Harmozel is a Connecticut-based solo project by Pat Jenkinson, rooted in the worlds of Elder, Candlemass,
and Cirith Ungol. Known for blending doom
metal with psychedelic textures and Gregorian chant-inspired layers, Harmozel builds dark, intense atmospheres through
music that fuses heaviness with hallucinatory touches.
“Songs Of
The Hungry Ghosts” arrives with high ambition, aiming for a dark, immersive
experience. The tracks swing between fiery riffs and eerie vocal passages,
trying to summon visions of shadowed temples and haunted landscapes. There’s a
lot going on here, from extended stretches of swirling sound to abrupt turns in
rhythm and tone. Each song attempts to carve its own space, moving through
sudden shifts that can be chaotic and deliberate.
The overall
listen is difficult to settle into. Layers pile on without clear direction,
leaving the album feeling muddled and hard to follow. Vocals, chants, and riffs
often collide, producing a crowded and sometimes grating experience. The
psychedelic and doom elements are there but they fight for attention instead of
creating cohesion. For an album designed to draw the listener in, it ends up
being exhausting to endure.
The
production tries to create depth, yet the end result is jarring, with sections
that’s harsh and disjointed. It’s clear Jenkinson poured
a lot into this but the final product struggles to maintain a listenable flow.
“Songs Of The Hungry Ghosts” is not something that invites repeated plays.
Howling Giant rose from the heavy underground of
Nashville, Tennessee, where country-pop dominates the airwaves but fuzz reigns
in the basements. Formed in the mid-2010s, the band quickly stood out with
their cosmic blend of doom, prog, and stoner rock, creating stories about
interstellar wanderers and mythic battles. Following three EPs and two
acclaimed albums, “The Space Between Worlds” (2019) and “Glass Future” (2023), the
quartet returns stronger, louder, and more ambitious with “Crucible &
Ruin.”
This new
chapter shows a band thriving in evolution. The addition of guitarist and synth
player Adrian Lee Zambrano has expanded
their sonic reach, turning Howling Giant from
a power trio into a formidable four-headed beast. The new lineup brings an
electric charge to their songwriting, with guitar harmonies cutting through
waves of fuzz and vocal lines weaving tightly together. The result is an album
that sounds confident and full-bodied, blending classic heavy tones with
adventurous structures that feel alive and organic.
Produced by
Neil Tuuri and recorded in a proper studio
for the first time, “Crucible & Ruin” captures the raw chemistry of the
band playing together in real time. There’s a sense of immediacy and purpose in
their performance, and every track brims with energy. The riffs are thick and
heavy, rooted in stoner rock tradition, while the vocals stretch into the
melodic and storytelling side of progressive metal. The bass lines, handled by Sebastian Baltes, provide a strong undercurrent
that keeps everything tight and grooving.
Thematically,
“Crucible & Ruin” unfolds around a battle between a newborn deity and the
chaos that threatens creation. The lyrical approach leans on cosmic imagery and
mythological undertones, giving the album an adventurous scope without turning
it into pure concept theatre. The artwork, designed by guitarist Tom Polzine’s mother using alcohol ink on yupo
paper, perfectly mirrors this sense of color and turbulence, a fitting visual
companion to the album’s swirling energy.
Tracks like
“Hunter’s Mark” and “Beholder II: Labyrinth” capture the spirit of the band at
full power, mixing soaring choruses with powerful grooves. “Archivist” and
“Canyons” dive deeper into their more psychedelic tendencies, layering
harmonies and driving rhythm sections into something hypnotic. There’s a
satisfying balance between melody and aggression across the album, making it
easy to get lost in its flow from start to finish.
“Crucible
& Ruin” confirms Howling Giant as one of
the most inspired acts in modern heavy rock. It’s the sound of a group fully in
sync, expanding their universe without losing their identity. Fuzzy, melodic,
and massive in scope, it’s a album made for long drives and late-night
headphone journeys.
Few names in extreme music have walked through fire the way Today Is The Day has. Led by the ever-volatile Steve Austin since the early 1990s, the band
became a singular force in the underground, twisting metal, noise, and chaos
into something personal and brutally honest. Across decades and countless
lineups, Austin turned trauma and
confrontation into sound. From “Willpower” and “Temple Of The Morning Star” to
“No Good To Anyone”, his work has always been an unfiltered reflection of inner
war. “Never Give In” continues that lineage, scarred, angry, visionary, and
deeply human.
Born out of the
claustrophobic atmosphere of the pandemic years, “Never Give In” is steeped in
disillusionment and resistance. Austin doesn’t
romanticize struggle; he documents it, microphone in one hand, gasoline can in
the other. The album opens in full combat stance with “Divide And Conquer,” a
track that lunges forward with jagged riffs and a barked warning. From there,
it descends into a feverish cycle of paranoia, frustration, and catharsis.
Titles like “Intentional Psychological Warfare” and “Secret Police” speak
plainly for themselves.
The production is raw
and unforgiving, the way Today Is The Day should
sound. Guitars scrape like exposed nerves, bass churns underneath, and the
drums come in waves of collapse and resurgence. Austin’s
voice, alternately pleading and venomous, carries the manic energy of someone
clawing through the static. When the brass enters on “Secret Police,” it
doesn’t lighten the chaos, it deepens it, as if the whole thing’s collapsing
under its own paranoia.
What gives “Never Give
In” its pulse is not refinement but tension. It’s the sound of one man refusing
to disappear, digging through modern decay to find meaning in the wreckage. The
album’s psychedelic flourishes aren’t soothing, they’re warped, distorted
windows into a collapsing mental state. Everything sounds haunted, as if
transmitted from a bunker.
“Never Give In” is
neither nostalgic nor neatly assembled. It’s a survival document, full of bile
and self-reconstruction, too strange to be labeled hardcore, too aggressive to
be called experimental rock. There’s an electricity in how unstable it feels, every
track teeters on implosion, and that’s where its truth lies.
As the first half of a
planned two-part concept, it doesn’t aim for resolution. It exists in the eye
of the storm, alive, furious, and unfiltered. It’s not an easy listen but an
honest one, an album made by someone who’s seen the machinery of despair and
refused to let it grind him down. A harsh, restless statement from an artist
who thrives on discomfort. “Never Give In” doesn’t seek comfort or perfection, it
burns, screams, and drags itself forward, still standing after everything that
tried to erase it.
