We all saw this one coming. Lemmy's been dead since 2015, and the tribute album industrial complex doesn't wait for any corpse to grow cold. At least they had the decency to wait nearly a decade. That's practically respectful by music industry standards—though one imagines the wait had more to do with lawyers and licensing than any kind of tasteful mourning period. The man died on December 28, and his death was made public on the 29th. Seventeen memorial playlists were already up on the web by the 30th. We grieve at the speed of fibre optics now.

"Killed By Deaf" does exactly what it says on the tin: fourteen bands cover MOTÖRHEAD songs slightly faster and slightly worse than Motörhead themselves, which is a bit of an achievement considering that Motörhead's entire aesthetic was "What if we just played louder until something broke?" The title's joke is about as subtle as a hammer to the temple—which, as it so happens, is also song nine, covered by THE CASUALTIES with about as much subtlety as said hammer. The cover art features a punk Iron Pig skull. Lemmy's own face was half-skull by the end of it anyway, all those moles and that craggy brilliance, pickled in Jack Daniel's and frozen forever like some sort of alcoholic Han Solo.
 
It's a veritable who's who of bands your cool uncle saw in basements in 1987, with some younger bands who are there presumably so that this doesn't seem like a complete nostalgia cash-grab. Though let's be real: it completely is, and there's something sort of endearing about how blatant that is. At least they're not attempting to position this as some sort of boundary-pushing art statement.

PENNYWISE – "Ace Of Spades": They kick it off with the most obvious choice possible, both disappointing and inevitable. It's like starting a punk tribute to THE RAMONES with "Blitzkrieg Bop"—you have to, but seriously, really? You can practically hear them going, "How can we make the most overplayed Motörhead song EVEN MORE overplayed?" Mission accomplished, guys. Jim Lindberg's vocals are fine. The guitars are fine. It's all right. Professional, high-energy, and totally predictable. You've heard this song ten thousand times. Now you've heard it ten thousand and one. Progress!

RANCID – "Sex & Death": Thank Christ they didn't attempt "Ace Of Spades" too. Tim Armstrong's voice, that sweet sandpaper-gargling-nails growl, actually suits Motörhead's nihilistic romanticism quite well. There's some poetry in a band that wrote "Ruby Soho" covering a song called "Sex & Death" - the whole emotional spectrum of punk rock summed up in two song titles. They play it fast, loose, and dirty, which is exactly how one should play Motörhead. No complaints to be had here, which is a pity really since half the fun is in the complaining.

THE BRONX – "Over The Top": The Bronx attack this one like it personally insulted their mothers, burned down their childhood homes, and kicked their dogs. It's aggressive to the point of almost being violent, which makes sense for a song that's basically about running into battle and probably dying in some horrific way. Matt Caughthran wails like a man possessed, and the whole thing has this near-out-of-control chaos that suggests the recording session involved at least one broken microphone and some bruised knuckles. This is what the album should sound like—dangerous, unhinged, teetering on the verge of falling over the edge at any given moment. Lemmy would've nodded in approval before telling them they were doing it too slow.

LAGWAGON – "Rock 'N' Roll": Melodic hardcore guys covering Motörhead is a strange choice, and Joey Cape's vocals are more polished than Lemmy's ever were, even when Lemmy was born. But here's the thing: it works. The harmonies are tighter, the production's shinier, and somehow still has that essential Motörhead fuck-you-ness to it. Did we need Lagwagon to tell us that "Rock 'N' Roll" would be an awesome punk song? No. But did they sound like they cared, rather than just cashing a paycheck? Yes. That means something in this cold, dead world.

FEAR – "The Chase Is Better Than The Catch": Lee Ving is approximately one million years old and still sounds like he could gnaw through a steel chain. FEAR doing Motörhead is a no-brainer—they're both bands that trade in ugliness and honesty, never prettying things for the guests. This is raw, ugly, and fantastic. It's also probably the track on here that most resembles the original, which either indicates FEAR knew what they were doing or couldn't be bothered to reinvent the wheel. Either way: effective.

GBH – "Bomber": UK82 legends covering one of the most indefatigable tracks in the Motörhead catalogue. This is a little too on-the-nose. It's akin to asking SLAYER to cover a VENOM song—yeah, of course, it's gonna be a natural fit. Colin Abrahall's bark is different from Lemmy's growl, but they're speaking the same language: pure, undiluted aggression with a hint of working-class rage. The guitar is thicker than a London fog, and the whole record sounds like it was recorded in a bunker during an ongoing air raid. Probably wasn't, but that's what it sounds like.

MURPHY'S LAW – "Stay Clean": New York hardcore guys doing a song about life on the road, staying out of trouble, and predictably managing to do neither. Jimmy G sounds appropriately grizzled here, and there's something odd and poignant about hearing a bunch of guys who sure as hell didn't stay clean sing about trying to stay clean. The irony is so thick you could cut it with a dirty knife you found behind CBGB. Wait, CBGB's gone too. Everything ends. Cheers!

SLAUGHTERHOUSE – "Love Me Like A Reptile": Here's where they throw the new band a bone. Slaughterhouse are the obligatory "up-and-comers"; in there so someone can point out that this album isn't a collection of old punks reliving the glories. And you know what? They do themselves proud. They play it fast and dirty, and they don't have the years of road grime and liver damage that made Motörhead sound like Motörhead, but they do have enthusiasm. Lemmy loved underdogs. This is appropriate. It's also the one you'll probably skip, but that's not their fault.

THE CASUALTIES – "The Hammer": Street punk lifers doing a track that sounds exactly like you'd hope The Casualties covering Motörhead would. It's fine. It exists. They play the notes. The hammer falls. We all take one step closer to death. Next!

ANTI-NOWHERE LEAGUE – "Born To Raise Hell": Another British punk institution tackling a latter-day Motörhead track that nobody remembers is actually great. The ANL have always had a foot in punk and a foot in metal anyway, so this is territory they are well-suited to cover. They sound angry and grizzled, which is their default mode and also the correct way to do it. It's probably the best song on the second half of the album, which is not saying much because we're all getting a bit tired by now. Fourteen songs is excessive. Twelve would've been perfect. But nobody asked me.

LOVE CANAL – "Voices In The Sky": A deep cut! At last! But let's be honest, on a Motörhead tribute album, anything other than "Ace Of Spades" or "Overkill" is a deep cut to everyone. Love Canal inject a bit of the psychedelic into this one, which is odd and almost works. It doesn't, quite, but points for trying something different in the back third of an album that's starting to run together into one endless wall of distortion.

SOLDIERS OF DESTRUCTION – "Overkill": And here's the other required inclusion. You can't do a Motörhead tribute without "Overkill." It's physically impossible. The universe wouldn't allow it. They play it fast—as you have to—and it's exactly adequate. That's the theme of this album's second half: exactly adequate. We're all tired. The bands are tired. You're tired reading this. Lemmy's still dead. Let's just move on.

WISDOM IN CHAINS – "Iron Fist": Pennsylvania hardcore guys doing the title track to one of the grimier Motörhead albums. It's fast, it's angry, and it sounds like it was recorded in somebody's garage, which it very possibly was. The production on the latter half of this album is noticeably worse than the first half, which either adds to the punk points or means they ran out of funds. Could be both. Probably is both.

MOTÖRHEAD & THE DAMNED – "Neat, Neat, Neat": And here's the real reason to buy this thing if you're a completist: a heretofore unreleased 2002 recording of Lemmy sitting in with The Damned to bash out their 1977 classic. It's the only non-Motörhead track on the record, so it's either a real treat or a cynical move to get completists to open their wallets.
Probably both. Definitely both. Lemmy would've approved.

The song itself is exactly what you'd want: sloppy, fast, and celebratory in that particular way that older punks get when they remember they're not dead yet. You can hear the years from 1977 to 2002, all that deterioration and survival, but you can hear that spark that made either band matter in the first place. It's the greatest song on the record by default because it's actual Lemmy, and also because "Neat Neat Neat" is a perfect song that's virtually impossible to screw up.

The fact that it's here at all is a small miracle of archival digging and probably several lawyers negotiating for months. The fact that it's been held back for over two decades and released on a tribute album in 2025 is either respectful timing or calculated marketing. Again: both. Always both.
 
Motörhead was a punk band who were incorrectly identified as metal because they had long hair and Marshall stacks. That's a fact. That's always been a fact. Lemmy himself stated it a thousand times in interviews. The punks accepted them. The metalheads accepted them. Lemmy accepted the Jack Daniel's and cigarettes and continued with his life.

Yet this tribute album is less a revelation and more a reminder that we all already knew this. The punk-metal divide dissolved decades ago, in large part because of bands like Motörhead who didn't give a shit about genre gatekeeping in the first place. Thrash metal happened. Crossover happened. D-beat happened. Crust happened. Now your average crust punk and your average thrash fan are wearing the same Motörhead back patch and are probably dating one another.

So why this album? Why does it even need to exist? Honestly? Because we're angry. Because Lemmy's dead and we miss him. Because an entire generation of musicians who grew up worshipping at the altar of loud, fast, and don't-give-a-fuck want to say thank you the best way they know how: by playing loud, fast, and not giving a fuck. Is this a cash grab? Yes. Is it also sincere? Also yes. Those two things can coexist. Welcome to late capitalism, where even our grief is commodified but sometimes the feelings are genuine anyway.
 
Did we need Lagwagon to tell us "Rock 'N' Roll" works as a punk song? Did we need FEAR to tell us "The Chase Is Better Than The Catch" slaps? No. Not ever. We knew. We've always known. But do they do a good job anyway? Yes. Most of the bands here clearly gave a shit, which is more than you can say about a lot of tribute albums where half the bands sound like they recorded their songs during a lunch break and couldn't be bothered. Will it alter your life? No. Nothing's gonna alter your life at this point. You're too old, you're too exhausted, and you've heard too much music. Everything sounds like something else that you heard twenty years ago.

​Will it make you miss Lemmy? Yes. Every time you hear that opening riff to "Ace Of Spades" or "Overkill", you're going to remember that there was this guy—this impossibly worn, impossibly cool guy—who just didn't give a damn about anything except playing loud music and speaking the truth. And now he's gone. And we're all still here, getting older and deafening, playing the same songs louder because that's all we know how to do. Is it depressing? You bet your ass it is.

Will you probably put it on at a party anyway and have a perfectly good time? Yeah, probably. You'll crack open whatever poison is your beverage of choice, you'll turn it up too loud, you'll bother the neighbors, and for forty-seven minutes you'll remember what it was like to be young and angry and think that loud guitars could save your life. They couldn't, of course. Nothing's gonna save you. We're all circling the drain, some of us just making a bigger racket about it. But for those forty-seven minutes? You'll be alive. And that'll have to do.

FINAL SCORE: 6.5/10
It's fine. It exists. Lemmy's still dead. We're all going to die someday too. Might as well crank it up while we're here. The first half is a solid 7, the second half a 6, the bonus Damned track bumps it up a peg, and the whole thing is probably better than it has any right to be but not quite good enough to really matter. It's a tribute album. It does tribute album things. Your expectations should be appropriately set.

Play it loud. Lemmy would've wanted it that way. Then go listen to the real Motörhead albums, because they're better.

RECOMMENDED IF YOU LIKE: Being reminded of your own mortality, hearing the same songs played in slightly different manners, supporting the retirement funds of older punk rockers, pretending that you're still dangerous, Jack Daniel's, not hearing your tinnitus, the complete pointlessness of life coupled with loud guitars.

NOT RECOMMENDED IF: You have intact self-preservation instincts, you require tribute albums to have a purpose other than "We liked this band", you're looking for innovation or surprises, you think silence is golden. WORDS: Matt Denny.

So back in September, I covered the BATS IN THE ATTIC weekend up in rainy-old Morecambe, and thoroughly enjoyed two nights of Gothic, post-punk, dark-wave, new wave, old-school, skipped-school and too cool for school alternative bands, all coming together under the vague but vehemently celebrated Gothic umbrella. One of these bands, quite frankly have barely LEFT school by the looks of them, but when I tell you that they were one of THE highlights of the weekend, you may just rub your eyes in disbelief and smudge your Maybelline. Yes, today we’re going to be revisiting SOCIAL YOUTH CULT... 

The nostalgic, Newcastle Upon Tyne based force majeure (Consisting of vocalist/guitarist Shaun Greer, guitarist Holly Moore, bassist Jack Stephenson and drummer / vocalist Alex Thibaut) impressed everybody as a live band, especially the older bands playing the weekend, with their raw, authentic modern day take on traditional post-punk. Honestly it was like a time capsule; a fleeting glance at the dawn of darkness, when the very concept of alternative music in any capacity was less than a glint in even Franz Waxman’s eye. Since then, bassist Jack’s been in touch via email, and has very kindly sent over their upcoming debut album “The Lighthouse”. With it being released on Sunday, November 2nd at the Whitby Weekend, let’s check it out, and shine some shade on one of the scenes most promising post-punk prospects. Now having said all that, as we press play..."I bid you velcome"... 

The album opens with “Venus”, and while it lacks the smoothness of a lady's shaving product, it cuts just as close with its darkly foreboding bassline and methodical yet intense percussion. You can hear a lot of the influence from KILLING JOKE in the instrumentation alone here as it relentlessly chugs along, almost bullying the listener into acknowledgement. It plateaus early with riff repetition, with only Shaun’s occasional vocal spikes giving this more than a one-dimensional character, but it’s hypnotic in its own right, and it’s the aura that carries this song. With Venus being the Roman goddess of love and victory, lyrically this is up there with the most vampiric, Poe-influenced, one night stand anti-ballads I’ve possibly heard. It’s like, taking a walk of shame through a graveyard; dressed to kill but feeling like death warmed up, yet still smirking at the quality of the head (stones). It’s likely deeper than that but...facial value. 

Follow up track “Close To Nothing” somewhat tackles mental health issues...the weight of the world, societal and romantic defeatism, and hanging on by a thread. Lyrics like “Artery beating, moments fleeting, I’m so tired of this thing in my chest” channel a sense of emotional fatigue; they’ve weighed up the pros and cons, and suicide is not off the table. There’s reference to overdose, and it’s a deeply pained track delivered in a manner that would make BAUHAUS proud. It’s slow, it’s hurt and it’s a wonderfully delivered acceptance of sadness. 

Next up we have “The Man In The Photo”, and while Chad Kroeger isn’t available to look at this for us, we’ll try not to laugh at it ourselves. Tying this back into BAUHAUS, this could easily be a nod to “Dracula”, as in Bram Stoker’s novel, Jonathan Harker is greeted at the castle by a grey-haired individual with, long, sharp fingernails, and seeing as vampires in general have no reflection, it’s safe to assume that, daguerreotype cameras of the time, which like old mirrors, used silver, would render an image of the vampire non-existent. It fits conceptually.  

Lines like “He hurt his head but not too much” could refer to Harker’s mental breakdown or his attempt of twatting the Count with a shovel in his coffin. Regardless, it’s a slow, methodical song with deep bass and a plodding delivery and is an incredibly nuanced way of suggesting you read “Dracula”. I’m not going to lie I would have much rather have read that in school than “Of Mice And Men” or “Why The Whales Came”. I’d rather watch “Nosferatu” in braille wearing oven mitts but there you go... 

Closing title track “The Lighthouse”, could be a nod to Scottish and Irish coastal folklore, with Celtic spirits such as the selkie, but there are many ghost tales of babies appearing before lighthouse keepers, amidst storms or tragedies. A harbinger of doomed fate, or a curse, it’s a classic maritime haunting trope...coupled with the fact that there’s a lighthouse in Whitby, where Bram Stoker took inspiration for “Dracula”, as his ship, The Demeter, ran ashore there, and it’s all tied in nicely within its own conceptional nuance. Musically...there’s little to no change. 

Ultimately, we find ourselves in a position where we of course must praise SOCIAL YOUTH CULT. The sounds and styles they’ve recreated here are over forty years old, and despite the modern music landscape evolving as it does with technology and trends, they’ve truly nailed that authentic, original sound of Goth’s formative years. Modern indie bands like IST IST and NAUT utilise elements of post-punk, vocally for example, but are polished, they write hooks, there’s an element of catchy song writing to their craft...this is SOCIAL YOUTH CULT's only concern.  

I’m going to sound ungrateful here, but while I absolutely applaud the commitment to the style and sound of those early proto-Goth days, which let’s all agree, the band have nailed, it never stopped bands like JOY DIVISION releasing tracks like “Love Will Tear Us Apart”...for example.  

As on point as your sound, proficiency and delivery are, for a stylistic throwback, you could have at least put ONE slightly more energetic or accessible track in there. Old-school folk get it, don’t get me wrong, it’s applauded and appreciated, but you can’t really rely on old folk...old folk tend to die sooner. You need to at least try to cater for fledgling bats who are discovering post-punk, Goth and alternative options. New generations need that gateway-Goth. 

The fact that they are as young and fresh as they are and are delivering songs of this nature and quality within such a truthfully dated genre, they have my utmost praise and respect, but for a youth cult, they’ve seemed to have overlooked their peers in favour of their pensioners. “The Lighthouse” may be a signal, a beacon of hope for modern day Gothic music, but a lighthouse is only useful when there are ships in the vicinity. As genuinely good, as authentic as they are, live at least...they need to find a way to incorporate and further encourage a younger audience. Shaun, Holly, Jack and Alex might appreciate early post-punk, and I’m with them, …yet while in principle they bring a youthful presence to such a niche genre, none of the eight tracks here truly excite.  

“The Lighthouse” will perk up old ears, for the nostalgia, but they’ve pigeonholed themselves as almost a novelty. They can coast along, be it East or West, but for a young band, they’re shackled with their own dedication to heritage. As a debut album, it’s impactful from the viewpoint of that nostalgic quality, it does grab your attention, there’s no denying that, however, they run the risk of becoming a stagnant gimmick, with life imitating art as opposed to the saying.  

Do I want them to sacrifice their core values as a band? Absolutely not...do I want them to reach further than an old-school audience and help maintain the longevity, and continuity of post-punk and beyond? Of course! And here’s the dilemma. Goth’s might be the visual embodiment of depression 90% of the time...but we like something to dance to as well when the mood takes us. “The Lighthouse” highlights a lot of things, sub-culturally, but Goth needs a spotlight for a new generation, and as decent as this album is, it’ll live in the shadows so long as SOCIAL YOUTH CULT prioritise the past sonically. I really wanted to enjoy this album...I really did; but I’m not from Jonestown and not fully sold on this cult quite yet. I’ll stick to my actual wine, not the grape Kool-Aid for now. [5] - Words: Gavin Griffiths

ORBIT CULTURE is a band that's on the fast track to mass appeal, especially over the last 2 years or so. They hail from Sweden, a land rich in Metal history, and they carry that torch with reverence to the past, but while also standing firmly in the present. 

”This record represents change, a new beginning...”, says Orbit Culture guitarist, vocalist and songwriter, Niklas Karlsson. “It brings up a lot of good and bad emotions but it’s a big change for the better. It feels like a rebirth...”

Karlsson was inspired by a steady diet of METALLICA, GOJIRA and STATIC-X, all of which can be heard within the music on the band's newest, and possibly best album to date, "Death Above Life", released on October 3rd, 2025. I also hear influences from bands like IN FLAMES. 

“Inferna” kicks off the festivities in grand fashion! This track almost reaches the 7 minute mark, which can be tough for some listeners, but it never feels bloated or boring, making for an enjoyable listening experience. 

“Bloodhound” starts off with a riff that is as heavy as Thor's mighty hammer. Which is a fact that continues throughout the verse sections, but when he growls “You fucked it up, you fucking asshole”, that's when you really feel the power of this track. Then the band matches it with some groove heavy riffs, some nifty electronic elements, and killer vocal performances. This is one heavy track, serving as a perfect example of what Orbit Culture is all about. 

For a bit of back story, Orbit Culture had done an arena tour with SLIPKNOT in early 2024, which helped to open the band’s eyes to bigger possibilities. “If we never did the Slipknot shows, for instance...” says Niklas. “I would never have written a song like ‘Bloodhound’ on the new album. Just watching them every night, there was an intensity and furious rage that we got to see closely, first-hand, it pushed us...”.

“The Tales Of War” begins with a bit of orchestration, setting the mood for what is to follow perfectly. When the riff kicks in it also kicks your ASS, utilizing intricacy and groove in order to get your asses into the pit as soon as you hear it. This is one of those tracks that I feel is indicative of all the cool elements that this band has at their disposal.

“Inside The Waves” pulls in an influence that hit me hard when I realized what I was hearing, as I'm a huge fan of this band and their now deceased original singer … the one, the only, Wayne Static and Static-X. This influence is subtle, but it is most definitely there nonetheless. You wouldn't know it by listening to it, but … [Editor: Then...how did you know???]

 “For me, that was going into a LINKIN PARK phase...” Karlsson freely admits. “I wanted to write something that was easy and singalong friendly. Of course, it’s not written for the masses, because if I tried to do that, I would fail miserably!”

“Hydra” crushes from its intro, and will steam hammer its way into a lot of playlists, mine included. This one has the heaviest vibe thus far, and not because it's fast or complicated, but instead because of the undeniable power of the main riff. “Hydra” is in the Top 3 as far as my picks for the best of the best in Death Above Life.

Other standouts tracks include “Nerve” and “Death Above Life”.

I listened to this album for about the thousandth time while at work today, and didn't stop banging my head the whole time, all while customers looked at me like I was weird for that and for mouthing the lyrics like I was in the band.

In other words, I recommend that you go check out this album immediately! It's full of everything that the modern metal head loves, and I feel it will become a staple in your daily listening habits. Words: Tom Hanno.

Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big telly. Choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players and electric tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol and dental care. Choose fixed-interest mortgage payments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose leisurewear and matching bags. Choose a three piece suite on hire purchase in a range of fucking materials. Select DIY and asking yourself who the fuck you are on a Sunday morning. Select sitting on that couch, scowling at soul-destroying mind-numbing game shows, stuffing your mouth with fucking rubbish food. Select to waste away at the end of it all, pissing away your final few in some sad hovel, nothing but an embarrassment to the self-centred, fucked-up little brats you brought into the world to take your place. Select your future. Select life. But why in the world would I want to do something like that? I chose not to choose life. I chose something else. And the why? There is no why. Who needs why?

GLASGOW KISS, "Down In Flames", is like gettin' yer heid bashed in the head with a bottle and kissed again by the same cunt who bashed it in there. No genre box for this one, no thanks to HALESTORM, no thanks to NIGHTWISH, no thanks to all their bollocks. This is no longer nice symphonic trash, this is riffs crawl oot the amp like septic in the pipes, Charlotte's screamin' voice like an angel got booted oot heaven for smokin' tabs in the loos. Daniel playing like he's got his guitars set alight, Sveinung slicing strings like he's flaying a rat, John Erik's bass thudding like the neighbour banging on yer door at 5am bawlin' ye still owe him fags, Frode on drums banging harder than the polis when they eventually kick the door in. The whole of them frightens ye like a bad trip ye cannae get yerself oot of, only ye dinnae want tae.

It ain't classy stadium effluvia, it's dirty, dripping, teeth-rattlin' metal still smolderin', wee pools of loveliness concealed in the muck. A chorus'll carry ye along, aye, then deposit ye belly-first once again in the sewer with the verse. That's the dance: highs that scorch yer lungs, lows that shake the bone.

Charlotte’s the one that fucks wi’ ye most -- she’ll croon ye soft, then suddenly she’s bitin’ chunks oot yer ear. One minute ye’re floatin’ in daylight, next minute ye’re choking in midnight smoke. Ye cannae trust her, and that’s exactly why ye cannae turn her aff.

This album’s postcards fae the abyss: wee moments of joy scribbled on the back of broken glass. They recorded it across random holes, clubs, anywhere they could plug in, stitched it together wi’ spit, sweat, and maybe a wee bit o’ blood. And it works -- it’s jagged, it’s cracked, but it’s alive, pumpin’ like a vein wi’ fresh gear.

When it's done ye're shakin', tryin' tae work oot what the fuck occurred. And ye'll dae it again, 'cos ye haven't got a choice. That's addiction. That's GLASGOW KISS.

Rating: 9 oot o' 10 Glasgow Kisses. Spare the last yin for the walk hame.

Translations (Scottish → English):
Cunt = Person (derogatory/familiar depending on context)
Tabs = Cigarettes
Fags = Also cigarettes. Words: Matt Denny.

"Down In Flames" is released December 12th, via ECLIPSE RECORDS

My nephew, he comes to me the other day, he says "Uncle, you gotta hear this music, it's called heavy metal." So I says to him, "What's heavy about metal? We got plenty heavy metal in the warehouse - lead pipes, steel beams, that sorta thing." But he shows me this... this compact disc thing from these Canadian broads called KITTIE.

Now, I don't know nothing about no kittens. I got three cats at the social club, they're good for keeping the rats away. But these KITTIE girls? They make more noise than when Tony "The Hammer" accidentally drove the Cadillac through Mrs. Benedetto's storefront!

This "Spit XXV" - and what's with all these Roman numerals? Are we trying to impress the Pope here? It's got four songs on it. Four! Back in my day, you paid for an album, you got twelve, maybe fifteen tracks. These kids today, they're running some kinda racket, but I respect the hustle.

The first song, "Brackish XXV",  I looked up "brackish" in my dictionary (The one I use to press flowers for my wife's funeral arrangements business). It means salty water. You know what else is salty? My cousin Rocco after he lost fifty grand at the track. But these girls, they're screaming about brackish this and brackish that, and I gotta tell ya - it's growing on me like a fungus.

Then there's "Charlotte XXV",  Now, Charlotte, that was my first wife's sister's name. Beautiful woman, terrible cook. Could burn water. But this Charlotte song? It's got what my nephew calls "aggressive energy". Sounds like when my crew found out somebody was skimming from the poker games. Very passionate, very loud, very... how you say... therapeutic.

"Do You Think I'm A Whore XXV",  Hey, I'm a family man! I don't ask these kinda questions! But the music, it's like when Paulie gets really worked up about the garbage routes. All that intensity, all that... what's the word... angst. These girls got more fight in them than a bag full of wildcats.

And the title track, "Spit XXV", now this one, this one I understand. Spitting. That's universal language, you know? You spit when you're disgusted, you spit when you're angry, you spit when somebody disrespects the family. These Canadian girls, they get it.

The producer, this Garth Richardson fella - sounds like a nice Irish boy - he did the original back in 1999. That's the same year I opened my third pizzeria! Good year for business. He comes back 25 years later to work with these girls again. That's loyalty. That's respect. That's what we call "doing business the right way".

Now, I don't understand why they gotta scream so much. When I got something to say, I just lean in close and whisper. Much more effective, believe me. But these girls, they got what we call in the business "presence". When they walk in a room - or in this case, when their music plays - everybody knows they're there.

My verdict? Listen, I still don't know what the hell a "nu-metal" is (Sounds like some kinda modern art garbage to me), but these Kittie girls? They remind me of my late wife - small, sweet-looking, but don't cross them or they'll tear your throat out.
Four cannoli out of five. Would recommend to anyone who needs music for, intimidation purposes.

So, picture this: it’s half nine on a Thursday night, rain coming down in that relentless sideways way it does when the gods are taking the piss, and I’m parked outside some cul-de-sac in Leith, trying to wrestle a busted washing machine out the back of the van. My hands are numb, my back’s a write-off, and I’ve got Classic Rock Radio spitting adverts for stairlifts and Viagra when my phone buzzes.

It's my mate Gary — the guy who thinks that doom metal is a school subject that you can learn at school — and he tells me (I say tell, when Gary tells you something, it’s basically a demand), "Stick on the new FRAYLE, mate. It'll shift the weather in your head." So I did. And he was right.

The second "Heretics & Lullabies" starts, and the world crawls along. "Walking Wounded" starts — heavy crawling guitars like a motor warming up in a cemetery. Gwyn Strang's vocals don't sing; they haunt. They wriggle beneath your skin and nestle near your ribcage. The harmonies enfold one another like smoke, and the entire thing seems too delicate to be, but heavy enough to break asphalt.

"Summertime Sadness" — may well be a LANA DEL REY cover song, but they’ve turned it into some velvet-trimmed funeral dirge. It's the tune that makes you think of all the awful things you did when you were in love, but you want to hit replay so you can relive it anyway.

And then "Boo" hits. Like they opened the doors on the van and let the ghosts out to dance. The riffs sway, the vocals drift and break down, and there's this odd, sensual pull at it all — like listening to terror sing sweet nothings.

Later on the album, FRAYLE start to really experiment. "Demons" has this creeping sense of horror that makes you remember doom is not necessarily about velocity — it's about heft. And "Souvenirs Of Your Betrayal"? That's a tear-fest. That's heartbreak concretized, a glacial autopsy of trust with a distortion pedal thrumming in the distance. Gwyn's vocals here are blade and cut.

“Glass Blown Heart” does what it says on the tin — fragile but deadly sharp. The mix from Aaron Chaparian deserves real credit: there’s air in the sound, but no relief. Everything feels close, too close, like you’re locked in a room with the band as the amps hum and breathe around you.

By the final song, "Hymn For The Living", it's pure transcendence. Doom metal for the last mass on the last day. The smashing drums are surf on steel, and the vocals drift like incense up through stained glass. "Heretic" ties it all together — hook-prone, epic, and in-your-face. It's one standing exposed amongst the ashes and unbroken.

And "Only Just Once". The ballad. Sad, soft, heartbreaking. It's like the band are leading your hand out with the lights fading. You feel each straw of fatigue, each rasp, each drizzle of disillusion. When it is finished, there is this silence that has been well-won — like you've witnessed something you shouldn't have witnessed, but you're glad you've done so, anyway.

FRAYLE are not some doom band. They've built a cathedral out of distortion, misery, and desire — and managed to set it alight. "Heretics & Lullabies" is simultaneously old and new, sadistic and calming. It's their best, and come on. It's got to be a contender for album of the year.

A solid 9.5/10, bordering on a spiritual experience if you’ve ever worked night shifts, lost something precious, or just needed a reason to keep the van engine running while the world falls apart outside. In another life, I might be a roadie and not a man in a van, but now, halted on the edge of town, with FRAYLE drifting through the speakers and rain tapering off, I reckon that's alright. Words: Matt Denny.

"Chameleon", the long-overdue monument to TOYAH, Britain's patron saint of DayGlo war-paint, anarchist jazz hands, and gloriously over-the-top posturing. A box set so brazen it tries to condense 45 years of musical shapeshifting into one package, and challenges you to take it seriously in the process.

Across three discs, a Blu-Ray, and a veneer of promotional gloss that could laminate a small country, "Chameleon" will stop at nothing to make the point that Toyah is not so much a pop star as a walking, wailing work of art with a back catalogue that won't lie down or go quietly.

​They start with the singles. Even the strangest monsters must get to unleash their courtship calls. "I Want To Be Free", "It's A Mystery", "Thunder In The Mountains", records suspended in a hairspray capsule since 1981. They glitter, they thunder, they shriek their eye-lined facts across the decades, still somehow broadcasting from some dystopian panto somewhere nearby.

CD2 is where things get deep. The solo years/The Fripp experiments. Songs that sound like KATE BUSH took a side-street and wound up in a cyberpunk squat. A mood-whiplash experience: lust, terror, cosmic navel-gazing, and something very like spoken-word therapy over a Yamaha keyboard in agitated distress.

And then, of course, CD3, the "rarities and collaborations", or the aural equivalent of digging around your strange aunties attic and finding a VHS labelled FOR THE COUNCIL OF THE FUTURE. There’s a track recorded with Blood Donor (mercifully not as gory as it sounds), some Fripp-y ephemera that wheezes like sentient steam, and a track from a radio drama called "Children Of The Circus", which frankly raises more questions than I’m equipped to answer. By the time "Blue Pearl" whirls around, you’re not sure if Toyah’s an artist or a portal to a parallel dimension powered by shoulder pads and existential dread.
The Blu-Ray has 12 promo clips posing the question, "What if Ziggy Stardust was trapped in a BBC broom cupboard with a fog machine and just, leaned in?" There is also a newly edited version of "Brave New World", to remind us that Toyah's type of madness is, 100% organic.

And don't miss the sprawling 48-page book: half-archive, half-scrapbook, half-mad fantasy. It's punctuated by quotes from Shirley Manson (GARBAGE) and Saffron (REPUBLICA), who do their best to elaborate on Toyah's impact in straight human language. It's a glossy hymn to the woman who brought eccentricity into fashion and each gig look like some kind of celestial catwalk with the occasional electrical hiccup.

"Chameleon" does exactly what it says on the tin: it morphs, it scorches, it bewilders. It's a third act revisited, a rebirth, and a rebellion all in one. And like Toyah herself, it won't remain still and quiet, even though the box it comes in is devoid of embossed letters (cowards).

​Recommended for: eyeliner enthusiasts, time travel buffs, and the sound of post-punk fairies banging pots and pans in a glittering apocalypse. Words: Matt Denny.

She looks like the person who slept at Comic Con and woke up in a bondage shop, and her new album "Encores" is even more bizarre. Imagine classical music shoved headfirst into a shredder of industrial depravity.

She's fast, yes, but it's speed with a dash of fear added. There is art in her fingers, she'd probably be able to restring a violin balancing scalpels, but the result is this blur wherein Paganini's spirit is chuckling or suing. Half the time I'm not even certain if I'm astonished or just sick.

Thirty songs. Thirty-six minutes. "Encores" is not an album in the traditional sense. It's a seizure. This is...for whatever reason...THE GREAT KAT...

"Paganini’s Caprice No. 9": She murders Paganini so fast, he skipped rolling in his grave and went straight to pole-dancing on it. "Sarasate’s Malaguena": A Spanish dance, now performed by someone who sounds like they’ve never even danced socially. Or had friends.

"Leather Britches Guitar": This sounds more like pleather pants rubbing up against one another as someone cries in a Hot Topic dressing room and less like leather britches. "Santa Lucia Guitar": What is more cliché for the tearful Italian serenade than a woman crying over the violin as if screaming for help from the back of a speeding car.

"Cumberland Gap Guitar": – A folk tune. And nothing captures the spirit of Appalachian mountain folk like a Juilliard grad in fishnets screaming at ghosts. "Pizzazz": The only thing this track pizzazzes is my migraine.

"Paganini’s Caprice No. 14":  At this point, Kat isn’t covering Paganini, she’s just speed-dating his corpse. "Pizzicato by Delibes": Delibes wrote this to sound light and cheerful. Kat plays it like she's auditioning for the slasher film with a busted lawnmower.

"Joplin's The Entertainer": Consider a stripper emerging to this, but she trips immediately, breaks her teeth, and keeps dancing. "Minute Waltz": Chopin wrote it to be performed in a minute. Kat finishes it before you can say, "This was a mistake."

"Shredssissimo":  Not a word, not a style, but a cry for help. "Nessun Dorma": Puccini's master aria of victory. Kat brings it down to the whine of a dying microwave.

"Dixie": She dares to play "Dixie." Considering this album already has enough sins against humanity. "The Flight of the Bumblebee": – Rimsky-Korsakov gave us buzzing chaos. Kat gives us a wasp sting inside your ear canal.

"Blue Danube Waltz": Strauss wanted waltzing elegance. Kat delivers the soundtrack to a drunk uncle vomiting into a wedding cake. "Caprice No. 24": Paganini’s most famous piece. Kat treats it like an ex-boyfriend she found on Tinder: fast, messy, and ultimately regrettable.

By the end, I wasn’t clapping “Encore". I was calling the emergency services.

Score: Paganini’s ghost just called. He wants his dignity back. Words: Matt Denny.

SUN DON'T SHINE has a new EP being dispatched by CORPSE PAINT RECORDS called "Coming Down", and my copy just showed up a few days ago. If you don't know who this band is, then may I suggest that you keep reading to find out? You'll stay? EXCEPTIONAL NEWS! Let's forget ahead then, shall we?

Sun Don't Shine started life as EYE AM, and is composed of Kenny Hickey, (Who you'll know from TYPE-O-NEGATIVE and SILVERTOMB), and he will be supplying vocals and guitars. Kirk Windstein of CROWBAR and the Stoner Metal supergroup known as DOWN will be doing the same. Then we have the one and only Johnny Kelly of Type-O-Negative, Silvertomb, PATRIARCHS IN BLACK, etc on Drums, and Todd Strange from Crowbar / Down laying down what James Hetfield once called “The four string mother fucker”.

These guys all have excellent resumés, right? With that fact firmly in mind, you are already aware that these musicians are going to deliver upon the promise that their careers imply. "Coming Down" has a total of four tracks, which is far too short in my opinion, but let's talk about each of them now.

1. “Coming Down” was the first and only track that I had heard before pre-ordering this black splatter on clear vinyl, limited to 100 copies. What I love about this one is that you can hear their other projects in it, which is solely due to the fact that these guys have a certain identity within their playing styles. There's a strong melody that flows throughout, and the vocal performances are outstanding as well. I was aware that Kenny could sing, but he exceeded my expectations with his performances across all four tracks. However, it's the guitar work that grabs me the most, with killer riffs and well written leads that are memorable and powerful. I also love the way the riffs and the vocals compliment each other. About 3 minutes in I picked up a PALLBEARER vibe, which is another band that I highly suggest to everyone with working ears. 

2. “Dreams Always Die With The Sun” is an excellent track, full of melody and Kenny's incredible vocal approach, which adds an almost ethereal and atmospheric quality to the proceedings. There's a riff that leads into the chorus that is reminiscent of Type-O-Negative, but on subsequent listens I have found that there's a massive "Odd Fellows Rest"-era Crowbar sound to it as well. I'm just noticing it, but Kirk is putting in a great backing vocal in the chorus. I didn't catch that it was him at first, because I expected to hear his raspy, Crowbar voice, but he's sounding phenomenal right here nonetheless; the way that they trade off singing the song title is the icing on an already delicious musical cake. 

3. “The Promise Song” kicks off with a bouncing and energetic riff that is super cool. When the vocals kick in, I started thinking that this song has a Chris Cornell and SOUNDGARDEN vibe. The track shifts and takes on a different feel, yet that Soundgarden sound persists and I'm totally here for it. The band is still able to keep their uniqueness, and I'm telling you what, this is one hell of a track. Again, the guitars and the lead breaks are perfectly executed and fit the overall tone very well.

4. “Cryptomnesia” is the last track, yet it is on par with the others in terms of song-writing, performances, and retaining their sound. Kenny and Kirk do some vocal back and forth that I found extremely enjoyable; I'm so impressed in how their voices compliment each other. The acoustic bit at the end reminded me of DAVID BOWIE, which was a huge, but really cool surprise. When the needle lifted at the end of this song, I knew that I'd be starting the record over several times. A fact that has carried on for several days at this point. 

If you hadn't noticed, I haven't brought up the drums and bass guitar much, but don't let that fool you into thinking that they aren't worth mentioning. Johnny is one of the most solid drummers out there, and he adds fills and flourishes where they're needed, putting out a performance that is exactly what these songs need. 

Lastly, we have the powerful and tasteful playing of Todd Strange. His bass tone is enormous yet not overpowering, and the notes that he chooses to play are interesting and support what birth the drums and the guitars are doing. There's so many spots where my bass player brain just melts and thinks about how fantastic what he's doing is. 

In closing, none of these tracks are carbon copies of their other bands, with this, and all of these tracks having their own identity, creating a new brand so to speak. It's crazy to me that I'm having a hard time picking a favourite track, but if forced to do so, I would go with “Dreams Always Die With The Sun”, there's just something extra special about that one that really stuck with me.

So go to YouTube, or wherever you listen to music and stream the tracks. Or, and even better yet, lay some money down on the vinyl if you can, then kick back and let these stellar songs work their way into your subconscious.

10 Out Of Mother Fucking 10! Words: Tom Hanno.

Death rattles aren't practiced this close to the actual thing. KALAMITY KILLS' self-titled reprimands its own arrival. Veins push against skin, teeth grind, it flails across broken stone, like a revenant too arrogant to perish before the gates of the cemetery. Its coming is dark. Beauty is absent, no comforting aroma of perspiration, but rather the unmistakable odour of rot. This is an involuntary reaction to your own death, and knowing our final destination is eternally dust.

"Anthem" is stripped bare less as a song and more as the closing grip of strangulation. Luzier's drums are crushing, like dirt on a coffin; each strike a second you can't get away from. The album is a procession of anguish. "Dearest Enemy (Pressure)" is venomous to the point of choking rather than strangled. "Dark Secrets" seeps into your core, gorging on grief which no shepherd can brush away. Guitars go awry, their shrieks falling into white sound. "Burn" rages like a funeral pyre, and the GPS matter-of-factly tells you to remain in the fire, since rescue is not possible, and rerouting is not an option.

"What's On Your Mind? (Pure Energy)" sheds the shallow smile to expose gnarled teeth. Kiarely Castillo warbles in zombie-like cadaverous voices, distorting nostalgia into something feral and unyielding, with memory rotting like rusty highway signs buried under a shroud of obscurity.

"Hellfire Honey" wields irony as dagger in the teeth, slaying belief and defying altars, brick by rotted brick. "Sinners Welcome" continues to drive the nails of the coffin deeper, until there are nothing but splinters.

"I Still Believe" emerged from a superficial grave, plodding under an indifferent sky. [Editor: My bias towards 'The Lost Boys' dictates that this song slaps. TIM CAPELLO! you sexy saxophone wielding warrior of wank-banks!] The final "Amen" breathes like a dying star, and silently devours everything. The GPS utters the self-evident truth

Kalamity Kills haven’t merely produced an album, it’s a voice defiantly screaming into the void, fully aware the void won’t respond. It leaves deliberate scars, deep reminders of our own insignificance. By the end, you’re left tasting eternity's bitter flavour: small, inconsequential, and already forgotten.

Final Score: 8/10. Not by fault, there aren't many that are worth mentioning, but because numbers don't mean anything, like mileposts on an endless desert. Words: Matt Denny.

"On May 1st...I thought that was IT...I was at PEACE with this being my last show. But little did I know...when I got into that room with the guys, everything changed. It wasn't just about saying goodbye; it was about being reborn with music. And, we had two rehearsals, and the show...and from the moment we started playing music together, I realised this was just the BEGINNING. How to disappear, and never be found? That's a great question...let's find out..." - NIKKI SMASH

The very first aspect that draws your attention when you experience "The Art Of Disconnect" is not the music itself, but rather the overwhelming presence of the crime scene surrounding it. This scene is as unyielding and raw as a live performance can possibly become. You find yourself confronted with a stage marked by bootleg stains, suggesting a chaotic past, with the lighting intentionally dimmed to levels reminiscent of those found in an interrogation room, creating a chilling atmosphere.
The band's name looms in the air like an unsettling admonishment, echoing the title of a missing persons alert for Madeline McCann: HOW TO DISAPPEAR AND NEVER BE FOUND. It's absolutely crucial to understand that this is beyond a mere confession; rather, it works as a highly powerful testimonial that counts.
Listening to this live album is like flipping through case files past midnight, every song another recorded interview, another blacked-out paragraph, another witness who claims to have seen but can't quite get it right.
It commences with a composition entitled "Enthusiasm And Fumes", which possesses an energy and presence that could almost be mistaken for an alibi—it's subdued, assured, and has an aura that seems almost rehearsed. The lines on guitar charge forward, reminiscent of suspect testimony that can't quite be trusted, while vocals envelop you in a way reminiscent of how a cloud of cigarette smoke suffuses a room when you have that uncomfortable sensation that the detective is openly lying through his teeth. By the point that the band runs through the song "Blueprint For A Breakdown", a malevolent chill has permeated.
Within the context of their creative world, the theme of disappearance manifests itself as both a profound tragedy and a grotesquely twisted form of artistic expression. And that's where The Art Of Disconnect's brilliant trick lies: it's not a concert that you listen to; rather, it plays out like a procedural thriller. You don't applaud between numbers in appreciation but painstakingly keep notes in the margins of your mind, circling particular words and phrases that could potentially have a deeper relationship.
With this novel event, the audience become the jury while the band become suspects. And then there are the songs, the evidence in this complex trial. Some numbers clearly have a guilty appearance while some could provide a reprieve; but both of these remain bathed in an insurmountable level of doubt and uncertainty.
By the closer “Deadhead”, you realise the title was never about stagecraft at all. It was a manifesto. To disappear and never be found isn’t just the band’s name, it’s their verdict.
If NIKKI SMASH hadn't been intercepted in the act of making his audio or video recording of his last crime, then he most likely would have gone completely out of sight and would have never been discovered or found again.

When the gavel finally came down, the number written on the record was 8.5 out of 10. Not justice. Not closure. Just a verdict that feels temporary, like any good mystery, one that's infuriating in all the right, terrible ways. Words: Matt Denny.

"The Art Of Disconnect" Is Available Digitally October 24th. Physical Pre-Orders Open Now.

LIVING COLOUR’s guitar virtuoso VERNON REID launches his fourth solo album "Hoodoo Telemetry". [Editor: Cold open much!] This record feels less like an album and more of a public execution of anyone foolish enough to think they can play guitar. I put it on, and suddenly every clumsy note I’ve ever hit comes rushing back, mocking me, so I launched my guitar at the wall.

"Door Of No Return" sets the tone immediately. There’s no warm-up, no mercy. Vernon cuts straight into the strings, leaving scorch marks across the air. He isn’t playing; he’s dismantling, and MY guitar is now dismantled courtesy of the wall.

Then comes "The Haunting". The title is too neat, but the music earns it. The track breathes in smoke and exhales fire. Every note carries memory and menace. I can’t turn it off, though it makes me want to set fire to my own, now fully shattered guitar and walk away.

"Bronx Paradox" is chaos held together by sheer willpower. Brass stabs, glitching rhythms, guitars carving through the mess, it shouldn’t work, but he bends it into shape. Meanwhile, I’m stuck wrestling an instrument that refuses to obey me.

By "Black Fathom Five", the bitterness has taken over. It’s heavy, drowning and it’s smothering. Vernon yet again absorbs his guitar until you can’t tell where one ends and the other begins. I’ve never managed anything close.

"Hoodoo Telemetry" doesn’t offer comfort or answers. It just offers a mirror, and for me, that reflection is ugly and shows an obsession with a craft I can’t master, sharpened by the sound of someone who already has.

There’s no point giving it a number. This isn’t a scorecard. It’s a reminder that Vernon Reid is untouchable. I’m still staring at the embers of my own guitar in the fire.

Vernon has stated that this album’s "Like a piece of my all-over-the-place mind". That’s one fucked up mind and a stupidly talented one at that. 

Words: Matt Denny. 

Well tickle my prostate and light the fuse, "Some Kind of Alchemy" isn’t just a reunion. Sure, if your idea of reunion involves chainsaws and parole violations; OTHERWISE didn't come back, they came back with a crowbar and a grin that'd make a mortician nervous..

I’m not here to hold your dainty little hands mouth breathers, or wax poetic about "Emotional journeys" and all that daytime TV horseshit. I’m not your therapist, and I certainly won’t explain the emotional depth of this music as if it’s some college dissertation.

This EP was fermented in a Nevada back alley with blood, sweat, bourbon, and a dash of righteous indignation. If you want subtlety? Go read a Hallmark card. This is six songs of gasoline and a match. And it's got me strutting around in circles, throwing confetti and middle fingers.

"Some Kind of Alchemy" starts off with an intro that gives you that greasy, bone-deep chill, like you just walked into a war-zone wearing a clown nose. It's raw, it's sharp, and it smells of napalm and cheap aftershave.

They've dragged original drummer Dave McMahan back into the fold like a long-lost cousin from the wrong side of the apocalypse, and it shows. There's this primal stomp to the whole EP, or just a biker gang doing tribal rituals behind a strip mall. You choose

The choruses are big enough to swallow a tour bus. Adrian Patrick belts every word like it might be his last breath before the gas ignites. And his brother Ryan’s guitar is the sound of desert ghosts whispering through the amps. If you’re still blinking,  congratulations, you’re probably not devoid of breath just yet.

Speaking of alchemy, this thing is a transmutation. It's pain into power. Trauma into triumph. A pair of Vegas-born brothers who’ve been chewed up by the industry and spit back out with gold records and gritted teeth, now digging their heels into the dirt and screaming, “Try again, motherfucker!”

If you want something slick, polished, or safe, go find a STEREOPHONICS CD and cry into your pumpkin latte. But if you're looking for blood-soaked riffs, battle-scarred vocals, and a band that’ll grind your bones into confetti, Some Kind of Alchemy is the sermon you’ve been waiting on.

This is family-hating, cop-baiting, drive-faster music and it sounds just like your ex lighting a cigarette off your burning house.

​Score: 8/10 Barbequed road kills not so fresh off of Route 95... Words: Matt Denny.

"It Can’t Rain All The Time" (especially in Scotland) is a title wrapped in an enigma,  trapped in a rumour and sealed by a whisper.

SILVER DOLLAR ROOM haven’t made an easy listen. They’ve built a shrine out of damp stone and broken glass, then dared you to kneel on it. Every track hurts, and that’s the point. This isn’t comfort—it’s a reminder that the rain never really stops. Subjects such as male suicide, destructive relationships, class divide, addiction, poverty, wealth, and greed make this a record that’s lyrically jarring but delivered in RADIOHEAD, SMASHING PUMPKINS, MANIC STREET PREACHERS, and STONE TEMPLE PILOTS type fuzz.

At the heart of the album is "Monsters". This track tackles the harsh reality of the Rochdale Scandal in which calling schoolgirls liars was easier than doing actual police work.

John Keenan’s tearing his throat raw spitting venom at the filth who let Rochdale burn. Every riff’s another brick lobbed through their office windows, every drum hit’s another skull cracked against the kerb. FUCK THEIR EXCUSES, FUCK THEIR FAKE APOLOGIES!. It’s a boot in the teeth of authority, screaming YOU KNEW, AND YOU DID FUCK ALL!
You don’t listen to this album, you survive it. You crawl from underneath it bruised, bleeding, but laughing because at least someone’s still got the balls to scream while the rest of the world nods off. SILVER DOLLAR ROOM aren’t here to be liked, they’re here to haunt you. "It Can’t Rain All The Time" is the sound of the storm breaking your windows in, and if you’re not soaked and shivering by the end, you weren’t listening.

Score: [7.5] — Louder than the lies, but not yet loud enough to bury them... Words: Matt Denny.

The album "It Can't Rain All The Time" is released independently on September 13th

Like many music fans, I was extremely excited when Adam Gontier rejoined THREE DAYS GRACE. That excitement waned some when I realized that they hadn't lost their other singer, one Matt Walst. Then the first single dropped, and that excitement gathered some steam again; that track was titled "Mayday" and was released on November 22, 2024. It had all of the hallmarks of classic Three Days Grace, and Adam sounded fantastic on it. 

Now mind you, I loved their "One-X" album, it helped get me through a messy divorce in 2008. I still believe that it's their best effort, with the exception of “Riot”, that song, despite its massive popularity, just never sat right with me. Anyway, it's not like I wasn't coming from a place where I wasn't a fan of their music. I even saw them in 2008 at a Krockathon here in Northern New York State, and though they weren't the headliner, they made every other band look like trash with their energetic performance and stage presence. The headliner was the most boring band that I've ever seen live, SEETHER, who barely moved away from their mics for their entire set … which is lame as hell.

I was excited to hear "Alienation", but even as I listen to it and write these words, I find myself paying more attention to the writing of this review. Normally, the music will distract me from the writing, so the fact that it's not isn't a good sign for what could have been an incredible comeback album. 

I'm 7 tracks in, and even the 3 decent tracks (“In Waves”, “Mayday”, “Alienation”) aren't anything overly special, and, for the sake of transparency, this is where I gave up on things. I hit stop on my player, and have zero expectations that I will ever listen to the rest of it. 

The problem with bands of this nature, or of all genres if I'm being honest, is that they stick to the formula that they've used for years. I personally feel that is just the nature of the music business, they go by the “If it ain't broke, don't fix it”, (METALLICA is a prime example of what I'm speaking on). Well, that's a phrase that shouldn't be in the vocabulary of any musician. We, the music fans across the globe, want you to step outside of your comfort zone, be daring and invent new sounds, tones, etc. 

In closing, and much to my own surprise, I wasn't into this record, but fans of the formulaic style of Three Days Grace will most likely enjoy the hell out of it. But for me, this album is the musical equivalent of elevator music, if the elevator was stuck between floors, and all the buttons were labelled 'meh'.

I just want more from the bands that I listen to, like excitement and pushing the envelope … much like my current hero has done on his new album, "Idols". That man is named YUNGBLUD, and he broke the box he was in on prior albums, though he wasn't stale in any way whatsoever, he just wanted to push his own boundaries. In other words, be a Yungblud by challenging yourselves and your fans, which I direct to all bands who get stuck in a creative formula.

Rating: 2/10, I'd give it less, but I still have hopes for this band's future... Words: Tom Hanno.

In this present age, wherein man is beset on all sides by the twin oppressors of hypocrisy and politesse, there sometimes arises a voice most monstrous in its candour, raw, unfiltered, and foaming with the froth of indignation. Such a voice is that of the ANTI-NOWHERE LEAGUE, whose debut long-player, "We Are… The League", now re-issued in a most handsomely appointed gatefold edition, does return to us like an unruly bastard child, grinning through broken teeth and clutching a gin bottle laced with vitriol.

It is a record not intended for polite drawing rooms nor the parlours of maiden aunts. No, dear reader, this is the noise of the back-alley, the howl of the guttersnipe, the inchoate scream of the misruled and misunderstood. When first it emerged, in that curious spring of 1982, it made not only a stir but a veritable ruckus, climbing to the No.2 rung of the Independent Chart ladder and even breaking into the loftier reaches of the UK National Chart at No.24. A feat not dissimilar to a mud-caked urchin sneaking into the Queen’s own banquet.

The songs, if one may employ so gentle a term, are as follows: "I Hate People" is a sentiment delivered with such glee as to make Mr. Scrooge himself blush—and a mangled, sneering interpretation of "Streets Of London" that turns sentimentality inside out and displays its entrails upon a spike. Each track is a lampoon of society’s hypocrisies, shrieked with all the subtlety of a town crier on laudanum.

In this edition, two additional abominations have been affixed: chief among them, the infamous "So What", is a ballad of depravity so unrepentant it would cause the Reverend Chadband to faint dead away. It is no wonder METALLICA, those brawny colonial bards, did later lift it for their own devices.

The gatefold itself is a most sumptuous relic, resplendent with relics of the time, news clippings, handbills, adverts for gigs held in beer-soaked hellholes and municipal rooms alike. One may, with a glass of sherry and a magnifying lens, observe the rise of this gang of malcontents in the very ink of history.

"We Are… The League" is not so much an album as a broadside. A furious missive from the mob. To listen is to be pelted with metaphorical cabbages by a mob of sneering Cockneys, yet there lies in its rancour a peculiar charm. A document of revolt, painted in bile and wrapped in a jacket of cardboard splendour. I do not recommend it to the faint of heart, the weak of will, or those who prefer Handel to hooliganism. But for the rest. The rebels, the outcasts, the chimney-sweep souls choking on the soot of modernity, it may prove a kind of salvation. Or, at the very least, a fine excuse to shout obscenities at the wall.

Score: 9/10 – A wretched triumph, and all the better for it. Words: Matt Denny.

TALLBOY. Not to be confused with some amplified pub bore on stilts singing FRANK SINATRA’s "My Way" on the karaoke, though I’ll admit the decibel levels are similar and both seem hell-bent on rupturing your inner ear. Only one of them, however, is a weaponised hymn to collapse. This particular Tallboy a five-headed sonic siege engine from Cumbria. They've just released "House Of Glass", which I initially assumed referred to the Gherkin-shaped building in London. But I was very wrong. This isn’t some sterile phallic tribute to capitalism. This is a cathedral of feedback and fury, lit from within by flickering trauma and probably condemned by planning authorities.



TRACK ONE: "INSOMNIA".
If you weren’t suffering before, you will be. It’s a migraine with sirens. You won’t sleep. You’ll be too busy checking the walls for structural damage and wondering whether your spleen is supposed to vibrate.

TRACK TWO: "SNAKE".
Had METALLICA grown up in Workington and been angry about the price of a Greggs sausage roll, you might get somewhere close to describing Tallboy, but you’d still be wrong.

TRACK THREE: "Name & Shame".
FINALLY, an anthem for vengeance. There’s a spreadsheet of people who’ve crossed me, and this track is what I play while highlighting their names and pressing delete. Fast, merciless, and frankly rejuvenating. I listened to it three times, then streaked down the high street just for the sheer thrill.

TRACK FOUR: "Ego Trip".
It builds with the quiet menace of a houseplant that’s learned how to plot revenge, then detonates in your ribcage. If this had been playing every time Donald Trump entered a room, we’d all have been spared the second season.

TRACK FIVE: "Pressure Point".
Now with an accompanying video, because apparently audio demolition alone wasn’t thorough enough. It sounds like a group therapy session for poltergeists, conducted entirely in screams and bass drops, with breakthroughs measured in shattered glass.

​"House of Glass" is emotionally volatile, instrumentally violent, and quite possibly illegal in certain jurisdictions, especially on a Tuesday.

SCORE: 7 cracked windows of Capitalism. Released 25 July 2025. Words: Matt Denny

Good day and hello, fellow music fanatics! Today we will be talking about the solo debut from MARK ACEVES, who those of you in the know will recognize as the bringer of the low end thunder for the heavy rock juggernaut known as ZED. What you may not know is that Mark is a man of many talents, as he is a multi-instrumentalist, a fantastic singer, and one hell of a songwriter. Mark; as the Bandcamp description says,

“...Breaks free and steps into the spotlight with his solo debut "Magnum Dopus" "— a loud, unfiltered testament to loss, love, rebellion, and refusing to go quietly.
Written fast and raw between January and April 2025, "Magnum Dopus" captures the energy of a life lived with fists clenched and heart wide open.”

Following the death of Zed's drummer, Sean Boyles, the band went into a hiatus as they grieved his loss. Mark was extremely close to Sean, both personally and as musicians, so this album can be seen as his tribute to him, while also honouring the important people in his life. I believe that this pushed him to create something special, because that's precisely what "Magnum Dopus" is. 

I asked Mark to supply his thoughts on what he accomplished, and he was kind enough to share this with us …

“This album is really close to my heart because at its core it's both about the people I love, and it's about themes and ideas that are things I believe in. Things that I've had to put into practice to make it through to the next day at different points in my life. I use this album to honour my father and friend/drummer Sean Boyles who both passed away within a year of each other. I use this album to tell my wife how much I love her, and to give my kids some words of wisdom and love for when I'm no longer here to tell them. And then I use this album to remind myself that when the chips are down, and I'm on the floor, bloodied and beaten by life's punches, that I still need to get back up and fucking keep fighting. Even if I fail, I will know I did everything I could to rise above and keep putting one foot in front of the other. And I hope others can get that same inspiration from it.”

So let's talk about a few of the highlights on this album FULL of highlights. 

“Still Ain't Dead” contains the lyric, “You're not gonna live it until the day that you start” which is one of the most powerful messages on this album. Not only for the way it's worded and sung, but also because it also reeks of the positive nature that permeates the entire album. It's blunt in nature, but it's also an absolute truth that we all, as humans, must realize before it's too late. 

“Just Your Disguise” is probably the most catchy of all of the tracks on "Magnum Dopus", especially the chorus. Plus, Mark's bass tone is absolutely massive, and captures the sound and vibe of this album perfectly … gritty and raw, but perfectly so!!!

“Daisies” sounds as if Kurt Cobain wrote it, as it has the overall vibe that NIRVANA's Insecticide album does … which, as a side note, is my preferred Nirvana album. It's bouncy and memorable, like all of the great songs of the past 50 years. 

The last track, “For My Children”, is also the most emotional, as it was written for his children. The lyrics spell out his hopes and dreams for them, as well letting them know how much he loves them. I've watched Mark post about his kids for several years now, and he's one hell of a Dad, those kids are super lucky to have him. 

There's not a single song on here that feels phoned in, which, in my opinion, is because of the importance of the reasons behind this album existing in the first place. There's zero filler to be found, each and every sound that you will hear is precisely what is needed to make each song great. 

One of the coolest aspects of "Magnum Dopus" is that it feels REAL. I think that is due in part to the DIY approach that Mark took, as well as his performances and the overall tone of the record when taken as a whole; some of this is from the excellent mix, which Mark was also responsible for. So head to Bandcamp, or wherever you listen to music, and give this album a bit of your listening time. You will not be disappointed in doing so!!! [8]

Words: Tom Hanno

By the gods of thunder and circuitry, I have found it. A land uncharted. A kingdom carved from distortion and fire. They call it "Re-Evolution". The natives go by the name DEVILSKIN, and I believe I’ve stumbled upon their magnum opus. This is not a recording; this is a living, breathing beast built from anguish, muscle, and melody.

My first encounter sounded primal and exacting, it surged through me like a blood oath. No preamble. No mercy. It felt as if I had stepped barefoot into a ritual I couldn’t comprehend. Jennie Skulander’s voice summoned gods I do not know by name. She doesn’t sing; she conjures. From delicate echoes to banshee wails, she maps the terrain of pain and triumph without a compass.

The terrain shifted and a sandstorm of riffs and percussion, scorching and relentless. I ducked for cover and found none. The album continues like an oasis, but even its waters shimmered with unrest. I began to understand, this album is built on contrast. Rage and grace live in twin towers here, each echoing the other’s scream.

Themes emerge of grief, addiction, phobia, decay. They’re not presented as artifacts to be examined. They’re alive, stitched into every note. DEVILSKIN aren’t storytellers. They are the storm and the wreckage, the ghost and the grave. Somehow, this doesn’t collapse under its own weight. It rises. "Re-Evolution" does not wallow in despair, it devours it, digests it, and builds something stronger from its bones.

The instrumentation is staggering. Paul Martin’s bass feels tectonic, shifting the very ground beneath this strange new world. Nic’s drumming isn’t just rhythm, it’s language. As for Nail, his guitar doesn’t merely shred. It paints. Cinematic, chaotic, sacred.

The production by Dave Rhodes is not a studio trick. It’s cartography. Every drum hit, every breath of feedback, every gasp in the silence, it all feels placed with ritualistic intent. The landscape is dense, yet navigable. Foreign, but familiar in that way danger sometimes is.

I came expecting metal. I found "Re-Evolution". A culture. A movement. An awakening.
If you dare tread here, tread carefully. There is no safe passage. Only fire, truth, and the most glorious noise I’ve ever survived.

Score: 9 / 10 – "Machete in Hand, Shirt Long Torn Off" - Words: Matt Denny

They say that nice guys finish last...nice guys get walked over, nice guys get overlooked; but not every nice guy is arguably the hottest property in rock and roll right now. Finish last? (Firstly, that’s the gentlemanly thing to do). Some nice guys are just truly getting started, because they are beginning at breaking point...sick and tired of the snapped synapse that is the music industry. Sick of the disconnect between corporate greed and the common man. Sick of the bullshit. They want to make the world better... 

Artists with good intentions DO come and go...BOB GELDOF tried the whole “Band Aid” thing, and it was literally like putting a Hello Kitty plaster over a glioblastoma. Forty years later Bob, you’ve re-released the same track more than once with fresh line-ups, gradually getting less Christmassy and more cringeworthy, (Which is a good thing to be fair as you were the musical equivalent of colonialism to an extent) and yet mosquito nets to this day still save more mosquitos from dying of aids than your aid does saving children dying of starvation. DAVID DRAIMAN, I hope your label and PR team leaves you dangling like your stupid fucking chin tusks, for personally signing missiles that’ll undoubtedly kill civilians you tactless cunt. Down with the sickness? You’re just down in everyone's estimations. U2 once hacked us to give us a free album on iTunes...hacked is a strong word, sorry...let me rephrase that; RAPED. U2 forced an album on us without consent, I guess that’s how The Edge gets off? I digress... 

Jokes aside, today we’re here to appreciate and learn about YUNGBLUD. Real name Dominic, Yungblud has never shied away from controversy or criticism, be it in his early image and fashion sense on stage, or the sheer honesty of his song writing, to even starting up his own festival to ease the chokehold on extortionate organizers, and, from his emergence on “21st Century Liability”, this Yorkshire-born youngster has grown into one of the most vitally important artists in rock and alternative music. He champions the people, he’s an empath, he cares about community...he cares A LOT, and not many so unashamedly put the people first. 2025 found Yungblud scoring another number one album with “Idols” ...and before we jump into this headfirst, BILLY IDOL once said “Rock isn’t art, it’s the way ordinary people talk”, so let’s talk... 

The opening track “Hello Heaven, Hello” is a beautifully ballsy move at just over nine minutes long. There's no short, sharp introduction to this album, we dive straight into the grandiose with an ambitious indie-rock opera, and you know immediately this is going to be something different, something special. It’s a journey of self-discovery, and he’s asking if you’re along for the ride. It’s a track about finding your truth, your identity and the tribulations you persevere through; the ambitions you nurture and the goals you aspire to in the face of negativity and adversity. Amidst an up-beat indie rock core sound we have wonderfully arranged orchestral pieces, hard rock riffs, vocal vitriol and a true longing for life. We take elements of QUEEN, “The Rocky Horror Picture Show”, BLACK SABBATH, OASIS, THE VERVE...it’s truly a modern rock masterpiece. Yungblud proves you don’t have to play heavy to go hard, as the emotions and eccentricities here are raw and real. This is a superb song... 

This transitions wonderfully into “Idols Pt.1” and there are almost James Bond elements here with the string instrumentation. We’ve got another track about diversity and emancipation. Girls and boys are irrelevant here; a gender-fluid ideology of who you really are at heart, and who you aspire to be...it’s a pained track about acceptance and empowerment. We can be our own idols; we can look into ourselves to find strength and belief and we shouldn’t let other people suffocate our dreams. Everyday people, believing in themselves and it's a sweet little melodic indie-pop number. 

This then blends wonderfully into the single “Lovesick Lullaby” and the Brit-Pop elements really shine through here. It gives off BLUR “Park Life” vibes with it’s almost narrated verses and light guitar notes, coupled with the simplistic, melodic chorus hooks. The switch between electric and acoustic guitars, the backing gang vocals; it all amounts to this brief but brilliant little track full of character, tackling self-doubt and insecurity. It’s like Dom is having fun with his own vulnerability and personality and acknowledging stifled yet tumultuous emotional dilemmas.  

We go straight into the sombre next as we have one of the most emotionally hard-hitting tracks you’ll hear this year, or ever, courtesy of “Zombie”. A truly heart wrenching track about coming to terms with loss, protecting your loved ones from hurt, mental health, and knowing time is precious. It’s about loving unconditionally in the face of hardship and truly knowing that there are people out there that care. There’s a genuine sense of sadness oozing from the guitars here that tearfully carry Yungblud’s tender vocal delivery and it’s a genuinely beautiful ballad; easily an album highlight. 

Similar can be said for personal album highlight of mine “Monday Murder”, which carries this jovial, melodious acoustic led guitar tone. It’s light, airy and houses an almost blissful ignorance to the chaos of the world, an apathy to the conflict. It’s touching in its melancholy to the point it acts as a prayer for healing, and a yearning for change. We could go on further about the enormity of the emotional aspects of this album, with simply stunning tracks like “Ghosts” and “War” too, but we’d be here all day. Go and appreciate the album for yourself, not just take my word for it. 

YUNGBLUD here has delivered not just a number one album, with some attention-grabbing singles like a pop star, with a cool image...he doesn’t ACT cool, that’s just Dom. He’s delivered an album so raw in genuine emotion, so real and relatable in lyricism, so undiluted in its undeniable passion for growth and togetherness, he’s cemented himself as a Bonafide 21st century rock star.  

His aura, his honesty, his dedication, his presence, his charm, his down-to-Earth character...he is legitimately the modern-day rock star the genre and the community NEEDS. “Idols” speaks to every single one of us; we have an idol locked away in all of us, our best self, be it emotionally guarded by walls from trauma, or a lack of confidence, or doubt...this album is a rallying cry for everyone of us to live. Truly LIVE. In just a few short years, his attitude and passion for not just performing, but the people, has seen Yungblud go from a 21st century liability, to absolutely essential listening. [10] 

They said not to listen. They said it would trigger episodes. They said, “That music isn’t for you.” But they don’t know what’s in my head. They don’t know, her.
 
I heard the first track "Regeneration" through the crack in the wall. The orderly dropped his little radio. I watched him bleed from the ears, just a trickle, but he didn’t notice. I noticed. I always notice.
 
Then the forest came. Not real trees, just noise wrapped in leaves. Wires swinging from the sky. "Into the Wilderness", yes, I know that place. Been there. Lost a toe to it. Still hear it walking behind me when the lights buzz. The song plays, and I remember what it felt like to forget my name.
 
"What’s In The Box?" Don't ask that. Never ask that. It’s teeth. It’s always teeth. Psychoberrie told me herself. She leaned in close, almost too close, singing like she’d carved the lyrics into the walls of her cell with a spoon. Not a pretty voice. But necessary. "Macabaret". This one made me laugh. Not funny ha-ha. The other kind. The kind they give you more pills for. My bed floated. The drain in the corner started clapping. I had visitors in my mirror, mouthing things they won’t write down.
 
"Blood Is The New Black" gave me nosebleeds. I smelled burnt perfume and the ends of dreams that never made it to morning. It left handprints on the inside of my skull. "At The Window" didn’t scare me. I’m never scared. I make others scared. This one, however, understood me. It spoke my name. I leaned against the glass and watched the others scream. I was calm. I knew she’d come for me soon.
 
And the rest? "I Spit On Your Grave", "Darkest Desire", "Amoeba Of Madness", played, moments. Stuff you forget until it’s too late. Like the smell of bleach. Or how the floor feels when it’s covered in feathers. Or fingers. There are three interludes. I counted them. Three. Same as the locks on my door. Coincidence? You think so? Then you haven’t been paying attention.
 
This is a message. A coded one. Smuggled in under the disguise of noise. Psychoberrie is trying to reach us. She’s been inside longer than anyone. She’s mapped the place. She knows the holes in the walls.
 
I give it thirteen out of thirteen. No decimals. Decimals lie. - Words: Matt Denny

Every now and again, a band will come along and even if not outright revolutionise the industry, will flip it upside its head. They make such an impact, that people have no choice than to sit up and take notice. It doesn’t matter what genre they fall under; that’s an afterthought. What matters is the connection they create with their audience, how they break the status quo, and how that band ascends from being A band, to being THE band. There are plenty of examples of such boundary pushers over the decades...even if we stick to the UK for the sake of this write-up. 

Whether it’s THE BEATLES or BLACK SABBATH, either super-popularising the idea of rock ‘n’ roll or the latter creating heavy metal out of it...whether it’s SEX PISTOLS or SPICE GIRLS, bringing unashamed, gritty, socio-political realism to punk or bringing “Girl Power” to the forefront of pop music...the UK, despite its small size, has always punched above its weight. This isn’t about chart success and streams, this is about artists who despite everything, became icons. These artists stood for something. Alright sure the Spice Girls were manufactured, but the reason they were was valid, and by fuck did it work. “Girl Power” wasn’t just a gimmick...if you enjoyed a “Brat Summer” last year with CHARLI XCX, well you can thank Baby Spice and co for that inspiration. People forget.  

But what happens when over the years, sounds, influences and ideas have blended beyond genre boundaries? What happens when the genre gene pool has become a metaphorical punch bowl, where you can add in whatever you want to create something unique, or even undeniable? It might not be to everyone's preferred tastes, but a lot of people are going to drink it. That’s where today’s band comes in; SLEEP TOKEN.  

Formed in London in 2016, the anonymous masked and cloaked outfit, fronted by Vessel, (A characterised ideology) released a couple of EPs before originally being picked up by Spinefarm Records, and have gone from strength to strength, to strength. In just a decade give or take, this alternative ensemble has sold out tours, gotten to number one in the UK album charts and have just recently headlined the Saturday of Download festival. That’s no mean feat let me tell you. KORN headlined the Sunday for the first time in their career this year, and they’ve been around since 1994! So, what’s the hype around this new cult of Sleep Token? Well, we’re about to attempt to find out...in theory, in practice and maybe even in vain. Nevertheless, now aligned with RCA Records for album number 4, this, is “Even In Arcadia”... 

The album, on face value at least sort of follows up thematically from 2023’s “Take Me Back To Eden”, as Arcadia itself refers to ancient Greece, and its own area of natural, peaceful beauty; simplicity, contentment and harmony. Vessel is clearly looking to write, and perform in order to channel himself, for a sense of purity and togetherness from not only his own sense of self preservation and worth, but his audience wanting a safe space too. He’s an incredibly poignant lyricist, so let’s get into that.  

Opening track “Look Into Windward” laments of an inner turmoil; facing the struggles or challenges of success, creation and identity. Instead of sailing with the wind, which let's admit outright, the band very much are in terms of success, Vessel see’s things differently. He’s sailing INTO the wind, pushing against the flow, any sense of natural order and fighting an uphill battle. From the very first verse we get a sense of tired tribalism. “Will you listen, just as my form starts to fission, losing this war of attrition just as I drift away”. Vessel is growing, evolving and wants to drive the art forward, and this could be interpreted as a frustrated acknowledgement of the division they create between fans of alternative music. They can’t escape an endless, thick air of negative criticism surrounding them from certain demographics. 

Lines like “I’ve got eyelids heavy enough to break diamonds” highlight Vessel's tiredness of it all, while the hypnotic, almost mystic repetition of the line “Will you halt this eclipse in me?” is the pained cry of an artist just looking to bare his soul, and not be overwhelmed and overshadowed by cynical and sardonic gatekeeping. All this is delivered with a wonderfully lulling, poetic often orchestral timbre, balanced by a fleeting bombardment of heavy riffs and percussion, really hammering home the metaphor of sailing against the wind. Potentially. A lengthy but lovely opener. 

The title track, “Even In Arcadia” starts off with the gentle tickling of a xylophone, almost like a windchime; quaint and peaceful, before this genuinely beautiful, flowing piano instrumentation wraps itself around your ear drums like a comforter. Vessel’s vocals here perfectly match the emotion of the track, softly crooned with a subtle vibrato, allowing an essence of vulnerability, as he sings of uncertainties in life. A deeply personal and private track of penance, but as the Gods sharpen their blades, he knows he still has wrongs to right and, there’s a powerful feeling of inner conflict and readiness for the battles that still lay ahead. As the track escalates, the added violins provide stunning orchestral accompaniment to an already opulent track, and it’s simply sublime. In places there’s an air of CELLDWELLER here at its most atmospheric and cinematic, and it’s easily an album highlight. 

Promotional singles like “Caramel” celebrate the unity and togetherness Sleep Token have amassed in their incredibly devout fanbase. Vessel is asking here for everyone who understands and appreciates, to follow...to literally stick to them like caramel. It’s going to be a messy journey, there will be obstacles, there will be hardship, but the key is unity. Lines like “Right foot in the roses, left foot on a landmine” highlight the almost trepidation felt, juggling success and criticism, just as “Wear me out like Prada, devil in my detail” showcase the cut-throat trend-based, fashionable aspects of the music industry, and how they face it head on. The personal battles don’t stop there either, as we have lyrics like “Can I get a mirror side-stage? Looking sideways at my own visage, getting worse, every time they try to shout my real name just to get a rise from me”. People are too obsessed with the who and the why...and they ignore the what and the when. What’s important here, is you have a band producing quality music, with a real deep connection with the fans, and many people want to dissect instead of digest, and play sleuth instead of living in the moment.  

Depth of song writing isn’t the main issue with Sleep Token thought...it’s their approach to music in general. As an alternative band, they’ve picked up momentum within the pages of say, Metal Hammer and Kerrang! etc, but because they aren’t primarily a metal band, or a rock band, they generate a lot of heat, especially in social media comment sections and posts. Sure, they are pigeonholed within such categories because of the fact they do utilise some truly crushing metalcore instrumental breakdowns and fills, but it’s part of a bigger picture. They incorporate a plethora of inspirations from acoustics, to orchestral, to contemporary pop, to indie, to hip-hop, to jazz, trap and R&B... they aren’t afraid to mix it up, bolder than the vast majority, and it works. 

​The issue Sleep Token have, is that, I believe, they’ve fallen into a trap of being the modern equivalent of Nu-Metal. Think about when LIMP BIZKIT became huge, Fred Durst was rapping over down tuned guitars and heavy tracks, bridging genre gaps. Really pissing metal fans off, because they became HUGE. LINKIN PARK did the same on albeit a more serious note, but the combination worked, and the sales of “Hybrid Theory” speak for themselves. Times have changed, styles and tastes have changed, but what Sleep Token are doing is blending genres, just like those aforementioned bands, and doing fucking well by doing so, because they write good songs, and people are relating. Old school metal fans don't like that, too many years of headbanging and warm cans of Red Stripe to be cognitive of evolution. How dare bands that don't fit into their idea of whatever the fuck they think is correct succeed. The absolute audacity! 

I’m not saying this as a new fan, there are elements to this that I am personally not a fan of, for transparency, but I respect the fuck out of Vessel and the band for doing what they are doing, the way they want to do it. Ignore the mystique of the masked personas and the cult-like charms they invoke, that’s been done to death let’s be honest. What matters is this lot have captured something special in the way they write and incorporate multiple influences, to mould this honestly captivating narrative in song. Time will tell how long they can keep the masks on, how the industry will affect their integrity and how far they can truly go within this gimmick and concept, but for the mean time, let’s simply appreciate Sleep Token for what they are. Young, talented songwriters and performers who are on top of their game. Black Sabbath just bowed out in spectacular style in Birmingham...and like it or not, Vessel may very well be the new Prince Of Darkness. These aren’t to be slept on. [8] 

I've been spinning the new HIGHER POWER record "There's Love In This World If You Want It" for a couple of days now and I'm proper conflicted about it. I should slag it off because that’s what I do when something pokes at the bit of me I’ve spent years trying to shut up. But, the fucker keeps crawling under my skin like an old regret I can't scratch out. Probably because I'm drawn to anything that matches my state of decay.

Even the title makes me want to bin it off. All that hope and optimism, makes me sick. But then "Two Doors Down" comes crashing in with those mental breakdowns and I'm reminded why I fell for this lot in the first place. They seem to have taken all that genre-hopping madness from their early days and mashed every genre button like a bored kid at a self-checkout, but somehow kept one muddy boot planted in the mosh pit.. Of course I'd gravitate toward something that sounds like it's falling apart.

The fact they kept everything in-house this time round shows. No fancy producer trying to polish the rough edges. Just Louis Hardy back on guitar duties, apparently he dug through forty shite demos to salvage these half-dead riffs and bits of broken magic. Some of these tracks apparently date back to 2018 when they were touring with VEIN.FM. It’s mad to think they've been sitting on these ideas for years, just left them to stew amongst some warm cider fermenting in the glovebox of a dead car you can’t be arsed to scrap. Bit like me really, aging badly in the corner.

"All The Rage" is the one that proper gets me. It started life as trip-hop apparently, which sounds about as appealing as a wet weekend in Blackpool, but what they've done with it is almost as if Dave Grohl’s been up for three nights straight and decided to scream into a Dictaphone. It's the kind of track that makes you want to air guitar in your bedroom mirror whilst simultaneously hating yourself for enjoying something so shamelessly uplifting. Though to be fair, I hate myself for most things these days.

"Lunar Tuesday" hits different though. There’s loose chords and solos that give you that neck-prickle you pretend not to notice - it's like they've captured that feeling of being half-cut on a Tuesday afternoon, watching the world go by and not giving a toss about anything. There's something almost poetic about watching a car crash in slow-motion whilst Thom Yorke is sobbing through the stereo and you’re just sat there, with your dick in your hand, watching it unfold.

Then there's "Better" drifting along as if it's never been ghosted or gaslit a day in its life. It makes me want to volley some hooded youths just for looking smug. All that carefree wonderment when the rest of us are stuck in dead-end jobs and deteriorating relationships. But that's the thing about Higher Power - they make you feel stuff even when you're actively trying not to. Which is annoying when you've perfected the art of feeling nothing.

"Count The Miles" is where they let the beast off the leash properly. It's clawing at the walls like it's late for something violent. The sort of track that makes you want to run through walls or at least briefly consider jogging, then remember your knees are shite and you’d rather die in bed than in Lycra.

The closing track "My Sweet Surrender" is where they really take the piss though. All those heavenly strings and euphoric atmospheres - like they want you to believe the universe isn't just a massive wind-up. The crescendo builds and builds until you're practically levitating off your grotty sofa, and for a moment you forget that most days are just disappointment and overpriced meal deals. Then you remember you're still you, sat in your pants at 3pm on a Wednesday.

What really does me in, is how mental it all gets - up one minute, down the next, but not in a showing-off way. More like mood swings set to music. You're getting your head kicked in by crushing breakdowns one second, next thing you know you're floating about on some cloud of sound. It's like they've got the same emotional problems as the rest of us, only they can actually play instruments instead of just complaining about everything.

Higher Power have made something that's both familiar and completely off its head. It's what happens when a band stops caring about what people think and just makes noise that stinks of their own blood. Apparently, there’s love in this world—if you’re daft or drunk enough to go looking. Most of us either too proud to ask or too knackered to try. Personally, I’d fumble it anyway, then blame the universe for being a cunt.

This album grabs you whether you like it or not. Even when you're convinced, you're not worth grabbing.
 
ALBUM SCORE - 7 Worlds Destroyed By Galactus; Hungry For Love (And Sustenance) Out Of 10

Released June 27th 2025 (Out Now Digitally) Via NUCLEAR BLAST RECORDS. 

Words: Matt Denny

Back in 2017, LINKIN PARK released an album by the name of “One More Light”, which garnered mixed reviews from a lot of people. Including myself. Now let’s not beat around the bush here... I scored it negatively. It was an OK pop album; it just didn’t feel like it fit the Linkin Park aesthetic. It FELT like a label pleaser, to adapt to the shift in the mainstream, with collaborations including STORMZY and KIIARA. People on the internet will say that I did so because I live in the past, and that I just want every record to sound like “Hybrid Theory” or “Meteora”...this is not true in the slightest. I appreciate growth and expansion from within bands, and the way they see the world around them, it’s what inspires them to create art. The art that, we as consumers enjoy. Also no, I’m not ignoring or forgetting “Reanimation” or the JAY-Z collaboration...this just felt different. 

​I mean, if I wanted to listen to an artist that put out the same thing over and over again, I’d listen to AC/DC, or insert generic overhyped and deified rock band here. (You’ve heard one you’ve heard them all is what I’m saying). The trouble with Linkin Park, was the sheer level of success that that first album garnered. It completely blew them up on a global scale, and so when it came time for the sophomore, the label justifiably said “Hey, look, money...more of the same please!”. We lapped it up as fans and consumers, don’t get me wrong, it was their sound; they excelled at that subtly electronic layered rap/metal crossover, but it frustrated the band to the point where, by the time “One More Light” came out all those years later, they’d gone out of their way to do the remix albums, acapella albums, experimental albums like “A Thousand Suns”, and ultimately tried their very best to show there was more to them than meets the eye, before that aforementioned 2017 pop album, and subsequentially, Chester Bennington’s suicide mere months later. There was more to the death of Chester, let that be clear, but we didn’t help his mental health, I acknowledge that.  

It was a catch-22, as we needed to respect the band for sticking to their guns, and creating what THEY wanted to create, or felt they needed to, for better or for worse, but we just wanted the band we loved, to create music we could enjoy; (You can only push an envelope so far), we knew what they were capable of, and we didn’t always see eye to eye. We were part of the problem (Admittedly I can’t speak for EVERYONE). The whole situation soured, and there was a lot of guilt following Chester’s death where we realised, we could have been more open, and supportive, and maybe Chester would still be here with us now. The sad fact is, he isn’t, and we thought we’d lost one of the most important and influential bands of the 21st century as collateral...but here is the dilemma. The new divide, if you will... 

2024 sees the RETURN of Linkin Park, with a completely new reshuffled line-up, after we thought we’d realistically seen the last of the nu-metal icons. With a brand-new singer at the forefront by the name of Emily Armstrong, who previously sang for DEAD SARA (As well as new drummer Colin Brittain, plus guitarist Brad Delson no longer touring with the band is notable) we find them opening a fresh can of worms and splitting more opinions than the US presidential election arguing over a jar of Marmite. I can’t believe I’m saying this but...this is “From Zero”, this is brand new Linkin Park...and these are my thoughts... 

We’re off to a bad start, frankly, as we have “From Zero (Intro)”...and it’s on the verge of being at least patronising to a degree. We have this almost angelic, choir-esque vibe, as though the heavens have opened, and the band have returned, risen again to start from scratch. There’s a spoken word snippet where new vocalist Emily offhandedly says “From zero? Like, from nothing? OH WAIT YOUR FIRST...” and it’s cut off before she can say band. We know that Mike Shinoda has openly stated that XERO was the original project before the formation and finalisation of Linkin Park...and we know that he’s produced this album, he’s pushed for this album, and it’s like he’s pushing this ideology from the start to use Linkin Park’s name to sell records, instead of going back to that first name he’s not even hiding away from.  

I’m feeling almost nonchalant dictatorial vibes right here. THIS is a primary gripe among many fans, who identify and associate Linkin Park with Chester on vocals, as the voice of the band...regardless of founding members, he was the unique, distinct voice, he was the generational talent at the forefront. If you’re so insistent on harking back to that Xero band name Mike, use that name, embrace that name if you are so proud of it, and release the music as Xero...not treat Linkin Park as a cash cow (See Wembley ticket prices). But the dilemma is only beginning... 

First track proper, and first single, “The Emptiness Machine” is an absolute banger. I wanted to make a joke about McDonald’s ice cream but, it would be petty of me. I am actually Mclovin’ this. (That was cringe...whistle and I will strike you). It’s a genuinely fun, engaging track with a lot of hooks in its short run time. Lyrically it can be interpreted as a reference to Emily being associated with the Church Of Scientology; being born into it second generationally, blending a sort of realistic world view with a feeling of hopefulness. She has been moulded into this lifestyle and belief system from childhood and it’s about wanting to just fit in and wanting to find oneself. Metaphorically hammered home by the very societal "cog in the machine" type music video. As an interpretation, this just makes sense, never mind fitting in with twenty years' worth of Linkin Park fans. But were the follow up singles as strong? 

Next, we have “Heavy Is The Crown” and we’ve got an immediate sense of burden here. Instrumentally the band have harked back to the period of “Minutes To Midnight” and “Living Things”, blending those practically recycled synth notes and overall tone. There’s an air of defiance in the lyrics, with lines like “You can’t win if your white flags out when the war begins” and it could be seen as Mike’s approach to Linkin Park in the face of life after Chester. The whole commitment to the band's continuation, and the pressure of Emily stepping into such iconic shoes...but they still manage to throw in a passive aggressive middle finger, as Emily does an equally long scream here as that of the track “Given Up”...as if to hammer home this justification of her appointment, in a “told you so” manner of fact. This again feels more patronising than vindicating under the surface and just comes across as hollow imitation on this instance. 

Emily gets to utilise her clean vocals on the track “Over Each Other” and to be fair, she sings well through a wall of anguish and frustration, and it reeks of relationship breakdown, be it romantic, platonic or professional, but here is the issue. It's an angsty pop song, which there is absolutely NOTHING wrong with, it’s a fine song, but if I or anyone was living under a rock, and didn’t know Linkin Park had reformed in this new era with new presentation, you wouldn’t be like, “Oh is this Linkin Park?”. As fine as the song is, it could be PVRIS, it could be HALFLIVES, it could be insert modern female vocalist of current day rock band name here. There’s nothing WRONG with it, it’s a decent song, but there’s a generic quality to it. It also ends terribly as they include studio snippets of interaction with Mike, trying to push a feeling of connection and bonding, as he asks her to put her “screaming pants on”.  

Why is this, I hear you ask? Ladies and gentlemen let me introduce to arguably the WORST Linkin Park song to ever be green lit for recording; “Casualty”. Honestly Charlie Fairhead should be on call to prepare you for theatre after listening to this. We’re booked in for a Tympanoplasty and a Stapedectomy...and a slap in the face for good measure. There’s a raw, hardcore, almost punk-inspired aesthetic here and while Emily CAN do this, Mike CAN'T...and when Mike starts trying to shout and produce aggressive vocals or seem assertive, he comes across as Clarence Claymore boxing and it’s pitiful to be honest. (That’s a nuanced reference, look it up). 

Emily, credit to her here, sounds pissed off; she sounds like she’s really invested, and she's built for this...but this is wholly unnatural for Mike. While it has throwback elements to “The Hunting Party” with its raw presentation, and hardcore punk levels of vitriol, Mike doesn’t quite cut it here. He honestly doesn’t sound comfortable or confident performing in this manner, and the quality, or lack thereof shows, he personally brings this track down. I guess ironically you can now ask why is everything so heavy? Genuine question. No wait, no, I know what it is. Doing such a shit job himself will make Emily sound so considerably better! She’ll be praised! You tactical motherfucker. Honestly Mike she can do the aggressive vocals perfectly fine on her own and I applaud her for that, you don’t need to be involved in that. You stick to the rap stuff and the brand appropriation. 

Speaking of, “Two Faced” absolutely oozes of “Meteora” era Linkin Park with the guitar tone and overall tonality regarding to chorus/verse transitions. This is more of a classic Linkin Park sound, and it does take you back twenty years, and truthfully you could easily see this as a collaboration that never saw the light of the day in 2003. It honestly wouldn’t be out of place on the original, it’s that close. 

Tracks like “Stained” further hammer home that Pvris type vibe in presentation and we have to admit that Emily does bring a brand-new dynamic to the band's aura when she’s more subdued vocally, before “Good Things Go” somewhat ironically wraps up the album. There’s an almost apologetic essence here, as though the band are anticipating the reception of this new era; pre-emptive damage control if you will. It’s almost in direct acknowledgment of Mike’s decision to continue Linkin Park from a lyrical standpoint, with Emily very much being a factor in that. It’s the musical equivalent of puppy dog eyes and fishing for sympathy when you read into it, and as pleasant as the song is, aesthetically...lyrically there’s a disingenuous feeling to it and it can’t be ignored.  

Ultimately, the question is, what can we take from, “From Zero”? The unbiased answer is a pletheora of things (See what I did there?). For anyone who was there from those early days in the 2000’s, that grew up with Linkin Park, when Linkin Park moulded the fabric of the person you were to become, it’s a band that holds a special place in your heart. I’d swear in a court of law, that Linkin Park helped shape the person I am now...fuck I was in Cornwall on holiday when I purchased “Hybrid Theory” and listed to it on repeat on my Buffy The Vampire Slayer skateboard with my Sony CD Walkman. It’s THAT ingrained.  

As we’ve grown older as fans, we appreciate those years because they were pivotal in our upbringing...I had no peers, I had no alternative community...I had nobody trading mix tapes or cassettes or burnt CD's...but I knew this band was special. As we age, our tastes change, our worldview changes, our political mindset changes; we evolve, as individuals as well as professionals. It’s so easy to see why on a business perspective why Mike would want to bring back Linkin Park...but where do we stand when it comes to morality? On face value, this is not a bad record in the slightest, it’s got some nostalgic moments, and it takes you back to the good old days momentarily in places...but is it Linkin Park? For me, the answer is no.  

Call me cynical, but they’ve tried to blatantly rehash elements from previous albums to sell a new narrative, they’ve made passive aggressive comments in spoken word segments as well as lyrics, Mike is trying to push for this, and as honestly decent as this album is on face value, which it is, it’s a fine album, I’m sorry, it’ll never be Linkin Park. QUEEN tried it with ADAM LAMBERT, can you imagine TYPE-O-NEGATIVE continuing without PETE STEELE? Can you imagine HIM without VILLE VALO? Or KORN without JONATHAN DAVIS? There's an IDENTITY...do you see my point? Any long serving band can emulate and recreate their sound instrumentally, but, you can seldom replace a voice, and the emotion that comes with it. The stories and feelings they share. We can agree to disagree, I’m fine with that, you have a right to an opinion such as I do...but to me, this is a reshuffled band recycling ideas in places to live off a rhetoric, and I’m not even mad, I’m disappointed...[6]