ATLAS: Sunder
On Sunder, Finnish metal band ATLAS don’t just push their sound forward, they fracture it completely. The record is a suffocating, cinematic descent into obsession, devotion and emotional ruin, wrapped in production that feels both cavernous and claustrophobic. Where past releases flirted with atmosphere, Sunder drowns in it. The riffs are darker, the breakdowns more punishing and the melodic passages carry an almost ritualistic weight. It’s not an easy listen, nor is it meant to be. This is ATLAS at their most deliberate and destructive, crafting a body of work that feels less like a collection of songs and more like a controlled collapse.
‘Sermon of the Dying Light’ opens the album with a sense of impending doom, building on eerie ambience before detonating into razor-wire riffs and thunderous percussion. There’s a theatricality here, spoken-word passages bleed into towering screams, and the chorus feels less like a hook and more like a proclamation. It’s suffocating in the best way, establishing the album’s fixation on faith corrupted and hope distorted. If anything, it’s almost overwhelming, throwing you headfirst into the deep end without warning but that’s precisely the point. ATLAS aren’t easing you into this world; they’re dragging you under.
‘Salt and Sulfur’ tightens the screws further. The track leans heavily into industrial textures, its verses simmering with restrained venom before erupting into a breakdown that feels genuinely hostile. There’s a sharpness to the guitar tone here that cuts through the mix like a blade, while the vocals oscillate between pained melody and full-throated fury. It’s steeped in imagery of purification and punishment, reinforcing the album’s obsession with duality, cleansing versus corrosion. It’s vicious, calculated and one of the record’s most immediate punches to the gut.
‘Coven of Two’ shifts the dynamic slightly, trading some of the outright aggression for something more intimate and unsettling. The atmosphere feels thicker, almost gothic, with a slow-burn build that makes its eventual explosion hit even harder. There’s a twisted romanticism in the lyrics, a bond forged in darkness, devotion warped into something possessive and destructive. It’s one of the album’s most emotionally charged moments, showcasing ATLAS’s ability to balance brutality with vulnerability without sacrificing intensity.
By the time the title track and closer ‘Sunder’ arrives, the album feels like it’s been building toward this singular rupture. The song is expansive and crushing in equal measure, weaving cinematic soundscapes with seismic riffs and a chorus that aches with resignation. It’s less explosive than some of the earlier tracks, but far more devastating, leaning into emotional fallout rather than sheer force. As a closer, it doesn’t offer redemption, it offers acceptance. The fracture has already happened; now you’re just left standing in the wreckage.
In the end, Sunder is a bold, uncompromising statement from ATLAS. It’s heavier, darker and more cohesive than anything they’ve delivered before, even if its atmosphere can feel suffocating across a full playthrough. But that weight is intentional. This isn’t background music, it demands attention, rewards immersion and lingers long after the final note fades. In true ATLAS fashion, it’s chaotic, dramatic and unapologetically intense, a record that doesn’t just break apart expectations, it shatters them entirely.