If the end of the world had a nightclub, Psyclon Nine would be the house band. Not the kind that takes requests - more like the kind that drags you onto the dance floor, feeds you a cocktail of industrial filth and blackened nihilism, and then watches as you combust under the strobe lights. With "And Then Oblivion", Nero Bellum and his band of sonic arsonists take another step toward the abyss, blending industrial metal, deathcore, and enough distorted atmospherics to make a cathedral tremble.

For those uninitiated, Psyclon Nine have spent the past two decades carving their own path through the wreckage of electronic and metal music. Initially rising from the aggrotech scene, they’ve since mutated into something far more sinister - less club beats, more ritualistic chaos. With "Less to Heaven" (2022), Bellum stretched his sonic vocabulary into doom-laden experimentalism, balancing machine-like brutality with moments of eerie restraint. "And Then Oblivion" continues this trend but feels sharper, meaner, and utterly unforgiving.

The album doesn’t waste time with pleasantries. "Devil’s Work" is pure malevolence incarnate - a track that sounds like a seance conducted through broken speakers, with Bellum’s signature rasp crawling over a backdrop of serrated guitars and electronic dissonance. "I Choose Violence" follows, a statement of intent as much as a song. It’s a sonic equivalent of an iron gauntlet smashing through glass - a merciless blend of blast beats, distorted vocals, and anthemic hooks that lodge themselves into your skull.

The middle of the album is a grotesque carnival, with "CRWLNG FRM CNT T CSKT" offering a nightmarish descent into suffocating electronics and venomous vocal delivery, while "Locust of Everything" balances moments of almost melodic reprieve with crushing intensity. Bellum’s tendency to merge black metal aesthetics with industrial mechanics is on full display in "Speak Evil" and "Say Your Prayers" - both tracks feeling like unholy sermons broadcast from the underworld.

Then there’s "Apres Toi Le Déluge", a title referencing the ominous phrase “After me, the flood.” It’s perhaps the most poetic encapsulation of Psyclon Nine’s ethos - decadent, apocalyptic, and reveling in destruction. "Taxidermy" closes the album with a macabre elegance, its structure fractured and unsettling, leaving you with the uneasy sensation that the music has stopped, but the horror lingers.

Psyclon Nine have always been more than just a band; they’re an experience, an aesthetic, a declaration of war against complacency. "And Then Oblivion" is their latest battlefield, and as the title suggests, it doesn’t promise survival - only the thrill of watching it all burn.
For fans of sonic extremity, existential decay, and the kind of music that makes you feel like the walls are closing in, this is essential listening. Just don’t expect to come out unscathed.