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

20 April 2026

The Six Stacker: Drinked In

Tom Valcanis

20 April 2026

There’s a line in one of the discs - the brilliant Magic 8-Ball by genre defiers Gazpacho - “how do you tell your creditors you’ve never been so poor? / eerily familiar as he’s knocking at your door” It’s been a dismal three months for me - the worst since I started on my own since 2014. I am buoyed by the support of my network, loved ones, friends - but there’s a weight of melancholy knowing I can’t really do much without the numbers in my bank account. Things are looking up - but salad days still suck. Here’s what I’ve been spinning:

Sabaton - Legends

I remember first hearing of and seeing Sabaton open for Nightwish - I was about to leave these shiny metal breastplated geeks for dust until singer Joakim Broden announced they were a “military history power metal band” and I was hooked. Naturally, they blew their fantastic Finn headliners away (with newly implanted Floor Jansen at the helm.) I hate to say it, but it seems like they reached the height of conquest with 2012’s (!!!) Carolus Rex, with diminishing returns ever since. Legends hits a qualitative nadir, songs plodding along without life or purpose. Templars tepid call and return is underpinned by Broden and co. mumuring along and propped up by mass choirs. That’s probably the best of the lot; at least the most memorable. The bulk of the album feels like recycled filler, like throwing in a mountain’s worth of packing peanuts to surround one or two precious tracks. I think, like so many of their Legends before them, need to re-group, re-arm, and re-deploy. They just seem spent at this point.

Helloween - GIANTS & Monsters

Helloween reforming as “Pumpkins United” is the best decision a band in metal has made since Judas Priest recorded British Steel at Ringo Starr’s mansion. It’s a genuine second renaissance for the band. As dumb as this sounds, Helloween sounds more Halloween than ever, almost forty years removed from the Keepers of the Seven Keys albums - opener Giants on the Run a multi-movement symphony featuring hard-edged blues riffs from Michael Weikath, neo-classicalisms supplied by Kai Hansen (also on vocals), wrapped up with gang choruses lifted from Gamma Ray’s time in the sun. I mean, wasn’t that the point of Gamma Ray to begin with?

Savior of the World is an uptempo Kiske vehicle, sounds like a lost cut between Keepers and Pink Bubbles Go Ape and just as fantastically silly. Happy happy Helloween manifests in A Little is a Little Too Much, their stupidest yet earwormiest song since From Where the Rain Grows, brimming with jaunty power-pop tempered by unexpected pathos in verses. If only Kiske joined Andi Deris from year dot - it’s absolutely delightful. So is hard rocker This is Tokyo, sprawling with expansive, triumphant choruses that could fill Budokan twice over. You do get absolute speed metal headbangers such as Universe (Gravity for Hearts) and oblique, swaying hands Andi Deris-led semi-ballads (Hand of God) as well as epic, multi-part Kai Hansen opuses (Majestic), and Kiske emulating Andrew Lloyd Webber numbers in the fists-clutched-to-chest weepie Into the Sun.

As an album, it effortlessly balances guitar flashiness, vocal leads, and narrative tone. I’m not sure if this bests their 2021 self-titled outing, but it equals it at the very least. Helloween is more Helloween than ever, as dumb as that sounds.

Gazpacho - Magic 8-Ball

There are few bands like Gazpacho - tender yet searing, icy yet comforting, dark yet playful. My first album was 2014’s Demon, which was my firm favourite (and I’ve picked up almost all of their output since.) Magic 8-Ball might be the one that pips it at the post. Starling gathers pace among beds of plucked violins and mournful, soul-rending laments, broken down like pooled tears after tragedy (Told her to wait by our memories / Find a nice spot by the pool of the violent words) - by that point, you’re all fucked up and that’s only nine minutes in. We Are Strangers hook is its to-the-point chorus, cradled by flights of vocoder and syncopated slam-style poetry. Again, two tracks in and it’s latched on and won’t let go. Gingerbread Men is that moody blue prog rock epic, hewn from the textures of earth and sky - sounds that’ll make you perk up and wonder “just what is that?”. Highlight is the harlequinnish 8-Ball, recalling all the childlike wonder of circuses and funfairs yet grounded by the darker shades of the human condition, tumbling piano and beating thrusts of sceptres ameliorating any lingering bitterness. These guys really are something else. For a prog rock band they spare the rock and lean heavy on the art, but then again; who cares. Something this resplendent doesn’t come along every day.

An Abstract Illusion - The Sleeping City

Fear not the purple city vagina, for it fears your presence more. Sweden’s An Abstract Illusion feels more like an epic multi-movement symphony than a mere album at times. This genre-hopping, grandiose, ambitious metal needs a new genre unto itself (send your cheques to me, PR fluffers!) - Wilderun, Amiensus, Fires in the Distance - bands like these that flood the soundscape and our ears with kaleidoscopic palettes of melody and rhythm. Blackmurmur fills a yawning chasm between contemporary synthwave and extreme metal with alplomb, throbbing sawtooths startling through waves of Devin Townsend-style choruses and gauzed up riffs. It’s prog, if prog was progressive and not just recycling Dream Theater all day long. The long gaze into Silverfields is pure Roger Waters/Pink Floyd worship, even though it’s three minutes of lilted guitar and cycling synth arpeggios. Perfect nonetheless. No Dreams Beyond Empty Horizons feels like some of the most inspired soloing in decades, buttressed by unconquerable double kicks and headbanger chops. How they balanced wonder and brutality will leave you forever spellbound. If you’re into doomscrolling and complaining, then this album isn’t for you. You simply don’t have the attention span for it. Shame. An absolute 10/10.

Kalaveraztekah - Nikan Axkan

We got yer viking metal, yer Mongolian hun metal, yer Roman Empire metal (and Byzantine metal), even yer Imperial Germanic Reich metal, but may we introduce… Aztec metal? It not only exists but will kick your ever loving arse. If Cortes heard this landing in Mexico, he would have shit his britches and fucked back off to Spain. A flamenco intro is stabbed through with an HM-2 pedal stomp for opener Nikan Axkan, carried on a ziggurat sized riff and haunted by the souls of a million slain warriors. Much of their rollicking, mosh catching riffery is cut through with traditional Aztec instrumentation such as pan flutes, hand drums, and whistles, making for a truly otherwordly experience (Tonalli Nawalli). The chants of the ancients rise and heave through bulky riffs and what sounds like a digeridoo (Yowaltekuhtli) which will satisfy both Sepultura and Slayer fans alike. It seems like a straightforward thrash-death record on first blush - Tlazolteotl (La Devoradora De Inmundicia) is testament to its crossover appeal - but as we settle in, it feels like rushing through a portal to the realm of the Aztec dead. Superb.

In Mourning - The Immortal

Sweden’s In Mourning are a band out of time, arriving just as the final flame of melodeath flickered out of the global scene (2010.) One of the now stalwart practitioners of the craft, The Immortal takes more cues from Rapture or Insomnium than the OGs of the genre (In Flames, At The Gates, Dark Tranquillity etc.) Silver Crescent is driven by liquid solos and lamenting choruses, enforcing a primacy of lead-infused riffs washed in gothic black. Barnstormers are present (Staghorn) as are progressive-tinged tracks (Song of the Cranes) replete with towering melodies and quieter acoustic reflections. We also get songs that just seem to build and build to dizzying heights (As Long as the Twilight Stays). They can even do clean-sung Katatonia style introversion (North Star), perhaps better than the originator at this point. Their songwriting powers combine in closerThe Hounding, a knotty yet satisfying end to yet another stellar album from the boys. None of this shouldn’t be a surprise to me having followed them since their beginning, but they just do melodeath a solid with every release. As a melodeath fanatic, I can’t recommend them enough.

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!