The Chicago-based Black Metal band Lurid has been active in the underground scene for several years and first made a strong impression in 2022 with their First Spell EP. Although things have remained relatively quiet around the band since then, their long-awaited debut album makes it immediately clear that they haven’t been idle in the meantime. Lurid consists of a number of seasoned musicians, including former members of the Thrash Metal band Schizophrenia, and they bring their combined experience to bear with convincing force.
On this first full-length, Lurid opts for an uncompromising approach. Their sound is firmly rooted in the rawness and coldness of 1990s Black Metal, particularly from Scandinavia, and the atmosphere they conjure is reminiscent of the second wave’s most iconic releases. Think the icy intensity of early Immortal, the chaotic aggression of Gorgoroth, and the bleak soundscapes of early Enslaved. What stands out immediately is how authentic it all sounds — as if the album crawled straight out of a snow-covered Norwegian basement.
The production is raw but effective; organic enough to preserve a live-session feel without descending into muddiness. Riffs come at you in a relentless stream of blast beats and frosty melodies, while the vocals — hoarse, inhuman, and summoned from the darkest recesses of the mind — add an extra layer of desolation to the whole.
Despite their American origin, there is virtually no trace of the typical U.S. Black Metal sound here. No atmospheric post-influences, no pretensions toward progressiveness — just pure, old-school malevolence. If you were to tell me these guys grew up among the Norwegian fjords, sustained on a diet of snow, darkness, and old Darkthrone records, I wouldn’t hesitate to believe you.
With only five tracks on the album, you might expect a short, sharp burst of fury — but nothing could be further from the truth. These five compositions stretch out to a total runtime of 37 minutes, allowing each track to unfold organically and with breathing room. That said, this extended length occasionally comes at a cost. Lurid doesn’t always manage to maintain a taut sense of tension throughout, and some passages feel slightly overstretched or lose a bit of urgency along the way.
However, where the compositional momentum occasionally dips, the intensity of the performance more than makes up for it. Lurid plays with a conviction and ferocity that’s impossible to ignore. The gripping riffs, razor-sharp drumming, and maniacal vocals repeatedly drag the listener down into the abyss — even when a track’s structure stretches further than might be strictly necessary. It’s precisely this uncompromising delivery that ensures the album lingers and rises above, despite its modest track count and sprawling compositions.
79/100
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