Review by Dominik on August 15, 2026.

After more than 45 years of listening to metal (yes, apparently people can actually get that old), I had reached the logical conclusion that my collective experience had become almost immaculate. I was under the comforting illusion that I could identify an album's subgenre simply by looking at the band name, album title and cover. Turns out my confidence has all the structural integrity of a corpse held together with duct tape. Well, once again reality decided to slap me in the face. Hubris comes before the downfall.

What I had confidently placed into the black/thrash category (come on, it is called "Demonic Assault", what else was I supposed to think for Satan's sake?) turned out to be a pure thrash metal album. Not an outright spectacular one, but a release that, in large parts, draws its inspiration from decades long gone. More specifically, these young gentlemen have planted their feet firmly in the early Teutonic thrash scene of the 1980s. There is not much, if anything, coming from the famous "Big Four" of thrash. However, I do detect a faint smell of some second-tier US bands from the same era. More about that later. And as I already mentioned in my recent review of fellow Swedes Eradikated: review "objectivity" only goes so far. At some point personal taste and perception enters the room, sits down comfortably and refuses to leave.

Savage Mania have recorded an album that is fun for as long as it lasts but escapes your memory almost immediately after the needle leaves the record. The band's enthusiasm is clearly audible and absolutely commendable. The result feels spontaneous, energetic and is free from unnecessary overthinking. Sometimes simplicity is a strength, and sometimes it reveals its limitations. "Demonic Assault" is immediate and direct, but after three or four spins you may notice that your attention starts wandering. At one point, I caught myself mentally writing notes for a completely different review while still listening to this one. The album didn't complain, though. It simply kept thrashing away.

There are a few things that work strongly in favor of this release. First: it is short. Not even reaching "Reign in Blood" territory in terms of running time, no song is drawn out too long. And naturally, when the music moves at this speed and is never overly complex, a certain punk attitude is never far away. Secondly, the production manages to add just enough modern punch without destroying the old-school atmosphere. It avoids sounding like one of those early attempts where "raw" accidentally translated into "recorded inside a dish washer".

The album struggles slightly in the beginning. The rather uneventful intro leads into "Undead Rebirth", which initially sounds as if the band had decided to attach another instrumental intro before finally remembering that thrashing riffs were supposed to happen. Once that hurdle is overcome, however, twenty-four more minutes of gleeful speed and aggression follow. "Undead Rebirth" clearly pays tribute to early Kreator and is built around sharp, jagged staccato riffs. The vocalist delivers the typical thrash sneer with enough aggression that, at times, you might want to politely ask him to breathe. The following "The Face Of Death" is even stronger and carries some faint Recipients of Death vibes. The guitars and bass are woven together in a way that pushes the song constantly forward.

That punk records are probably shelved somewhere in the band's rehearsal room becomes obvious at the latest when "Remorse" kicks in. The song displays many trademarks of the genre: simple, stripped-down riffs, a straightforward structure and a second supporting vocalist barking some of the lyrics as if he wanted to challenge Exploited's Wattie for the job of "most irritated man behind a microphone". Oddly enough, it reminded me less of British punk than of the early output of Germany's Backwater, not because it sounds identical, but because it triggers a similar instinctive association. "Storm Of Steel" follows with some faint echoes of debut-era Whiplash riffing and continues the simple sonic destruction that Savage Mania have chosen as their trademark. No unnecessary detours and no progressive ambitions.

When it comes to variety, there is not a lot happening. The band clearly chooses accessible speed over complexity and repetition over diversity. For 26 minutes, this formula works well enough. Had the album stretched towards the forty-minute mark, the cracks would probably have widened considerably. Nevertheless, as a debut album, "Demonic Assault" is a solid effort. More importantly, it gives the impression that Savage Mania have a foundation they can build upon. I hope that on future releases the guys will refine their approach without sacrificing the raw energy and enthusiasm that define this record. We should keep in mind that thrash history is full of bands whose second album represented a giant leap forward. Just think of "Hell Awaits", "Pleasure to Kill" or "Darkness Descends". So, where there is hope, there is another dawn, and perhaps an even deadlier assault waiting just over the horizon.

Rating: 7.4 out of 10, because the release proves that nostalgia is a powerful weapon. However, it forgets that sometimes even old blades need sharpening.

Review by Felix on April 28, 2026.

"We just stick to our guns and have never felt the urge to stray too far from our path. We're a traditional death metal band, and that's never going to change." (Tobias Gustafsson in a German metal mag, April 2026).

Now tell me what I can add to this statement.

Let's try it, although Vomitory do exactly absolutely nothing new on "In Death Throes". They rip, they shred, they tear everything apart. In their very mild moments, they pay tribute to Slayer or Bolt Thrower decently. There is a new guitar player who has written four songs? You need to know it, otherwise you would never suspect it. On the other hand, the Swedes avoid once again what they have always avoided. Their tenth album is free from downers. These dudes are unable to deliver shit and they are simply the best death metal band worldwide, at least in my humble opinion. Perhaps this is because they do not put the sub-genre specialities to the extreme. Lead vocalist Erik does not only growl like a sick pit bull and the guitars are low-tuned, but not in an absurd, all kind of variation killing way.

With the first tones of the (naturally) merciless opener until the last note of the closer, pure violence teaches us the glory of absolute musical vehemence. "In Death Throes" is a declaration of war and makes some albums we call brutal sound like an old, worn-out vacuum cleaner. This is an honourable approach, no doubt about it, but it also features Vomitory as a band that feels extremely comfortable on its home territory. Forget no risk, no fun – here we have no risk, but fun. The conviction, the integrity and the authenticity of the quartet makes the difference. Moreover, the dudes seem to define the maximum of musical brutality anew with every new full-length. This must be a death metal fata morgana, because already albums like "Revelation Nausea" or at the latest "All Heads Are Gonna Roll" left no room for a higher degree of savagery. But maybe this is the magic part of Vomitory's success formula: they are always able to compose songs which make us believe they are more violent than those before, no matter whether this is right or not. Whatever future death metal scientists will find out, this is at least a cool trick.

Apart from the omnipresent brutality, the material offers a lot of very well designed tracks. "Rapture In Rupture" breaks in with a razor-sharp riff, "Forever Scorned" is a raging beast of the most rabid kind and "Cataclysmic Fleshfront" (what a name) leaves listeners who look as they have been through a baler. No nice thought, but impressive. A few morbid tones, for example at the beginning of the title track, are part of the album as well, but generally speaking, Vomitory plunder and pillage without having a close eye on atmosphere. The title track itself delivers many sections of total devastation and the inhuman precision of the musicians has an almost eerie touch. Unnatural forces appear to have been at work during production as well. As almost always, Vomitory fire their material on the basis of a highly aggressive, direct, clean yet destructive sound out of the boxes. This technical perfection completes the picture of a band that follows its clear vision, even if this vision is more of a still image. Thus, the only little downer is the artwork, but this is only I will never understand the visual aesthetics of death metal. So what. I enjoy ten excellent bonebreakers of the very competently performed kind. But now I am really running out of ideas, no clue, what I can write more about this album. Maybe Tobias wants the final words? "We just want to play death metal, that's all". Right.

Rating: 8.9 out of 10

Review by Norbert on April 17, 2026.

I've mentioned more than once (and will probably mention it again) that I'm a bit of a weirdo. Out of all that Swedish death metal, I don’t particularly value the biggest classics, I don’t bow before them, and I have an ambivalent attitude toward the “monumental” albums of the so-called Big Four — Entombed, Dismember, Grave, and Unleashed. I get the most enjoyment from lesser-known, less popular bands (like Necrophobic), or those playing not pure death metal but something different, stranger (Crypt Of Kerberos), or from acts operating on the border between death metal and other genres (Pan.Thy.Monium, Edge Of Sanity). I’ll graciously pass over what are probably the most popular names on the Swedish scene right now — Amon Amarth and Arch Enemy. No, I don’t listen to them.

Vomitory always struck me as part of the so-called solid second tier. Just cool, slightly no-frills umpa-umpa at above-average tempos, with equally solid production. I listened, but didn’t really return to them. Until a few years ago, when I saw them live and… something clicked. Suddenly, it turned out that their whole crude, direct style works much better when it hits you in the chest, not just in headphones.

"In Death Throes" — their tenth studio album, released last Friday — sounds like a continuation of that experience. No peacock feathers, no ambitions to redefine the genre. This has always been a band that found its piece of rock somewhere in the north and kept hammering at it with the same tool for years, until you finally started appreciating the rhythm of those blows. There’s a stubborn consistency to it, like in Nordic sagas, where nobody asks “why,” they just do their thing because that’s what needs to be done.

The material moves forward the way it usually does with them — without looking back at fashions or trends. The riffs are solid, often driven by a thrashy edge. The drums sometimes race like a sleigh speeding across ice, other times they dig in heavily, as if someone were trying to bury you in frozen ground. In the slower, more rolling sections, the “tank” motorics straight out of Bolt Thrower come to the forefront — that characteristic, inexorable march that doesn’t so much accelerate as simply crush everything in its path. Rundqvist’s vocals don’t mess around — this isn’t theater, it’s a roar meant to punch straight through you and leave no room for interpretation.

Despite how very “Swedish” all of this is, stylistically it sometimes feels closer to the American school of death metal — less of the characteristic buzzsawing, more direct, almost thrashy cutting. As if somewhere between Karlstad and some forgotten Baltic port, a portal opened leading straight to 1990s Florida.

The production also does a tremendous job — clear, heavy, yet not overloaded, with perfectly balanced space for each instrument. This isn’t a dirty basement or a sterile laboratory, but something like high-quality Swedish steel: a Volvo or a solid Mora knife. It may not scream “luxury,” but it works flawlessly, is durable, and refined in every detail. Because of that, even the most chaotic moments don’t blur into noise, but retain their power and clarity.

This is still the “second league of death metal,” if anyone really needs labels. Except it’s the kind that knows exactly why it’s stepping onto the pitch and doesn’t try to pretend it’s Guardiola-era Barcelona. Instead, you get solid, honest playing that doesn’t exhaust you with fake artistry.

Sometimes it’s enough that everything is in its right place — like a Swedish winter that doesn’t ask your opinion, just kicks the door in, knocks you flat on your back, and then follows up with an icy blast to the teeth. "In Death Throes" works exactly the same way: no discoveries, no surprises — just a solid, merciless, spectacular ass-kicking that you take straight to the chest without a word. And that’s probably the point.

Rating: 8.5 out of 10