#202 Flork! Reviews: Aetere - Théogonie (2026)

Aetere - Théogonie (2026)
By Flork!

Théogonie, the latest release from the Bordeaux doom-metal duo Aetere, causes a strange effect in my head that is difficult to describe. It’s like walking out of a hypnotist’s office and later discovering that they had forgotten to snap you out of the trance. You wake-up only later, miles away from the city, driving your car backwards into a stone wall on an abandoned road, somewhere deep in the middle of the night. 

Formed in 2017 by Alice Ronzini and Johan Sebenne, the band occupy the above-described sensation with their ambient and echoic sounds, where doom, ambient music, shoegaze, even sludge cease to be separate genres and become one enormous, slowly moving mass. Théogonie is doom metal and haunting as all hell, but there is far more going on beneath the weight. Ronzini, handling guitar, bass and vocals, brings a spectral quality to the proceedings, while Sebenne’s synths, machines and bass add layers of atmosphere that make these six compositions feel like unexpected places you have somehow wandered into. Théogonie opens with Tenebrisme, which is an entirely instrumental, cinematic piece built from a dull, distant hi-hat and an almost funereal drumbeat. The synths shadow the rhythm and give everything an eerie echo, while the guitars arrive with a heaviness that feels tangible. It is a wonderfully patient introduction with the absence of rushes, and where the darkness simply gathers.

 

Galea follows and is where Ronzini’s voice emerges, and its presence immediately changes the landscape. Her vocals are haunting and undoubtedly beautiful without ever becoming theatrical. There is an ambient quality to the whole track, with the guitars and electronics creating a foreboding uncertainty around her. It feels as though something is approaching, though I can’t tell what it might be. Cilice follows and, for me, this is where Aetere‘s particular magic becomes impossible to resist. The track begins with a bit of guitar feedback before gradually revving into something much heavier. There is more reverb here, as well as synth, with its components bleeding into one another to form a gestalt of beauty in sound. Ronzini‘s voice is the perfect counterweight, with her layered harmonies floating through an echo chamber like the interior of a cathedral in a city in a distant, forgotten land. The collision of that enormous, reverberating heaviness with her spectral vocals is blissful. It is doom music, certainly, but doom viewed through a kaleidoscope rather than a single shade of black.

Thanatos, meanwhile, gives the guitars their moment in the foreground. This track is slightly longer and more riff-driven, with lingering higher notes hanging over distorted bar chords. The effect is monolithic, as though the guitars are slowly chiselling away at some ancient stone monument. Yet the one track that threatens to swallow the entire album whole is the penultimate Innocence. At nearly 10 minutes long, it has the space to develop patiently, and Aetere make use of every second. A restrained drumbeat keeps the composition grounded at first, almost making you wonder whether you are listening to a programmed rhythm. Then, around the two-minute mark, the whole thing begins to crush. The percussion grows more forceful, the layers multiply, and that earlier assumption about the drums being a drum machine suddenly seems wrong. The sound continues to expand while Ronzini‘s voice cuts through it with an eerie beauty. Eudaimonia concludes the 6-track album and feels like the album‘s catharsis—after crashing your car backwards through a wall in the middle of the night, you are lifted high into the night sky to a celestial space. This time though, it all feels comfortable and magically familiar.

And the Flork‘s prognosis? Théogonie is a fascinating and genuinely haunting piece of work that is rich in ambience and atmosphere. Aetere understand that heaviness does not always have to mean volume or aggression, but rather the weight of atmosphere, repetition, silence and anticipation is what matters most.  And so, the album creeps rather than attacks, and its slow-burning compositions leave plenty of room for the imagination to fill in the shadows. With All Souls‘ Day approaching, the boundary between the living world and whatever lies beyond, seems, if only for a moment, a little thinner. Théogonie is music for that threshold - slow, smoky, spectral and heavy enough to make the darkness feel alive.

#200 Flork! Reviews: HKSPK - Heimkehr (EP, 2026)

 

HKSPK - Heimkehr (EP, 2026)
By Flork!

Some records arrive with unfortunate timing while others seem to acquire an entirely different atmosphere because of it.  As I sit in my corner office of the offices of JDØS and look out at the skyline of Bratislava, I recall that it is September 11, 2026, the 25th anniversary of the attacks on the Twin Towers in New York, and it is impossible for me to listen to Heimkehr today without that date hanging over the experience. And while there is no reason to assume the date was chosen to evoke the attacks, HKSPK‘s music has an unsettling ability to bring back images I remember seeing on the news that day: smoke rising above Manhattan, buildings collapsing, streets filled with people running, and the bewildering experience of watching something horrific unfold live on television. But the release date of Heimkehr is likely more coincidental, as the album‘s lyrical terrain draws on themes of war, loss, friendship (also the demise of friendship), revenge, despair, memory, and certainly mental exhaustion (this one sums up the album best).

Coming from the Northern German state of Brandenburg, HKSPK, or Hello Kitti Scum Porn Killer, the trio formed in 2023, and their particular collision of Black and Death Metal, Doom, melody, and punk directness provides an unlikely, yet fitting soundtrack for those memories. The title Heimkehr, which means „homecoming” or „the return home”, provides the album its emotional centre. To be clear, this is not a „prodigal son“ type of journey back to familiar surroundings, but rather a return of someone who has been altered and slightly destroyed by what they have experienced. Tracks like Torture, Kill the Weak, and Rot in Despair make their intentions clear enough, yet the album is considerably more interesting than its blunt titles might suggest. There is a human thread underneath the aggression, especially in the themes of memory, loss, and also seeking revenge. The band leaves room for the absurdity of the world around them as well, preventing the album from becoming one long exercise in miserable seriousness. For example, Sonnenjaeger and Rain in the Face strengthen the emotional palette, while the title track ultimately brings the album‘s ideas of return and aftermath into focus. And so, instead of functioning as a conventional concept album, Heimkehr is undoubtedly a collection of memories and stories, even impressions that have all been filtered through the band‘s worldview. The result is the description of an existence fragmented in various places, although that fragmentation is certainly forgiven. Memories rarely appear in neat, chronological order.

 

And the music? The individual tracks reveal just how much ground HKSPK cover in such a short space. Prelude is an ominous introduction, creating an atmosphere before the album properly erupts. It feels less like a conventional song than the opening of a dark narrative, presenting the path to the listener and inviting them to take the intial step. Torture then delivers the first real assault: it is fast, hostile, and direct, with the kind of raw vocal attack that makes the song feel genuinely uncomfortable rather than theatrically brutal. Tracks like White Secretions or Sonnenjaeger (Sun Hunter) continue that aggression while demonstrating the band‘s heavier Death Metal side.  Their blunt force is balanced by enough rhythmic variation to keep things moving at a heavy pace. Sonnenjaeger is more intriguing still, since it shifts the mood and allows the band‘s German-language material to add another dimension to the album (although I can’t really tell the difference due to the raunchiness of the vocals, but I’m sure demons and other evil spirits aren’t limited to screaming in English). But I really liked this track, as well as Kill the Weak, which is perhaps the album‘s most immediate punk-inflected moment, because of its brevity and confrontational directness that make it difficult to not respond physically. All of these tracks convince me that HKSPK are at their best when they stop worrying about genre boundaries. Take for example Heimkehr, the six-minute title track and emotional destination of the record. I get the impression that the music has finally arrived at the place suggested by its title, although there is really nothing comforting about the journey‘s end. The track gradually accumulates weight, melody, and atmosphere, bringing together the themes of memory, loss, friendship, and the consequences of violence. Even the closing moments feel more like resignation rather than resolution. But this kind of progression is one of the album‘s strongest qualities. Black Metal supplies the coldness, Death Metal the muscle, Doom the sense of collapse, and punk the directness. The production at Room13 also leaves enough roughness intact to preserve HKSPK‘s underground identity. Written and produced entirely by the band, Heimkehr sounds self-contained and unpolished in precisely the right places. At roughly 25 minutes, it also knows when to stop.

And Flork‘s prognosis? Listening to Heimkehr on September 11th inevitably colours the experience for me, since there are moments when the combination of distorted guitars and an increasingly ominous atmosphere bring those old television images back with uncomfortable clarity. But to be honest, the album is not just a soundtrack to catastrophe, but instead, its real subject focuses on aftermath: what people carry with them, the things they remember, what they lose and whether returning home can ever mean returning to who they were. The closing title track gives that idea a fittingly unresolved conclusion. On an anniversary already filled with memories of smoke, fire, loss and bewilderment, Heimkehr makes for an unexpectedly powerful companion. It is a short, bruising journey and, appropriately enough, one that leaves me wanting to take the trip again.

JDØS Special: Flork! Band Reviewer // 11.8.2026

 

Behind the scenes with Flork: Who is the mysterious Flork?

There are those who write about music and descend into the depths, stare directly into the abyss, and attempt to explain why a guitar tone sounds like a possessed chainsaw being dragged through a crypt.

Then there’s Flork.

Known to pretty much everyone as the English-language band reviewer for Jablka daleko od stromu, Flork has somehow made a career out of listening to an unreasonable amount of death, black, and doom metal all the while emerging from the experience with opinions, adjectives, and, against all odds, his sanity apparently intact.

But who is the mysterious Flork? What happens inside the mind of someone who voluntarily listens to blast beats, demonic vocals, and song titles that look like they were generated by a particularly angry medical textbook? 

We decided to find out.

So, with the appropriate amount of fear and absolutely no protective equipment, the upper echelons of JDØS sat down with Flork to discuss metal, reviewing bands, the strange art of describing extreme music in English, and whatever else he was willing to reveal.

Flork, the floor is yours.


JDØS: Some of the bands or at least band members don’t think you are real. Can you be honest with us Mr. Flork, do you really exist?

Flork: Haha, I kinda thought you might ask me that. I am, in fact, real. I’m exactly as I have written about myself in earlier reviews—fat, bald, and ageing in a way that gravity has not been particularly good to me. I’m an old fossil. My day job is pretending to be a kindly academic in a private university here in Bratislava. But when the day is done, I like to get out and see the bands live, either here in Bratislava, but I have seen a fair amount of performances in Vienna and Prague, too. I think the music scene is well-developed and ever-evolving in Slovakia. I’m often amazed by the big name acts that come through Bratislava, as well as the headliners at large festivals like Pohoda and Lovestream. When I first lived in Bratislava back in the 1990s, it was a rare thing if some famous artist actually performed here. I remember Peter Gabriel playing in Dubravka back in 1994 or 95 and listening to the concert from the hill with the church in Lamač. That was a big thing back then. Even Slash was here for a show with his spin-off project “Snakepit”. It’s funny to think that years later, Guns ‘N Roses had lost so much popularity that they were doing shows in smaller towns like Piešťany.

But back to the Slovak scene, even though it’s small in comparison to other countries, I like the fact that it’s a tight-knit community. It’s amazing how many artists team-up together and put out split albums or do shows together. I’m glad to know that Garaže is still holding on and the support for each other has never been stronger. 

JDØS: Are you Slovak?

Flork: That’s a good question. Yes and no. I’m what you might call an oriešok, kinda like a mixed breed, being that my father was Slovak and mother Canadian. I grew-up in both Montréal and Toronto but fully aware of my Slovak roots and identity. I experienced a lot of bullying in school and later in life as well, especially from the kids in Ontario, most likely for having a Slavic surname and being able to speak French fluently. I thinks that this is what led me towards underground and alternative music as there was a drop-in centre next to our high school where all the weirdos and freaks used to hangout. It was called „Open Door“ and you could get free counselling services and support there, as well as free coffee and cool people to hang with and bum cigarettes from. I totally felt accepted there and my life suddenly took on meaning. I used to be a fairly good guitar player and some of the guys and myself formed a band called the Basement Dwellers (Open Door operated out of a church basement). This was back in the 1980s and we had loads of fun playing covers from the Rolling Stones and the like. Later, when I moved to Ottawa to pursue a university degree, I still kept up with listening to alternative music. I saw loads of cool bands in the country’s capital city and listened religiously to the university’s radio station CKCU FM. I’m actually listening to it right now as I write these words. The internet does have a purpose!

I was 20 years-old when the events of 1989 took place and I watched everything unfold from my TV while still in Ottawa. Until the Berlin Wall, I had always considered Czechoslovakia a place that was far away and long ago, nothing more than a distant land that I would never be able to visit, nor anticipate the idea of even going there. But in 1992, I found myself in Bratislava on a brief holiday with my family and felt an immediate connection to the country. A year later, I returned and began living in what is now the Slovak Republic. And although I have had a few pauses in my life living away from Slovakia, I can say now that I am here to stay for good. 


JDØS: And how did you get involved with Jablka?

Flork: That’s another story that also goes back to the 1990s, even though Jablka is only 6 years-old. I first met Tom EZR while residing at the student dormitory Mlada Garda in 1996. I was a teacher at the chemistry faculty of STU and received a free room as part of my remittance. We met at a bar called Tenisovy klub which was more of a drinking hole for the student (and teacher) barflies who lived there. In those days there was no such thing as Wifi and only 2 channels on TV (STV 1 and 2), so drinking was a favourite hobby for most us. Tom was one of the few people who could speak English fluently and had really long hair as opposed to the other students, who were more conventional in style in those days. He played in a band and also had his own radio programme on IRŠ Mlada Garda called Symfonický Večer, which he invited me to speak on one evening and then I never left. I think we did that show for about 2 years and had lots of fun. I wasn’t much of a metalhead in those days, or at least not into the dark side of metal with bands like Cannibal Corpse and Cradle of Filth being new and heavily popular. But Tom was forgiving and let me play whatever I wanted on the show; plus, it was a good way to improve my Slovak. We’ve been close friends ever since. And so, in 2020, at the height of the covid pandemic, with all the restrictions and lockdowns, he approached me with the idea of writing reviews for the blog that he had started earlier that year. We were at the McDonald’s at Eurovea and I remember the manageress of the place reminded me of the red-light/green-light girl from the Korean TV series Squid Game.  I think my first review was for a band called Dehydrated, and at that moment Flork was born. It’s actually spelled with an exclamation mark, like Flork! but somehow the vykričnik got dropped or forgotten, kind of a metaphor for my real life (just kidding).


JDØS: And how did the name Flork! come about (notice I re-instated the vykričnik)?

Flork!: That’s also a funny story or at least to me it’s funny. A long time ago I was in Union Station in Toronto, which is the main railway station, either passing through or maybe buying a ticket to go somewhere. In any case, I was there, in the middle of the grand hall with loads of passengers going to and from the platforms and other places, when I spotted some weird-looking character in the middle of all the hustle with a wide smile on his face. He looked around in an „up to something“ kind of way and then, at the top of his lungs, just blurted out „Flork!“ For one memorable second the world paused to process what, why, and where this exclamation had come from, and then resumed its orbit. I was fascinated by what I had seen, this catharsis of expelling energy and the need to do it right then and there in public. The man somehow disappeared in or with the crowds hurrying past him, but I knew that I would have use for this word someday.


JDØS: So what do you think of the music you hear these days?

Flork!: Do you mean the stuff I write for Jablka or just in general?


JDØS: How about both?

Flork!: Ok. Well, Jablka has opened my eyes immensely, or I guess I should say ears, but I do see a visual aspect to music too. You not only hear the sounds, but you envision the music as it comes to life in your mind. I mean, listening to anything that sounds good really heightens my senses, especially when I get a chance to go to a show and feel the vibe and atmosphere of the venue. Music is not just sound but also energy, and it can be good and also bad. There’s a lot of stuff out there which I won’t name that gets on my nerves and thus prefer to change the channel. But the good stuff is what fuels my engine and keeps me excited about things. And by the way, Jablka isn’t just about metal. I’ve reviewed loads of electronic, rock, experimental, and so on. If it weren’t for Jablka and an investment in the Spotify app, I think my life would be pretty boring. So to answer your question, I have to admit that I have a positive outlook for the music scene in Slovakia and beyond. I never thought that such good sounds could be produced from faraway corners like in Eastern Slovakia or from up North as well. I once reviewed a death metal group from Southern Slovakia singing in Hungarian, which was also pretty cool and interesting. I’m also amazed at how people are constantly producing and putting stuff out on a frequent basis. This is good news if you ask me. It means musicians are going from hobbyists to professionals—recording singles, EPs, albums, whatever. And playing lots of gigs. And they aren’t giving up despite band members leaving and joining other groups or devoting their time to their families and careers. Let’s face it, we all grow up and get older, but I feel good whenever I hear that some group is still playing despite having only 1 or 2 original members or maybe none at all. 

I also have to add that with Jablka, I’ve become more exposed to bands from other countries that I wouldn’t even think of listening to. I’ve reviewed bands from all over the world, except maybe Africa or Australia. My favourites list includes bands from Belarus, Ukraine, Belgium, Holland, Czechia, Poland, France, even a cool band from the breakaway state of Transnistria in Moldova. And like their Slovak counterparts, all of these groups are still playing gigs and releasing new material. I also chat with several of the bands on my instagram, and it’s great when I get a message in the middle of the night with someone asking how I’m doing.


JDØS: Many of your reviews are positive and encouraging. Have you ever given a bad review to someone?

Flork!: Haha, yes, I guess I’m a little bit on the „find the good in everyone“ side of things. To be honest, if I like the band, I’ll say so. If I don’t, well, the Canadian tactfullness takes over, and I express myself diplomatically. Bad reviews can be discouraging and change someone’s life forever and I really don’t want to do that to anybody. Even if the album or the music sucks, I try to find the potential and the things that work, rather than destroy the ambitions of the artist or creator.  Let’s call it constructive feedback. When I was young and full of hope and excitement, lots of people told me I had no talent and had no words of encouragement for me whatsoever. So I gave up on lots of my dreams, such as playing music or writing full-time. I guess that I was listening to the wrong people and chose to believe them rather than in myself. I know that what I’m saying sounds cliché, but the truth is that not everyone takes criticism very well. I don’t either, although these days I’ve learned to be ok with it. And like most people, I’m my own biggest critic who’d rather curse his own existence rather than someone else’s. Why create more pessimism and negativity in the world than there already is? I’d rather tell someone: Listen, I’ll give you an ‘A’ for effort, but you might want to focus on these areas on your next album. I do that with my students at school a lot as well, and you’d be surprised at how far a little bit of kindness goes. 


JDØS: Do you do any writing outside of Jablka?

Flork!: Oh my, I was afraid of that question. Yes and no. I mean, I journal a lot, although I don’t really go back and read stuff I’ve written in the past. It’s more therapeutic writing for me, just thoughts and ideas and shit like that I write down so that I won’t forget in the future. I have published a few textbooks for my work and the writing process was great, but also not very creative. I have 100 or so stories and book ideas in my head, but only a handful written on paper, and not one of them finished. I know that I lack discipline in this area and that it’s easy for me to get bored and distracted; it’s the same with music—I have loads of riffs and lyrics flying around in my head that have stayed there for years, but none of them have ever gelled long enough to produce a completed composition. And so, with creative writing, I also have lots of stuff that I want to express and want people to read and enjoy, but my procrastination and fear of failure somehow always prevails. I used to think that my mental health issues, such as addiction and ADHD, were obstacles to my writing, but actually I can see that they help me a lot, especially in music reviews. If you’ve ever noticed, my reviews are always 4 paragraphs with the last one starting: And Flork’s prognosis? This kind of template gives me a plan and I know that there is an endpoint. So maybe I just need to apply this principle in my other writings and music and eventually I’ll get something completed. I know I’ll get there at some point in my life, I mean actually publish a story or record an album of my own.  Being a critical ear is cool and all, but I’d rather be a participant rather than an outside observer, which is what a music critic is. I have to add that writing the reviews is good practise for me as a writer, as I get the chance to play around with adjectives and metaphors. And so, the artists I write about also help me improve my skills at the keyboard, and this is why I think the relationship with the musicians I write about are mutually beneficial. We all win.


JDØS: That’s a very interesting point, it’s nice to hear this personal and human side of yourself.

Flork!: Thanks. You did ask me at the beginning of this interview whether I was real or not, so nech sa pačí.


JDØS: You mentioned your Spotify account. What does your library look like?

Flork!: Well, it’s pretty diverse. These days I’ve been listening to some American and British groups from the psychedelic-shoegaze scene, such as Flavor Crystals, The Auras, Magic Castles, Dead Meadow, and the Koolaid Electric Company. These bands are technically categorised as 60s revival, but they are actually modern rock with elements of revival. There’s lots of catchy tunes laden with heavy doses of reverb. I’m also a big fan of Sigur Ros and Radiohead.

Additionally, I have a lot of stuff in my library from bands further east of us. I like what’s going on in Ukraine as far as music is concerned. Bands like Ignea or Onuka get heavy play on my Bluetooth speaker. I also enjoy listening to mainstream from Ukraine, such as Okean Elzy, Boombox, or Drevo. Belarus has an amazing wealth of talent as well, which is unfortunately often overlooked. For example, Shuma is an electronic band that incorporates tales of folklore into their music. They are a duo who know their way around the studio and make just incredible music. Or Bi-2, a Minsk band that’s been around since the late 80s, yet are now international with members from all over the world. These guys have such a cool sound and have faced a lot of controversy over the years, like being arrested in Thailand last year for working without permits and nearly getting deported to Russia due to members having Russian citizenship. They got out of that one by also having Belorusian, Australian, and Israeli membership and were sent to Israel. Not sure if that was good for them either, but hey, they’re touring Europe at the moment so I guess it all worked out.

With regards to heavier stuff, I like Theatre of Tragedy, Cradle of Filth, Alcest, Black Bile (French band) and Farmer’s Wife (USA). I also like bands from Western Europe with punk or rock roots, such as Dirty Shades (France), Dool (Holland), Wijf (Belgium). Hold on, I have a playlist of bands I grew up with; it includes The Police, U2, Big Country, The Smiths, even some metal such as Def Leppard, Ozzy, Ratt, Helix, Megadeth. 

 

JDØS: Can I ask about your image? You are shown only with sunglasses and a respiratory mask.

Flork!: Haha, yeah, that was by accident. During the pandemic I was out on a walk and at that time, people had to wear a mask even outside. I was wearing sunglasses and the mask at the same time, so I took a selfie and realised I looked like Nash the Slash who was a famous one-man act from Toronto. He was a cool character, kind of a novelty act, the sort of person I like, such as the guy from the train station who blurted out Flork! I used the pic on my Whatsapp and then later on my social media and it pretty much stuck. 


JDØS: One final question: how would you summarise Flork!?

Flork!: Well, that’s complicated because I’m pretty difficult to summarise. I mean, I have an introverted side with a comfort zone that is almost on the edge of ultra-sensitive. I’m really not very social. I prefer to stay at home with my cat on a Friday or Saturday night than go out to a bar or party something like that. But I’m not a total recluse. I do enjoy my day job as a teacher and talking with my students and I also like interacting with the artists and bands, albeit through Instagram messaging. I just see how much rot and decay there is in the world, and I’m convinced that social media is largely responsible for it. People have become zombies and are afflicted with FOMO and a serious deficiency in critical thinking. I can’t change the world, but I can do my part in keeping my behaviours and opinions in check, meaning that I prefer not to piss anyone off, nor have others be pissed off at me. I’m fine with self-improvement, although I have no goal or ambition to reach, so I improve and educate myself slowly. My intellectual side is full of information from my book addiction and the newspapers I read or the news channels I watch, but this is more about being intellectually-prepared when I find myself in discussions of important matter. I don’t drink or smoke anymore, but I’m not avert to taking a Xanax or sleeping pill every now and then. I drink about 3-4 cups of coffee everyday and prefer cats to dogs (I like dogs too, but I relate better to cats). In reality, I’m quite passive and prefer not to engage with other humans too much, since people have a tendency to regard me as a simpleton and feel a need to enlighten me or advise me on my lifestyle and future. But I’m actually very complex and very aware, and so people find it hard to be with me for a long time, especially when they see that it’s useless to try and control or dominate me.  Perhaps this is why I have so few friends. But please don’t think that I totally loathe everyone or society as a whole. There are many brilliant minds out there and beautiful souls too. I know this because of the artists I write about through Jablka.


JDØS: Mr. Flork, thank-you for your time and giving us some insight into your mind.

Flork!: Thank-you too, Jablka, and God bless all of you who keep rocking in the free world or keep rocking for freedom. Never change for anyone.

V zákulisí s Florkom: Kto je tajomný Flork?

Sú ľudia, ktorí píšu o hudbe, zostupujú do jej najtemnejších hlbín, pozerajú sa priamo do prázdnoty a snažia sa vysvetliť, prečo gitara znie ako motorová píla posadnutá démonom, ktorú niekto ťahá cez starobylú kryptu.

A potom je tu Flork.

Väčšina čitateľov ho pozná ako anglicky píšuceho recenzenta Jablká ďaleko od stromu. Za tie roky sa mu akosi podarilo vybudovať si povesť človeka, ktorý dobrovoľne počúva absurdné množstvo death, black a doom metalu a napriek tomu z tohto zážitku vychádza so zachovaným zdravým rozumom, bohatou slovnou zásobou a nečakane trefnými postrehmi.

Ale kto je vlastne ten záhadný Flork?

Čo sa odohráva v hlave človeka, ktorý dobrovoľne trávi hodiny počúvaním blastbeatov, démonických vokálov a skladieb, ktorých názvy pôsobia, akoby ich vygenerovala mimoriadne nahnevaná učebnica patológie?

Rozhodli sme sa to zistiť.

S primeranou dávkou rešpektu, štipkou obáv a bez akéhokoľvek ochranného vybavenia si preto najvyššie vedenie JDØS sadlo s Florkom, aby sa porozprávali o metale, recenzovaní kapiel, zvláštnom umení opisovať extrémnu hudbu v angličtine a o všetkom ostatnom, čo bol ochotný prezradiť.

Flork, pódium je tvoje.

JDØS: Niektoré kapely, alebo prinajmenšom niektorí ich členovia, si myslia, že vlastne ani neexistuješ. Tak nám povedz úprimne, pán Flork – si skutočný?

Flork: (smiech) Tušil som, že sa na to skôr či neskôr opýtate.

Áno, naozaj existujem.

Vyzerám presne tak, ako som sa už niekoľkokrát opísal vo svojich recenziách – som tučný, plešatý a starnem spôsobom, ku ktorému gravitácia rozhodne neprispieva pozitívne. Jednoducho stará skamenelina.

Cez deň sa živím tým, že na jednej súkromnej univerzite v Bratislave predstieram, že som milý akademik.

Keď sa však pracovný deň skončí, rád vyrazím na koncert. Najčastejšie do Bratislavy, ale videl som už množstvo vystúpení aj vo Viedni či v Prahe.

Myslím si, že slovenská hudobná scéna je veľmi dobre rozvinutá a neustále sa posúva dopredu.

Často ma prekvapuje, aké veľké svetové mená dnes prichádzajú do Bratislavy, nehovoriac o headlineroch festivalov ako Pohoda alebo Lovestream.

Keď som prvýkrát žil v Bratislave v deväťdesiatych rokoch, bolo to úplne iné. Koncert nejakej naozaj známej kapely bol skôr výnimkou než pravidlom.

Pamätám si napríklad koncert Petra Gabriela v Dúbravke niekedy v rokoch 1994 alebo 1995. Samotný koncert som počúval z kopca pri kostole v Lamači. Vtedy to bola obrovská udalosť.

Dokonca tu vystúpil aj Slash so svojím vedľajším projektom Snakepit.

Je úsmevné pomyslieť si, že o pár rokov neskôr už boli Guns N' Roses na tom s popularitou natoľko horšie, že hrali koncerty v menších mestách, ako sú Piešťany.

Ale späť k slovenskej scéne.

Hoci je v porovnaní s inými krajinami pomerne malá, práve to sa mi na nej páči. Ľudia sa tu navzájom poznajú a držia spolu.

Je až neuveriteľné, koľko hudobníkov spolupracuje na split albumoch alebo spoločne koncertuje.

Som rád, že Garáže stále fungujú a mám pocit, že vzájomná podpora medzi kapelami je dnes silnejšia než kedykoľvek predtým.

JDØS: Si vlastne Slovák?

Flork: To je dobrá otázka. Áno aj nie.

Som taký oriešok, miešanec. Otec bol Slovák, mama Kanaďanka. Vyrastal som striedavo v Montreale a Toronte, ale vždy som si naplno uvedomoval svoje slovenské korene a identitu.

Počas školy a vlastne aj neskôr som si zažil dosť šikany, najmä od spolužiakov v Ontáriu. Pravdepodobne preto, že som mal slovanské priezvisko a zároveň som plynule hovoril po francúzsky.

Myslím si, že práve to ma priviedlo k undergroundovej a alternatívnej hudbe. Vedľa našej strednej školy fungovalo komunitné centrum, kde sa stretávali všetci čudáci, outsideri a rôzni exoti. Volalo sa Open Door. Mohol si tam zadarmo využiť poradenstvo, dostať podporu, vypiť si kávu a hlavne stretnúť ľudí, medzi ktorými si sa cítil dobre. Samozrejme, nechýbali ani cigarety, ktoré sa dali od niekoho vždy "vyžobrať".

Prvýkrát som mal pocit, že niekam patrím. Zrazu môj život začal dávať zmysel.

V tom období som celkom slušne hral na gitare a spolu s niekoľkými kamarátmi sme založili kapelu Basement Dwellers. Názov vznikol podľa toho, že Open Door sídlilo v suteréne kostola.

Bolo to ešte v osemdesiatych rokoch a užili sme si množstvo zábavy hraním coverov Rolling Stones a podobných kapiel.

Neskôr som odišiel študovať na univerzitu do Ottawy, ale alternatívna hudba ma neopustila. V hlavnom meste Kanady som videl množstvo skvelých koncertov a doslova nábožensky som počúval univerzitné rádio CKCU FM.

Vlastne ho počúvam aj teraz, keď píšem tieto riadky. Tak predsa len má internet svoje opodstatnenie.

Keď prišli udalosti roku 1989, mal som dvadsať rokov a sledoval som ich z Ottawy v televízii.

Až do pádu Berlínskeho múru som Československo vnímal ako vzdialenú krajinu z minulosti. Miesto, kam sa pravdepodobne nikdy nedostanem a kam som si ani nevedel predstaviť cestovať.

V roku 1992 som sa sem však s rodinou vybral na krátku dovolenku do Bratislavy a okamžite som si k tejto krajine vytvoril silný vzťah.

O rok neskôr som sa sem presťahoval a začal žiť už v samostatnej Slovenskej republike.

Hoci som počas života niekoľkokrát zo Slovenska odišiel, dnes môžem povedať, že som tu už natrvalo.

JDØS: A ako si sa vlastne dostal k Jablkám?

Flork: To je ďalší príbeh, ktorý sa vlastne začína už v deväťdesiatych rokoch, hoci samotné Jablká existujú len šesť rokov.

Toma EZR som prvýkrát stretol v roku 1996 na internáte Mladá Garda.

V tom čase som učil na Chemickej fakulte STU a ako súčasť pracovných podmienok som dostal izbu na internáte.

Spoznali sme sa v podniku Tenisový klub, ktorý bol v skutočnosti skôr krčmou pre študentov a pedagógov, ktorí tam bývali.

Treba si uvedomiť, že vtedy neexistovalo Wi-Fi a televízia mala len dva programy – STV 1 a STV 2. Niet divu, že jedným z hlavných koníčkov bolo posedávanie pri pive.

Tom bol jedným z mála ľudí, ktorí plynule hovorili po anglicky. Navyše mal dlhé vlasy, čo v polovici deväťdesiatych rokov medzi študentmi rozhodne nebolo bežné.

Hral v kapele a zároveň mal na internátnom rádiu IRŠ Mladá Garda vlastnú reláciu Symfonický večer.

Raz ma pozval ako hosťa a... už som z nej vlastne nikdy neodišiel.

Myslím, že sme ten program robili približne dva roky a bola to veľká zábava.

V tom období som ešte nebol veľký metalista. Alebo presnejšie – nepriťahovala ma tá najtemnejšia stránka metalu. Kapely ako Cannibal Corpse či Cradle of Filth boli vtedy nové a mimoriadne populárne.

Tom však bol tolerantný a nechal ma v relácii púšťať prakticky čokoľvek, čo som chcel. Navyše to bol výborný spôsob, ako si zlepšovať slovenčinu.

Odvtedy sme zostali blízkymi priateľmi.

A tak sa v roku 2020, počas vrcholu covidovej pandémie, keď platili lockdowny a všelijaké obmedzenia, objavil s nápadom, aby som písal recenzie pre blog, ktorý začal budovať začiatkom toho istého roka.

Sedeli sme vtedy v McDonald's v Eurovei a dodnes si pamätám, že vedúca prevádzky mi neuveriteľne pripomínala dievča zo hry "Červená, zelená" v kórejskom seriáli Squid Game.

Myslím, že moja úplne prvá recenzia bola na kapelu Dehydrated.

A práve vtedy sa zrodil Flork.

Vlastne sa to pôvodne písalo Flork! – s výkričníkom. Lenže ten sa časom niekam vytratil alebo naň všetci zabudli.

Tak trochu metafora môjho vlastného života.

(Žartujem.)

JDØS: A odkiaľ sa vlastne vzalo meno Flork!? (Všimni si, že som ti výkričník opäť vrátil.)

Flork!: Aj to má svoj príbeh. Aspoň mne príde celkom vtipný.

Pred mnohými rokmi som bol na stanici Union Station v Toronte. Je to hlavná železničná stanica mesta. Nepamätám si už, či som niekam cestoval alebo si kupoval lístok, ale zrazu som stál uprostred obrovskej haly plnej ľudí, ktorí sa ponáhľali na nástupištia.

Vtom som si všimol zvláštne vyzerajúceho chlapa.

Stál uprostred toho chaosu, široko sa usmieval a podozrivo sa obzeral okolo seba, akoby sa chystal niečo vyviesť.

A zrazu z plných pľúc zakričal:

„Flork!“

Na jednu nezabudnuteľnú sekundu sa celý svet akoby zastavil.

Všetci sa snažili pochopiť, čo to vlastne povedal, prečo to povedal a odkiaľ sa ten výkrik vzal.

Potom sa všetko opäť rozbehlo ďalej.

Úplne ma fascinovalo to, čo som práve videl.

Bola to akási čistá katarzia – potreba vypustiť zo seba energiu presne v tom okamihu a priamo uprostred davu.

Ten muž potom zmizol medzi ľuďmi tak rýchlo, ako sa objavil.

Ja som však vedel, že raz sa mi to slovo bude hodiť.

JDØS: Čo si myslíš o hudbe, ktorú dnes počúvaš?

Flork!: Myslíš tú, o ktorej píšem pre Jablká, alebo hudbu všeobecne?

JDØS: Pokojne oboje.

Flork!: Dobre.

Jablká mi neuveriteľne otvorili oči. Alebo skôr uši. Hoci pri hudbe vždy vnímam aj vizuálnu stránku. Hudbu totiž nielen počuješ, ale zároveň si ju vo svojej hlave predstavuješ. Keď počúvam niečo naozaj dobré, mám pocit, akoby sa mi zostrili všetky zmysly. Platí to dvojnásobne na koncertoch, kde človek nasáva atmosféru klubu aj energiu publika.

Hudba nie je len zvuk. Je to energia. A tá môže byť pozitívna aj negatívna.

Existuje množstvo vecí, ktoré mi lezú na nervy, ale radšej ich nebudem menovať. V takom prípade jednoducho prepnem na niečo iné.

Našťastie je tu aj tá druhá stránka – hudba, ktorá ma nabíja energiou a neustále ma núti objavovať nové veci.

A mimochodom, Jablká nie sú len o metale. Za tie roky som recenzoval množstvo elektroniky, rocku, experimentálnej hudby a všeličoho ďalšieho. Keby nebolo Jabĺk a investície do Spotify, môj život by bol asi podstatne nudnejší.

Ak teda odpoviem na tvoju otázku, musím povedať, že budúcnosť hudobnej scény – na Slovensku aj vo svete – vnímam veľmi optimisticky.

Nikdy by mi nenapadlo, že sa bude robiť taká kvalitná hudba v odľahlých kútoch krajiny, napríklad na východnom Slovensku alebo úplne na severe. Raz som dokonca recenzoval deathmetalovú kapelu z južného Slovenska, ktorá spievala po maďarsky. Aj to bolo veľmi zaujímavé.

Rovnako ma fascinuje, ako neuveriteľne produktívni dnes hudobníci sú. Neustále vydávajú nové single, EP, albumy a pritom neprestávajú koncertovať.

A čo je ešte lepšie – nevzdávajú sa. Aj keď niekto z kapely odíde, založí nový projekt alebo musí viac času venovať rodine či práci, kapela ide ďalej.

Veď všetci raz zostarneme.

O to viac ma teší, keď vidím kapelu, ktorá hrá už dvadsať či tridsať rokov, hoci z pôvodnej zostavy zostal jeden člen, dvaja alebo už dokonca nikto.

Musím tiež povedať, že vďaka Jablkám som objavil množstvo zahraničných kapiel, ku ktorým by som sa inak pravdepodobne nikdy nedostal.

Recenzoval som skupiny z celého sveta – snáď s výnimkou Afriky a Austrálie.

Medzi moje obľúbené patria kapely z Bieloruska, Ukrajiny, Belgicka, Holandska, Česka, Poľska či Francúzska. Dokonca aj jedna výborná kapela z Podnesterska, medzinárodne neuznaného štátu na území Moldavska.

A podobne ako slovenské kapely, aj ony neustále koncertujú a vydávajú novú hudbu.

S viacerými som v kontakte aj cez Instagram. Je to skvelý pocit, keď ti uprostred noci príde správa z opačného konca Európy s jednoduchou otázkou: „Ako sa máš?“

JDØS: Väčšina tvojich recenzií je veľmi pozitívna a povzbudzujúca. Dal si už niekomu aj vyslovene zlú recenziu?

Flork!: (smiech) Asi mám jednoducho povahu človeka, ktorý sa snaží na každom nájsť niečo dobré.

Keď sa mi kapela páči, poviem to otvorene.

Keď nie, nastúpi moja kanadská diplomacia.

Negatívna recenzia môže človeka odradiť a niekedy mu zmeniť život. A to naozaj nechcem mať na svedomí.

Aj keď sa mi album nepáči alebo podľa mňa jednoducho nefunguje, snažím sa nájsť jeho silné stránky a potenciál, namiesto toho, aby som autorovi rozšliapal ambície.

Nazvime to konštruktívnou kritikou.

Keď som bol mladší, plný nadšenia a plánov, veľa ľudí mi hovorilo, že nemám talent. Nepamätám si, že by ma niekto povzbudzoval.

Práve preto som sa vzdal mnohých snov – napríklad hudby alebo písania na plný úväzok.

Dnes viem, že som počúval nesprávnych ľudí. Mal som viac veriť sebe než im.

Viem, že to znie ako klišé, ale pravda je taká, že nie každý znáša kritiku rovnako dobre.

Ani ja nie.

Až časom som sa naučil prijímať ju s väčším pokojom.

Rovnako ako väčšina ľudí som napokon svojím najtvrdším kritikom ja sám. Oveľa radšej budem nadávať na vlastné chyby než na chyby niekoho iného.

Prečo vytvárať vo svete ešte viac pesimizmu a negativity, keď ich je už aj tak dosť?

Radšej niekomu poviem:

„Za snahu máš jednotku. Ale na ďalšom albume by som sa viac sústredil na tieto veci.“

Rovnaký prístup používam aj pri svojich študentoch.

A bol by si prekvapený, ako ďaleko človeka dokáže posunúť obyčajná ľudská láskavosť.

JDØS: Píšeš aj niečo mimo Jabĺk?

Flork!: Och... tejto otázky som sa trochu bál.

Áno aj nie.

Píšem si denník. Veľa.

Pravdupovediac sa k tým zápiskom takmer nikdy nevraciam. Je to skôr forma terapie – zapisujem si myšlienky, nápady a všelijaké hlúposti, aby som na ne časom nezabudol.

Kvôli práci som vydal niekoľko odborných učebníc. Proces ich písania ma veľmi bavil, ale z kreatívneho hľadiska to predsa len nebolo ono.

V hlave nosím asi stovku príbehov a nápadov na knihy. Na papier sa ich dostala len hŕstka a ani jeden z nich nie je dokončený.

Viem, že mi v tomto smere chýba disciplína. Veľmi ľahko sa začnem nudiť alebo ma niečo rozptýli. Je to rovnaké aj s hudbou – v hlave mi už celé roky lietajú riffy a texty, ale nikdy sa nezlepili do jednej hotovej skladby.

Rovnako je to aj s tvorivým písaním. Mám množstvo vecí, ktoré chcem povedať, ktoré by som chcel, aby si ľudia prečítali a možno si ich aj užili. Lenže vždy nakoniec zvíťazí moja prokrastinácia a strach zo zlyhania.

Kedysi som si myslel, že moje psychické problémy – závislosť alebo ADHD – sú pre písanie prekážkou. Dnes však vidím, že mi v mnohom paradoxne pomáhajú, najmä pri písaní hudobných recenzií.

Možno ste si všimli, že moje recenzie majú vždy štyri odseky a ten posledný sa začína vetou:

„A Florkova prognóza?“

Takáto šablóna mi dáva jasný plán. Viem, kde začínam, ale hlavne viem, kde skončím.

Možno by som rovnaký princíp mal začať používať aj pri písaní príbehov alebo skladaní hudby. Verím, že raz sa mi podarí niečo dokončiť.

Som presvedčený, že raz vydám vlastnú poviedku. Alebo nahrám vlastný album.

Byť kritickým poslucháčom je síce fajn, ale oveľa radšej by som bol priamym účastníkom než človekom stojacim bokom a pozorujúcim ostatných. A presne tým hudobný kritik v podstate je.

Musím však povedať, že písanie recenzií je pre mňa skvelým tréningom. Môžem sa hrať s prídavnými menami, metaforami a spôsobmi, ako opísať hudbu.

Takže vlastne aj hudobníci, o ktorých píšem, pomáhajú mne zlepšovať sa ako autorovi.

Preto si myslím, že náš vzťah je obojstranne prospešný.

Vyhrajú všetci.

JDØS: To je veľmi zaujímavá myšlienka. Je príjemné spoznať aj túto tvoju osobnejšiu a ľudskejšiu stránku.

Flork!: Ďakujem.

Veď na začiatku rozhovoru ste sa ma pýtali, či vôbec existujem.

Tak nech sa páči.

JDØS: Spomínal si Spotify. Ako vlastne vyzerá tvoja hudobná knižnica?

Flork!: Je neuveriteľne pestrá.

Posledné dni veľa počúvam americké a britské kapely z psychedelicko-shoegazeovej scény, napríklad Flavor Crystals, The Auras, Magic Castles, Dead Meadow alebo The Koolaid Electric Company.

Formálne ich síce zaraďujú do kategórie 60s revival, ale v skutočnosti ide o moderný rock silne ovplyvnený šesťdesiatymi rokmi.

Majú množstvo chytľavých melódií utopených v poriadnej dávke reverbu.

Veľmi rád mám aj Sigur Rós alebo Radiohead.

V mojej knižnici je však aj veľa hudby z krajín ležiacich východne od nás.

Veľmi ma baví to, čo sa momentálne deje na Ukrajine. Kapely ako Ignea alebo Onuka hrajú z môjho Bluetooth reproduktora naozaj často.

Počúvam aj ukrajinský mainstream – Okean Elzy, Boombox alebo Drevo.

Obrovské množstvo skvelých hudobníkov má aj Bielorusko, hoci sa o nich veľmi nehovorí.

Napríklad Shuma je elektronické duo, ktoré do svojej hudby zapája motívy bieloruského folklóru. V štúdiu sú neuveriteľní a robia fantastickú hudbu.

Alebo Bi-2, kapela pôvodom z Minska, ktorá funguje už od konca osemdesiatych rokov. Dnes je medzinárodná a jej členovia pochádzajú z rôznych krajín.

Majú výborný zvuk a počas rokov zažili aj množstvo kontroverzií.

Minulý rok ich napríklad v Thajsku zatkli za koncertovanie bez pracovného povolenia a hrozilo, že ich deportujú do Ruska, pretože niektorí členovia mali ruské občianstvo.

Nakoniec ich zachránilo, že mali aj bieloruské, austrálske a izraelské pasy, takže skončili v Izraeli.

Neviem, či to bola úplná výhra, ale momentálne koncertujú po Európe, takže to zrejme celé dopadlo dobre.

Čo sa týka tvrdšej hudby, rád počúvam Theatre of Tragedy, Cradle of Filth, Alcest, francúzskych Black Bile alebo amerických Farmer's Wife.

Mám rád aj západoeurópske kapely s punkovými alebo rockovými koreňmi, napríklad Dirty Shades z Francúzska, holandských Dool alebo belgických Wijf.

Počkaj...

Mám dokonca playlist kapiel, na ktorých som vyrastal.

Je tam The Police, U2, Big Country, The Smiths a z tvrdšej hudby napríklad Def Leppard, Ozzy, Ratt, Helix alebo Megadeth.

JDØS: Môžem sa opýtať na tvoj imidž? Na všetkých fotografiách máš slnečné okuliare a respirátor.

Flork!: (smiech) To vzniklo úplnou náhodou.

Počas pandémie som bol raz na prechádzke. Vtedy bolo povinné nosiť respirátor aj vonku.

Mal som na sebe zároveň slnečné okuliare aj respirátor, tak som si urobil selfie.

Keď som si fotku pozrel, uvedomil som si, že vyzerám ako Nash the Slash, legendárny one-man projekt z Toronta.

Bol to skvelý a veľmi svojský muzikant. Presne ten typ zvláštnych osobností, ktoré mám rád. Podobne ako ten chlapík na železničnej stanici, ktorý jedného dňa len tak z plných pľúc zakričal „Flork!“

Fotku som si najprv nastavil na WhatsApp a neskôr aj na sociálne siete.

A nejako sa to jednoducho uchytilo.

JDØS: Posledná otázka. Ako by si jednou odpoveďou zhrnul Florka!?

Flork!: To je ťažké, pretože ja sa zhrnúť veľmi nedám.

Som dosť introvertný človek a moja komfortná zóna hraničí až s precitlivenosťou. Nie som veľmi spoločenský typ. Úprimne povedané, v piatok alebo v sobotu večer si radšej zostanem doma s mačkou, než by som išiel do baru alebo na párty.

To ale neznamená, že som úplný samotár.

Mám rád svoju prácu učiteľa, baví ma rozprávať sa so študentmi a rovnako ma baví komunikovať s kapelami a hudobníkmi, hoci väčšinou len cez správy na Instagrame.

Zdá sa mi však, že vo svete je čoraz viac úpadku a rozkladu a som presvedčený, že veľký podiel na tom majú sociálne siete.

Ľudia sa pomaly menia na zombie. Trpia FOMO syndrómom a zároveň im čoraz viac chýba kritické myslenie.

Svet síce nezmením, ale môžem sa snažiť mať pod kontrolou aspoň vlastné správanie a názory.

To znamená, že sa vedome snažím nikoho zbytočne neuraziť a zároveň nechcem ani ja zbytočne nahnevať iných.

Som otvorený osobnému rozvoju, hoci nemám žiadny konkrétny cieľ ani životnú métu, ktorú by som chcel dosiahnuť. Jednoducho sa učím a zlepšujem pomaly, vlastným tempom.

Moja intelektuálna stránka je výsledkom závislosti od kníh, novín a spravodajstva, ktoré pravidelne sledujem. Nerobím to preto, aby som pôsobil múdro, ale aby som bol pripravený, keď sa ocitnem v debate o dôležitých veciach.

Už nepijem ani nefajčím.

Priznávam však, že občas siahnem po Xanaxe alebo tabletke na spanie.

Denne vypijem tri až štyri kávy.

A mám radšej mačky ako psy.

Psy mám tiež rád, ale s mačkami si jednoducho rozumiem viac.

V skutočnosti som dosť pasívny človek a nepotrebujem byť neustále medzi ľuďmi. Mnohí ma totiž považujú za naivného alebo jednoduchého človeka a majú pocit, že mi musia vysvetľovať život alebo radiť, ako by som mal žiť.

Lenže v skutočnosti som oveľa komplikovanejší a uvedomelejší, než si väčšina ľudí myslí.

Práve preto je pre mnohých náročné byť so mnou dlhšie. Skôr či neskôr totiž zistia, že nemá zmysel snažiť sa ma ovládať alebo meniť.

Možno aj preto mám tak málo priateľov.

Ale nechcem, aby to vyznelo tak, že nenávidím ľudí alebo spoločnosť.

Na svete je stále množstvo brilantných myslí a krásnych duší.

Viem to, pretože ich stretávam prostredníctvom hudobníkov, o ktorých píšem v Jablkách.

JDØS: Pán Flork, ďakujem za tvoj čas a za to, že si nám dovolil nahliadnuť do svojho sveta.

Flork!: Ďakujem aj ja, Jablká.

A Boh žehnaj všetkým, ktorí stále rockujú v slobodnom svete... alebo rockujú za slobodu.

Nikdy sa nemeňte kvôli nikomu.

#198 Flork Reviews: VICHR - Vol. 1 (EP, 2026)

 

VICHR - Vol. 1 (EP, 2026)
By Flork

There is something particularly appropriate about reviewing VICHR‘s Vol. 1 on the 58th anniversary of the Warsaw Pact invasion of Czechoslovakia, when tanks rolled into the country to crush the Prague Spring and Soviet troops subsequently remained as occupiers for more than two decades. VICHR, who are based in Olomouc in the Czech Republic, seem to understand that landscapes remember. Vol. 1 is a five-song demo about a war-scarred planet, the wounds violence leaves behind, and the equally difficult battles that take place inside the human mind. And so it’s fitting as well that the title VICHR (which means gale or tempest) would suggest something elemental and uncontrollable. 

Their debut  Vol. 1 is like entering the city limits of Gotham at a speed of just 30 km/h (but with sparks flying behind the batmobile from the pressure of the brakes). The Ep introduces Vlasta on vocals, whose presence in the studio can only be imagined on stage. She exudes heart and soul in a genre seeped in emotion and pain. Vol.1 is a thick and beautifully murky strain of stoner doom and psychedelic rock.

 

Released a few months back in May of this year, the five tracks -Vichr (Gale/Tempest), Tančím s ďáblem (I Dance with the Devil), Naděje umírá poslední (Hope Dies Last), Roním slzy (I Shed Tears), and Bojím se (I Am Afraid) - play like different manifestations of the same storm. There is plenty of weight on the Ep, but it is patient and crawls with a special kind of heaviness, allowing the riffs to breathe and settle into the listener. The influence of blues and tones of southern rock is particularly welcome, adding a raw and earthy quality beneath the doom. At times, I was reminded of Acid Bath, especially in the way the heaviness and atmosphere coexist. There are also elements of Windhand in the slower, hypnotic passages.

Of the five tracks, Naděje umírá poslední (Hope Dies Last) is the one that particularly grabbed me. There is something wonderfully contradictory about that title in the context of this record, since the music can sound defeated at times, yet the very idea of hope refusing to die provides a small but significant crack of light. With that being said, choosing a favourite almost feels unfair because all five tracks are genuinely excellent. The musicianship is top notch throughout, with the band showing a real understanding of dynamics and atmosphere. The slower tempos give the riffs far more room to develop, while Vlasta‘s vocals bring an entirely different emotional dimension to the band. Recorded with Blum on SF MINi and mixed and mastered by Šaman, the sound serves the material well, preserving the grit without sacrificing the details that make the songs interesting. The album cover is also beautiful and befitting of the emotions dealt with in each track.

And the Florkster‘s prognosis? VICHR have produced a remarkable little EP. Vol. 1 may officially be described as a demo, but there is nothing tentative about it. This is a band that sounds as though it has discovered where it wants to go, and the possibilities are enormous. The combination of doom-laden riffs and stoner grooves, with psychedelic haze, blues, and a southern-rock swagger gives VICHR a foundation they can build upon for years to come. Most importantly, there is emotional substance beneath the heaviness. These songs are about scars, fear, despair, and survival, and the music makes all those themes tangible. If this five-track demo is an indication of what to expect in the future, their potential is thus insanely large. I, for one, will be very interested to hear where the storm takes them next.
 

#197 Flork Reviews: Abuol - Posledný Album + Neprístupné EP (2026)

 

Abuol - Posledný Album + Neprístupné EP (2026)
By Flork

Abuol have been producing their particular brand of musical mischief for quite some time now, emerging from the eastern Slovak city of Prešov with a CV that already includes a dozen or so releases. Their latest full-length, Posledný Album (Latest Album), is another chapter in a wonderfully strange and entertaining story. With nine tracks, the band delivers songs that are catchy without becoming predictable, using lots of humour without relying on novelty. The album is just eccentric enough to keep the listener wondering what to expect next. Like their previous work, Posledný Album is still rough-around-the edges, with a playful quality to the material, yet you still get a strong sense of clever songwriting. The production and mixing are so appropriate for the tone of the album. Tracks like Monumentálny bordel (Monumental Mess) gets things moving in suitably chaotic fashion before Aha, kukaj! (Aha, Look!) immediately diverts your attention with its infectious energy. This is the kind of track that makes a convincing case for the band‘s ability to turn the absurd into something genuinely normal. All of the songs are sung in Slovak, which might initially seem like a barrier for listeners outside Slovakia, but punk has never been particularly concerned with language barriers. The upbeat attitude, as well as energy and hooks come through loud and clear, so anyone with an appetite for offbeat punk shouldn‘t let the lyrics in Slovak put them off.

 

The album‘s greatest strength is probably its variety within a fairly compact running time. Duality (Duality) is another standout that balances its catchy qualities with a slightly more thoughtful feel. Tracks like Mozog na vlásku (Brain on a Thread) and Romantika (Romance) keep the record moving without overstaying their welcome. Subtílna (Subtle) and Inscenácia (Staging) add further shades to the album, and Už si zomrel (You Have Already Died) is in my opinion, the most striking song of the bunch. There is something particularly satisfying about the way Abuol can make a title like that sound both ridiculous and oddly compelling. This track is followed by Život je dar (Life Is a Gift), which closes the album on a suitably concise note. For me, Aha, kukaj!, Duality and Už si zomrel are the three tracks that really stand out for me, but there is enough invention throughout to make repeated listens worthwhile.

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It is also worth considering Posledný Album alongside Neprístupné EP (Inaccessible EP), because the four songs on the EP are far too good to be treated as mere leftovers left in the fridge. Ríbezľový sex (Currant Sex), Rímsa (Cornice), Neprístupný pre deti (Unavailable to Children) and Hugo vonia kvietky (Hugo Smells the Flowers) share the same playful spirit and sense of humour, proving that Abuol had plenty of material that could stand on its own outside the album. You know, in some ways, the EP makes an excellent companion piece, since the four additional bursts of Abuol‘s peculiar musical universe complement the full-length album rather than duplicate it. And so, taken together, the two releases offer a particularly enjoyable moment with a band that seems perfectly comfortable ignoring conventional expectations. 

 

And the Florkman's prognosis? Posledný Album is catchy and clever work, while Neprístupné EP adds another four songs to the prescription. Neither release takes itself especially seriously, but that doesn‘t mean the music lacks purpose or craft. On the contrary, Abuol understand that a memorable song can be strange, funny, short, loud, absurd or all of those things at once. I have to add that the musicianship is also amazing, with the sounds of keyboards and flutes, even a triangle incorporated into the mix. For anyone willing to step into their peculiar corner of Prešov‘s musical landscape, these releases offer a highly enjoyable trip. Thus the prognosis is positive. If the best punk makes you grin and immediately want to hear the song again, then Abuol is doing something right.

#196 Flork Reviews: Zemetras - s/t (2026)

 

Zemetras - s/t (2026)
By Flork

In the August heat of this summer’s latest heatwave, it’s refreshing when an album lands on my desk at exactly the right moment. Earlier this year, Zemetras offered a taste of what was to come with the demo version of Soľ a Prach (Salt and Dust), and while that single hinted at a promising Slovak doom outfit, the self-titled album feels like a descent into the abyss. Soon to be released, the tracks contain equal parts pilgrimage and imprisonment, and once the riffs begin, you realise the music occupies that same lonely space as well. The guitars don‘t simply chug or drone, but arrive instead in washes of sound that swallow the listener whole. Each distortion-drenched chord hangs in the air like damp cave mist, much like the image portrayed on the cover. 

The opening track Kto Vie Viac o Smrti (Who Knows More About Death) reminds me of the emotional weight that bands like Amenra, or the slower, more introspective moments of YOB have mastered. Yet, Zemetras never feels like they are borrowing from either. These riffs have their own scars. Yet still, hidden casually behind their sound, you can pick up on the influence by Windhand, which adds a nice touch of American doom to their sound, spicing things up to a level that‘s not often heard here in Slovakia.  Zemetras moves with the inevitability of grief rather than brute force, and so, when the chorus lands, it hits with the heavy crunch of a crushing heart attack in bed, in the dark, somewhere around 3 a.m., when every anxious thought suddenly has nowhere to hide.

 

The further the album unfolds, the more I like how naturally Zemetras balances sludge aggression with doom patience. Misky Váh (Scales of Fate) lumbers forward with a hypnotic groove that could have comfortably shared a rehearsal room with Crowbar, while Ruky od Krvi (Hands Covered in Blood) slows everything down just enough to let every riff breathe before the next tune lands like falling concrete. You can hear the confidence in the music. The guitars shift between thick walls of fuzz and bleak melodic fragments which linger long after each song ends. Even Skús Nezabudnúť (Try Not to Forget), which may be the album‘s most melancholic moment, refuses to chase easy beauty. Instead, the melody emerges quietly from the distortion like a faint light somewhere at the end of a flooded tunnel. I also have to note the artwork on the cover. Even before a single note is played, the image already sets the mood perfectly: a lone cloaked knight standing on a rocky ledge deep inside a cavern, staring upward toward an eye-shaped opening, where the outside world feels impossibly distant. The production deserves praise too, with each instrument carrying a weight without turning into an indistinguishable blur, allowing those massive low-end crunches to resonate, while the vocals retain their emotional edge. Zemetras’s style of doom breathes instead of suffocating itself beneath unnecessary heaviness.

But what impresses me most, though, is the honesty that’s prevalent throughout these seven songs. The lyrics never disappear behind occult imagery or fantasy, but instead confront pain head-on. Kto Vie Viac o Smrti (Who Knows More About Death) opens with the unforgettable question, Kto vie viac o smrti ako ten kto umrel 10 000-krát?—Who knows more about death than the one who has died ten thousand times?—and that single line becomes the emotional thesis for the entire record. It is less about physical death than surviving the same emotional collapse over and over again. Musically, the riff underneath drags like chains across wet stone, giving every word room to sink in. Or take Beda Mi (Woe Is Me) for example. For me, this is possibly the emotional high point of the album with its opening plea, Vráť ma späť do dávnych chvíľ, tam kde nám dvom svet patril—Take me back to those old moments, where the world belonged to the two of us—a heartbreak distilled into its simplest form. There is no elaborate poetry here, just grief stripped bare. Even the closing Súd (Judgment) leaves its deepest mark through restraint rather than sheer volume, ending with the chilling realisation that judgment doesn‘t always arrive with thunder—sometimes it comes in complete silence.

And Flork!‘s prognosis? Zemetras delivers one of those debut albums that makes you stop thinking about potential, and start thinking about longevity. That solitary figure on the album cover, standing beneath the eye in the cavern ceiling, turns out to be the perfect representation of the music itself. Every song feels like another careful step deeper into that cave, where the light is always visible but never quite within reach. I also appreciate that Zemetras never hides behind genre clichés. They sing in their native Slovak and write from personal experience rather than fantasy, thus trusting the weight of both their words and riffs to guide the listener through the darkness. That sort of confidence is quite rare on a debut. And so, sometimes the heaviest records aren‘t always the loudest, but rather the ones that quietly settle on your shoulders and refuse to leave long after the final note has faded. 

#194 Flork Reviews: Nazi Tampons - Moon Invasion (2026)

 

 

Nazi Tampons - Moon Invasion (2026)
By Flork

If the provocatively absurd name Nazi Tampons doesn’t immediately tip you off, the opening seconds of their latest cassette release, Moon Invasion, absolutely will. From the very get-go, listeners are subjected to a barrage of old-fashioned punk the way punk music was meant to be played. The Košice-based trio, consisting of Rišo (Vox/Guitar), Vlado (Bass), and Samo (Drums), isn’t here to play nice, nor experiment with synthesizers or write rock operas. They’re here to deliver six tracks of old-school garage punk that hits you smack in the face (and ears) with an impact that makes your hair stand on end (at least for those who still have hair).

Released on the independent label Knuckles on Stun, Moon Invasion is a high-energy, under-12-minute masterclass in DIY lo-fi punk. The band leans heavily into the frantic energy of late-70‘s punk rock (‘77 style), yet mixes well with the chaotic fuzz of modern garage rock.

 

The EP kicks off with Flasher, a track that sets the breakneck pace for the entire ride. Rišo‘s vocals don‘t sit comfortably in the mix, but sound rather like they‘re being screamed directly into your face, just two inches away, and hot enough to scorch your eyebrows. The guitar tone is beautifully mangled and distorted, held together by the supportive and driving rhythm section of Vlado and Samo. I like this track right away, and it makes me nostalgic for the good old days when there were mohawks and moshpits, and the punks and punklings  smoked rolled cigarettes and listened to albums by the Misfits or the Dead Kennedys. Jello Biafra would approve of this music.

While tracks like Not a Crime and Your Face fly by in a blur of sweaty adrenaline, the band still manages to show their local roots on Zelená míľa (The Green Mile), a really cool tune that proves their raw aggression translates perfectly into Slovak. And so, by the time you hit the sci-fi, B-movie paranoia of Moon Nazis or the frantic closer Mr. Hyde, the tape snaps to a close before you even have time to catch your breath.

And the Florkman’s prognosis? Moon Invasion is definitely loud and completely wired, but also brilliantly rough and ragged in all the best ways. If you miss the days when punk rock felt dangerous and entirely unpolished, do yourself a favour and check out their Bandcamp profile. Don’t forget to name your price and turn the volume all the way up.

#193 Flork Reviews: Ničiteľ - Biela (2026)

 

Ničiteľ - Biela (2026)
By Flork

A while back, when I previously reviewed Ničiteľ‘s previous album, I was immediately floored by the band‘s thunderous sound and uncompromising vision. It was like discovering one of Slovakia‘s best-kept secrets (in terms of heavy music)—a band whose combination of heavy emotional intelligence and fearless social commentary deserved far more attention than it has so far received. Since this time, Ničiteľ have quietly built one of the country‘s most compelling discographies, even if they‘ve often remained overshadowed by more visible names in the underground. Their fourth full-length album Biela, which is due out on July 7, proves that this is no accident. While Anna examined the destructive legacy of patriarchy, Biela abandons a single overarching narrative in favour of nine interconnected songs named after colours: White, Black, Blue, Grey, Purple, Yellow, Green, Red and Brown. Each of these tracks become symbolic entry points into different aspects of the modern human condition. Complementing the concept, vocalist Tamara has created an original painting for every track, giving the album a visual identity that mirrors its lyrical ambitions. Sung predominantly in Slovak and delivered through an exhilarating collision of blackened crust, sludge, d-beat and hardcore, Biela is another reminder that Ničiteľ belong among the finest heavy bands currently emerging from Central Europe.

Starting of course with the title track Biela (White), which may possibly serve as the emotional heart of the record, the track confronts mortality with a rare sense of grace rather than despair. Its repeated reminder that „you can‘t stop time“ is a call to value the fleeting moments we have. From there, Ničiteľ guides the listener through a series of sharply focused reflections on contemporary life. For example, Čierna (Black) channels climate anxiety into unforgettable imagery of burning forests and a dying black swan stranded in a muddy riverbed, while Modrá (Blue) lashes out against misinformation and the deliberate blurring of objective truth, insisting that opinions should be questioned, but facts should not. Sivá (Grey) offers one of the album‘s most affecting moments by portraying a person consumed by ecological grief and social injustice until they become emotionally hollow. All throughout these songs, the band avoids simplistic slogans, instead relying on poetic imagery and emotionally-charged metaphors that linger long after the final notes fade. Compared to Anna and previous releases like Matka (mother), Ničiteľ have taken their craft again to a higher level. Tamara‘s impassioned vocal performance gives every lyric an unmistakable urgency, while the band‘s heavy riffs and thunderous rhythm section ensure the emotional impact remains as crushing as the music itself. The music of course is top-notch with talent resonating at the highest peak from each instrument. 

 

 

The remaining tracks lose none of that intensity. Purpurová (Purple)is a furious condemnation of abuse within the Church, refusing to separate institutional authority from the suffering inflicted upon children. Žltá (Yellow) transforms pain into empowerment, rejecting manipulation and reclaiming dignity after emotional abuse. Zelená (Green) dismantles the comforting myth that poverty can always be overcome through determination alone, exposing the privilege behind those assumptions with heartbreaking clarity. Červená (Red) celebrates artistic sincerity over performative celebrity, especially by encouraging artists to stand for something instead of merely posing on the proverbial red carpet. The closing track Hnedá (Brown) confronts the spectre of fascism through images of brown shirts, disappearing bodies, and humanity standing at the edge of annihilation. Despite its bleakest moments, this composition searches for love as an act of resistance, beginning with pounding guitars then switching to the sombre sounds of a church organ, concluding the album on a thought-lingering note. 

And the Florkman’s prognosis? What makes Biela so remarkable is not simply its weight, but rather its empathy. Every song tackles a different issue, whether it’s death, environmental collapse, inequality, abuse, corruption, artistic integrity or authoritarianism, they all feel connected through the band‘s deeply human perspective. The colour concept could easily have been reduced to a clever gimmick, however, Ničiteľ transform it into a thoughtful framework that ties together an album of extraordinary thematic breadth. Their music remains abrasive, uncompromising and often devastatingly heavy, yet beneath the distortion lies compassion and genuine conviction. Few bands manage to balance ferocity with introspection as effectively as Ničiteľ do here. Biela is not just another excellent record from an already impressive band, but feels like the work of artists continuing to refine both their sound and their message. If there was ever any doubt that this overlooked group deserves a place among the leading voices in European extreme music, Biela should finally put it to rest.

 

#192 Flork Reviews: Klokotor - Riziko úhynu (Risk of Perishing) (2026)

 

Klokotor - Riziko úhynu (Risk of Perishing) (2026)
By Flork

Seeing as Klokotor is a one-man band project, I had to admit that I was curious from the get-go about how Riziko úhynu (Risk of Perishing) would sound. Honestly though, it‘s one of those rare albums whose concept might sound absurd on paper, but actually proves remarkably effective in execution. I would never guess that there is only one performer, since the the album sounds like a full band, especially with its intricate layers of guitar changes and vocal harmonies (goblin and deep growl). The mastermind behind this album is Martin Huba. He occupies a unique space between tribute and parody, with compositions that he himself describes as parodies of the world around us (he also mentions that the lyrics are funny, although I can’t really  make out a word he is singing). Nevertheless, rather than filling his songs with tales of ancient evil, cosmic destruction, or serial killers, Huba finds inspiration in the overlooked texts that surround us every day, such as notices taped to apartment doors, warnings in elevators, signs on fences, announcements at clinics, and handwritten messages left by frustrated neighbors (much like where I live in Bratislava). These fragments of public communication become the foundation for ten songs united by a common theme - the omnipresent possibility of illness, injury, conflict, contamination, and death. Tand so, the album‘s title is entirely fitting. Whether the subject is bedbugs infesting an apartment building or questionable drinking water, every track reflects some form of threat to health, safety, or social harmony. 

 

Beginning with Asanačný zásah (Sanitation Intervention), a track about a notice of repeated bedbug infestations, listeners are treated with an assault of guitars that translate communal panic and the fear of contamination. I’m intrigued by the sound immediately. This is followed by Nepiť, len úžitková (Don‘t Drink, Utility Water), more pandemonium building an entire narrative around a warning sign informing visitors that the water is unsuitable for drinking (apparantly a deer regularly urinates in the reservoir).  Po deviatej hodine (After Nine O‘Clock) derives its tension from the cold bureaucratic language of a dental clinic sign, while Šedý osol hryzie (The Gray Donkey Bites) elevates a simple zoo warning into something unexpectedly memorable. Elsewhere, tracks such as Slušný človek (A Decent Person), Špiny (Piece Of Dirt!) and Vážení susedia (Dear Neighbours) document the passive-aggressive battles that emerge within shared living spaces, where anonymous notes and public accusations become weapons in neighbourhood disputes. But Huba approaches these subjects with affection rather than ridicule. The humour comes not from mocking ordinary people, but from recognising the inherent strangeness of everyday reality. In many respects, the album functions as a collection of miniature social documentaries, which preserve voices that would otherwise be filed away in the trash bin. Each complaint and warning hints at a larger story, and Klokotor exceeds at imagining the human drama concealed behind these seemingly insignificant scraps of text.

 

And Flork‘s prognosis? Surprisingly positive, despite being surrounded by bedbugs, contaminated water, dental bureaucracy, biting donkeys, angry neighbors, and countless reminders of mortality. What prevents Riziko úhynu from becoming a mere novelty record is the quality of the music itself. Drawing from death metal, thrash metal, and progressive metal, Huba delivers compositions that are engaging even without the lyrical concept. The riffs are sharp and energetic, balancing aggression with memorable hooks, while the arrangements demonstrate a progressive sensibility that keeps the songs dynamic and unpredictable. Most impressive of all is the guitar work. Throughout the album, Huba unleashes a series of extended lead guitar passages that frequently become the emotional centerpiece of the songs. Many of these solos soar high on the guitar‘s top strings, producing a piercing, expressive tone that contrasts beautifully with the heavier rhythm sections beneath. 

And rather than serving as displays of technical excess, these melodic excursions add depth and atmosphere, giving the music a surprisingly emotional dimension. Klokotor clearly loves heavy music and understands its language intimately, allowing the humour to coexist naturally with genuine musicianship. More importantly, Riziko úhynu reminds listeners that some of the strangest, most revealing stories are not hidden in history books or horror novels, but are instead found in the handwritten notes, warning signs, and public announcements that most of us pass by without a second glance. The result is an album that rewards repeated listening long after the novelty of its premise has faded. 

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Links:

https://klokotor.bandcamp.com/album/riziko-hynu-risk-of-perishing 

https://www.facebook.com/klokotor/

https://www.youtube.com/@klokotor 

 

Martin Huba @ JDØS 

https://jablkadaleko.blogspot.com/2024/05/241-ucholak-dark-ambient-noise-martin.html

https://jablkadaleko.blogspot.com/2025/04/dsw18-mimo-mimo-2025-martin-huba.html 

 

Flork's Reviews

https://jablkadaleko.blogspot.com/search/label/Flork

#190 Flork Reviews: Egocide - Fall of the Risen (2026)

 

Egocide - Fall of the Risen (2026)
By Flork 

If you look at where Egocide comes from, the anachronistic, but chill backdrop of Tiraspol, it might be easy to understand where the band draws its inspiration. The quartet‘s latest offering rocks hard under the city‘s concrete weight, with its buzzing vibe bleeding into their sound, giving Egocide‘s music a raw, though highly professional identity. Since forming in 2016, Egocide has undergone a transformation of sorts by steadily distancing itself from its earlier, more straightforward deathcore foundations and has evolved into a more layered and sophisticated unit. Years of playing together have clearly tightened the chemistry between the members, and that unity shines throughout their March 2026 release, Fall of the Risen.

With eight tracks and a mere twenty-seven tightly-packed minutes, the album creates a deliberately claustrophobic world filled with suffocating atmosphere and punishing grooves, as well as solos that are nuanced and mind-boggling, like intergalactic signals transmitting from a death star in a distant galaxy. Could „cosmic“ be the right word I‘m trying to use to describe this? I really don’t know, but I have to say that these guys definitely don‘t rely on predictable breakdowns or cheap extremity, but focus instead on tension and texture, and especially solid, dynamic pacing. Darth Vader would dig this album. Yoda too.

 

The journey begins with Last Breath, one of the album‘s longest and most expansive tracks at nearly five minutes in length. Right from the get-go, the band establishes the record‘s signature wall of sound with dense guitars and layered ambience, as well as rhythmic shifts that immediately drag you beneath the surface. Kirill Eremchenko deserves enormous credit here, not only for his commanding vocal performance, but also for his guitar work, which balances hardcore with atmosphere remarkably well. His riffs carry a sense of emotional weight rather than simply functioning as a vehicle for aggression. Alongside him, Ivan Grabko adds depth and precision through textured and subtle melodic accents that give the songs their cinematic quality. The end result is a record that is freakin‘ cool, since it pulls the listener deep down into the hallows of its dark and immersive soundscape. 

As I listen on, the album progresses through tracks like Fallen Dolls Home and Hope for Tomorrow. It becomes apparent at this point that Egocide demonstrates confidence in their songwriting. The transitions are natural, the pacing never drags. Beneath the massive guitar tone, each song contributes something distinct to the overall experience. Pavel Parshin delivers a bass performance that might go underappreciated on first listen, but becomes essential once the album starts revealing its layers. His bass lines add weight and melancholia simultaneously, reinforcing the groove while thickening the atmosphere beneath the guitars. 

The momentum really takes off with Kingdom of the Unfaced, which is one of the strongest songs on the record and one of my favourites. This track encapsulates what makes Egocide stand out in the modern extreme metal underground. The riffs are crushing and groove-heavy and instantly memorable, while still retaining a technical edge. The interplay between Kirill and Ivan is especially impressive here, as the two guitarists lock into hypnotic rhythmic patterns before exploding into towering walls of sound. It’s aggressive without becoming mindless, technical without sounding sterile, and atmospheric without losing impact.

But I have to admit that the album‘s peak lies in the emotional and structural centerpiece of Inside Paranoia, and by far the track I like the most. And why? Well, at over five minutes, it is the longest and most ambitious track on the record, and honestly, it feels like the moment where everything Egocide has been building toward fully comes together. The song thrives on tension and dark space, slowly constructing an overwhelming sense of dread through eerie ambience and crushing claustrophobia. The guitar work here is phenomenal. Kirill and Ivan weave together layers of haunting melodies and dissonant textures, as well as solos that cut beautifully through the gloom. This type of guitar-interplay is also heard on Asylumed and Infeared, which are both amazing tracks that could take the voices in your head to even scarier realms of psychosis.

 

The album closes with Quiet Calm, a haunting finale that refuses to offer easy resolution. Rather than delivering a sense of relief, the track leaves the listener suspended in the aftermath of the album‘s crushing emotional weight, questioning whether any real peace has been found at all. It is a quick instrumental haunt of one minute or so that offers a lingering uncertainty. Perhaps this is exactly what makes the ending so impactful.

And the Florkmeister‘s prognosis? Fall of the Risen is an amazing deathmetal record that is forward-thinking and rewards repeated listens. Each time I press the play button, new layers hidden beneath its oppressive atmosphere come to the surface. I can safely say that this band is an undeniable force in the modern extreme metal underground scene and one of the best groups I have heard in 2026. Don‘t let this masterpiece pass you by.