York-born crossover duo Garrow Hill drags the weight of its superficial eye-candy streets — and the malevolent undercurrents beneath — straight to the doorstep of modern metal.
This isn’t Klique bait. It’s a ritual.
Stewart King and P.G. Branton have been marginalised, labelled, excluded, blacklisted. Condemned to remain on the fringes, looking in. Every time they’ve been told “You’re too extreme, too dark, too DIY, too niche, too ‘not what sells right now’” — it was just a red herring.
Where some bands are merely a name, a fleeting stitch in time, Garrow Hill remains rooted in existential dread. Their music requires no invitation, no permission — it simply arrives, unasked and unapologetic. It dwells in the witching hour of alternative heavy rock’s familiar ache, post-punk’s clipped pulse, and the metallic aftertaste of ’90s metal — something you cannot quite place, yet something you cannot 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 make you wonder if you imagined it.
Listen close. The city’s still talking. And it knows your name.
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Explore the Dark Side of Garrow Hill…
Garrow Hill: The Blacklist of Heavy Metal 