REVIEW: Rosetta West – ‘God of the Dead’

Rosetta West aren’t chasing trends, they’re chasing ghosts. On their latest collection ‘God of the Dead’, the band conjure something feral and untamed from the depths of folklore, grief, and cosmic noise. It’s a fevered séance dressed up as an album, and it absolutely refuses to be tamed.

At the helm is Joseph Demagore, whose vocal delivery feels more like a guttural sermon than traditional singing. He rasps and wails his way through tales of spectral love, divine ruin, and backwoods redemption, his guitar veering between delicate lament and scorched-earth fury.

Backed by Orpheus Jones’ thunderous bass and the erratic, almost spiritual rhythms of Mike Weaver and Nathan Q. Scratch, the band keeps the terrain slippery and menacing. One moment you’re knee-deep in the murk of ‘Boneyard Blues’, and the next you’re caught in the eerie drift of ‘I Don’t Care’, where piano chords echo like prayers in a collapsed chapel.

And throughout the record, Demagore’s lyrics feel chiseled from some forgotten gospel, painting a world where ancient gods rot, holy books burn, and the dead don’t rest easy.

You can feel the haunted theatrics of Screamin’ Jay Hawkins and the dark romanticism of early Nick Cave here. But Rosetta West don’t borrow, they build. ‘God of the Dead’ is a snarling, smoke-black cathedral of a record, stitched together with fury, faith, and a refusal to play nice.

And if you’re the kind of listener who still believes music can be an act of possession, Rosetta West are already waiting in the dark, candles lit.