Enthroned have been around forever, and you can hear it. Thirty years into tearing up European black metal, they still sound hungry, still sound dangerous. Ashspawn doesn’t care about being polite. It’s dark, heavy, and tight - every blast beat, every riff hits like it was forged in ritual fire.
The album drags you down before it lifts you up. Mid-tempo grooves feel like walking through thick smoke, then suddenly the drums explode and solos slice through the haze. Some solos scream chaos, others are sharp and measured, like old-school metal cutting through the black. The drumming is also truly solid. Deadly precise. Never in your face, just pushing everything forward!
Lyrics are something else. They aren’t stories you can follow easily. They’re rituals, maps, instructions. Gilles de Laval’s influence is obvious - the words feel like keys to a hidden world, not something to just sing along with. There’s a sense of descent here, a crawl into the void, and a rise that feels earned. It’s an album that works on you slowly, makes you bend a little, makes you feel the weight of it.
The sound itself is full of contrast. You get aggression, you get brooding. Blasts and crushing riffs, then moments that make you pause, feel the air in the shadows. It’s personal. It’s intense. This is Enthroned at their sharpest, coldest, and most deliberate.
If you follow bands like Marduk, Dark Funeral, or 1349, some elements will feel familiar. But Ashspawn is its own thing. It’s not safe. It’s not predictable. It’s heavy, eerie, and disciplined - a dark weapon wrapped in black metal. It’s not for background listening; it wants you present. Pay attention, or it will swallow you!