Ritual Black Metal: Malgors — Antichrist

Malgors forged Antichrist for volume, for sweat, for the dim red of stage lights and the hiss of fog machines. This album is the blueprint for a live ritual: tempo shifts like torches flaring, riffs that feel like iron gates heaving open, and vocals that carry the crackle of incense and cold air. If you have ever stood in a crowd and felt the drum as a command rather than a click, you know why this exists. The record had to breathe; the edges had to stay sharp; the timing had to remain human, hostile, and hungry.

Antichrist is not minimalist cosplay—it’s restraint used like wire, pulling each part tight until it cuts. The melodies don’t decorate the violence; they navigate it. Dissonance isn’t a trend here; it’s the geometry of the room, a way to place the listener inside the music rather than in front of it. Every passage aims at pressure, and every return listen turns new corners in that pressure—hallways you couldn’t see on the first pass become routes for later charges. This is how a record becomes a ritual document: repeat, reveal, repeat again.