With the release of *In Memoriam* on February 27th, 2026, Canberra’s own Ben Rankin has officially moved beyond the promise of his debut EP, *This Is More Than Enough*, and into the territory of a seasoned visionary. This twelve-song odyssey is not simply an assortment of songs; it is an aural funeral for the past and a thundering baptism into a new era of industrial-infused metal. Recorded in his home studio with a raw, DIY aesthetic, it is an album that feels both intimate and massive, a true testament to what can be accomplished when an artist stops trying to fit into a mold and instead begins to break it. I hope to be your guide through this haunting, heavy, and ultimately human body of work.

“Voices” is the song that opens the album. The song opens with a distorted low hum, like a machine trying to turn over, which quickly gives way to whispers sweeping across the stereo field, oscillating between the left and right speakers. It’s a jarring sense of psychoacoustic intrusion that gives way to the sharp snare of industrial percussion. It’s all very much in line with the struggle at the heart of the album: the struggle between internal knowing and the cacophony of “voices” demanding to be heard from the outside. The song opens with a distorted low hum, like a machine trying to turn over, which quickly gives way to whispers sweeping across the stereo field, oscillating between the left and right speakers. It’s a jarring sense of psychoacoustic intrusion that gives way to the sharp snare of industrial percussion. It’s all very much in line with the struggle at the heart of the album: the struggle between internal knowing and the cacophony of “voices” demanding to be heard from the outside. This is for the weirdos who think they are alone because they are not, and it is very endearing.

Next is “Save Your Tears”. The song begins with a clean, palm-muted guitar rhythm, which is quickly subsumed by a gritty mid-tempo bass rhythm. There is no explosion here; instead, it bubbles with a tense, rhythmic precision, like a slow walk towards a confrontation. This song is a manifesto for taking control. The lyrics dismiss the performance-based grief of others, with Rankin flatly stating he is “tired of being scared to death” with a story not his own. The confidence and stability in Rankin’s vocals are also more pronounced in this song compared to the previous works. The song is wild and visceral, and the recording also lends the defiance a personal quality.

“Deathwish” is the song that follows. The song kicks off with a soft synth sound, then suddenly descends into a squeal of high-pitched feedback, which gives way instantly to a crushing metalcore riff. The drums are frenetic, employing rapid-fire double-kick drumming to create a sense of panicked urgency in the intro. While the song has a rather aggressive-sounding title, the lyrics are actually a reflection on the “slow decay” of a relationship. They use the metaphor of a maze to describe a relationship in which both parties are trapped, the “death wish” being a wish for the end of the relationship, no matter how painful it is. Musically, Rankin” features the vocalist’s most aggressive range to date, as he transitions from guttural growls to a soaring, melodic hook. The result is a rush of adrenaline that gives the listener a cathartic release from their own frustrations.

Next up is “Do You Believe in an Afterlife.” The intro has a hollow, rhythmic clicking sound, like a clock or projector, which is blended with a melancholy, washed-out synth pad. The sound is airy and ethereal, a far cry from the violence of the last piece. This is the philosophical center of the album and poses the question of whether any of the “old self” remains after an emotional rebirth. The vocals are breathy and vulnerable, and have been recorded so that every breath in and out is captured. The result is a space of contemplative nothingness and freedom.

“A Societal Collapse” follows. A processed grinding sound introduces the track, akin to metal grinding against metal. The grinding then gives way to a staccato guitar riff that reflects the title’s disjointed nature. Next is a brief laugh sound, followed by the most intense drumming I’ve ever heard. The lyrics take on a broader perspective and lament the passing of empathy within society. It’s about the “collapse” of human connection in today’s digital age, where everything is a “game” or a “mask.” The musical elements are deliberately discordant and use “stop-start” rhythms that prevent the listener from becoming comfortable. It’s an unsettling track that accurately reflects the anxiety of today’s age.

The song that follows is “Parasite”. The track begins with an aggressive, biting bass solo, followed shortly by snarling guitars with heavy feedback. The tempo is fast and “itchy” – it feels like something is crawling under your skin. The theme of this track is a direct attack on “energy vampires., as the character warns them to get away from him. The lyrics describe the effects of being “fed upon” by someone who refuses to take responsibility for their own life. The vocals by Rankin are fast and venomous. They slice through the thick industrial music with relative ease. It is a high-energy “purge” of a track that seeks to empower the listener.

The album continues with “With You.” The track begins with a soft and building ambient drone. The drone slowly builds into a reverb-drenched clean electric guitar. This song pivots the album into something tender and ballad-like—the track deals with the very specific pain of suspicion. The lyrics deal with “late-night questions” and the suspicion that creeps in when love is compromised.  The character is being honest with the person he loves and hopes that he is safe with her. The vocals have a very subtle rasp and a sense of desperation. They deal with the pain of staying with someone when you know you should go. The music is subdued and restrained initially, but we get some heavy instrumentation that filters in at certain points in the song, and that killer electric guitar solo!!. It lets the emotional punch of the lyrics impact the listener.

With “Crown of Thorns”, the album re-centers into the vein of rock music again. A heavy riff in the sludge-metal style introduces this song, played at a slow pace, as if dragging a weight across the floor. There is an ominous undertone to the operatic elements in the synth layers in the background. This song is about the weight of the “martyr complex,” or the tendency to take on the pain of the world unto yourself. The lyrics are full of religious imagery, but applied to secular emotional pain. The sound is dense and “wall-like,” very intense, and features a massive sound pressure. It makes you feel the weight of the theme.

The next song is called “None in a Million”. The song begins with a glitchy electronic beat reminiscent of a faulty music file. It suddenly breaks into a fast-paced and upbeat rock melody. It is the “radio-friendliest” start to a track on the album. The antithesis of “specialness.” The lyrics have a strange comfort in being “none in a million” and finding freedom in knowing that your successes and failures don’t truly matter. The vocals have a more melodic and “pop-inclined” tone. It shows Rankin’s range. The instrumentation is bright and fast-paced, featuring a sample of a popular song, creating a rare lighthearted moment of “digital freedom” for the listener.

“Breathing Space” is the next song in the list. The intro is purely atmospheric and organic, with wind chimes and a deep, audible sigh, followed by a light, finger-picked acoustic melody. It’s like the first breath of fresh air after a storm. It’s like the turning point in the healing process. It’s like the actual feeling of “space” in one’s life after being under pressure for so long. It builds up to a lush, cinematic crescendo. It’s like the impact of holding your breath the whole time through the last nine songs, and now you’re allowed to breathe. Best instrumental that I’ve heard in a while

The song “I’m Not Myself” is the last song on the album. The album ends with an unrefined recording of a piano being tuned, which leads into a haunting cello melody played over a hissing tape loop. It’s like an old memory being replayed. The song is about final surrender. The lyrics are a sincere acknowledgment that the “self” is not a static entity, but rather an ever-unfolding process. It’s a serene recognition that the person who began this album is no longer the same person who concludes it. The singing is raw and exposed, often wavering with the intensity of the emotion. The song gradually dissolves into several minutes of pure white noise, placing the listener in a meditative silence to absorb the experience.

With “In Memoriam,” Ben Rankin doesn’t simply turn a page; he sets the book on fire and begins a new chapter. This album is a hauntingly beautiful funeral for Ben’s old music, clearing the rubble for a new birth that feels both necessary and exhilarating. This is music that walks the tightrope between grit and grace, abandoning acoustic roots for the heavy, mechanized beat of 7-string guitars. On songs like “Parasite” and “Crown of Thorns,” these deeper tones are a visceral, earth-shaking weight that grounds Ben’s new music in something real and unarguable. Rankin has appeared in this way as an architect of atmosphere, demonstrating that you don’t need a huge studio to make a huge sound, but a vision. In Memoriam is a triumph of talent and determination, leaving us not only in awe of the artist he has become but also restless for whatever he chooses to build next.

Stream the “In Memoriam” album on Spotify.

 

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