Ethereal Metal

Ryan Murray | Co-Owner | Chief Editor | Contributor | Photographer

r.m.music84@gmail.com

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There are moments when an artist stops negotiating with expectation and instead takes full ownership of it. Cherry Red Apocalypse is that moment for Melissa Bonny. Releasing independently on January 23rd, the album doesn’t read as a side project or an indulgent detour from Ad Infinitum or The Dark Side of the Moon — it reads as an artist stepping into full creative autonomy. Not to prove range, not to chase reinvention, but to finally let every instinct, influence, and emotional register coexist without hierarchy.

From the very first surge of sound, Cherry Red Apocalypse establishes itself as a record powered by contrast. The opening stretch — beginning with I’m a Monster and bleeding directly into Snake Bite — functions less as an introduction and more as a declaration of intent. Bonny moves between her iconic harsh metal vocals and glossy, infectious pop sensibilities with zero hesitation, not as a stunt, but as a natural language. The chorus of I’m a Monster hits with a modern pop-metal immediacy that feels built for repetition, while its aggression remains intact, refusing to be sanded down for accessibility. That duality becomes sharper and more confrontational as Snake Bite takes hold, where Bonny’s versatility turns predatory — seductive melodies pulling the listener close before detonating into explosive guttural growls. yu umehara’s presence doesn’t interrupt the flow; it expands it, filling the track with added weight and tension, reinforcing the sense that this album isn’t dabbling in genre-blending — it’s commanding it.

Rather than escalating endlessly, the record pivots with intention. Devil on My Tongue slides in like a knowing grin, leaning hard into intoxicating pop energy without sacrificing impact. Anchored by a killer bass line and a relentless sense of forward motion, it’s a high-energy rush that understands the power of indulgence. This isn’t Bonny softening her edge, rather it’s her sharpening it in a different direction. That confidence deepens immediately afterward as The Teeth of My Thieves introduces a more vulnerable, almost sultry vocal approach. There’s a jazz-noir undertone to its opening moments, intimate and restrained, before the song unfurls into an infectious modern metal chorus. The awe-inspiring guitar lead doesn’t overwhelm the track; it elevates it, turning vulnerability into something expansive rather than fragile. Together, these songs mark a shift from confrontation to control — definitive proof that Bonny knows exactly when to strike and when to linger.

Momentum surges again as the album opens itself toward light and lift. Afterglow arrives as an uptempo, uplifting release, brimming with the kind of emotional immediacy that recalls Paramore’s ability to sound defiant and hopeful at the same time, but filtered through Bonny’s heavier instincts. Lyrics like “I was born to steal the stars” don’t read as empty affirmation; they land as declaration, a refusal to shrink or settle. That brightness makes the turn inward on Highs and Lows feel earned rather than abrupt. This downtempo ballad strips away force in favor of honesty, revealing a quieter strength in Bonny’s lighter vocals. It’s a reminder that her power doesn’t live solely in belting or growls — sometimes it resides in restraint, in allowing space for emotion to breathe without demanding resolution.

That introspection is given voice, context, and purpose through Crescent Moon Interlude, featuring Adrienne Cowan and Fabienne Erni. Rather than functioning as a pause for pacing alone, the spoken-word piece becomes a philosophical anchor for the album. It reflects on the risk of choosing music fully, on the act of giving everything to art without guarantees, and on the shared understanding that creation is as much sacrifice as it is passion. The presence of Cowan and Erni doesn’t feel ornamental; it feels communal, a moment of shared truth among artists who understand the cost of devotion. Crucially, the interlude doesn’t interrupt the album’s momentum — it redirects it, guiding the listener seamlessly into what follows.

That redirection hits with force on Spellbound, one of Cherry Red Apocalypse’s most daring and fully realized statements. Fusing modern metal with house and pop textures, the track pulses with an infectious hook that feels engineered for movement — physical, emotional, communal. This is Bonny embracing modernity without fear, allowing groove and heaviness to coexist rather than compete. The song doesn’t ask permission to exist between genres; it thrives there, proving that experimentation, when executed with conviction, can feel massive rather than fragmented.

The album’s identity crystallizes further with the title track, Cherry Red Apocalypse, where pop-metal sensibilities stick relentlessly, burrowing into your head and refusing to leave. There’s a tension here between sweetness and destruction, melody and menace, that encapsulates the entire record. To me, it feels playful on the surface, but there’s an undercurrent of chaos that keeps it gripping — a reminder, if you will, that brightness doesn’t negate depth, and accessibility doesn’t undermine intent.

That tension snaps outward with I Don’t Like You, a track fueled by pure attitude. There’s a sharp, sarcastic bite here that feels like No Doubt colliding head-on with modern alternative metal — confrontational, hook-driven, and unapologetically direct. It exists not to justify itself, but to release pressure, and it does so with a grin. Oh no! keeps that energy airborne, an upbeat, kinetic burst that thrives on momentum and movement. It hits with precision, lifts with unrelenting force, and proves that joy and adrenaline can be deliberate, powerful choices. The track crackles with playful defiance, layering infectious hooks over driving rhythms that refuse to sit still. Every beat feels purposeful, every vocal flourish a spark, and the result is a track that feels simultaneously fun, urgent, and exhilarating — a reminder that Bonny can channel chaos into pure exhilaration without losing control.

Then the album cuts to its emotional core.

Mama, Let Me Go not only stands out, but it’s a rupture of unadulterated emotion. Raw, unfiltered, and devastatingly honest, the song tells a story that tugs deeply at the listener, rooted in love, separation, and the painful necessity of choosing one’s own path. The lyrics, delivered in both English and French, add an extra layer of intimacy and universality without softening the raw impact. There’s no metaphorical armor here, no attempt to soften the truth. Bonny delivers the narrative plainly and powerfully, allowing its weight to land without dramatization. The result is one of the album’s most powerful moments. Not because it’s loud or grand, but because it’s real. This is where Cherry Red Apocalypse stops being about versatility and becomes about vulnerability, grounding everything that came before it in something unmistakably human.

The album closes by widening its lens once more with Snow on Mars. Rather than attempting to resolve every emotional thread, the track reflects on them, showcasing Bonny’s full vocal spectrum with a sense of distance and perspective. It feels expansive and contemplative — a final reminder of how far the album has traveled without demanding closure. It ends not with certainty, but with understanding.

Bonny’s career already spans Ad Infinitum, The Dark Side of the Moon, and a formidable list of collaborations with artists like Kamelot, Powerwolf, Feuerschwanz, D’Artagnan, Eluveitie, and beyond. But Cherry Red Apocalypse stands apart as her boldest and most personal work to date. Composed and written by Bonny herself, and produced by Vikram A. Shankar and Jacob Hansen, the album blends modern metal, pop rock, and alternative textures into something cohesive, fearless, and deeply sincere.

What makes Cherry Red Apocalypse resonate isn’t just its scale or its stylistic range, it’s its truth. This isn’t an artist reinventing herself for novelty’s sake. It’s an artist claiming every part of her voice, from brutality to softness, rebellion to reflection, and allowing them to speak without compromise.

In a musical landscape that often mistakes volume for substance, Cherry Red Apocalypse understands that weight comes from honesty. It’s massive without being hollow, cinematic without losing intimacy, and fearless without posturing. Bonny navigates between aggression and vulnerability, melody and chaos, without letting any single style define her. Every note, every shift, every vocal inflection feels intentional, a declaration of ownership over every part of her artistry. She bends metal, pop, rock, and alternative into a language that’s unmistakably her own — fearless, uncompromising, and yet deeply human.

This is a statement of identity, a manifesto of creative power, and a challenge to anyone who thinks they can predict where she’ll go next. From guttural growls to soaring melodies, from raw vulnerability to playful audacity, Bonny commands it all with a magnetic force that refuses to be ignored, leaving nothing in her wake but fire and daring anyone to follow. Cherry Red Apocalypse is a bold declaration, a masterclass in versatility, and a journey that sears itself into the listener long after the final note fades.

Verdict: 4.7/5