7/10

Rosetta West have never been one to rest on their laurels. And their latest spell 'God of the Dead' sees them returning with a feverish trek through haunted delta backroads, myth-soaked forests, and celestial noise storms. It’s the kind of record that demands your surrender as it plays.

At the heart of this labyrinth is Joseph Demagore, a songwriter seemingly less interested in crafting hits than in exorcising demons. His voice is gravel-laced and worn, his guitar work swinging wildly between incantation and combustion. Whether fingerpicking in mourning or tearing through feedback-drenched walls of sound, he never flinches. His bandmates follow suit: Orpheus Jones anchors the low end with the kind of presence that feels ritualistic, while rotating percussionists Mike Weaver and Nathan Q. Scratch keep the pulse irregular and alive.

'God of the Dead' is not an easy listen, and it wasn’t meant to be. One minute you’re swallowed by the murky stomp of 'Boneyard Blues', the next you’re floating through some desolate, reverb-drenched piano elegy. 'I Don't Care' offers a ghostly respite, only for 'Tao Teh King' to throw you headfirst into a sandstorm of chaos. This is genre-blending at its most untethered.

Lyrically, Demagore conjures a world where gods bleed, spirits whisper, and salvation is always one wrong turn away. He taps into the same eerie current that fuelled early Nick Cave, Screamin’ Jay Hawkins, or even the more shamanic moments of Captain Beefheart. There’s also reverence in the madness, where every track feels like an ritualistic offering.

Rosetta West have long thrived outside of the mainstream, and 'God of the Dead' only deepens their mythology. It’s a record made for late nights, broken speakers, and smoke-filled rooms. If you’re looking for clean edges or commercial clarity, look elsewhere. But if you crave the kind of music that scratches at your soul and howls back when you listen closely, Rosetta West have dug this up just for you.