Burned Hands by Arctique Circles: A Doom-Fueled Aussie Gem That Sticks Like a Splinter
Alright, let’s talk about Burned Hands, the 2010 doom metal beast from Australia’s own Arctique Circles. Released under Ivory Antler (cool name, right?), this album isn’t your typical rock record—it’s heavy, brooding, and dripping with atmosphere. And yeah, it’s got that raw edge you’d expect from a band hailing from Down Under.
First up, “Real Love.” Holy smokes, this track hits hard. It starts off slow, almost like the band is daring you to stick around for what’s coming next. Then BAM—it drops into this sludgy riff that feels like getting caught in quicksand. The vocals are gritty, kinda haunting, and they sit perfectly over the crushing weight of the guitars. What makes “Real Love” unforgettable? Maybe it’s how relatable the whole vibe is—like when life just drags you down but somehow still sounds beautiful. Or maybe it’s because I lost count of how many times I’ve air-guitared my way through the chorus while ignoring my neighbors' dirty looks.
Then there’s the title track, “Burned Hands.” This one grabbed me by the collar and didn’t let go. There’s something hypnotic about the way the drums build tension, like waiting for a storm to hit. When the main riff kicks in, it’s equal parts punishing and mesmerizing. You can practically feel the burn in your palms as the song progresses. It’s dark, it’s intense, and honestly, it’s the kind of tune that makes you wanna light a candle and stare into space for hours. Not saying I did that… but I might’ve.
Now, here’s the thing about Burned Hands: it doesn’t try too hard to impress you. Instead, it lets its riffs do the talking, and man, do they have a lot to say. This ain’t no polished, radio-friendly rock album—it’s an honest-to-goodness journey through the murkier corners of the human experience. Doom metal fans will eat this up, but even if you’re not deep into the genre, there’s enough soul here to make you stop and listen.
Oh, and before I forget—this album reminds me of burnt toast. Hear me out. Burnt toast isn’t perfect, sure, but it’s got character. It tells a story. Same goes for Burned Hands. It’s flawed, unapologetic, and leaves a lasting impression.
So grab yourself a copy (if you can find one) and crank it loud. Just don’t blame me if your cat hides under the couch afterward.
