There's a weight to Indigenous metal that goes beyond volume or aggression; it carries the history of a people, a place, and a resistance that predates the genre itself by centuries. Ghidora, consisting of Sheldon King, Lexie Keshick, Jose McKittrick, and Carissa Keshick, hail from the Hannahville Indian Community in Michigan, and they tap directly into that weight on "Screams of Anguish," a five-track EP that feels less like an introduction and more like a reckoning. The band has described their own sound as an unfiltered sonic assault that blends blistering aggression with deep, tribal resonance a description that undersells nothing. Ghidora doesn't just play metal; the band embodies it, carving out a sound as fierce and singular as its name, channeling the energy of heritage into every riff and guttural roar.
The record opens with "Ghost Dance," a title steeped in history, a direct nod to the 19th-century spiritual movement that swept through Indigenous communities as a form of resistance and renewal, one that U.S. authorities violently suppressed, most infamously in the lead-up to the massacre at Wounded Knee. Opening the EP on that reference isn't incidental; it frames everything that follows as part of a much longer lineage of survival and defiance, connecting the band's heaviness to something far older than metal itself, rooted in the same Rez Metal spirit that defines their identity as a band. "Get Up" shifts into more confrontational territory, a call to action delivered with the kind of urgency that suggests the band isn't interested in wallowing so much as mobilizing. Where "Ghost Dance" looks backward to draw strength from history, "Get Up" seems firmly planted in the present, less about mourning what's been lost and more about demanding movement, resistance, and refusal to stay down.
That momentum carries into "Peeled Back," which leans into rawer, more exposed emotional terrain the sound of armor coming off rather than going on, vulnerability sitting right alongside the aggression. It's a track that seems to slow the record's pace just slightly, trading some of the forward drive of the opening two songs for something more introspective, giving the EP's heavier moments more contrast and impact. The title track, "Screams of Anguish," arrives as the EP's emotional centerpiece, and it earns that position both structurally and thematically. This isn't metal reaching for shock value or empty aggression it's music built from real historical and personal grief, channeled through a genre that's always known how to hold rage and sorrow in the same breath. That's part of what makes Rez Metal acts like Ghidora feel distinct within the broader heavy music landscape: the anguish here isn't abstract. It's rooted in specific, lived history displacement, cultural erasure, generational trauma and that specificity gives the music a gravity that's hard to manufacture.
The EP closes with "War Machine," a fitting final statement that trades inward reflection for something more outwardly confrontational as a closing track that feels like it's naming its target directly rather than circling it. As a closer, it leaves the record on a note of defiance rather than resolution, which suits an EP more interested in reckoning than comfort. Musically, the four-piece leans into the genre's heavier textures throughout, favoring dense, punishing riffs and a rhythmic weight that mirrors the emotional content rather than working against it. There's a rawness to the production that feels intentional rather than accidental as a rough-edged honesty that suits the subject matter far better than a polished, radio-ready sheen would. That tribal resonance the band speaks to in their own identity isn't a marketing gesture here; it's audible, woven into the bone-shaking low end and the guttural intensity that Sheldon King, Lexie Keshick, Jose McKittrick, and Carissa Keshick bring to every track.
What ultimately stands out about "Screams of Anguish" is the sense of place and history embedded across all five tracks. This isn't metal made in a vacuum, it's shaped by Hannahville, by the specific history of the community Ghidora comes from, and by a broader movement of Indigenous artists reclaiming heavy music as a vehicle for storytelling and resistance. From the historical echo of "Ghost Dance" through the confrontation of "War Machine," the EP moves like a single, connected statement rather than five disconnected songs. For listeners already embedded in metal's heavier corners, "Screams of Anguish" offers something increasingly rare: seventeen minutes of music that feels genuinely necessary rather than simply loud. Ghidora aren't just making noise, they're carving their own path in the metal scene, making a record that insists on being heard, on its own terms, from a perspective the genre needs more of.
Go support these guys and give their title track Screams of Anguish a spin:
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