Review by Rebecca Clark
Twelve years is a long time to sit with silence. For Australian progressive metal band Karnivool, it became a period of quiet transformation rather than absence. With the forthcoming release of In Verses on February 6, 2026, this album doesn’t feel like a band trying to reclaim their past; it sounds like a band returning with a deeper understanding of who they are and what they want to say. Heavy, introspective, and emotionally expansive, the record captures the ache of awakening, the exhaustion of healing, and the fragile hope that follows both.
One thing I have always loved about Karnivool is the depth of their lyrics beneath the weight of their heavy guitars. Their music is crushing, yet full of heart. You feel that balance in every song, in the way the band members seem to anticipate one another and move as a single organism. They truly speak to each other musically, and it’s something I’ve always admired about this band. Their sound feels immersive and awakening at the same time, lyrically introspective while sonically expansive.
Lead guitarist Andrew Goddard and guitarist Mark Hosking have a magnetic way of communicating through their instruments. Their interplay is fluid, emotional, and instinctual, and it remains one of the defining elements that makes Karnivool such a special band.
Ian Kenny’s voice floats over it all like silk woven into steel. It’s soothing, warm, and emotionally grounding, adding a layer of comfort to the heavy subject matter throughout the record. His vocals have always carried a quiet vulnerability, and here they feel more purposeful than ever.
At its core, In Verses is about waking up to yourself, realizing that many of the systems we live inside aren’t truly designed to keep us safe. There is an emotional fallout that comes with this kind of awakening. You move differently through the world afterward, often feeling out of sync with those around you. This album feels like a soundtrack to that realization. It’s a wake-up call, an invitation toward greater awareness, and an acknowledgment of the grief that comes with seeing things clearly.
Every song on this record hits deeply. Karnivool have never shied away from political undertones blended with raw human emotion, and that balance feels sharper than ever here.
“Ghost” opens with a guitar tone that almost feels acoustic, but not quite, creating a haunting, fragile atmosphere before the heaviness sets in. Lyrically, it calls out the moral decay of humanity, even referencing the biblical flood in an almost wishful longing for a reset: “Faceless, we’ve become, Hoping that hope is enough, As the tyranny begins, We await the flood.”
The album title appears within this track as well, underscoring the idea that hatred has become disturbingly casual, rolling easily off the tongue: “Sacrifices sung, In verses that roll off the tongue, When the symphony begins, Who is left to sing along.”
“Ghost” confronts the reality that cruelty and division are becoming louder than compassion. It’s heartbreaking, but it also feels like a plea not to give up, even when so many of us feel hollowed out by the current state of the world.
It’s fitting that the album flows next into “Drone.” To those who feel more awake, the people around them can start to feel like drones, moving through life on autopilot, following authority instead of questioning it: “Just a few of us are left, Just a few of us are forsaken, It’s nothing new to each of us, So play it again, We play it again and play it over.”
One of the most exciting moments on the record is finally receiving a studio version of “Animation.” Karnivool first played this live back in 2016 at The Triffid in Brisbane, and fans have been hoping for an official release ever since. It was worth the wait. Jon Stockman’s bass is thunderous, immediately driving the song into heavy-banger territory. The recorded version captures the same intensity as the live performance: “Some of you will, some of you won’t, Some of you will get by, Some of you will, some of you won’t, Some of you will deny, The illusion of hope, Where there can be no resolve.”
“Conversations” stands out as one of the most emotionally resonant tracks on the album. It’s slower and reflective, centered on an internal dialogue rather than an exchange between two people. The song explores regret, self-judgment, exhaustion from healing, and the slow, painful courage it takes to forgive yourself.
You can’t move a mountain, but you can climb it.
“It’s too late for conversation, It’s only a mountain I’ve been trying to move, Immoveable it is, Immoveable it is, How long have I been staring at the mirror behind the door, So many years reflected back, And so many days, I could have been more.”
This track feels like a pivotal moment on the album, leading directly into “Reanimation,” which functions as a turning point.
“Reanimation” is deeply immersive. It captures the ache of “feeling alone in a crowded place,” moving through heartbreak with the quiet understanding that you will survive it, even if it doesn’t feel like it yet: “How many times have we been on our knees, Shattered into tiny pieces of matter, How many times have we been begging, please, Drinking this muddy water don’t feel like we’re welcome, Well, alright, it’s alright.”
Another highlight is “Opal,” an emotional gut-punch that feels like someone outside of yourself reaching in, validating your pain while also urging you to let go of what no longer serves you. Steve Judd’s drums gradually lift the song into a more triumphant, forward-moving energy. It’s about confronting your own illusions and breaking free from mental chains: “You’ve been holding up, An idea that’s fatal, This beautiful distraction looms, Not seen nor heard, But you’re here by choice, Drowning in the silence below, No chance to survive.”
The album closes with “Salva,” a stunning, emotionally heavy finale that brings everything home. It’s about returning to yourself after immense pain, surrendering, accepting, and choosing to move forward rather than reopening old wounds. Kenny delivers one of his most powerful vocal performances, and the music feels reflective, as if looking back on life while standing firmly in the present.
The inclusion of bagpipes, performed by Hosking’s cousin Grant Scroggie, becomes one of the song’s most powerful emotional moments. Scroggie’s bagpipes are layered with guitar effects to create a unique “guitar pipes” sound, adding a haunting depth and sense of release that elevates the closing movement even further.
It recalls the way Sleep Token closed their album Even In Arcadia with “Infinite Baths,” a sense of surrender, rebirth, and beginning again.
“Let the sea wash away everything, so I can begin to breathe, filling my lungs, ready to run, for miles and miles and miles, forever running…”
“Salva” feels like the moment you realize your old self has to die so a new version of you can emerge from the ashes. It’s heartbreaking, cathartic, and beautiful, an ending that honors everything you’ve survived while pointing toward what’s still possible.
In Verses doesn’t offer easy answers, and that’s exactly what makes it powerful. It sits in the uncomfortable space between collapse and renewal, grief and growth, anger and acceptance. Karnivool sound fully aware of the brokenness of the world, but they also sound committed to continuing forward anyway. After twelve years, they haven’t returned to remind us who they were; they’ve returned to show us who they’ve become. And in doing so, they’ve created an album that doesn’t just demand to be heard, but felt.