In the grand tradition of the theatrical and the tragic, Gothic Aesthetic emerges not as a band but as an apparition. The duo—Savage and Savannah—return to the mortal realm with Tales of the Dark Forest, an album that blurs the veil between sound and séance. Equal parts guitar wrath and spectral voice, they don’t simply perform music; they breathe life into moods. Every track is a candle flickering in the fog, every chord a whisper from the other side. This is drama, distortion, and desire—all in black lace.
The forest gates creak open with “Witch,” an introduction born of crackling distortion and Savannah’s ethereal chant, half-whisper, half-incantation. The track swells with sharp guitars and ghostly choirs, setting the tone for the journey ahead—a tale of misunderstood power and sensual darkness. Savage’s riffs slice through the fog like ritual fire, while the vocals dance atop them like smoke.
Dark poetry takes flight in “The Raven,” a gothic rock opera of grief and remembrance. You can feel the influence of literature here—Poe’s melancholy shadow flickering in the mix. The arrangement blends mournful strings and spectral backing harmonies, creating a song that feels both grounded and celestial. Savannah’s performance is mesmerizing—one moment fragile, the next commanding—embodying despair as an art form.
The guitars grow thorny and alive in “Cursed Forest.” Reverb-heavy and cinematic, it’s a storm of echoing percussion and eerie synth undertones. The duo masterfully balances tension and release, painting an image of twisted roots and secrets buried beneath ancient soil. The production here truly shines—crisp yet cavernous, with every sound placed deliberately to breathe within the mist.
A burst of metallic grit drives “Iron Mask,” the album’s most defiant track. It’s a statement of identity and concealment, with industrial edges meeting theatrical drama. Savage’s guitar tone roars with menace, while Savannah’s delivery pierces through like a vow of vengeance whispered through silk.
Haunting and romantic, “Blood of the Moon” is where the duo leans fully into their cinematic side. The song feels like a slow-motion waltz beneath a blood-red sky—dark, delicate, and devastatingly beautiful. The interplay of Savage’s melodic lead guitar and Savannah’s trembling falsetto evokes something ancient and immortal.
“The Marionette” dances to a tragic rhythm—strings pluck and pull, mirroring the puppet imagery that runs through its lyrics. It’s perhaps the album’s most theatrical composition, playing with tempo and mood like a broken waltz. Savannah’s performance here is breathtaking; she channels both the puppeteer and the puppet, embodying fragility with terrifying grace.
Romance and ruin intertwine in “Bride of Shadows,” a gothic ballad layered with harpsichord-like keys and echoing guitar arpeggios. It’s the album’s heart—a love song for the lost and the devoted. The chorus feels eternal, rising like a cathedral chant: “I am the veil, I am the vow.” It’s Savannah at her most vulnerable and Savage at his most restrained, crafting a soundscape of devotion through decay.
“The Damned King” introduces a sense of grandeur—thundering drums and choral echoes create the feeling of a coronation in hell. The production is spectacularly dense but never cluttered, with each element resonating in perfect tension. It’s a song about power, guilt, and eternal consequence—and one of the album’s most cinematic achievements.
A surprise burst of energy, “Gothic Feast” plays like a macabre celebration. The tempo quickens, the guitars snarl, and the percussion invites you to dance in the dark. It’s wickedly fun—a theatrical exhale after the intensity of the preceding tracks. Think masquerade ball in a ruined mansion.
The closer, “Final Bell,” fades the lights on the album with haunting restraint. Bells toll softly beneath layers of echo, and Savannah’s voice sounds distant, almost fading into another realm. It’s a requiem—a final whisper in the fog. The silence after it ends feels heavy, sacred.
Musically, “Tales of the Dark Forest” is breathtaking. Every layer is intentional. The synths breathe like ancient air, and the percussion thunders with ritualistic purpose. The mix is spacious, echoing like an abandoned cathedral; it invites us to walk through and to lose ourselves among the shadows.
The vocals are the soul of the record. Savannah doesn’t just sing—she embodies each emotion, gliding effortlessly from angelic whispers to operatic cries. Savage complements her perfectly, his guitar work a language of its own: fierce, reverent, and steeped in gothic majesty. Together, they strike a rare balance between ferocity and fragility.
Listening to “Tales of the Dark Forest” felt like stepping through a mirror into another world. It’s the kind of album that didn’t leave when the music stopped; it lingered, a phantom melody echoing in my chest.
Gothic Aesthetic has achieved something remarkable with this album. Their work evokes the grandeur of symphonic rock and the intimacy of whispered confession, all wrapped in the allure of black lace and silver tears. As I sat in the quiet after the final bell, I realized something simple but deep. Tales of the Dark Forest didn’t just sound like Gothic Aesthetic—it is Gothic Aesthetic. Their very essence is in the reverb, the shadows, and the silence between notes. They don’t write songs. They conjure moods. And in this album, they have conjured an eternal thing.
Listen to “Tales of the Dark” on Spotify
Follow Gothic Aesthetic here for more information
