Article by: killer.solo.music
There’s a particular smell that hangs around Australian heavy music. It’s equal parts stale beer, sweat-soaked merch shirts, cheap kebabs consumed at ungodly hours, and the faint electrical burn of an overworked power board holding together an entire DIY scene with blind optimism and gaffer tape.
It smells like survival.
And right now, Destruction of the Healer are breathing life back into it.
The Wollongong death metal outfit are preparing to unleash their new full-length, A Universe Bereaved, a record that trades some of their earlier atmosphere for something sharper, more violent, and infinitely more focused. But beneath the blast beats and gutturals lies a band obsessed with something bigger than brutality.
Community.
Speaking with frontman Jackson and drummer Ethan felt less like an interview and more like catching up with mates after a show — the kind of conversation that starts with songwriting and somehow ends with a passionate debate about Sydney’s best kebab shops.
That’s the beauty of underground metal. The music might be extreme, but the people rarely are.
For Jackson , the shift in sound came from finally letting go of total creative control.
“This is the first album to be co-written,” he explains. “Everything before this, I was writing myself.”
Enter bassist Darby Ball, armed with a love of brutal death metal, technical precision, and riffs that hit like a sledgehammer wrapped in barbed wire.
Jackson ’s love for Gothenburg melodeath collided headfirst with Ball’s fixation on the suffocating heaviness of Cannibal Corpse, Suffocation, and Origin. The result is a record that balances melody and destruction with surgical precision.
Pretty and punishing.
Elegant and absolutely feral.
The addition of guitarist Gwyneth Jansen has also transformed the band’s creative process. Free from the impossible balancing act of handling guitar and vocals simultaneously, Jackson has been able to focus entirely on his performance.
No compromises. No holding back.
Just chaos.
As musicians, they’re all pushing harder. Faster riffs. More technical drumming. Greater vocal range. Bigger ideas.
“A Universe Bereaved” feels like the sound of a band refusing to settle.
But what struck me most wasn’t the album itself — it was their commitment to building a future for heavy music beyond their own success.
Destruction of the Healer are passionate advocates for all-ages shows, youth spaces, and creating opportunities for the next generation of heavy music fans.
And they’ve seen the change firsthand.
They remember playing to rooms filled with older metalheads nursing beers at the back of the venue. Now they’re watching young fans throw themselves into the pit, discovering death metal for the first time.
“Alternative music is a young person’s game,” Jackson says. “It’s for the youth.”
He’s right.
The scene doesn’t survive on nostalgia alone.
It survives because some kid walks into their first all-ages show and discovers something that changes their life forever.
Every packed room starts with one curious teenager.
Every thriving scene starts with someone opening the door.
As the conversation drifted from DIY recording techniques to festival aspirations and dreams of sharing stages with The Black Dahlia Murder, one thing became clear: Destruction of the Healer aren’t chasing trends.
They’re building something sustainable.
Something real.
A Universe Bereaved was tracked largely in home studios and garages, mixed and mastered by Jackson himself, and refined through countless hours of self-doubt, creative fatigue, and obsessive tweaking.
The glamorous side of heavy music it is not.
But that’s the reality of Australian metal in 2026.
Bands wear ten hats because they have to.
They become producers, marketers, drivers, content creators, promoters and roadies because nobody else is coming to save them.
And somehow, despite all of that, they still find the energy to champion younger bands, create opportunities, and strengthen the scene around them.
That’s the kind of energy Australian heavy music desperately needs.
Not gatekeeping.
Not nostalgia.
Not endless arguments about whether deathcore is “real metal”.
Just people creating, collaborating, and helping each other build something bigger than themselves.
Destruction of the Healer’s universe may be bereaved, but the scene around them is anything but.
The future is loud.
The future is young.
And if these Wollongong death dealers have anything to say about it, the future is going to be absolutely brutal.
A Universe Bereaved releases July 9.
This is the gospel.
I bite crowd surfers.
Killer.
