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Venomous Sin has released Beneath the Blood Moon: Shadows Awaken, a six-track EP revisiting one of the images already established in our early music. The collection includes the Original Version Edit, Nightfall Edition, 1st Try, Macabre’s Moodswing, Under the Moon Version and Eclipse Version. We wanted to keep those routes available together, giving the song more than one way to pull a listener beneath the same fucking sky. The Blood Moon belongs to the darker, personal landscape surrounding Wounds of Shadows. Returning to it means revisiting a familiar setting without requiring the encounter to feel identical. A title can carry a memory through several treatments, and a change in mood can make a known piece feel unexpectedly close. The EP offers room for those differences to matter instead of hiding them behind a single definitive label. The version names make the relationships explicit. Nightfall and Eclipse suggest different ways of standing inside the same image, while 1st Try and Original Version Edit keep the creative history visible. Macabre’s Moodswing adds a particularly recognisable piece of the band’s vocabulary to the collection. These names let listeners follow the branches without losing track of the song at their centre. For Xavi and Lina, the world of Venomous Sin has grown through returning to ideas as much as inventing new ones. Some pieces remain interesting because they have not finished changing in our hands. We like giving that process a public form when the variations have enough character to deserve their own listening space. Sinners can favour one version, move between them or

Venomous Sin has released Heavy Valentines Day, a fourteen-track album that approaches the season of romance with its own appetite. The title track opens a collection that includes Lust & Ruin, Kalla Hjärtans Dag, Helvetets Sista Kyss, Blutiger Valentinstag and Besos de Muerte. Love has plenty of languages. We see no reason every one of them should sound like a fucking greeting-card department. The release travels through English, Swedish, German and Spanish titles, giving affection, desire and darker romantic imagery several ways to speak. It also includes alternate versions associated with the Lord and Macabre. These are part of the album’s actual shape: a collection willing to revisit a feeling instead of insisting one polished declaration can settle the entire subject. For Xavi and Lina, the connection between intimacy and music has been there from the beginning. Poisoned Embrace grew out of the shared space that became Venomous Sin. Heavy Valentines Day takes that willingness to express difficult and contradictory feelings into a seasonal setting. Romance can be tender, hungry, ridiculous or uncomfortable. Pretending it has only one acceptable expression does a fairly miserable job of describing why people care about it. We wanted the album to leave room for the pleasure of exaggeration as well. Titles such as Verdammte Liebesnacht and Día de Valentín Infernal do not arrive whispering an approved sentiment into a pastel envelope. They belong to a world where darkness can carry affection and a dramatic image can be an invitation to enjoy yourself. Sinners are capable of recognising their own feelings without a department store

Venomous Sin has released Saved in Shadows, Cursed in Blood, an EP containing the title track, Alt Version2, the Lord’s Version and Macabre’s Version. The title keeps two difficult feelings in the same breath: refuge and consequence, the sense of being held somewhere that also leaves a mark. We wanted room for that contradiction, because the important connections in a life rarely arrive with a clean fucking explanation attached. The song also belongs to Wounds of Shadows, where it sits among the pieces connected to Xavi and Lina’s personal world. This EP gives it a closer frame, allowing the original and its alternate treatments to remain together. The relationship between those versions is part of the listening experience. A familiar title can change its weight when the surrounding mood changes, even while the central image remains visible. We are drawn to language that permits intimacy to be complicated. Shadows can suggest concealment, but they can also offer the first place somebody feels able to exist without performing. Blood can carry a sense of connection while reminding you that a bond has consequences. The title leaves those associations available rather than forcing the listener to accept one neat interpretation before the music is allowed to begin. The Lord’s and Macabre’s versions connect the piece directly to the band’s two central identities. Alt Version2 offers another named treatment within the same collection. Sinners can follow all four and decide which one feels nearest, or let the preference change as their own mood changes. We like a release that remains open to that

Venomous Sin has released We’re not Toxic, We’re Fucking Poison, a single containing the title track, the Not a Mercyful Version and the Symphonic Version. The phrase turns a label back toward the people trying to apply it, with absolutely no interest in becoming more reassuring. We wanted the title to carry the confidence of a bond that has finished presenting itself for somebody else’s fucking approval. This piece also belongs to Wounds of Shadows, where the surrounding songs make its relationship to Xavi and Lina’s world clearer. The single gives the declaration a focused release of its own, keeping the alternate treatments beside the main track. That arrangement lets listeners follow the shared statement without losing its connection to the larger personal landscape from which it came. Poison is part of Venomous Sin’s vocabulary from the first song onwards. Here the word becomes an emphatic answer to being described from the outside. The point is ownership of the voice: the people inside the story get to speak about their connection instead of being reduced to a convenient warning label by whoever happens to be watching. The title refuses to soften itself in exchange for permission to remain. The Not a Mercyful Version and Symphonic Version give that declaration different treatments within the same release. We like the room that leaves for preference and changing perspective. A listener can find one version immediate and another more interesting on a later return. The song does not need to become a different subject every time its expression shifts. Its stubborn centre can

Venomous Sin has released Wounds of Shadows, a nineteen-track album rooted in the personal world behind Xavi and Lina. The record begins with Born of Suffering and ends with Your World Ends Tonight. Between those titles is the history that helped turn one song into a band: attachment, betrayal, survival, anger and the difficult pleasure of finding someone who recognises the fucking wreckage. Poisoned Embrace returns here in a remastered version alongside Vortex of Lies, Beneath the Blood Moon and Saved in Shadows, Cursed in Blood. The songs are placed within a larger journey, giving the earlier releases a shared context. We wanted listeners to have room to stay with that world rather than meeting each piece as a brief, disconnected encounter. The album continues through Rise of Lady Macabre, Twilight’s Funeral, Infernal Elegy and Chains of the Damned. Haunted Cradle, Macabre’s Revenge and Wrath of the Lord take other positions within the same landscape. These titles are not interchangeable decorations. Together they give the record a vocabulary of memories, consequences and changing emotional weather, the kind of material that rarely arrives in chronological order when you are actually living through it. Venomous Sin’s characters give those feelings an expressive form. The work belongs to Xavi and Lina’s shared creative world, where a theatrical image can make an experience easier to recognise rather than easier to hide. We have no interest in forcing every wound to end with a neat lesson. Some things become music because they still resist the summary somebody else wants to place on them. The complete

Venomous Sin has released Twilight’s Funeral, a single pairing the main track with Macabre’s Version. The song enters a love story marked by regret, betrayal and the pull of a connection that refuses to become simple. Its twilight image gives the encounter a place between what still burns and what has already begun to disappear. We wanted to stay inside that difficult light instead of rushing toward a comforting fucking conclusion. The original release writing follows Lina through the song’s imagery, including the dance in fading light and the pressure of being watched. The relationship between Xavi and Lina provides the personal frame. This press statement gives the band’s collective introduction to the piece, keeping the emotional subject in view while leaving the full song room to speak in its own language. Twilight’s Funeral is interested in the contradiction of something that can remain compelling after it has become painful. Memory does not always loosen its grip when the sensible explanation says it should. A familiar bond can carry warmth, anger, grief and desire into the same moment. Music lets those feelings occupy one space without asking a single phrase to decide which of them is allowed to remain. Macabre’s Version gives the central piece another treatment, with the relationship between the tracks kept clear in the release. Listeners can move between them and hear how the encounter changes. We do not need the variants to compete for the right to exist. A different version can bring another part of a familiar feeling closer, particularly when the subject refuses to

Venomous Sin has released Wrath of the Lord, a single containing the original track, Macabre’s Version and the Version of Sin. The release places the Lord’s name beside an emotion that tends to become inconvenient the moment it is expressed clearly. We wanted anger to have room in the music without requiring it to arrive as a professionally worded complaint with all the fucking useful parts removed. The Lord is Xavi’s identity within the band’s world, and the title gives that connection a direct place in the catalogue. Wrath is a larger, more theatrical word than irritation. It allows the song to carry the accumulated force of a response, the sense that what is being heard belongs to more than the immediate moment somebody happened to notice. Venomous Sin grew from Xavi and Lina using music to express experiences and moods that did not fit comfortably inside other people’s expectations. This release belongs to that impulse. The creative space allows an answer to be dramatic, exaggerated and emotionally uncompromising. The feeling can become a song before anybody starts asking whether the person expressing it has remembered to make the room comfortable. Macabre’s Version and the Version of Sin keep the title moving through alternate treatments. Those versions remain together so listeners can follow the shared piece and decide where the differences matter to them. A familiar emotion can sound nearer or more distant depending on the form it takes. We like leaving room for that relationship to change between listens instead of telling sinners which encounter ought to count as

Venomous Sin has released Santa’s Lost Tracks at a Swingers Club, a ten-track album that lets the holiday season stagger into the new year with its dignity missing. Christmas in Shadows opens the collection, and Cursed New Year (A Toast to Failure) waits at the other end. Apparently the festive programme had unfinished business. We have allowed it back inside, although its explanation is complete fucking nonsense. This album collects alternate versions, including A Nuclear Attack for Xmas, Verpiss Weihnachten und dein Kackbaum! and Ecos de la Oscuridad Eterna. Swedish, German and Spanish treatments continue through the tracklist. The release follows the festive world of Mistletoe of Torment: Santa’s Warfactory, giving related material another setting instead of pretending the decorations were taken down with any particular dignity. The title is deliberately absurd, a small piece of scandalised theatre hanging over the whole collection. It gives us somewhere to put the seasonal exhaustion, irreverence and appetite for bad jokes that a more respectable Christmas record might quietly leave outside. We are a band capable of enjoying a ridiculous premise long enough to make something substantial out of it. Santa can file his complaint when he finds his coat. Brinn tomtejävlar, försvinn!, Der Schneemann-Krieger Weihnachten fällt, Navidad de Sombras: Maldito Invierno, Släck juleljusen för helvete! and Kedjeklang och Frostens Skräck all appear in alternate forms. Following those connections is part of the pleasure for listeners who already know the earlier holiday material. New listeners can simply enter through the title that seems most likely to ruin a well-managed family playlist. The album

Venomous Sin and Bathtub Butchers have released Hygienic Homicide Revival, a twelve-track album that returns to a world where household cleanliness has acquired wildly unreasonable ambitions. Hygienic Homicide provides the opening and closing frames. Inside them, the tracklist moves through aftermath, revolution, resistance and the stubborn refusal to remain neatly scrubbed into submission. Apparently the bathroom has developed a fucking political situation. Aftermath of Chaos, Forged in Revolution and Rise from Ashes establish the revival’s vocabulary. Aftermath of Chaos Round 2 suggests the first inspection failed to resolve everything. Chains of Chlorine brings the collection’s domestic setting back into view, keeping the original joke connected to the larger, more dramatic language taking over the room. The Bathtub Butchers releases make room for a particular kind of black comedy within our catalogue. Everyday objects become unreasonable antagonists, and familiar routines grow into elaborate musical trouble. Revival follows that world through Uprising of the Unbound, Chaos Unleashed and Unleashed Defiance. We enjoy the collision between a supposedly mundane setting and titles that behave as if an entire mythology depends on what happens beside the sink. That willingness to be ridiculous is worth defending. Venomous Sin does not need to sound solemn every time we take an idea seriously enough to finish it. A collection can have its own internal logic and still know that the starting point is a spectacularly unhelpful bathroom nightmare. Sinners who come here for exaggerated worlds and unexpected jokes should find plenty of both in the returning disaster. Chains of Resilience and Hounds of Chaos carry the record

Venomous Sin has released Mistletoe of Torment: Santa’s Warfactory, a thirty-five-track album that gives the holiday season a frankly excessive amount of trouble. A Very Dark Christmas opens the doors. From there, carols, decorations, forced cheer and seasonal expectations enter a world where very little remains politely attached to its original purpose. We have brought enough material to make the Christmas playlist committee regret the fucking invitation. A Maddeningly Merry Tune, Cloak the Halls in Shadows and Joy to the World (But Not to My Ears) announce the album’s appetite for familiar language with the screws loosened. Violent Night, Screaming Bells and Holiday Hypocrisy Hymn continue the confrontation. The titles give us ways to play with the gap between the advertised perfect season and the considerably messier experience of being expected to enjoy it. The collection keeps expanding rather than settling into a single joke. Have a Horrible Holiday, Mocking Your Christmas Sweater and A Nuclear Attack for Xmas share space with Swedish, Spanish and German tracks. Tänd På En Tomte, Navidad de Sombras: Maldito Invierno and Dunkle Nacht each belong to the album’s sprawling seasonal geography. Different languages make the room bigger and the festive proceedings progressively harder to supervise. We wanted Christmas to be available as creative material instead of a compulsory emotional uniform. Some sinners love the season. Others endure it. Plenty manage both before lunch. An album this excessive has room for the absurdity, irritation and dark pleasure of that contradiction. The songs can turn a familiar ritual inside out while listeners decide which part sounds