Released: June 24, 1997
Testament did not make Demonic to keep everyone comfortable.
That is pretty clear right away.
By 1997, the old thrash world was not the same place anymore. The classic Bay Area sound had been through the wringer. Bands had changed, softened, split apart, or chased whatever was happening around them. Testament had already started moving somewhere heavier on Low, but Demonic goes further.
It does not polish the change.
It drags it into the room.
The question is simple: what happens when Testament stop trying to balance the old thrash band with the heavier thing underneath and let the ugly part lead?
You get Demonic.
Demonic is not the cleanest Testament record. It is not the most graceful one either. That is part of why it stands out. The album sounds blunt, dark, and a little uncomfortable. Chuck Billy changes the whole temperature with his vocals. He does not just bark like a thrash singer here. He growls. He pushes lower. He makes the songs feel less like arguments and more like something crawling out of a locked basement.
“Demonic Refusal” sets the tone fast. The riff is thick, the pace is heavy, and Gene Hoglan’s drums give the whole thing serious weight. Hoglan does not need to overplay to make his presence known. He makes the songs feel larger and meaner just by sitting under them like a machine with blood in it.
“The Burning Times” keeps the mood dark without turning the album into a blur. Eric Peterson’s riffs are lower, heavier, and less interested in the sharp flash of earlier Testament. That matters. Demonic is not trying to dazzle you with classic thrash tricks. It is trying to crush the room down a few inches.
That shift is the whole album.
“Together as One” has that groove-metal stomp, but it still feels like Testament. Not the bright, fast version. The angrier version. The one that had been sitting underneath the band for years and finally got the steering wheel. Derrick Ramirez’s bass helps keep the low end thick, which is exactly what this version of Testament needs. The songs have to feel heavy from the floor up.
“Jun-Jun” is where the album gets weirder. It has that ritual feeling, like the record is leaning harder into the exorcism imagery around it. The cover, the title, the vocals, the slower weight — all of it pushes the band into a darker space. It’s not spooky in a cartoon way. More like the walls are closing in and nobody is explaining why.
“John Doe” is one of the best examples of the record’s new shape. It is short, mean, and direct. Billy sounds less like a narrator and more like the problem itself. Demonic works best when the vocals, riffs, and drums all feel like the same bad mood in different clothes.
The album is divisive for a reason. If someone comes to Testament wanting the classic Skolnick-era fire, Demonic is not really offering that. It is slower in places. Thicker. More physical. It leans harder into death metal and groove, and it does not spend much time trying to charm anyone.
That is also why it matters.
Testament were not trying to survive the 1990s by pretending nothing had changed. They were absorbing the uglier parts of the decade and forcing them through their own system. You can hear that on “Hatred’s Rise” and “Distorted Lives.” The riffs are simpler, but they hit harder. The songs do not feel like they are trying to impress a room full of guitar players. They feel built for impact.
“New Eyes of Old” brings in a little more motion, and Glen Alvelais’ credited guitar work gives it a different bite. But even there, the album does not suddenly brighten up. It stays in that same dark pocket. That consistency can make the record feel one-note to some people, but it also gives it a clear identity.
Testament sound almost allergic to charm here.
That is not a bad thing.
“Ten Thousand Thrones” pushes the album toward its bigger ending, while “Nostrovia” closes things in a rougher, stranger way. It does not feel like a grand finale. It feels like the record walking out without cleaning up after itself.
That fits.
Demonic sits in the ugly middle room between Low and The Gathering. It is where Testament commit to being heavier before they sharpen that heaviness into something faster and cleaner two years later. Without this record, The Gathering probably does not hit the same way.
So what happens when Testament stop trying to balance the old thrash band with the heavier thing underneath and let the ugly part lead?
You get Demonic.
A record that trades flash for weight, melody for menace, and familiar Testament polish for something darker and more stubborn.
It does not ask you to like the change.
It makes you stand in it.
Written by Rob Joncas for DeadNoteMedia. Artist information and music courtesy of the band. © 2026 DeadNoteMedia. All rights reserved.
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