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  • The B-52s’ Set Canceled as Tornado Strikes French Festival

    Frontman Fred Schneider blamed the "total disaster" largely on careless promoters. Continue reading…
  • Listening Now : Niclas Lundqvist – Northern Solitude

    Niclas Lundqvist’s Northern Solitude is a masterclass in organic ambient composition, translating the stillness of vast northern landscapes into a deeply immersive listening experience. Delicate piano motifs drift through evolving synth drones and subtle environmental textures, creating a soundscape that feels both intimate and expansive. With its patient pacing and cinematic sense of space, the instrumental invites quiet reflection rather than demanding attention. Beautifully restrained and emotionally resonant, Northern Solitude captures the peaceful grandeur of nature with remarkable elegance and understated depth.

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  • “The Moth” Is DEVIN TOWNSEND’s Line In The Sand:  “I Did It Exactly The Way I Wanted To, With Whom I Wanted”

    Devin Townsend made ten records while writing The Moth. Let that sink in. The album: a sprawling orchestral rock opera that has been gestating for years, was never the only thing on his plate. It was the thing underneath everything else, accruing weight and meaning while life piled on around it.

    The result is an album Devin describes as a before-and-after marker in his career. Not because he thinks it is his greatest work in some objective sense, but because of what it represents: a full commitment to doing things entirely on his own terms, with no concessions to accessibility or industry expectations.

    “I decided to do it exactly like I want to, exactly with whom I want to, the ways that I want to,” he said. “And if it worked, then I knew that this job was still for me. And if it didn’t, then I knew that I’ve got to figure out something else.”

    Robert Cavuoto spoke to Devin about the chaos-and-serenity dynamic that runs through The Moth. Despite meditating every morning, exercising through the week, and striving to maintain an internal equilibrium while everything around him keeps exploding. The music is what that effort sounds like.

    “Trying to foster a place of internal equilibrium in a chaotic environment is much more conducive to long-term being able to integrate that into your personality rather than being in a vacuum where there are no problems and then claiming immunity,” he said. “It really matters what your reaction is when shit goes sideways. And the sonic outcome of trying to retain equilibrium in a chaotic environment is music that is simultaneously both things.”

    On the question of how to listen to The Moth, Devin declined to offer instructions. Headphones help, he said, but he was deliberate about not attaching a listening guide to the album, because he sees that kind of pre-framing as a form of excuse-making.

    The album was never declared finished, so much as abandoned under deadline. Devin is candid about needing external pressure to let go of a project, and said he even courts it deliberately, stretching delivery past the stress point so the final push happens in a focused, adrenaline-fueled sprint. “A project’s never done,” he said. “You just have to abandon it. If I ever made a perfect record, I would never make another record again. What would be my motivation?”

    “My value as an artist is my fucked-upness,” he said. “If I chase perfection, when we’ve got a benchmark for that with AI — I’m not perfect. So if perfection is the stock and trade we’re putting into the work, you’re always going to fail.” Leaning into what makes his work idiosyncratic, he argued, is the only honest response to that reality.

    As for what comes next, Devin was straightforward. No Moth 2 is planned. No grand sequel or prequel, “The Mothening,” he offered, with a dry laugh. The record exists as a referendum on his own future in music, and he wants the verdict quickly.

    The Moth is out now via InsideOut Music. Grab your copy here.

    The post “The Moth” Is DEVIN TOWNSEND’s Line In The Sand:  “I Did It Exactly The Way I Wanted To, With Whom I Wanted” appeared first on Sonic Perspectives.

  • Gig review: HALESTORM’S LZZY AND JOE: UNPLUGGED- Islington Assembly Hall, London, 17 June 2026

    HALESTORM'S LIZZY AND JOE: UNPLUGGED- Islington Assembly Hall, London, 17 June 2026Halestorm have graduated over the years to being a major draw in their own right: their London show last winter was at the 02 and they have just headlined the second stage at Download. Smaller shows are now thin on … Continue reading

    The post Gig review: HALESTORM’S LZZY AND JOE: UNPLUGGED- Islington Assembly Hall, London, 17 June 2026 appeared first on Get Ready to ROCK!.

  • DEREK SHULMAN Talks “In A Glass House” Album Reissue, Signing PANTERA & DREAM THEATER, And Why GENTLE GIANT Will Never Reunite

    When Gentle Giant recorded In a Glass House in 1973, the band was in crisis. Founding member Phil Shulman had just left, reducing the band from a six-piece to five, and the remaining members were far from certain they would carry on at all. The album was written and recorded in roughly four weeks, with an American tour looming and no time to second-guess anything.

    “It was a transitional period,” Derek Shulman told Rodrigo Altaf. “What was released was, I think, great music, but not finished the way that we would love to have finished it.”

    That unfinished quality haunted the record for decades. A new remix — made possible despite the absence of the original multitracks — has given the album the treatment the band always wanted it to have, and for Shulman, the effect has been genuinely transformative. “It changed for me from an album that was very difficult to listen to, to become my favorite album.”

    The darkness in In a Glass House was circumstantial rather than deliberate. Shulman stepped into the frontman role fully for the first time and took on the bulk of the lyric writing. The loss of his brother Phil compressed whatever the band was into something leaner and more brittle. “The album was dark and brittle-sounding because of the situation, both emotionally and probably because I had to embrace being the front man completely,” he said. “It streamlined the band, actually. And I think that’s what In a Glass House was.”

    What made Gentle Giant distinct across their entire catalog, and what In a Glass House exemplifies, is a resistance to self-indulgence that other progressive bands of the era struggled to maintain. Shulman credits a short attention span as much as any artistic philosophy.

    “We probably had ADD,” he said. “Periods of things where other bands would have three or four minutes or five minutes trying to do something — after four or eight bars of something, we probably got bored with it. We had a very low boredom threshold.” Rather than cutting those passages entirely, the band kept the themes and compressed them. It became, Shulman argued, something unique to Gentle Giant: the structural complexity of progressive rock without the tendency toward navel-gazing.

    The band’s isolation from the London scene helped. Based in Portsmouth on the south coast of England, they had no particular interest in what other bands were doing and no awareness of being part of any movement. “There was no such thing as prog back in the day,” Shulman said. “We just did our own thing. We didn’t know what was going on. We didn’t care. We just did what we did for the love of music.”

    He also pushed back on the idea that Gentle Giant was ever a solemn proposition. Other bands of their era wanted to be treated with the reverence of an orchestra. Gentle Giant wanted the audience to smile. “We had fun playing our music. We had fun playing together. We wanted the audience to enjoy being part of the experience. So that was being self-indulgent — we indulged in having fun.”

    The band played stadiums in Europe and Canada — 30,000 people at the Autostade in Montreal, shows at Maple Leaf Gardens in Toronto — even if American commercial success stayed out of reach. That reality, Shulman said, generated no real frustration. “The most important thing for us was that we were able to play in front of people who enjoyed what we did. And that gave us a great deal of pleasure.”

    Gentle Giant disbanded in 1980, and Shulman has turned down reunion offers ever since. The reasoning is simple and stated without nostalgia: “To become a parody of yourself, of when you were younger, would be bad for us,” he said. “Getting into size 30 waist when you’re actually 36 now, putting spandex on when you look like an older guy — it doesn’t work for me, anyway. When we stopped, that was the end of that chapter, and it was a wonderful chapter.”

    The chapter that followed took him somewhere few musicians go: straight across to the other side of the music industry. A friend in New York called with an offer to join a new label division. Shulman‘s first instinct was to decline. “You’re becoming Darth Vader from being Luke Skywalker,” he told his friend. He took the meeting anyway, got offered the job, consulted his wife, and moved from Los Angeles to New York.

    What he brought to the executive role was something most label heads lack: genuine road experience. “No artist could say to me that you don’t know what it’s like to sleep in a van,” he said. “Because I did know what it was like, having been 14 years on the road.”

    The signing that surprises people most is Pantera. On paper, a former Gentle Giant vocalist running a major label division signing a Texas groove metal band makes no obvious sense. Shulman heard no contradiction in it.

    The process started with a videotape that Pantera‘s attorney showed him. He thought there was something there, but he went to see them in person before making any decision. That meant flying to Arlington, Texas, to watch them play a club with 50 or 70 people in it. He was the head of the company. He went anyway.

    “I know rock, and I know metal,” he said. “But when I went to see them, within two or three songs, I knew that they had something that no other band in that genre had. They had incredible charisma. They had amazing players in Dimebag, Vinnie, Rex, and Phil. Phil was an unbelievable frontman.”

    Three songs in, he stopped thinking like an executive. “Within three songs, I became a fan — not just as someone who wanted to sign the band. I knew this band was going to be huge.” He was equally clear-eyed about the commercial obstacles. Radio was not going to touch them. MTV was going to be a fight. None of that changed his read. “If I was convinced after three songs, what I wanted to do was put the band in front of people.” He invested in marketing and road support and gave them the money to tour. When Cowboys from Hell came out, it went top five in its first week.

    “That’s how I tried to utilize my experience in Gentle Giant to become an executive,” he said.

    Dream Theater came to him differently. Mike Portnoy arrived at Shulman‘s Atco office with a four-track demo of instrumentals and no vocalist. The band knew Shulman‘s background and were banking on it. The music alone was enough to get his attention.

    “Wow, this band is great,” he recalled thinking. But Portnoy was upfront: they were still looking for a singer and wanted to do a deal before they had one. Most executives would have shown them the door.

    Shulman structured what he called a demo deal instead. He agreed to pay the band’s salaries for six months on one condition: find a singer, keep writing, and come back with something finished. “I thought there was something there,” he said. “I believe there’s something here.”

    Three or four weeks later — well ahead of the six-month window — Portnoy was back with the same four songs and a vocalist named James LaBrie. One of those tracks was “Pull Me Under.”

    “What I felt in the music was right,” Shulman said. “Now they’ve got the singer, and they’ve actually put the vocals to it. I’m really happy about that.” He signed them to a full deal. Images and Words followed, and Dream Theater became the band credited for bringing progressive metal to the mainstream. LaBrie himself recently told Rodrigo Altaf that Shulman was instrumental in getting the band signed and properly promoted — a debt the band has acknowledged publicly more than once.

    The one that got away was Beck. Shulman heard “Loser” and passed. “You can’t bat a thousand, no matter how good you are,” he said. There were others he believed in that never broke through for reasons outside anyone’s control — a Portland band called Dan Reed Network that he was convinced would be massive, and a group called Enuff Z’Nuff whose talent was undermined by what he diplomatically called “their chemical romance.”

    On the current state of the music business, Shulman was direct. He sees the major labels as surviving primarily on legacy catalogs, and the music being made today as having, in his view, traded away everything that makes music last.

    “Melody and uniqueness and something different have gone out the window to become music which is almost wallpaper,” he said. “And that’s very sad.” The one contemporary act that caught his ear recently was a Canadian band he struggled to name: Angine de Poitrine. “They’re fun, and they’re funny, and they’re good. Something way different from most of the other things out there.”

    The In a Glass House reissue arrives with the weight of a record finally getting its due — cleaned up, rebalanced, and freed from the grief that made it hard to hear for so long. For Shulman, it marks the end of a long detour back to something he is now proud to revisit.

    Get your copy of the reissue of In a Glass House here.

    The post DEREK SHULMAN Talks “In A Glass House” Album Reissue, Signing PANTERA & DREAM THEATER, And Why GENTLE GIANT Will Never Reunite appeared first on Sonic Perspectives.

  • The Psychology of Ruins: Why Decay Feels Beautiful

    The Psychology of Ruins: Why Decay Feels Beautiful

    Ruins occupy a strange emotional space between death and survival. A collapsing cathedral, an abandoned mansion, a forgotten theater, or a decaying industrial building can evoke sadness, nostalgia, fear, awe, and beauty simultaneously.

    Although ruins represent destruction and impermanence, human beings repeatedly romanticize them through art, literature, photography, cinema, Gothic aesthetics, and psychological memory. The emotional fascination with decay reveals something profound about how the human mind understands time, mortality, loss, and emotional permanence.

    Dark Gothic ruins covered in fog with broken arches, dead trees, statues, and cinematic noir atmosphere exploring decay and melancholy.

    A haunting Gothic landscape exploring the emotional beauty of ruins, decay, memory, and psychological melancholy.

    Ruins are not beautiful despite their destruction. They feel beautiful because they expose the fragile passage between existence and disappearance visibly.


    Why Human Beings Romanticize Decay

    Modern culture often associates beauty with perfection, youth, symmetry, and preservation. Ruins operate according to an entirely different emotional logic.

    A ruined structure visibly carries time within itself. Cracked walls, collapsed ceilings, broken statues, fading paint, rust, dust, and overgrown vegetation reveal the slow physical erosion of permanence.

    Psychologically, this creates emotional depth because ruins remind viewers that nothing remains untouched by time indefinitely.

    Unlike pristine modern architecture, ruins contain visible memory.

    The human mind instinctively attempts reconstructing what once existed there: conversations, lives, tragedies, celebrations, disappearances, and forgotten emotional histories.

    Ruins therefore activate imagination as intensely as direct perception itself.


    Ruins and the Gothic Imagination

    Gothic literature transformed ruins into psychological environments long before modern horror cinema emerged.

    Writers such as Horace Walpole, Ann Radcliffe, Edgar Allan Poe, and later Gothic authors repeatedly used decaying castles, collapsing mansions, monasteries, crypts, and abandoned architecture to externalize psychological tension.

    In Gothic fiction, ruins rarely function merely as scenery.

    The architecture itself frequently reflects emotional collapse, inherited trauma, psychological fragmentation, guilt, memory, and mortality.

    The Fall of the House of Usher remains one of the clearest examples. The crumbling mansion mirrors the psychological deterioration of the Usher family directly. The building almost behaves like a living organism emotionally connected to its inhabitants.

    This psychological relationship between architecture and emotional decay remains central to Gothic aesthetics today.


    The Emotional Power of Impermanence

    Part of the beauty of ruins emerges from impermanence itself.

    Japanese aesthetics describe a similar concept through wabi-sabi, an appreciation for transience, incompleteness, weathering, and imperfection.

    Emotionally, human beings often respond more deeply to fragile things because fragility intensifies awareness.

    A ruined building visibly reminds observers that civilizations disappear, relationships end, beauty fades, and memory eventually becomes unstable.

    Yet paradoxically, ruins also survive.

    Even damaged structures continue resisting complete disappearance. This tension between destruction and endurance creates much of their emotional resonance.

    Ruins symbolize mortality while simultaneously resisting complete disappearance through their lingering physical presence.


    Nostalgia and Psychological Projection

    Ruins often feel emotionally haunting because viewers psychologically project personal emotions onto them.

    Abandoned spaces appear emotionally unfinished. Their silence encourages introspection, speculation, and emotional interpretation.

    Unlike active spaces filled with social distraction, ruins feel suspended outside ordinary time.

    This suspension allows people to project loneliness, melancholy, nostalgia, grief, romantic longing, or existential reflection into the environment itself.

    Photographers, filmmakers, Gothic artists, and urban explorers frequently describe abandoned places as emotionally alive despite their emptiness.

    The emotional power of ruins therefore emerges partly from psychological projection rather than physical structure alone.


    Industrial Ruins and Modern Melancholy

    Modern fascination with industrial ruins reveals additional psychological anxieties connected to technology, capitalism, urban collapse, and cultural instability.

    Abandoned factories, empty hospitals, deteriorating train stations, and collapsing urban districts often symbolize failed ideas of modern progress.

    These spaces feel emotionally different from medieval ruins because they belong to recognizable modern history rather than distant mythology.

    An abandoned industrial building frequently creates uncanny emotional tension because it feels simultaneously familiar and lifeless.

    This explains why noir cinema, post-punk aesthetics, dark photography, and psychological horror repeatedly return to urban decay visually.

    Industrial ruins expose the emotional exhaustion hidden beneath modern civilization itself.


    Why Decay Feels Cinematic

    Ruins naturally create visual drama because decay produces texture, contrast, shadow, irregularity, and atmospheric depth.

    Broken windows distort light. Cracked walls create visual fragmentation. Fog, dust, water damage, peeling paint, and darkness all intensify emotional atmosphere.

    Cinematically, ruins allow environments to communicate emotion without dialogue.

    Directors frequently use abandoned architecture to suggest memory, trauma, guilt, isolation, social collapse, or psychological instability before characters even speak.

    This visual language appears repeatedly throughout Gothic cinema, noir films, psychological horror, dark fantasy, and post-apocalyptic storytelling.

    Decay becomes emotionally expressive because destruction exposes hidden layers normally concealed beneath ordinary surfaces.


    Ruins and the Fear of Mortality

    At the deepest psychological level, ruins fascinate human beings because they externalize mortality physically.

    Buildings decay much like human bodies age.

    Walls crack, structures weaken, surfaces erode, and stability gradually disappears over time.

    Yet ruins also preserve traces of existence after destruction has already begun.

    This creates a psychologically complex emotional response.

    Ruins confront viewers with impermanence while simultaneously reassuring them that emotional traces can survive disappearance.

    The beauty of ruins ultimately emerges from the visible coexistence of memory, survival, fragility, loss, and emotional persistence within the same physical space.


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    Explore Edgar Allan Poe apparel, Gothic aesthetics, noir-inspired fashion, and psychological darkness inside the official Edgar Allan Poets Noir Store.

    Graphic showcasing Edgar Allan Poe gothic t-shirts and noir apparel from the official store


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    Frequently Asked Questions

    Why do ruins feel beautiful?

    Ruins feel beautiful because they combine memory, fragility, impermanence, atmosphere, and emotional projection simultaneously while visibly revealing the passage of time.

    Why are ruins important in Gothic literature?

    Gothic literature uses ruins to externalize psychological collapse, trauma, mortality, memory, and emotional decay through architecture and atmosphere.

    Why do abandoned places feel emotionally haunting?

    Abandoned places encourage psychological projection because their silence and emptiness allow viewers to imagine forgotten lives, memories, tragedies, and emotional histories.

    What is the psychology of decay?

    The psychology of decay explores why human beings feel emotionally drawn toward impermanence, ruins, weathering, nostalgia, mortality, and visible signs of time passing.


    The post The Psychology of Ruins: Why Decay Feels Beautiful appeared first on Edgar Allan Poets – Noir Rock Band.

  • “The lyrics are like this crazy, mystical bum that lives in a cave and says, ‘Oh, I wanna reach the whales!’ Why do people want to hear this?” 13 rock and metal musicians hating on their own songs

    We’ve all done stuff we’re unhappy with, but when you’re a musician, it usually means it’s heard by thousands or even millions of people – and once it’s out in the world, there’s no taking it back. Here are some of rock and metal’s finest taking a dump on the songs they wrote and wish they hadn’t.

    Metal Hammer line break

    Jonathan Davis (Korn)

    All In The Family [from 1998’s Follow The Leader] is the worst song ever. It’s horrible. We were all drunk in the studio and I was trying to rap. At the time, we were having a good time, but now I just cringe. I’ve got nothing against Fred [Durst, co-vocalist], it just sucks! We were out of our minds drunk! It shouldn’t have made the record.” (via Metal Hammer)

    Lemmy

    “I’m sick to death of Ace Of Spades now. We didn’t become fossilised after that record, you know, we’ve had quite a few good releases since then. But the fans want to hear it so we still play it every night. For myself, I’ve had enough of that song.” (via White Line Fever)

    Kerry King (ex-Slayer)

    “There’s a handful of songs in our history that I’m like, ‘Goddamn, I hate that song.’ Like, I fucking despise Desire and I hate Cleanse The Soul.” (via Rolling Stone)

    Ronnie James Dio

    [On 1983’s Rainbow In The Dark]: “It’s a song I really dislike. When it was finished, I announced to everyone that I was going to take a razor blade and cut the tape up. I went for the razor blade and they went, ‘No, no! Don’t!’ For me it was too poppy for the album [Holy Diver].”

    Kurt Cobain (Nirvana)

    “I can barely get through [Smells Like] Teen Spirit. I literally want to throw my guitar down and walk away. I can’t pretend to have a good time playing it.” (via Rolling Stone)

    James Hetfield (Metallica)

    [Before playing Ride The Lightning track Escape in 2012 for the very first time]: “A song that we never wanted to play live, ever, is now on the setlist. You can sing along if you want – it might help! No, don’t do it! Don’t do it, Lars! Are there any other songs left that we haven’t played?”

    Robb Flynn (Machine Head)

    “There are songs on every record of mine that I don’t like, even The Blackening. Slanderous sucks!” Machine Head’s Robb Flynn (via Metal Hammer)

    Chino Moreno

    [On Back To School (Mini Maggit)]: “I remember [the record label] sitting me down and pointing out Papa Roach and Linkin Park had sold six million albums while we hadn’t sold a tenth of that. To me, they were saying they wanted some rap-rock, and at the time I was already way over making music like that. My response was no way at first, and then they pointed out the chorus of Pink Maggit was so great, so they asked me to rewrite it as a three-minute song. They kept hounding me about it so I was like ‘Watch this,’ because formulaic songs are so easy to write.”

    Shawn “Clown” Crahan

    “[All Hope Is Gone is] my least favourite [Slipknot album]: no tension, no pain – just efficiency. Being able to go home, able to sleep, is not good, not for what we do.” (via Google Play)

    Amy Lee (Evanscence)

    “There have been times where I just hate My Immortal. You listen to your old stuff like, ‘Eurgh!’ I was 19 years old, and I didn’t even know what I was talking about, I was so dramatic! It’s like reading your diary. But I’m over it!” (via Music Week)

    Joe Duplantier (Gojira)

    [On Flying Whales] “It starts with a super-duper long intro that, honestly, if I’m going to listen to the song, I skip. It’s such a drag! It leads into that main riff, which dictates the tempo of the song. To this day, we don’t understand what’s so special about that riff […] Then the lyrics are like this crazy, mystical bum that lives in a cave and says, ‘Oh, I wanna reach the whales!’… When we play it every night, I’m wondering, ‘What’s up with this song? Why do people want to hear this song?’” (via Metal Hammer)

    Paolo Gregoletto (Trivium)

    [On The Rising] “What pisses me off about the song is that it kicked off another song [2006’s The Crusade album] that I liked way more, which was Broken One. We were at a weird point and, when we had the song Anthem written for The Crusade, everyone was really excited about the song. I think there was the suggestion of, ‘Hey, let’s have another song like that!’ There really wasn’t a cohesive idea of what the record was going to be.”

    Dave Mustaine (Megadeth)

    “Probably the dumbest song Megadeth ever did was Crush ’Em… We’d had huge success with our prior album [1997’s Cryptic Writings], big singles and all of that. That had never happened before. So we figured, why not give the label and our management more to work with, since the last one did so well on radio? That was a huge mistake… it didn’t work.” (via Noisecreep)

  • Dan Donegan – Disturbed Will Play Only ‘Two Shows’ in 2026

    Donegan reveals why Disturbed are doing only a couple of shows this year, and he keeps things vague but hopeful regarding 2027. Continue reading…