Kings Of Leon
When You See Yourself
In 2021, Kings Of Leon are basically a spent force. There’s no way to sugar coat it either – ever since their mainstream peak in 2008 with Only By The Night, they’ve been on a consistent decline in slow, insipid indie-rock tedium that, as of now, has culminated in their worst album, 2016’s Walls. And this isn’t akin to the relatively similar career path of their de facto counterparts The Killers either; they’ve always at least had the singles to prop up their mediocre albums, and where Imploding The Mirage was a glorious return to form, there seems to be no chance of Kings Of Leon pulling back to such a degree on When You See Yourself. The pre-release tracks have been nothing special after all – the ceiling of quality that recent Kings Of Leon releases seem to aspire to scrape – and while there’s some hope fostered by the five-year break between albums that hopefully could’ve had a positive impact here, that’s clutching at straws pretty heavily. If anything, those five years have only taken whatever little wind was left in their sails out completely if When You See Yourself is anything to go by, the beleaguered gasp of a band whose intrigue factor has diminished effectively into nothingness. That can primarily be attributed to how bloodless and tired this album feels almost across the board, as any sort of pace is shunned for meandering tempos that feel basically the same on every track. It’s very much in-keeping with the current phase of Kings Of Leon’s career, post-southern rock and post-stadium rock where they’ve slid into their elder statesman guise, although they might even feel a bit too comfortable with that here. Besides The Bandit – which, even then, is hardly pulse-pounding in its own right – When You See Yourself plods along with zero sense of urgency, a factor which can ultimately make these songs sound more rickety and piecemeal than they should. Jared Followill’s bass work is a pleasant anchoring presence throughout, but it also overshadows guitar and drums that weakly peel along, and Caleb Followill’s vocals that have tighter diction than other instances in their catalogue, but never bring much in the way of firepower. It’s a tired, old sound that doesn’t flatter them in the slightest, instead making the bulk of When You See Yourself insanely forgettable when the whole thing encroaches on an hour.
Perhaps it isn’t quite as bad as Walls but it’s not far off, on the basis that Kings Of Leon are devoid of any real spark or momentum that, as limited as their material in the past could be, kept them going. Here, they drift through their southern storytelling in a way that sidelines any potential introspection and, more often then not, winds up feeling complacent. There are solid concepts within these songs, be that the tribute to a loved one suffering from dementia on 100,000 People or the evocative wilderness imagery of Claire & Eddie, but it rarely feels used in a way that benefits what the band are striving for. They’ll work more as poems than songs at times; hooks are in direly short supply, instead relying on a clearer grasp of imagery that’s well-constructed, but with limited appeal beyond that. It makes for a very dull listen, both in the colours this sound evokes and in the general mood of the listening experience, where there’s precious little to gravitate towards in the same way as past Kings Of Leon albums. This might be their eighth album, but there’s no way their ideas are in this short supply; even going back to down-the-middle stadium rock would be better than this, if only for a payoff that has the chance of being satisfying. With When You See Yourself, it trundles along until it doesn’t, plugging in an hour’s worth of listening time with a profoundly hollow-sounding block of filler that evaporates from memory as quickly as it came. This is a prime candidate to be forgotten in no time at all, which is probably a more notable indictment than even if it was worthy of hating.
4/10
For fans of: Editors, White Lies, The Gaslight Anthem
‘When You See Yourself’ by Kings Of Leon is out now on RCA Records.
Tigers Jaw
I Won’t Care How You Remember Me
Tigers Jaw really feel as though they’re among emo’s lifers. They’ve never been a huge band, even when the genre’s DIY branches have been brought further to the fore, but they’ve stuck it out regardless, even among significant lineup changes, growths and shrinkages. On paper then, it shouldn’t be too surprising they’re now six albums deep, but at the same time, it kind of is, mostly because the unassuming air around Tigers Jaw has been the root cause of how vastly underestimated they can be. ‘Unassuming’ is the operative word for I Won’t Care How You Remember Me too, where the understated, flashless presentation of Tigers Jaw mightn’t imply much on the surface, but actually finds all the right pieces come together for a solid little album that probably won’t get the attention it deserves. It’s not really that surprising that it won’t, given the deliberately smaller, more humble sound coated in dusty emo production, but that only highlights the universal solidity that Tigers Jaw have under their belt. For one, there’s definitely a power-pop focus used to balance their usual brand of emo, giving some of the jangling, sparkling swirl of Hesitation and New Detroit a bit more liveliness overall. To call it ‘anthemic’ might be pushing it a bit – after all, there’s never a moment where the band will really explode or embrace pop-rock in its entirety – but the balance on display is pretty much perfect in terms of finding the earthy middle ground that Tigers Jaw look to inhabit. That’s evident on songs like Cat’s Cradle and Commit, with the bigger alt-punk guitars that sit alongside prevalent, propulsive bass and drums that still have the means of easing back to varying degrees and having just as much appeal. It definitely feels like the work of a band a good way into their career, just from how well-placed each part feels and how smoothly it comes together for it.
Simultaneously though, that also manifests in what’s not a very adventurous album overall, mostly for how firmly Tigers Jaw will stay in their lane when it comes to writing, sticking to the diary-style lyrics that have all the necessary humanity and personality baked in across the board. It’s never bad, though more a case of never exactly standing out in any meaningful way, which proves to be the downside of an album that remains this uniform for its duration. This particular consistency doesn’t allow much wiggle room, and while I Won’t Care… hits a high watermark, it’s also kind of rigid in how high it’s allowed to go. That’s a very petty complaint to make though, especially when Tigers Jaw are doing a lot right for the sound they’re producing. Even then, the traded vocals between Ben Walsh and Brianna Collins offer the varying perspectives that the vast majority of emo and power-pop bands can’t, which does inject a bit more longevity thanks to the different emotional layers that each produce. It all factors in that unassuming nature, where Tigers Jaw might seem a bit slight on the surface, but continue to deliver high-quality material with a fair bit amount to keep invested in. It’s definitely a grower, perhaps not a ‘best of the year’ extent, but certainly to where this album will elevate itself beyond the pretty muted commercial response it’ll likely get. That might be a regular occurrence for Tigers Jaw, but like with most of the material, I Won’t Care… deserves better than that.
7/10
For fans of: Balance And Composure, Basement, Title Fight
‘I Won’t Care How You Remember Me’ by Tigers Jaw is out now on Hopeless Records.
Black Honey
Written & Directed
On their debut, Black Honey came across as a band custom designed to appeal to the indie market at the time. Here was a band with big sensibilities drawn from both classic rock and film soundtracks, tied together by a charismatic frontwoman for an incredibly strong composite to the right audience. But like so many other indie acts primed to blow at one point, the momentum of that debut hasn’t lasted, and Black Honey find themselves in an all-too-familiar position of going into a sophomore release on the back of a severely diminished hype cycle. Though, that would imply that Written & Directed has had much of any hype around it at all, or that what it offers facilitates much in that way. In reality, it just becomes the newest body lobbed onto the pile of compressed, blown-out modern rock, where keener melody has been overtaken by size and volume in a way that’s so unfortunately generic. When opener I Like The Way You Die brings in the squealing guitars crushed into place by blocky progressions and Izzy B. Phillips’ vocals being fed through an equal amount of compression, it sets a less-than-stellar stage that Black Honey can’t seem to overcome. There’ll sometimes be a welcome drop of colour added the mix, in the horns on Beaches and I Do It To Myself or an occasionally nimble bassline, but too often, Written & Directed succumbs to the weariness that tends to lie below the surface of this sound. It might try and sound big and anthemic, but when that’s at the expense of real vigour, it can lead to a lot these songs simply falling by the wayside. Black Honey don’t demonstrate the sort of edge that can really make them special here; more often than not, they can dish out proficient rock music beneath the production, but not much else. When there’s been so much music like this, just another helping doesn’t feel that exciting, and that’s ultimately the problem that Black Honey face. It’s hard to pinpoint what they’re doing that’s wholly theirs, and on an album that’s already short and with some obvious shortcomings, it limits the overall appeal even more.
It’s also a problem of weight within the sound that finds Written & Directed stumble. Black Honey definitely have sonic formidability, especially as Phillips’ tighter, pointed vocals will slice its own path through, but there isn’t much in the way of content to ground that in. The allure of the rock ‘n’ roll lifestyle inevitably pops up, as do relationship songs fed through that same lens, and that only exacerbates the notion that Black Honey aren’t displaying much individual personality here. Even on the swaggering self-esteem anthem Fire and the pining, stripped-down closer Gabrielle, neither feel very distinct or as if they’re moving too far out of their archetypes. That said, there’s no outright bad lyrics or anything that particularly leaps off the page, but that in itself can be seen as just as much of an indictment. Like it or not, Black Honey just aren’t gripping through the down-the-middle rock means, instead coming across as simply competent beneath their layers of what’s actively preventing them from being more. It’s frustrating when this does feel like a couple of steps down from their debut overall, but it’s also indicative of a band at least making a conscious attempt to follow the scene instead of forging their own path. This riff-rock template is very well-worn, even if this very state, and when there isn’t much to differentiate Black Honey’s particular approximation of it, the result just doesn’t stick. Maybe it will for some, for those for whom this scene and this style has a lot more intrinsic appeal just from numbers of entries, but Written & Directed is still probably one of its more forgettable ones.
5/10
For fans of: Royal Blood, The Magic Gang, Band Of Skulls
‘Written & Directed’ by Black Honey is released on 19th March on Foxfive Records.
Justin Courtney Pierre
An Anthropologist On Mars
As the frontman of Motion City Soundtrack, Justin Courtney Pierre has always been the biggest asset to that band. That’s not to say the rest is without merit – they’ve always been criminally underrated for a reason, after all – but there’s such a uniqueness to his voice and writing style that’s always presented them as a cut above a lot of other emo and power-pop. It makes sense, then, that that would effortlessly translate into his solo material; 2018’s In The Drink might’ve felt like a more pared-back version of the MCS formula and subsequently slipped out of range for many because of that, but that easily identifiable heart was still there in spades. It’s continued in a briefer fashion on An Anthropologist On Mars, though not shy of the usual qualities that make Pierre’s music so ridiculously likable. His literary writing style translates incredibly well to themes of recovering buried memories and personality traits from books through childhood, where songs like Dying To Know and I Hate Myself play with succinct but effective emotional cores to carry themselves. They’ll manifest themselves more as scattered thoughts and ruminations more than anything (which, honestly, the abbreviated length can shade as a flaw above a feature), but there’s a real richness and detail to Pierre’s lyrics that makes this feel like a complete package all the same. This is still satisfying to listen to overall, especially when the attention to detail is so pronounced throughout.
Generally, it’s a result of Pierre really being in his comfort zone here, operating in the same power-pop and alt-rock spheres that produced the best MCS music. There’s a lot of prominence and power in the guitars and bass, especially on shorter songs like Dying To Know and Promise Not To Change that have a slightly punkier edge, and the sprinklings of synths that are a bit more shrill feel like the necessary factor to tie up that vibe. It’s very familiar and straightforward stuff, even when diverting for a mid-tempo piano-ballad in Illumination to round out, but again, Pierre feels so comfortable in this lane. He’s got the voice that can switch between excitable shouts and a warmer, smoother croon when necessary, and backed by a solid production foundation keeps everything in line exactly as it should be. Perhaps the vocals do dip out a bit on Footsteps, being a more noteworthy consequence of placing them at the front of the mix so regularly, but there are very few complaints to be made when this is such a universally solid EP. It definitely has the side-project feel now that Motion City Soundtrack are back together, and the number of similarities can see it live in that shadow, but when that’s the case, the results could be a lot worse than more of the same that’s still pulled off with an expected level of quality. It’ll tide fans over until either Pierre or his band release their next full-length, and for this sort of quick project, you can’t really expect or ask for more.
7/10
For fans of: Motion City Soundtrack, Weezer, Say Anything
‘An Anthropologist On Mars’ by Justin Courtney Pierre is released on 12th March on Epitaph Records.
Pupil Slicer
Mirrors
The name itself might conjure up the sort of violently evocative imagery that’s – pardon the pun – eye-catching enough, but Pupil Slicer are an example of a band who are fully capable of delivering just as much promise in their actual output. They bring together the sharp, angular intensity of mathcore with a more punishing brand of it from grindcore, with debut album Mirrors being the surprisingly succinct fusion necessary to get into the top tier of new, exciting metal. It’s the sort of surgical, razor-edged heavy music that’s hard to look away from when it gets going, perhaps not quite as devouring as their spiritual brethren on Code Orange or Vein, but easily capable of carving out its own voice within that particular scene. It’s what makes Martyrs such a strong opening for one, given that it’s effectively an encapsulation of all the ideas that Mirrors expands on and toys with throughout its runtime – Kate Davies’ guitar work has the acute screeches and wiry tones to carve through Josh Andrews’ utterly maniac drumming. Luke Fabian’s bass could have a bit more to do at times, if only to stand out a bit more as its own entity, but even so, Pupil Slicer remain a remarkably tight unit that have a meticulousness to them without ever going overboard. That’s held firm by the jagged, metallic edges of the production that are a natural fit for music as simultaneously aggressive and discordant as this, bring everything into place to rage forth with very few moments of respite. Those atmospheric interludes or passages are definitely in shorter supply here than usual, but even then, Mirrors never feels airless or one-note. There’s purely too much going on musically for it to be like that, and it creates some great forward momentum that keeps it interesting throughout.
So far, so good then, but where Pupil Slicer really nudge themselves up a bit comes in the delivery, and how Davies’ vocals feel perfectly in line with the sharpened metallic presentation of the album in just how volatile they are. When you take a song like Husk that’s already built on the dissonant collapse of its guitar and general air of ensnared, ricocheting chaos, adding a vocalist like Davies only brings that intensity even closer to the boil. It’s remarkably visceral from a technical standpoint, the sort of larynx-crippling shriek that’s the only suitable accompaniment for music as volatile as this, and the broader screams of Fabian as garnish do a good amount to keep it fresh. Again, it operates on the ethos of moving forward, as Pupil Slicer will reshape their core ideas across the board to keep them fresh and gripping. With Davies though, she accomplishes a lot of that through sheer force alone, in just how raw and wrenched-out the demons of abuse, anxiety and depression are, to where the blood-curdling cries of exorcism to close the album at the end of Collective Unconscious serve as its most uncomfortable but poignant moment. Where the clinical nature of music like this can surpass a lot of the emotion coming from within, that’s not a problem that Pupil Slicer face; the power is still primarily in how sonically incendiary it is, but the layers to be pulled back are there nonetheless, and what comes out of it is a fascinating addition to an ever-growing canon of essential, exciting heavy music. Like with some of its predecessors, this won’t be for everyone, but the rewards for diving in and sticking with it are absolutely worth it.
8/10
For fans of: Vein, Car Bomb, Frontierer
‘Mirrors’ by Pupil Slicer is released on 12th March on Prosthetic Records.
Death Blooms
Fuck Everything
In just a few years with only a couple of EPs to their name, it already feels like Death Blooms have defined themselves rather unshakably within heavy music. It’s not precisely thought-provoking what they’re doing, but for belligerent, unfettered rage through an ideally beefy and groove-heavy nu-metalcore lens, they’ve proven adept at hitting that target. It’s not a target that requires much in the way of aiming, but they get there all the same, and that’s the sort of merit it’s ultimately healthiest to judge a release like Fuck Everything on. This isn’t an eloquent dissection of society’s ills, nor is it trying to be; it’s a quarter of an hour of brusque, pounding anger that’s excellently realised for what it’s trying to do. A song like Gore might hinge a bit too heavily on the edgy shock value, but otherwise, Death Blooms barely miss a beat when it comes to music to soundtrack a palpable sense of modern anger. It helps that Paul Barrow has a genuine ferocity in his unclean vocals to make this work, and more towards the Slipknot side of things where the destructiveness actually has some weight to it. It does feel raw in sentiment, and again, while any incisiveness is drastically limited, that isn’t really a necessity for what Death Blooms are trying to do.
Ultimately, Fuck Everything’s success is determined by how hard it’s willing to go within its particular lane, and that never feels like it needs to be brought into question here. Admittedly there’s a couple of stodgy passages that leave some bloat, but generally, the band have sunk into a groove by now that works for them, in the fat guitar grooves and snapped basslines that fall firmly towards the better end of this more standard branch of nu-metal. They get a bit more manic on the title track which is an avenue that’s definitely worth exploring further (as well as being the clearest moment of tapping into the Mudvayne influence that gave them their name), but otherwise they stick to what they know well. Even in the bigger, cleaner choruses, it’s more in the vein of Motionless In White, where they’ll serve as the big axe swings to cut through a very dense, weighty sound, while still leaving the overall mood more or less intact. This is a heavy sound that Death Blooms have tapped into as well, and that’s definitely indicative of a more traditional nu-metal streak that feels a lot more fruitful for them. This isn’t a band that would cope well with being watered down or held back, and it’s refreshing to see them push away from a comparatively more mainstream standpoint to get to where they are now. When it comes to that, Death Blooms have never really put a foot wrong, and Fuck Everything is another addition to that oeuvre which mightn’t be expanding in terms of ideas, but feels like that of a band who come to hone themselves very impressively. A full album might be a more pertinent test, but for now anyway, Death Blooms continue to push forward at a healthy speed.
7/10
For fans of: Slipknot, Cane Hill, King 810
‘Fuck Everything’ by Death Blooms is released on 17th March on Adventure Cat Records.
Stepney Sisters
Stepney Sisters
The story of the Stepney Sisters really feels like it should be more well-known than it is. They originally had a short-lived run in the ‘70s among a wave of trailblazing feminist rock acts, though doing so without ever releasing a full album. Even after reforming in 2010, this debut album is still only coming over a decade later, though underscored by the handy knowledge of guitarist Nony Ardill’s daughter being Anya Pearson of Dream Nails. That’s a good boost to have too, given that the Stepney Sisters’ sound is rooted in a much older style of music that probably wouldn’t get the same attention without it. That’s not really a fault on the band’s part though, as their pulls from soul and older rock ‘n’ roll are executed with a lot of tastefulness in giving most airtime to Benni Lees’ sinuous bass work and Caroline Gilfillan’s keys, and especially Ruthie Smith’s saxophone breaks that are always wonderful to have in more restrained music like this. But that restraint and the built-in limitations of the sound can make this album feel a bit slight in terms of presence, not helped by production that doesn’t do much to emphasise depth in the mix. It’s not flat, by any means, and in shuffling Sisters or the soulful patter of Lonely Man, the execution is notably classically-minded in what it’s trying to pull off. More so, it’s a case of the dryness of the sound overall not doing it any favours, as the vocal harmonies will try and fill some of the emptier space in the mix but still only equal the quieter, reserved instrumentation. It’s really when those saxophone lines come in that the Stepney Sisters hit their stride; their style definitely has a built-in appeal by virtue of solid genre knowledge, but it’s not exactly thrilling all the same.
Still, that’s somewhat to be expected after all, and again, when it comes to the Stepney Sisters themselves, the issue rarely circles back to them as an outfit. There’s a lot of proficiency on this album with what they’re doing, especially in writing that might be more impressive contextually than on face value, but is definitely strong all the same. There’s nothing as forceful or biting as the feminist messaging that a lot of modern punk will have, but there’s definitely value lent to Knock On The Door or Family Song thanks to an older perspective, where history and more time being exposed to these concepts does more than what’s actually being said. Bear in mind that songs like Sisters and Lonely Man were written close to half a century ago, and there’s definitely still relevance within them that shines even today; hell, in the case of the latter in a line like “It’s not just women that sisterhood sets free”, that feels ridiculously ahead of its time. It’s moments like that which solidify the Stepney Sisters’ debut as an album that works better as a piece of history above all else, laying down the groundwork for waves of progressively-minded rock and punk that’s still going today. That’s not nothing, and while the album itself does show the age of where that genesis comes from by comparison, it’s still worthwhile overall, if only for the context of where so much great music has spawned from.
6/10
For fans of: The Animals, The Zombies, The Raincoats
‘Stepney Sisters’ by Stepney Sisters is released on 12th March on Alcopop! Records.
Dollar Signs
Hearts Of Gold
Let’s not mince words – with the right push, Dollar Signs could be for punk in 2021 what The Menzingers and Spanish Love Songs were respectively in 2017 and 2020. That’s a big statement to make, especially given the acclaim that so much alt-punk gets across the board, but Dollar Signs’ Hearts Of Gold gives off the air of an album that hits all of its scene’s beats so perfectly, and just keeps on going. And as always, it’s stellar writing that’s top of the list when it comes to praise, where Hearts Of Gold vaults over the competition with an exquisite command for humour within the self-examination. Erik Button certainly has the voice for it, with his shaggy, braying delivery that’s midway between Brian Sella and Greg Barnett, and there’s an effortless connection between that and the broad comedy scenarios cooked up on Negative Blood and Falling Off. Above all, it’s the necessary levity needed to cope with feelings of inadequacy and anxiety, trying to distract from gnawing negative emotions while simultaneously trying to plough through them just to get by. It reaches its most sober point of introspection with the isolation of Sticks & Stones before Button’s acknowledgement of how liable he is to fall into his own negative cycles and ruts on B.O.M.B.S, but there’s also Bad News where the conscious decision to hold onto good things is more prominent, and especially I Love You where the drive to move forward and embrace love and positivity in life serves as more of a driving force than ever. It’s all incredibly smartly told and written above all of that, avoiding a lot of the usual lyrical tropes this scene can often snatch in favour its brighter, more stark settings that have so much more character. There’s such an unmistakable tightness to it all, as Dollar Signs craft their album with the same care and humanity as their contemporaries, but in a way that feels their own to a tremendous degree.
The same thing could be said about the instrumentation too, perhaps even more so. At its core, Hearts Of Gold adheres to the usual template of brash, big-hearted alt-punk, and even stopping at that juncture, it’s one of the most vibrant examples the genre has pulled out in some time. This is a band whose awareness of scope is basically unparalleled, in the way they’ll ramp up into enormous gang singalongs with Button’s voice become gruffer and more gravelly, the sort of thing that’s yet another considerable reason to pine for the return of live shows to fully experience this. It seldom falters either, as Negative Blood, Bad News and Falling Off all hit melodic punk perfection square in the bullseye, and even comparatively ‘lesser’ cuts like Bonghammer and Nihilist Gundam find a way to barrel along uninhibited. From front to back, it’s one of the best variations on this sound in a long time, and then as the synths and horns will sizzle and burn across tracks and fizzed-in outros will snap into place, it gives this album a real liveliness. It’s already a pretty quick listen at just over half an hour, but the amount of raw content that Dollar Signs pack into Hearts Of Gold – crucially, without ever feeling overstuffed or unfocused – really yields a fulfilling experience from front to back. Within a scene that’s known for its quality often at the mercy of innovation, Dollar Signs hit both ends with genuine gusto, the sort of standard-setting punk album that might not often be this far under the radar, but feels like so much more of a rewarding discovery for it.
9/10
For fans of: The Menzingers, The Front Bottoms, Telethon
‘Hearts Of Gold’ by Dollar Signs is released on 12th March on Pure Noise Records.
Bound In Fear
Eternal
It might seem obvious, but there’s more to making heavy music than just being heavy. That’s a benefit, but in terms of finding longevity or the possibility to expand, unfettered brutality and nothing else isn’t a sustainable way of going about things. And with Bound In Fear, you might as well slap that criticism on them straight away, as a titanic, guttural blend of black-metal, slam and deathcore has never proven all too malleable for them. It wasn’t enough to make their previous releases bad, but it did limit them, and while that’s somewhat circumvented on a slighter package for this new EP, the point still stands. The slow, heaving weight of this music is its primary feature, picking up a bit of a groove and chug in pieces of Left To Drown and My Mind, My Prison, but not enough to stick out or draw the attention to more than just sheer heft. It’s a very common formula that’s gone into it too, where the guitars and bass will boom and the sledgehammer hits of drums come crashing down, creating an imposing size but not much else within it. The production isn’t quite as domineering as it ought to be either, and it makes for a listen where Bound In Fear can definitely craft a soundscape, but one that’s pretty rigid and methodical in the beatdown it’s trying to dish out.
Granted, if Bound In Fear have one real ace up their sleeve, it’s Ben Mason as a frontman. He’s not that far removed from a lot of other deathcore vocalists in this vein tonally, but there’s clear evidence of a greater range that really plays to his advantage. Switching between metalcore-esque screams, death growls and what’s encroaching on pig squeals at the very least gives these songs a bit more shapeliness beyond downtuned blocks, and it’s probably the closest thing to a unique selling point that Bound In Fear have. The writing itself is still generally unchanged, in explorations of nightmares and repressed dark memories that still linger and shade one’s personality, but it’s all conveyed in a suitably vicious way. It still has appeal in that towering sense, but going back to the original point, that doesn’t really feel like enough on Eternal. It’s fine enough for what it’s trying to do and for the mood it’s trying to cultivate, but beyond that, there isn’t much memorability to be found; it’s heavy and deliberate, without many more tricks beyond that. Really it’s more a case of this particular style being done a lot already, and Bound In Fear aren’t contributing a lot to it besides another name for the list.
5/10
For fans of: Black Tongue, Distant, Decayer
‘Eternal’ by Bound In Fear is released on 12th March on Unique Leader Records.
Words by Luke Nuttall
