Tom Valcanis

1 October 2026

Blog

The Six Stacker: Object at Rest

Tom Valcanis

1 October 2026

Blog

I spent a week and a bit in New Zealand - my first proper “no work and forget what time it is” holiday in over a decade. By Jupiter I needed it. I could feel relaxation take hold. I was also introduced to Speight Mid Ale, Raro, and dip with bits. I am not the same. Here are some discs but:

Machinae Supremacy - Machinae Supremacy

I think my soul has been crying out for a new Machinae Supremacy album since… 2016??? Jesus wept. For those unacquainted with these melo-power metal-core adjacent Swedes, MS sing songs about gaming for gamers. Not like Frank Klepacki or the Tiberian Sons - covering video game music, though they do that in earnest - but use it as a template for their songwriting, much like Blind Guardian uses fantasy and Tolkien as theirs. Add to that the use of a SIDStation, a MIDI instrument outputting crisp blippy 8-bit arps and noise using the MOS technology SID chip at its core - the sound of the Commodore 64 and really, generation zero of video gamers. Pendulum was the first offering from the album; anthemic and yearning, like an epic anime style offering of undying love, built around complicated arpeggios and downtuned nu-riffs, blindsided by fluid soloing. The message: “Hey, motherfuckers, we’re BACK.”

A SID enters the fray in Sidescroller, a tribute to those very 8-bit and 16-bit games of yore. MS are Swedish, therefore they’re baptised in the songwriting waters of “don’t bore us, get to the chorus.” Poppy, bratty, yet deceptively intricate, there’s nothing on this album that seems rushed or forced to get it out the door. The bulk of MS is built around epic, rousing choruses (Restless and Wicked, Endless, Legends) emulating that rush of capturing a point or defeating a boss after the seventeen-hundredth attempt. Their deft hands conjure straight up thrash (Wounds), ‘core-tinged balladry (Pretty for the Monsters), swashbuckling power metal (FATE of ALL), esoteric Muse-style prog by way of 90s MOD tracker drum & bass (WEAPON of CHOICE), and even pop-punk (Definition [Change the Ending]), and have the epic and the electronic collide into a perfect Psimerion, branching out with an arp leads and pounding drums before launching up into the stratosphere with vaulting vocals that demand repeat listens. These divine elements reach apotheosis on WARRIORS Pts. 1 and 2, a real treat for guitar nerds of all stripes.

Yes - MS are a niche within a niche. Yet, its undeniable their passion matches their considerable talent. If you’re a gamer you’ll get it; if not, there’s still lots that’ll have you inserting your USB into its love.exe.

DAN SWANÖ - Moontower

Century Media Records (1999, re-release 2026)

Ahh, pre-2000s metaldom in Australia. It was Metallica, Slipknot, or NOTHING. No really, ask anyone. If you weren’t old or savvy enough to trade tapes, whatever triple j or Triple MMM foisted on you was your entire rivetheaded identity. Then the MP3 revolution came and went… and we got into stupid shit like DragonForce, I guess. Hell, I ain’t complaining! If there was a spiritual father of the modern Swedish progressive death metal scene, my black smoke vote goes to Dan Swanö. Leader of the brilliant yet ill-fated Edge of Sanity, multi-multi-instrumentalist, and producer of every Swedish death metal album worth a damn (and fuckin Millencolin?) including Opeth’s debut, Morningrise. Going full Todd Rundgren and/or Mike Oldfield on our asses, Moontower is his post-Edge of Sanity love letter to genre - and his only namesake release. We begin with sawtooth synth and growling, the kind Amorphis would relentlessly riff on … seven years later (and haven’t stopped, mind you.)

Patchworks moves on to knotty EoS passages with bolt-on 12-bar death n’ blues with piercing synth over the top, because fuck you that’s why. We’re dragging King Crimson into that 21st Century, man! Uncreation is a portent of Witherscapes to come, while the opening peals of piano on Add Reality feels like a puree of all those aforementioned 70s progsters, drizzled over a bowl of brain salad surgery. As a Swedish prog artyfact, Creating Illusions sounds like Opeth stole this track’s big riffs and bigger organ walls, carving a career out of it (until Watershed, of course.) Seriously - send it to any Opeth fan and see if they notice it isn’t them. (Likewise the jazz-fusionist Encounterparts.) It’s a disc that lends itself to historical examination - perhaps one of those albums so many Swedes listened to, forming their mindsets and their bands in kind. Dan “The Man” is a legend for a reason, and this disc is proof.

Abigail Williams - A Void Within Existence

Olympia, WA’s Abigail Williams have come a long way from worshipping at the feet of Emperor at the turn of the century. Thick and mired in low-end, Life, Disconnected lumbers through with dissonance and woe, before guitars throb red and the band chants in unison about something unspeakably grim. Though their black metal roots are planted in the firmament of this platter, apocalypse streaks through the heart of it, not unlike Warcrab, Ulcerate, or Devenial Verdict.

The real treat is monolith of sound Talk To Your Sleep, melding crushing, merciless riffs with classic Tom G. Warrior style pomp and pageantry. They take a break from grinding us down on introverted closer No Less Than Death, clean vocals casting a doom-ish pall on affairs, inching them closer to Primordial or Novembers Doom instead of constant boots to the face (which is a very good thing.) I can’t tell you how many times I’ve played this over other discs in the six stacker - it’s a mid-2020s essential.

Archspire - Too Fast To Die

Archspire is NOT to death metal as DragonForce is to power metal. When DragonForce hit in ‘03, the whole “we play faster, wank harder, nutcrunch higher” gimmick was well and truly played out by the release of their third album in three years, Inhuman Rampage. They’ve released six (what?) since those halcyon “Through The Fire and FLAMEEEEES” Guitar Hero 100% flash in the pan days and near no one has given a shit. Archspire, believe it or not, get better with age. Pushing blastbeats into near indistinguishable blurs and possessing technical prowess that’ll have Christian Münzner (Obscura) craving vengeance, Archspire sew together syllable-spitting gutturals and seven-dimensional fret runs like it ain’t no thang. A swarm of slam will slap past you like a treadmill of riffs until it screeches to a halt, introducing a lone lick as the motif for the next round of ass-kicking (Red Goliath.) They look nine out of ten djentists in the eye and tell them to get fucked (Carrion Ladder) and break in new drummer Spencer Moore (ex-Inferi) in their spun up dynamo title track. How very dare they be this good for this long.

At The Gates - The Ghost of a Future Dead

How bitter sweet this disc is, swinging it open and finding the image of the dearly departed Tomas “Tompa” Lindberg on the inner cover. He passed after he’d recorded sessions due to cancer and the record was finished according to his wishes. It sounds trite at this point, but it’s a culmination of all the eras of these Gothenburg stalwarts - their depraved death n’ roll beginnings (A Ritual of Waste, In Dark Distortion), a budding romance between melody and pointed brutality (The Fever Mask), and their hardcore-thrash-crossover-whatever golden era full of tumbling, rollicking riffs (Of Interstellar Death.) Funnily enough, they take on sounds from fellow scenesters In Flames (Parasitical Hive could’ve fit Whoracle) and Dark Tranquillity (The Unfathomable might’ve squeaked in during their Gallery/The Mind’s I era.) The reunion of Brothers Bjorler delivers tracks trimmed to tight, urgent, and bloodthirsty order - no saxophone dalliances or exhaustive self-indulgences. it’s a fine swansong for a band - a such a seminal one at that. You couldn’t really ask for anything greater. Rest in Power, Tompa.

Sindar - Tower of the Sun

These Tolkien ringbearers come out swinging with knotty, intricate riffs and guttural bellows that sound quite similar (don’t say it again for fucks sake) to Opeth. That said, cribbing Opeth is no easy feat. The inevitable question is, what kind of Opeth? I have to say, well, all kinds (see also: Anor [Tower of the Sun].) These guys don’t do it forever, as Black Moth treads a fine line between Euro-folk silliness and ironic shoegaze melody. Harmonies abound, snowcapped mountains scale by, Hobbits march on to Mount Doom. Greenfields is all strummed acoustics and twinkling pianos, a 70s prog throwback that isn’t cliché piled on top of cliché. The Ranger and centrepiece Greek chorus style narrative could’ve thrown Melinda out of the moor on Still Life, much of it stripped bare of electrics, left to meander thickets of solo piano. Compare it to the e-bow suffused Field of the Dead, also distinctively cinematic, before closing with an epic yet technical Inheritance. Did I mention Dan “The Man” Swanö mixed this? No? Well - that’s the funny thing. I’d get this disc confused with Moontower more often than not. High praise, I’d think.

Tom Valcanis

14 July 2026

Blog

The Six Stacker: The Fire and Fury

Tom Valcanis

14 July 2026

Blog

Most people I talk to “can’t believe it’s July already” - I feel like January was an aeon ago. Why is my perception of time so slowed compared to others? I have no idea. I know the older we get the faster time relative to our younger years feels… but it just doesn’t. Perhaps its because I write in a journal each day and the growing tower of time past can be seen and held, unlike memory. With so many great new releases (and back catalogue acquisitions) this six stacker has been a doozy!

Dark Forest - Oak, Ash, & Thorn

This album opens with lapping sounds of a babbling brook and trilled lute (or the closest impression thereof.) Oh fuck, another Wishbone Ash clone we’d be inclined to think - and you’re pretty much spot on. However, these West Midlands renfaire enthusiasts (featuring ex-Cloven Hoof and Wytch Hazel members) sit in this enviable slot of balls-out Hammerfall-ian medieval cock and ball torture and, well, in my humble opinion, what Iron Maiden ought to sound like right now. I’m not saying lead vocalist Josh Winnard is doing his best Air Raid Siren impression, far from it. He barely flirts with tenor, feeling more baritone for most of the record. Hailing from ol’ Blighty, he carries that timbre of Bah-roose, clean, clear, and proper English innit. Where as Maiden muck about with history (remember Senjutsu? Yeah me either) Dark Forest are all about the myths and tales of yore. Galloping with a sturdy clip and whinnying twin leads, Wayfarer’s Eve betrays a bunch of obscure graying long hairs swaying on stage to the amazement of all doubters.

The Midnight Folk might have you believing this is a long lost Dickinson solo track or Maiden B-side. It too has that one-and-a-half step riffery and lyrical call-and-return choruses, all trademarks of Iron Maiden Holdings, LLC. It’s as if the band deconstructed and reassembled what made Maiden great and brought it lovingly into the 21st Century, considering the OGs couldn’t do it themselves (after Dance of Death, I don’t think they have.) There’s mile-high heapings of dad rock (a bluesy Relics) and semi-demi Celtic rock epic in the form of their title track, a monumental 11-minute marathon of maypole rounds and dazzling solos, carrying us back to ancient thymes. I felt so torn comparing them to Maiden, but fuck me - I’d much rather this than their recent output.

King Diamond - “Them”

King Diamond is the great barrier for real trve metal worship - if you think he’s as stupid as the Icon Sting or Freddy Krueger, there’s just no way you will ever buy into heavy metal writ large. You don’t have to accept King Diamond as high art; you just have to live through his Majesty and this tortured tale of his Grandma slipping into murderous madness. Part ringmaster and part storyteller, King Diamond narrates as his band, led by the legendary guitarist Andy LeRoque and Mikkey Dee on drums, build up the appropriate suspense and tension through riff and lead. Considering this came out the same year as Operation: Mindcrime, a high-concept album since hailed as “cinematic”, “Them” is just as cinematic; don’t think Martin Scorsese or Brian DePalma, think Sam Raimi or George Romero. It’s low-rent theatre of the mind, but just as gory and effective. King’s trademark shrieks and guttural laments, such as creeping through Tea are like pumps of ketchup over latex in a shoestring budget slasher. Isn’t that kind of the point? It’s a celebration of horror excess and exploitation (can you imagine a real grandmother doing all this shit on screen?). King Diamond gives you the setting (the unsettling Bates-style manor on the front) and you fill in the visual blanks. If you don’t get it after half a listen, you probably never will.

Testament - Para Bellum

When first attack For The Love of Pain hits, its like a cross/jab of fury from the double Skolnick/Peterson barrel. Chuck Billy gurgles in lower register, latched to death metal instead of their traditional Ameri-thrash. It rips us a damn new one. Drumsman Chris Dovas flies at mach speed on the double kick and I’m left wondering when exactly Testament grew an extra set of stones. High and wailing leads take hold on Chuck Billy’s grinder against artificial intelligence, Infanticide A.I., an unrelenting wave in the riff blitz. Shadow People is a (relative) mid-pacer, cutting Megadeth’s lead-driven lunch and eating it (I haven’t even heard their “last” album yet. I kinda don’t want to.) Meant to Be is their stock standard ballad - insert ponderous acoustic here, attach maudlin clean singing here - and it'll be a cig lighter/flashlight waver for sure. A pat of the chest and a prayer sign mouthed “thank you.” High Noon is all galloping and guns blazing, storytelling being a cornerstone of how this album plays out. Their Motörhead worshipping Nature of the Beast recalls how gambling can become a problem real fast; meaty lixx and ‘uge chorus of Havana Syndrome telling the tale of the affliction of the same name, where people (allegedly) became sick after hearing loud sounds (allegedly) created by directed-energy weapons. It’s kind of like their Hangar 18 excised of guitarist self-indulgence. As I’ve discussed with friends, Testament can make really really good albums but they just don’t have the secret sauce to crack into “truly great.” This verges on the latter, especially for just how memorable some of the tracks are.

Sindar - Splintered Light

A metal band doing Lord of the Rings? Sorry boss, but Blind Guardian perfected that back in the 90s and we haven’t looked back. Salt Lake City, UT’s Sindar doesn’t crib BG, Gandalf, Elvenking, Summoning… the list goes on. At all. It’s a new, yet fitting take on Tolkien in metal. Believe it or not.

First track Ainulindalë feels more like if Oceansize or Amplifier argued their case to rule Middle-Earth, with trilled guitars and meandering vocal melodies wafting over Shire hinterlands. (Does he mean New Zealand?) The Rise of the Uruk-Hai bubbles and toils with trouble in a minimalist, shoegaze cauldron, whispers of the Orcs gathering to full death metal force by the end. They can do Uriah Heep or Jethro Tull style folk, swaying about in The Horse Lords. Just like the extended cut of the films, The Fellowship forms half-way through the album, drenched in crunchy guitars and introverted howls as if they were college rockers. Nine-minuter The Evenstar is Opeth on valium, seguing into an equally challenging and satisfying seventeen-minute Master of Fate. This album is so packed full of nuance and novelty it’s hard to figure out where the metal begins and the prog ends - that’s what makes it such an essential listen. Their next record is just as great; though I can imagine purists getting rubbed the wrong way. In which case, fuck ‘em.

KREATOR - Krushers of the world

Teutonic chronic misspellers Kreator stuck to the Star Trek movie franchise rule since 2001’s Violent Revolution, except every even numbered album has been shit. Enemy of God sucked compared to Hordes of Chaos; Phantom Antichrist felt lacklustre sat next to Gods of Violence. Hate Über Alles wasn’t so crash hot, therefore Krushers of the World… must be good? Seven Serpents marches in just like one of their live shows, thundering double kicks girding triumphant riffs, Mille rousing chant-alongs, snarling “Snakes in human form!” over and over. I wonder who he might be talking about? Satanic Anarchy barrels in with an expansive wall of sound, taking cues from modern thrashers ala Arch Enemy yet remaining steadfast in that staccato, machine-gun Kreator delivery. The title track swaggers with crunchy groove and crushing doom, marking three tracks with three distinct identities within. Oh, and they feel fuckin’ heavy. Like, heavy. They veer off into their mid-era goth dabblings and female vocal duets (Tränenpalast) They reach into their 80s trick bag (Blood of Out Blood) and pull off widdly-widdly scream-offs (Deathscream) before closing on another regal yet militaristic anthem, Loyal to the Grave. Sure, there’s a bit of filler here (Psychotic Imperator) but no matter, the rest of the disc is solid. Return to the Terror Zone once more!

Depravity - Bestial Possession

There used to be a TV show on Channel 2 called Consuming Passions. It was fronted by an eccentric cook who resembled an accountant on day release from the funny farm. He wore his remaining side tufts of hair with fluffy pride, along with a trademark magnificent moustache. He’d regularly express almost all of his emotions through his eyes; squinting, bulging, flaring like some rococo-era baron. Channel 2, for those not of the Australian persuasion, was the sole TV channel of the state-owned broadcaster, the ABC. The ABC being wholly government funded and charter-bound to impartiality, carried no commercial advertising. So they produced five-minute “bumpers” to fill in time when normally commercial programs ran short. Consuming Passions was such a show. Our weirdo uncle accountant Ian Parmenter had about five quick-cut minutes to whip up something tasty and astonishing. Of course, nothing significant could be created in real time. The 1990s sketch show mainstay Fast Forward would send it up by having the parody “Ian” tottering around his kitchen drunk (the real Ian would always toast his creations with a parting glass of wine) - he’d say “here’s the bread, here’s the cheese, you know the drill”, the joke being that he could only comfortably complete cheese on toast in his allotted five minute airtime.

What does this have to do with Depravity? Well, the fact they’re a pastiche of the greats: Morbid Angel, Suffocation, Deicide; like all good death metal ought be. They distill their considerable skill in musical storytelling into four, five minute pieces. A dizzying spell of madness heard on Engulfed in Agony might seem oblique to virgin ears, but I hear it as character, as concept. You can do a lot in five minutes - the Fast Forward parodists be damned.

Tom Valcanis

4 December 2025

Blog

The Six Stacker: Tears In Rain

Tom Valcanis

4 December 2025

Blog

It happened… again. I bought an album I already owned without even checking. I saw Opeth at the Palais Theatre (sat down and all) and couldn’t believe I didn’t own their darker half of their double record Deliverance (the other bit being the portent of things to come, Damnation.) Turns out I did. Great gig, though. It’s December now and I’m still grumbling about the cold. What the hell? If I paid more attention in Earth Science classes, I’d probably know why. (Hint: It’s La Nina)

Whom Gods Destroy - Insanium

I love this band. I love this band despite how relentlessly American they are. Odd time signatures? Check. Raspy Jørn Lande knockoff on vocals? Check. ex-Dream Theater keyboardist? (Derek Sherinian, natch.) Check. Asian bass player? Check. I haven’t kept up with Dream Theater for yonks. A part of me feels bad, but a larger part of me doesn’t give a shit. This has been lodged in my six stacker for so long, it may have formed a symbiotic relationship with it. Opener In The Name of War is crushingly heavy if you still think Painkiller is the apex predator of heaviness. This is no criticism; metalheads rejoiced when DT released Train of Thought, their semi-demi-thrash album all the way back in ‘03. You get Hammond organ drenched barnstormers (Over Again), European style rock ballads (The Decision, Find My Way Back) and classic, fist-pumping bluesy Dad rock jams (Keeper of the Gate). Prog fans of a certain vintage - there’s nothing you won’t love here.

Officium Triste - Hortus VeneNum

I was scolded… perhaps pilloried… maybe lambasted by a underling during my iron fist-like command overHysteria Mag for suggesting the Peaceville Three (My Dying Bride, Paradise Lost, and Anathema) was ever a thing. I overruled him, so it is. As for Dutch depressos Officium Triste, Hortus Venenum is like stepping in a time machine to 1996 and flipping switches in the Cavanaugh brothers’ brains to make another run in the Eternity or Judgement sound. (They’ve been around since before then, believe it or not.) It’s death-doom in that Anathem-ic vein, undiluted by space rock or prog rock. They even crib their reedy e-Bow theatrics on a weighty eight-minute Walk in Shadows, and weeping whirlwinds of chugging woe on My Poison Garden, which passes resemblance to contemporary MDB. Pensive piano-driven closer Angels with Broken Wings… well, you get the picture. It’s a paean to the Anathema that never was, only real.

Ihsahn - Ihsahn

I still contend that OG black metal shrieker Ihsahn (Emperor, Peccatum, et. al.) writes music for Bond villains as if they were the heroes of the piece: elegant, sophisticated, masculine; with a streak of insanity run through it. A lot of this self titled record is symphonic black metal in the “anything goes” philosophy of Arcturus; blast beats meets belts of bassoon head on in Pilgrimage to Oblivion, for example. He doesn’t really ease off the gas all that much until A Taste of Ambrosia, an slipping into darkness instead of bat-out-of-helling it like the previous tracks. The Distance Between Us infused with his brooding cleans could be mistaken for a Katatonia cut, which isn’t altogether a bad thing. Best vocal performance on the album goes to the nine-minute slow builder At the Heart of All Things Broken, a multifaceted symphony that could (and does) rival the metal epic greats: Ghost Love Score, Hallowed Be Thy Name, etc. Ihsahn’s ambition matches his talent, which is all we as listeners can hope for.

Mother of Graves - The Periapt of Absence

Yes, I too had to look up what periapt meant (it means amulet.) For the uninitiated, death-doom died around the turn of the century; though there’s so many bands “bringing it back” I’m beginning to think it never really went away. Indianapoles (is that a thing?) Mother of Graves drape themselves in mourning and woe (like any death-doom cultist should) by way of death n’ roll in Sweden - if Dan Swanö (Edge of Sanity, Witherscape) or L.G. Petrov (RIP; Entombed) prodded their respective bands to really really get into My Dying Bride. Case and point being the double-time asskicker Shatter the Visage, which may or may not be a lost Purgatory Afterglow cut. That knotty and complicated riffing Swanö pioneered is alive and well here; even his clipped rapid fire vocal delivery (A Scarlet Threnody, Upon Burdened Hands). It’s walks to the precipice of extremity, looks down, laughs, yet never ever jumps off; which is a good thing because some of these tracks could easily overstay their welcome. Excellent in almost every regard.

Wytch Hazel - V: Lamentations

Crusaders in the name of our Lord (Jesus, not Dio) Wytch Hazel are BACK with their fifth proto-NWBOHM record and it’s… well, the Wytch Hazel we all know and cherish. Overdriven twin leads, throbbing riffs, huge nourishing harmonies, and sounding if it was recorded off Lake Montreaux in a Rolling Stones Mobile Studio while a razed hotel smoulders behind them. Thanks for nothing, Mothers of Invention. All their records are largely filler-free (if you want to be a child of God then all art praising him must be worthy of him, right?) and this one lives up to its title. The Demon Within isn’t all happy clapping; it’s introspective and downcast, an expression of a struggle with faith. 70s pagan (!!!) folk creeps into the Wishbone Ash (who else) cribbed The Citadel, darker territory still. Though we get a glimpse of that light and love on a cheery ender Elements - despite a confessional, sombre middle-8 - because not doing so would be far too removed from their mission. Another belter from a band who seemingly can’t put a note wrong.

Wormed - Omegon

Death metal? What about Clankerfied death metal? Well, Fear Factory kinda cornered the market on that like 30 (!!!) years ago. Omegon is a concept record “a cosmic substance defying mortal grasp. Amidst ancient conflict, civilizations vie for its boundless power, blurring reality's lines. From shadows emerges Krighsu, a timeline hacker entangled in manipulation by cosmic forces. Amidst surreal realms, he battles to unlock Omegon's mysteries.” Ha! Nerds. This is tech death rooted firmly at the lower end of the register, hollowbody blast beats the order of the day such is the tangled opener Automaton Virtulague (what the fuck) and the brutality doesn’t shift recalling Gorguts or Cattle Decaptitation, especially in the ever-shifting Pleoverse Omninertia (I am not writing these out again) Unfortunately for my tired fingers the most tech death of them all is Aetheric Transdimensionalization (fuck my giddy aunt) which defies Euclidian space… well it seems like it. Look at those clankers on the record cover. Now insert your USB into its Love.exe!