Let me tell you something that’s been gnawing at me since I first pressed play on Ad Pulchram Mortem: there’s something hauntingly beautiful about a band that’s been around long enough to outlive its own relevance, yet still manages to feel like it’s discovering new ways to terrify and seduce listeners. Soulgrind isn’t just a band—they’re a living relic of the underground metal scene’s most chaotic, self-destructive impulses. And yet, here they are, 34 years after their debut, releasing an album that feels both like a desperate cry for attention and a masterclass in calculated nostalgia. It’s a paradox that says more about the state of modern metal than you might expect.
What makes this particularly fascinating is how Soulgrind’s journey mirrors the broader arc of metal itself. They started as a raw, solo project in 1992, a time when death/doom was still a niche curiosity. The early stuff—those demo-level recordings with Lord Heikkinen’s raspy growls and Caesar McLaulone’s occasional contributions—had a primal energy that felt like it was scraped directly from the marrow of the genre. But then came Tanya Lilith, and everything changed. Her voice wasn’t just a counterpoint to the brutality; it was a revelation. She turned Soulgrind into something that felt like a Gothic cathedral built on the bones of black metal. And yet, even with her presence, the band’s identity has always been a tug-of-war between chaos and melody, a conflict that’s crystallized in Ad Pulchram Mortem.
Let’s talk about the album’s structure for a moment. At 65 minutes, it’s a sprawling, almost defiantly ambitious work. But here’s the thing: ambition without restraint becomes a liability. The 11-minute finale, Into the Shadows of Devotion, is stunning in its execution—Lilith’s vocals soar like a phoenix rising from the ashes of the previous 54 minutes. But what’s the point of building such a crescendo if the preceding tracks feel like they’re just filler? I’ve seen bands stretch songs into oblivion in the name of ‘epicness,’ but this feels less like a grand statement and more like a band trying to prove they can still hold the attention of a generation that’s moved on to TikTok soundtracks and algorithmic playlists. It’s a reminder that even the most dedicated artists have to reckon with the changing tides of audience expectations.
And then there’s the question of consistency. Soulgrind has always been a band that thrives on contrasts—the growls of Azhemin versus Lilith’s cleans, the thrash riffs juxtaposed with death/doom grooves. But on Ad Pulchram Mortem, these contrasts sometimes feel like they’re fighting for dominance rather than complementing each other. Take In the Circus of Tuonela—a track that’s supposed to be the album’s dark, surreal centerpiece. Instead, it’s a jarring detour, a moment where the band’s ambition outpaces their ability to craft a cohesive narrative. It’s a missed opportunity that makes me wonder: did they rush this release to capitalize on nostalgia, or did they genuinely believe this was their magnum opus?
What I find most compelling about Soulgrind’s story is how they’ve managed to survive in a genre that’s constantly reinventing itself. They’ve weathered the collapse of labels, the deaths of key members, and the rise of subgenres that either borrow from their sound or actively reject it. Yet here they are, still making music that feels like it’s carved from the same volcanic rock as their earliest demos. But survival isn’t the same as success. In an era where metal bands are expected to be both prolific and experimental, Soulgrind’s return feels like a middle finger to the idea of relevance. They’re not trying to trend—they’re trying to endure, even if that means alienating fans who crave tighter, more focused albums.
If you take a step back and think about it, Ad Pulchram Mortem is less about what Soulgrind has achieved and more about what they’ve chosen to ignore. The album’s flaws—its length, its inconsistency, its occasional missteps—are all symptoms of a band that’s prioritized emotional authenticity over technical perfection. In a world where metal is often reduced to a series of trends and subcultures, that’s a risk worth taking. But it also raises a deeper question: can a band truly evolve if it’s too afraid to let go of its own ghosts? Soulgrind’s answer seems to be yes—but only if you’re willing to sit through the noise, the chaos, and the occasional misstep to hear the beauty buried beneath it all.
