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HELLRIPPER
Coronach

Century Media (2026)
Rating: 8.5/10

Scotland’s Hellripper has come such a long way from the humble beginnings of their debut EP, Manifestation Of Evil, which main man James McBain sent me on cassette back in 2015. After a two album stint with UK label Peaceville Records, Coronach – the fourth full-length Hellripper opus – is the first to be issued by Century Media, another positive step for McBain.

Named after a Scottish Gaelic funeral song, Coronach comes steeped in misty folklore and the scathing black riffs you’d expect. However, McBain has never been one to rest on his laurels, constantly heaping together a myriad of icy metallic styles that one moment can veer towards Venom and Motörhead, the next something more technical and less rust-coated.

McBain brings hooks to die for though, somehow managing to marry face-ripping speed metal with some gloriously melodic solos that wouldn’t seem out of place on a 70s rock album; prime example being the lengthy closing title track. But the hasty black n’ roll core is always present as ghosts of Motörhead loiter in the darkest corners of songs such a ‘Sculptor’s Cave’ and ‘Kinchyle (Goatkraft And Granite)’.

After you’ve given this album a few spins I suggest you go back and peel back the layers beyond the soot-coated riffs and scowls. McBain brings so much more to the table, and while Hellripper has most definitely reached new heights there’s still an underrated cult level to this wickedly enhanced composition. Even with the subtlety named ‘Blakk Satanik Fvkkstorm’ there’s sublime six-string work courtesy of Joseph Quinlan. Further variety is explored with ‘Baobhan Sith (Waltz Of The Damned)’ as the violin of Jess Townsend whines wistfully, and the same could also be said for Antonio Rodriguez’s bagpipe wheeze on the title cut. And that’s the thing with Hellripper, there’s delicacy and devilry delivered in equal measure.

Like some leaden storm casting shadows over the Scottish Highlands, Coronach also breaks the menacing gloom with rays of light, even if the foreboding fogs and sea frets remain like leering, looming apparitions. Due to McBain’s ever understanding of local folklore and tradition, his work continues to embrace and then suffocate its audience. Like a series of unseen wrought iron spikes obscured by aged foliage, the nefarious riffs can suddenly jolt you when you become immersed by the more unorthodox segments, such as the melancholic vocals of the enigmatic Marianne who haunts your being amidst the plethora of striking McBain earworms.

‘Hunderprest’ somehow manages to fuse the rabid technicality of Vektor with the clever conniving spite of Watain, thrashing with the most despicable tirades while boasting a spine of sweet, hooking melody. I’ll say the same for the snappy chops and licks of ‘Motorcheyn’, emphatically whipping with tumultuous fluidity but snaking with a contrasting upbeat melody at its root. The percussion throughout the album is worth the entrance fee alone, torrents of barbaric fury which run in tandem with the blasphemous bass lines.

Hellripper is one of the only bands that prompt me to visit the regions it speaks of as I envision vast mountain peaks and dew-damp ferns, equally caressed by mist yet harbouring mischievous and malevolent spirits waiting to lure you from your path. Not simply black speed metal, Hellripper hones in on atmospheric and olde yarns, but instead of spinning such tales to comfort they are regaled as warnings spiked by seething riffs and led by McBain’s horrid, bewitching snaps.

Of all the tracks though, the nine minute title track is the epitome of grandiosity with the arsenal of McBain. The opening, sprawling strains boast the arrogant expanses of Mayhem with the Norwegian band’s former vocalist Maniac at the helm. Grey, cold slithering with narrated commands before traditional metal pounds and Manowar-styled thuds accompany every pounding of the chest. There’s a leaden majesty to such bombastic and bestial bellowing as mid-paced gleam stride through abysmal rain showers to the clanks of the percussion. It’s not until the halfway stage that any sort of snap introduces itself, but even then a stylish, crisp solo swirls from beneath the hazy gauze. This is epic blackened metal, a masterpiece of a song to round off another exceptional creation from the mind of James McBain.

Neil Arnold

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