling low. Yet it took some time for the insane amp destruction to set in, maybe because I just refused to believe it. Upon first listen the heaviness didn’t blow me away on the first track. Then by the second I was starting to get wowed. By the third my jaw was inching farther toward the floor with every note. Speaking of that track, “Harbinger of Death,” it is the most ‘Wizard-­like of all the tracks here, its slow-­but­-groovy rhythm swinging back and forth, shaking its hips while every structure around it crumbles to dust.

The trick in achieving this degree of seismic devastation is not just tuning low and playing gargantuan riffs. It’s all about the distortion. There is a gorgeously filthy coating of crackling muck covering these riffs that really put the sound over the top. “Harbinger...” excels in that area but so does the massive “Icon” that follows it. The genius of “Icon,” however, is that it alternates between sections where there is only a guitar, and sections where bass and drums bring the shuddering low end. This back-­and-­forth effect works wonders in making those full, heavy sections that much heavier. So much so, in fact, that the song seems to gain potency as it goes on.

“Watchers of the Waste,” though, is almost indescribably heavy at times. Its languid pace makes it seep into you for the first four minutes, and then it shifts (and I mean it literally sounds as if shifts down a gear, like a 1500cc Harley Davidson dropping into low and vibrating the air around it). The pace thickens even more and the riffs form a smothering wall of smoke and haze that gag and choke, allowing no escape. It would be terrifying if it weren’t so supremely satisfying.

When revisiting the earlier parts of the album it quickly became evident that the title track hits like an atomic warhead, with riffs that drone out all sense, reason and decency, while “Audhumbla” is a lumbering behemoth, trudging across the earth with relentless kiloton steps and gurgling bass oozing up from a hellish swamp. I also love that its title seems to be a combination of the words “audio” and “humbling,” the latter of which it most certainly is.

Monolord have done what I was not sure could be done. They have rivaled the mind-­searing crush of what I have long believed is the heaviest album ever recorded. I am left gasping in the wake. Ascend, ‘lord, to the Dopethrone. You have staked your rightful claim to it.

Agalloch are firmly established as leaders in pagan black metal and are undoubtedly a seminal band in the genre. While The Serpent & the Sphere certainly does not shake them loose from their eminent position, it is as once a different beast.

Where predecessor Marrow of the Spirit’s first proper song “Into the Painted Grey” defied both gravity and belief with its hyperspeed blackened onslaught, The Serpent... delivers quite the polar opposite. “Birth and Death and the Pillars of Creation” begins with solemn guitar strumming akin to something that might have been on The Mantle. From there it grows more powerful but remains slow, thoughtful, almost doomy, and required many listens to reveal itself to me. Yet it is quite engrossing once its subtlety is appreciated. It is followed by the lovely and melancholy “(serpens caput).” The first of three excellent acoustic instrumentals contributed by Nathanaël Larochette of Musk Ox, it is a fine soundtrack to distant stars twinkling in the inky black loneliness of space.

Finally true black metal rears up with the excellent “The Astral Dialogue,” a track that is just pure and classic Agalloch, the main riff and melody spilling pagan grandeur across the cosmos. Here it becomes apparent just how integral former Ludicra drummer Aesop Dekker has become to the band. His playing is tight and, rather than just being background rhythm, buoys the other instrumentation with an unfaltering percussive foundation. His booming toms, artful double ­bass rolls, and effortless fills are absolutely riveting.

“Dark Matter Gods” is slightly surprising, bringing a post­-rock element, though it shares that somewhat in common with material from Ashes Against the Grain. It makes a mark all its own, however, and of all the tracks here it rocks the hardest, the chorus just begging for a crowd to shout out the words. Even after countless listens it has a certain mysterious yet incredibly engaging element about it that makes it seem fresh.

“Celestial Effigy” is textbook Agalloch, calling back to Pale Folklorebut with a modernized edge. Here again, Dekker’s drumming is an aural wonder and I love Don Anderson’s or John Haughm’s playful slides down their guitar necks. “Cor Serpentis (the sphere)” is part two of the acoustic trilogy mentioned above, and it is faster than the first but just as beautifully played. “Vales Beyond Dimension,” unfortunately, remains a track that seems closed and somewhat ineffectual to me. It is not at all bad, but it seems to meander and never really hold my attention.

Conversely, “Plateau of the Ages” was an immediate frontrunner for my favorite song and it remains so now. Instrumentals rarely claim that distinction but this one is among the finest the band have ever crafted. Gloriously epic in scope, both explosively powerful and hypnotically seductive, it is nothing short of stellar. In the first third of the song the build­up is hugely portentous, and with good reason as the riffs that follow are enormous and awe­-inspiring, radiating out in waves, while the melody stirs the soul. In the next third a high, tremulous melody calls from the darkness, then is dwarfed by even bigger riffs, wholly devastating, as the melody morphs into an icy spear of black metal tremolo with spine­tingling effect. The final third kicks into a driving, rocking section in the vein of Ashes Against the Grain, with a glossy, hypnotic sheen of more tremolo riffing on top. The song runs nearly 12 1⁄2 minutes and every second of it is pure gold. It would be a shame to detract from the high of this song, and indeed the only remaining track after it is “(serpens cauda),” part three of the acoustic triumvirate. It is appropriately sparse, with an air of finality.

Agalloch have been one of my favorite bands for going on 15 years and in 2014 I went from having never seen them live to seeing them twice within a month. They were stunning, and the second show in particular was one of the greatest shows I have ever seen. They are consummate musicians, flawless performers, and they ply their craft with wit and passion. In the context of their sublime catalog, The Serpent & the Sphere is a lesser album but that isn’t saying much about a band of this caliber. My faith in them remains unshaken.

Winterfylleth is the Old English word for October. Winter...falleth ­­ get it? These ancient English forebears named that month for a time when things turned darker and colder and signaled the changing of seasons. As fitting band names go, this one is spot­ on. These Brits write spectacular pagan black metal, bringing a frigid winter upon us all.

Stylistically they lie somewhere between fellow countrymen Fen and the potent emotive territory of Cascadian black metal. “Whisper of the Elements,” for example, brings some Wolves in the Throne Room badassery in a glorious churning storm of riffs and melodies. Categorizations and likenesses aside, what make Winterfylleth special is the sheer power of their songs. They are a fist-­in-­the-­air, raging-­on-­mountaintops sort of classic metal band. Not in a power metal way, but in how they summon the spirit of the wilderness, condense it to musical notes, and fire it through the center of your brain like a bolt of lightning.

They explore the folksy side of the forest too, not just its deep, dark core. “A Careworn Heart" is all monk-­like chanting and acoustic strumming for its first 90 seconds or so, then strides with a middle pace accompanied by booming, cavernous percussion. So too with the gorgeous instrumental “The World Ahead,” or near-­instrumental as it once again has some clean vocalizations, but not in the form of words. The single and then dual acoustic guitar strumming is nothing if not enchanting.

“Foundations of Ash,” on the other hand, pours on the obsidian menace and is the most vicious track here, though the bright and uplifting melodies act as a foil to the savagery. “Over Borderlands” is more Fen-­like in its gleaming ebony riffing and triumphant-­yet-­gloomy melodies, and along with the aforementioned “Whisper of the Elements,” these tracks deliver the strongest songs of the entire affair.

If you’re into this style of metal or this particular charcoal shade of black metal, you won’t hear anything from Winterfylleth you haven’t heard before. But you will hear a stupendous collection of inspiring, electrifying black metal done with precision and total class. I’ll take that in October or any other month of the year.

Cormorant are the most professional band you’ve never heard of. They’ve been putting out self-­released albums since 2007 and, rather than going for the low-­hanging fruit of digital-­only releases, every recording can be obtained on CD. And not just CDs but carefully crafted digipaks with great artwork, full booklets with liner notes, the whole shebang. They’re easily obtainable directly through the band.

Of course slick packaging with glossy art don’t mean a damn thing if what comes out of the speakers isn’t worthy. But oh my how it is. Cormorant traffic in a breathtaking style of progressive black metal that showcases an amazing level of musicianship, as well as the ability to just write killer riffs. As one might expect from a fusion of prog and black metal, the material can be as cerebral as it is punishing. The elegant and ornate instrumental intro “Eris,” with its rather Spanish­-style guitar, is a tasty appetizer for what is to follow. Every track brings something particularly enjoyable but the first moment of awestruck wonder descends when “Sold as a Crow” explodes into black metal fury, then delivers stop/start assaults with deadly precision. The band transition from turbulent speed to classy progressive guitar solos seamlessly and in a way I can’t say I’ve heard anyone else do it. “Waking Sleep” delivers much of the same but with some overt mid­-period Opeth stylings, especially during the clean vocal passages. It also pours on the prog quite thick before once again foaming over in a maelstrom of blackened madness and fabulous melodic riffing.

Even in an album that moves from strength to strength, “The Pythia” is a mindboggling standout track. It first tantalizes with a slithering, swinging prog rhythm, then it sets up a killer bass line and rocking drum beat before erupting into an insanely irresistible slamming groove, coupled with amazing blackened melodies. I cannot recall hearing a song that so brilliantly fuses classic black atmosphere with balls­-out ROCK. It’s so infectious and powerful as to compel one to break into spontaneous bursts of air guitar and jump around the room. If this isn’t Song of the Year, then that section is at the very least Segment of the Year. It’s just ridiculously good; most bands would be lucky to write something that catchy in their entire careers.

Coming off the adrenaline high of the “The Pythia,” the first couple minutes of “Broken Circle” sound especially chill and languid, though quite beautiful. Nevertheless, the track works up to cyclone speed and again delivers the dazzling dance of prog and black metal interchanges, clean vocals traded with harsh rasps. The recurring melody line throughout this song is notably excellent as well, sounding high, emotionally uplifting, and slightly distant as if beckoning from afar. “Mark the Trail” contains some downright Opethisms, not in the vocals this time, but in the guitar melodies. The playing is tight throughout the entire album but seems particularly razor-­sharp here. Finally “A Sovereign Act” brings some doom flair yet counters that with what might be the fastest black metal sections on the entire album. Clocking in at a hefty 11:38, it is both a rousing and immense piece to bring things to a close.

Cormorant are criminally underrated, and all the more so because they are so goddamn talented. Yet they continue to forge ahead and brew their heady concoction of blackened progressive metal. For now they seem mired in obscurity, but you would do well to take note of one of the most adept collections of musicians in the metal underground.

I’ve written before about how one­-man bands, which seem especially common in the black metal arena for some reason, always amaze me when the quality of the music is not just good, but sublime. And of all the singular black metal misfits out there, I think I am impressed by Austin Lunn, a.k.a. Lundr, a.k.a. Panopticon, most of all.

Releasing albums since 2008, Panopticon is a whirlwind force of first­-class black metal that can be very traditional in style but more often pushes the boundaries of experimentation. 2012’s mindblowing Kentucky is the prime example, where Austin emphatically embraced a musical style dear to his current beloved home state (and the album’s namesake): bluegrass. This unprecedented melding of bluegrass and black metal, banjo and buzzing electric guitar, was at once jarring and utterly brilliant.

Roads to the Northin some sense picks up where Kentucky left off. Opener “The Echoes of a Dissonant Evensong” is very much akin to early Kentucky track “Bodies Under the Falls,” minus the flute. Which is to say both tracks are blindingly furious black metal firing on all cylinders and then some, melodies flying all over the place. “Where Mountains Pierce the Sky” is also a stellar black metal track, but more focused and less frenetic, though it both opens and ends with violin. Still, at first glance this album seems far more rooted in black metal and even traditional metal. And then comes track three...

Tracks three, four and five are all movements of an overall piece called “The Long Road.” Part one, “One Last Fire...,” abandons metal altogether and is pure bluegrass. And what bluegrass! As someone who unabashedly adores the banjo I have a predilection toward this stuff anyway, but the musicianship here is remarkable. The picking is fast, REALLY fast, and dazzles the senses while the song overall is beautiful and again a stirring homage to the land that Austin loves. Part two, “Capricious Miles,” shifts back to a black metal assault and the melodies here are particularly glorious. This song is epic in every way, due in no small part to the deeply evocative keyboards that enter later in the track. Part three, “The Sigh of Summer,” brings more blackened and beautifully melodic mayhem but its highlight is the rocking mid­tempo stride it hits just prior to the six­-minute mark. It ends, and thus the trilogy ends, with haunting Native American flute.

“Norwegian Nights” brings us back to softer and somber territory, more country/folk than bluegrass this time thanks largely to the use of resonator guitar. It has a deeply sincere and forlorn feel. “...In Silence” is a sprawling track, opening with furious rage and astounding speed, then later coming back to a sparse, open feel complemented by banjo before finally ending with huge chords and frantic drumming that madly flails all over the kit. Finale “Chase the Grain” is blown wide open from the first note, urgent violins riding atop blast beats, straining and refusing to be contained. After a few minutes it subsides into acoustic guitar and proggy keyboards that bear quite a strong resemblance to mid­-period Opeth. It dives headlong into atmospheric speed­-drenched bliss, then pounds out its final moments with driving mid-­tempo, classic heavy metal riffs, and lastly a foray into a quiet acoustic passage, ending on an introspective note.

Austin Lunn is undoubtedly at the top of his game. Roads to the North is sharp, professional, brilliantly written, yet so emotionally powerful and raw at the same time. Its soul, and by transitive property the soul of Austin himself, is laid bare with lovely fragility and raging power. To look upon it is to look upon true inspiration and the essence of creativity.

I chalk Krigsgrav up as my greatest discovery of 2014. They were one of those just-happened-to-run-into-them-by-mere-chance bands. A right place, right time sort of thing. I couldn’t be happier about the serendipity of the encounter.

From the opening strains of intro “Akitu” it’s plain the band have something special about them. Likened perhaps most generally to Agalloch, but with a stronger Cascadian black metal element, I also hear (much to my satisfaction) some hefty doses of lesser-­known The Morningside. The modus operandi here is to cram ridiculous amounts of melody and atmosphere into each track, and first proper song “Words of Aeolus” hammers that home tenfold. Full of brisk blackened sections alternating with engrossing melodies and chord changes, it is a total pleasure over the course of its nearly ten­-minute length. The final minutes, replete with mesmerizing melody lines, are especially akin to The Morningside’s brilliant The Wind, the Trees and the Shadows of the Past.

While “Words...” is a remarkable track, “Spire of the Hunt” is up next as the highlight of the album. It storms in on a rampaging attack paired with a bright melody, light and bouncy in feel like something from an Alcest record. Then it turns far darker, plucking out melancholy high melodies from the ether. It culminates with fierce speed and a hypnotic, frenzied melodic assault that enthralls and enchants, ultimately fading out on a beautiful acoustic section with that big bass thrumming behind. This track was the first one I ever heard from the band and it instantly cemented the certainty of purchasing the album. By all accounts, a magnificent song.

“Ghosts Among the Ashes” is stellar as well, bringing a thick Morningside/Obsidian Tongue vibe, though it surprises a bit in the final minute with a guitar solo that is very blues-­based with a touch of old school rock ‘n’ roll. “Cold Wounds of Virtue,” on the other hand, is without a doubt the most Agallochian song here, recalling the stark and stirring beauty of P​ale Folklore.​“A Grand Desolation” brings a bit of that vibe but is more firmly and grimly blackened, even slightly suggestive of Mayhem in the initial riffing. Then it turns gentler, slower, but doomier, and even introduces some clean singing reminiscent of Opeth’s work on Morningrise. This track’s latter subtlety and meanderings make it a bit of a grower but it is rich in depth and appeal. Finally, “In the Waning Light We Bloom” is a beautiful acoustic denouement to this impressive collection of musical chapters.

There is something about Krigsgrav’s sound that is deeply ancient and pagan. The production is a bit dry with the bass quite high in the mix and maybe that is what somehow makes it sound so visceral and vital. It speaks deeply to me and was a record I spun over and over again in bliss. This band seem to have thus far remained in obscurity, but if they continue to produce material of this caliber their future should be bathed in brilliant black light.

Howling wolves. A folksy guitar melody. Whispers in the dark. So begins Hrēow, a set of triumphant pagan hymns to ancient England and the natural world. The word “epic” gets thrown around a lot in metal circles and I try to avoid using it, so as not to render it devoid of all meaning. But man, this album is EPIC.

If you know another bunch of Anglo-Saxon obsessives called Forefather, their slower and mid­-paced material is a good reference point, but also a limiting one. For one thing, Ashes is a single man; he goes by the name Davidian. Also, while the general feeling is the same, the vocals are polar opposites. Forefather’s are often clean, Ashes’ is mostly...not. In fact they are scathing, paint­-peeling, mind­-scaldingly harsh. I liken them to Westering’s brilliant Help a Body, not just because they sound similar but because there is the same tendency for them to be semi-­buried in the mix. They sound like they’re emanating from some wraith lurking in the dim forest. The effect is often chilling, or would be if the music weren’t so damn inspiring. Even when the vocals are delivered cleanly, such as at the very end of “Shifting Mountains,” they’re far away and hushed. On “Stone Spiral” the acidic vocals sometimes come to the forefront more, scraping off a few layers of flesh in the process. The combination of the surging instrumentation with those shrieks is intense and amazing.

The richness of the music and brutality of the vocals form a paradox that I find to be pure genius. Another paradox in light of the raw black metal undercurrent of the vocals is just how beautiful these songs can be. A section near the end of “Stone Spiral,” the intro and other moments throughout “Monuments to Loss,” the intro of “Battle,” and the entirety of “The Hills that Cradled” are all acoustic in style, and breathtakingly lovely. “The Hills...” in particular is deeply moving, and the song structure so elegant as to mimic a beautiful but fragile sculpture. You look upon it with amazement, longing to caress it, but hold back in fear lest you shatter it.

Magnificence abounds here but “Monuments to Loss” is truly a standout track. The main guitar melody is exhilarating and swells your chest with pride for Mother England; whether it is actually your homeland is irrelevant. And yes, the song is epic. Ridiculously so. Another highlight is “Crafting Ruin” which is pure Forefather, darker in tone, both rousing and slightly malevolent. Keyboards bring a lighter, but still powerful, feeling later in the song.

The one track here that somewhat bothers me is “Heralding the Storm,” an ambient piece with little more than a soft wash of white noise and what sounds like the crackling of flames. I don’t dislike it but it weighs in at damn near 12 minutes, the longest track on the record by far. Placed as it is in the center of the album it actually makes for a nice break between the first and second half and serves to introduce variety. But it easily could have been half as long or less and still accomplished the same goal.

Further driving home the archaic atmosphere, the aforementioned “Battle” closes the album with spoken word vocals, reciting who-knows-what in Old English, though we can surmise it’s about a battle. After all the scathing vocals, this drastic change in approach is interesting yet of course still fits in perfectly with what Ashes is all about. And the pronunciation and inflection of the words themselves are quite fascinating; they have a melody and grace all their own.

It should be noted that one hindrance of this album is that it is exclusively available as a digital download. For dinosaurs like me that insist on CD copies that is a drag, but I’ve seen a big resurgence in vinyl lately and even that is not an option here. Without digressing into a bitter old man rant about that, I will just say that Hreow is absolutely, unequivocally worth acquiring, regardless of format. Both expansive and intimate, it is a recording wondrous to behold.

Wasting no time coming off 2013’s radiant Dustwalker, the U.K.’s Fen deliver another slab of pagan metal goodness. Where the previous album brought some surprises in the form of especially folksy clean singing and a stunning fusion of black metal and surf guitar, Carrion Skies should be more pleasing to less adventurous fans. But even I agree it is their best effort since 2009’s godly Malediction Fields.

What is immediately evident, though, is that there is more overall aggression here. Dustwalker had its fair share of blackened speed, but I advocate that Carrion Skies is more aggressive in its slower moments. “Our Names Written in Embers ­ Part 1 (Beacons of War)” has sort of an angular, thrashy attack about it. It’s a bit like later Immortal, something in the vein of All Shall Fall’s “Norden on Fire” with an added pagan/progressive vibe. It has mellow passages as well, and glorious haunting melodies flitting over the high­-speed black metal onslaughts, but those jagged, fierce riffs are what really stand out. In “...Part 2 (Beacons of Sorrow)” the material has a distinct Altar of Plagues atmosphere with hypnotic, rising and falling guitars during the first minute until it find its way back into very familiar Fen territory. Its final moments bring raging speed and brutality as vocalist The Watcher half screams/half roars in anguish.

On “The Dying Stars” we again get punchy, thrashy riffing decorated with an enchanting melodic backdrop, plus bursts of speedy black goodness. But the song achieves total nirvana by lulling the listener with a soothing, eloquent passage and then shattering the calm with epic, spellbinding melodies that are almost unbearably powerful, driving them home with a subtle but incredible chord shift on the final repetition. It’s a moment that never fails to leave me reeling in ecstasy. The bridge section of “Sentinels” is very nearly as good. The phrase “The sky is a sphere” is repeated over and over using airy clean vocals, intercepted by some chunky riffing, repeated again, and then obliterated by a hammer of aggression and harsh vocals spat out with vehemence. It absolutely kills, yet it is but a highlight in what is an overall amazing song, full of texture and progressive elements and striking warmth.

Mesmerizing melodies are Fen’s stock­-in-­trade but “Menhir -­ Supplicant” is an overflowing cornucopia of them. This nearly 12­minute track is just sublime, a mythical beast of both beauty and overwhelming strength. The whole thing is magnificent but its closing minute is the best as it becomes positively orchestral, some mad conductor at the forefront violently stabbing his baton at the air to summon stuttered riffs and surging power. Finale “Gathering the Stones” is tame in comparison to the other titans on this album; it has its heavier moments but mostly offers mellow shimmer and an ethereal fade that is fitting for a closing track.

Fen have had their missteps and questionable judgment, but with Carrion Skies they’re back to fully blowing my mind. Their ability to write timeless, evocative riffs and melodies while making them sound effortless is difficult to comprehend. Even after many, many listens I feel like new layers of this record are coming to the surface. The added aggression this time around adds a crispness and a sharper degree of vitality that cannot be denied. Hail, hail these innovators, these master craftsmen, these true recipients of the pagan muse. Brilliant.

My history with Sólstafir has been a bit odd. I was turned on to them back in the mid 2000s by hearing their Masterpiece of Bitterness recording. It was enough to make me seek it out but I had absolutely no luck finding it. Years passed and though it was always lingering somewhere in the back of my mind, I may as well have forgotten it. So out of the loop was I that only last year did I learn I had missed Svartir Sandar, a sprawling double album from 2011, and upon hearing it I wasn’t just drawn in, I was blown away. This mysterious and elusive band of Icelanders had gone even further off the rails of convention and turned into some demented post-­rock band. And it was quite clear that they did not give one shit what you thought about that.

This time I easily obtained the album and went back and now had no trouble getting Masterpiece... to boot, but much to my delight 2014 also brought new material with this remarkable beast they call Ótta. Continuing where ...Sandar left off, the only way to describe the current Sólstafir is just to say that they are Sólstafir. No one sounds like them and they sound like no one. Actually, that is not entirely true. To my warped mind I think they actually sound a good deal like early U2. I’m talking the War album here. Go find a recording of U2’s “Like a Song” and see what I mean. No joke.

Certainly, however, in the metal world (if they can still be said to belong in that world) Sólstafir are unparalleled. While in their more distant past they were known to sing and title songs in English, they have ostensibly grown ever more dedicated to their culture and homeland because every single word of Ottais in Icelandic. Therein lies a significant part of its charm. One of the best recurring factors of it is Aðalbjörn Tryggvason’s vocal delivery. From his hushed first lines in opener “Lágnætti,” on to his emphatic emanations once the song picks up speed, and then his fevered yells, he makes an immediate and indelible mark that continues throughout the album.

While I adore this entire record, it is the one-­two punch of “Lágnætti” and “Ótta” that stun me every single time I listen to it. Both of these tracks are more than songs; they are epics. They have movements, they shift and writhe, they take you on a journey. Together they comprise over 18 minutes of the entire album but I have no concept of time when I hear them, for they are utterly engrossing. “Lágnætti” initially lulls you with piano and strings, then rocks out in unfettered abandon with a joyous punk ethos. With less than three minutes remaining it dwindles back down to quiet, then brings on assertive piano chords that propel it forth into the rock ‘n’ roll stratosphere. It sounds ridiculously good and catchy as hell, signals of just how skilled the band have become at songwriting.

The title track is at once a different animal. Languid high guitar notes quietly shimmer and tantalize in darkness, coming more and more into focus. Bass and drums join in and the entire affair takes on a dark, country and western feel in the best possible way, greatly aided by what might be banjo, though it sounds fuller. After an ominous interlude the main instrumentation comes back in and is now joined by sublime, echoing guitar in a gradual melody which a few moments later is repeated, but now in strings. And oh what strings. Their aching and abysmal longing is nearly overwhelming and crushingly beautiful. This song gives me chills.

While those two tracks could have been released as an EP and I would have been equally stupefied, there is much more on offer here. “Rismál” is marvelous and Tryggvason’s voice is superb, sounding desperate and richly emotional. “Dagmál” quickens the pace, showing that early­-’80s U2 resemblance again, and the Icelandic syllables are especially fun here. “Nón” is another favorite of mine for the way it goes from rocking to serene to rocking again, even launching into a crazy bout of histrionics where the guitarist just totally goes for it, wailing like a rock god.

“Miðaftann” is somber and lovely, driven only by piano and swelling orchestral strings, and serves as fitting preface for finale “Náttmál.” This massive 11+ minute opus begins with languid, crackling guitar that churns in psychedelic swirls. It ramps up and punchy, anxious drumming drives the verses. It seems to come to a bombastic finish but several minutes still remain and the guitars return in a mechanical, whirling buzz. The drumming goes into an odd double­-time shuffle and finally there are surging proggy keyboard chords slamming the song to conclusion in concert with the drums, guitars and bass.

To say the scale of Ótta is grand is a woeful understatement. It is symphonic, polished, and hugely powerful. It belongs in enormous, grand venues. When I most recently saw the band they were in the exact opposite, a tiny club. But that didn’t serve to diminish what a unique force they were, just as their chosen path on this album doesn’t diminish, and only enhances, the compelling force they have become. They are at once bewildering and uncommonly gratifying.

I hate being so predictable. I really do. But it was another even year and, as has been the trend since their return in 2010, that means another Anathema album and evidently another number one ranking from me. It’s not a matter I take lightly, especially after my regret in ranking their A Fine Day to Exit album as number one in 2001 when it really was not. Ever since, I have been guarded about doling out this highest of praise to them; as silly as it is, I have almost been looking for an opportunity for retribution.

But I cannot help myself. As “The Lost Song Part 1” opens with sighing strings then introduces an insistent, rapid beat, I am instantly rapt with attention. This song builds and builds until it becomes a beautiful frenzy; Vincent Cavanaugh’s and Lee Douglas’ vocals blended in lovely harmony as they always are; warm guitars now bringing more depth; and finally it all hits crescendo with more manic strings attacking and Vincent repeatedly belting out “The fear is just an illusion!” I’m hooked.

In what is becoming a trend, the album follows in the footsteps of Weather Systems’ two­-parter “Untouchable” with the same tactic here. “The Lost Song Part 2” is much softer, a gentle ballad really, now with Lee solely handling the vocals. “Dusk (Dark is Descending)” takes us back to the Lee/Vincent vocal trading, which really has become a hallmark of their new sound over the last three albums. They harmonize here again to spectacular effect, together singing “You’re not far away from me!” with earnest urgency.

The piano-­driven intro of “Ariel” calls to mind 2003’s A Natural Disaster, and this is as good a place as any to discuss this album’s style in greater detail. For while I have written about the prior two albums that they may as well be broadway musicals or show choir competitions, D​istant Satellites l​eaves those trappings behind to some extent. The same elements are here but that pervasive vibe is not. It’s still progressive rock all but devoid of their metal roots, but it seems darker and edgier somehow. I hesitate to say it’s more “serious” because that implies the prior material was superficial, yet there is some sense of greater maturity about it.

We get a trilogy this time, rounded out by “The Lost Song Part 3.” It’s another fine tune, circling back to part one and recapturing that frenetic pace to a degree, but then comes what may well be the high point of the album for me. Curiously the song is simply called “Anathema.” We only had to wait 24 years for this eponymous title. And yet all that history and the title of the song are all too apropos, for it seems to be about the band themselves, or an earlier incarnation of them. The chorus goes:

“But we laughed,
And we cried,
And we fought,
And we tried,
And we failed,
But I loved you,
I loved you.”

Lyrics are almost always open to interpretation but I plainly see these as a fond yet realistic recollection of the band’s past. Which chapter, I do not know, but brothers Danny and Vincent have been there since the beginning and endured numerous lineup changes. There were struggles and difficult times and here they are acknowledged, as is the underlying love of the band that was always there. This track comes across as sublimely poignant and Vincent’s genuine emotion as he sings “I loved you” is almost heartbreaking. Add in the magnificent, resounding Judgement­style guitar solo that follows, which is as metal as this album gets, and this song is blistering in its own way. Truly amazing.

The relatively brief “You’re Not Alone,” which again takes me back to A Natural Disaster, has some cool fast picking that rocks pretty hard in the context of the other lush tracks. Along with the instrumental “Firelight” that follows, I see both these tracks as setups to the title track. We are nearing the end of the album now and it takes a rather unexpected turn into...well...there’s no other way to say it. The style is basically trip hop. Some have been perplexed at this choice by the band but if you look at what they started to do on A Natural Disaster, and what they have done since, I find it to actually be a natural evolution for them. The critical matter, of course, is that they do in fact pull it off. As the church organ-­like ambient intro gives way to electronic beats, Vincent’s plush and airy vocal delivery keeps the song grounded in Anathema’s realm and the whole presentation becomes hauntingly gorgeous. On the whole it sounds very much like Faunts’ superb Feel.Love.Thinking.Of, that is until it goes full­-on rave. Thankfully the risk of becoming cheesy is quickly mitigated by mournful piano notes that further elevate the song. “Take Shelter” is similar, even more Faunts-­like really, and completes the album nicely. So yes, Anathema have now plunged headlong into electronica, but they are talented enough to do it with aplomb.

I’ve blathered on here at significant length, and yet it is ultimately difficult to explain what Anathema mean to me. Through all their changes, and even as they have arguably done a 180­degree turn in sound, they have a way about them that cuts right to my soul. Vocally, musically, lyrically, they deliver some magical combination that enraptures me utterly and leaves me deeply fulfilled. No matter what they do, some part of me will always be bound to them. For now, Distant Satellites easily reinforces that bond.