ORBIT CULTURE

ORBIT CULTURE should really be massive by now. One of those rare bands that seems to sit comfortably outside the mainstream, while plainly having the right stuff to conquer it, the Swedes have been frothed about by devotees for a decade. But going hard against the grain can have its disadvantages, and, meanwhile, a wider metal world has been painfully slow to succumb to their very obvious charms. "Death Above Life" is the band's fourth studio album, and while it happens to also be their best, it mainly just confirms what we already know: ORBIT CULTURE are smart, original and ferociously heavy. Maybe everybody else can get with the program now.

If there is any justice in this world (and the jury's out on that one) this will be the record to propel this band to greater prominence. "Death Above Life" is so powerful and distinctive that it should make peddlers of cookie-cutter mainstream metal feel thoroughly ashamed of themselves. Striking a blow for originality, ORBIT CULTURE simply refuse to follow the herd. They use morbidly obese guitar tones that pummel and crush like a fleet of runaway bulldozers. Frontman Niklas Karlsson has a voice that can switch from harsh bellow to melodic roar and back again, but never with the slightest hint of a metalcore cop-out. The rhythm section has the precision of FEAR FACTORY and the underlying, bass-driven oomph of a gargantuan EDM sound system. It's a sound that overpowers and obliterates filling every inch of the sonic spectrum. And as doggedly catchy as many of these songs are, ORBIT CULTURE never compromise on the aggression or intensity of it all. "Death Above Life" aims to sweep us all away, whether we like it or not.

It's hard to imagine many metal fans offering much resistance. ORBIT CULTURE have a jaw-dropping sound that proudly deviates from the industry standard, conformist norm, but they also have the songs to back up their sonic bravado. "Inferna" is the perfect opening song, encapsulating the band's oppressively heavy identity in seven minutes of hook-filled belligerence. The more-is-more wall of guitars, the scabrous but emotional vocals, the treacly synthesizer undercurrents – it all becomes condensed into one overwhelming shot of futuristic death metal aimed straight at the heavy heart. "Bloodhound" is more vicious and brutal: a partial throwback to '90s industrial metal but driven by a very human sense of heightened tension and blissful release. "Inside The Waves" goes straight for the melodic jugular, with straightforward chords causing untold damage over sinewy, '90s grooves, and a lethal, alt-rock-adjacent chorus, sung with a deadly rasp by the increasingly impressive Karlsson.

Next, a run of four songs that have been previously released, alerting fans to the enormity of what was on the way. "The Tales Of War" was first out of the blocks, with its monumental nu-thrash riffs, fists-in-the-air chorus and earthquake-inducing, robot stomp. Richard Hansson's guitar solo is glorious, the surging keyboards are wonderfully rousing, and this may be the moment when ORBIT CULTURE sound most like a band with world domination in their sights. Either way, the sound of a great metal song is unmistakable. The same applies to the menacing, chug-powered colossus of "Hydra", to the insanely catchy, sprawling magnificence of "Nerve" and to the darkly cinematic title track, which hinges on a stuttering, machine-powered pulse and that guitar tone, pushed to the distorted limit.

The final strait retains the heaviness but throws a few more ideas into the Swedes' chrome-plated blender. "The Storm" is the most accessible song here, with to-the-point chord-chains and a big core melody. There is an almost AMON AMARTH-like feel, as brute force joins forces with incisive melody, and Karlsson booms hungrily from the eye of the storm. But even at their most traditional, ORBIT CULTURE's sound renders everything in unfamiliar colors. After the shadow-casting crunch of "Neural Collapse" flattens everything in its lane, "The Path I Walk" dares to venture into ballad territory, with all the grandiose, gothic melodrama that such an endeavor often demands. Karlsson's voice is left vulnerable amid subtle synth tones and mournful guitar, but his performance is eminently believable, and the music surrounding him is beautiful and bleak in equal amounts. It all builds to a visceral, orchestral crescendo, before a crestfallen violin puts a final seal on this whole, big-hearted and ambitious enterprise. If this doesn't turn ORBIT CULTURE into superstars, what the hell is going on? Do the decent thing, people. This is huge.