Album Review - Believe in Nothing's 'Rot'
Released 31.10.2025 as part of Church Road Records
WHO ARE BELIEVE IN NOTHING?
I was there for the very first BIN gig, an improvised mash-up of grotesque, uneasy noise. Even though there was little to go on, I knew I had witnessed the start of something beautifully foul. A noise band mixed with sludge and dark topics, they’ve stormed through the scene with their harrowing vocals, ear-piercing drums, and powerful guitars. It might be early doors, but they’ve already left a stain on the scene, one that will never be rubbed away.
And then we fast forward a year, and they’ve been signed to a label, touring the country while also putting the ever-growing Eastbourne Music Collective (EMC) on the map, by choosing some up-and-coming groups to join them on select shows. With bands like Loose Endz, a mix of Nu Metal and Hardcore. And Mortuary, who take strong inspiration from Black Groove. They are a staple of the community they built from the ground up, and incredibly talented musicians. The members include Jasper Lyons on drums, who also plays guitar in the band Safe Harbour, and the vocalist in Burn Brighter. Lawrence Rodriguez on guitar, formerly of Karnius. Steve Collier on guitar, formerly of Tempest. And currently in Blessed Burden. And Caine Hemmingway on vocals, formerly of Torrid Horror and Street Grease.
Here’s a snippet of their song, “What Would You Do?” which Caine very generously sent me.
ALBUM REVIEW
As someone who knows this band personally, I have been watching them grow as a nauseating, uncomfortable presence across the nation. So this album, being as monstrous as it is, was no surprise. Earlier in the year, they dropped the ‘Boiling Stone’ EP on the 27th of June, which includes 4 singles that appear on this album. Those being ‘Complete Desolation’, ‘What Would You Do?’, ‘Fist Full Of Worms’ & ‘Boiling Stone’. They then released ‘Gut’ and ‘The Children Are Cattle’ to announce this LP. It’s like nothing I’ve ever heard before. The use of vocal pedals, spine-chilling ambience, and violin bows on the cymbals. It’s like sampling for a horror movie turned album. As a horror/metal fanatic, I am in awe of this album. From the eerie feel to the gut-churning screams, Believe In Nothing’s ‘Rot’ is a Noisey, Dishevelled masterpiece.
Complete Desolation
This song is a haunting, slow-burning exploration of emptiness and existential collapse, both musically and thematically. True to the name of the band, the track exudes nihilism through its textural minimalism, emotive restraint, and gradual descent into sonic chaos. This song sits at the intersection of post-metal, doom, and ambient industrial, creating a dense emotional atmosphere that feels both beautifully bleak and cathartically devastating. This sets the tone for this project with an immediate sense of weight. The instrumentation is brooding and atmospheric. Ambient textures, slow-building drums, and a sense of space around Hemmingway’s vocals, as though the vocalist is isolated in a vast, empty hall. Right away, you feel the emotional tone. Bleak, contemplative, even haunted. That kind of mood is hard to sustain well, but this track largely succeeds. Certain lines I want to touch on are ones like: “Walls that breathe but never speak”, an image of isolation and inner silence. “I am the echo of what I used to be”, a chilling self-erasure, suggesting depersonalization. And “Nothing fills the nothingness”, encapsulating the futility of searching for meaning. 7/10.
What Would You Do? (Featuring Jake Packham of Black Groove)
I’m gonna write a little less professionally on this one, as it’s my favourite. This was the first single released for the album, and it’s still my favourite. It just hits the spot for me, especially in the live version of the track when I can watch how it emotionally impacts Hemmingway. He seems lost, scared, and angry, which is precisely how I feel when listening to this track. The gross visualisation of being left for dead in public, while people film and take pictures instead of helping, has to be most people’s worst nightmares, I’d imagine. A highlight of this track is the groovy drums in the chorus; the cymbals match the riff and are so infectious to me. Whenever I can use a kit for myself, this part always comes to mind. It’s so fun to play. Another compliment I can give is the sheer amount of ambience used in not just this track, but the album as a whole. It really delivers on that eerie feel I was yearning for on this project.
This song feels like a meditation on disillusionment; the title itself poses a challenge to the listener, suggesting a moment of moral reckoning or existential fatigue. The song embodies the tension between cynicism and longing for meaning, a push-and-pull that defines much of its emotional weight. Sonically, the track feels moody, late-night, and cinematic. The kind of song that might play over the closing credits of a grim slasher movie.
The genius of “What Would You Do?” lies in how it invites self-examination rather than offering answers. It’s not moralistic, it’s existentially honest. The listener walks away feeling slightly unsettled, but also understood. Confronting the void and finding art in the act of questioning itself.
I always laugh when he says ‘The last thing I see? Someone uploading this to the fucking Google Drive, kill me now.’ It adds even more to that feeling of dread and loneliness when listening to the song, and just envisioning yourself in this predicament. Another standout moment is ‘And I never wanted this, and you all said it would be okay,’ which leads into a breakdown to finish this beautifully harrowing track. Which is guided by four words along the way. Those being: Liar, Coward, Judged & Remember. I interpret these words as Caine possibly haunting his murderer after his death. The word ‘Remember’ is the reason my mind comes to this, as it seems as if the words are aimed at one person, not a collective. Overall, this track is undeniably my favourite and is one of my favourite releases of the year. A stirring, minimalist exploration of doubt and authenticity. 10/10.
Fist Full Of Worms
This track drops like a gut-punch from the abyss, clocking in as a raw slab of noise that feels forged in the same storm as early Sepultura or Crowbar. Released under Church Road Records on May 21, 2025, this track leans hard into the genre’s core pillars: unrelenting aggression, sludge-thick riffs, and a thematic brew of existential decay and visceral horror. If you’re chasing metal that sounds like it’s clawing its way out of a grave, this is your fix. But let’s dissect it layer by layer, because while it swings heavy, it doesn’t always connect with full force.
Right out the gate, the production hits like a sledgehammer to the skull. Think mid-tempo chugging guitars that evoke the downtuned fury of Black Sabbath’s doomier cuts, layered with a gritty, analogue warmth that this band specialises in. Rodriguez’s and Collier’s collaborative fingerprints are all over the riff work, composing the melodic hooks (those creeping, worm-like guitar lines that burrow into your brain). At the same time, Lyons amps up the rhythmic brutality with syncopated blasts that nod to thrash influences. Drums crash like an impending storm, double-kick patterns that propel the verses without overcomplicating things. And the bassline slithers underneath, adding that sludgy low-end growl essential for headbanging in a dimly lit basement. 8/10.
Gut
A Sound That Feels Like an Open Wound. Gut immediately demands attention; not through loudness or aggression, but through its visceral honesty. From the opening seconds, there’s a rawness that seeps through every sonic layer. The production feels intentionally unpolished, almost abrasive in spots, as though the track wants the listener to feel every imperfection. The soundscape evokes the sensation of being submerged in something thick and heavy — the title becomes more than a name; it’s an atmosphere. Musically, it sits somewhere between post-industrial melancholy and alternative minimalism. The beat is steady but not comfortable, pulsing like a heartbeat under pressure. The bass tones grind and swell with metallic resonance, and the midrange is cluttered just enough to create emotional claustrophobia. It’s a brave choice. The band invites us into a space that feels unsafe, and that’s precisely where its power lies.
The vocal performance from Hemmingway is hauntingly restrained. The singer sounds as if they’re trying not to scream, holding back a torrent of emotion that’s always on the verge of eruption. This suppression becomes the emotional core of the song, a performance steeped in fatigue, resignation, and quiet defiance. There’s a beautiful tension between control and collapse. At times, the voice almost dissolves into the instrumental fog, merging with the reverb and distortion. The lack of clarity in the vocals serves a purpose: it mirrors the uncertainty and numbness embedded in the song’s existential tone. It’s not about what’s being said, but about what’s being felt through silence.
Listening to Gut isn’t easy, and it’s not meant to be. It’s the kind of song that confronts rather than entertains. There’s a heaviness that builds as it progresses, not in volume, but in emotional density. This is music for those who crave authenticity over accessibility. The track refuses to resolve neatly; it doesn’t offer catharsis in the traditional sense. Instead, it lingers—a knot in the stomach, a quiet ache that persists after the sound fades. The song’s greatest strength lies in how it translates emotional paralysis into sonic language. It’s a slow exhale of despair that somehow becomes comforting through its honesty. In an era saturated with overproduction and lyrical superficiality, Believe in Nothing dares to make something difficult, uncomfortable, and real. This track feels like a quiet revolution, a statement that even in the void, emotion still breathes. 9/10
Meth
This face-melting track immediately establishes a bleak, abrasive soundscape, mirroring the nihilistic undertones implied in the band’s name. The production feels deliberately raw, almost uncomfortably intimate, which suits the song’s thematic weight. Rather than polishing the edges, the mix leaves in a sense of grit and distortion. The kind of production choice that prioritises emotional authenticity over technical precision. The guitar tone dominates the track with its thick, fuzzy overdrive. Somewhere between doom metal sludge and industrial noise. The bassline doesn’t just support; it growls beneath the mix, pulsating like an engine struggling to start, while the drums crash with irregular intensity. The percussive patterns alternate between controlled chaos and minimal restraint, adding to the feeling that the song teeters constantly on the edge of implosion.
The vocals by Hemmingway are delivered with a strained, almost tortured inflexion. Rather than aiming for melodic clarity, the performance thrives on emotional abrasion, a sense of confession meeting collapse. You can feel the exhaustion and intensity in every line; it’s not sung so much as exhaled through grit and despair. Lyrically, we appear to wrestle with self-destruction, addiction, and the psychological fragmentation that follows dependence, both chemical and emotional. There’s a pervasive sense of emptiness, but also a subtle awareness of that emptiness. The lyrics don’t glorify decay; they document it. This approach gives the song a brutal honesty. An unfiltered reflection of pain rather than a romanticised version of it.
The tempo feels deliberately unstable, slow in the verses, almost dragging, then surging into explosive bursts. These dynamic contrasts amplify the sensation of losing control, grounding the track’s thematic alignment between form and meaning. Within Believe in Nothing’s aesthetic universe, Meth stands as a statement piece. Not because it tries to shock, but because it refuses to sanitise despair. Their sound is not about redemption but about honesty in ruin. The band’s approach can be likened to the post-industrial ethos of acts like Godflesh or Swans, where the abrasion itself is expressive. It’s a genre space that values emotional veracity over accessibility. Meth is a confrontational experience, one that rewards introspection and endurance rather than immediate pleasure. 7/10
Boiling Stone
The track feels like a slow-burning fusion of post-rock and industrial alt-metal, steeped in emotional tension and existential introspection. This becomes a central metaphor for inner struggle, frustration, and the human urge to transform even when change seems futile. Since hearing this for the first time, they labelled it as a description of what a victim went through during the Hiroshima bombing of WW2. I, as well as the entire music scene down here, have been hooked. And the mixed and mastered version absolutely delivered. The drums are mechanical and deliberate, the guitars are thick and almost claustrophobic, grounding the track in a gritty realism. Building tension rather than releasing it. And the constant growls by Hemmingway are the cherry on top. And forgive me, but I cannot for the life of me figure out what that final sample says, but it adds onto the outro of the song so much. Like there’s an impending doom around the corner, and there’s nothing we can do to stop it. That feeling of helplessness, no matter how much I scream for help. Nothing will help me. This song is an absolute treat, and it’s a personal favourite whenever I hear it live. 8/10
Deserts Are Glass (Featuring Mrs Frighthouse)
A personal favourite. This banger envelops you in a world of shimmering desolation and fragile beauty. The title itself is evocative, a paradox of barren landscapes and reflective fragility. And the music translates that poetic tension into sound. From the first few seconds, the song establishes an expansive, cinematic atmosphere. Reverb-soaked guitars stretch like heatwaves across an open plain, while ambient drones from the ever-so-talented Mrs Frighthouse hum underneath, giving the impression of wind sweeping over endless dunes. There’s a feeling of suspended time here, as if every sound is carefully sculpted to evoke both stillness and vastness. The production leans toward post-rock and ambient influences, with touches of shoegaze textures that shimmer at the edges of distortion. Nothing feels rushed; instead, the piece unfolds with patient, almost meditative pacing.
Caine Hemmingway delivers a restrained, almost ghostly performance, sitting just beneath the surface of the mix. Before exploding like a bullet to an already overwhelmed brain. Not quite a whisper, but a presence that feels spectral. The lyrics, while sparse, appear to meditate on themes of impermanence, reflection, and emotional distance. Rather than driving the narrative, the vocals serve as another instrumental layer, dissolving into the reverb-heavy landscape. A voice that echoes and fades rather than commands.
The production is intentionally hazy, emphasising atmosphere over clarity. Instruments bleed into one another, blurring boundaries. The mix places the listener inside the space, rather than in front of it. As though you’re standing within that same desert, surrounded by reflective shards of sound. It’s immersive, but never claustrophobic. This kind of production can easily become muddy, but here it remains cohesive and purposeful, demonstrating the band’s mature grasp of sonic balance.
Believe in Nothing crafts an auditory mirage: beautiful, desolate, and transient. It’s music that resists easy categorisation. It’s the kind of piece that lingers long after it ends, not because of a catchy hook, but because of the space it opens inside the listener. A meditation on fragility, reflection, and the quiet and sudden impact of violence over time. 10/10
The Children Are Cattle
This tune feels less like a song and more like a manifesto of despair, a sprawling commentary on social conditioning and the erosion of individuality. The band crafts a soundscape where hope disintegrates under the weight of mechanical repetition and disillusionment. The title itself evokes brutal imagery: youth treated as a herd, corralled into systems of obedience, stripped of agency. From its first distorted pulse, the song demands to be felt rather than merely heard.
The production on this track is deliberately abrasive yet meticulously constructed. A grinding, metallic bassline anchors the mix, oscillating between industrial aggression and dark ambient spaciousness. The percussion is machine-like, with erratic hits that feel programmed to unsettle. Clattering snares, hollow kick drums, and reversed cymbals create a sense of unease. A bed of droning synths swells underneath, reminiscent of post-industrial acts like early Nine Inch Nails or Godflesh, but with a colder, more fatalistic tone. What makes the production truly captivating is its dynamic decay. Each element seems to collapse inward, mirroring the song’s theme of dehumanisation. There’s a calculated absence of warmth. Even the reverb feels sterile, as though recorded in a concrete chamber devoid of air or empathy. Midway through the track, a distorted guitar line enters, not as a melodic relief but as an intensification. A scream in texture form. It spirals upward before dissolving into static, signalling the breakdown of both sound and self.
Listening to “The Children Are Cattle” feels like standing in the aftermath of a demolished factory. Surrounded by echoes of productivity and pain. It’s an emotional exorcism, a song that leaves the listener both exhausted and strangely enlightened. The sheer bleakness achieves catharsis through confrontation: by refusing to comfort, it compels introspection. This is music for those who find beauty in ruin, for those who understand that despair can be its own form of truth. It’s not an easy listen, nor is it meant to be. Its purpose is discomfort; to provoke, to disturb, and perhaps, to awaken. 9/10
Rot
The album closer, from its very first moments, Rot immerses the listener in an atmosphere of corrosion and introspection. The track opens with an abrasive undercurrent. A low, droning hum that feels almost tactile, like the sound of metal eroding over time. There’s no pretence of comfort here; instead, Believe in Nothing crafts a sonic landscape of decay, where every sound feels deliberately worn, fragile, or rusted. The tempo sits in a slow to midrange pulse, giving the track a deliberate, almost mechanical pacing. Rather than building toward catharsis, the song sinks deeper into itself as it unfolds, embodying its title both musically and thematically. The overall tone suggests a confrontation with deterioration. not just physical decay, but emotional and existential decomposition.
Emotionally, Rot is not a song that seeks to comfort or uplift. Instead, it invites the listener to sit within decay. to find beauty in decomposition, and calm within collapse. The track’s power lies in its refusal to romanticise despair. It doesn’t dramatise darkness; it simply documents it sonically. This restraint makes the piece compelling. There’s no clear “rise” or “resolution”. The song instead loops inward, circling itself like a slow-burning mantra of erosion. You might think of it as a kind of musical entropy: energy dissipating until only tone and texture remain. Listeners sensitive to atmosphere and subtlety will find immense value in the way Rot transforms dissonance into something contemplative. It’s not about destruction, but acceptance of impermanence.
Believe in Nothing’s Rot exists in a lineage of post-industrial and minimalist dark music. Artists who use noise, dissonance, and repetition to explore existential tension. Yet, unlike overtly confrontational noise acts, this song maintains an eerie stillness. It’s introspective rather than explosive, more aligned with the meditative bleakness of drone or doom-influenced ambient works. At its core, Rot is about transformation through decay; the idea that breaking down is not the end, but a form of release. Musically, it embodies this by constantly eroding its own structure: instruments bleed, rhythms decay, and melodies corrode until all that remains is tone and resonance.
“Rot” is a work of minimalist heaviness. An act of sonic deterioration rendered with precision and restraint. It’s the kind of song that rewards immersion rather than casual listening; a piece that’s felt as much as heard. 8/10