Released in 2015 on Relapse Records, Torche’s Restarter is a dense, thunderous work that pulls the band’s radiant melodies back into the gravitational field of sludge metal. Where Harmonicraft often emphasized brightness and momentum, Restarter sounds darker and more physical, a record about rebuilding whose riffs seem heavy enough to flatten the ground beneath them.
The opening track, Annihilation Affair, establishes that weight immediately. Guitars advance in blunt, synchronized movements while Rick Smith’s drums strike with mechanical force. Steve Brooks’ voice remains melodic even as the surrounding arrangement begins to collapse into feedback and dissonance. The song does not simply end; it appears to break apart under its own pressure.
Yet Torche’s greatest strength has always been the ability to make extreme heaviness feel strangely inviting. Bishop in Arms and Minions surround enormous downtuned riffs with bright vocal harmonies and hooks that would not sound out of place on a power-pop record. That contrast gives the music its distinctive character: sunlight forced through a wall of amplifiers, sweetness sharpened by volume.
The record’s shorter songs reveal an equally disciplined sense of economy. Loose Men rushes forward with punk urgency, while Undone compresses melody and distortion into a brief burst of controlled energy. Blasted is more expansive, allowing its central riff to grind patiently beneath Brooks’ soaring vocals. Even at their most direct, Torche resist becoming predictable; unusual chord shapes and abrupt rhythmic turns keep the songs slightly off balance.
On No Servants and Believe It, the album’s mood grows more severe. Jonathan Nuñez’s bass thickens the lowest frequencies while Andrew Elstner’s guitar reinforces the sense of mass, creating a sound that feels architectural rather than merely loud. Smith’s drumming prevents that weight from becoming static, giving the riffs movement even when they appear to crawl.
Mixed by Kurt Ballou, Restarter has a rawer and more abrasive character than its predecessor. The guitars occupy a massive block of sound, but the vocal melodies remain clear above them. Feedback, amplifier hum, and low-frequency distortion are treated as compositional materials rather than unwanted noise. The production makes the record feel immediate and tactile, as if every speaker cone were being pushed close to failure.
The final sequence moves from the crushing repetition of Barrier Hammer into the sprawling title track. Restarter abandons the album’s compact songwriting for a slow, hypnotic descent built from drones, sustained chords, and immense rhythmic impact. Instead of delivering a triumphant conclusion, it dissolves into an extended aftershock, the sound of machinery continuing to operate after everything around it has disappeared.
By the time the closing distortion fades, Restarter has fulfilled the promise of its title. It does not reinvent Torche so much as reconstruct the band from its heaviest materials: colossal riffs, radiant harmonies, and an instinctive understanding of how pleasure and pressure can occupy the same space. The result is an album that feels punishing and uplifting at once, a bright melody buried inside an avalanche.
