This is not something I normally listen to, but it's quite interesting. Here is a solid review of it.

It’s spooky season, and what better time for the Dutch masters of horror, Carach Angren, to make their long-awaited return with an eerie new EP, The Cult of Kariba. The mayhem will be unleashed on October 17th via Season of Mist. Written by original members, keyboardist Clemens “Ardek” Wijers and vocalist/guitarist Dennis “Seregor” Droomers, they are joined by Patrick Damiani performing guitars and bass, Gabe Seeber on drums, Nikos Mavridis contributing violin solos, and Tim Wells providing voice-overs. The Cult of Kariba is full of sinister, cinematic atmosphere and haunting tales of love, death, and revenge, underscored by black metal brutality. Is it worth the five-year wait? Only time, and my review, will tell…

But first, the backstory: Carach Angren’s 2008 debut album was called Lammendam, a word modified from the French phrase “la Dame Blanche,” which means the White Lady. The album’s narrative was based on a local ghost story about a woman who had died in a castle fire. This White Lady was often seen wandering the forests of Schinveld, a village in the Limburg province where the band formed. The Cult of Kariba is an expansion of the legend of the White Lady of Schinveld, with additional historical context. Press releases for the band explain that they were inspired by old poems, plays, occult symbolism, and lesser-known stories and folktales surrounding a woman named Kariba, who was said to be a poisoner and a witch. In The Cult of Kariba, Carach Angren spin a terrifying yarn about a secret cult planning to resurrect the vengeful spirit of Kariba — with predictably macabre results.

A Malevolent Force Stirs is a narrative intro. Over a background of strings and horns, Tim Wells sets the stage for this twisted tale of reincarnation and revenge. Listeners are immediately sucked in as Wells describes how the cult members covertly gather in the dead of night to perform the evil ritual that will return Kariba from the grave.

Draw Blood is about the cult’s initial sacrifice, and it grows more intense as the story unfolds. It begins with ambient sounds that mimic ritual chanting, becoming more acute until it gives way to thunderous blast beats and fast-paced, almost techy leads. The tempo and rhythm change at the verse usher in more theatrical, symphonic elements that underpin Seregor’s exceptional harsh vocals. There’s a more dramatic section beginning at around 2:55, with clean singing and high-register piano that gives this passage sharpness and clarity. The solo violin further develops the section, and its swells mirror the ghostly voices in the background. This track is full of what is called musical intrigue, where they constantly add new elements, or else previously heard musical devices are used in a new way. Every new component only enhanced the composition. It’s almost operatic in its melodrama, and I couldn’t love it more.

In The Resurrection of Kariba, the piano intro is like the calm before the storm. Slightly less frantic than usual blast beats lead into a slower-paced verse, but there’s no lack of fury in the delivery. The initial vocal serves as a type of Greek chorus, narrating the actions of the cult member, who is first telling the backstory of how Kariba went insane in her grief and killed half the village before being executed. Next, Seregor gives the impression he is addressing the crypt, more specifically Kariba in her crypt, prior to her resurrection. After seeing her children murdered, she gave herself over to the devil to enact revenge, and “the daughter of the devil was reborn.” The switch from harsh to clean vocals provides an incredible contrast and draws attention to the respective sections of the composition. The orchestral elements are evocative of ancient times and are alternately ethereal and haunting, especially the violin outro. The evil laughter is also nightmare-inducing. The final line, “Shadows over Lammendam,” recalls the song “A Strange Presence in the Woods” from the album Lammendam that began the tale.

Ik Kom Uit Het Graf, which means, “I come from the grave,” is the story of one of Kariba’s victims. A man she had poisoned, who may have been her husband in life, returns from the grave on her coattails to enact his own violent revenge on the witch. Sung completely in Dutch, the translation of these lyrics is not for the faint of heart. The industrial feel of this track perfectly complements the relentless brutality of the narrative and Seregor’s malevolent delivery. The harsh vocals are full of hate and malice, but the clean vocals are filled with remembered yearning, bitterness, and even mockery. At times, it sounds as if there were two voices, the possessor and the possessed. At 1:55, it almost gives the impression of a waltz, with some beautiful cleans before the kick in the face of the angry, harsh gutturals. The composition is not as blatantly orchestral as the previous tracks, and the symphonic elements tend to take a backseat to the grinding guitars and aggressive rhythm, reflecting the change in perspective.

In Venomous 1666, Kariba’s evil spirit is reborn, only to exact vengeance on the living in the current century, including the cult members who brought her back. The opening triplets indicate that this is the final act in the story. The frenzied composition feels like it keeps picking up speed as the living hurtle toward their inexorable doom. There’s a surprising guitar solo before the pace slows to the most dramatic section of the composition. Senegor unleashes the lyrics, “Everything that lives I take with me back into the Death, Death! Everything with a heartbeat will be swallowed up in the darkness of my grave…” and at 3:56 the rhythm abruptly stops, as if everyone has died, leaving only a haunting refrain and a wordless melody. A theatrical and fitting end to a gripping story.

Carach Angren is renowned for being tellers of evil tales, and for many fans, their albums are best enjoyed as a cohesive whole. Not that their tracks can’t stand on their own. Songs such as In De Naam Van De Duivel, When Crows Tick on Windows, and Franckensteina Strataemontanus have proven that they absolutely can. However, The Cult of Kariba also proves the band has mastered the art of telling a compelling story accompanied by a killer soundtrack in only around 20 minutes. This shorter timeframe may be more accessible to listeners who might be daunted by the thought of tackling 57 minutes of Death Came Through a Phantom Ship, although I highly recommend it. Speed demons like myself will also be pleased by the livelier tempos on the EP, which we really haven’t seen for a few albums. While it may not be the full-blown theatrical extravaganza that long-time fans have been thirsting for, Carach Angren still deliver the spooky goods. My eldest son and I spent a good hour happily poring over the lyrics, trying to dissect the plot. The production is also beautifully done, with all of the disparate aspects perfectly balanced. So, to answer the question from the intro, yes, The Cult of Kariba was well worth the wait.