�� Fen's latest album Dustwalker came out early in 2013 as a special limited-edition clambox version that contained the CD, booklet and an etched metal pendant with the Fen logo; we've got a few copies of that collector's edition of the album, as well as the new standard jewel-case version that just came out through Code666.

�� Taking their name from the mysterious marshlands of eastern England, the British band Fen returns with their fourth album Dustwalker, and it's one of the finest albums of black metal influenced gloom that I've heard from these guys. Early on, Fen were known for their folk-flecked, slightly proggy black metal that would often spiral into some unexpectedly mathy riffage and complex time signatures, a unique sound that they first revealed on the excellent Ancient Sorrow debut. With each new album, though, the band has moved away from the heavy black metal attack into an even more atmospheric sound that sounds like some haunting, super-catchy metallic gloom-rock just as often as they erupt into blazing tremolo riffs and blast-beat driven intensity. Here, Fen have pretty much perfected their combination of gorgeous chiming guitars and heavy, post-punk influenced bass-lines with the roaring atmospheric black metal riffs, with much of the lush synthesizer backing and crazy math-rock elements of previous albums stripped away even further for a more straightforward, driving sound. The songs on Dustwalker feature breathtaking extended intros or interludes where those gleaming guitars take over, like the almost shoegazey introduction to "Hands Of Dust", the first several minutes of the song transformed into a beautiful bleary wash of almost 4AD-style ether, a steady motorik beat emerging beneath the pensive, delicate melodies and chant-like singing. On stuff like that, it's easy to draw comparisons to the more rocking moments from Agalloch, and there's definitely a similar aesthetic that Fen shares with that band, but then they'll suddenly lurch into one of their unexpectedly mathy blasts of tangled heaviness, a rush of complex angular riffs and pummeling percussive frenzy that'll suddenly surge up out of that dreamy doleful rock, before it all erupts into an even more aggressive burst of blasting black metal. Then there's the song "Spectre", which stands out from the rest of the album with some even more surprising sonic textures, the song making brilliant use of slide guitar, slipping these weepy, bluesy melodies alongside some multi-part vocal harmonies into the song, turning this into a strange combination of dark jangly rock and haunting 60's folk-rock. It's quite unexpected, but as the song unfolds, it feels right at home among the rest of the album, sharing in the sudden swells of pounding double bass and swarming distorted guitars that tend to mark Fen's music even when it's at its most placid and contemplative.

�� There are some short instrumental interludes of spacey Floydian shimmer and kosmische drift that appear on Dustwalker with tracks like "Reflections", which they'll follow with some of their heaviest songs: "Wolf Sun" and "The Black Sound" both feature biting metallic riffage and galloping tempos, the driving, slightly blackened metal shot through with those crooning vocals and driving, 'gazey hooks, the former almost sounding like a metallized Swervedriver, the latter shifting into more of that killer mathy blackened heaviness and lush folk-flecked beauty, laced with strange flute-like electronic tones. And the album closes with the thirteen minute "Walking The Crowpath", another stunning track of folk-tinged dreamy heaviness and slit-throat evil vocals, the band ascending with one of the album's most sky-reaching hooks. It's a powerful closing to this utterly gorgeous, melancholy-drenched album, again sounding so much like a uniquely English answer to Agalloch, with a similarly minded mix of nature worshipping black metal and driving post-punk/gloom-rock melodicism.

Killer stuff, recommended to fans of everything from Wolves In The Throne Room and Katatonia to Agalloch and newer Enslaved.