Circle of Blood’s In Praise of Darkness is not trying to reinvent death metal. It doesn’t give a single fuck about trends, polished production, or trying to be “accessible”. This bastard is forty-two minutes of decaying flesh, blast beats, and riffs that sound as if they were dug up from some moldy fucking crypt under Melbourne. The opening track, "Casca," kicks the damn door off its hinges, and from there the album just keeps stomping on your throat. The guitars are nasty as hell—buzzing, churning, and clawing at each other while the vocals come up from somewhere deep underground, sounding less like singing and more like a demon vomiting curses into a grave.

"Immolation" and "Legions Rise" are where the album really starts swinging its dick around. There's no bullshit intro, no atmospheric filler pretending to be profound. It's just fucking riffs—riffs on riffs, chainsaw guitars colliding with drums that sound like artillery fire. And yet, underneath all that carnage, an old-school soul is beating away. You can hear the DNA of the 90s death metal gods in there, but Circle of Blood aren't some cosplay act worshipping the past. They drag those influences through mud, blood, and broken bones until they become something uglier and meaner.

Then there's "Bastard Child of a Coward God," which, Jesus Christ, what a fucking title. The song itself is even nastier. It's blasphemous, hateful, and gloriously over the top in the exact way death metal should be. Every riff sounds like it's trying to cave your skull in. The band doesn't wink at the audience or apologize for being excessive. They just keep piling on the filth until you're grinning like an idiot because holy shit, this is exactly why this genre exists.

"Tentacular Invasion" and "Defiler" are pure chaos, but not sloppy chaos. There's an intelligence hiding under all the grime. The musicians know when to speed up, when to drop into a disgusting groove, and when to let the riffs breathe before shoving your face back into the dirt. That's the secret sauce here. Anybody can play fast. Not everybody can make brutality feel this damn alive.

And then "Devouring the Sleeping Entombed." Fuck me. That song sounds like a corpse dragging itself out of a grave while carrying a flamethrower. The atmosphere on this record is insane—not in a fake spooky Hot Topic kind of way, but genuinely oppressive. Like you're trapped in a tomb with no light, no air, and this album is the soundtrack to your slow fucking death. Reviewers have described the record as an "otherworldly ritual," and honestly, that doesn't feel exaggerated at all.

The closer, "The God Hand," sprawls past seven minutes and earns every second. It's epic without getting soft and crushing without becoming repetitive. The band throws every weapon they have into the fight—grooves, solos, blast beats, and cavernous vocals—and somehow sticks the landing. By the end, you're not exhausted; you're ready to hit play again and let the whole miserable, beautiful thing cave your chest in one more time.

In Praise of Darkness is the kind of album that reminds you why death metal fucking matters. It's ugly, hateful, primal, and gloriously unconcerned with pleasing anyone outside its world. No crossover aspirations. No radio hooks. No fake sophistication. Just blood, darkness, and riffs sharp enough to open veins. In an era where too much heavy music feels sanitized and safe, Circle of Blood walks in covered in gore, flips the table over, and screams, "Here's your fucking death metal." And goddamn, they deliver.

Circle of Blood’s album can be found here or wherever the finest of occult-minded metal can be unearthed. Check it out now.