When you give a perfect rating to a band's second album, what are you implying? “Hey guys, you might as well pack up now, because no way are you ever topping this one,” is one possibility. “For your next record, I expect God to do a guest solo,” is another. “Make this album again however many times and I'll buy it each time,” is probably the most reasonable extrapolation.

In that regard, there's no reason for disappointment here. While Waves of Visual Decay was a significant evolution from Conspiracy in Mind, with Payment of Existence, they've taken the formula that made Waves such an absolute winner and run with it, barrelling through pretenders and scenesters like ninepins. So you can expect an album that frequently twists and turns as it heads from one long, intricate song to another, with many expertly laid layers to sink through, all the while boasting a bigass sound that hits you square in the chest when they let loose.

On hearing the album for the first time, I went, “Ah. Well, it sounds like...Communic, I guess. Pretty cool.” It was only on the third listen or so that I was going about my business when the massive stomp of a chorus from On Ancient Ground slammed home and then I was thumping on my desk, going “Goddamn, this is awesome!” It's like Communic don't even write songs, they make little audio detonation devices that trigger after a designated number of play-throughs and blow your mind from the inside out. Now I can't get them out of my head – I'm still undecided as to whether this is excellent songwriting or subversive mental infiltration.

Bottom line, it's not uncommon to feel a twinge of disappointment, even, on the first listen, only to have it steadily replaced by a dawning realisation that somewhere along the way during subsequent spins, you've gone from appreciating the music to positively revelling in it. While you could find a semblance of verse-chorus-verse formats in most of the songs, there's no guarantee how long it'll serve you, since they frequently abandon early parts of the song and simply move on, never to return. The upside is, once you start getting comfortable with the route they're taking, and the songs themselves start running grooves in your mind, you start to notice a lot more. There are entire parts that you missed the first time around, there's interplay between the guys that you overlooked, and all this jumps out and smacks you in the face. I can't think of too many metal bands who can pull off layering of this caliber. The more astute among us may fast-forward to that euphoria on first listen, but I think it's more fun my way.

Sonically, Communic doesn't show any signs of letting up, functioning as a lean, mean killing machine – riding furiously hard, kicking ass and taking names all the while. All the songs are tightly packed with incisive riffs spaced out with the odd melancholy lull, whip-snapping effortlessly with the coil and release of tension. Each of Oddleif Stensland's monstrous riffs sounds gargantuan enough to flatten you and your house, and collectively, they are the kind of force that swallow cities whole; the stuff of legend. Tor Atle Andersen rides shotgun enthusiastically for the aggro parts, and what a job he pulls off – punctuating off-kilter beats as the band barrels downhill towards a glorious collision and anchoring the hull while they swerve around to slam through from one passage to another. Erik Mortensen is more of an unsung hero – like the others, he plays for the song and not any virtuoso bragging rights, so it's easy to lose track of him in the chaos. Once you start paying closer attention though, you notice how his subtle variations and deviations from Stensland's guitar lines add so much to the buildup and progression of the tunes. Just one more reminder how the interaction between these guys is almost telepathic and it's sometimes possible to forget that the band is three separate individuals and not one organic entity.

Stensland's vocal attack shows signs of being further honed into a multifaceted instrument, slicing and punching its way through massive stone-carved riffs when the mood is dark, as well as dancing its way around the instruments during the more serene passages. Intelligent and judicious use of harmonies and different octave backings doesn't hurt, either. Hearing a guy like him claim that earlier in his career, his bandmates complained because his “singing was so bad” is enough cause to give every mediocre singer hope that someday they too could be awe-inspiring wailers.