In his second column in what’s shaping up to be another great year for metal, Kez Whelan rounds up all things good and heavy, from At The Gates’ triumphant swansong to the glorious return of sludge legends Moloch
Here we are, barely two columns in to 2026, and I’m already overwhelmed. I feel like I say “this has been a great year for metal” so often it’s in danger of becoming a catchphrase, but I mean, have you seen the release schedule for the next couple of months? It’s ridiculous! I haven’t got over that last Converge album yet, and they’ve already announced another for June – time will tell if it takes a more atmospheric direction compared to the raw fury of Love Is Not Enough, or whether it’ll be another half hour of wall-to-wall bangers again, but either way, it can only be good news.
Thankfully the ever locked in heads at tQ have lightened my load by covering a lot of recent heavy hitters elsewhere on the site, like the characteristically crushing new Sunn O))) album, or the Melvins and Napalm Death collaboration, which finally gets a wider release this month following its limited vinyl run last year.
Meanwhile, I’m still in awe of the new Neurosis album – I won’t waffle about it too much here as I’m sure you’ve either read Dan Franklin’s review or just blasted the whole record yourself numerous times by this point, but I feel it bears repeating just how monumental this album is. It’s already cemented itself in the upper echelons of the band’s discography to me, not just feeling like a return to form but (without sounding too dramatic) a reclamation of the band’s legacy, stepping out from the shadow cast over their collective life’s work by Scott Kelly’s reprehensible actions with some of their strongest material yet on both a sonic and emotional level. Aaron Turner is a perfect replacement, adding his own distinctive flair to the band without ever pulling too much focus. It still feels very much like a Neurosis album through and through, and I still can’t believe it exists.
Swedish doom legends Witchcraft are back with a new EP too, hot on the heels of last year’s hefty Idag. If that album was the heaviest they’ve sounded in years, then this takes a much folkier direction, easing off on the distortion to deliver a set of laidback, rustic jams that have more in common with early Jethro Tull than the more morose, minimal acoustic material Magnus Pelander toyed with on 2020’s Black Metal. ‘Själen Reser Sig’ is a lumbering, doomy dirge that would have felt right at home on Idag, but songs like ‘A Sinner’s Child’ and ‘Sinner’s Clear Confusion’ are much lighter in tone (if not subject matter), gorgeous, pastoral folk tunes that suit Pelander’s melancholic voice perfectly.
If you’re on the hunt for something significantly gnarlier though, don’t miss the debut release from London’s Skumhammer. Featuring members of Vacuous, Final Dose and Casing, the trio dish out brutish war metal with a noticeably punky undercurrent and surprisingly sharp song-writing for the genre. It helps that the band aren’t afraid to dip into more mid-paced territory when needed, which keeps the whole thing feeling nice and varied – the likes of ‘Besieged Holy Bastion’ and ‘Grave Rot Vortex’ go like the absolute clappers, all hammer blasts, pick slides and reverb smothered grunts, but chunkier, Celtic Frost indebted grooves seep into the likes of ‘Death Cenacle’ and the curiously anthemic title track, providing a bit of breathing room whilst still sounding completely pulverising. Solid stuff!
The Ghost of a Future Dead (24-bit HD audio) by At The Gates
After Tomas Lindberg’s tragic passing in September of last year, it seemed unlikely we’d get another At The Gates album – and, truthfully, with its more mature, introspective atmosphere and surprisingly proggy soundscapes, 2021’s The Nightmare Of Being already seemed to have the air of a final album upon release, the sound of a pioneering band with nothing left to prove walking gracefully off into the sunset. Thankfully, the band (here comprised of the classic Slaughter Of The Soul lineup once again with both Björler brothers in tow) had already been hard at work on a follow-up, and it’s even more of a perfect note to bow out on. Eschewing the proggy unpredictability of the last record, The Ghost Of A Future Dead is a much more direct affair – if The Nightmare Of Being had a sense of world weariness and grizzled maturity to it, this one storms right out of the gate with a ferocious energy you’d expect from a much younger band, apparent as soon as opener and lead single ‘The Fever Mask’ comes blasting out of the speakers with the same kinetic vigour that made Slaughter Of The Soul such an endearing classic.
The Ghost Of A Future Dead doesn’t feel like a nostalgic step backwards, however, as the darker tone that imbued the last album very much persists here – in fact, Lindberg’s thoughtful lyrics tackling themes of mortality, legacy and existentialism in his own uniquely poetic way feel more harrowing and relevant than ever in the wake of his death. In a similar manner to Bowie’s Blackstar, you can hear a deeply articulate artist grappling with, and finally accepting, the fact that their hourglass is running low here, and it brings a heartbreaking gravitas to the record.
The music matches this not just in terms of intensity, but also with some of the most emotive melodies the band have conjured yet on songs like ‘Det Oerhörda’ or the yearning midsection that sweeps through ‘Of Interstellar Death’s blistering melo-death like an icy breeze. This is one hell of a swansong, encapsulating everything that made At The Gates such a brilliant band whilst also going harder than any of their other post-hiatus records. Long live At The Gates – there will never be another.
Good God / Baad Man by Corrosion of Conformity
The latest Corrosion Of Conformity album arises out of similarly unlikely circumstances after the death of a long-standing band member; vocalist/guitarist Pepper Keenan’s triumphant return to the band with 2018’s No Cross No Crown felt like a real full-circle moment, but drummer Reed Mullin sadly passed away in January 2020, before the band’s comeback was firmly derailed by Covid, with much-loved bassist Mike Dean eventually leaving the band in 2024. Thankfully Keenan and founding guitarist Woody Weatherman have soldiered on, with this bountiful double album the result, featuring Bobby Landgraf on bass (who played alongside Keenan in Down for a good six years) and Galactic percussionist Stanton Moore, who previously played on Corrosion Of Conformity’s barnstorming 2005 return-to-form In The Arms Of God, and his expressive, powerhouse drumming brings a lot of energy to Good God / Baad Man.
It feels like a double album in the truest sense too, with a clear thematic divide between the discs rather than just a bunch of loosely related songs. Whilst both have a noticeable psychedelic flavour, Good God is primarily concerned with being a big, brash, balls-out rock record, armed with greasy riffs and soaring hooks galore. Opener ‘Good God? / Final Dawn’ finds Keenan triumphantly boasting he’s “a reality mover” over a Hawkwind-esque churn so convincingly cosmic you’re inclined to believe him, whilst lead single Gimme Some Moore successfully fuses the band’s hardcore origins with pure rock’n’roll swagger, as pit-ready chugs and gang vocals (featuring Ministry’s Al Jourgensen) collide with bluesy leads and Iommic grooves. Good God culminates with the nine minute ‘Run For Your Life’, a sprawling, sun-scorched desert rock jam that owes as much to Robin Trower as it does Kyuss.
Baad Man, meanwhile, is perhaps an earthier, rootsier affair than its driving, heavens-bound counterpart. There’s still plenty of pure rock fury here, of course (just check out the soaring Southern fried licks in the anthemic ‘Lose Yourself’), but also more pronounced blues, jazz and funk influences, with plenty of Keenan’s New Orleans background coming through – especially in soaring closer ‘Forever Amplified’, featuring soulful ‘The Great Gig In The Sky’-style vocals courtesy of Anjelika “Jelly” Joseph. There’s a looser, jammier atmosphere here too, from the tripped out midsection of ‘Asleep On The Killing Floor’ to the swampy ZZ Top strut of ‘Handcuff Country’ or the rolling percussion and hand claps propelling the funky ‘Swallowing The Anchor’. Both discs fuse together to create a solid, cohesive listening experience that feels like more than the sum of its parts – in many ways, this feels like a proper follow-up to In The Arms Of God, not just because of Moore’s fantastic drumming (although that certainly helps), but also in just how dense and colourful the songwriting is, with so many good riffs, infectious hooks and psychedelic passages packed into every nook and cranny.
Now on their 12th full-length, New York death metal institution Immolation still seem to be on top of their game. Compared to its fiery, frantic predecessor, 2022’s Acts Of God, Descent is a little slower and more brooding and ominous, but arguably hookier and more immediate too – the song structures here are a little more traditional, with perhaps less to untangle whilst still retaining the band’s trademark complexity. The grandiose churn of ‘Attrition’ would have felt right at home on latter-day highlight Majesty & Decay, whilst ‘The Ephemeral Curse’’s wonky grooves and staggered, sickeningly infectious rhythms recall the twisted song craft of their classic Here In After. Speaking of which, the closing one-two punch of atmospheric segment ‘Banished’ leading into the final title track is reminiscent of that album’s epic closer ‘Christ’s Cage’, as guitarist Robert Vigna’s rich, heady licks build into a caustic wall of sound before dropping into the kind of absolutely infernal groove that only Immolation can really pull off.
Even the record’s faster cuts, like the ferocious ‘Bend Towards The Dark’ or blistering blasts of ‘False Ascent’, have a sinisterly melodic edge to them, demonstrating the band’s keen ear for subtle hooks that seem to seep under your skin almost subconsciously. Descent may not reinvent the band’s sound, but Immolation have carved out such a unique and recognisable niche for themselves in the death metal landscape that it doesn’t need to; nobody else crafts death metal as richly, intricately and distinctively as Immolation, and it’s nothing short of extraordinary they’re still putting out records of this strength almost 40 years after their formation.
Bend. Break. Kneel. Crawl. by Moloch
It’s somehow been eight years since Nottingham sludge legends Moloch’s last album, the thoroughly flattening A Bad Place, and although we got the Love Songs EP and a split with Leeds’ sorely missed grot merchants Groak the following year, it’s been uncharacteristically quiet on the Moloch front since, by far their longest gap between releases. Opting against siphoning off new songs for splits was clearly a wise move however, as this third full-length could well be the band’s most powerful and cohesive statement yet. As soon as opener ‘In Chrysalis’ drops into that sickening, lurching groove, you can tell the band mean business here, and that visceral, unblinking focus is maintained for the entire record. ‘Bleeding Through The Interrogation’ and ‘The Bunker’ trim away any excess, stripping the band’s suffocating sound into bite-sized chunks of undiluted hostility without sacrificing any of their hypnotic riffing power.
The record’s B-side pushes the band’s sound into slightly more abstract terrain, whilst still retaining that initial breathless intensity. There’s a genuinely unsettling tension bristling behind the well-monikered ‘Another Family Slaughters Itself In The Countryside’ as lumbering doom riffs gradually decay into a hissing smog of ominous tremolo picking and minimal yet pounding percussion, almost like hearing a Grief song gradually descend into a nightmarish Portal-esque dirge. ‘16.03.13’ pushes the repetition even further as the band drill a punishing slab of rhythmic noise into your brain with the haunting detachment of no-wave era Swans, complete with some early Neurosis style additional percussion. ‘Mother Medusa’ is perhaps the biggest surprise though, with vocalist Chris Braddock briefly easing off on his usual paint-stripping screech in favour of a much more wounded, fragile chant – combined with some of the album’s most dissonant riffing, it makes for a particularly harrowing note to end on. Reaffirming everything that makes Moloch sound so undeniably crushing whilst also hinting at even more sinister sonic vistas lurking beneath the surface, Bend. Break. Kneel. Crawl. is 2026’s first essential sludge metal album.
Speaking of essential sludge metal, you absolutely need this debut album from this London power trio Instar Sling, releasing in May to coincide with their Desertfest set on 16 May. The trio’s collective CV includes the likes of Ghold, Black Shape and Test Dept, so you know this is going to be heavy, but you’re probably still not entirely prepared for just how heavy. Combining the harrowing, confrontational atmosphere of Khanate with the mind-melting repetition of early Swans and sheer belligerent bloody-mindedness of Harvey Milk, this debut album is a supremely caustic listen, with bassist Paul Antony adopting a much harsher, high-pitched shriek compared to the booming bellow he deploys when drumming in Ghold.
The pulverising ‘Eye’ demonstrates Instar Sling’s intent clearly right from the off, as the band push around brash, gleefully ugly sludge riffs in loose, abstract timings before locking in to a stompy dirge, pounding tom drums booming out atop a ridiculously dense guitar tone. There’s a great moment almost halfway through where the band’s sickening churn abruptly cuts to the sound of a single, unaccompanied bell, before launching back into the din as if nothing ever happened. It’s fantastically disorientating, like a rare moment of lucidity experienced between bouts of debilitating malaise. ‘Talon Mask’ is even more dynamic, drifting through lengthy swathes of hypnotic, almost clean guitar that brings to mind some of Stephen O’Malley’s more dreamlike excursions on Sunn O)))’s White albums, before building to an ominous final coda centered around a hypnotic but unsettling bass line, the kind Al Cisneros might write after being locked in a dank, lightless cellar for several weeks on end. As almost 20 minute closer ‘Chainveil’ dives back into raw, molten sludge metal, you can practically feel the warm air blasting out of the band’s absurdly stacked backline through even the tinniest of speakers. A remarkably fully formed and distinctive debut, don’t miss this if you like your metal low and slow.
In The Land of Pre-Human Kings by Iron Firmament
The respective pairs of albums and EPs this Washington duo released in 2024 marked them as one of America’s most interesting lo-fi black metal exports in recent years, blending the yearning atmospheres of Cascadian black metal with the rawer, more abrasive energy of its Norwegian progenitor. Having taken 2025 to focus on this new record rather than more frequent smaller releases has evidently paid off as this is their most satisfying and robust project yet, bringing their sound into much sharper relief whilst feeling more enveloping than ever. Check out the way ‘Blue Blades Flame And Crimson’ builds from dreamy ambience into wind-swept, moss-hewn tremolo picking that would have slotted neatly into the first Wolves In The Throne Room record, before finally erupting into the kind of triumphant, fists-in-the-air, foot-on-the-monitor riffing you’d find on a latter-day Immortal record (but bathed in a much grimier production, of course).
There’s a good mix of more boisterous, riffy bangers like ‘Atlantis In Permafrost’ and more atmospheric and introspective voyages like ‘Laughter Of The Stormlashed Forest’ which blends widescreen Viking-era Bathory riffing with mystical flute flourishes and haunting ambient textures. The fourteen minute title track that closes the record seems to bring all Iron Firmament’s influences together into a piece that feels genuinely epic in scope and execution – the moment about nine minutes in when the band’s melancholic waves of Weakling style tremolo and flowing blastbeats peak and then abruptly break into a gnarly Ildjarn-esque riff, complete with aggressively pounding oompah beat, feels transcendent in more ways than one, like watching several years of metal history collide into each other in a glorious technicolor explosion.