After more than thirteen years of silence, an unsettling sound that is strangely familiar yet somehow even more haunted re-emerges from the Arkansas depths. There is no mistake as to what this is. RWAKE has released a new transmission. The Return Of Magik is out today on Relapse Records! Years have now fed into an album that reaches into a swirling, cosmic unknown – RWAKE has grown, and the perspective of the material has shifted accordingly. Overwhelming at its peak and haunting during moments of respite, The Return Of Magik is undeniably RWAKE. Every movement feels like an emotionally engrossing journey. Arrangements carefully and thoughtfully built in layers over a period of years lend mystique and a feeling of building toward a cathartic release. There is no box into which the material might fit other than one with the band’s name on it. Recorded in early 2024 at East End Sounds in Hensley, Arkansas, The Return Of Magik introduces RWAKE’s guitarists John Judkins and Austin Sublett with a barrage of shredded solos suited to the angular, progressive metal riffing of the album’s most jaw-clenching moments, while presenting a through-line of molten, immersive ambience. The opener “You Swore We’d Always Be Together” – already a fixture of live sets – and the expansive sprawl of “Distant Constellations And The Psychedelic Incarceration” move with cruelty and grace alike. Foreboding, syncopated riffs sway against Moog-driven space and guttural bellows. The Return Of Magik’s songs stand alone as individualized post-metallic blends of genres. RWAKE remains dually fronted; Chris Terry’s powerful vocals lay against Brittany Fugate’s visceral screams. Jeff Morgan returns to the drum kit, in addition to acoustic guitar and 12-string bass. Bassist/noisemaker Reid Raley, Sublett, and fellow guitarist Judkins set an instrumental backdrop that is vast and engrossing in itself – quiet, contemplative passages often explode into gut-wrenching, doomed out distortions. The Return Of Magik, which features artwork by Loni Gillum of Minerva’s Menagerie and RWAKE, burns brighter and beyond the ferocity of the band’s already storied catalog. Although the Magik may be bleak, the manner in which RWAKE revels in it can only be called a celebration.