We open with a supply-chain crisis of the highest order: no Coke Zero and no red-and-black Fruit Pastels (“it was an absolute disaster”). Then we actually talk Anthrax’s Persistence of Time: why it feels more grown-up and gnarlier, how “In My World” and “Got the Time” carried the weight, and why Joey Belladonna sounds even better under a harsher spotlight.

Detours include a burglary story where several PDAs and a relic Toshiba went missing… discovered days later (“did you have anything stolen?” “No… actually I’ve lost like three PDAs”), and the glorious chaos of Married… with Children: My Dinner with Anthrax—“very funny… not very PC.” We discuss our local tourist attraction the Barry Milner Bridge.

Come for the album, stay for the fruit pastilles drama and the unsolicited detours into life, the universe and everything.

Soulfly’s debut gets the dry-ice treatment: Max channelled grief into groove and built a new tribe from scratch. We dig into Ross Robinson’s Indigo Ranch crunch (’97–’98), Andy Wallace’s mix, George Marino’s finishing pass, and why the record sits between thrash, hardcore and late-90s “heavy with swing.” Guests roll through—Burton C. Bell & Dino Cazares, Chino Moreno, Benji Webbe, Fred Durst & DJ Lethal, Eric Bobo, Christian Olde Wolbers—while Brazilian percussion (yes, the berimbau) stitches it together.

Highlights: “Eye for an Eye,” “Bleed,” “Tribe,” “No Hope = No Fear”; the ambient and percussive detours; the two cover variants; and those sleeve notes—dedications to Dana, and the ominous “judgement is coming.” We talk charts (US 79, UK 16, France 14, Germany 29, Australia 33), the Roadrunner moment, and the Slipknot/Korn/Deftones/Coal Chamber overlap without the copy-paste.

Stay to the end: the driest laughs land in the sign-off, including a brief masterclass in how not to ask for subscriptions.

Sepultura’s Beneath the Remains gets the full Riffology treatment: the leap from Schizophrenia to something lean, hostile and oddly elegant. We dig into why the first half feels near-bulletproof (“Beneath the Remains,” “Inner Self,” “Stronger Than Hate,” “Mass Hypnosis”), how those nocturnal sessions at Nas Nuvens bled into the record’s raw edge, and where Scott Burns helped sharpen the attack. It’s the grim middle ground between thrash and death—menace over flash, breakdowns that earn their keep, and riffs that chug without ever getting comfortable.

We wander through the artwork lore too—Michael Whelan’s “Nightmare in Red,” the Obituary swap, teenage-bedroom posters, and the strange orderliness of tape-trading that forced you to live with whole albums rather than skip buttons. Max and Igor’s engine, Andreas’ knife-point melodies, Paulo holding the line; a band stepping forward, already pointing at Arise while still covered in the dust.

Then the end happens—again the funniest stretch—featuring an unscheduled James Hetfield cameo, a perfectly serious argument about whether the evening meal is “tea” or “dinner,” and a sign-off that devolves into an apology cascade capped with “Sorry, mum.” Dry, accidental, very on-brand.

In this episode, Chris and Neil bravely tackle the Foo Fighters’ debut—after a brief existential debate on the meaning of “all the important information.” The conversation meanders through Dave Grohl’s divine ascension, the British tradition of turning on beloved celebrities, and whether being in a band is more like a relationship or just a convenient way to keep busy. Expect insightful tangents on the cyclical nature of “coolness,” a forensic look at how many “bangers” one band can string together, and the usual refusal to stick to the actual topic. No stone is left unturned, unless it’s a stone that leads back to Liam Gallagher, in which case, it gets a whole sidebar.

In this instalment of Riffology, Chris arrives early and fully prepared, a development so shocking that Neil repeatedly checks he hasn’t fallen into a parallel universe. They introduce Stereophonics’ second LP Performance and Cocktails, whose title came from a business card handed to the band at the bizarre New York club Shine – a haunt featuring trapeze artists wearing pig’s‑heads. Chris describes the record as a “comfort blanket” and the pair recall it being one of the touchstones of their school‑days, along with Eels and NOFX. They also reminisce about making tape‑deck radio shows as teenagers, a hobby that foreshadowed their current podcast.

Neil makes the case that Performance and Cocktails is “one of the greatest sounding records.” It is both huge and warm, can be cranked up in a car yet still reveals breathy nuance through headphones, and somehow remains coherent despite being recorded in multiple studios. The album was released on Richard Branson’s V2 label, runs a lean 50 minutes with thirteen tracks, and was produced by Steve Bush and Marshall Bird. It sold 1.7 million copies even as Napster ushered in the age of free downloads and propelled the Welsh trio from club dates to arenas. The hosts note how Kelly Jones’ gritty vocals, Richard Jones’ bass and Stuart Cable’s drumming are augmented by producer Marshall Bird’s keyboards and Astrid’s backing vocals. They also relay how Scarlet Page shot the cover photograph beneath London’s Westway, with model Lucy Joplin posing after a long night of absinthe and opium.

As usual, the conversation meanders. Between facts, Chris and Neil ponder why Radio 2 suddenly plays Ozzy Osbourne, debate whether “post‑Britpop” is an actual genre, and recall how Napster made everyone stop paying for music. A mid‑show tangent sees them visit York’s Jorvik Viking Centre to admire a fossilised human poo in a glass cabinet and discuss the educational merits of taking their children to train museums. Later they imagine a future AI scraping their podcast and mistaking their nonsense for historical fact. The episode ends with some gentle ribbing about their blog, the smell of the Northern Line and whether the Hyperloop will ever rival 1990s tilt‑trains. Dry humour and affectionate digressions keep the tone light while the hosts’ admiration for the album remains clear.

This week, we sharpen our scalpels and wade into Heartwork by Carcass. Expect a forensic examination of melodic death metal’s most clinical album: guitars get dissected, solos catalogued, and lyrics scrutinised under a microscope. We probe the transition from grind to groove, speculate on the true pH of Liverpool water, and ponder if this is the only metal album fit for display in the Tate Modern.

No medical degrees required, but a strong stomach is advised. Leave your meat metaphors at the door and join us as we contemplate the anatomy of a classic—one melody at a time.

A discussion of Black Sabbath’s Paranoid that manages to cover the essentials: melodic guitar work, enduring riffs, and the occasional existential observation about endless skies and the moon. The conversation is punctuated by more affirmations than a group therapy session (“Yeah.”) and includes a rigorous evaluation of Tony Iommi’s guitar playing, described as among the most melodic ever committed to record. Proceedings end with the group apparently satisfied, a brief mention of itchy noses, and a consensus to do it all again next week. No grand conclusions, just measured appreciation and the sense that, like the album itself, some things don’t require further explanation.

In this episode, your hosts put away any pretence of picking a favourite and instead take a measured, nostalgic stroll through both of Oasis’s defining albums: Definitely Maybe and (What’s the Story) Morning Glory? Rather than rank or compare, we revisit what made these records cultural landmarks—from the studio anecdotes and infamous Gallagher antics to the endless debate about which tracks truly deserve classic status.

Expect dry commentary on the 90s Britpop explosion, reflections on Oasis’s stubborn charm, and a look back at the era’s best and worst moments. Along the way, there’s time for diversions into studio folklore, memories of questionable fashion choices, and the challenge of combining two unmistakable album covers for one podcast episode. There’s even a cameo from Jason Momoa (sort of).

If you remember the excitement of hearing “Supersonic” or “Don’t Look Back in Anger” for the first time—or if you just want to know why Oasis still gets people talking—this episode delivers a wry, affectionate look at the band that turned sibling rivalry into a national sport.

Join us for an expertly meandering 20-minute warm-up during which we forget what we’re meant to be doing, then suddenly remember we’re here to talk about Formaldehyde by Terrorvision.

Neil celebrates his birthday by buying his own fruit pastilles and reminiscing about heated car seats, while Chris contemplates the joys of nice soap and avoiding Glastonbury. Eventually, we discuss the album, including the bassist’s optimistic confession that there was “no plan B”—which, with hindsight, explains quite a lot.

Expect tangents, family chaos, a suspicious lack of rock and roll, and actual facts about Formaldehyde if you listen long enough.

Riffology: come for the music, stay for the back pain anecdotes.

This week, we attempt to remember how podcasts actually start and then promptly forget what we were talking about. Join us as we take a meandering, moderately reverent stroll through Feeder’s debut album Polythene—the record that had us singing “High,” even if no one else asked for it (or knew what it was).

We chat about setlists that audiences never wanted, the confusing popularity of “Mr. Brightside” at every acoustic night, and what it’s like to fall in love with an album about two decades after everyone else did.

It’s got nostalgia and the usual accidental insight and chaos you know and love.