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This edition covers my
listening from April 10th to April 16th, 2026 and unfortunately, I am
posting this up a week late because life sometime has a habit of kicking you in
the ass. Anyway, following on from last
week, the same theme continues through:
I just didn’t feel I was living with the music long enough. For me, the rinse
and repeat nature of listening to new albums each and every day resulted in too
much movement, too much skipping and Week #15 corrected that. So, this week was
about committing to it. Instead of
jumping between releases, I treated new albums as entry points. If something
held, I stopped there and worked backwards. Full catalogues. Full albums.
Repetition. Resulting in two artists that would define this week.
At a glance, the numbers expanded. I listened to 34 artists, a 580% increase from last week, but most of them were brief checks that didn’t last. Total listening reached 2 days, 3 hours (up 185%). Average daily plays rose to 62 (up 94%), peaking on April 16th with 94 plays. Longer sessions with each artist replaced constant switching. Albums were allowed to run properly.
Two new albums triggered it: Inferi — Heaven Wept and Cult of Occult — I Have No Name. Both held my attention under repetition, which made it pointless to stop there. Those records totally worked for me, so the rest of each catalogue needed proper time.
Inferi drew most of my attention during the week, with 245 plays across a six‑album back‑catalogue run. Rather than picking tracks, I kept running full records. Heaven Wept led with 69 plays, followed by Vile Genesis at 54. From there it tightened: The End of an Era at 38, Revenant and The Path of Apotheosis at 35, with Divinity In War at 8.
Cult of Occult sat alongside them, their five‑album discography getting the same treatment. I Have No Name led at 38 plays, followed by Hic Est Domus Diaboli (13), Five Degrees of Insanity (10), Anti Life (7), and the self‑titled album (6).
Compared to last week, the difference isn’t scale, it’s depth. New music still matters, but at this point, only as a trigger. Once something holds, the listening moves backward, not onward.
1).
⚔️
Artist: Inferi (245 plays)
🩸 New Title: Heaven Wept
⚔️ Genre/tags: technical death metal,
melodic death metal
Inferi —
Albums ranked
6). Divinity In War (2007) (8 plays)
5). Revenant (2018) (35 plays)
5). The Path of Apotheosis (2014) (35 plays)
3). The End of an Era (2009) (38 plays)
2). Vile Genesis (2021) (54 plays)
1). Heaven Wept (2026) (69 plays)
Formed in 2005 in Nashville, Tennessee, Inferi —
not to be confused with the Finnish melodic death metal band of the same name —
are, at their core, a death metal band. If you want to be more precise, they
operate in a tightly controlled space between technical death metal, melodic
death metal, and blackened extremity, combining brutality with imagination and
discipline rather than chaos.
They are a band that are completely new to me. When I
pressed play on Heaven Wept, I was immediately struck by how
addictive it was. Not just impressive on first pass, but something that
tightened its grip with repetition. That reaction alone justified a full dive
into their back catalogue — and importantly, I focused only on the band’s
full‑length albums, avoiding EPs and side material in order to trace a
clean creative arc.
At the centre of Inferi’s identity is Malcolm Pugh — guitarist, bassist,
lyricist, and the band’s creative constant. Despite lineup changes over the
years, his presence gives the discography a strong through‑line, allowing the
band to evolve without losing cohesion.
Working chronologically, the early records are blunt,
aggressive, and more overtly brutal. Divinity in War (2007)
introduces the band in a relatively raw form — muscular, direct, and
unapologetically old‑school in spirit. The emphasis is on momentum rather than
nuance. It’s effective, but clearly the starting point rather than the
destination.
With The End of an Era (2009), ambition
increases noticeably. Songs become longer, more layered, and more structurally
complex. There’s a clear desire to push beyond genre norms, even if the
execution occasionally tips into excess. This album also stands out as the only
full‑length in their catalogue to feature an instrumental track, and later
events suggest the band themselves felt it didn’t fully capture their
intentions — a sentiment reinforced by the decision to revisit the material in The
End of an Era | Rebirth (2019).
The Path of Apotheosis
(2014) is where Inferi’s identity truly locks into
place. This album marks a decisive leap forward in songwriting and production.
The introduction of symphonic elements here is a genuine masterstroke — not
decorative, but structural. Orchestration sits inside the riffs rather than
floating above them, syncing tightly with Morbid Angel‑influenced chugging and
intricate guitar work. Vocals operate in layered call‑and‑response patterns,
blending guttural death growls with sharper blackened textures. Even at this
stage, Inferi are demonstrating an
ability to balance density with control.
The bass tone across the catalogue deserves mention:
boomy and full, but never overpowering the mix. It reinforces weight without
muddying clarity — a recurring strength that becomes more pronounced on later
releases.
Revenant
(2018) is often cited as a high‑water mark, and with good reason. From its
almost cinematic opening — reminiscent of a Danny Elfman‑style descent into
darkness — the album unleashes unrestrained brutality while maintaining
compositional discipline. Symphonic elements are used cinematically, building
tension like a film score before detonating into violence. There are moments
that feel closer to Lord of the Rings than traditional death metal —
orchestration swelling to heighten drama rather than soften impact.
By The End of an Era | Rebirth (2019),
the band’s modern era begins in earnest. This re‑recording isn’t an exercise in
nostalgia; it reframes early ambition with newfound precision. Crucially, this
release marks the arrival of Stevie Boiser on vocals, a change that
would define everything that followed. From this point on, Inferi’s vocal identity finally
feels fully embedded in the music rather than interchangeable.
The next major leap comes with Vile Genesis
(2021). This is refinement over reinvention. The album is disciplined,
deliberate, and remarkably consistent. Moments where the band drops tempo are
especially effective — tension builds through restraint rather than constant
velocity. The opener stands out for its contrast, with piano and soft vibrato
leads easing the listener into the record before the brutality hits. Compared
to Heaven Wept, the drums here sound slightly drier and more
mechanical, but the overall impact remains immense.
If Vile Genesis has a limitation, it’s
that it feels like a band still circling their creative peak rather than fully
arriving at it. The brutality and technicality are undeniable, but there’s a
sense of potential still being shaped.
That potential fully crystallises on Heaven Wept
(2026). This album feels like the convergence point of everything Inferi have been building toward.
The production is more organic, the runtime leaner, and the songwriting more
economical. Atmospherics and symphonic layers are used sparingly but precisely
— on tracks like Eternally Lie, subtle keys and orchestral touches add
depth without overwhelming the mix. Choir elements and layered guitars create a
lush, almost orchestral soundscape, closer in spirit to S&M-era Metallica than bombastic symphonic
metal.
Equally important is the rhythm section. With Spencer
Moore now firmly behind the kit, Inferi’s
technical ceiling rises without compromising songcraft. While drum
triggers are standard in modern metal, the execution here is exemplary — the
snare in particular is clean, punchy, and aggressive without sounding
artificial. Moore’s playing is precise, powerful, and restrained when it needs
to be, tightening the band’s entire foundation.
From Rebirth onward — through Vile
Genesis and Heaven Wept — Inferi sound fully assembled. Vocals, drums, orchestration, and
songwriting finally move as a single system rather than competing elements.
Looking across the full‑length catalogue as a whole,
the arc is clear. Early albums are ambitious but occasionally bloated; later
releases adopt a “less is more” philosophy that sharpens impact without
sacrificing intensity. As runtimes shorten, focus increases. What once felt like
endurance becomes immersion.
Inferi reward listeners who stop
moving and stay put. Their music isn’t about standout singles or novelty spikes
— it’s about structural reliability. Albums that continue to hold as
familiarity sets in.
This deep dive cemented them not just as a strong
discovery, but as one of my favourite death metal bands outright. And while I
know not everyone wants repeated discography excavations, this is a case where
staying put revealed far more than moving on ever could.
2)
⚔️
Artist: Cult of Occult (74 plays)
🩸 New Title: I Have No Name
⚔️ Genre/tags: sludge metal, doom metal
Cult of Occult — Albums ranked
5). Cult of Occult (2012) (6 plays)
4). Anti Life (2018) (7 plays)
3). Five Degrees of Insanity (2016) (10 plays)
2). Hic Est Domus Diaboli (2013) (13 plays)
1). I Have No Name (2026) (38 plays)
Cult of Occult are, without question,
one of the bleakest and most viscerally extreme doom acts operating today.
Their music doesn’t simply aim to be heavy; it exists to suffocate, to deny
momentum, and to grind away at any sense of release. Having only recently
committed to a full dive into their full‑length albums, what becomes
immediately apparent is how deliberate their evolution has been. Each record
sheds another layer of skin, stripping away groove, identity, and comfort until
what remains feels entirely hostile.
Their self‑titled debut from 2011 arrives as a four‑track,
33‑minute introduction that immediately establishes the band’s grounding in
down‑tempo sludge. At this stage, traces of stoner‑sludge DNA are still present
— low‑end churn, repetition, and a buried sense of groove — but even here
there’s a bleakness that separates Cult of Occult from their peers. Riffs grind with conviction rather than
flash, beaten into the listener through sheer force. Vocals carry a hardcore
edge, raw and aggressive, delivered with urgency rather than spectacle.
Influences like Eyehategod and Corrosion of Conformity are apparent, but Cult of Occult inject a darker, more
nihilistic intent into that framework. What stands out most is confidence.
Despite the oppressive nature of the music, the album never feels tentative.
Riff after riff lands with intent, with the title track and “Blurry and
Muzzy” offering early proof that the band already understood how to
weaponise repetition.
With their follow‑up, Hic Est Domus Diaboli,
Cult of Occult begin their transformation
from heavy band into something more ritualistic. Groove recedes. Motion slows.
The sound thickens to the point where riffs feel less like musical structures
and more like slabs of sound — lurching, crawling, barely resolving. Repetition
stops being hypnotic and becomes punishing. Momentum is actively rejected. This
is where the band’s nihilism stops being an aesthetic choice and becomes
structural, setting the template for everything that follows.
Five Degrees of Insanity
marks the point where Cult
of Occult fully
commit to suffocation as an artistic goal. At 65 minutes, it’s a long record,
but crucially, one that earns its runtime by deepening its oppression rather
than stretching ideas thin. An ominous amplifier hum opens the album before
detonating into the gut‑churning opening riff of “Alcoholic,” which
launches into a 15‑minute ordeal of bleak sludge, harrowing vocals, and an evil
guitar tone that rivals the most punishing doom acts operating today. Riffs are
repeated until they reach breaking point, then reshaped into something even
harsher. “Nihilistic” introduces fleeting atmospheric elements — reverb‑washed
guitar passages that allow brief gulps of air before the pressure crashes back
in. “Misanthropic” momentarily veers into a buzzing black‑metal attack,
offering a shocking contrast to the glacial crawl that surrounds it, before
dragging that feral energy back into the swamp. It’s a tantalising glimpse of a
broader arsenal, one they wisely deploy sparingly. “Psychotic” leans heavily
into amplifier worship and droning menace, while “Satanic” closes
proceedings with hysterical declarations of war on God and everything else,
grinding the listener down one final time. Despite its length and relentless
pace, the album remains strangely addictive — a thoroughly unpleasant listen in
the best possible way.
Anti‑Life
refines everything that came before it. Where Five Degrees of Insanity
was about endurance, Anti‑Life is about control. The density is
still overwhelming, but it’s directed with greater purpose. Opening track “AL”
withholds forward motion almost entirely for its first stretch, allowing
tension to pool before the weight finally drops. When it does, the bass and
guitars surge forward in a suffocating lo‑fi crawl that establishes the album’s
core principle immediately: submission is required. “NI” follows as the
album’s hinge, paralyzing in its repetition, with contemptuous chords hovering
just overhead. Later tracks push deeper into negation. Vocals sound anguished
and furious, less like performance and more like survival, as if delivered
through clenched teeth or gargled through glass. Riffs no longer feel authored;
they feel dragged from something hostile. Distortion ceases to be an effect and
becomes the environment itself. What keeps Anti‑Life from
monotony is restraint. Cult
of Occult understand
when to let atmosphere rot and when to apply pressure again, making it one of
the strongest and most focused statements in their catalogue.
With I Have No Name, Cult of Occult arrive at their most fully
realised form. Any lingering traces of stoner sludge have long been erased.
Groove is gone. The vocals are reduced to pure anguish, sounding as though
they’re being torn from the body in real time. Riffs crawl at an almost
immobile pace, barely distinguishable from the distortion that houses them.
Nothing here is designed to move the listener forward; the intention is
entrapment. The album doesn’t escalate through speed or volume, but through
mass. Each passage feels heavier than the last not because it grows louder, but
because it removes more air.
Taken as a whole, Cult of Occult’s full‑length discography doesn’t evolve upward —
it collapses inward. Each album strips away another element: groove, release,
motion, even recognisable structure. Line‑up changes only accelerate this
erosion, hardening the band’s vision rather than softening it. Cult of Occult don’t get heavier in the
obvious sense. They get emptier, and more oppressive because of it.
This isn’t music for casual listening. Their albums
demand patience, commitment, and tolerance for discomfort. But taken together,
they form one of the most uncompromising and coherent discography arcs
in extreme music. Cult of Occult don’t reward attention — they survive it.
⚔️🩸 The New Flesh Index Playlist
#16 (30 biggest tracks of the week)
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