I have spent the past week listening to Aerosmith. More specifically, Toys in the Attic, on repeat. Christmas will do that to you. Even I need to step away occasionally, and for a solid seven days I didn’t touch anything heavier than swaggering, cocaine-flecked classic rock. No blast-beats. No growls. No sonic violence. Just riffs, strut, and nostalgia.
Which meant that when it came time to get back into review mode, I wasn’t entirely sure how my brain was going to cope. After all, if you spend long enough basking in the sleazy confidence of Aerosmith at their peak, anything heavier can feel like being shoved into icy water without warning.
Fortunately, Ammo dropped Warmonger into my inbox at exactly the right moment, and it turned out to be the perfect way to recalibrate my ears.
Make no mistake, Warmonger is heavy as balls. This isn’t some gentle reintroduction to extreme music, but it is a record with layers, depth, and groove that reach beyond the usual scorched-earth tactics. Ammo understand restraint, dynamics, and—crucially—how to make heaviness hit harder by giving it room to breathe.
At its core, Warmonger is a fusion of rap and metal, but not the kind that clogged the arteries of the early 2000s and nearly killed the genre stone dead. There’s no whiff of backwards caps, cartoon aggression, or trend-chasing nonsense here. Instead, Ammo tap into the lineage that actually worked: the confrontational weight of Body Count, the unhinged hardcore energy of early Suicidal Tendencies, and a shadowy, street-level atmosphere that recalls Tricky’s Maxinquaye era or UNKLE at their most paranoid.
What separates Warmonger from a lot of genre-blenders is that it never feels like a gimmick. The rap elements aren’t bolted on for novelty value, and the metal side doesn’t exist just to give everything a bit more punch. Both halves are fully integrated, feeding off each other and pushing the songs forward with real intent. When the riffs hit, they hit with purpose—thick, muscular, and laced with hardcore bite. When the vocals flow, they do so with clarity and venom, spitting lines that feel lived-in rather than postured.
Warmonger sounds massive without being overcooked. The low end is dense and physical, the guitars cut without turning into white noise, and the beats—whether live-sounding or programmed—slam with authority. Everything has its place in the mix, which allows the album’s shifting moods to land properly. This isn’t about overwhelming you; it’s about dragging you into its world and keeping you there.
Lyrically, Warmonger operates in a space of confrontation and survival. There’s anger here, sure, but it’s focused anger—aimed outward at systems, hypocrisy, and personal demons rather than flailing wildly in all directions. The words carry weight because they feel grounded, delivered by those who believe every syllable rather than those playing a role. It gives the record an edge that a lot of heavier releases lack: authenticity.
Tracks shift gears smoothly, allowing groove-driven sections to build tension before detonating into full-force assaults. Their are interludes that make the whole edperience feel cinematic and it’s that sense of movement keeps Warmonger engaging from start to finish, and it’s a large part of why it works so well as a full album rather than just a collection of tracks.
There’s also a confidence running through this record that can’t be faked. Ammo aren’t trying to prove anything. They’re not chasing the essy way or begging for approval from purists on either side of the metal/rap divide. Warmonger exists because this is the music they want to make, and that conviction bleeds through every second of its runtime.
Coming back to heavier music after a brief self-imposed exile, Warmonger was exactly what I needed. It reminded me that heaviness doesn’t have to mean monotony, and that aggression is at its most effective when it’s paired with intelligence and control. This is a record that hits hard, sticks around, and rewards repeat listens.
Ammo didn’t just ease me back into the groove—they grabbed me by the collar and dragged me straight back into it. And honestly? I couldn’t have asked for a better way back through the door
Warmonger by Ammo is available now.
CHOICE CUT: Bad Rep
BLACK METAL ARCHIVES VERDICT: Warmonger hits hard because it means it. Metal, rap, and hardcore collide with real weight and zero bullshit. No trends, no nostalgia, no empty extremity—just conviction, groove, and impact. This one leaves bruises.
