In the fluorescent haze of 2025’s rock scene, where algorithms devour authenticity faster than a mosh pit clears space, Chevelle‘s tenth studio album, Bright as Blasphemy, arrives like a Molotov cocktail hurled into a strip-mall confessional. Released August 15 via the indie haven of Alchemy Recordings, this nine-track salvo—self-produced by brothers Pete (vocals/guitar) and Sam Loeffler—marks their first effort since 2021’s N.I.R.A.T.I.A.S. and their post-Epic liberation. Clocking in at a taut 35 minutes, it’s a blistering reminder that these Chicago suburbs survivors don’t chase trends; they incinerate them. At 30 years in, Chevelle channels the same spiritual unease that fueled Wonder What’s Next, but now laced with digital-age venom—think Tool‘s labyrinthine introspection colliding with Breaking Benjamin‘s radio-ready hooks, all marinated in existential dread.
The album opens with “Pale Horse,” a thunderous riff assault that gallops like apocalypse on amphetamines, Pete‘s baritone snarling over Sam‘s precision drumming about humanity’s self-inflicted gallop toward oblivion. It’s pure Chevelle: heavy, melodic, and unapologetically pissed. “Rabbit Hole (Cowards, Pt. 1)” follows as the lead single, a microcosm of the record’s promise—poised tension uncoiling into a crushing chorus that demands replays. Here, the brothers revisit the “haunted house” vibes of La Gárgola but infuse them with North Corridor’s post-apocalyptic edge, creating a sound that’s both familiar and freshly scarred.
Midway, Bright as Blasphemy deepens into shadowed introspection. “Hallucinations” chills with its somber electronica-tinged undercurrents, evoking the softer ache of “Envy” from Hats Off to the Bull, while lamenting a world unraveling under false mantras of hope. “AI Phobias” spotlights the duo’s lyrical bite, skewering tech-fueled paranoia with gritty metal grooves that feel like a sequel to N.I.R.A.T.I.A.S.‘s jaded futurism. Tracks like “Blood Out in the Fields” and “Karma Goddess” expand the palette, blending aggressive North Corridor polish with layered harmonies that reward headphones. The closer, “Shocked at the End of the World,” seals the deal as an emotional gut-punch—a beautiful, brutal eulogy blending personal reckoning with global dirge, thick with tension yet defiant in its resolve. Production gleams without gloss, letting raw emotion bleed through every pummeling riff and soaring vocal.
In an era of disposable singles, Chevelle delivers a cohesive beast that outlasts the noise. Bright as Blasphemy isn’t reinvention; it’s resurrection. For veterans craving that early-2000s punch refined by decades of quiet consistency, this is Chevelle at their peak—dark, direct, and defiantly alive.
