33:57 // October 3rd, 2025 // Run For Cover
It’s been said plenty over the years, but it definitely bears repeating: AFI’s evolution as a band has been an exceptionally bizarre one. From their light-touch skate punk starting line, through their horror punk and alt rock middle phase, to their post-punk revival/ synthwave incarnation, it’s been a wild ride to say the least. For me, one of the more gratifying aspects of their career trajectory has been the decision to expand upon their sonic development rather than repeatedly scrap everything and start from scratch. The outfit’s detour into alt rock popularity still saw their infectious hardcore riffing and angsty energy shining through when needed — from the full-throated Sing The Sorrow right through until the more considered toe-out-of-the-door Burials. Even across their most recent efforts, the catchy hooks — now more background texture than centrepiece — still linger, albeit somewhat subperceptually, and continue to give the classic-era AFI sound its well-deserved due. On Silver Bleeds The Black Sun…, however this intention is writ large, and it may well be the LP’s greatest asset.
The lavish title of AFI’s twelfth (oh my days, where’s my zimmer frame?) studio album suggests a sense of grandeur more reminiscent of the conceptual drama from the Black Sails through Sing The Sorrow crossover phase. While the actual sound here is very different, it still manages to recapture a good amount of the theatricality, darkness and thrill that pulsed most strongly in that trio of releases — both in its songwriting and overall sound. Silver Bleeds The Black Sun… is a heady blend of synthy, neon-lit driving tunes and danceable post-punk (with various in-between shades), all infused with a confidently focused gothic energy that feels more fully-realised than on their last few outings.
The production on the record is, for the most part, excellently judged, polishing the thunderous instrumental impact and accenting the elegance of each composition. The stripped-back gothic palette works in their favour, putting emphasis on the strength of individual elements, with every moving part bringing something compelling to the crepe-covered table. The percussion skews both electronic and more rock-typical, and paces the experience with consistently head-bobbing rhythms. The thrum of the bass is a particular standout, with immaculately penned basslines given pride of place within the mix, their downtuned vibrancy in-keeping with the record’s aesthetic. “Holy Visions”, “Ash Speck in a Green Eye” and “VOIDWARD, I BEND BACK” are shining examples of this, and feel groovy and infectious despite the downbeat mood.
Davey Havok’s vocal performance is also impressive, and feels attuned to the musical landscape with resonant lows and a typically virtuosic approach. “Spear of Truth”, for instance, allows his signature rasp to cut powerfully through the minimalism, flanked by tolling bells and a smart recycling of the sparsity on opener “The Bird of Prey”. That said, on some tracks, notably “Behind the Clock”, Davey’s vocal does get slightly buried in the mix, which is a distraction considering it isn’t more of a production choice elsewhere. Nonetheless, the album’s themes of godless dystopia and its lack of sanctuary, meaning or mystique (“Behind the Clock”, “Spear of Truth”, “A World Unmade”) are effectively conveyed without slipping into overwrought melodrama, both by the deceptively graceful songwriting and the poetic but not heavy-handed lyricism. Meanwhile, themes of time and memory ripple through “The Bird of Prey”, “Holy Visions”, and “Nooneunderground”, simultaneously grounding the record in something personal and almost elegiac.
Echoes of AFI’s previous eras are breadcrumbed throughout the record, in ways both fleeting and immersive. Single “Holy Visions” is a devilishly catchy fist-pumper, anthemic and vivid, and more than a little reminiscent of “The Conductor” from Burials. “VOIDWARD…” trades in a more subdued but still infectiously moody gothic energy, driven by a danceable bassline and a brightened instrumental that cleverly creates the illusion of the piece having more moving parts — also not unlike Burials-era material. Such traits point to the band not rejecting their previous sonic blueprints outright, but building upon them in line with where their artistic instincts now lie.
Additionally, “Blasphemy & Excess” and “Marguerite” recall “Veronica Sawyer Smokes” and “17 Crimes” respectively — not in any parasitic sense, but in structure, tone or attitude, each reimagining familiar moods in a more mature sonic frame. Closer “Nooneunderground” most overtly exemplifies this: a fizzy, crackling slurry of alt rock grit and synthwave shimmer, propelled by helter-skelter bass and a punky chorus. A big part of why it works is its ability to channel the freewheeling spirit of AFI’s past while also retaining the ominous, brooding cloudiness that defines the album. It’s both a callback and a culmination — a finale that feels nostalgically rooted yet undeniably forward-facing.
Though certainly the most developed and interesting album of this era for the band, there are some aspects that feel a knuckle-connection shy of the straight right that would let this album stand toe-to-toe with their best work — and frustratingly, these shortcomings feel easily fixable. The track lengths, while digestible and accessible, often feel fleeting and abrupt in execution, particularly in relation to some of the more brooding numbers like “Behind the Clock”, “VOIDWARD…” and “A World Unmade”. These tracks would’ve massively benefitted from just a little extra time to gestate; gratifying as they are, once they find their foothold they seem to fizzle out like damp fireworks.
Still, almost every track, while perhaps not feeling as fully-formed as they might, has something distinctive to offer. “Blasphemy & Excess”, with its castanet punctuation and dark, retrofuturist undercurrent, is huge fun despite the fragmented structure, as is the use of vocal convergence and nifty guitar flourishes on “Marguerite”. The decision on “A World Unmade” to eschew a dominant bassline in favour of elastic synths pays off spectacularly, the cut simmering with a tint of looming threat that is ideally complemented by Davey’s darker vocal performance. It feels like White Light-era Swans if Gira passed out at an acid party; dreamy, disquieting and slathered in reverb. It may end just as it hits its stride, but while it lasts it’s genuinely immersive and intoxicating.
There’s something conclusive about Silver Bleeds The Black Sun…, or at the very least, something acutely transitional. It seems to be a culmination of the gothic and synthy effervescence of the albums that preceded it, but where these focused on a more singular aesthetic lane, this one merges them — and even folds in pronounced traces of their 2000s/ early 2010s work for good measure. While some may read this as the record being less focused, the overall effect is one of sleek self-assurance; a band confidently cataloguing its sonic artefacts and blending them into a surprisingly cohesive whole. Sure, the threads of this weave could stand a touch more developmental spinning, but this dampening is offset by the LP’s swift pace and hypnotic production. It’s downbeat but never outright maudlin, and the groovy, sherbet-sunset energy of the more assertive songs brings a liveliness that feels natural to the band’s sound, and their evolution.
Whether you see AFI’s surreal 30-odd year trajectory as an exciting rollercoaster or a mountain-to-gutter spiral, this is a record that works well entirely on its own terms, and although it may not strike a chord with those weaned on the “Miss Murder” alternative phase, it certainly does a good job of respectfully nodding to the past while pushing further into fresh terrain. It’s a take that may raise some eyebrows, but this is AFI’s best since the underappreciated Crash Love — and it’s not particularly close.
7.0/10