Things that brought me delight in July, 2026:
I honestly wasn't sure we'd ever get another album from Neurosis, but An Undying Love for a Burning World is a worthy addition to their lengthy catalog. The band's signature sludgy, doomy, post-metal heft remains intact, but the record also displays an incredibly varied textural palette; everything from earthy, warm tones to moments of electronic ambience have their place in the overall soundscape. Also, despite being an album that is firmly "of the current moment," there is a hopefulness to An Undying Love for a Burning World that feel so crucial, so absolutely necessary to our survival.
Silvia Moreno-Garcia's Certain Dark Things is the best Vampire: The Masquerade book not officially part of Vampire: The Masquerade's spotty fiction line. (And let's be honest: this novel is too good to be tie-in fiction, but it should appeal to fans of that particular game.)
We've got rival vampire clans (each with different powers and cultures) in Mexico City, fighting over control of the narcotics trade. The protagonist belongs to the native vampire clan and is on the run from a European colonial vampire clan that brought a horrible vampire disease to Central America. Certain Dark Things combines urban fantasy with a big dose of noir and action thriller--an extremely fun mix.
Touted as Tarja Turunen's (formerly of Nightwish) return to symphonic metal, Frisson Noir is a surprisingly heavy and extremely theatrical record. If the goal was show that she still has the chops to deliver a strong Gothic metal album, well--mission accomplished. And yet, Frisson Noir doesn't really play it safe or rely on retreading past glories; Frisson Noir feels pretty vital and unique.
Heather Parry's Carrion Crow gives a fresh, and sometimes devastating, view on the Gothic "madwoman in the attic." Consigned to an attic in her family's crumbling house by her controlling mother, the protagonist is being "prepared" for life as a wife in Victorian England. Mrs Beeton's Book of Household Management stands in as a kind of Necronomicon, full of eldritch truths, eroding the main character's sanity page by page. And there is a lot of erosion here--of the mind, the body, the sense of self...of personal history and identity. Carrion Crow is definitely a clever book; it reminded me a bit of J.-K. Huysmans's A Rebours, but where a male aesthete makes the choice to seclude himself in a world of his own design, a woman of the same era finds confinement to be an entirely different experience.
With a plot stitched together from multiple William Faulkner fictions (and a good dose of Tennessee Williams, as well), The Long, Hot Summer finds a handsome vagabond with a reputation as a barn burner ingratiating himself with Will Varner, the big boss of a Mississippi town. Ben Quick, the vagabond who is full of masculine swagger and a predator's ethical laxity, seems to represent the solution to many of Will Varner's problems: he looks to be a good replacement for his somewhat spineless son in the family business, he could be a virile match for his spinster-at-twenty-three daughter, and he looks to be his best bet for revitalizing the Varner family line with lots of grandsons. But Quick's reputation dogs him, and the familial psychodrama is tangled. I wasn't expecting the surprisingly light-hearted ending, but this was definitely a fun Southern Gothic film.
I wasn't really expecting Moonspell's newest album to be a full-on goth rock record, but here we are. And I'm not exactly mad at it, as the results feel strangely fresh and vital even if it is taking on a sound that now irrevocably feels "retro." Things do get heavier on the second half of Far From God, but even the chugs and grittier vocals don't really feel too far afield from the heavier moments of, say, The Mission or Fields of the Nephilim.
Even though my memories of Anne Rice's The Vampire Lestat novel have been dimmed by the passage of time, it was clear to me that the AMC adaptation was not strictly true to the source material. And that's fine by me. What I can't figure out, however, is if this show is a brilliantly weird re-imagining of Rice's second foray into the world of vampires or if it's a deeply stupid, meandering take on her Vampire Chronicles. That, in itself, is impressive. I watched the whole thing, and I still don't know exactly what I think about it or how I feel about it. That's probably a triumph of some sort.
To keep the Anne Rice adaptation train rolling, I watched Queen of the Damned--which I had never seen before and, frankly, had avoided for years because it doesn't exactly have a great reputation. I thought it was fun, though I'd struggle to call it "good." It's such a strange beast--for a big-budget feature, Queen of the Damned often looks impressively cheap; what's with the horrid special effects? Who found these absolutely wooden actors? Whose decision was it to make the film all beginning and end, with no middle to speak of? Also, I will never get over Jonathan Davis's voice coming out of Lestat's mouth every time he sings. Amazing.
I enjoyed Luke Dumas's The Paleontologist a few years ago, so when a friend recommended I also check out his A History of Fear I put it on my list. It's time has come. Either I didn't know it or forgot in the intervening months, A History of Fear is a riff on James Hogg's classic Gothic novel Confessions of a Justified Sinner, specifically incorporating Eve Sedgewick's argument that the main character's flaw is an ability to navigate homosocial bonds and homosexual desires. (Curiously, I haven't seen Hogg's novel mentioned in any of the copy written about the novel. Why hide that? Feels like stolen valor, in a way.) In any case, Dumas's book is very much a strong modern Gothic, with the haze of vagueness surrounding whether the murderous grad student at the heart of the tale was motivated to kill by the Devil or suffered a mental breakdown due to sexual repression.
Pre-code films are almost always a treat, and Double Door was originally a theatrical production that was dubbed "the play that made Broadway gasp." (In fact, two actors from the play version reprise their roles in the movie adaptation.) Double Door is a fun little Gothic family drama about a new bride who has to contend with her husband's insane spinster half-sister and the sinister hidden vault within their NYC mansion. I love how tight and concise Double Door is; it gets in, delivers on plot and theme, and gives you a satisfying comeuppance in the bargain.
I went into Elizabeth Harvest with admittedly low expectations, but the cinematography and cast are amazing. Seriously, it's impossible to take your eyes off Abbey Lee as the protagonist, and Ciaran Hinds and Carla Gugino always enliven a film. Elizabeth Harvest is a Gothic sci-fi riff on Bluebeard, but that added to the appeal for me. I can imagine a viewer for whom Elizabeth Harvest has at least one too many plot twists, but it delivered what I often hope an A24 movie will be (and just as often fails at): a visually striking movie with an actual story, and themes that aren't rooted in pop psyche theories of trauma.
Blackwater Holylight is a new band to me, but their mix of shoegaze and sadgirl doom really hit the spot in late July. Not Here Not Gone feels like an album the band has been building up to for quite some time, especially in terms of heaviness, but the songs on this record never really lose their essentially ethereal, mist-like quality.
The Witch's Mirror is here to teach you an important lesson: even if you hate your wife, it's a bad idea to murder her if her godmother, who is also your housekeeper, is a witch with a magic mirror that acts as a direct hotline to Hell. The first half of the movie is a "using black magic to torment the doctor and his new wife" Gothic romp, but the second half unexpectedly weaves in elements of body snatching and medical horror--a bit like a Mexican Eyes Without a Face. Maybe a little less ethereal and a good click more earthily gory.
