Damián Antón Ojeda is veritably prolific. Under a variety of monikers, they have released countless albums across the past decade or so, ranging from the atmospheric black metal of Trhä to the shoegaze of recent Sadness albums—the latter being their best-known pseudonym. Demo Seven is the latest self-released entry in Ojeda’s extensive catalogue. It is the third Life album of the year, coming a day after a cover of Mineral’s classic emo track “Parking Lot”; previously, there had been no full-length efforts filed under Life since 2021.

Unsurprisingly, Life’s particular brand of screamo has historically drawn upon the post-metal flirtations of Ojeda’s other output. Songs often crawled into the double digits, playing into the internet’s seemingly insatiable appetite for lengthy tracks at the crossroads of Ojeda’s aforementioned generic interests.

In more recent times, though, Life has shifted towards bittersweet concision, with Demo Seven coming in at just 20 minutes and 35 seconds. While its ensuing experience might be familiar for dedicated screamo fans, the listening payoff is hard to tune out nonetheless.

Demo Seven opens with numerical oddity “untitled five,” featuring a repeated guitar pattern as an amplifier quietly hisses in the background. It evolves briefly before cymbals announce a break in continuity. Initially clunky, the first transition settles into a bridging riff before a whirlwind drum fill delivers the percussive galloping and strained singing familiar to much emotive hardcore. The previously-mentioned riff is revisited with melodic variation—this time underscored by the toms—before a new lead line brings the song to a close, all packed in at just over two minutes of runtime.

Aside from “days in the past” announcing itself with Ojeda’s solitary shrieks (appropriate, given their independent role as all components of Life), the remaining songs also open with a lone, clear guitar sound. This includes: the malevolent and uplifting chords of “untitled six” and “we could run away” respectively; the dreamy lick on “perfect kiss”; and the extended introduction of “untitled seven,” which morphs to incorporate the weight of another guitar’s backing before
progressing into an anthemic closing number.

This continuity in form, however, eventually subverts any nagging suspicion that Demo Seven is repetitive, even if it utilizes comparable means to reach cathartic payoff while employing a compact degree of sonic textures. Despite the ideas across tracks bearing some expected resemblance—cymbal-less breakdowns and continuously hazy chugging, for instance—their arrival often remains satisfying and startling.

For instance, “untitled six” and its overdriven cacophony showcase Ojeda’s vocal talent (a true highlight of the LP), deftlessly alternating between melodic pleads and banshee-esque wails; the result is my personal favorite song on Demo Seven. Ascendant guitars climb into their upper octaves, likewise peering above the mix on “untitled seven.”

Cascading drums at the start of “days in the past” are another technical highlight, ending with dually-recorded voices that tear at your heart and compete for your attention. That track is swiftly followed by the soft (and notably catchy) vocal counterpoint offered on “perfect kiss,” a distinct reprise which is ceaselessly succeeded with shouts. On its penultimate number, “we could run away,” Demo Seven offers some shimmering jangle to ease off the use of blurred distortion; ironically, given the title, the song manages to start and stop itself twice, resulting in a commendable confrontation with the listener.

Demo Seven does not need delayed, slowly-cresendoed explosions and shoehorned timbral gimmicks to achieve something resonant or affective in nature. It cuts sharply to the point while opening itself to surprises; it is not a watershed moment or bombastically grandiose like Demo Three (which I admittedly prefer), but it is absolutely worth a Bandcamp listen from anyone at all intrigued by heavy music.

Order Demo Seven by Life HERE