Skip to main content

The Ghost in the Grid: Perth - Revenant (Album Review) Released: 7/15/20

 



Minneapolis doesn't get enough credit as a heavy music city. It sits in the shadow of coasts that are louder about themselves, a Twin Cities scene that tends to get defined by its folk roots and indie credibility rather than its capacity for punishment. But Perth, the band, not the Australian city, is making the kind of argument that changes that conversation. Their debut EP, Revenant, is five tracks and fifteen minutes of djent-inflected metalcore that announces a band who showed up knowing exactly what they wanted to say and precisely how hard they wanted to say it. The EP opens with "Reform/Redesign," and the title alone signals intent. This is a band thinking about transformation, about the gap between what something was and what it's becoming. In djent, that kind of conceptual framing often stays theoretical. The genre can become so enamored with its own technical architecture that the emotional core gets buried underneath the math. Perth avoids that trap from the jump. "Reform/Redesign" hits with the structural precision the genre demands while keeping a thread of genuine urgency running through it. You feel it moving somewhere. That matters more than it sounds.

"Insanity" follows, and the sequencing is smart. Where the opener establishes shape, the second track leans into controlled chaos, the kind that only reads as unhinged because the band is confident enough to let things breathe in the uncomfortable places. Djent and metalcore are both genres built around tension and release, around the moment the floor drops out beneath you, and Perth understands this rhythmically in a way that goes beyond just knowing their influences. These aren't borrowed moves. They've internalized the language and started writing their own sentences in it. Then comes the "Interlude," and this is where Revenant reveals something about itself. A lot of heavy EPs treat interludes as placeholder moments, a breath before the next assault, atmospheric filler that exists mainly to give the listener a second to recover. Perth uses the space differently. The interlude on Revenant functions more like a hinge, a pivot point that recontextualizes what came before and reshapes your expectations for what follows. It's a brief moment, but brief moments handled with intention are what separate records that feel designed from records that feel assembled.

"Halcyon" is the EP's centerpiece and the track that earned Perth their most visible press attention, racking up over 20,000 plays on the music video and landing coverage from outlets like Metal Noise and Girl At The Rock Shows. It's not hard to understand why. "Halcyon" is the kind of song that great singles in heavy music are supposed to do; it takes everything the band does well and distills it into its most accessible, most immediate form without softening the edges. The groove is undeniable. The dynamics are generous. It's the song you play to someone when you want to explain what this band is about without having to explain anything at all. "The Ascent" closes the record, and the title earns its place. After fifteen minutes of tension and reconfiguration, the EP ends on something that feels genuinely earned rather than merely concluded. It doesn't wrap up neatly. This isn't music interested in neat resolutions, but it lands with a sense of direction, a forward momentum that makes the EP feel like the beginning of something rather than a complete statement. That's exactly the right note to end a debut record on.

What runs through all five tracks is a quality that's harder to manufacture than technical skill: coherence. Revenant sounds like a band that agrees with itself. The metalcore influences and the djent architecture aren't pulling in opposite directions; they're in genuine conversation, each making the other stronger. The polyrhythmic guitar work gives the heavier breakdowns more structural weight. The melodic sensibility inherited from metalcore keeps the more complex passages from disappearing into abstraction. The balance is real, and maintaining it across a debut record is no small thing; they've performed at some of the Twin Cities' most respected heavy music venues. For a debut release, the footprint is real. But what's more interesting than the coverage is what the coverage is responding to: a band that plays with enough conviction to make people in crowded rooms forget they've never heard the songs before.

 That's a superpower, and Revenant captures it. The EP is fifteen minutes and twenty-three seconds long. In a genre that frequently mistakes length for ambition, that runtime is a statement in itself. Perth said what they had to say, made every second count, and got out. There's confidence in that restraint, the confidence of a band that trusts its own material enough not to bury it in runtime.  Revenant is a debut record that sounds like a band arriving, not auditioning. Minneapolis has a heavy music identity worth paying attention to, and Perth just made one of the better arguments for why.

Don't take my word for it. Press play and listen for yourself:


Go give them a follow on Instagram: Perth

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Kentucky's Heavy Secret: Stormtoker - These Edibles Ain't Shit (EP Review) Released: 12/5/25

  Lexington, Kentucky, isn't exactly the first city that comes to mind when you think of the sludge and stoner metal underground, but Stormtoker seems intent on changing that. Their EP These Edibles Ain't Shit arrives like a slow, crushing wave of amplifier worship and chemically-assisted existential dread, and it makes a compelling case that the Bluegrass State has something mean and heavy brewing beneath its surface. Stormtoker is a fierce, impassioned force of nature, a band that feels like devout disciples of Ozzy Osbourne who came of age at the turn of the millennium but refused to let the roots of heavy metal die.  With sonic DNA tracing back to Cream, Hendrix, King Crimson, and even Arthur Brown, they summon an alluring sound that entrances as much as it pummels. This is a band equally at home in the sludge pit and the alt-rock headspace, a melodic restlessness running beneath the downtuned grime that keeps things unpredictable and owing as much to the 90s alternative u...

The Long Way to Simple: SMFC -The First Four Songs (EP Review) Released: 2/20/26 (Part 1) & 3/27/26 (Part 2)

  There's something refreshingly unpretentious about calling your debut EP The First Four Songs . No cryptic title, no elaborate concept, no attempt to manufacture mystique out of thin air. Just Steev Custer, a guitarist with more than thirty years of Chicago scene credibility behind him, putting his work in front of you and letting it speak for itself. In an era when even the smallest releases arrive wrapped in press releases thick with buzzwords and carefully curated influences, that kind of directness feels almost radical. Custer is not a new name to anyone who's paid attention to the Chicago punk and rock underground, and his fingerprints are all over the city's musical history with names such as Death and Memphis, The Bomb, and My Big Beautiful. It's a lengthy résumé that spans post-punk, power pop, and everything in between, but these are bands built on the premise that a great song is worth more than a great concept, and that ethos carries directly into SMFC, his...

A Bonfire Built for Burning Down Egos: Saving Vice - Straw Dogs (Track Review) Released: 10/4/25

Saving Vice is the embodiment of metalcore excellence and a powerhouse rising out of New England, specifically Burlington, Vermont, and they've never been afraid to get confrontational, but “Straw Dogs” is the band at their most venomous, theatrical, and unapologetically hostile. Consisting of Tyler Small, Robbie Litchfield, Alex Chan, and Sam Willey, the band channels pure contempt into a track that feels like a ritual execution set to music. If Saving Vice’s catalog is a gallery of emotional extremes, “Straw Dogs” is the piece where the frame catches fire. This song in particular revolves around a single yet brutal idea: some people are built of nothing but dry straw, and all it takes is a spark to expose how hollow they really are. The narrator tears into a target who poses as powerful but collapses under scrutiny, and this is someone loud, insecure, and inflated by their own myth. The imagery is vicious: boiling blood, collapsing thrones, paper crowns, inbred worms, a few co...