Released: March 20, 2026
There’s something almost stubborn about Goliath. Not in a bad way — more like a band that knows exactly what it does and has no interest in dressing it up. Exodus aren’t chasing anything here. They’re not revisiting the past, not experimenting, not trying to prove a point. They’re just doing what they’ve always done and doing it with the kind of confidence that only comes from years of repetition.
It starts with “3111,” and right away you can feel the pattern settle in. The riff hits, loops, and locks into place. No big swing, no dramatic turn—just weight, applied steadily. That’s the language of this record. Not surprise, not escalation. Pressure.
“Hostis Humani Generis” follows that same path, tightening the screws a bit more. The guitars move with purpose, the rhythm section stays planted, and everything feels aligned in a way that doesn’t leave much room to wander. It’s not trying to overwhelm you — it’s trying to hold you there.
Midway through, the album opens up just enough to keep things from feeling static. “The Changing Me,” with Peter Tägtgren, adds a different texture, stretching things slightly without breaking the shape. You notice it, but it doesn’t pull the record in a new direction. Same goes for “Promise You This,” which pulls things back into a tighter frame right after.
The title track, “Goliath,” brings in violin through Katie Jacoby, which could have shifted the entire feel of the song. It doesn’t. It sits alongside the guitars, adding colour without changing the foundation. That’s kind of the theme here — elements come in, but nothing takes over.
Tracks like “Beyond the Event Horizon” and “2 Minutes Hate” keep the record moving forward without really changing how it moves. The riffs are direct, the pacing is measured, and even when things speed up or slow down, it all feels controlled. There’s no moment where the album tries to reinvent itself.
By the time you get to “Violence Works” and “The Dirtiest of the Dozen,” the approach is fully locked in. These songs don’t introduce anything new — they reinforce what’s already been established. And that’s the point. This isn’t a record about variation. It’s about staying in one place and making that place hit as hard as possible.
The longest track, “Summon of the God Unknown,” stretches things out, but even here, nothing really shifts. The repetition just lasts longer. The weight builds through duration instead of change. It doesn’t resolve so much as settle deeper.
Production-wise, everything is clear and deliberate. The guitars have edge, the drums hit with force, and nothing gets lost in the mix. You can hear every part doing its job, which matters for a record like this. If the structure is the point, it has to stay visible.
What stands out about Goliath isn’t what it adds—it’s what it refuses to do. It doesn’t soften, doesn’t pivot, doesn’t reach outward. It stays exactly where it is and keeps pressing down.
And by the end, that’s what you’re left with. Not a shift. Not a statement. Just a record that holds its ground and never lets up.
Written by Rob Joncas for DeadNoteMedia.
Artist information and music courtesy of the bands and publicists.
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