Profanatica | Wreathed In Dead Angels EP | Hells Headbangers

 

Profanatica emerged from the filth and fury of the early '90s American underground as one of the original black metal entities from the U.S. Formed by Paul Ledney after the disintegration of Incantation’s original lineup, the band quickly became infamous for their debauched visual and lyrical extremity, as well as their raw, unrefined sound that took early Bathory, Hellhammer, and Blasphemy to grotesque new lows. After a turbulent history involving hiatuses and scattered releases, Profanatica reemerged in the 2000s with a newfound momentum, issuing a steady stream of full-lengths, splits, and EPs. Their work rarely deviates from their chosen path of spiritual desecration but instead refines it into something absolutely their own—grotesque, sacrilegious, primitive black/death metal that refuses all trends and aesthetic modernization.

“Wreathed In Dead Angels” is not a detour, rebirth, or deviation. It’s simply the next blasphemous missive from Profanatica, and as expected, it sounds like a scream from beneath the altar, caked in blood and layered in ash. The band’s return to Hells Headbangers finds them more resolute than ever: six tracks in twenty-two minutes, each one an invocation of decay, crucifixion, and religious defilement.

From the first seconds of “Hung In Golgatha,” the atmosphere is already stripped down to the bone—decaying, brutal, and devoid of anything remotely ornamental. The riffs aren’t sculpted—they’re hacked out of granite. The guitar tone sounds less like an amp than a speaker tearing itself apart. Drums lurch and clatter with barely restrained violence, still driven by Ledney’s definite timing and attack: martial, archaic, and as bitterly unrelenting as ever.

Vocals are vomited as always and serve more as a percussive assault than a narrative tool. But it's the pacing and cohesion of the whole release that really speaks volumes. “The Sixth Hour,” “Descent From The Cross,” and “The Entombment” flow with a rotten majesty, as if the entire EP was composed in a single, wrath-filled breath. The result isn’t hypnotic or immersive in the way of some atmospheric black metal—it’s claustrophobic and violent. There's no drift, no ambiance, no release.

The title track, “Wreathed In Dead Angels,” is as grotesque and confrontational as the cover art implies: a crawling, hideous dirge that moves like a bleeding wound through darkness. “By Thine Agony” closes the EP on a grim and final note, not with a crescendo or resolution, but with a full stop into a pit of filth.

There is no pretense here. There is no drama. This is filth made flesh and sound—deeply blasphemous, absolutely direct, and uncompromising. At a time when black metal is too often sterilized or steeped in high concept, Profanatica remains cruelly and authentically low, dragging their faithless sound through ash and shit without looking up once.

Score: 8.0