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Photo credit: Damu Malik After two decades of nearly continuous touring, folk-Americana singer-songwriter Eilen Jewell is stepping away from the road—not as an ending, she insists, but as a recalibration. Her “indefinite hiatus” from touring marks a deliberate pause in a life shaped by motion, performance, and the steady accumulation of miles across continents. Yet […]

Buried in the fall.

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With EKOH, Oxymorrons and more.

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Talking of THE ROLLING STONES, most people see the Glimmer Twins as the ultimate rockers, while in fact it was Bill Wyman who seemed the most solid performer in that regard, what with him being older than the rest of … Continue reading →

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Eyes up.

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There are guitarists who play the blues, and then there are guitarists who seem to channel it from somewhere deep within themselves. Philip Sayce belongs firmly in the latter category. Returning to London for a highly anticipated appearance at Islington Assembly Hall on 3 June, the Welsh-born, Canadian-raised guitarist delivered a performance that was equal parts masterclass, catharsis, and celebration of the enduring power of blues-rock.

The elegant surroundings of Islington Assembly Hall provided the perfect backdrop for an evening rooted in tradition yet infused with modern energy. The venue was packed with devoted fans, guitar enthusiasts and curious newcomers, all eager to witness one of the most electrifying performers on the contemporary blues scene. With its balance of grandeur and intimacy, the historic hall offered an ideal setting for a musician whose reputation has been built on emotional intensity rather than theatrical spectacle.

From the moment Sayce walked on stage, there was an unmistakable sense of anticipation in the room. Opening with a burst of shred energy before asking the crowd a simple question – “Ready?” – he immediately launched into “Out of My Mind.” It was a statement of intent. His guitar tone was instantly recognisable: rich, saturated, and gloriously dynamic. Whether unleashing fiery lead lines or delicately teasing out soulful melodies, he demonstrated complete command of his instrument.

Yet what separates Sayce from many modern guitar heroes is his refusal to treat the guitar as a vehicle for technical exhibitionism. Plenty of musicians can play fast or loud. Sayce’s gift lies in his ability to make every note feel emotionally charged and purposeful. Throughout the evening, his playing moved effortlessly between blistering blues-rock, psychedelic textures, and moments of deep introspection. The influence of Jimi Hendrix, Stevie Ray Vaughan, and Robin Trower could certainly be heard, but Sayce has long since developed a voice that is unmistakably his own.

Material from across his catalogue showcased both his musicianship and increasingly assured songwriting. Tracks such as “Standing around crying” and “Morning Star” balanced muscular riffs with memorable melodies, while heavier numbers provided opportunities for extended improvisation. These moments allowed Sayce to stretch out creatively, exploring the sonic possibilities of his instrument while never losing sight of the song itself.

His vocals deserve equal recognition. Often overshadowed by his formidable guitar playing, Sayce possesses a raw, expressive voice perfectly suited to his material. There is a grit and authenticity to his singing that complements the emotional intensity of his guitar work. Every lyric felt delivered with conviction, lending weight to songs dealing with struggle, redemption, and resilience.

A major strength of the evening was the chemistry between Sayce and his band. The rhythm section provided a powerful yet sensitive foundation, allowing him the freedom to roam without sacrificing groove or cohesion. Several extended jams showcased the group’s ability to listen and respond to one another in real time, creating moments that felt spontaneous and unique to that particular night.

One of the evening’s highlights came during an extended instrumental passage during ‘Steamroller/Love is a powerful thing’. Beginning with a sparse guitar introduction, the piece gradually built in intensity until Sayce appeared completely immersed in the music. Notes bent and sustained beyond their expected limits, while controlled feedback became a creative tool rather than a by-product of volume. These sections demonstrated why he continues to attract such admiration from fellow musicians. His solos were never simply displays of virtuosity; they told stories, building tension and release with remarkable instinct.

The crowd’s response reflected the quality of the performance. Cheers erupted after nearly every solo, and the atmosphere became increasingly enthusiastic as the evening progressed. Yet despite the admiration directed towards him, Sayce remained approachable and humble throughout. His interactions with the audience were warm and genuine, reinforcing the feeling that this was a shared experience rather than a one-sided performance.

As the set drew towards its conclusion, there was a palpable reluctance among the crowd to let the evening end. The eventual encore, featuring a guest appearance from Tom Moriarty, provided one final opportunity for Sayce to demonstrate why he remains one of the most compelling live performers working today. The closing performance was delivered with the same intensity and commitment that had characterised the entire evening, leaving the audience exhilarated and wanting more.

In a musical landscape increasingly dominated by technology and spectacle, Philip Sayce remains refreshingly rooted in the fundamentals of great live performance: exceptional musicianship, emotional honesty, and genuine connection with an audience. His appearance at Islington Assembly Hall was far more than a guitar showcase. It was a reminder of what live music can achieve when passion, skill and authenticity align. For those fortunate enough to be present, it was an evening that reaffirmed the enduring power of the blues and the extraordinary talent of one of its finest modern exponents.

View the full photo gallery below.

[See image gallery at bluesrockreview.com]

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Norwegian progressive death metal band Tessia released their new album, The Cataclysm, last May. We spoke with vocalist Julie Berthelsen about her personal reflections on the record, the lore driving its universe, the realities of balancing music with modern industry demands, and her thoughts on the representation of women in the metal scene.

Check out our review of The Cataclysm.

Reuel

Hello, Julie! I’m so happy to chat with you. How are you doing?

Julie Berthelsen

Hello! I’m fine, thanks, happy to be here 🙂

Reuel

Congratulations on releasing The Cataclysm last month! What does this album mean to you personally?

Julie Berthelsen

Thank you! This album has been in the works for several years now, and it means so so much to me. I pour my heart out with lyrics and storytelling and have explored my voice and reached many new milestones along the way. Dennis (our guitarist/producer) has created this big universe in which the journey of ‘The Cataclysm’ takes you through, and it’s so exciting and vast, I love being able to tell the story to people.

Reuel

How do you feel about the way it was received by your fans and by the public?

Julie Berthelsen

Absolutely blown away, the response has been amazing. People really seem to like the heavier direction we have gone for. It has gained us many gigs both nationwide and internationally, and of course, the big win for Wacken Metal Battle Norway.

Reuel

Could you share a brief synopsis of the universe you built for The Cataclysm and your previous releases?

Julie Berthelsen

As mentioned earlier, Dennis created this major universe in which we explore. To sum it up as short as possible, it’s mainly about two sides of a story, there is the story of two ethereal/godlike entities, clashing together, and the cause and effect of that conflict, and the consequences on both a grand universe scale but also on a minor scale for humans facing struggles in their daily lives. And not to spoil the story, but the album title is a hint as to what happens 😉

Reuel

How would you describe Tessia’s sound using emojis?

Julie Berthelsen

🔥😡🩸😇😈

Reuel

In an alternate reality where music is tasted, just like food, what would Tessia’s music taste like?

Julie Berthelsen

Like something very tasty but spicy, exploding flavours in your mouth so hot you can barely hold it together, but then you have a sip of milk or cream that relieves you, and you get a break haha xD

Reuel

Releasing an album today requires an artist to juggle music, marketing, and social media. Looking at the process as a whole, what is your favorite and least favorite aspect?

Julie Berthelsen

Yeah that’s very true, like you say, you have to be an influencer, PR manager, booking agent, producer, visual designer, video director, and then at last you get to create a little bit of music haha. I guess that’s my least favourite part, I wish it were the other way around. My favourite part is getting a “hands-on” approach with fans and people who interact with us on social media. I get to talk to a lot of people and respond to people’s kind messages, if we had a social media person, I wouldn’t get to be as much part of it, I guess.

Reuel

What are your thoughts on how women are represented in music today, and what do you think can be done to promote more inclusivity and support for female musicians?

Julie Berthelsen

Well, we have come a long way in the metal since just 10-20 years ago. There is a lot more female representation in the genre now than there was before. But we still need a lot more, absolutely. There is still a lot of stigma around a woman growling for example, which I think is absolutely ridiculous. I think increased inclusivity can be promoted by giving women equal opportunities, recognizing their contributions and engaging with their work. Supporting each other is important and not only as performers but also as producers and industry professionals, which helps create a stronger and more diverse music scene overall.

Reuel

Thank you for your time, Julie!

The post Interview | “I pour my heart out with lyrics and storytelling” – Julie Berthelsen from Tessia first appeared on FemMetal – Goddesses of Metal.

Finnish hard rock outfit Lobster have officially released a high-octane reinterpretation of Don Henley’s iconic 1980s classic, “The Boys of Summer”. The release follows fast on the heels of their April comeback single, “Baby I’m Yours Tonight”, which marked the band’s return to active duty after a three-year hiatus away from the studio circuit. The … Continue reading Classic Cover: Lobster – “The Boys of Summer” (original by Don Henley)

Black metal has always been a music of place. Its most canonical recordings carry geography in their DNA – the frozen Oslo suburbs in Burzum‘s static hiss, the Norwegian coastline in early Enslaved, the Carpathian highlands bleeding through Mgła‘s philosophical nihilism. Place is not a backdrop. It is an instrument. It shapes not only what black metal sounds like but what it means, what it is permitted to claim, and who is permitted to claim it.

This is the problem – and the opportunity – facing American black metal in 2026. The United States is not Norway. It is not Poland. It carries none of the ideological cohesion, the geographic severity, or the cultural insularity that gave second-wave black metal its sense of existential necessity. American practitioners have historically been dismissed for exactly this reason: the music imported without the soil it grew from, a borrowed darkness wearing someone else’s face.

Two projects have done more than any others in recent years to challenge that dismissal: UADA, the Portland, Oregon-based quartet whose aesthetic rigor has earned genuine respect from a scene notoriously hostile to outsiders, and Blackbraid, the one-man project of Jon Krieger – known by his Mohawk-derived name Sgah’gahsowáh – whose debut records arrived with a cultural weight that the genre had never quite encountered before. Neither band sounds like the other. Neither arrived at credibility through the same door. But together they constitute something important – a genuine argument for what American black metal can be when it stops apologizing for where it comes from.

The Mask and the Face

UADA emerged in 2016 with Devoid of Light, a debut that announced itself with the confidence of a band that had studied the canon obsessively and synthesized it without reverence becoming pastiche. The tremolo melodicism, the mid-paced glacial momentum, the layered guitar architecture – all firmly within second-wave tradition, yet assembled with enough compositional intelligence to feel like a genuine contribution rather than imitation. Cult of a Dying Sun in 2018 deepened the formula. Djinn in 2020 expanded it into something more sprawling and ambitious.

What UADA understood, perhaps instinctively, is that black metal credibility in the European tradition is inseparable from mystique. The genre was built on anonymity, on pseudonym and corpse paint, on the deliberate erasure of biography in service of something larger and more elemental. UADA‘s early resistance to interviews, their masked live presentation, their dense conceptual frameworks – these were not affectation. They were fluency. The band spoke the language of black metal not just musically but philosophically, understanding that the music demands a certain self-abnegation, a willingness to disappear into the art.

This is a particular kind of American response to the problem of place: transcend geography by transcending self. If the Pacific Northwest cannot provide the ideological weight of Scandinavia, UADA suggests, then the individual voice can be subsumed into something archetypal and universal. The darkness they invoke is not specifically American. It is not specifically anything. It aspires to the condition of myth.

It works. Devoid of Light holds up alongside contemporary European releases not as an approximation but as a peer. That is a genuinely rare achievement.

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The Name and the Land

Blackbraid arrives at the same problem from the opposite direction – and reaches a conclusion that is almost the philosophical inverse of UADA‘s.

Where UADA dissolves the self into archetype, Blackbraid insists on radical specificity. Krieger has been deliberate about how he frames that specificity. He has lived deeply in the Adirondack wilderness of upstate New York – hunting, fishing, tanning hides, connected to the land on what he describes as both a spiritual and everyday level. His pseudonym Sgah’gahsowáh is a Mohawk name, taken to honor the people of the land he inhabits and draws from, not to claim a lineage that isn’t his. That distinction matters, and his willingness to articulate it openly reflects the same honesty that defines the music itself.

What Blackbraid foregrounds is not tribal identity as credential but land as lived reality. Blackbraid I (2022) and Blackbraid II (2023) are records rooted in the Adirondacks – its forests, its waters, its spiritual weight – and in the Indigenous histories that saturate that landscape whether acknowledged or not. The acoustic passages that punctuate both albums are not genre ornamentation; they are invocations of a relationship to place that predates black metal by centuries.

This is where Blackbraid‘s approach demands careful engagement – not as political statement to be endorsed or debated, but as artistic framework to be understood on its own terms. The project is not using black metal to make an argument about colonialism, though that history is present in every note. It is using black metal because the genre’s formal vocabulary – the tremolo as sustained grief, the blastbeat as forward momentum against oblivion, the rawness as refusal of polish – maps with uncomfortable precision onto what it means to carry the weight of a contested landscape through a living body.

That is not a borrowed darkness. That is darkness earned through inhabitation.

The result is music that feels genuinely necessary in a way that even excellent genre exercises do not. Blackbraid I arrived with significant mainstream press attention – Pitchfork coverage, widespread social media momentum – and the underground’s instinct was, predictably, suspicion. Popularity is always treated as evidence of compromise in kvlt circles. But the suspicion misreads what is actually happening. Blackbraid did not court that audience. That audience recognized something real and moved toward it.

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Geography as Thesis

Set the two projects side by side, and a productive tension emerges. Both are working in recognizably similar sonic territory – melodic, atmospheric black metal with strong compositional craft and an emphasis on emotional weight over technical brutality. Both have earned genuine respect from a scene that dispenses it grudgingly. Both are making a case, implicitly or explicitly, that American black metal has something to say.

But the methods could not be more different. UADA‘s geography is internal – the Pacific Northwest provides mood and atmosphere, a certain grey dampness in the production values, but the project ultimately transcends location in pursuit of universality. Blackbraid‘s geography is the entire point. Remove the Adirondack wilderness, remove the Indigenous histories soaked into that land, and there is no Blackbraid – not because the music would be lesser, but because it would be a different project entirely. The land is load-bearing.

This distinction illuminates an important aspect of what American black metal has been missing. The genre’s European giants derive their power not just from sonic vocabulary but from rootedness – Mgła‘s Kraków, Burzum‘s Bergen, Drudkh‘s Ukrainian forests and river valleys. The place is not incidental. It is the source of conviction, the reason the darkness feels earned rather than performed.

American black metal has historically struggled to find an equivalent rootedness. The country is too large, too diverse, too ideologically incoherent to provide the kind of unified cultural pressure that generated second-wave black metal’s sense of necessity. UADA‘s solution – reach past geography toward archetype – is elegant and largely successful. But Blackbraid‘s solution may ultimately be more generative: not transcending American complexity but descending into it, finding in the continent’s specific, layered, often violent histories the kind of darkness that black metal was built to carry.

What Comes Next

The most interesting question facing American black metal in 2026 is not whether it can match its European counterparts. That question has already been answered – UADA and Blackbraid have answered it. The question is what it will do with the freedom that the answer provides.

The genre is at an inflection point globally. Black metal’s founding ideologies have curdled in predictable ways; the Norwegian scene’s political associations have become an embarrassment that serious artists in the tradition are actively working to separate themselves from. Mgła and Furia represent a European black metal that has largely shed those associations in favor of something more philosophically rigorous and culturally specific. The space for American black metal to define its own terms has never been more open.

UADA and Blackbraid suggest two viable paths forward. The first: master the tradition so completely that geography becomes irrelevant, and let the music speak in a language that transcends origin. The second: abandon the pretense of transcendence entirely and go deeper into the specific American experience – its landscapes, its histories, its wounds – and trust that specificity is its own form of universality.

Neither path excludes the other. The most exciting possibility is that the next generation of American black metal artists learns from both – the craft discipline of UADA, the cultural courage of Blackbraid – and finds a third way that neither has yet imagined.

Black metal has always been a music of place. America, for all its contradictions, has no shortage of places. It has forests and deserts and coastlines and histories dark enough to sustain a thousand records. The question is whether its artists are willing to go there honestly – without borrowed darkness, without European permission, without apology.

UADA and Blackbraid have shown that they are. The argument for American black metal’s future starts with them.

Thomas Woroniak is Senior Staff Writer and Photography Editor at Antihero Magazine.

The post Two Fires, Different Woods: UADA, Blackbraid, and the Soul of American Black Metal appeared first on Antihero Magazine.