Between the Buried and Me
– Colors
This record bolts, swerves, collapses, and rebuilds itself in real time, like a fever dream stitched together with equal parts violence and beauty. Colors is a massive canvas where the band dumps every idea it can wrestle into being, daring it all to make sense by sheer force of momentum. And it does, in ways that feel both absurd and exhilarating.
Best of…
What makes it click is the fearlessness. The songs refuse to choose between pulverizing heaviness and moments of fragile clarity; instead, they drag both into the same orbit. The result is music that feels alive with contradiction but unified by intent. Every jagged riff, every clean passage, every unhinged vocal outburst seems bound by a belief that the chaos matters.
There’s no sense of restraint here, and that’s the point. It’s indulgent, sprawling, overwhelming, and all the better for it. You’re not given a roadmap—you’re shoved into a labyrinth where the walls shift under your feet. By the end, you’re exhausted, but it’s the kind of exhaustion that leaves you buzzing, grinning, and maybe a little bruised.
Choice Tracks
Ants of the Sky
A sprawling journey that mutates constantly. One moment it’s crushing, the next it’s fragile, then suddenly swinging into something playful before tearing it all down again. It’s dizzying, ridiculous, and brilliant in its audacity.
White Walls
The closer and the crown jewel. A monolithic track that pushes past the twenty-minute mark without wasting a breath. It doesn’t feel long—it feels like a final exorcism, every sound packed with intention, every shift a gut-punch.
Sun of Nothing
Equal parts brutal and strangely serene. The transitions are wild yet strangely seamless, moving from pummeling riffs into airy stretches that feel almost transcendent. It’s a song that never stops pulling at its own edges.
Colors is chaotic, indulgent, and relentless—a sprawling labyrinth of sound where brutality and beauty slam into each other. It overwhelms with purpose, leaving listeners exhausted, exhilarated, and convinced that excess can be its own kind of perfection.