Review by Norbert on June 24, 2026.

A priest from a small Tuscan town decided to bless a newly opened pizzeria. The ceremony was proceeding exactly as planned until one of the cooks discovered a medieval crypt beneath the building. Inside was an ancient book containing a recipe for a pizza that, according to legend, had once been baked by Lucifer himself.

Being Italy, nobody spent even a second wondering whether this might be a bad idea. As everyone knows, Italians treat common sense with roughly the same level of respect they give speed limits. The recipe went straight into the oven. The first bite triggered mass hysteria. The second opened a portal to Hell. The third caused the local mayor to start speaking Latin and claiming he was an archangel. By the time a vortex of foul-smelling smoke appeared above the town, accompanied by blasphemous incantations, it was already too late.

Instead of trying to save the situation, the townspeople became embroiled in a heated debate over whether the infernal recipe should include mozzarella di bufala. Disaster was inevitable.

If this story were ever made into a movie, the soundtrack could easily be handled by the three maniacs known as Necromorbid.

The Tuscan trio have spent years behaving as if the internet had never been invented and the only source of metal knowledge came from dubbed cassette copies of Angelcorpse and Blasphemy albums. Necromorbid have never been a band interested in musical revolutions. They're the kind of group that shows up at a party, smashes the table, sets the curtains on fire, drinks the host's wine, and leaves without providing a phone number.

Following their 2016 debut and 2020's Sathanarchrist Assaulter, the gentlemen from Florence made fans wait six years for new material—which is, in itself, a very Italian thing to do. In a country where highway construction projects can last longer than entire musical careers, such a modest delay should practically be considered a sign of punctuality.

Ceremonial Demonslaught, their third album, released on April 17th through the ever-reliable Godz Ov War Productions, takes no prisoners. After a brief introduction, we're treated to a relentless barrage of war metal-infused black/death assaults delivered with the precision of a Mafia accountant. The riffs come thick and fast, the drums hammer away like a Vespa courier fleeing from the Carabinieri, and the vocals sound as if someone locked Beelzebub in the basement of a medieval church and forced him to record audiobooks.

Necromorbid excel at balancing bestial chaos with surprising control. The songs are brutal without being mindless, and beneath the layers of sulfur, soot, and anti-Christian fury lies a surprising number of memorable hooks. The kind that reappear in your head at the most inappropriate moments—during grocery shopping, for example, or at a family dinner.

The greatest strength of this album, however, is its shameless honesty. Necromorbid have no interest in pretending to be explorers discovering new musical continents. They know their job is to deliver thirty-odd minutes of sonic warfare, and they accomplish it better than many bands with far greater experience and considerably larger budgets. You can hear the experience, you can hear the songwriting skill, yet there is none of the self-important posturing that often accompanies it.

It's a bit like Italian cuisine. The ingredients have been familiar for decades, everyone knows roughly what to expect, but if the proportions are right, you can still leave the restaurant completely satisfied. The difference is that instead of pasta, Necromorbid serve a barrage of blast beats; instead of tomato sauce, hectoliters of sulfur; and instead of espresso, a steaming cup of boiling tar.

Did Necromorbid record an album that will redefine black/death metal? Of course not. But did they record an album you'll happily throw on the speakers when you're craving uncompromising extremity backed by a devilishly good sense of melody? Absolutely.

Ceremonial Demonslaught is like an old Alfa Romeo. It may not be the most modern machine on the road. Sometimes something rattles. Sometimes something smokes. But once it gets moving, it does so with such undeniable style that it's impossible not to smile.

Even if that smile ends with a few missing teeth.

Rating: 8.5 out of 10