HELLRIPPER
Coronach
Century Media Records
There are nights where you throw something on just to fill the silence, and then there are nights where something finds you. This was one of those. I review albums regularly sometimes it’s bands I’ve followed for years; others it’s something I should have known but didn’t. HELLRIPPER falls into that second category, and that realization hits a little harder when the record immediately proves you’ve been missing something. Because from the moment ‘Coronach’ begins, there’s no easing into it. No warm-up. It just starts moving, and you either keep up or you get left behind.
This album is ferocious yet defined and well produced. It doesn’t blur into noise, and it doesn’t hide behind chaos. Every riff, every transition, every shift in tempo feels intentional placed, not just played.
So, let’s not overcomplicate it. This album is a 5 out of 5. There are no filler tracks here. Not one wasted moment. The closest anything comes to falling short is a 4.9and even that feels more like comparison than criticism. Now that you know the score, you should still keep reading, because the “why” is where this album really earns it.
If I had to frame it in a way that cuts through everything else; picture Bob Barker standing there in a worn, blood-stained battle jacket, under dim, flickering light, in front of a black-and-red wheel that looks less like a game and more like a ritual device. No prizes. No applause. Just sections carved out of something darker: vampires, collapse, ritual, and decay, each one waiting like a sentence already decided.
He spins it.
The wheel doesn’t click, it grinds.
And wherever it lands, you don’t win, you’re claimed. You’re handed the next offering HELLRIPPER has waiting for you on this album. Not every turn hits the same way, but none of them miss.
That’s ‘Coronach’.
Every spin leaves a mark.
“Hunderprest,” and “Kinchyle (Goatkraft and Granite),” open the record with purpose. “Hunderprest,” drops you straight into it fast, sharp, blackened thrash with imagery rooted in older folklore. A priest unearthed, something no longer human, something that doesn’t stay buried. There’s a ritualistic layer to it, but the weight comes from what lingers after. That sense that whatever was brought back isn’t going anywhere. “Kinchyle” expands that space. The speed is still there, but there’s more melody working underneath it. Not enough to soften anything, just enough to give it shape. That brief acoustic break in the middle resets the track just enough to make the return hit harder later. It’s one of the first signs that this album is thinking about structure, not just speed.
“The Art of Resurrection,” and “Baobhan Sith (Waltz of the Damned),” lean further into that balance between aggression and control. The piano intro on “The Art of Resurrection” sets a darker tone before the riffs pull everything back into motion. The riffs are tight, the solos are placed where they need to be without overstaying, and the chorus gives the track something to latch onto without slowing it down. It’s one of the more complete songs on the record. “Baobhan Sith,” raises the intensity again, but what stands out is how it handles its transitions. Midway through, it drops into a groove that lands heavier because of the speed around it. Then later, with a couple minutes left, it pulls back just enough to tighten everything before bringing it back around. It’s not about changing direction, it’s about controlling how the impact lands.
“BlakkSatanikFvkkstorm,” and “Sculptor’s Cave,” sit in an interesting spot on the album. “BlakkSatanikFvkkstorm,” is the only track that doesn’t fully stick in the same way. It’s still aggressive, still tight, still fits but it doesn’t have that same defining moment. That’s where the 4.9 comes in. Not a weak track just one that doesn’t separate itself as much. “Sculptor’s Cave,” answers that immediately. The bass intro sets it apart, and from there the track moves through extremes, grooves, and thrash with a clear sense of direction. It shifts between those spaces without losing flow. This is where the production and writing really stand out, everything has space, everything feels intentional, and nothing is there without a reason.
“Mortercheyn,” carries the core energy forward; fast and aggressive, leaning fully into the blackened thrash identity. It doesn’t slow down, and it doesn’t need to. Reinforcing everything the album has built up to this point, by locking you back into the relentless pace before the final shift.
Because “Mortercheyn,” isn’t the end.
“Coronach,” the title track, closes the album and the name itself tells you what’s coming. A coronach is a funeral song, a lament for the dead. And instead of ending with speed, HELLRIPPER chooses to end with something that feels like a passage.
It begins differently than anything else here. There’s a chant-like presence, almost ritualistic, before shifting into something that feels more possessed rather than performed like a voice carrying something it doesn’t fully control. It doesn’t ignite like the rest of the album does, but it doesn’t need to. By this point, you trust where it’s going.
Halfway through, you’re given what you’ve been conditioned to expect; that surge of momentum; that blend of thrash and blackened edge that has driven the entire record. But it doesn’t stay there.
The back half opens up!
For the final stretch, you get space, real space for the musicianship to breathe. Solos stretch out, riffs build instead of collide, and everything feels like it’s resolving rather than escalating. It’s not chaotic. It’s not restrained. It’s deliberate!
It feels like a send-off.
It’s worth noting that this entire record comes from one mind. HELLRIPPER is driven by James McBain, who handles all instruments and vocals in the studio! All at a level of control, making the album feel so cohesive it’s a singular vision from start to finish. At the same time, it doesn’t stay confined to a one-man project. In a live setting, that vision expands into a full band with James McBain on guitar and vocals, joined by Joseph Quinlan on guitar, Andy Milburn on bass, and Max Southall on drums, translating that same intensity into something fully realized on stage. This incredible balance, between solo creation and full-band execution, shows up in the music itself. It’s tight, but it never feels limited.
At around 45 minutes across eight tracks, ‘Coronach’ doesn’t overextend itself. Each song feels like its own path, but they all lead in the same direction. It’s a dark journey, but not one that feels empty. There’s something almost scenic about it; cold, eerie, and deliberate. You move through it, not just listen to it.
What ‘Coronach’ does well is balance momentum with structure. It never loses its edge, but it doesn’t rely on speed alone. There’s pacing here when to push, when to pull back, and how to make each section matter. It pulls from black metal and thrash, but it also leans into atmosphere and theme in a way that gives it more identity than just another fast record.
And that’s what stays with you.
Not just the speed.
Not just the riffs.
It’s the control. The consistency. The understanding of how to make every moment count. Every spin of that wheel lands on something worth your time.
You don’t finish this album wondering what worked.
You finish it knowing it all did.
5.0 Out Of 5.0 Blood Stained Battle Jackets