Welcome to the Doom Family Reunion (No One’s Smiling).

Doom metal already comes with its own awkward family reunion of stylistic divisions—Black-doom, Death-doom, Gothic-doom, Epic doom, Progressive doom, Sludge doom, Stoner doom, Drone doom. Emphasis on the doom here. We're talking slow tempos, low-tuned guitars, repetitive rhythms, and lyrics that read like someone crawled out of a Lovecraft story and picked up a mic.

Funeral doom, in particular, is a form of death-doom: very slow, dark ambient undertones, mournful vocals (often of the growling variety), and the musical equivalent of being slowly dragged into the abyss by velvet ropes. So far, my only contact with doom metal was Konvent and Nocturnal Depression (if you consider DSBM a subdivision of doom metal—which, mood). I found both surprisingly easy to get into, so naturally, funeral doom was next on my descent into sonic despair.

V – Oceans (2017) by funeral doom project SLOW was recommended to me by my dear collegue Jazz. It took me exactly 2 minutes and 34 seconds to fall in love with this album. That’s when the vocals kick in.

The first two and a half minutes are reserved for soft ambient textures, setting a deceptively calm, almost peaceful atmosphere. Guitars drift in—gentle, melodic, like a storm you didn’t notice had already started. And then the vocals:

A deep, deep growl.

So raw. So desperate. So utterly disillusioned.

Each lyric drips out at a glacial pace, mirroring the music—ten-minute tracks of drawn-out, crushing grief, and yet somehow it’s beautiful. There’s elegance in the decay. Simplicity in the ruin.

"Moving into deep waters / Wading in the dark / Limbs numb / Dim heart / Dim

The light in the distance / Last fragments of horizon / Gathered in my eyes / Turned to grey

Remaining rays of light fade / Emerge with the ocean for good"

SLOW isn’t “just a band.” It’s one of the many incarnations of Olmo "Déhà" Lipani—a Belgian multi-instrumentalist, producer, sound engineer, and unrelenting creative storm. He started SLOW as a solo project in 2007, releasing four albums as the sole conjurer before Lore Boeykens joined. By now, they’ve released six albums together—the latest being VI – Dantalion (2019).

But Déhà’s output doesn’t stop there. He’s involved in a truly unholy number of other projects, covering everything from post-black to ambient, depressive, industrial, and beyond. Somehow, every release feels like it’s being channelled from the same deep well of vulnerability and emotional violence.

This man doesn’t just write music—he builds emotional architecture. And SLOW is one of his darkest, most devastating cathedrals.

Now, I get it—topics like suicide and death aren’t everybody’s idea of a good time. Some people want sunshine. Puppies. A beat you can dance to.

This album is not that.   But I don’t know—maybe that’s why it resonates with me. Maybe it’s the kind of music that doesn’t just soundtrack the darkness but softens it. That quiets the inner critic, hushes the spiraling thoughts, holds your hand when nothing else will.

All 55 minutes of V – Oceans are a strange kind of comfort. Like sinking into the void and finding, somehow, that it’s warm. That your mind can finally go silent. That there’s peace in the sorrow.

A true keeper. Eternally grateful for this one.