Harakiri for the Sky is one of those bands that is consistently very good but constantly eludes greatness. The Austrian duo’s grasp on melody is second to none, pairing yearning atmospheres with blackened aggression and meditative tempos, resolute in its muscular weight and melodic motifs without devolving into either jadedness nor frailty. While devoted to the style’s trademark slow-burning growth, they constantly avoid the pitfalls of the “post-black” descriptor, refusing to fall into the weak and twinkly shenanigans of their counterparts. However, composition remains mid-tempo and largely too safely confined to the overlapping of predictable melodies and their organic resolutions. This is not a bad thing and Scorched Earth makes that clear. Harakiri for the Sky has made its trademark unmistakable, and had five full-lengths of practice in doing so. Instrumentals provided by Matthias Sollak are richly layered with heart-wrenching melodies and bound by thick plodding riffs with the edge of blackened rawness, while J.J.’s formidable barks communicate both riveting charisma and rending pain alike in a bit of a post-hardcore spin. Career highlights like 2016’s III: Trauma and 2021’s Mære firmly establish this balance and run with it, while 2018’s Arson fell into forgettable territory by virtue of simply being in an excellent discography. Frankly, that’s a fantastic problem to have, and I had no doubts that Scorched Earth was going to be anything short of enjoyable. Featuring guests like Tim Yatras of Austere and Serena Cherry of Svalbard and Noctule contributing to this instrumental and vocal tapestry,1 Scorched Earth feels like the natural next step for Harakiri for the Sky in renewed vigor and intensity. Harakiri for the Sky’s grasp on melody remains largely the same, retaining the “twinkly” description but imbued with a heartbreak reminiscent of more depressive styles. Scorched Earth descends deeper into this dirge, with solemn passages and slower tempos letting the breadth of harmony and desperation echo further across its empty outstretched hands. The approach remains very simple, with Sollak’s chord progressions doing the talking in all their natural crescendos and organic dissolutions. Tracks can take on a nearly folky feel reminiscent of melodeath greats like Insomnium or Amorphis (“Heal Me,” “With Autumn I’ll Surrender”), while the clever layering of riffs, leads, and melodic motifs offer a place of utmost emotional intensity between placid passages of yearning (“Keep Me Longing,” “No Graves But the Sea”), while notable tension in unorthodox chord progressions adds a texture beyond just “pretty black metal” (“Without You I’m Just a Sad Song,” “I Was Just Another Promise You Couldn’t Keep”). While Austere’s Tim Yatras performance is difficult to discern in “Heal Me,” Svalbard/Noctule’s Serena Cherry lends her sirenic croons in closer “Too Late for Goodbyes,” ending Scorched Earth on a solemn and desolate note. Harakiri for the Sky’s melody, although front and center, is bolstered by tracks featuring a more unpredictable instrumental presence than before. A voiceless venom keeps the sound grounded, as more morose and beautiful movements are contrasted with heavier riffs and moments of darkness that bare a track’s teeth. While the rhythmic chugs kick through the beauty with recklessness (“Without You I’m Just a Sad Song,” “With Autumn I’ll Surrender”) and more upbeat punk rhythms and blastbeats inject a blasting vigor (“No Graves But the Sea,” “Keep Me Longing,” “Too Late for Goodbyes”), dissonance serves as a necessary and ugly thread to keeping the hyper-melodic palette from getting too much (“Heal Me,” “I Was Just Another Promise You Couldn’t Keep). While the vast majority of Scorched Earth is dominated by beauty, it’s nice to have more dimension and more humanity from Harakiri for the Sky in its darker passages. At its core, Scorched Earth is quintessential Harakiri for the Sky. Setting out with more reckless elements such as heavier riffs, blackened blastbeats, or a touch of dissonance, it feels a tad more dangerous and experimental than in previous iterations.2 However, the epitome of “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it” formula, Harakiri for the Sky plays it close to the vest with the true star of the show: layers and layers of melody. While shorter than Mære, Scorched Earth is nonetheless daunting in its hour length, and its hyper-melodicism can oft grow tiring while J.J.’s post-hardcore-influenced barks has always felt slightly out of place against the crystalline melody, Harakiri for the Sky remains amazingly melodic and always pleasant to listen to. Scorched Earth, once again, is frustratingly safe – truly the act’s signature.