The first thing Apocalypso does is refuse to warm up. It just drops you in. “Poseidon” opens the record already moving, already heavy, like the band couldn’t be bothered with scene-setting. The riff lumbers forward with that stubborn, almost workmanlike confidence — not flashy, not clever, just thick and necessary. It sets the tone immediately: this is a record that’s going to sit in one place and make you deal with it.
Supernaughty sounds more comfortable here than they ever have. Not tighter, not slicker — just settled. The grooves feel worn in, like they’ve been played the same way night after night until all the unnecessary edges fell off. The guitar tone is blunt and grainy, fuzz pushed to the point where it starts to smear rather than bite. It’s the kind of sound that forgives repetition because repetition is the point. Rooted in stoner rock but dragging in sludge weight, desert-rock hypnosis, and a faint grunge scar tissue, Apocalypso never settles long enough to feel genre-obedient.
There’s a mild claustrophobia to the album. Tracks don’t announce themselves so much as they arrive, hang around, and then slide sideways into the next one. It’s easy to lose track of where you are, and that feels intentional. Apocalypso isn’t built for track-skipping; it’s built for letting the whole thing play while the room slowly fills with smoke.
By the time “Black Witch Mountain” hits, the band are fully locked into that headspace — the groove deep enough that it almost turns physical. The riff doesn’t rush, doesn’t escalate, doesn’t beg for attention. It just keeps going, dragging the song along behind it like a heavy chain. This is where the album’s patience really pays off: nothing dramatic happens, and somehow that makes it heavier.
The vocals never try to dominate. They sit low in the mix, rough around the edges, more another texture than a focal point. There’s grit there, but no theatrics, no forced menace. It sounds like someone singing because the song needs it, not because they want to be heard over the band.
What’s striking about Apocalypso is how little it seems to care about being memorable in the usual sense. There are riffs here that could easily be isolated and praised, but Supernaughty don’t frame them that way. Catchy moments drift past unannounced. The band seem more interested in maintaining pressure than delivering peaks.
This isn’t an album that tries to sell you anything. It doesn’t chase novelty, and it doesn’t overplay its concept. It feels closer to a place than a statement — a slow, heavy crawl through the same terrain, over and over, until it starts to feel familiar in a slightly uncomfortable way.
Apocalypso works best late, loud, and uninterrupted. Not because it demands attention, but because it quietly assumes it. And if you give it that, it sticks — not as individual songs, but as a weight you carry with you for a while after the record stops spinning.
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Released by Ripple Music on August 22nd, 2025
