VI.BE

There are bands that play heavy.

And then there are those who drag you through the mud, tie millstones to your soul, and whisper lullabies in the language of ruin.

Growing Horns belongs to the latter.

Born in the ashen belly of Kortrijk, Belgium, Growing Horns emerged in 2015 not as a band, but as a seance — a slow, churning invocation of pain, fury, and the raw weight of existence.

Their sound isn’t forged — it’s exorcised.

Their debut, The Nobility of Pain (2019), wasn’t just an album — it was a wound.

Open. Pulsing. Refusing to heal.

Critics called it relentless.

Fans called it home.

It offered no comfort. Only catharsis. Only truth.

But The Essence of Suffering, their latest offering, goes even further.

It doesn’t just explore the abyss — it moves in, builds an altar, and lights black candles.

Every note is a slab of granite.

Every riff, a collapsing pillar.

Every silence screaming in pain.

And that voice...

A scorched landscape — equal parts preacher, beast, and mourner.

It rips. It roars.

It speaks in tongues born from years of rot and reflection.

It’s not a performance; it’s a purge.

Live, Growing Horns is a baptism in ash.

No stage banter. No masks.

Just raw, unfiltered dread, fed through tube amps and broken dreams.

They’ve played festivals, backrooms, and cathedrals of decay — always leaving the same mark:

A silence that follows you home.

And haunts you through the darkest of nights.

The beast under your bed is real.

This is music for those who don’t seek escape, but confrontation.

For those who don’t fear the dark — because they are the dark.