Post Death Soundtrack’s fifth album, In All My Nightmares I Am Alone, is a sprawling, unapologetically raw 30-track odyssey that feels less like a traditional album and more like a sonic excavation of the human psyche. Spearheaded by the Calgary-based artist Stephen Moore, this 90-minute journey is a chaotic yet captivating blend of industrial, gothic rock, punk, and acoustic folk, weaving together archived recordings from 2009-2011 with fresh 2025 material.
The result is a fragmented, emotionally searing document that thrives on its imperfections and refuses to shy away from the darkest corners of trauma, grief, and mental health struggles. The album opens with “Tremens,” a track born in the throes of delirium tremens, a life-threatening condition Moore survived during its creation. Its jagged electronic pulses and feral vocals set a tone of raw intensity, akin to early Skinny Puppy or Nine Inch Nails, but with a deeply personal edge that feels like a scream into the void. This is followed by “Good Time Slow Jam (In All My Nightmares I Am Alone),” an ironically titled industrial assault that balances visceral noise with philosophical lyricism, exploring isolation with a clarity that cuts through the chaos.
These opening tracks establish the album’s duality: brutal yet introspective, structured yet unhinged.Moore’s influences—Nirvana’s Incesticide, Smashing Pumpkins’ Pisces Iscariot, and Jeff Buckley’s Sketches for My Sweetheart the Drunk—are evident in the album’s love for B-sides, outtakes, and raw expression. Tracks like “A Monolith of Alarms” serve as the album’s ideological core, with its Frontline Assembly-esque industrial pulse and lyrics that champion the voiceless: “I heard the screaming from the derelict farm / Where tongues were silent…A MONOLITH OF ALARMS.” It’s a powerful statement of purpose, transforming personal pain into a universal call for empathy.The album’s eclectic nature is both its strength and its challenge.
At 30 tracks, it demands commitment, and not every moment feels essential. Yet, its diversity keeps it compelling. “Final Days” channels punk-rock ferocity with a rockabilly edge, imagining an apocalypse with a darkly comedic twist, while “Hypnotizer” riffs on Led Zeppelin’s Eastern influences, tackling media illiteracy with hypnotic hooks.
Acoustic tracks like “Reckless Fever,” “Surrender,” and “Oversoul” reveal Moore’s Leonard Cohen-inspired vulnerability, offering stark contrast to the heavier moments and showcasing his dynamic range. The covers are a highlight, each reimagined through Moore’s fractured lens. His take on Nick Drake’s “River Man,” recorded in his apartment in 2010, is a haunting standout, capturing raw emotional clarity with its delicate guitar and mournful vocals. The Velvet Underground’s “Venus in Furs” becomes a predatory, urgent dirge, while Tom Waits’ “God’s Away on Business” and “What’s He Building in There?” are infused with Moore’s gritty storytelling, maintaining their narrative weight. These covers don’t just pay homage; they feel like extensions of Moore’s own psyche.
In All My Nightmares I Am Alone is not an easy listen. Its length and unrelenting honesty can be overwhelming, and its genre-blurring approach—spanning industrial, punk, gothic, and folk—may alienate listeners seeking cohesion. But that’s precisely the point. This is not background music; it’s a psychic weather event, as one reviewer aptly described it. Moore’s willingness to lay bare his struggles with addiction, grief, and mental health creates a rare authenticity that resonates deeply, even if it stings. Tracks like “We Fall” and the titular closer offer no neat resolution, reflecting the ongoing nature of psychological work.
For those willing to dive into its depths, this album is a cathartic experience, a testament to art’s power to confront and transform pain. It’s uneven, jagged, and occasionally excessive, but it’s also profoundly human. Moore has crafted a monolith of alarms where voices were once silent, and in doing so, he invites listeners to face their own nightmares with unflinching courage.
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