Here we are; summer has arrived with all its unbearable heat, and once again, I am very happy with the amount of extreme music out there to cool things down. On the grimmer side, Auzawandils continue the psychedelic experiments of the mighty Skaphe, Grave Pilgrim return to their off-kilter guitar playing (albeit with a touch more restraint), and Thy Killing Hand descend to the decadent depths of primitive mysticism. On the more extreme side, Nirriti present their black/death war machine, while Brånd fully blossom with their post-punk investigations.
On the more out-there side, Mortiis continues to traverse the industrial realm, with some slight alterations and a more immediate approach. Meanwhile, Kilter take a cue from the avant-garde with their combination of jazz, drone, and extreme metal. If you want to ground yourself, then the return of Warning to their full gloomy doom metal glory is all you need. So go ahead and dig in!
The Best Metal Albums of June 2026
Auzawandils – Last Eclipse Ouer Golgothas Pytt (Mystiskaos)
Psychedelia is a loaded term, and usually, when applied to extreme music genres, the expected result is a form of atmospheric music that verges on the trippy side. Still, when extreme metal musicians dive into the full depths of psychedelia, the results are anything but soothing. From extreme death/doom legends like Esoteric to outsider black metal cum rock acts like Ved Buens Ende, many artists have taken full advantage of what this influence can offer, but without ever forgetting the underlying principles of their core sound.
In recent years, the Icelandic black metal scene embraced this vibe, most prominently with the sole (hopefully not for long) Wormlust record and the works of Skaphe. The unfortunate demise of the latter left a big hole, mainly due to their ability to channel this psychedelic quality to enhance the raw components of their sound. Skaphe were not merely employing trippy motifs to enhance their atmospheric side; they were using them to create an even more oppressive type of black metal. This is where Auzawandils comes in. The new project of the always prolific Alex Poole channels the same innately disorienting influence with their debut record Laste Eclipse Ouer Golgothas Pytt.
It all starts like a storm, with “Alle Seyntes Consumed in Sulphurous Dreeminge”, seeing Poole unleash a hellish barrage of black metal fury. Blastbeats define the pace, and the tremolo-picked riffing is always present, but amidst this mayhem, Poole finds the space to be creative. Through the thick wall of guitars, subtle lead parts escape, their dissonant presence fleeting but recurring. These themes add colour to the otherwise black-and-white progression, turning the infernal ambience into something more alien. At the same time, they act as a vortex, evoking a sense of constant flow and movement.
“When þe Moone Did Unbutton Her Pallid Flesh” applies this swirling approach. The venomous guitar leads operate in a circling fashion, repeating through time and constantly evolving. This naturally leads to moments where the aggressive nature slightly retreats, and in its place stands a more sinister introspection.
“Þe Particioun Betwixt Ye Carrion and Ye Torne Veiles” sees Auzawandils retreat from their fiercer outbursts into a hazier form. This amorphous setting is a plunge into the darkness, where Poole recalls the discordant qualities of Ved Buens Ende’s Written In Waters. At times, it even feels dreamlike, a hallucinogenic trip filled with wonder, but, of course, its trajectory always leads to some unfathomable abyss.
“Ye Sepulchre Wherein Angels Rotte Awake” best illustrates how these two sides can interact, where the cyclothymic riffing collides with an ambient backdrop. The middle section feels completely otherworldly, its venomous guitars echoing through the vast space in a harrowing fashion. At this stage, the previous dreamlike scenery has completely dissipated, and in its place stands a true nightmare.
Looking back at the great extreme metal acts that harnessed psychedelia and applied it more deeply to their music, the common thread was that they never abandoned their extreme musical principles. That is also the case with Laste Eclipse Ouer Golgothas Pytt, with Auzawandils using the black metal pillars as their point of origin. They carry the orthodox pull that also propelled Skaphe and the Icelandic scene, where the cleaner vocals awaken the ritualistic sense captured in De Mysteriis Dom Sathanas, via Funeral Mist.
Even more strikingly, they take something of Emperor’s grandeur, minus the symphonic aspirations. The melodic architecture escapes the discordant space, and the sense of momentum in “Blacke Mylke and Saturnyne Ecstasies” unfolds with a relentless but controlled demeanour. This is Auzawandils’s anchor, and it is what allows them to push toward outer space while always remembering and returning to their core principles. It is what makes Laste Eclipse Ouer Golgothas Pytt stand proudly next to the Skaphe records, and that is not a small feat.
Brånd – Tåg & Nåcht (Avant!)
The Austrian black metal underground is undergoing a renaissance. Gathered around the Födweg label (and its previous incarnation as Voidland Shelter), the local acts have returned to the genre’s raw roots, reforging its original relationship to the punk ethos. Over the years, the scene has evolved further, with their output becoming more nuanced and moving into the post-punk space, as was the case with Peace Vaults’ excellent 2025 EP, Prisoners of Time.
Brånd, the archetypal Födweg act, has been going through a similar process of transformation. Through the mid 2010s, they honed in on a raw black metal character, using animalistic punk energy as their main fuel. Slowly, they transformed into something stranger, with 2019’s Urkraft already showing this punk energy shifting toward post-punk motifs. Their 2022 seminal EP, Wo draht da Weg? continued to pursue this direction, thriving in this dichotomy between lo-fi aesthetics, harsh noise, and an elusive new wave quality. Brånd were clearly looking for a new expression for their black metal side, a way to retain the genre’s aesthetic identity while pushing into a new sonic space. This is now achieved with their debut full-length, Tåg & Nåcht.
At first listen, Brånd’s new record feels like it is breaking away from the black metal aesthetics. The experimental side is stronger here, opening with a krautrock progression filtered through electronica in “Kloare Luft”. The repetitive structures cause a sense of disorientation, a feeling of being lost in the cosmos. Staccato guitar strums and haunting, eerie vocals create a decadent, near-apocalyptic vibe that owes much to off-kilter post-punk acts like Normil Hawaiians. But all these mechanisms are contorted to fit the black metal outlook. Repetition and decadence do not invoke cosmic wonder, but rather cosmic dread—a sensibility embedded in black metal since the Scandinavian scene’s foundation.
Despite the otherworldly component, Brånd reattach themselves to the earthly domain, primarily through their folk aspirations, first appearing through the flute in the opening track. In turn, this moves them closer to the early Death in June sound, where the new wave aesthetic began to melt into neofolk. In “Da Erste Stern”, post-punk structures naturally fold within a oneiric mould, where the ethereal guitar lines collide against a harsher, determined progression.
Similar to their krautrock applications, Brånd’s folk visions carry a darker demeanour than their black metal self. There is a strong tradition of folk-infused black metal that Brånd can invoke, like the early days of Ulver and In the Woods…, but they go for something more adventurous. It is in Isengard that they find a kindred spirit who share their fearless attitude toward vocal delivery in “Dessöwe Oide Leid”. It is the perfect match, a sound deeply rooted in the folk edge of the black metal tradition, but one that pushes toward the weird, not just the experimental.
This is the key for Brånd. Even when Brånd seem furthest removed from black metal, they remain tethered to its underlying sensibility. Despite their endless exploration of genres and sounds, they always circle back to the black metal foundation. Tåg & Nåcht never retreats from that path, even when it is not so obvious. “Ois Bliaht” unearths the anarcho-punk’s extravagant applications, its erratic rhythm taking over. However, the lo-fi character and attitude that ooze out belong much more to black metal’s primal and immediate demeanour.
There is a rich tradition in black metal of bands that step outside the genre’s boundaries, exploring adjacent (or not so adjacent) sounds and bringing them into the fold. That’s not the case with Brånd’s Tåg & Nåcht. They are not interested in sonic collages or amalgamations, but rather in the underlying ethos that radiates from their music, and this is where they succeed. Their debut offers boundless exploration, touching on everything from post-punk and neofolk to electronica and krautrock.
Yet it still shows that it all originated from a black metal mindset. The eerie components infect the krautrock progression, the lo-fi aesthetic steadying the production, and the primal urge to attack lifts the rhythmic structures. In that sense, they are much closer to the likes of Isengard, demo era Aura Noir, or Ved Buens Ende. And that is quite a company to be part of.
Grave Pilgrim – The Pungent Wine of Pride (Death Prayer)
Grave Pilgrim subscribe to a new generation of black metal acts drawn to a highly detailed, expansive approach to guitar playing. Joining the likes of Fin and Ink & Fire, Grave Pilgrim’s first two records differentiated them in a couple of interesting ways. They embrace the raw aesthetics of the genre, the progression owing much to a punk-ish origin, and the production taking a lo-fi approach. At the same time, they project an Americana character by incorporating folk and blues elements, further enriching their decadent mould. Their third full-length, The Pungent Wine of Pride, does not deviate from this path but rather fine-tunes it, finding a more appropriate balance between raw aesthetics, melodic leanings, and their frontier-era sense of decadence.
Grave Pilgrim’s extravagant guitar playing is their trademark, something that anyone who has listened to the opening lines of “Prometheus Weeps” from The Bigotry of Purpose can instantly recall. It is defined by boundless freedom, melodic phrases evolving endlessly through playful transformations, dazzling in their extravagance. The Pungent Wine of Pride carries this quality, with the second half of “Caesar in Agony” recalling the same flamboyant nature, or the solo in “Caesar in Ecstasy” blurring the lines between the lead/solo separation.
There is a change in perspective, with Grave Pilgrim pulling back from this indulgence. The most telling moment is “With This I Plough, With This I Reap (Song of Hyberias the Cretan)”, where the repetitive melodies can be easily mapped to Grave Pilgrim’s earlier exploits. Their approach is more poised and disciplined. It is not so much about the flashiness now as about the underlying feeling the music conveys.
This sense of moderation on the melodic side now allows for the punk-ish sensibility to come forth. Grave Pilgrim’s work always derived an animalistic energy from the punk scene, with the lo-fi component adding a more primal dimension on top of it. In The Pungent Wine of Pride, this appears more ragged and rough, with the mid-tempo part of “Special Breed” letting go of melodic inclinations in favour of a more gruelling movement, one that points to something barbaric and primitive. It also lends the record a more confrontational edge, particularly in “Glory Laid Upon Her Back”, where the metallic flavour of the lead work injects a sharper aggression.
Grave Pilgrim also unearth latent grandeur in this more restrained approach. The simpler guitar parts now allow the underlying feelings to come through. “Caesar in Agony” now oozes with a pensive mood, creating a dichotomy between the brutal, unyielding production and the sorrowful guitar work. More than any other of Grave Pilgrim’s works, The Pungent Wine of Pride reveals how moving their music actually is.
The title track is a prime example; its mid-tempo start, coupled with the eerie guitar work, creates a towering ambience that is defined by grandeur and, at the same time, decadence. Haunting choirs in the background rise, plunging the process into bleakness, something that their more out-there parts, like the operatic delivery in “The Master’s Son”, also achieve.
On the surface, it does not feel like much has changed for Grave Pilgrim. All the unique characteristics that made up their sound are still there. But the band has recalibrated their individual traits. By reining in their wilder guitar aspirations, they have achieved a more controlled and cohesive result. The Pungent Wine of Pride finds them equally ambitious, but more focused on the whole rather than on a singular part of their music.
Kilter – 10 Billion Years (Alter-Nativ)
While jazz and extreme metal have often existed in parallel, they have repeatedly crossed paths. Death metal pioneers like Atheist and Cynic took on modal elements, while John Zorn and Naked City refracted their jazz through a grindcore prism. In recent years, this fusion has expanded further. Artists have incorporated drone and contemporary compositional techniques, with Abhorrent Expanse being a recent example. Kilter inhabit the same space. The project brings together bassist Laurent David (Folterkammer), drummer Kenny Grobowski (Imperial Triumphant, John Zorn), and saxophonist Ed Rosenberg on their debut record, 10 Billion Years.
Though Kilter draw from multiple genres, their core sound is rooted in jazz. It defines both their structures and their compositional progression. However, they do not commit to a single mode, instead shifting between contrasting approaches. At times, they are elusive and low-key, radiating an uneasy serenity. These passages are sparser, allowing the music to breathe. Yet they can switch to modal passages, where slow-moving harmonic cycles stretch the perception of time, as in “Rivers & Ocean”. This latter approach pushes them further into experimental territory.
As time perception begins to dissolve, Kilter retain a core jazz identity. This produces slower passages that still retain a subtle swing, reminiscent of John Coltrane‘s more exploratory work. However, they eventually stretch time toward near suspension, closer to the drone traditions. “Living & Rising” is such a moment, where the standard songwriting dissolves into sustained, shifting tones. It recalls a later period Sunn O))), when the dense darkness gave way to a more expansive, luminous atmosphere.
The exploration of slow-moving space connects to modern experimental composition, recalling figures like John Cage. “Falling & Vaporizing” is the clearest example, where the extreme slowdown creates a fractured sense of time. The instrumentation already moves at a glacial pace, but additional modulation within the drones adds an unexpected layer of instability. Kilter use minimal and experimental elements effectively to shape their expansive passages.
That adds a cinematic quality to their music, most prominently to “Darkness Again”. Here, the atmosphere shifts toward noir-like tension, with dense, dissonant structures reminiscent of Lalo Schifrin’s early experimental work (“Scorpio’s View”). It also makes their heavier moments more convincing, tying them more clearly to their minimalist passages. “Weather Cycle” erupts in metallic intensity, driven by the blastbeats, yet it retains a mystical, atmospheric core akin to Yakuza circa Samsara and Transmutations.
Kilter’s 10 Billion Years feels like a complete record. It spans a wide range of extreme music styles, drawing them into a coherent whole. The only limitation is that many recent acts have pursued similar directions, which makes its approach feel less novel than it might otherwise be.
Mortiis – Ghosts of Europa (Prophecy)
Looking back at Mortiis‘ discography, you see a restless artist always prepared to step into something new. In 1992, he left Emperor, stepping outside of the black metal realm and into the dark, high-fantasy world of dungeon synth. Since then, Mortiis’ works have been separated into different eras, but these tend to bleed into one another. The Stargate stands between the dungeon synth beginnings and the industrial machinations that would define his later works. Twenty-seven years later, Ghosts of Europa makes a similar statement, clinging to the past with one hand while pointing toward something new and unexplored.
Ghosts of Europa was initially conceived as a collaboration with Stephan Groth (Apoptygma Berzerk) to explore the Berlin school take on kosmische musik. Mortiis and Groth found inspiration in the ethereal melancholy of Tangerine Dream and Klaus Schulze, merging it with a more futuristic electronic backbone. The project itself fell apart, but Mortiis carried much of that interest over into his new work, which is defined by a dichotomy between industrial dystopia and ethereal presence.
Here, the biggest shift from Mortiis’ previous industrial output is toward a more restrained, soothing approach. The buzzsaw guitars that defined The Grudge, and even more, The Unraveling Mind, do not take up the same space. They are instead absorbed into the background, allowing a sense of mood and serenity to wash over. This minimal setting becomes the perfect ground for Mortiis to recall the darker aspects of his past artistic endeavours.
The neoclassical dimension emerges on the title track, with obscured operatic vocals in the distance. It is a bitter moment, one that recalls Mortiis’ time around the Cold Meat Industry scene. Even more relevant to that time are the ambient inclinations of Ghosts of Europa. “Return to the Old Fields” features this minimalistic application, with subtle electronics and ethereal vocals creating a hallucinatory space, before they take on a harrowing quality. It reaches toward the dark ambient space, its tribal percussion turning the earlier dreamscape into a mystical experience.
Yet Ghosts of Europa is not confined to the ambient explorations or Mortiis’s industrial fascinations. The restrained, almost soothing approach of the industrial component lives alongside a very direct and catchy presentation. Mortiis draws from the pop tradition, channelling it into a synthpop and electropop mould, not unlike Ulver circa The Assassination of Julius Caesar and Flowers of Evil. “The Faith that Fades Away” carries a deep sensitivity, its moving chorus perfectly matching the slow, determined rhythmic progression. Similarly, Mortiis awakens a 1980s-infused essence with a near-danceable component. “Violent Silence” and “Tundra Heart of Hell” embody this motif, their groove adding a fluid sense of movement, a near Dionysian call to dance against the bleak backdrop.
Ghosts of Europa, much like The Stargate, finds Mortiis at an in-between stage. Much like how the industrial component in The Stargate was pushing against the dungeon-synth grandeur, the synthpop manifestation now pushes against the industrial past. Most importantly, Mortiis is resurrecting one element that defined his most glorious dungeon synth days.
It is this feeling of triumphant melancholia, a collision between the grand and the defeated. In the past, this was the result of a hungry, expansive artistic intent, obsessed with sound design and sonic experimentation. Now, it is represented by a calmer force, one that feels content in its own skin. Even though I prefer to lose myself in the crypts of the wizard, Ghosts of Europa has so many hooks that it is difficult not to hit repeat every time it ends.
Nirriti – Apophatic Ragas of Non-Origination (Iron Bonehead)
Since the early days of Blasphemy, the black/death scene has tended to push beyond the conventional boundaries of metal, with a deconstructionist view usually rooted in the noise genre. Through the years, many acts have explored this point of convergence between extreme metal and noise, with the likes of Revenge and Nuclearhammer among the most prominent examples. Nirriti emerge directly from this lineage, featuring Nuclearhammer drummer/vocalist Axaazaroth, and their debut, Apophatic Ragas of Non-Origination, sees them explore new pathways to an anti-musical ideal.
In black/death and war metal, the guitar work usually retreats to a proto-death-metal extreme. It relishes the schizoid lead work of Possessed and early Slayer, and it stretches it to its most dissonant edge. Nirriti also sees dissonance as a target but reaches it through unconventional means. They find inspiration in the black metal sound, where eeriness is usually applied for atmosphere, and contort their lead parts to exude a more pungent cacophony. What separates Nirriti is the execution. Their ideas are more off-kilter and angular, closer to the inhuman experiments of Portal. It is an inverted-hook approach, with the bizarre guitar leads exploding in memorable moments as they pierce the thick veil of noise in “In the Hallways of Pure Existence…”.
The same deconstructive impulse extends beyond black/death and into grindcore. This creates a sense of variability in the rhythmic dimension of their music. The opening track, “Mandukya, The Primordial Toad…”, sees them adopt a more martial approach, with the drumming producing a bulldozing motif through its determined patterns. It then unravels into utter chaos, mirroring the grindcore forefathers, where all structure collapses, abandoning coherent rhythmic patterns in favour of raw energy.
In turn, this noise dimension imbues the music with an obscured, atmospheric sense. Not as something emotive or soothing, mind you, but something unnerving. In embracing direct noise paradigms, like the background hiss in “One Foot on Samsara…”, and at the same time contorting black/death and grindcore, Nirriti produce a hideous result. Their work mirrors an entity lacking form or purpose, its very existence causing confusion and unease.
It’s the culmination of their anti-music ideals, producing a work that is relentless and unyielding, relishing its amorphous, chaotic nature without any signs of sympathy. Its pedigree can be traced through a long lineage of black/death and noise experimentation. Yet, Apophatic Ragas of Non-Origination demonstrates how potent that tradition remains when pushed toward its most extreme conclusions.
Thy Killing Hand – Infernal Commands (End All Life)
While in the 1990s the Norwegian black metal scene became the standard-bearer of dark and outsider music, some of their contemporaries were arguably even darker. Necromantia’s early works carried a Luciferian essence that remains unrivalled, with a decadent view of heavy metal tropes and a strong tendency toward experimentation. Beherit projected a primal sense of mysticism, a ritual performed in an unknown proto-language, further obscured by rough production aesthetics. These two strands have greatly influenced the black metal scene, but few have managed to bridge them. This is where Thy Killing Hand come in with their debut, Infernal Commands.
Thy Killing Hand refrain from immediacy. Their black metal is not enamoured of speed or explosiveness, but rather of a grittier side of the genre, defined by a gruelling pace. They awaken a heavier demeanour, one carried over from the metallic scene, capable of reaching downtrodden, doom-laden moments. “Trip of Divine Passion” sees this contorted Black Sabbath-ian form, where the guitar bends carry 1970s-era dissonance. At the same time, this ragged demeanour allows them to reach a state of stillness, granting moments like “Enter Asmodeus” a dungeon aesthetic. Slow progression and heavy riffs work together to imbue the track with a sense of decadence, lending it a ritualistic motif.
This ritualistic essence is fundamental for Thy Killing Hand, and they further persist on it. It would be easier, and definitely more commonplace, for them to alternate between the traditional black metal parts and these ambient moments, but that is not what happens in Infernal Commands. Instead, they indulge the dark ambient pull, letting the slow drumming and dissonant lead work act as anchors as they descend into minimal settings. They take this to an even greater extreme, their black metal becoming a spectre that clings on as the genre’s trademark applications are slowly stripped away. “Bones Resound” and “Dance, Anteser” apply this tactic, where the eerie metallic form fades away in favour of an amorphous horror that inhabits a liminal realm detached from conventional songwriting.
Many hazards can occur when falling back to an ambient setting. The sense of repetition and the sparse instrumentation can become tedious, but Thy Killing Hand escapes that. They instead enrich their atmosphere with both psychedelia and theatricality. Their discordant guitar work is the perfect counterpart for a dark sense of psychedelia, with the ending of “The Great Beyond” adding an otherworldly sense to their ferocious black metal assault. The same applies to their theatrical touch, which enriches the ongoing ritual. The bizarre vocalisations of “To Receive The Final Task”, applied to either the minimal start or the full black metal break, greatly colour the space. Their darkness is not simply devoid of light; it also has character.
It all boils down to aesthetic choices, and Thy Killing Hand have not made a single misstep here. Beyond composition, Thy Killing Hand display equal care in their sound design and production choices. Infernal Commands carries a rough, ragged quality that, on the surface, can be described as messy. The cymbals are piercing to the ear, and the vocals are at times overtly louder than the music, but every such choice has a purpose.
The record would not carry the same decadent stench if the over-the-top reverb were not present. The drums, as a result, appear completely inhuman, not fitting so much into the mould of a rock band, but more as a ceremonial instrument to some long forgotten procession. The same applies to the guitars, their piercing chords echoing through the vast spaces, their timbre obnoxious and persistent. But it is what provides Infernal Commands with its asphyxiating quality.
Thy Killing Hand have completed a full invocation with their debut record. In starting from a place of deep admiration for acts like Necromantia and Beherit, and a deep desire to coalesce these traditions, they have stepped into something great. Their music radiates an old-school ethos, carrying a strong sense of nostalgia, but their configuration comes across as novel. This is what marks a great work, not a mere rehashing of the past, but an actual continuation of a craft, and that is what Infernal Commands ultimately is.
Warning – Rituals of Shame (Relapse)
Quietly fading into non-existence after their seminal Watching From a Distance record felt like a fitting end to Warning. The UK band left behind a record that would become foundational for the doom metal scene, helping to mould a style later refined by early Pallbearer, Khemmis, and Spirit Adrift. While mainman Patrick Walker stepped into the atmospheric rock space with 40 Watt Sun, Warning had left a hole in the doom metal space. 20 years after their landmark record, Walker and company return with Rituals of Shame, a work that revisits their sentimental core.
The passing of the years has not changed Walker’s doom aspirations. The songwriting still thrives on its downtrodden pacing and weary sense of movement. What has changed, however, is the recording environment around them. With Chris Fielding taking over the recording and mixing process, Warning are given a more fitting presentation for their music. The spiked and colourful distortion of Watching from a Distance fades away, and in its place stands a smoother, pristine production. The guitars now breathe with greater dynamic range, allowing their sorrowful lead work to cut much more sharply through the waves of feedback. On top of it all, Walker’s expressive vocal delivery sits gracefully, narrating the everyday struggles against a harsh reality.
Hailing from the UK, Warning carry a long history of doom in their veins. Cleaner production brings this more into view, revealing the influence of the Peaceville Three, especially My Dying Bride. “Night Comes Down” exemplifies the sorrow-laden approach, drawing tremendous weight from its slow-moving guitar lead. Still, Warning stand apart from the UK doom/death tradition. They dispense with the extreme metal impulses, and they avoid the gothic romanticism that often accompanied 1990s doom. Warning find an interest in the mundane, not the philosophical, the everyday struggles that occur, moving them closer to slowcore acts like Low, rather than to doom metal legends.
What also sets Warning apart is its approach to record construction. Warning’s songwriting operates on the macro scale, on the level of a record, not so much on the level of individual tracks. Watching from a Distance already established that, producing an unchanging landscape of woe, where the downtrodden, slow pacing carried over the entirety of the work.
Rituals of Shame performs the same feat, producing a work that appears nearly unchanging and unmoving through its 45-minute duration. It feels as though an eternity passes between drum hits, turning that stasis into something almost philosophical. Rather than evolve, the record persists, a constant presence rather than a journey through changing landscapes.
Similarly, Warning’s return offers no compositional surprises. They are not interested in reinventing themselves or changing their style. The primary evolution lies in production, which greatly helps Rituals of Shame express their sentimental vision more clearly. In that sense, they are triumphant, remaining faithful to their identity while still delivering a compelling record. The only blemish might be that, during their absence, many others produced excellent works in their wake, making it difficult for Rituals of Shame to carry the same sense of revelation that Watching from a Distance once did.