The vinyl hisses, the needle drops, and within seconds, Next of Sin lets you know exactly what you’re in for. It’s not a throwback—it’s a threat. A scalding four-track EP from Dutch grinders Ancestral Sin, this release doesn’t just resurrect their legacy—it shovels it into the now, kicking and howling with every turn of the wax.
Formed in 1989, Ancestral Sin isn’t chasing relevance. They already burned that bridge in the ’90s. After a long silence, they regrouped with Ragnar—known from My Minds Mine and Inhume—behind the kit, and began unloading new material again in 2018. By 2022, Social Hate Speech proved they weren’t interested in being anyone’s nostalgic comfort band. The follow-up, Next of Sin, sharpens the blade. It’s shorter, meaner, faster.
The EP’s core message is bleak but unflinchingly direct: humanity, as a collective species, has failed to evolve. Socially. Economically. Culturally.
“The EP title refers to the continuous epic failing of mankind to improve itself as a race, both socially and economically.”
It’s not subtle, and it’s not supposed to be. This isn’t hardcore for hashtags or playlists. This is for the back rooms, the basements, and the cramped record store racks where records are flipped and lives sometimes flipped with them.
The opening track, “Next of Sin,” doesn’t waste time.
“It inconveniently kicks you in the face with the traumatic aftermath of perpetual warfare, passed on from one generation to the next.”
It’s legacy as trauma. Inheritance as wound. A generational echo chamber of destruction that masquerades as defense.
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Track two, “Vulgar Display of Wealth,” pivots but doesn’t ease.
“It addresses our Western obsession and artery-cloaking living standard, it’s sickening!”
The image is literal: wealth as a kind of slow-death cholesterol. This is a track that looks past the optics of excess and points directly at the body count hidden beneath consumption.
Third on the list is “Hardcore Woke Cop,” and if the title feels like a provocation, the content doesn’t pull the punch.
“It explores the woke movement and questions to what point cancelling serves its purpose.”
No side is spared. No sacred cow left unbruised. This is not a band playing politics for clout. This is a band asking uncomfortable questions in a scene that too often hides behind slogans.
And finally, “Whistleblower” brings it to a close with one of the most complicated ethical provocations.
“It tells you to keep your mouth shut when you spot (corporate) corruption, but should you?”
The question is the track. The threat of silence, the weight of complicity. It’s the sound of staring down a system built to swallow you whole, while trying to decide if your voice is a weapon or a liability.
This EP doesn’t pad its message. What you get is a 10” vinyl that runs through you like shrapnel—precise, fast, and carrying decades of disgust at the world it finds itself in. Play it loud and decide what kind of inheritance you’re passing down.
