The music scene in Canberra, Australia, has always possessed a certain rugged independence, a quality of isolation that forces artists to look inward to find their truest North. For Ben Rankin, that inward journey has reached a thunderous, transformative peak on February 27, 2026, with the release of his fifth studio album, In Memoriam. This is not just another collection of tracks added to a growing discography; it is a funeral and a christening all at once. By intentionally waving goodbye to the sonic blueprints of his past, Rankin has delivered a twelve track odyssey that bridges the gap between the roar of mid 2000s metalcore and the vulnerable, imperfect pulse of a man reclaiming his own humanity in a digital age.
To understand the weight of In Memoriam, one has to appreciate the sheer volume of work that led to this moment. Having already released four albums and a handful of EPs, Rankin found himself at a creative crossroads that many artists fear to even acknowledge. The easy path would have been to refine the existing formula—to make a slightly polished version of the previous record and call it progress. Instead, Rankin chose the path of the iconoclast. The title In Memoriam serves as a literal tribute to his past musical incarnations, a way of saying thank you to the versions of himself that got him here, while simultaneously burying them to make room for something far more visceral.
Recorded entirely within the sanctuary of his home studio, the album is a masterclass in the DIY ethos. Rankin has long championed the idea of the studio as a safe space for emotional release, and that comfort level is palpable in the performances. However, what sets this project apart from his previous home recordings is a deliberate shift in philosophy regarding perfection. In his earlier work, Rankin admits to a fixation on the grid—a drive to make every hit and every note mathematically perfect. With In Memoriam, he has staged a quiet rebellion against the rise of sterile, AI generated precision. He has allowed the music to breathe, embracing the subtle “off” moments and the natural fluctuations of a real human being playing real instruments. It is a refreshing stance in 2026, reminding us that the soul of rock music lives in the friction, not the finish.
Musically, the album is a high octane homage to the titans of the scene. You can hear the soaring, melodic influence of Black Veil Brides and the aggressive, rhythmic punch of I Prevail woven into the fabric of the songs. Rankin doesn’t mimic these bands; he translates their language into his own dialect. The roaring screams and catchy melodies that defined Asking Alexandria and Bullet for My Valentine are present, but they are filtered through a distinctly Australian lens of grit and determination. This is perhaps most evident in the way he has approached his songwriting this time around. There was a concerted effort to prioritize the “big” chorus, an area Rankin felt he hadn’t fully conquered in the past.
Tracks like Do You Believe In an Afterlife? serve as the emotional and structural anchors of the record. Here, the guitar riff and lyrical concepts take a backseat to a hook so massive it feels designed for the largest festival stages in the world. This focus on accessibility doesn’t mean the record lacks teeth. In fact, In Memoriam sees Rankin pushing his technical boundaries by incorporating seven string guitars for the first time. On songs like Parasite, Crown of Thorns, and the standout collaboration Rewind, the lower tunings provide a heavy, visceral weight that grounds the soaring vocal melodies.
Speaking of Rewind, the collaboration with fellow Canberra artist Machine on a Break is a natural highlight of the album. The two have been friends for years, with Rankin even serving as the drummer in her live band. That level of familiarity and mutual respect translates into a creative synergy that feels effortless. Their voices intertwine over a crushing rhythmic foundation, creating a dynamic contrast that highlights the best of both artists. It is a moment of community within a project that is largely a solitary labor of love, proving that even a sanctuary needs a guest every now and then.
The tracklist of In Memoriam reads like a roadmap of a psyche under construction. From the opening salvos of Voices and Save Your Tears to the darker, more contemplative moments of Deathwish and A Societal Collapse, the album never settles into a single mood. Instead, it ebbs and flows with the natural rhythm of someone navigating a fresh start. By the time the listener reaches the closing duo of Breathing Space and I’m Not Myself, there is a profound sense of catharsis. It is the sound of an artist who has successfully shed his skin and is standing, raw and honest, in the aftermath.
For the curators and long term fans, the significance of this being a fifth album cannot be overstated. It is a rare milestone for an independent artist to maintain this level of output while still finding ways to innovate. In Memoriam stands as a testament to the idea that you are never too far into your career to reinvent yourself. It is an invitation to the listener to join Rankin in his safe space, to hear the roar of the amplifiers and the crack in the voice, and to appreciate the beauty of a human being making noise in a room.
In an industry that is increasingly obsessed with the next viral clip or the most efficient production algorithm, Ben Rankin has delivered a record that feels dangerously real. It is an album that honors the past by refusing to live in it. It is a celebratory acknowledgement of the rebel spirit that lives in the heart of every great metalcore record, reimagined for a modern era. As the final notes of I’m Not Myself fade out, the listener is left not with the feeling of an ending, but of a wide open door. In Memoriam has done its job; the past is honored, the debt is paid, and the future for Ben Rankin has never looked more vibrant.
If you are looking for a project that combines the technical rigor of modern metal with the heart of a singer songwriter who isn’t afraid to be imperfect, then this is the record you have been waiting for. Put on your best headphones, turn the volume up until the walls rattle, and let the human feel of In Memoriam wash over you. It is a bold, bright, and brilliantly executed chapter in the ongoing story of one of Canberra’s most dedicated musical architects.
