Drawing from a deep well of occult post-industrial influences and classic dark ambient aesthetics, Plague Psalm follows up their 2022 debut Shivers of Transmigration with this sophomore rush of eschatological black drift that further delves into an ocean of percussive trance, subterranean rumble, and gnarled heaviness. Gifts features the core duo of Hunter Ginn (Agalloch, Canvas Solaris, Sculptured) and Gael Pirlot (Canvas Solaris, Gorging Shade), crafting a remarkably huge and cinematic sound-world from a relatively limited palette of instruments and electronics, moving from vistas of cinematic, almost soundtracky ambience into sudden eruptions of distorted heaviness and crawling bass guitar. It's definitely not "dark ambient" in the typical sense, leaning into something that intersects strongly with both elements of ritualistic industrial music and the more free-floating edges of metallic crush, but anyone that digs the sublime eeriness of classic dark ambient will still find much to sink into here.

Entirely instrumental, that debut showcased an ecstatic fusion of ceremonial rhythms (deftly crafted via drum programming tech) and black driftscapes flecked with traces of delicate minimalism and ghostly musicality, which often bloom into blasts of orchestral dread and even a kind of sludgy, hypnotic, bass-heavy metallic riffage that reminds me of certain outfits from the late 1980s UK industrial rock underground; there are moments on Shivers that felt like something you could have found in the hEADdIRt Recordings / Permis De Construire Deutschland catalog, only to swerve into a densely layered soundscape akin to Darrin Verhagen's work as Shinjuku Thief (a cited influence by the folks in Plague Psalm, alongside the likes of In Slaughter Natives and Crash Worship).

It's pretty unique, actually. And while that heavy, writhing riffing is less pronounced on this new album, the fusion of sound, intensity, rhythm, and heaviness carries right over into the seven songs that make up II: The Gifts of Wrath, making for a swirling, shifting, staggering experience as relentlessly dark and forbidding as before.

With long and evocative song titles like "His Vial Upon the Earth...And There Fell Grievous and Noisome Sores Upon Men" and "His Vial Upon the Sun...Power Was Given unto Him to Scorch Men with Fire", Plague Psalm continues to summon stark end-time visions that weave ancient imagery and contemporary technology together into something deeply dramatic. Metallic percussion clangs beneath agitated, over-modulated electronics, while slithering, heavy bass guitar lurks deeper in the mix. Rapturous symphonic sound dissolves into clouds of abstract synthesizer. Pounding drums and clattery sheet-metal rhythms dominate the lower depths of the album, a mesmeric, often malevolent-sounding backdrop to the black ether that billows around the musicians. The "ritual ambient" element is still prevalent, but Gifts feels even more ominous and baneful than their previous stuff. Bits of funereal piano (at several points sounding like a Rhodes electric) flows into clusters of skeletal rattle, and waves of spectral choir-like vocals emerge from the shadows crawling deep beneath the surface. Black storms advance overhead, the quasi-tribal percussion continually transforming into different forms while distorted wailing flies through the atmosphere like synthesized shrieks of the dead. Indeed, songs like "His Vial Upon the Rivers..." bring these elements together into something like a furious ceremonial dance in the looming shadow of an earth-killing catastrophe occurring in slow-motion.

Like I said, this shit is grim.

But then again, at its "heaviest", Ginn and Pirlot summon something resembling a huge, rumbling mutation of doom-drone, but more amorphous and odd in its syncopation. I remember the first time I listened to this, being weirdly reminded of both Test Dept's communal drum/scrap metal battery and the strangely gorgeous fuzzed-out dreamsludge of Nadja. So there are some unusually pretty passages woven around all of that aggressive percussion and low-end crunch, again separating Plague Psalm's sound from any particular genre. There's even an unexpectedly "fusiony", Badalamenti-iesque keyboard piece floating across the ashen, clanking factory wasteland of “His Vial Upon the River Euphrates", again bringing this really unusual but perfectly crafted mood to the otherwise doom-laden dread emanating from everywhere. And the last track features a collaborator from the debut, Canvas Solaris guitarist Nathan Sapp, joining the duo for an immense finale, closing the album with a delirium of cybernetic ambience, trance-inducing drumming, howling guitar tones, and sort-of "jazzy" synth chords that culminate into a slamming, physically-intense dance of the damned that feels like it could (and should) stretch into infinity.

The band calls II: The Gifts of Wrath a kind of "concept record", where they describe it as "... an occult inversion of the seven plague bowls described in Revelation 16...". This context comes through strongly, through both the sound and imagery of the album; it is truly an apocalyptic experience.

This cassette release comes in a limited edition of one hundred copies, featuring logo design by John Haughm (Agalloch / Sculptured) and original artwork by Tanner Anderson (Panopticon / Obsequiae). Comes with a digital download code.