“God of the Dead” - Rosetta West
Photo Credit: Artist EPK
If Rosetta West were a place, it would be a smoky dive bar on the edge of the universe—part haunted temple, part blues church, part punk asylum. Their latest album, God of the Dead, feels exactly like that: a spiritual odyssey that’s as raw as it is transcendent. It’s chaotic, it’s beautiful, it’s strange—and somehow, it works.
Rosetta West, hailing from the heartland of Illinois, aren’t a band that play by any rulebook, and thank the gods (dead or otherwise) for that. God of the Dead is not a polished, neatly-packaged experience. One minute you're swaying to a haunted blues riff, and the next, you're neck-deep in distorted punk-funk fury, or drifting along a piano ballad that feels like it was written at 3 a.m. during an existential crisis.
At the center of it all is Joseph Demagore, the band’s founder and creative nucleus. He handles vocals, guitar, and piano with the reckless conviction of someone who’s seen things—real things. His vocals waver between preacher, poet, and outlaw prophet. He can snarl, croon, and crack open his heart across a single track. His guitar work, meanwhile, ranges from traditional blues licks to wild, searing feedback that sounds like it’s trying to contact the spirit realm.
Joining Demagore are Mike Weaver and Nathan Q. Scratch, tag-teaming drums like twin thunder gods, while Orpheus Jones, a Rosetta West stalwart, lays down thick, growling bass lines that feel like they’re bubbling up from the underworld. Guest musicians like Louis Constant on “Midnight” and Caden Cratch on “Boneyard Blues” only add more texture to the madness. Every player feels like they’ve stepped out of their own back-alley myth.
Now, let’s talk about the album itself.
God of the Dead is less of a “playlist-friendly” album and more of a journey—yes, an overused word, but totally appropriate here. You don’t skip around. You descend. It opens with the gritty track, ‘Boneyard Blues’ which sounds like the bastard child of Led Zeppelin and The Doors, filtered through a grave-digging fuzz pedal. It stomps and moans and seduces, setting the tone for what’s to come.
Photo Credit: Artist EPK
From there, it splinters in a thousand directions. You get “Midnight,” with its sticky, hypnotic bass and shadowy lyrics—like a blues séance in progress. Then there’s “Underground,” which somehow fuses hillbilly stomp with punk rage and funk bass. When things slow down—like on some of the acoustic tracks and piano ballads—it’s no less intense. These aren’t breathers; they’re soul gut-punches. Vulnerable, aching, and utterly honest.
One of the most exciting (and underappreciated) parts of this album is how it leans into mysticism and spirituality without sounding preachy or pretentious. Rosetta West doesn’t hand you answers. They hand you questions, and strange imagery, and vibes. Lyrics dance around myth, death, dreams, and cosmic wanderings. You don’t always know where the hell you are, but you want to stay lost a little longer.
Of course, it wouldn’t be Rosetta West if they didn’t keep things defiantly underground. Forget streaming algorithms—these folks are hiding gems in Bandcamp corners, dusty YouTube uploads, and allegedly even graveyards and haunted shipwrecks. Their fandom is niche but fierce, and their independence is legendary. They’re not trying to be everything to everyone. They’re just doing their thing, and if you get it—you really get it.
God of the Dead is a wild ride worth every weird twist. Rosetta West aren’t just playing songs—they’re casting spells. And this album? It’s one hell of a ritual.
“God of the Dead” is available now on all major streaming platforms
Follow Rosetta West - Spotify | Bandcamp | Youtube | X
Listen to Rosetta West and other similar artists on our Spotify Playlist ‘New Music Spotlight - Rock, Punk & Metal’
