Fleshgod Apocalypse - Labyrinth (2LP) - Green Vinyl Vinyl

Some albums try to sound mythic. Labyrinth lives there. Fleshgod Apocalypse took a big swing in August 2013, releasing this concept record through Nuclear Blast, and nailed a balance that plenty of symphonic death metal bands still chase. The frame is the story of Theseus, the Minotaur and Ariadne’s thread, but the real thrill is how the band threads baroque drama into ferocious playing without losing grit.

Drop the needle and Kingborn hits like a curtain-raiser. Timpani and piano flare, then Francesco Paoli’s blastbeats lift the room. The group had this lineup on fire at the time, with Tommaso Riccardi’s serrated growl locked to Cristiano Trionfera’s guitar lines, Paolo Rossi’s clean vocals cutting in for colour, and Francesco Ferrini pulling the orchestral strings from the piano bench. The push and pull is the draw. You get the precision of Italian tech death, the theatrical pomp of grand opera, and a rhythm section that never gives up ground.

Minotaur (The Wrath of Poseidon) is one of those centrepiece tracks that explains why the album became a fan favourite. It surges in movements, from choral swells to double kick storms, and you can feel the sea spray in the orchestration. Elegy took off as a single for good reason. It hooks hard without dulling the edges, and Ferrini’s piano figures work like the thread through the chaos. Pathfinder leans into clarity, letting the guitars breathe while the choir rises behind them, and it’s here that the mix shows its hand. Recorded at 16th Cellar Studio in Rome with producer and engineer Stefano Morabito, the record keeps the drums and strings sharp even when the guitars get dense. Symphonic death metal can turn to mush if the centre sags. Labyrinth never does.

So much of its power sits in the pacing. Fleshgod had already proved they could be unrelenting on Agony, but here they shape the story with tempo changes and recurring motifs. You hear Ariadne in the sweeter choral lines, then the charge returns and you’re back in the tunnels. Warpledge grinds with a martial stomp. Towards the Sun lifts the mood with a strangely triumphant melody, like a glimpse of daylight that might be a trap. Close your eyes and you can map each turn.

It helps that the myth fits their temperament. The band loves excess, but it’s purposeful excess. Paoli is a machine on the kit, yet he never crowds Ferrini’s orchestrations. Riccardi’s harshes carry a very human desperation, and when Rossi steps up with a clean refrain it sounds like hope, not compromise. The guitars stay busy with neoclassical flourishes that nod to European power metal, then snap back into death metal rigor. If you’re the sort who compares notes, you could call Labyrinth the moment they refined their approach before the regal clarity of King a few years later.

Spin it on wax and the arrangement opens up. The Labyrinth vinyl pressing gives the choirs and piano extra room to bloom, and the cymbals come across less brittle than on old digital streams. If you’ve been digging through crates for Fleshgod Apocalypse vinyl, this one rewards the hunt, especially if you like the symphonic elements forward in the picture. I picked up my copy at a Melbourne record store ages ago and it still sees regular play when the house needs a dose of high drama. If you need to buy Fleshgod Apocalypse records online, make sure you’re getting the proper pressing, because the detail matters. Fleshgod Apocalypse albums on vinyl tend to sell quick in the symphonic death niche, and you want the edition that does the low end justice. For anyone building a heavy shelf in vinyl records Australia, it’s a tidy showpiece.

Critics caught on early. The chatter at the time highlighted the cleaner integration of orchestra and the band’s sharper songwriting, and that take has aged well. Labyrinth feels cohesive, not just maximal. Even the quieter interludes have purpose, setting up the next burst rather than padding the runtime. The closer circles back to the opening mood, tying the narrative with a last dramatic hit, and you’re left a bit breathless, like you’ve run the maze yourself.

If symphonic death metal ever felt too busy or too clinical to you, try this. It’s grand, but it still bleeds. It has the spit and sweat of a band in a room, with the classical finery laid over the top like armour. Ten years on, Labyrinth still stands as the record where Fleshgod Apocalypse found clarity in the chaos. And on vinyl, that clarity sings.