Review by Dominik on April 16, 2025.

I’ve always appreciated when an artist tries to break new ground, even if I don’t necessarily enjoy the end result. Furia has usually fallen into that category for me—a band I could respect from a distance, while their brand of black metal never quite resonated. But then along came “Huta Luna”, and suddenly, the rules changed. The first thing you notice about Furia's latest release is that it’s the musical equivalent of someone showing up to a black metal party in a Hawaiian shirt with a chainsaw – both thrillingly out of place and ready to make a mess. And no, it’s not the new soundtrack for “The Jungle Book, pt. III”, the title might hint at. Rather, it’s an unconventional album that even my “seasoned extreme metal ears” were left scrambling for a fitting label (cue the collective groan, “oh, here he goes again, trying to classify everything…”).

If “Huta Luna” fits anywhere, I suppose it’s still black metal. But honestly, the spirit here feels far more punk, though it doesn’t sound “punk”. More like punk in the sense of “everyone pick up an instrument and do whatever you feel like.” This is not your three-chord anthems and a singer angrily ranting about the system. Here, punk means total disregard for convention. The drummer? He seems to have signed a contract to play non-stop blast beats at a pace so manic, it might be a life-or-death situation. Sure, it’s faster than punk, but the lack of variation is the same. Meanwhile, the guitarists seem content to hang around, playing one or two riffs per track, nodding toward each other as if to say, “Yeah, that’s probably enough”—a minimalist approach reminiscent of early punk bands like The Exploited. And the bass? Good luck finding it. The bass guitar here (again) is more of a spiritual presence—like a legend you’ve heard of but are never actually sure exists.

Then there are the vocals—or the near-absence of them. This album might be the closest thing to an instrumental extreme metal album I’ve ever heard. Vocals pop up here and there, but don't expect anything resembling verses or choruses. Instead, we get sporadic bursts of cryptic words or syllables, sometimes spoken, sometimes shouted, often just the song title repeated in a monotone. It feels less like lyrics and more like neutral murmurs or barked orders—a stark contrast to the elaborate vocal styles you’d expect in black metal (hell, even a 20-second grindcore blastfest tells you a lyrical story in comparison). If you’re hoping for screams or shrieks, abandon that thought right now; most of the vocal lines here sound closer to a “civilized conversation”. Only in tracks like “Gore!” does anything approaching aggression appear, and even that feels restrained, more of a sharp exclamation than an actual rant.

“Maska masce” takes things a step further: it sounds like a surreal classroom session where someone is patiently trying to decline the noun “maska” while the rest of the band jams aimlessly in the background. Meanwhile, “Na koń!” actually presents some variety—by “Huta Luna” standards, anyway. Here, we get a gigantic amount of maybe three riffs, and the drummer momentarily shifts his approach, as though he was forced to swap out drumsticks mid-song. There’s even a Western-style slide guitar creeping in, which somehow works, adding a new layer of unexpectedness. The vocals here, strangely, remind me of the German black metal band Imha Tarikat—should anyone know them. Again, this is not black metal-ish. Here we have a blend of something close to hardcore and a barking dog.

As said, “Huta Luna” refuses to be “properly” categorized. The minimalist production doesn’t help with clarity either. It sounds as if the band is caressing their instruments, as though the gear might explode if they’re not careful. It creates a hazy, muffled wall of sound that, on repeated listens, turns from a surprised “what am I listening to?” into background noise you can imagine yourself ignoring while working on your taxes. And then there’s the finale, “Księżyc, czyli Słońce”—28 minutes of droning and near-silence that could be labeled “artistic” if you’re feeling charitable or “totally unnecessary” if you’re honest. It feels utterly disconnected from the previous 31 minutes of frantic sound. It’s a challenging piece, one that seems determined to turn listeners away. Frankly, it drags down the overall experience, like a bizarre postscript to an already confusing story.

Rating: 7.6/ out of 10—because Furia deserves credit for taking risks that defy categorization. While “Huta Luna” is a chaotic experiment that is no easy listening, it's hard not to admire the band's audacity.