Genres: Stoner Doom

Label: Listenable

Location: Uppsala, Sweden

A Cosmic Ritual in the Dark

If you’ve ever wondered what it would feel like to be swallowed whole by an ancient cosmic void, Saturnalia Temple’s Paradigm Call might be the soundtrack to that journey. The Swedish stoner doom outfit’s latest record is not just an album; it is a disorienting pilgrimage through vast, shadowy landscapes, where every riff feels like it’s pulling you deeper into a chasm of consciousness.

This isn’t your typical doom metal experience. No, Paradigm Call doesn’t want to simply entertain you. It wants to challenge the way you think about heaviness. It pushes past the formulaic and asks you to surrender to the abyss, where every crushing riff feels like a ritualistic chant and every whisper of distortion is a call from a forgotten star. There’s an arcane quality to this album that makes you feel as if you’ve stepped into a dimly-lit temple, where the incense is thick with incense made of blackened sound and cryptic whispers.

The production here is murky, thick, and absolutely drenched in atmosphere. There’s a sense of space, but it’s not the kind of openness that comforts. It’s the kind that leaves you feeling lost, trying to orient yourself within the noise. Saturnalia Temple doesn’t offer clarity — it offers a type of darkness that has a language of its own. The music is slow, deliberate, and thick like tar, moving with a meditative purpose. Riffs grind and drone, lapping like waves against your consciousness, but beneath the surface, there are hints of psychedelia, whispers of ancient cosmic rituals, all woven into the heavy fabric.

Lyrically, Paradigm Call doesn’t pander to easy narratives or imagery. It’s not about simply describing apocalyptic scenes or conjuring the usual doomy clichés. Instead, the lyrics feel like a transmission from another realm, cryptic and elusive, as though they are meant to be deciphered only by those who have reached a certain state of mind. Whether it’s the distorted whispers in “Revel In Dissidence,” the suffocating roar of “Among The Ruins,” or the dark, ceremonial drone of “Black Smoke,” the vocals serve as both a guiding force and an ominous presence. They linger, imprinted on your psyche long after the album has ended. 

The real beauty of Paradigm Call is how it plays with tension. Every song starts with a slow, almost lazy build, teasing the listener with a sense of unease before sliding into a ritualistic trance. It's the kind of tension that feels more like waiting for this trance state, rather than anticipating a traditional climax. And when it does finally hit — when everything sinks into this Nirvana — it’s more of a slow unraveling than an epiphany. It’s a tidal pull that drags you under, quietly and inexorably.

If you’re looking for something predictable, don’t bother. Paradigm Call is the opposite of that. It doesn’t adhere to any particular convention. It isn’t about delivering the perfect hook or catchy riff. It’s about creating an experience — a musical ritual that forces you to engage with it on a deeper level. There are no flashy solos, no rapid-fire drum fills, and certainly no "verse-chorus" structures. What you get instead is an immersive journey where the real art lies in the subtle, almost imperceptible changes in rhythm, tone, and atmosphere. It’s the gradual shift of an entire worldview, subtly remade in the image of something darker, older, and infinitely more complex.

In the end, Paradigm Call isn’t meant to be simply listened to; it’s meant to be felt. It’s an album that lingers, that resonates within you long after the final note. And whether you emerge from this darkened temple feeling reborn, enlightened, or simply more confused than when you entered, one thing is certain: Saturnalia Temple has crafted something unlike anything else in the stoner doom sphere. It’s not just an album. It’s an invocation.

Genres: Progressive Rock, Folk, Psychedelic Rock, Doom Rock

Label: Apollon

Location: Trondheim, Norway

The Flying Norsemen’s self-titled debut album is a striking blend of atmospheric rock, doom, folk, and traditional Norwegian musical elements, all delivered with a distinct sense of Viking heritage and modern energy. The band, whose name evokes imagery of myth and legend, embraces their Scandinavian roots with both reverence and innovation, crafting an album that feels timeless yet contemporary. Throughout The Flying Norsemen, the band sings in Norwegian, creating a sense of cultural authenticity and a deep connection to their heritage, all while showcasing their dynamic musicality.

The album opens with "Norseide," a track that immediately sets the tone for the record. The song’s title suggests a connection to the Viking era, and it doesn't disappoint. The music builds slowly, with hypnotic rhythms and a brooding intensity that grows as the track unfolds. The melodic structure feels vast and open, as if the listener is standing on the edge of the fjords, looking out over an endless sea. The lyrics, sung in Norwegian, have a primal quality, and though one may not understand every word, the emotional weight comes through clearly.

There’s a haunting quality to the vocals, matched by the lush instrumentation—guitar lines echo with reverb, and subtle percussion adds to the atmosphere. As the track progresses, it becomes clear that "Norseide" is more than just a song about a place; it’s a journey into the heart of Norway’s ancient, rugged landscapes, rich with history and mythology. The song reaches an almost anthemic crescendo, stirring feelings of both melancholy and defiance, making it one of the standout moments of the album.

On the other side of the sonic spectrum, “PoseidiJohn” is a more playful and experimental track, blending folk influences with a touch of modern, almost psychedelic rock. The song’s whimsical nature is immediately evident, with quirky rhythms and infectious melodies that stand out from the album's otherwise atmospheric tone. The title, an intriguing blend of "Poseidon" and "John," seems to hint at a cross-cultural journey, merging the ancient with the familiar.

The song takes the listener on a journey through unexpected turns and textures—at times playful, at others haunting. There is a loose, free-spirited quality to the arrangement, as though the band is letting their creativity run wild. The Norwegian lyrics here are delivered with a sense of abandon, and the contrast between the rhythm section's tight groove and the flowing vocal lines gives the track a sense of both urgency and freedom. "PoseidiJohn" feels like an exploration of the unknown, both musically and thematically. It’s the kind of track that demands repeated listens, revealing new nuances with each spin.

Overall Impressions

Overall, The Flying Norsemen is an album that invites deep immersion. Its fusion of Norwegian folk traditions with modern rock sensibilities makes it unique in a way that’s hard to categorize. The band excels in creating vivid soundscapes that reflect both the natural beauty and the mythic past of their homeland. Whether it’s the reflective, powerful anthem of "Norseide" or the eclectic, adventurous spirit of "PoseidiJohn," the album showcases a band that’s unafraid to experiment while staying true to its roots.

While the Norwegian lyrics may be a barrier for non-Norwegian listeners, the music transcends language in many ways. The emotional resonance and energy in the performance speak volumes, even without full comprehension of the words. The Flying Norsemen are clearly a band with a unique vision, and their debut album is a promising introduction to their sound.

For fans of atmospheric rock, doom, folk, and progressive genres with a nod to mythological themes, The Flying Norsemen is a captivating journey worth taking. It’s a record that not only transports you to the heart of Norway but also demonstrates the power of music to evoke feelings and stories without needing translation.

Genres: Sludge Metal, Hardcore Punk

Label: Season of Mist

Location: Savannah, GA, USA

Black Tusk, the stalwart heavyweights of Savannah, Georgia, have always walked the fine line between sludge, doom, and Southern hardcore, delivering a blend of raw, unrelenting energy with a thick, gritty atmosphere. With The Way Forward, the band’s latest offering, they continue to show their mastery of melding aggressive riffs, pounding rhythms, and a swampy, Southern metal flavor that is all their own. But this album is also a statement of growth—a step forward in terms of both sound and emotional depth, even as it retains everything that makes Black Tusk so damn essential.

One of the most striking elements of The Way Forward is its production. The album strikes a balance between clarity and heaviness, where every pounding drumbeat, every blistering guitar riff, and every gravel-throated vocal punch cuts through the mix with precision, while still maintaining that raw, earth-shattering quality that fans have come to expect. Produced by the guitarist Chris “Scary” Adams, the sound is sharper and more focused than on some of their past releases, yet it never sacrifices the filth-laden, swampy spirit that makes their music so visceral.

From the opening track, “Out of Grasp”, the band wastes no time in diving straight into their signature blend of sludge, hardcore, and stoner metal. The guitars are dense and pulsating, conjuring up a sense of both urgency and inevitability, while the rhythm section provides a solid backbone that drives the whole album forward.

The vocals, often a primal scream or a growled rasp, convey an undeniable sense of catharsis—there’s a palpable feeling that Black Tusk have poured their frustrations, their fears, and their hopes into these songs. The lyrics explore themes of personal struggle, survival, and the search for meaning in an increasingly chaotic world. The songwriting feels more mature here—there’s a new depth to the emotional content, even if the band’s signature bleakness still lingers in the background like a heavy fog.

Crushing riffs and punishing percussion build a heavy groove that Black Tusk is known for, but it also showcases the band’s newfound ability to stretch their sound out, giving their songs a bit more breathing room without losing any of their primal energy.

Despite the heaviness, there’s also an unmistakable Southern flavor to the record. Psychedelic textures in the intros, before diving into a thick, riff-laden riff-fest, moments of contrast that underscores just how versatile Black Tusk can be within the confines of their abrasive style. It’s that mix of raw power and subtlety that really sets The Way Forward apart from their earlier work.

The Way Forward finds the band grappling with both internal and external demons. Themes of despair, introspection, and existential reflection are all over the album, but there's an underlying current of hope, as if the band is working through the darkness and looking toward something better, even if they can’t quite see it yet. 

Ultimately, The Way Forward is a triumphant album. It’s a record that finds Black Tusk navigating their own journey through pain, survival, and strength, while evolving their sound in ways that will please both die-hard fans and newcomers alike. It's heavy, it’s raw, and it’s anthemic in all the right ways. The band may have come from the depths of the swampy South, but The Way Forward feels like a band rising from the ashes, ready to continue their relentless forward march into new territory. If you’ve been a fan of Black Tusk’s unrelenting brand of Southern sludge, this album is a must-listen—and if you’re new to the band, it’s a perfect starting point to dive into their world of heavy, soul-searching metal.

Genres: Power Pop, Hard Rock, Punk Rock, Country Rock

Label: You've Changed

Location: Fenwick, ON, Canada

It’s too hot to sleep, and frankly, it’s too good to ignore. Daniel Romano’s Outfit has gifted us a record so effortlessly cool it might as well be wearing sunglasses at night. Too Hot to Sleep is the kind of album that makes you feel like you’ve just stumbled into a smoky dive bar where everyone is both a poet and a rockstar—and you’re somehow in the front row, completely mesmerized.

First, let’s talk about the vibes. This isn’t just an album; it’s an atmosphere. Imagine if Johnny Cash and Lou Reed decided to team up for a late-night jam session in a neon-lit, half-empty bowling alley. That’s where this record lives. The sound weaves between timeless country twang, cosmic Americana, and a steady undercurrent of searing rock 'n' roll—a perfect blend of the cool and the dark, like a leather jacket you just can't take off.

The opening track, “You Can Steal My Kiss” pulls you in like a late-night infomercial you can’t turn off, but instead of buying a juicer, you’re purchasing a one-way ticket to musical enlightenment. It’s the kind of song that could simultaneously make you reflect deeply on your life choices and make you want to shimmy into a dance you’ve never heard of before. (But don’t ask questions—just go with it.)

And that’s the thing with Too Hot to Sleep. Every track feels like a journey, but one that’s wrapped in smoke and mirrors, where you never quite know if you’re on a highway or in a dream. Too Hot to Sleep is a sultry mix of fuzzed-out guitars and a relentless groove that feels like it’s dragging you into a hypnotic, half-awake daze. Romano’s voice, part rasp, part honey, sways between confidant and confessional—like the person at the bar who’s always ready with a story you didn’t know you needed.

Lyrically, Romano leans into his poetic side, sprinkling his words with a healthy dose of cryptic wisdom. His writing can be a bit like a fortune cookie from a cosmic old friend. Suddenly you’re both questioning the universe and the fact that you never really stopped to appreciate your favorite pair of jeans.

But let’s not overlook the band—The Outfit. They bring a steady, almost trance-like rhythm to the whole thing. It’s the kind of ensemble that can lull you into a fever dream and kick you out the next minute without you even realizing you’ve been put under their spell. From the lush, swirling harmonies to the twinkling guitar solos that feel like shooting stars, each instrument feels like a piece of the sky coming together in a perfect, beautiful collision.

At its heart, Too Hot to Sleep is a record about tension—between waking and dreaming, between control and chaos, between "I’m too tired to care" and "I don’t care if I’m too tired." It’s one of those albums that makes you want to stay up all night thinking about everything and nothing at the same time. Just don’t expect to get any sleep.

So, if you’re ready for a record that feels like stepping into a warm, sepia-toned fever dream where everyone is just a little bit cooler than you, Too Hot to Sleep is your invitation. It’s hot enough to make you sweat, but cool enough to make you never want to leave.

Final verdict: It's too hot to sleep, but you won’t want to miss a minute of it.

Genres: Heavy Psych, Stoner Rock, Traditional Doom Metal, Blues Rock

Label: Blues Funeral

Location: Oslo, Norway

Magmakammer's Before I Burn is not just an album; it’s an experience. If you are a fan of the psych-heavy riffage and eerie atmospheres that swirl in and out of consciousness, then this album might very well feel like your closest thing to a psychedelic pilgrimage. Walking in the relatively familiar paths of Uncle Acid & the Deadbeats, Before I Burn offers a different, more dangerous terrain too, akin to exploring an alien desert while tripping on an uncharted strain of psychoactive dust.

Where Uncle Acid fills their dark, fuzzed-out tracks with a brooding retro vibe, bringing forward an almost nostalgic element of heavy rock, Magmakammer gives you a more intense, swirling chaos. If Uncle Acid's world is a burned-out church of doom and psychedelia, Magmakammer inhabits a hostile, planet-spanning inferno that seems to have no beginning or end. There’s a sort of spacey heaviness that drenches this album, leaning more into obscure atmospherics rather than solely maintaining a riff-focused approach. The distorted walls of guitar feel as if they were carefully crafted by some cosmic blacksmith, each track unfurling like a bizarre ritual meant to test the boundaries of human comprehension.

Tracks like "Doom Jive" and "Cyanide Fever" move like tectonic plates—slow, deliberate, and potentially world-shattering—carrying you through immense cosmic voids of feedback and fuzz. While Uncle Acid & the Deadbeats conjure the feeling of a nightmarish voyage through a haunted landscape of vintage horror movie soundtracks, Magmakammer seems more intent on taking you to places where the fabric of space-time itself seems warped and indiscernible.

The similarity lies in the core: both bands are heavy. Both bands are psych. But Magmakammer doesn’t do retro homage. Instead, they burn the past and leave it behind as they chart new, unmarked territory. In this sense, they come off like a younger sibling in the stoner-psych family—just as comfortable experimenting with what could be as they are with what is. Their willingness to get lost in the ethereal makes this album feel like it’s daring to approach something untamed, while Uncle Acid keeps their sound firmly grounded in retro doom and rock with a slightly more traditional psych approach.

"Apocalypse Babes" exemplifies this contrast—the first half envelops you in a wall of fuzz, with a terrifyingly drawn-out guitar solo that holds you captive, whereas Uncle Acid would likely amp up a similar moment with a heavy, hypnotic vocal line to tie you into the groove. Magmakammer seems to disdain traditional structure, opting instead for the unpredictable pulse of a sun swallowed by an endless black void.

There's a genuine visceral feeling to the album that makes it both haunting and visceral, not dissimilar to the way Uncle Acid stirs up an unsettling sort of retro thrill, but Magmakammer operates on a more jagged, alien edge. They don’t worry about being "catchy" or approachable—they want you to feel the burn. They want you to suffer the slow, agonizing trance of being trapped in a place without light or form, only sound.

In summary, Before I Burn feels like stepping into a soundscape that has no borders, no light, no clear path. It’s a journey of alienation and confusion, like Uncle Acid & the Deadbeats, but with a much more experimental, post-apocalyptic energy. If Uncle Acid’s world is one of cool, atmospheric doom, Magmakammer’s is a scorched earth laid bare by the firestorm of psych-metal destruction.