The first single from the band’s upcoming second album, Lions and Ore, the track introduces its heavier side without giving away everything that comes later. The rhythm feels almost mechanical, while the guitars gradually fill the space around it, turning repetition into tension rather than predictability.

The lyrics add another layer of unease. “All dialtone / One two now gone / We don’t belong / Leather stains the bone” moves through fragmented images of leather, summer heat, bodies, and things slipping through cracks. Nothing quite forms a straightforward narrative, and that ambiguity works in the song’s favor. Instead, the fragments create a strange, tactile landscape of decay and displacement.

The repeated “We don’t belong” eventually stops sounding like a conventional chorus and starts feeling like a mantra. It is simple, but the repetition gives it weight, especially against the song’s increasingly claustrophobic instrumentation.

There are recognizable echoes of Joy Division, Interpol, and Protomartyr in its dark rhythms and emotional restraint, but The House Flies bring in enough noise rock, goth, shoegaze, and alternative-rock texture to keep the track from feeling like post-punk nostalgia. The quieter passages also give the heavier sections room to hit harder.

As an introduction to Lions and Ore, “Derelict Crawl” by The House Flies works precisely because it does not explain everything. It gives us grit, repetition, heat, and alienation, and leaves us wanting to know what lies underneath!

The main sound and texture of the song is rebellion, and like so many greats before them, Mute TV chose a sizzling drum sound paired with a borderline mangled, fuzzy guitar signal – the kind of fuzz that would make Jack White proud. It’s abrasive without losing the melodic thread underneath, which is the difficult balance that separates noise pop that works from noise pop that just exhausts you. Tim James, Joe Mountain, and Ade Poole are three seasoned musicians, and it shows – the live recording format doesn’t flatter the underprepared, and “Drag Me Down” holds up under that pressure without breaking a sweat.

There’s a particular kind of band that chooses to record live on their debut not because it’s the easier path but because they know the song only fully exists in that format – where the mistakes are features and the tension is real rather than constructed in post. Mute TV is clearly that kind of band. The decision to release through Medical Grade Music and to track inside Real World Studios also suggests a team around them that takes the project seriously, which tends to matter at this stage. The live dates across April and May in the South West give them a circuit to build on, and if “Drag Me Down” is representative of where their catalogue is heading, there’s a lot of room to grow into.

“The Choice” began with a journey up the Hudson River on a brilliant sunny day. Standing before the white-rock Palisades, framed by greenery and the blue water below, Oledude found himself thinking about the history of that river — its struggle, its near-ruin, and its remarkable recovery. He thought about Pete Seeger, who sailed the Clearwater sloop for decades campaigning to clean those waters, and who understood that environmental change begins with human minds being moved, one at a time. He thought about choices. The song followed.

What makes “The Choice” musically distinctive is its source material. Oledude took the haunting, lullaby-like melody of the medieval hymn “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel” and transformed it into something urgent and contemporary — new lyrics, new meaning, a sermon built from a carol. Influenced by folk icon Pete Seeger and progressive rock giants including Jethro Tull, Rush, Kansas, Emerson Lake & Palmer, and YES, Oledude has long been a “big sound” composer who hears his songs through orchestras and guitars alike. The track was shaped in collaboration with Berkeley-trained guitarist Zachary Staples, engineered by Mark Dann and Kat Lewis, and brought to life by a chorus of ten family members and friends whose voices give the song its communal, congregational weight.

“Writing ‘The Choice’ was a bold experiment,” Oledude says. “I had written parodies before, but I had never attempted to expand the meaning of a well-known song. Doing this sort of cemented my commitment to using every means at my disposal to make music meaningful and powerful to people.”

The story behind “The Choice” cannot be separated from the story of the man who made it. Chris Owens — known to the world as Chris Oledude — is a Black, white-Jewish, and Puerto Rican-born New York artist whose entire life has been shaped by the intersection of music, politics, and moral urgency. He grew up in a household where classical, folk, pop, funk, and protest music all had a place, harmonising with his brothers — including actor Geoffrey Owens — under the influence of his mother, the late Ethel Werfel Owens, his first music teacher, and his father, the late Major R. Owens, a librarian turned elected official.

In the 1980s, he performed on the streets of New York City, in dance bands, and recorded Anyone’s Revolution (1984), a cassette album that voiced sharp frustration with the Reagan era and caught the attention of folk legend Pete Seeger himself — who encouraged Chris to keep writing music for peace and social justice and to collaborate with like-minded artists. He went on to join the People’s Music Network for Songs of Freedom and Struggle.

For the next three and a half decades, life pulled him more toward civic and political activism than music. It was grief that brought him back. The death of his father stirred him to perform again alongside his brothers. The death of his wife, Sandra Dixon, led to a deeper reckoning — a decision to reconnect with music in a wholly new way. In 2020, reborn as Chris Oledude, he re-emerged with a renewed mission: to fuse the “old school” genres he loves — pop, funk, R&B, folk — with the urgency of the present moment.

⇒ Have you missed our review for “The Choice”? Read here.

The results have been remarkable. His song-video tribute George Floyd: Say Their Names, directed by Alyssa Dann, earned over 150 film festival accolades worldwide. His blues jam Orange Blues 24, accompanied by a stop-motion video crafted from 2,000 photographs over the course of a year, has won numerous festival awards. His 2025 release No Crowns For Clowns brought a blistering political critique to the airwaves. And his debut album Preacher Man — Vol. 1 took listeners on a journey, as he puts it, “from disturbing troubles to eternal hope,” with tracks including Rainbow Soul, Turning Tables, and We Will Get Through This winning fans across the world.

“The Choice” is the next chapter. And given everything happening in the world right now, its timing could not be more deliberate.

“At a time when war and other conflicts dominate our thinking,” Oledude says, “we cannot forget that the health of our planet and its atmosphere is the most critical issue confronting our future as human beings.”

Musically, this song shifts more into musical theater vibes, with the dramatic organ and the style of arrangement for the backup vocals, as well as the lead vocals’ obvious preacher/showman quality. It’s a very rich sound that complements the epic scope of the song’s narrative.

Taking a well-known melody and reshaping it into something with an entirely different meaning is a risky move – it can feel gimmicky or forced. Here it doesn’t, because the original melody already carried a weight and solemnity that transfers naturally to environmental stakes. Oledude’s prog rock and folk influences sit comfortably alongside each other in a song that genuinely earns its ambition.

Musically, the drum machine sound associated with 90s electronica works incredibly well for creating a moody atmosphere here. It brings the melancholy to a completely different level and with a completely different flavor than if they went for a halftime post-rock kind of thing with the rhythm section. That choice brings the urgency of the line “It’s the last chance to see you smile” to the forefront in a way that feels right. The guitar riffs complement the vocals without taking up too much space, which gives the vocals the breathing room the song needs to land.

The subject matter is as raw as it gets – grief, regret, the things you didn’t say while you still could. Rothschild’s quote about it is straightforward and honest: the song is his way of saying what he didn’t get to say while she was still here. That kind of specificity is what separates a song about loss from a song about his loss, and “Mother Please Forgive Me” is clearly the latter. With the full album still coming, this is a meaningful marker of where Caligula are headed.

Don’t miss watching Caligula on

• Saturday 23 May – The Old Bar, Melbourne
• Saturday 6 June – Waywards, Sydney

• Your musical journey with Post Death Soundtrack spans nearly two decades, evolving from collaborative industrial and psychedelic roots to a solo-driven project. How has this transition influenced the creative process and sonic identity evident in GRIST?

The transition to going solo was initially driven by my realization that I had more time for Post Death Soundtrack than anyone else, and things were lingering. Once I started self-producing, I created “IN ALL MY NIGHTMARES I AM ALONE” and it was revelatory for me. I’ve always done whatever I want artistically because I feel that’s the only way art has a purpose. But this project ended up really exploring what that meant in an intuitive way, a chaotic way. I love saying what I want and making calls as to when to add noise, sirens or uncomfortable sounds.

GRIST is a continuation of that approach. However, where IAMNIIA had a very scrapbook feel, I wanted GRIST to be more consistent, more industrial and very unnerving. In fact, I came up with the album cover months before I had even completed much of the music at all. My goal was to make the album sound how the cover looks. The beats are very heavy and often influenced by gangster rap. The music is a mixture of industrial/noise, metal, gothic rock and electronic music.

• “GRIST” serves as the second installment in your new series of 30-song double albums, following IN ALL MY NIGHTMARES I AM ALONE. What motivated this shift toward such expansive, ambitious releases, and how do you approach structuring and sequencing 30 tracks to maintain cohesion and impact?

It was unintentional the first time. I was going through heavy depression and stress, addiction and mourning the loss of an animal. I poured myself into recording and compiling for IAMNIIA, sometimes staying awake for days and recording all night. I believe I initially thought of doing something that was 7 or 8 songs and ended up going and going until it reached 30. Granted, some of the songs are merely interludes to keep things flowing and add intrigue to the themes.

GRIST, funnily enough, I intended for it to be 10-15 tracks. As I got on a creative role and realized these songs were darker and heavier than its predecessor, I continued and decided it would be 30 again. Same thing with this album – I have continued to utilize interludes not as filler but to expand on the manic meaning of the release.

For cohesion and impact, I’m a music obsessive and have pretty much studied track listing and albums my whole life, so I just kind of meditate on it and know where to put each piece for flow. I order it how I’d want to listen.

• The album draws inspiration from Ram Dass’s concept of life experiences as “grist for the mill of awakening,” encompassing themes of philosophy, mental illness, loss, addiction, and spirituality. Could you elaborate on how these elements manifest across specific tracks, such as the rallying imagery in “OMEN” or the personal reflections in “CUB”?

Ram Dass has always inspired me, and in fact I was able to visit him for 5 days in Hawaii. Grist for the mill is such a brutal, yet beautiful quote. I thought shortening this to GRIST, and showing pieces of my experience these past few years, it’s horrifying but beautiful, too. What I’ve gone through is scary. OMEN is a personal rallying cry. It’s a personal, original mantra and an invitation to fearlessness in the face of being scared or being threatened. CUB is an imaginary hunt or revenge tale dedicated to my deceased black cat Bonzai, and it is one of my ways of bringing his spirit with me. It is also intended as a rallying cry for cats and people too!

• “GRIST” incorporates covers from artists like PJ Harvey (“Catherine”), The Beatles (“Helter Skelter”), and The Doors (“The End”). What drew you to these particular songs, and how do they integrate into the album’s overarching narrative of survival, chaos, and awakening?

PJ Harvey is one of my favorite artists – period. “Catherine” has the feeling of deep mourning, and also revenge. It’s so dark lyrically that it is atypical in every way. It’s almost shocking. But you can tell, Polly Jean is hurting, and she wants her get back. That is one of the themes of this album, strange to say. It’s an ‘enough is enough’ mentality, and this is where ‘OH NO!’ and ‘BEAR IS WAKING’ come from. It’s the energy of ‘don’t push me as there’s no more ledge’.

The Beatles are my favorite band alongside Nirvana. I wanted to completely subvert ‘Helter Skelter’ into a vulnerable but menacing version as if it was the end of the world and the bombs were flying.

The Doors ‘The End’ has always been one of my favorite songs, and it’s iconic for how much it embraces chaos. Walking through a Roman wilderness of pain where all the children are insane….that’s a bit like modern life, so reality has caught up with Jim Morrison.

• In an era increasingly shaped by artificial intelligence in music production and distribution, how do you envision AI affecting the future of the music industry—particularly for independent, genre-blending artists like yourself who prioritize raw, human-driven expression?

We’re early into the AI stage, so I think more companies will take the Bandcamp route and ban it. To me it’s clear. I have nothing against AI as a tool. Sampling has been used in masterful art for a very long time now. I approached this album with both real drummer samples and electronic samples, noise samples, sound effects etc. But its my voice, my guitar, my expression and my design. The rest is largely impacts and explosions for effect.

I feel that if someone just types a prompt ‘sunny feeling, bright synth, trip hop beat and lyrics about a day at the beach’ and AI pops out a full song, that’s not creating art. That is having some fun. The artist has to be in it.

• With streaming platforms favoring shorter attention spans and algorithmic promotion, are you concerned that listeners might overlook or undervalue a 30-track album in such a rapid era, or do you see this format as a deliberate challenge to contemporary consumption habits?

Yes. I figure, in a world where 90,000 releases or so come out weekly, THIS is something unique. And nobody is doing it. And to those who think it might be too long, treat it like a book! Put it down. Pick it up. I’m a big Lord of the Rings fan and each film is 4 hours. Nobody complains. People want them to be longer. Also, releasing double albums helps me build the right audience who are fascinated by this work and want to support it.

• The press materials describe GRIST as a “pure offering” to your dedicated supporters—referred to as “baby bees,” “cubs,” “bears,” and “hyenas.” How has the relationship with your audience evolved, and in what ways does this community inform your ongoing work?

I have often lived in quite a bit of isolation and depression, so I write from this perspective. I find it liberating to do so. In doing this, I’ve started to rally energetically in the music in hopes it will spark some inspiration in others who have felt the same way. Others going through mourning can listen to CUB and feel something incredibly deep, possibly cry or stand up in some way. Some people might listen to OMEN or I SWEAR and feel vindicated, feel like their power is back and they won’t accept anything less. The growing community is something I appreciate and find very powerful. I always write from the heart, but I certainly want the community to love it each time.

• Your influences range from Swans and Skinny Puppy to Nick Cave, PJ Harvey, and Tom Waits, blending doom, industrial, gothic, and avant-garde elements. How did these diverse touchstones converge to shape the beat-heavy, noise-driven yet emotionally resonant sound of GRIST?

They all contribute, and my influences seem to go together pretty seamlessly. The benefit of having many influences is it’s a gumbo, and you filter all of them into your own unique sound. Bands who only listen to Pantera sound like Pantera. Have a wide palette, and you’ll sound pretty wild.

• You are currently finalizing HEL’S MOUTH with your collaborative project HE IS ME alongside Casey Braunger. How does this duo’s dynamic—described as featuring dynamic shifts, sludgy metal, industrial grooves, and ambient pieces—differ from your solo work on Post Death Soundtrack, and what can listeners expect from its release?

It has it’s similarities in mood, but HE IS ME is overall more metal-based and has different atmospheres and tones thanks to the music and production of Casey Braunger. He makes all the music and I do the vocals/lyrics, so there is that difference as well to color the sound.

• Looking ahead beyond HEL’S MOUTH, what are your upcoming plans for Post Death Soundtrack, whether in terms of new material, live performances, or further exploration of the double-album series? Do you anticipate any shifts in direction or format?

Well, the 30-song release thing…..it’s intended as a trilogy! Or more haha. We will see. I might just keep doing them. Maybe I’ll do 8 or more. Let’s start with 3 though. I already have the album title for the 3rd one, but will reveal that at a later date. I’m excited to heavily promote GRIST this year and start working on the next album by Summer.

Thank you for having me. Well, I’ve been writing ever since I was a little kid and won first place in two national writing competitions back in school, so I consider myself a writer first before being a musician. I’ve always been fascinated by sci-fi and dystopian fiction, as well as horror—cosmic horror in particular. But nowadays, I am mostly occupied with music production and, as a solo artist, write, record, produce, mix, and master almost all of my songs myself, so I guess I’m also an audio engineer on top of it all as well.

• How did you approach creating Beyond Devastation? Or maybe if we can make the scope of the question larger, how do you approach writing music in general? Do words come first, or the music, or the imagery or themes? How does a Parham Gharavaisi piece of work come to be, from inception to completion?

When it comes to my creative process, I tend to finish the instrumental completely before even approaching the lyrics. I start by noodling on the classical guitar for hours every day and eventually come across a collection of ideas that I’m quite fond of. Then I organize those ideas—be it a riff, a melody, a chord progression, or otherwise—into sections to be later turned into full songs. I only start recording once I have the big picture down. I begin with recording the guitars, then the bass, then the drums, and finally the synths/orchestra, and once the instrumental is fully finished, I begin thinking about the vocals and writing my lyrics. Beyond Devastation—being a concept album and part of a larger narrative—wasn’t an exception; the process is still the same for almost all of my songs.

• Beyond Devastation is a concept album set in a universe you created in your short story The Words that Ended the World. We would love for you to share a little about this universe, and about the stories that unfold during Beyond Devastation, and its sister album Infect the Clouds. What plans do you have for expanding this universe?

The universe these works are set in is based on a unique anti-teleological ontological philosophy that I came up with and formalized in a yet unpublished document. Basically, the gist of it is that there is a fixed source of meaning that cannot be changed. This source of meaning creates pairs of opposites (e.g., creation & destruction), and everything that exists is constantly pushed away from both sides of these vectors, slowly turning to and from opposites but never reaching them. So, in a sense, everything comes from this endless cycle of moving away but never towards abstract points (and thus never reaching any). The events of my short story, The Words That Ended the World, mark the beginning of a grave societal shift in this world, and the albums Infect the Clouds & Beyond Devastation explore similar themes and ideas to the short story, but each work is self-contained, meaning it’s not required to know the rest in order to understand and enjoy them. So you can just read the short story or only listen to either album without worrying too much about not understanding what’s going on.

• Having been brought up surrounded by Persian culture, has this at all affected your artistic vision? Does Iranian culture seep its way into any parts of your creative process? Does it influence you in ways we can not see or hear?

Actually no, not at all! In fact, I consider English my primary language, and it is almost exclusively the language that I think in—as I’m one of the people who do have an inner monologue—and speak! I don’t know much, if anything, about Persian culture, and I have been living quite an isolated life from it, so any influence that might be perceived in my work has to be either a coincidence or perhaps unconscious. Additionally, I’d like to make it crystal clear that I do not identify with my birthplace, its people, or its culture.

• What part of creating a conceptual narrative as the one you have created here, and owning it from its very beginning to its very end is the most rewarding to you? Is producing your own music a rewarding process? Or is it merely a matter of being the only person fully capable of bringing your vision to life?

I think for the most part, it’s about exploring the same ideas from different angles rather than different perspectives. It’s like looking at the same painting but under different lighting, or how different sunglasses make you see slightly differently. The picture is the same, but the devil is in the details. I find this process of exploration very insightful and, dare I say it, rewarding in and of itself. Having finished multiple concept albums, I think a musical album is one of the most difficult mediums for the purpose of telling a story because of how limiting lyrics can be, but I’d say overcoming that challenge was the most rewarding thing for me.

⇒ DON’T MISS HIS PREVIOUS FEATURES IN ROCK ERA HERE!

• The music in Beyond Devastation showcases a full spectrum of dynamics and emotions, from soft and hushed balladry, to extreme metal mayhem, where on this spectrum do you feel most at home as a guitar player and as a listener, and where is the region that challenges you the most to develop?

This “beauty and the beast” approach to music, so to speak, has always been a core element of my sound and a conscious choice at that. I have always been most fascinated by gothic and doom genres, and perhaps to some extent melodic metalcore, and I find this contrast between soft and heavy sections incredibly alluring. I started my musical journey with a post-rock instrumental debut album, so I’m well-versed in writing tender melodies and creating chilling atmospheres, but at the same time, I’m also very keen on delivering heavy riffs and chunky chugs to headbang to. It would be very difficult for me to pick one over the other, even if it’s just a tiny preference, so I really can’t say. I love both equally!

• Finally, what are your plans for the coming months, what can fans expect from you and where can they find you?

I’m looking forward to collaborating with more talented female singers across the world, and you can expect to hear more such songs from me. My collaborations will be released on my YouTube channel first and then eventually on all streaming platforms as a part of my Greatest Hits compilation albums. I don’t use social media (and I strongly recommend that you do not as well), but if you’re interested in my work, you can follow me on YouTube and streaming platforms. If you’re a female singer looking to collaborate, shoot me an email at: parham6@live.com

The piece balances symphonic gravity with a controlled rock undercurrent. Orchestral textures glide beneath distorted guitars, never competing, only tightening the emotional frame. The arrangement resists excess; it builds tension through restraint, allowing space to become as expressive as sound. This careful pacing gives the song a ceremonial quality, as if each section is awaiting permission to unfold.

The vocal delivery is central to this effect. Voices emerge with an almost doll-like composure: cool, precise, nearly motionless; before opening into moments of dramatic intensity. These shifts are not explosive for their own sake; they feel like cracks forming under pressure. Fragility and power coexist, not as opposites, but as two states of the same emotional current.

What truly distinguishes Himitsu is how confidently it navigates contradiction. Elements of gothic rock and symphonic metal intersect with a storytelling sensibility reminiscent of chanson, lending the track a literary weight rarely associated with contemporary pop structures. Darkness here is not decorative; it is structural, shaping both form and meaning.

Hailing from Tokyo’s underground, 唯美人形 YUBININGYOU present Himitsu as an exercise in aesthetic devotion. It is a song that values secrecy over revelation, suggesting that some emotions gain their power precisely by remaining partially concealed. The mood lingers: quiet, deliberate, and unresolved..

The opening piece, “Winter Dance,” doesn’t introduce the EP so much as consecrate it. A lone piano drifts like frost on an old windowpane, carrying with it the kind of stillness that makes you hold your breath. Then, almost imperceptibly, the voice emerges: clear, unhurried, illuminated like a candle in an ancient chapel. By the time the guitars unfurl around it, the track has already carved out its own landscape: shadowed, luminous, and heavy with whispers of something sacred.

From there, “All My Loving” deepens the EP’s atmospheric pull. The vocal line feels as if it’s moving through a half-remembered dream: soft in tone, firm in presence. There’s a hypnotic pull in the pacing, as though the band understands precisely how long a silence must last before it becomes meaning. The result is a song that settles into the listener with a quiet insistence, carrying warmth and unease in equal measure.

The title track, “Blood Flooded Song,” marks the EP’s dramatic shift. Here, An Dan steps into their heavier instincts, building a rhythmic foundation that pulses like a ceremonial march. The dual vocals create a striking dialogue: her voice incandescent and soaring, his resonant and grounded. Together they forge a narrative tension that feels both ancient and unnervingly alive, with guitars that expand into wide, cinematic arcs.

Finally, “There Is No Love” closes the journey with a sense of stark revelation. The male voice begins almost like a proclamation, setting the stage for a stripped-back, ritualistic atmosphere. When the female voice enters, the track unfolds into something enchantingly intimate, as if revealing a truth you weren’t entirely prepared to hear.

With this EP, An Dan doesn’t just craft songs, they construct a world. Blood Flooded Song is an invitation to step inside a realm where metal becomes myth, emotion becomes architecture, and every note feels carved from an old story unearthed anew..

Musically, the song is an eruption of hybrid intensity. CHAIDURA folds together metalcore ferocity, gothic melodrama, ‘90s rock grit, and traces of emo melancholy, creating a landscape that refuses to settle into one shape for long. Moments of stripped-back quiet allow his voice to surface in a near-whispered confession, before the floor drops into churning riffs and percussion that lands like a pulse racing toward breaking point.

Lyrically, “Heaven” confronts the ache of self-evaluation,  that exhausting loop of questioning who we are, who we’re becoming, and whether self-love is something earned or something fought for. His vocals move through these questions with remarkable range: tender, searching lines that bloom into guttural screams, each layer exposing a new fracture or truth. Subtle choirs and harmonies widen the emotional frame, giving the track a near-ritualistic depth.

Instead of treating uncertainty as something to overcome, “Heaven” treats it as a companion, a presence that shapes the entire journey. The song doesn’t chase answers; it studies the tension itself, almost as if the confusion were a vital teacher rather than an obstacle. In CHAIDURA’s hands, this disorientation becomes strangely empowering, a space where contradictions spark rather than suffocate. It’s less about arriving somewhere new and more about learning to breathe inside the flux, where every fractured moment holds its own quiet meaning.

“Heaven” is a plunge into the threshold, a doorway to the edge, where destruction and renewal blur into the same breath..