There are few heavier crowns to wear in extreme metal than the one Behemoth forged for themselves with The Satanist.
Released in 2014, it was more than just a comeback after frontman Nergal’s battle with leukemia. It was an artistic resurrection. A record so fully formed in concept, delivery, and defiance that it felt like an endpoint – the kind of album that doesn’t just define a band, but dares future versions of that band to compete with it.
So unsurprisingly, for Behemoth, the years since The Satanist have felt like a balancing act: attempting to maintain the momentum of that peak while trying not to fall into self-parody. Nergal, always a provocateur, has in that time become a cultural lightning rod. For some, he remains a visionary; for others, he has become a walking embodiment of the “cringe” that haunts aging rebels. And so the arrival of The Shit ov God, bluntly titled and seemingly self-aware, prompts a genuine question: is this Behemoth reclaiming their essence or parodying their own myth?
Musically, the album stays firmly in Behemoth’s well-worn tracks: a dense, punishing blackened death metal locomotive layered with grandiose arrangements and a taste for the dramatic. Tracks like “Nomen Barbarvm” and “O, Venvs Come!” lean heavily into that dark theatricality, conjuring an atmosphere embellished with ritual and dread. The classical influences are palpable, particularly in the swelling string arrangements and choral flourishes that lend these songs a kind of militant elegance.
Yet for all its force, The Shit ov God feels like an echo chamber. The riffs are sharp, the production massive, the performances airtight – but the creative spark that once set Behemoth ablaze flickers rather than devouring all. At times, the album veers dangerously close to auto-pilot, its structures and sonic textures feeling recycled from past glories. It’s not uninspired, but it is predictable. The band paints with the same palette they’ve mastered, but few strokes feel new.
There are moments, though, when the old fire catches the proverbial church. The closing track, “Avgvr (The Dread Vvltvre),” is a highlight – a blistering assault of ritualistic riffing and blast beats contrasted with haunting acoustic guitar, delivering a finale that manages to feel both violent and ceremonial. It’s Behemoth at their best: grandiose, savage, and strangely beautiful.
Ultimately, The Shit ov God is a strong if familiar entry in Behemoth’s catalog. It reinforces the band’s identity without reshaping it. For long-time fans, that may be enough – a reminder of why they fell in love with the band in the first place. For others hoping for a new chapter, the album offers more ritual than revelation.
But it has to be said – even in repetition, few bands conjure darkness with such grandeur.