LAMB OF GOD stare down the void on INTO OBLIVION, their tenth studio album - Out 13 March via Century Media and Epic Records

Three decades into their career, Lamb Of God could easily coast on reputation alone. Instead, the Richmond titans are choosing confrontation — not with their peers, not with the industry, but with the world as it is now: fractured, volatile, and teetering on the edge of something none of us can quite name. Their tenth album, Into Oblivion, landing 13 March via Century Media and Epic Records, is the sound of a band refusing to look away.

The record marks their first full-length in four years, but there’s no sense of rust. If anything, Into Oblivion feels sharpened — a deliberate tightening of the screws on everything that has defined Lamb Of God since the 90s: groove as a weapon, riffs that swing like wrecking balls, and a lyrical worldview that refuses to sugarcoat the present moment.

Guitarist Mark Morton frames the album as a creative exhale: a chance to write without expectation, trend-chasing, or the pressure of legacy. That freedom pulses through the title track — a snarling, psychologically charged assault accompanied by a video from Tom Flynn and Mike Watts — and through the album’s wider palette. There’s a looseness here, not in execution but in spirit. A veteran band unshackled.

Vocalist Randy Blythe, never one to dodge a hard truth, is blunt about the album’s title: Into Oblivion reflects a society spiralling into moral freefall. His lyrics have always been political in the lowercase‑p sense — rooted in lived experience, not slogans — and this record continues that lineage with a clarity that feels earned.

TRACKLIST: INTO OBLIVION

1. Into Oblivion

2. Parasocial Christ

3. Sepsis

4. The Killing Floor

5. El Vacio

6. St. Catherine’s Wheel

7. Blunt Force Blues

8. Bully

9. A Thousand Years

10. Devise / Destroy

The sequencing alone hints at the album’s emotional arc — from the plunge of the opener to the fractured duality of “Devise / Destroy”, it reads like a descent, a reckoning, and a refusal to go quietly.

The album’s early singles hinted at its range. “Sepsis” channels the Richmond underground that raised them — a nod to the sweat‑stained basements and DIY grit that shaped their formative years. “Parasocial Christ”, meanwhile, is a three‑minute detonation of classic Lamb Of God energy, a blast of anti‑tech fury that Revolver aptly dubbed an “anti‑tech thrasher”.

Longtime collaborator Josh Wilbur once again helms production, stitching together sessions recorded across locations that map the band’s identity: drums in Richmond, guitars and bass at Morton’s home studio, and Blythe’s vocals tracked at Total Access in Redondo Beach — the same walls that once captured Black Flag and Descendents.

With the album’s arrival comes a packed touring schedule: a North American run in spring, festival slots across the US and Europe, and the return of their now‑legendary Headbangers Boat cruise. For UK fans unwilling to cross the Atlantic, the band’s headline slot at Bloodstock on Friday 7 August promises the kind of cathartic chaos only Lamb Of God can deliver.

Since forming in 1994, Lamb Of God have carved out a rare position: critically respected, commercially successful, and culturally essential. Six consecutive Top 15 Billboard debuts, five GRAMMY nominations, over a billion streams — yet none of it feels like the point. What matters is the work, the evolution, the refusal to stagnate.

Into Oblivion isn’t a victory lap. It’s a warning flare. A reminder that heavy music still has teeth, still has something to say, and still has bands willing to stare into the abyss and report back.