Insomniac’s debut hits hard and slow, like something dragging itself out of the earth and into the sky. Atlanta made a band that doesn’t really sit in stoner rock, doom, or anything you can name. It’s heavy, sure, but it also stretches, bends, drifts. You can feel it. You can get lost in it.
The riffs hit like molten lead, the drums thump somewhere in your chest, the guitars spiral off into smoke and light. You think you hear echoes of Zoroaster, Deceased, Avedissian Pickups – but then the record twists, and it’s entirely its own thing. Comparison doesn’t stick here.
There’s a strange balance. One moment you’re stuck in the dirt, dragged by riffs that weigh like bricks. The next, you’re floating, hovering over long stretches of sound that make the ceiling dissolve. The record moves like a living thing. You catch something new every time you play it, but it’s subtle. Not showy. Just there.
The name Om Moksha Ritam matters. Om is the heartbeat. Moksha is freedom. Ritam is the rhythm of the universe. You don’t just read it – you feel it in the gaps, the stretches, the quiet before everything hits again.
This record carries weight beyond the music. Mike Morris, founding guitarist, passed suddenly before release. You feel that. Not like a dirge, more like a quiet ghost guiding the songs. Every note, every swell, it matters.
This isn’t an album you background. It’s a trip, a drift, a weight, and a lift all at once. Fans of REZN, King Buffalo, Pelican, Dead Meadow – sure, you might catch hints – but this is Insomniac’s world. Their rhythm. Their sky.
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Released by Blues Funeral Recordings on September 5th, 2025
