Review: Paradise Lost – Ascension (2025)
Paradise Lost’s seventeenth album arrives as their most commanding release since Faith Divides Us, Death Unites Us. It does not attempt reinvention, but it draws together every strand of the band’s history into a single, coherent vision: the suffocating density of doom, the dramatic sweep of gothic textures, the grit of harsh vocals, and the melancholy of melody. What emerges is a definitive statement that feels alive, sharpened, and relevant.
The title Ascension hints at transcendence, but here the climb is arduous and uncertain. Nick Holmes has described these songs as meditations on confession, fear, and the desperate instinct to turn to prayer only when faced with the void. That struggle shapes the atmosphere of the record. It is not about triumph but about the attempt, the half-broken rise toward something beyond reach, the upward motion that may falter before it ever arrives.
The cover strengthens this idea. The band chose George Frederic Watts’s painting The Court of Death, where Death sits enthroned as figures surrender their worldly tokens, while a faint glow flickers behind the throne. It is a striking choice that mirrors the album’s themes of mortality and surrender. Though visually different, the solemnity recalls the starkness of Icon’s artwork, an echo of that legendary record’s existential force. Having recently revisited Icon for its thirtieth anniversary, Paradise Lost seem to be drawing again from that well of stark imagery, though this time cloaked in nineteenth-century allegory.
The music finds its clearest expression in songs like “Serpent on the Cross”, a devastating opener where crushing riffs and Guido Montanarini’s forceful drumming make the track feel immediate and unforgiving, its lyrics turning crucifixion into metaphor for betrayal and certainty of loss. “Lay a Wreath Upon the World” provides contrast, slowing into acoustic textures and mournful strings that resemble a lament. “Tyrant’s Serenade” thrives on gothic grandeur, its drama swelling with every vocal shift, while “When Midnight Falls” moves like a funeral procession, bleak and deliberate. These songs capture the variety within Ascension and show how Paradise Lost can still balance ferocity with atmosphere.
Guido Montanarini, who plays here for the first and last time, deserves extra recognition. His departure continues the band’s Spinal Tap tradition of rotating drummers, yet his contribution grounds the album. The playing is firm, never flashy, allowing the guitars and vocals to dominate while keeping the structures steady. It may not redefine the group’s sound, but it enables the record to breathe and expand without losing cohesion. His role, brief though it was, adds stability at a moment when the band was reaching again for something monumental.
Gregor Mackintosh’s guitar work once again defines the record. The tone is unmistakable, a blend of sharp clarity and crushing resonance that has carried Paradise Lost since their earliest days. His leads cut through with mournful elegance, while the riffs anchor everything with a heaviness that is oppressive, but always beautiful. The interplay between his guitar and Aaron Aedy’s rhythm lines gives the album its body, creating passages that shift from feral aggression to melodic sorrow without losing coherence. It is this guitar sound – instantly recognizable, yet never stagnant – that ensures Ascension feels tied to the legacy of Icon and Draconian Times while still pushing forward.
Nick Holmes delivers in the way only he can. His harsh vocals remain commanding, a reminder of the band’s heaviest years, while his clean singing carries that weary, sorrowful tone which has become his hallmark. There is no attempt at transformation here, only the assurance of a voice that has defined Paradise Lost for decades. On Ascension his delivery ties everything together, anchoring the shifts between aggression and reflection with the same gravitas that long-time listeners have come to expect.
Some of the videos that accompany the record have invited a lively debate online. The band’s decision to employ AI-generated imagery unsettles some fans, yet the distortions suit the material. This is not the first time Paradise Lost have reached beyond expectation – from the electronic turn of Host to the stripped-down bleakness of Believe in Nothing, they have always tested their boundaries. The use of machine-created imagery is another step in that tradition, less about novelty than about confronting unease directly. The lifeless faces and fractured landscapes echo the lyrical concerns of memory, illusion, and doubt. Rather than undermining the songs, they underline Paradise Lost’s instinct to challenge what feels certain.
For older fans, Ascension offers the reassurance that Paradise Lost can still channel the despair and grandeur of their finest eras while sounding current. For those arriving now, it serves as a gateway, a single record that distills the many facets of their long career. What Ascension makes clear is that Paradise Lost are still searching, still ascending, and still very much alive. And nothing makes us happier than that.
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