Review by Alex Grindor on April 25, 2025.

Have you ever read about female praying mantis? In case you haven't, they are known for engaging in what men of science describe as "sexual cannibalism", where the female (obviously) decapitates and devours her mating partner during or after copulation. Studies suggest that they may engage in this particular cannibalistic behavior so that the female has access to nutrients and thus, increased egg production. While not all males are killed by their partners, very rarely those that fight back survive this mating ritual.

Why would I bother with this out-of-nowhere explanation in an album review? Simple; imagine that you are the male mantis, and the female mantis is an eldritch abomination with the speech pattern of a child. And instead of killing you herself, she will offer you post-coitus to a life-consuming flesh-made entity. That is Kōbi No Gishiki, Ukakuja's latest album and a jarring experience that, like its predecessor, demands your unfaltering attention for it to be enjoyed as best as possible. Once again, this amalgamation of artists from various projects, all under the flag of Centipede Abyss, have reunited to spawn a new sonic maelstrom of jarring discordance that leaves barely any room to breathe in its composition.

Every instrument is chaotic on its own, but together, they are an abrasive maelstrom that never stops. While the sound is raw, it still retains enough clarity for all of them to shine through, even if they choose to go in opposite directions at times. All of this coupled with atmospheric synths soaked in reverb that elevates their work, while creating this "cosmic void" sensation throughout the whole record, as it was in their debut. There are, however, some moments across this record that resemble a regular, cohesive song, only for it to go down the drain mere moments after. It is something that rarely happens but those moments will take you completely by surprise. This constant twisting and clashing of elements refuses to budge, making Ukakuja's work one that either interests you from the start, or one that you'll reject completely after a while.

Of course, no work is complete without vocals, and this is Ukakuja's forte. Once again on vocal duties is the great Lori Bravo, whose performance outdoes all she did back in Ōmukade and is on par with everything she has ever done throughout her career. On Ukakuja's debut, Lori was more of a "big guest" on the album, accompanied by a plethora of vocalists from various bands that actually sang lyrics, while Lori's shrieks and howls where interspersed in different tracks, her performance still being a strong point in Ōmukade. On Kōbi No Gishiki though, Lori takes control of the entire vocals duties and it is a dramatic, jarring vocal performance she delivers. Her vocal duties serve as the conduct for the disturbing narrative made in the lyrics; an unending mating ritual by some freak abomination that mates, feeds, kills and repeats. Her sire given to "The Corpse Tree" (a callback to the days of Nuclear Death) and her devouring of her kin to begin the cycle anew, with the album ending as abruptly as it started to represent this looping narrative. Believe me when I say Lori's performance is... uncomfortable at moments.

Yet again, Ukakuja has crafted an uncomfortable experience driven by a horrific narrative, all executed by complete maniacs at what they do and making sure that we feel as uncomfortable and disturbed as the work they are presenting. Kōbi No Gishiki is a trip into unending horrors that refuses to give in to any musical convention, while throwing false hints of possible normalcy that are shattered in mere moments. It is a short (20 minutes) but horrific experience of twisted guitars, shifting basslines, blasting drums and cosmic synths that clash and mesh with no predictable outcome, repeating this cacophony until She is satisfied. And She is never satisfied.

The male mantis can survive the female's mating ritual. No one will survive Ukakuja's Kōbi No Gishiki.

9.1 out of 10

Review by Dominik on September 17, 2025.

If I had to pin Membaris down with just two words, they would be "endurance" and "perseverance". For over twenty years the band has been hovering in that strange twilight zone where the motto seems to be "almost there", "just shy of a breakthrough", or "you can hear the talent, but…". They seem always circling the gates of greatness, never quite storming through. The band has consistently shown promise, but I've long felt that Membaris lacks that elusive "something" that would push their records over my personal threshold of 80/100, which separates a "good" record from a "must-hear" category.

"Black Plasma Armour" doesn't break the pattern, until, disturbingly, it does. This is one of those rare albums in my collection that constantly drives me to the brink of madness. Few albums I recall swing so wildly between "is this mediocre?" and "holy hell, this is brilliant". On Monday it feels run-of-the-mill, and I shrug it off. On Tuesday I wonder how I could have missed the inspired passages tucked inside the songs and am floored by sections I swear I hadn't heard before. By Wednesday I'm not even sure I listened to the same record at all. If that sounds confusing, it's because it is, and that's part of the charm, or maybe the curse. If nothing else, Membaris has found a way to make gaslighting into an art form.

Let me start with the easy part: the songs that impressed me right away. "Onwards To The Last Blink Of Reason" stands out immediately. The bass around the 1:40 mark rumbles in a way that recalls Bölzer, giving the track extra weight and reminds you that string instruments can sound like wild animals when handled correctly. The music mirrors its bleak lyrics, surging forward with manic aggression before pulling back into melodic reprieves. These are brief moments where the listener can reflect on the insignificance of human existence. Midway through, clean vocals appear, quoting Schopenhauer, before the song crashes back into urgency. It's a convincing mix of madness and philosophy, in other words: pure black metal existentialism. Probably just what your therapist warned you about.

"N.O.V.A." is another highlight, and the only song performed in German, which makes everything sound ten times more accusatory. At nine minutes, it's a beast of shifting dynamics. The opening minutes are relentless, building like there's no tomorrow, before slowing into a riff that oscillates between reflective and accusing. A short acoustic interlude interrupts the flow, only for the band to slam the gas again. The vocals follow suit, switching between despairing shrieks and guttural growls, painting a picture of someone screaming at the universe, then immediately realizing the universe doesn't care. Which is, of course, very German. Towards the end the song winds down in a doomy crawl. Think of it as the apocalypse in acts.

"Threshold Of Dystopia" lives up to what the title promises. The band sounds as though they're standing at the edge of a collapsing world, peering into the abyss of a post-apocalyptic wasteland. Especially the vocal performance is gripping. It moves between hopelessness, frustration, and despair. Both musically and lyrically, it's easy to immerse yourself in this vision of ruin, and Membaris nail the atmosphere completely. So far, so good. But "Black Plasma Armour" also challenges me in ways that are less pleasant.

The title track, which also opens the record, is a prime example. My first thought was "utterly unpredictable". Which sounds like a compliment—after all, nobody wants predictable black metal and to die of boredom. But here, unpredictability often feels like incoherence. It is less creative freedom and more like a drunk driver behind the wheel. The blasting sections work well enough, but the slower parts break the flow and feel stapled on. At the 4:24 mark, a bass solo jumps in from nowhere, without a clear purpose and vision. It is followed by acoustic plucking and spoken words. While each piece might work on its own, together they feel like mismatched puzzle parts forced into the same frame.

"Poet Of Fire" leaves me with similar frustration. It starts promising, but then a short acoustic fragment battles with aggression. In that moment it feels more like two tracks awkwardly stitched together than one unified composition. The tremolos sometimes drift into generic territory. The varied vocal tones—clean vocals, followed by a more imploring, desperate, and everything in between pitch—are strong, but they can't disguise the lack of cohesion.

And that's really the story of "Black Plasma Armour". There are moments of brilliance, and then there are moments where the band's ambition makes them stumble. Membaris keep circling greatness without quite landing on it. Still, I have to admire their stubbornness. After twenty years, they're still writing, experimenting, and refusing to play it safe. I genuinely hope their next release converts me into a fully-fledged disciple. Membaris deserve that much.

Rating: 7.9 out of 10, because my verdict changes more often than the weather forecast. And the album knows it.