Review: Novembers Doom – Major Arcana (2025)
Across three decades, Novembers Doom have refined decay into discipline. Recording since the early nineties, the American band’s sound has aged alongside its voice, turning experience into structure. Major Arcana extends that evolution. The aggression that once tore through The Novella Reservoir (2007) now carries a steadier pulse, more deliberate, more aware of its own form.
The album opens with “June,” a short passage that feels like a key turning in a lock. It leads into the title track, where the band sets its foundation: slow movement, clarity in tone, and rhythm that breathes between measures. The guitars of Vito Marchese and Larry Roberts trace melodies that bend toward melancholy without surrendering to it. Their lines interlace with purpose, moving through the same spiritual fatigue that once drove Hamartia (2017) but stripped of any pleading.
Paul Kuhr’s voice carries the years between albums as living matter. The clean delivery on “Major Arcana” feels closer, at times, to some angry spoken verse than singing, while “Ravenous” reintroduces his deep growl with a tempered edge. The contrast between the two voices no longer serves as light and shadow but as dialogue. On “Mercy,” the tone falls somewhere in between – sung, recited, exploding, and then some.
“The Fool” sits at the album’s midpoint and speaks to its name. Its progression moves like a reading of cards – uncertain yet inevitable. “Bleed Static,” the longest piece here, pushes this semi-clarity to its outer edge. Fittingly, the record closes in twilight. “Dusking Day” and “XXII” circle the same themes from different angles- resignation, time, and the knowledge carried in repetition. Their structure is tighter, their language inward.
Placed against their doom/death lineage, Novembers Doom remain apart. Where peers like Daylight Dies or Mourning Beloveth turn grief into atmosphere, Major Arcana deals in anatomy – the slow dissection of what binds melody, rhythm, and breath. It shows a band in full command of its language, still creating tension within stillness.
The cover reflects that idea without pretense. A Minotaur looms over a fallen man, a scene of confrontation and surrender. The gesture between them blurs violence and recognition. In this frame, instinct meets reflection, the same exchange that drives the music. Major Arcana finds its power there, in that narrow space between body and fate.
*
