Listening to Gothic Aesthetic’s debut Tales of the Dark Forest is like being handed a script to a play you didn’t know you’d been cast in. Every track feels like stage directions written in eyeliner; every riff is a velvet curtain being yanked open by someone who definitely owns a candelabra. It is gothic metal turned full-on theatre, complete with cursed brides, ravens, ghost kings, and choirs that probably live rent-free inside a cathedral somewhere. And here’s the thing: it works. It shouldn’t, by all laws of taste and reason it should collapse under the sheer weight of melodrama, but it doesn’t.
This is music designed for listeners who gravitate toward bands like Type O Negative, Moonspell, or Powerwolf; the difference is that Gothic Aesthetic don’t just wallow in the gloom or revel in the power-fantasy side of things. Instead, they aim for something more cinematic and narrative. Every track feels less like a “song” and more like a ritual; a chapter in some cursed fairytale where the characters are doomed, but they’re going to sing their hearts out anyway. That narrative focus makes Tales of the Dark Forest feel less like a collection of gothic metal tropes and more like a staged production with an actual arc.
The album opens with “Witch,” which sets the tone immediately: ritualistic chants, guitars so heavy you can practically see the fog machine being wheeled out. “The Raven” doubles down, riffing on Poe in a way that’s so literal it ought to be embarrassing, but because the delivery is dead serious, it somehow lands as both camp and conviction. “Blood of the Moon” and “Iron Mask” lean into galloping riffs that feel like they belong in the cutscenes of a forgotten PlayStation 2 RPG, right down to the overly dramatic narration.
The centerpiece is “Bride of Shadows.” It’s the kind of track that makes you realize Gothic Aesthetic know exactly what they’re doing: choirs, tragic vows, a wedding march that’s less about matrimony and more about apocalypse. It should be ridiculous, and it is, but because it’s carried off with total sincerity, it becomes weirdly affecting. That’s the trick of this album: what could easily feel like a parody of gothic tropes instead feels like ritualized storytelling.
Then comes the album’s running joke: “Final Bell.” By every rule of narrative logic, this should be the closer. The bell tolls, the lights dim, the curtain falls. But Gothic Aesthetic, in their infinite dramatic wisdom, decide otherwise. The so-called Final Bell rings, then the album just keeps going. Two more tracks roll out, like an encore you didn’t ask for but now have to process. And somehow, this refusal to end where it “should” end makes the record feel even more theatrical; because of course the gothic tale doesn’t stop at the final bell. There’s always another act.
Those acts, “The Damned King” and “The Marionette”; they take the energy into quieter, more mournful places. Less spectacle, more dread. They play like epilogues, the ashes after the bonfire, and by the time the record finally does end, you realize the excess was part of the point. The forest doesn’t end where you expect it to; it keeps pulling you deeper.
And that’s the genius of Tales of the Dark Forest. Gothic Aesthetic take the tropes of bands like Type O Negative or Powerwolf, from the romance, the theatricality, the obsession with death and ritual; and sharpen them into something even more overtly cinematic. They don’t just sing about ravens and cursed weddings; they build the stage, light the torches, and force you to sit through the ceremony. It’s uncanny at times, almost like The Velvet Sundown of metal: too perfectly gothic, too committed to the bit, like an AI generator that accidentally produced something great. But because the band never winks, never steps out of character, the uncanny becomes compelling.
All in all,Gothic Aesthetic’s Tales of the Dark Forest is messy, melodramatic, and sometimes absurd, but it’s also atmospheric, deeply committed, and oddly unforgettable. It is less an album and more a ritual; a dark fairytale staged in ten acts where every track insists on its own gravity. It may feel uncanny, like metal written by a gothic generator, but it’s performed with such sincerity that it becomes impossible to dismiss. Gothic Aesthetic invite you into their ritual, and if you’re willing to play along, the spell lingers long after the final bell tolls.
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About the Author
A tenured media critic known working as a ghost writer, freelance critic for various publications around the world, the former lead writer of review blogspace Atop The Treehouse and content creator for Manila Bulletin.
