From Bandcamp, “A maelstrom of music and metaphysics, a crushing conduit for connection, contemplation and catharsis; ritualistic sludge-metal juggernauts POTHAMUS return to this plane of existence with new album “Abur.” The search for meaning stands central as a pillar of belief in the enigmatic world of the band. While blending eastern philosophy and western esotericism into a unique ontology, the band stay true to the fundamentals of music: sounds, instruments and bodies coming together just as they too drift away. To experience POTHAMUS is to open yourself to an immersive, out-of-body experience that transcends the ordinary and delves deep into the profound.”

“Zhikarta” is first, and it begins with a lot of tense atmosphere and a soft, continual drum beat. The main riff is very low, and very dark, and you get the sense that you are in for a sister ride. Deep, fuzzy bass notes join, and the tension remains as thick as ever. This is hypnotic music any way you slice it, especially from its bass and drum core. “Ravus” has more presence in the opening, as well as harsh vocal shouts. The hypnotic pattern still remains however, and it causes a sense of caution, of hairs standing up on your back. You don’t dare to turn around. The bass guitar thuds away amidst a foggy mist of vocal moans, and it sounds like ritualistic sacrifice.  “De-varium” is more even-keeled, but the background holds a steady sound that reminds you that you are still trapped somewhere in the dark. Your senses tell you that there is danger, so you don’t dare to try to escape.

“Svartuum Avur” hears the ritualism continue, and the vocals sound like they come from the torturer. Each time he opens his mouth, he spits venom. The vocals grow angrier, and the torture more painful. The twist of a knife here, the removal of a finger nail there, each pain raises your response and lowers your threshold. “Ykavus” is a bit of a smoother ride, but there is still a lot of tension. It comes mostly from that steady keyboard presence. It’s like the proverbial calm before the storm. The title track closes the album; a 15-minute culminating track. It picks up into darkness, as if the blackness of night is descending, and the torture returns with a vengeance.  There is a brief reprieve at the half-way mark, but it just makes the ending that much more horrific.

Some albums merely sound dark; “Abur” embodies darkness. It is a sonic ceremony of suffering, an invocation of pure malevolence channeled through sound. It feels less like listening to music and more like being dragged into an ancient rite, one where the air is thick with smoke, the ground is soaked in blood, and unseen horrors lurk just beyond the firelight. This is evil personified in music—a relentless plunge into madness, ritualistic torture, and sacrifice, with no hope of escape. By the time the last notes fade into the void, it leaves the listener only the echoes of torment, the feeling of having witnessed something they were never meant to hear.