Burials feels like one of those rare moments where a band manages to move forward while still reconnecting with its emotional core. AFI sound renewed here—darker, heavier, and far more intentional—without abandoning the gothic weight and intensity that defined their most resonant work. Instead of leaning on speed or overt nostalgia, the album thrives on patience, mood, and carefully timed impact. It’s a record that slowly coils in on itself, letting tension build until everything lands with real gravity.

The opening track, “The Sinking Night,” immediately locks the listener into a cold, oppressive atmosphere. Riffs and bass crawl forward at a funeral pace, subtle textures linger in the background, and Davey Havok delivers one of his most genuinely mournful performances. The gothic influence is unmistakable, but it’s restrained rather than theatrical. When the song finally opens up with thicker drums and heavier guitars, the release feels earned, and the rougher edges in Davey’s voice hint at a familiar fire simmering beneath the surface. That balance between restraint and eruption becomes a defining thread throughout the album.

“I Hope You Suffer” sharpens that dynamic, pairing deep, commanding drums with sleek transitions and subtle synth and piano accents. It sounds modern without losing AFI’s identity, blending dark punk urgency with hard rock weight. Davey shifts effortlessly from controlled, almost whispered lines to full-throated screams, and the band’s commitment to letting songs unfold slowly pays off. Rather than rushing toward climaxes, Burials allows its moments to bloom fully, making each payoff feel substantial.

Tracks like “A Deep Slow Panic” and “No Resurrection” showcase how refined the band’s songwriting has become. Brighter tempos clash against darker melodies, creating a tension that feels uniquely AFI. The production gives everything room to breathe—reverbed guitars shimmer, the bass stays thick and slightly fuzzy, and Davey’s vocals move fluidly between intimacy and command without ever getting lost. These songs swell and recede with purpose, keeping the listener locked in through subtle shifts rather than constant intensity.

There’s a renewed urgency on songs like “17 Crimes” and “Greater Than 84,” where faster tempos and punk-leaning edges reemerge without breaking the album’s moody spell. The drums hit hard, layered vocals fill out the background, and the band sounds energized, almost defiant. Even when the guitars sit deeper in the mix, the songs find their punch in the back half, a recurring strength that reinforces the album’s sense of controlled momentum.

Midway through, Burials leans further into texture and scale. “The Conductor,” “Heart Stops,” and “Rewind” build cinematic worlds through washed-out vocals, subtle synths, tambourines, and bold choruses. “Rewind” flirts with radio-friendly territory, but smart choices in arrangement, guitar tone, and dynamic drumming keep it from feeling watered down. These tracks show AFI embracing accessibility without sacrificing depth or edge.

As the record moves toward its end, it becomes increasingly immersive. “The Embrace” taps into dark synth atmospheres with a hypnotic pulse that recalls a shadowy, late-night club energy, while “Wild” plays with vocal placement, letting Davey’s voice drift into the mix rather than sit on top of it. The drums carry much of the forward motion here, giving the song an unsettled, restless feel. “Anxious” refocuses everything with a bold, emotionally direct chorus and some of Davey’s strongest vocal work on the album.

The closer, “The Face Beneath the Waves,” is a powerful and fitting conclusion. Slow, echoing riffs, distant voices, and chilling vocal lines give the track a ritualistic weight, as if the album is being sealed shut in real time. When Davey sings, “I will be with you again,” it lands with enormous emotional force. Layered backing vocals and swelling synths lift the song into something almost spiritual, making it feel like the only possible ending.

Burials succeeds because it trusts atmosphere, emotion, and restraint. AFI don’t rely on speed or nostalgia to make their impact—they let the songs build, swell, and collapse under their own weight. The result is a record that feels confident, dark, and fully realized, capturing both the band’s evolution and the essence of what has always made them resonate so deeply.