What's New: The Ironfist
The Ironfist’s Akumalize: Singapore’s Black Thrash Demons Summon a Sonic Séance
Singapore’s black thrash lunatics The Ironfist just dropped Akumalize on January 1st, 2025 – and holy hell, this isn’t just an album. It’s a nine-track onslaught that feels like being dragged through a cursed forest by a pack of undead samurai. Buckle up, because this duo isn’t here to play nice. They’re here to annihilate.
Let’s cut to the chase: Akumalize is blackened thrash at its most unapologetically vicious. Imagine Sabbat and Metalucifer jamming in a s*icide forest at midnight, and you’re halfway there. This record doesn’t just “explore dark themes” – it wallows in them. Lost ronin... OK. Kamikaze warriors with a death wish... Yep. Grotesque enlightenment... Oh, you bet. The Ironfist serves up a nihilistic buffet, garnished with riffs sharper than a katana.
Now, don’t get it twisted. This isn’t some try-hard edgelord nonsense. The Ironfist – Singapore’s answer to Venom’s drunk, feral cousins – has crafted something raw, relentless, and weirdly poetic. Their Bandcamp bio calls it a “hymn to the Sabbatical/Metalucifer sacrifice,” and honestly? That tracks. These guys aren’t just playing music; they’re conducting a bloody séance.
The album opens like a cursed VHS tape, all static and dread, before exploding into a frenzy of tremolo picks and gutteral shrieks. Tracks like “Divine Retribution” and “Morbid Enlightenment” aren’t songs – they’re exorcisms. And that closing hymn? Let’s just say it’s the kind of thing you’d hear echoing from a burning shrine.
Akumalize isn’t trying to reinvent the wheel. It’s here to crush the wheel, set it on fire, and dance in the ashes. The production? Gritty enough to give you tetanus. The vocals? Like a demon gargling whiskey. The riffs? So fast they’ll leave blisters. It’s gloriously unpolished, and that’s the point. This is black thrash in its purest, filthiest form – no compromises, no apologies.
Look, if you’re still spinning Under the Sign of the Black Mark and complaining that “they don’t make ’em like they used to,” Akumalize is your wake-up call. The Ironfist isn’t just keeping the black thrash flame alive – they’re dousing it in gasoline and chucking it into a temple. This is music for the freaks, the night crawlers, the ones who still buy cassettes from sketchy distros.
Akumalize isn’t for everyone. If you’re not at least a little terrified, you’re not listening hard enough. But for those of us who crave chaos, this album is a sacrament. It’s a middle finger to polish, a love letter to the underground, and proof that Singapore’s metal scene is a sleeping beast you don’t wanna wake.
So, light some incense, crack open a cheap beer, and let The Ironfist drag you into their necro-Nippon nightmare. Just don’t blame me if you start seeing yokai in your peripheral vision.
“Grotesque enlightenment never sounded this good.” – Yours Truly, After Three Listenings and a Minor Existential Crisis
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