The new album by SIX FEET DEEPER doesn’t start, not in any normal sense. You’re already in it. Guitar halfway unzipped. Amp humming like something half-alive. No warning. No welcome.
Patrik Andersson plays like he’s restraining something, but it’s not fear. The tone’s not clean, not dirty—just worn. Dented. As if it’s been dropped more than once and still won’t die. The first riff slinks in sideways, doesn’t grab you. It’s already under your skin by the time you realize you’re moving wrong.
“Oxymoronic” builds down, not up. The notes sink into the mix like bruises rising under skin. Andersson keeps his phrasing close to the chest—coiled, mean. There’s no climax. Just pressure. The kind that makes you shift in your seat and not know why.
Emil Mickols doesn’t play fills. He tightens screws. His toms don’t echo—they stalk. The snare’s dry, cracked. It’s being punished. He’s not keeping time. He’s daring the rest of the band to get out of line. On “Binary” his kit sounds like a bed frame you shouldn’t be on, the sound of the floor when someone shouldn’t be standing behind you.
Erik Arkö’s bass is being dragged, not played. Notes are pulled slow, stretched taut. There’s no groove there’s a trail of blood. You don’t ride it. You get pulled under. When it syncs with the kick, it’s like a pulse you only notice when it skips.
Sara Lindberg’s vocals are the part you feel days later. No scream. No seduction. Just control. Tight as a fist in your mouth. She doesn’t sing to you. She works through you. Voice restrained, held, then pressed deeper. There’s a pegging metaphor in there, but not the way people usually mean it. This isn’t playful. This is practiced. She keeps rhythm like she’s keeping someone still. And when she lets go, it’s not some cinematic payoff. It’s a release that leaves you cold, emptied, and used.
The production stays out of the way. Not minimal—more like ignored. Mics were too close. Or not close enough. Doesn’t matter. You hear room tone, cable hum, and a breath that shouldn’t be there. It’s all too real, and not in a cute lo-fi way. It feels like walking into a room still warm with something wrong.
The title track, “The Death In Hollywood” unravels like a lie you’ve told too many times. Instruments drop out like excuses. Lindberg stays just long enough to make it uncomfortable, then vanishes mid-thought. It ends, technically. But it doesn’t resolve.
Upon listening to "Prayer By The Edge" it’s already done what it came to do. And if you’re smart, you won’t ask it to stay.
"Prayer By The Edge" comes in at 8 broken rosaries, out of 10. Released July 4th, via LION MUSIC.
Words by Matt Denny.
Patrik Andersson plays like he’s restraining something, but it’s not fear. The tone’s not clean, not dirty—just worn. Dented. As if it’s been dropped more than once and still won’t die. The first riff slinks in sideways, doesn’t grab you. It’s already under your skin by the time you realize you’re moving wrong.
“Oxymoronic” builds down, not up. The notes sink into the mix like bruises rising under skin. Andersson keeps his phrasing close to the chest—coiled, mean. There’s no climax. Just pressure. The kind that makes you shift in your seat and not know why.
Emil Mickols doesn’t play fills. He tightens screws. His toms don’t echo—they stalk. The snare’s dry, cracked. It’s being punished. He’s not keeping time. He’s daring the rest of the band to get out of line. On “Binary” his kit sounds like a bed frame you shouldn’t be on, the sound of the floor when someone shouldn’t be standing behind you.
Erik Arkö’s bass is being dragged, not played. Notes are pulled slow, stretched taut. There’s no groove there’s a trail of blood. You don’t ride it. You get pulled under. When it syncs with the kick, it’s like a pulse you only notice when it skips.
Sara Lindberg’s vocals are the part you feel days later. No scream. No seduction. Just control. Tight as a fist in your mouth. She doesn’t sing to you. She works through you. Voice restrained, held, then pressed deeper. There’s a pegging metaphor in there, but not the way people usually mean it. This isn’t playful. This is practiced. She keeps rhythm like she’s keeping someone still. And when she lets go, it’s not some cinematic payoff. It’s a release that leaves you cold, emptied, and used.
The production stays out of the way. Not minimal—more like ignored. Mics were too close. Or not close enough. Doesn’t matter. You hear room tone, cable hum, and a breath that shouldn’t be there. It’s all too real, and not in a cute lo-fi way. It feels like walking into a room still warm with something wrong.
The title track, “The Death In Hollywood” unravels like a lie you’ve told too many times. Instruments drop out like excuses. Lindberg stays just long enough to make it uncomfortable, then vanishes mid-thought. It ends, technically. But it doesn’t resolve.
Upon listening to "Prayer By The Edge" it’s already done what it came to do. And if you’re smart, you won’t ask it to stay.
"Prayer By The Edge" comes in at 8 broken rosaries, out of 10. Released July 4th, via LION MUSIC.
Words by Matt Denny.
RSS Feed