If metal has always been inherently camp, then few strains are as attuned to it as symphonic black metal. I mean, if you’re building a haunted house, why not go all out on the decorations? Light a candelabra, put on some face paint, hire that creepy choir—or at least rent a keyboard to sound like one. Crystallizing in the early ’90s at a time when American death metal was leaning into gory extremity (and the Norwegians were just actually killing people), the style offered a whimsical counterbalance to all the shock and horror. Here was music that pushed the genre back to the realm of ghosts and ghouls, the ideal soundtrack for doing battle with Dracula on the spiral staircase of his manor. There’s a delectable tension between its chintziness and its opulence, forcing the mind to color in the spaces of its grand visages.
Perhaps that sense of scenery is why it’s proven so irresistible to Worm. While the Florida project has always had a malleable aesthetic, the constants have been a love of gloomy atmospherics and a penchant for crafting decrepit worlds out of their swampy death-doom. Initially the solo project of one Phantom Slaughter (real name Nicholas Radelat), Worm has massively shifted gears since 2022 when they were joined up by Wroth Septentrion (real name Philippe Tougas). Wroth’s resume includes a smattering of boundary-pushing projects, from the alien tech-death of Chthe’ilist to the ornate funeral doom of Atramentus, and along with Radelat he’s rebuilt Worm anew as a shrieking symphonic black metal act. After dipping their toes in with a handful of EPs, Necropalace launches this new direction in earnest, leveling up to a bigger label with Century Media and presenting the band’s most extravagant, vampiric suite yet.
Though Worm may have access to more realistic sounding keyboard orchestras than the ones Cradle of Filth and Emperor were trotting out back in the day, they purposefully delight in this subgenre’s artificiality. “Halls of Weeping” prefaces its sludgy march with cheeky choirs that glow like a row of pumpkins, while “The Night Has Fangs” culminates in a dueling bridge of harpsichord and guitar locked into a soaring spiral. The band has never sounded this melodic before; Tougas in particular brings a constant dynamism to his guitar solos, often layering two and reaching climaxes that refuse to collapse into just a flurry of notes, building off Radelat’s keyboard melodies with a real sense of drama. He’s not alone either, with none other than former Megadeth guitarist Marty Friedman joining on “Witchmoon: The Infernal Masquerade” to trade leads between church organ licks over a craven 14 minutes.
Yes, this is indulgent, proggy metal—the songs average around 10 minutes apiece—but at times it feels like Worm could have pushed their sound even further. Though the band avoids settling into cycling black metal block chords, their riffs can’t totally escape seeming more and more repetetive as they chug along. There are a few colorful scene-setting details, particularly on the title track, which finds room for both an Opeth-y acoustic bridge as well as some sabre-clashing sounds straight out of “The Gates of Delirium.” However, besides “Blackheart,” which mixes things up with its Tiamat-like gothic stomp and cheesy adult-contemporary synths, these tracks largely follow the galloping template set forth by the band’s newly chosen genre. It’s a fun formula, but a formula nonetheless.
The current incarnation of Worm have proven that they’re as capable as anybody of carrying the torch of Dimmu Borgir, Obsidian Gate, and all the other blackened bedroom Beethovens out there. Though they offer just enough wrinkles to this subgenre to make it their own (including a more mid-range, teeth-gnashing vocal style, and almost power-metal levels of guitar decadence), these songs tend to have about twice as many bridges as Worm’s ideas can support and not enough moments that leap out as opposed to just keeping their spooky carousel spinning. The band’s strengths have always lied less in their songwriting and more in the colorful landscapes they conjure, even if they do make some valiant attempts here to flesh out their compositional chops. It’s a fresh, theatrical style, but it still feels like a costume they’re getting used to.
