Garrow Hill: York Crossover Metal Band

Exploring the Dark Sound of Garrow Hill

York-born crossover metal, Garrow Hill drags the weight of superficial eye-candy streets and malevolent undercurrents of their hometown to the doorstep of modern metal. This isn’t Klique bait, its a ritual.

Stewart King and P.G. Branton have been trading frequencies since cassette tapes were routinely chewed by Walkmans: thirty years of the same quiet pact—no banners, no exits.

The music arrives unannounced. A low thrum twisted in existential dread. Vocals surge mid-phrase—pure, soaring, and impossibly melodic—a Dickinson-wrought cascade of notes spiralling skyward in defiance. Alternative heavy rock’s familiar ache, post-punk’s clipped pulse, the metallic aftertaste of ’90s metal—nothing you can’t place, yet nothing you can shake.

Somewhere in the static, between the crushing crawl of Entombed’s Clandestine and the towering, pharaoh-crowned majesty of Iron Maiden’s Powerslave, Garrow Hill charts its path. A carnival of sonic storm clouds gathers—where Bradbury’s wayward souls are reborn as anthems from the ’80s, ’90s, and beyond. You can feel it: something wicked, patient, and vast, swelling beneath the urban sprawl.

Garrow Hill doesn’t chase you down alleyways. It’s already on the playlist you didn’t make, playing at a volume just low enough to wonder if you imagined it.

Listen close. The city’s still talking. And it knows your name.