SunnO))) (live at The Troxy) / SunnO)))

London
3 July 2026

SunnO)))‘s music has always explored the concept of time, whether that be glacial, geological or cosmic, so that fact that it has been a long-ass time without a release or tour from them should really not come as a surprise to anyone (and is also my excuse for why this review is so damn late. It’s a thematic thing, yeah?).

A self-titled album that isn’t a debut always seems like it’s making some kind of statement. And this one (on Sub Pop) is no exception. Covered with Mark Rothko‘s No 64 and No 61 (SunnO))) releases are never anything less than beautiful physical objects) it is, as one would expect, a beast, clocking in at an hour twenty and six massive tracks, simultaneously huge and stripped-down.

For both the album and the tour, SunnO))) have “reduced” themselves to the core members Greg Anderson and Stephen O’Malley. And “reduced” is in quotes for a reason, because in many ways it feels more like an expansion for a band who were already among the most expansive on the planet.

Everything is as you’d expect — cascading waves of ultra-slow riffs at colossal volumes, a vastly ominous atmosphere and a hypnotic devotion to the drone — except somehow more so.

Both live and in the studio, some of their previous additions — the vocals and theatricality of Attila Csihar, horns etc — have been something of a double-edged sword. On the one hand they have provided a focal point for the listener or viewer, and given us more of an access point for their sonic explorations. On the other, however, without that focal point the music is freed, and we are lost in the full force of SunnO))) themselves.

Or perhaps (US/UK variations in pronoun usage for bands notwithstanding) itself — now more than ever the music seems to transcend the players, as if though the arcane ritual of using fingers to play guitars which in turn play amplifiers has opened a gateway into another, darker dimension (think Event Horizon, but heavier. RIP Sam Neill). Aside from an eerie guitar coda on closer “Glory Black” that is as perfectly suited as it is unexpected and a field recording of a stream and some birds (of which more later), we are tossed on the current with nothing to hold onto.

On record there are over a hundred guitar tracks on each track — live, where I see them at The Troxy, there are just two hooded men, standing in front of a veritable Stonehenge of amps, all labouring and straining under the force of the sound. Which is where the true music comes from.

Speaking of Stonehenge, something about SunnO))) live always reminds me not of Spinal Tap, but of Double Fine‘s underrated (OK, the vehicle physics were crap, but it was super-fun) videogame Brütal Legend — yeah, the one with voice acting from Jack Black, Lita Ford, Rob Halford, Ozzy Osbourne and FUCKING LEMMY — specifically the cutscene with the immense wall of amps that kills passing birds.

And in very much the same vein, SunnO))) also combine a love of their musical heritage and a surprising amount of humour. The sleeve notes dedicated the album to Steve Albini (also RIP), but also thank “the parents of Black Sabbath for raw doggin’ it” and there’s a track called “Does Anyone Hear Like Venom?”

The relevance of Venom carries through to the live show, which is preceded by an intro tape which is almost fifteen minutes of clumsy stage banter from Venom frontman Cronos, a tape which has become notorious for its silliness. Venom may have invented black metal, but their crowdwork between songs could have done with a few tweaks. And Cronos asking a different crowd if they want to hear a fast one is immensely funny for THIS crowd, who are here to hear — and indeed feel — the exact opposite of that.

It’s long been a truth universally acknowledged that on stage is where SunnO))) truly shine (as it were) — I’d loved them for ages and seen them play a festival slot before one night when I was down the front at Koko and was like “Oh. OK. I REALLY get it now”. Their recordings are masterful exercises in atmosphere, and this one even more so than most, but live is where you really get to feel the sound as it ripples up and down your body.

The physical manifestation of SunnO)))’s live sound massages as much as it batters, and the experience is as soothing as it is scary or transcendent once you’ve accustomed yourself to it. You’re being bathed in the sound as much as beaten by it. There are those of us at the front getting blasted so hard you expect us to leave shadows burned into the walls, while at the back another cohort are lying down, getting lost in the trance. Because it is trance-inducing. Two guys playing riffs really slowly for two hours SHOULD feel like a lifetime, but it passes in the blink of an eye. We have gone outside time, people. Anything can happen.

And it’s amazing how expectation can shape that trance, much like any psychedelic experience. This time round, SunnO))) feel not like stars collapsing or tectonic plates shifting, they feel like forests growing. Is this just because we know the album was recorded in rural Washington, and the boys took full advantage of being able to get out into nature? Is it because they got Robert McFarlane to write the sleeve notes? Is a brief snatch of birdsong enough to set us on that course? Or did the location itself somehow become infused into the music?

Either way, SunnO))) feel closer to a much, much slower Wolves In The Throne Room than a much, much slower Mayhem. Which is, of course, reductive, as they sound like neither of these bands — but you could easily imagine 2026 SunnO))) and WITTR both featuring on the soundtrack of the same film. And I’d definitely watch it.

But the biggest paradox of all when it comes to SunnO))), whether live or on record, is that they are somehow the most metal band on earth without actually sounding like anything most people would consider metal. They’ve taken everything from metal BUT the fast riffs that define it — the iconography, the volume, the sheer feel of it — and turned everything up to — well, not eleven. As I said earlier, this isn’t Spinal Tap, and SunnO))) are far too canny to fall into that kind of self-parody; so let’s say they turn everything up to over nine thousand.

And at the end of it all, whether you exit through the album’s piano passage or emerge from the venue into the uncomfortably warm Stepney night, you feel cleansed.

In conclusion — I am glad to report that when it comes to sheer heaviness, SunnO))) remain undefeated.

-Words: Justin Farrington-
-Live pictures: Dave Pettit-