The reason this review took a while to come together is twofold. First, this is my debut appearance in the reviews section of Metalwar.gr and, understandably, there’s a certain hesitation when your thoughts and emotions are exposed to a wider audience for the first time.
The second reason is that this album carries so many layers — both musically and lyrically — that it’s hard to “fit” them all into a single article.
Be that as it may, Neurosis return with their twelfth studio album, ten years after Fires Within Fires (2016), and they do so with what could easily be described as a major lineup move. Aaron Turner (ISIS / Sumac) steps in to fill the role of the departed Scott Kelly on vocals and guitars, bringing a renewed sense of direction to the band.
It’s also worth noting that Turner handled the album artwork himself, showcasing another side of his artistic identity.
Sonically, the more time you spend with the record, the more it reveals itself as a struggle. A struggle with the darkness within, the misery at the core of modern society, loss, and grief. And yet, there are moments — like in “First Red Rays” — where something almost serene emerges.
It feels like being pulled into a dark room with the shutters closed, while faint red rays of sunrise manage to slip through the cracks.
“Seeking an honest share of clear sky,” as heard in “Untethered.” A search — or perhaps a longing — for hope, which seems to slip further away the deeper you descend into the album’s psychological depths.
“Last Light,” the album’s closing and longest track (16:58), serves as its culmination. An atmospheric post-metal delirium that pulls you under with its electronic elements, creating a sense of disorientation through crushing outbursts and melancholic leads.
With their first album in a decade, following internal struggles and the departure of a founding member who had been there since 1985, Neurosis prove they still have plenty left to say. No fanfare, no excessive promotion, no release parties. Just a record — cathartic for the band — filled with lyrics that challenge you (and should challenge you), slow-burning sludge riffs, diseased yet melodic leads, and otherworldly vocals that sound as if they’re rising from a muddy abyss.
In the end, what lingers is that albums like this — alongside the latest work by Converge — feel almost determined to drag us down into emotional ruin. Not out of malice, but because they confront us head-on with something we try to ignore: the world around us is decaying, and we’re decaying with it. And yet, within that rot, something real is born. These are not just powerful releases — they are necessary ones. And without much hesitation, both deserve a place in the conversation for album of the year.
We’ve forgotten how to live so we suffer
We’ve forgotten how to struggle so we suffer
We’ve forgotten how to die so we suffer
We’ve forgotten we are wild so we suffer
We exist in isolation so we suffer
— “We Are Torn Wide Open”
Dinos Karras
9/10
