There’s a very specific kind of music that doesn’t feel like it was made so much as it feels like it was… barely contained. Like at any moment it could fall apart, or explode, or both at once and the only reason it doesn’t is because the people behind it are just competent enough to keep the whole thing from collapsing in on itself. All Hail The Beast, the latest release from DEVIL, lives squarely in that space.
On paper, this shouldn’t quite work the way it does. You’ve got a two-person project, recorded across three different states, largely in isolation; bedrooms, basements and for reasons I’m choosing not to question too deeply, something described as a “cat mausoleum.” Which sounds less like a recording process and more like the setup to a horror film. And yet, somehow, the result is this dense, aggressive, surprisingly cohesive album that feels less like a patchwork and more like a deliberate act of controlled chaos.
DEVIL, composed of Brian Canfield on vocals and Jeff D’Ambrosio handling instrumentation, leans hard into that chaos. This is not clean music. It’s not polished, it’s not particularly interested in being accessible, and it absolutely does not care whether you’re ready for it. The album opens with “Witch Hazel,” which doesn’t so much introduce the sound as it throws you directly into it: distorted riffs, pounding, almost mechanical drums, and vocals that sound like they’ve been dragged through gravel on purpose.
There’s no warm-up period. You either adjust immediately, or you don’t.
And if you do, the next track, “Cinnamon,” makes it very clear that this isn’t going to be a one-off burst of intensity. It doubles down. The pacing is relentless, the tone stays aggressive, and the whole thing barrels forward with this kind of stubborn refusal to let up. It’s the musical equivalent of someone deciding that subtlety is for other people.
What’s interesting, though, is that beneath all that noise, there’s structure. Not obvious structure, not the kind that neatly presents itself on first listen, but it’s there. The drum programming, in particular, plays a bigger role than you might expect. It’s rigid, almost mechanical, which ends up anchoring everything else. While the guitars and vocals feel like they’re constantly threatening to spiral out of control, the percussion keeps pulling them back into something resembling a song.
“Sky King” is probably the clearest example of that balance. It still has the grit, the distortion, the general sense that something is about to go wrong, but it’s also slightly more approachable if I had a good choice of word for it. Which feels like a strange thing to say about a track on an album like this, but comparatively, it gives you just enough space to actually process what’s happening. It’s less of an assault and more of a controlled burn.
“Season of Sacrifice” swings things right back into full intensity, leaning into that storm-like quality the album keeps circling. And at this point, you start to realize that All Hail The Beast isn’t really interested in traditional dynamics. It’s not about quiet versus loud, or tension and release in the usual sense. It’s about maintaining a certain level of pressure and then finding different ways to apply it.
Lyrically, the album matches that energy. There’s a lot of sarcasm, a lot of bite, and a general sense that nothing is being presented without at least a bit of a sneer attached to it. It’s not just rebellious in the vague, aesthetic sense; it feels pointed. Like the writing is actively trying to push back against something, even if that “something” isn’t always clearly defined.
And that ambiguity actually works in its favor. The lyrics don’t spell everything out, which means you’re left to fill in the gaps. Sometimes that makes the message feel sharper; sometimes it just adds to the overall sense of disorientation. Either way, it fits the tone.
This isn’t an album designed for casual listening or easy digestion. It’s meant to be sat with, pushed against, maybe even argued with a little and in that sense, it succeeds.
All Hail The Beast isn’t trying to be liked in the traditional way. It’s not chasing hooks or aiming for broad appeal. It’s doing something much simpler and much harder: it’s committing fully to its own identity, no matter how abrasive or unpolished that identity might be, which if I may add is what makes it compelling.
By the time you reach the end, you don’t necessarily feel like you’ve been guided through a neat, carefully structured journey. It’s messier than that. It’s more chaotic, but also more honest, like you’ve spent an hour inside something that doesn’t usually let people in.
Whether or not you enjoy that experience probably depends on how much you value that kind of honesty over, say, something easier to listen to but if nothing else, All Hail The Beast makes one thing very clear: DEVIL knows exactly what it is. And it’s not interested in being anything else.
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About the Author
A tenured media critic known working as a ghost writer, freelance critic for publications in the US and former lead writer of Atop The Treehouse. Reviews music, film and TV shows for media aggregators.
