Worm : Necropalace
I studied for Worm’s new album by playing Castlevania: Symphony of the Night, rewatching Vampire Hunter D: Bloodlust, and ogling visionary but woefully underexecuted symphonic black metal album covers. I ate the most pungent and least processed cheeses available through my local international cheese shop. I lit my candelabra, decorated my floor with rose petals, spilt red wine onto my white poet shirt, then stared at the moon through my basement apartment window. I, for the first time in many years, yearned. I don’t often sit and yearn, but Necropalace is for yearners.
This marks new territory for the Florida outfit, as though their prior work was monolithic and gothic, it operated under a death-doom guise. Their admiration for the exuberant grew over the course of the past few years, manifesting on the bayou-swamp-horror of 2021’s Foreverglade, the shred-happy Bluenothing in 2022, and their vampyric half of a 2023 split with Dream Unending, Starpath. Reservation was not a concept Phantom Slaughter held in high regard, nor did guitarist Phil Tougas, perhaps today’s most acclaimed shredder (the accolade comes with detractors who level the same claims against him that all Yngwie J. Malmsteen influencees have dealt with). This is all to say that the move towards the grandiose that Worm makes on Necropalace isn’t surprising, especially considering Tougas himself released a cheesy power metal album last month, Sealed Into None.
Grandiosity defines Necropalace, evidenced not only by its egregious song lengths but by Worm’s transformation into a symphonic black metal band, not in the ilk of the “respected” strain like Emperor or Limbonic Art, whose synth accompaniments fill in the blanks that analog equipments leave behind and who mostly operate within black metal’s grim confines. No, Worm embraced the Cradle of Filths, the Dimmu Borgirs, and the latter-day Emperors. Groups who would put a dragon and a captive maiden and a brooding photo of themselves on an album cover, who would pose with corpsepaint and spiked bracelets and a prop handgun, who would take less from Bathory and Celtic Frost and more from opera and gothic literature. Black metal groups of this type ultimately gained more mainstream success than most “trve” bands, but they were maligned by both metal fans and the general music press. That doesn’t phase Worm, who have been slowly veering in this direction for a while, but now, with Century Media Records money, they finally have the budget to realize their vision.
One reason overzealous symphonic black metal was treated with scorn was that it reflects metal’s most damning qualities in a manner that they can be understood by someone who thinks mastering is “selling out.” It’s cheesy, self-serious but goofy (few acts were intentionally campy), bloated, and impersonal. This is negated if one adores the aesthetic, which itself is over-the-top. Worm embraces all of this and pursues it, as one shredder wasn’t enough and they enlisted Marty Friedman for a guest solo on “Witchmoon: The Infernal Masquerade.” So, enter Necropalace with this grain of salt: how impressive you find it depends on how cool you find vampires wearing sunglasses.
Unfortunately, Necropalace often feels like it’s attempting to be as large as possible. It’s almost too plodding and overstuffed. The title track sets that precedent as it fills its ten-minute runtime to the point it nearly bursts, forming stretch marks and beating down with gothic keyboards, wailing guitar solos, and cartoonish vocals. The following song, “Halls of Weeping,” begins by one-upping “Necropalace” with an overdramatic introduction. Add to this the incredibly melodic guitar riffs, and Worm comes off like a high school theater student who has to overemphasize every syllable.
It’s difficult to dislike Necropalace because of its aim and intentions, but it’s just as hard to not think there’s too much of a good thing. Every song and every second is overstimulating, and the long tracks are vehicles to introduce more ideas rather than flesh out what’s already there. Interestingly, Worm evaded this issue on their similarly themed but more reserved half of Starspawn, balancing the finger-melting guitar playing and overt shlocky vampirism with doom metal’s openness. Necropalace, sadly, tries to do too much with every aspect rather than relegating some to supporting roles. There’s no harmony here, just hedonism.
Necropalace needed more restraint because the songs, when taken individually, are more bearable. The overabundance is simply abundance. “Witchmoon: The Infernal Masquerade” has a deliciously on-the-nose piano bridge that follows Friedman’s solo, in which he plays like he’s retiring tomorrow, that reminds you that castles have grand pianos and that Dracula lived in a castle. The melodies that follow are laid on thick, power metal style, and it flies in the face of the minimalist, black and white photos of Phantom Slaughter that dotted zines only a few years ago. Elsewhere, “The Night Has Fangs” increases the tempo to black metal’s pacing, and the urgency injects some life into what’s an overly performative song. It’s enough to forgive how short-lived that is and how quickly it retreats back to Necropalace’s safe terrace—guitar virtuosity. By itself, the transition is exciting, but it’s lost when played in the context of the album.
Given how infrequently Worm takes a break from gluttony, Necropalace turns into a victim of itself. All its flailing and impressing eventually turns to mush because it induces tolerance. Worm base themselves on opulence and showboating but not intrigue. Necropalace, in its current state, cannot sustain itself, much like how every room can’t be the throne room. Symphony of the Night and Vampire Hunter D each look great in short-form edits, but their foundations are fundamentally flawed, pairing an unbeatable aesthetic with design mistakes that would’ve been fixed by bringing in someone more boring to look over them. Necropalace would’ve also benefitted if there was a nerd in the studio who occasionally asked, “What does this have to do with the plot?”
Label: Century Media
Year: 2026
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