Change is a part of life, as technical death metal group Rivers of Nihil have come to learn in recent years: the departure of longtime members Jon Topore and Jake Dieffenbach after 2021’s ‘The Work,’ as well as the conclusion of their long-running ‘four seasons’ concept, has left the band at a creative and commercial crossroads. The four-piece’s fifth studio album is self-titled, and the significance of that fact isn’t lost on Rivers of Nihil— as the band themselves has said ‘putting your name on an album is like a “here we are.” For people who have been following the band, I think this is a new chapter for us.” If this is the sound we can expect from the Pennsylvanians in future, the band have us in the palm of their hand: despite some hiccups, the group’s newest record is their most focused effort to date, standing toe-to-toe with the likes of 2018’s ‘Where Owls Know My Name.’

With the band’s conceptual storyline having been shelved following ‘The Work,’ Rivers of Nihil have taken the opportunity to shed themselves of the extended ambient sections that often defined that release— their self-titled album is dense, direct and unapologetically heavy. The record often flourishes in its most intense moments, allowing ripping guitars and Adam Biggs’ monstrous growls to simply pummel the listener into submission: Biggs has stepped into his new role as lead vocalist extremely naturally, balancing guttural screams and triumphant cleans across the ten tracks. Single ‘American Death’ showcases how far the band have been able to push the sheer heft of their sound, burying the listener under wave after wave of increasingly dissonant, twisted guitar riffs and blast beats— the Slipknot-esque snarls and ominous drones throughout the track make it a song of mammoth proportions, even if its interpolation of Mushroom Head’s ‘Eternal’ is distracting at best.

There’s an immediacy to the band’s self-titled effort that has us gripped: ‘The Sub-Orbital Blues’ makes the group’s commitment to thunderous riffs apparent from the off, marching its way through a host of anthemic melodies and grim, grinding metal grooves. ‘Dustman’ accomplishes a similar feat, lurking within a vicious soundscape of ugly bass tones and nightmarish note choices on the part of guitarists Uttley and Thomas. Though the sound of Rivers of Nihil has always had an overpowering presence— see the haunting refrains of ‘Death Is Real’ or ‘Dreaming Black Clockwork’ for some prime examples— the self-titled record seems to relish in absolute mayhem much more openly, letting many cuts run wild with dissonance and abrasion. ‘Criminals’ may be one of the most arresting songs in the group’s catalogue, in fact, pairing its nihilistic and apathetic lyrical themes with the musical excess to match.

Fans of the band will also be pleased to hear that, for the most part, these crushing metal influences sit comfortably alongside a multitude of memorable and striking melodic passages— 2025 sees Rivers of Nihil delivering a crop of tunes adequately described as ‘catchy,’ which could never have been said of their previous output. Lead single ‘House of Light’ is about as anthemic as they come, plowing straight through thunderous verses and a stunning Brody Uttley guitar solo into the band’s largest and most infectious chorus to date: the cut really is a show-stopper, and is sure to delight any fans in the live setting. ‘Water & Time’ is similarly wondrous, embellishing a shimmering ballad with yet another bright and touching melodic hook— the group often layer wistful saxophones and subtle keyboards underneath their arrangements, turning this self-titled record into a shining spectacle of instrumentation and performative prowess.

There are, of course, drawbacks to the more straightforward approach the group have taken here— when the songwriting on display doesn’t go the distance, Rivers of Nihil can lose their way at times. Though the record’s production is extremely fitting for the vast majority of ideas here, ‘Evidence’ sees it crumbling as the mix balances forgettable guitar chugging and indistinct vocal chants: in classic progressive metal fashion, the band’s tendency to overstuff each cut with harmonies and superfluous inclusions often does more harm than good. 

The central problem tends to be Jared Klein’s drumming, which does its absolute best to smother cuts like ‘Criminals’ or ‘House of Light’— while he is a wickedly talented musician, his performance doesn’t always serve each song. Elsewhere, it’s the songwriting that falls short: though Rivers of Nihil get the balance of metal heaviness and melodic intricacy right the majority of the time, the weaker moments stand out like a sore thumb as a result. ’Despair Church’ is a monstrous cut, no doubt, though wanders across its six-minute runtime with a little less direction than we might’ve preferred— worse still is ‘The Logical End,’ which struggles to build from even a single memorable idea.

Another departure from tradition, Rivers of Nihil’s 2025 output lacks a central concept to carry it through— rather, the ten tracks the band have delivered here provide a series of disconnected explorations of nihilism, spirituality and mortality. Many of the semantic choices across the record dwell in a pseudo-mystical light, mirroring the biblically-accurate angel on the album’s cover: though the lyrics here are less revealing than those on ‘The Work,’ there’s a lot to glean from them nonetheless.

“It's the animus of cowardice

In the holy place of hopelessness

If you contemplate the infinite dream

Are you even sure that you exist”

The self-titled albums also sees Rivers of Nihil at their most socially-aware: between the discussions of existential philosophy and lost religion, the band have peppered critiques of the world around them on cuts like ‘American Death’ and ‘Criminals.’ It may not be the group’s most thought provoking material to date, but Biggs and company have nonetheless delivered another host of interesting ideas.

“My currency is bloodshed

Wild West alive and well

Down the falling axes

Send the enemy straight to hell”

The fifth Rivers of Nihil album is a little spottier than we’d have preferred, cramming a few too many ideas into a compact fifty-minute runtime. Such a complaint is as superfluous as those ideas though: when we get down to brass tacks, the record houses all the impressive musicianship and barbaric writing we could ask for. This is Rivers of Nihil at their most direct, sharpening their progressive tendencies into a focused, visceral assembly. Warts and all, it’s an album that’s sounding wonderful to the ear now, and promises a bright future for the band in the years to come.