From Bandcamp, “The second long play album “Krásno” (Beauty) by Slovak post-black metal band BESNA explores themes of societal stagnation, personal isolation, ecological collapse, and the search for meaning in an unjust world. Through seven intense tracks, it critiques the passive acceptance of authority, the cyclical nature of cynicism, and the desire for self-expression amidst a declining culture and ongoing war. Drawing from mythological references and historical events, the album highlights the closing off to foreign ideas and lives, urging listeners to fight apathy and despair. The album serves as a powerful reflection on human resilience and a call for cultural and societal renewal.”

The album has seven songs, and “Zmráka sa” is first. Fat and thick electronic notes open the song, and I get the feeling that I am drowning in motor oil. Yet from within the darkness, a bright melody emerges, and hardened riffs and filthy vocals walk hand in hand with the colors the melody provides. The title track has more bludgeoning energy to it. The vocal screams and alternating gutturals could wake the dead, but the melody holds a smooth thread through the song. There is an impassioned sense of power and confidence to the band, and take in that closing melody, because it is sophisticated and charming. “Hranice” hears even more expansion on an album that has a deep breadth to it. Listen to the way that they balance the utter belligerence of the album with moments of pure splendor.  “Oceán prachu” is a brief reprieve from both the combativeness of the album and the joy, with some somber and introspective tones. But towards the end, it’s like a bomb was suddenly detonated.

“Bezhviezdna obloha” has some Progressive elements mixed in with what seems like madness, yet each note is carefully crafted. That’s the sign of aptitude and wisdom. The constant back and forth from outright rage to despair highlights the search for meaning in a world that has very little, and the level of emotion they are able to put into their music is off the charts. “Paracelsus” has a full and rich sound from a balance of elaborate drum work, attacking guitar riffs, animated bass, and harrowing vocals. It’s a three-minute song that sounds so much longer due to its density. “Mesto spí” closes the album, and it’s a lengthy seven-minutes, and it’s more expansive than the nine planes of Hell. It is brimming with emotions, both good and bad, and I feel like I have been pushed to the edge of a precipice and forced to make a decision that I am not ready to make.

This is an album of is an album of extremes—where seething hatred meets tragic melody, where chaos gives way to mournful introspection, and where a deep-rooted despair is counterbalanced by a raw, unyielding resilience. But there is no passive resignation here—only fury, only defiance. The drumming pounds like war, the riffs cut like blades, and the vocals spit venom at the very foundations of oppression. There is a sense that even if the world is doomed, even if every system is built on a foundation of injustice, there is still something worth fighting for.