Released: May 2, 2025
Bellum Regiis doesn’t arrive with ambiguity. It opens already armored, already aligned, moving forward with the certainty of something built to advance rather than question itself. From “Bellum Regiis,” the album establishes its operating principle: momentum sustained through repetition, authority asserted through structure. The riffs don’t wander. They march.
“Leviathan” follows by reinforcing that discipline. The tempo locks in, drums strike with uniform force, and the guitar work favors density over flourish. The song doesn’t seek contrast or surprise. It tightens the frame introduced at the start, confirming that this record will prioritize cohesion over volatility.
“Perun Rising” carries that cohesion forward with added weight. The rhythm presses steadily, allowing melodic detail to surface only briefly before being folded back into the main drive. Nothing lingers longer than it needs to. Memory forms here through recurrence rather than distinction—the way certain patterns return, unchanged, insistent.
As the album moves into “The Wolf Queen,” its sense of command becomes clearer. The pacing remains deliberate, the aggression measured. Even when the music leans toward grandeur, it never opens fully. The album maintains its compression, letting atmosphere exist only insofar as it serves propulsion.
“Triumf Wilka” and “Rite of the Black Sun” continue without reframing. These tracks don’t function as pivots or peaks; they operate as extensions. The record doesn’t stack tension toward release. It stacks weight. Each song reinforces the same forward-facing posture, the same refusal to break stride.
“Genesis Undone” introduces a slight thinning of texture without altering direction. The shift feels tactical rather than emotional, a recalibration that keeps the album’s internal balance intact. The aggression never loosens. It simply adjusts density and continues.
“Resurgence” and “Kali Yuga” push deeper into that controlled pressure. The riffs repeat with authority, vocals remain embedded in the mix, and the drums act as a stabilizing force rather than a catalyst. The album’s intensity comes from how little it deviates, not how far it stretches.
“Ageless Harp of Devilry” closes the record without ceremony. The song doesn’t summarize or resolve what came before. It maintains the same posture until it stops, leaving the album’s shape intact even as the sound cuts out. There’s no cooldown, no aftermath—just cessation.
Production across Bellum Regiis is dense and forward. Guitars are layered tightly, drums are precise and dominant, and vocals sit firmly within the machinery rather than above it. The mix favors impact over separation, reinforcing the album’s sense of compression and authority.
Bellum Regiis doesn’t evolve through reinterpretation. It reinforces itself. Each return confirms the same velocity, the same discipline, the same refusal to fracture. The album matters because it demonstrates how extremity can be sustained through control, allowing repetition and structure to carry force without dilution.
When it ends, it doesn’t retreat or dissolve. It stops. That abruptness feels intentional. Bellum Regiis holds because it never breaks formation, trusting cohesion to do the work that chaos often handles.
Written by Rob Joncas for DeadNoteMedia.
Artist information and music courtesy of the band.
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