Born from the cold, creative underground of Vancouver, Post Death Soundtrack is an experimental music project founded and helmed by Stephen Moore, a fiercely independent Canadian artist, producer, and sonic architect. With a career defined by emotional excavation and relentless experimentation, Moore’s music is a form of self-interrogation, blending the raw edges of industrial, post-punk, doom, and grunge with poetic lyricism and deeply personal themes. Though the band has evolved through various phases and collaborations since its inception, Stephen Moore remains its central force and voice. Known for emotionally searing vocal performances and philosophical, often surreal songwriting, Moore uses Post Death Soundtrack as a vessel for catharsis, exploration, and confrontation, with self, society, and the scars of the past.
Moore’s work draws from a diverse pool of influences, Tom Waits, Leonard Cohen, Nine Inch Nails, Nick Drake, Velvet Underground, and Front Line Assembly, yet never sounds derivative. Each release under the Post Death Soundtrack banner is a unique artifact, shaped by the psychological, emotional, and spiritual states of its creator. Whether through doom-laced riffs, delicate acoustic arrangements, or industrial beat storms, Moore has carved out a distinctive voice in the modern alternative and experimental scene. Alongside his solo work, Moore is also one-half of the dark and atmospheric duo HE IS ME, a side project with Portland-based musician Casey Braunger. Their collaborative energy, while not present on this album, is part of the broader creative context that fuels Moore’s boundary-defying output. Post Death Soundtrack is a canvas of the psyche, smeared in sound and scar tissue.
Some albums entertain. Some inspire. But once in a generation, a record comes along that opens its chest and bleeds truth. This is one of those albums. Released May 30th, 2025, In All My Nightmares I Am Alone, the fifth full-length release from Post Death Soundtrack, is a harrowing 30-track odyssey through the wreckage of addiction, grief, hallucination, memory, and recovery. Crafted by Stephen Moore during and after a life-threatening episode of Delirium Tremens, this album is not a collection of songs, it is an autopsy of the self, a survival document captured in real time, and a brutal confessional stitched together with noise, poetry, and raw feeling. Built from unreleased demos dating back to 2009, combined with feverishly written new material recorded during a period of deep personal vulnerability, the album is a sprawling mosaic of sound and spirit. Industrial chaos crashes into grunge dirges; acoustic ballads whisper beneath doom-laden shadows. And through it all, Moore’s voice, fragile, furious, fractured, guides the listener across a sonic landscape littered with ghosts.
In All My Nightmares I Am Alone:
Tremens:
Tremens by Post Death Soundtrack opens in eerie silence, slowly unraveling into an unsettling mechanical ambiance that immediately grips the senses. You hear the faint hums and whispers of distorted machinery, as if inside the belly of some haunted industrial beast. Then come the subtle sparks, metallic textures, wiring sounds, and what feels like burning sensations and shot-like sonic stabs, each emerging like distant memories or hallucinations. There are vocal samples weaved into the early progression, disembodied, floating voices that sound like they’re echoing from a place of torment. This haunting mechanical beauty lays the groundwork for the track’s descent into emotional chaos. The distortion in the percussion and the flickering, almost electric background effects never settle, they twitch and flutter with nervous energy. It’s not just a song, it’s an experience that simulates dread in audible form.
When the vocals enter, they don’t simply sing; they haunt. His lead vocal line is unsettlingly honest, almost breaking at times under the weight of its emotional delivery. But what intensifies the terror is the accompanying haunting vocal melody that trails his voice like a persistent shadow. These sustainable echoes stretch each phrase into the darkness, breathing fear and fragility into every line. The singing is deliberately non-linear, a blend of layered harmonies, some buried deep in the mix, others whispered with trembling clarity, blending with the ambient dissonance of the track’s harsh environment. There’s a calm wave behind it all, but it’s the calm you feel just before something breaks, a wave of intense, fear-soaked atmosphere that stays with you long after the track ends.
Together, the vocals and instrumentation don’t merely complement each other, they consume one another, creating a living, breathing sonic entity. TREMENS captures the essence of psychological unraveling with high-production clarity: no sound is wasted, no note feels artificial. It’s immersive, like stepping into the fractured mind of someone clawing through withdrawal, trauma, or collapse. This is audio cinema, a stunning, fearless act of musical storytelling that floods the listener with dread, empathy, and awe.
A Monolith of Alarms:
From the moment Post Death Soundtrack’s A Monolith of Alarms begins, it sets an ominous tone, an overwhelming presence that feels both spatial and suffocating. The track kicks off with a crushing fusion of industrial heaviness and doom-laced ambiance. Its drum hits land like slow-motion detonations, reverberating into a deep chasm of distorted guitars that tremble with weight. The instrumentation is thunderous yet restrained, letting each texture bleed into the next like the drips of a slow oil leak in some forgotten, post-apocalyptic corridor. The bass grumbles beneath the surface like tectonic pressure, while grainy synths and faint static fill the negative space with unease. The production here is breathtakingly precise, every shriek of guitar feedback and every crash of cymbal is given room to echo, but never feels detached. As the song progresses, it shifts slowly but decisively into a grungier texture, where the distortion gains grit and saturation, pulling the listener deeper into its raw emotional undercurrent.
The vocal performance is a masterclass in layered intensity and spectral drama. He doesn’t merely sing; he inhabits the soundscape, weaving his voice into the instrumentation like a ghost calling from behind layers of rusted iron. His delivery is heavy with gravitas, sometimes slow and morose, at other times erupting into distant screams that feel like a soul straining to be heard through concrete walls. There’s a notable multi-layered approach to the vocals, creating a resonant recall effect, like a fractured echo chasing itself across a black void. This resonance isn’t just aesthetic, it adds a hallucinatory depth, as if the listener is caught between waking memory and distant nightmare. As the track unfolds, this vocal layering gains power, adding a choral eeriness that never feels overproduced, but rather deliberately chaotic, controlled disintegration. The more the song progresses, the heavier and more intense it becomes, like an avalanche that begins with a single rumble and ends in total collapse.
The overall atmosphere crafted by A Monolith of Alarms is bleakly majestic. It breathes desolation, but with an artistry that turns despair into something sonically sacred. From the initial dread to the song’s climactic weight, it gives the listener a palpable sense of journey, not just through sound, but through psyche. There’s a ritualistic cadence to the percussion and a sacred gloom hanging over the guitars that transforms the track into something liturgical. You don’t merely listen to this song, you stand beneath it, dwarfed by its sonic architecture. The fusion of grungy distortion, industrial density, and emotionally intelligent vocal layering creates a soundscape that is both deeply human and mechanically unfeeling, and it is in this contrast that the song draws its overwhelming power. With pristine production allowing each nuance to shine through the fog, A Monolith of Alarms is less a track and more a slow-burning cathedral of emotional collapse, a monolith not just of alarms, but of existential reckoning.
Something Stirs:
Something Stirs by Post Death Soundtrack opens in hushed tones, a near-whisper of droning guitar and distant field recordings that feel like static-laced murmurs from a half-forgotten memory. This ambient, suspenseful intro soon gives way to a slow-building pulse, a low-end hum that echo like footsteps inside an abandoned cathedral. The instrumentation is cinematic, layering sinister chord drones under subtle clinks of found-sound percussion. The track’s high-quality production allows every soft thrum and resonance to breathe, building tension before any voice enters the fray. When the lead vocals arrives, it’s measured but emotionally potent, drawn out in warm, haunting tones that ride above the low-frequency wash. His delivery on this piece is subtly multi-layered, weaving a tender lead melody with quiet harmonies that trail off into echo, creating a sense of lingering unease.
It’s empty, beautiful, almost mournful. The vocals meld into the instrumentation rather than dominating it, becoming an organic thread in the sound tapestry. As the song evolves, layers becomes more soulful and beautiful: the guitar progresses with serenity, and synth textures flowed like ocean tides, all while those vocal harmonies breathe underneath, like distant lanterns in an encroaching fog. Together, instrumentation and vocals create a powerful synesthetic effect: an emotional tremor you can feel as much as hear. The atmosphere is introspective, haunting, a musical fog illuminated by burst of emotional clarity. It’s a track that feels like wading into one’s subconscious, surfacing fleeting moments of clarity amid swirling uncertainty. The production, as elsewhere on the album, is impeccable: every shimmering guitar, every vocal echo, every rumble of bass feels intentional and exact.
Final Days:
From the very first chord, Post Death Soundtrack’s Final Days plunges you headlong into its brooding, hallucinatory realm. Heavy, doom-tinged guitars grind with a syrupy thickness, each chord rings out with oppressive weight, undercut by a buzzing synth-imbued darkness. The drums come in with a calculated stomp, deliberate and foreboding, setting a heartbeat-like pulse that anchors the track’s doom-metal backbone. Production-wise, the soundscape is both cavernous and intimate: guitars, bass, percussion, and synth all occupy distinct yet overlapping spaces, mixing clarity with layers of distortion that feel tar-thick. The vocals in Final Days are a study in controlled devastation. He delivers with a tone that ranges from brooding croon to near-ritualistic chant, showcases his crushing vocal performances, balancing scathing fury with enlightened ambivalence.
His voice weaves around the instrumentation rather than riding above it, sometimes hesitating at the edge of collapse before his vocals surge into spectral wails. The result feels like a conversation between despair and defiance, an emotional tug-of-war perfectly suited to the song’s title and mood. The backup vocals added a richness to the song that sounded divine, they perfectly matched the energy of both the instrumentation and the lead vocalist, the voices were intense and compact. They were perfection. Instrumentally, Final Days shifts and deepens as it progresses. The guitar distortion coarsens even further, melting into sludge-laden walls of noise. Synth textures flicker in the shadows, ghostly whispers that punctuate the heaviness with industrial unease. The vocals layer themselves subtly, the lead singer’s primary line often mirrored by ghostly echoes that whisper counter-melodies beneath the weight of the riffage. This layering creates an uneasy resonance, a sense of voices trapped in a collapsing space, searching for escape.
By the midpoint, a slow-building crescendo intensifies the mood: drums grow more assertive, guitars swell into feedback-ridden swells, and the lead vocals cracks with tension before severing into a cathartic howl. The blend of crushing instrumentation and spectral vocal harmonies generates an atmosphere that feels existentially suffocating yet fiercely alive. Final Days never lets go of its atmosphere of near-terminal dread, but its high-fidelity production ensures that nothing is buried in the mix. Instead, each rumble of bass, each industrial scrape, and every vocal inflection is rendered with meticulous clarity, keeping the listener suspended between clarity and chaos. It’s not just a song; it’s an immersive auditory ritual, grim, guttural, and profoundly human. It captures the feeling of standing on the edge of a collapse yet still drawing strength to shout back, even as the world caves in around you.
In All My Nightmares I Am Alone is not merely an album, it is a descent, a reckoning, and a resurrection told through sound. This is the kind of work that demands to be sat with, not just heard. Stephen Moore has crafted something brutally intimate and artistically fearless, turning his own trauma into a mirror for the listener’s most hidden truths. It’s an unfiltered portrait of pain, healing, and the raw chaos that lives between, wrapped in a genre-defying blend of industrial grit, haunting melody, and poetic fury. For anyone who believes music should challenge, provoke, and ultimately transform, this is an essential, unforgettable experience, one that leaves a mark long after the final note fades.
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