Released on October 25, 2025, Chama doesn’t feel like a “new” Soulfly record — it feels like a rebirth.
At a time when a lot of metal seems caught between nostalgia and noise, Max Cavalera has turned inward instead of backward. The album’s title, meaning both flame and calling in Portuguese, couldn’t fit better. This isn’t a relight of old embers; it’s something that still burns hot, something that matters.
Nearly thirty years into their run, Soulfly sound raw again — not because they’re chasing heaviness, but because they’re chasing honesty. The tribal rhythms are back in full force, the riffs are thick enough to bend air, and Cavalera’s voice feels sharper than it has in a decade.
There’s no pretense here. Chama sounds like a band that’s comfortable in its skin but still restless enough to scratch.
From the Spark: Forging the Flame
The opener, “Indigenous Inquisition,” doesn’t creep in — it pounces. The percussion alone could shake the walls. Max’s guitar tone is swampy and mean, the kind of crunch you feel in your chest before you even notice the tempo. It’s a primal statement: the tribe’s back, and the fire never went out.
Then “Storm the Gates” kicks in, and it’s the full package — tribal grooves, chest-beating riff, and that unmistakable bark from Cavalera that somehow sounds both furious and joyful. It’s Soulfly doing what only Soulfly can: turning anger into celebration.
“Nihilist” slides in next, darker and moodier. There’s something cinematic about it — the guitars hang in the air, the drums thud like ritual drums at midnight. You can tell Max is thinking as much as he’s raging.
And when “No Pain = No Power” rolls around, the groove just moves. The swagger’s there, the hooks bite, and the band sounds alive — the kind of alive you only get when family’s involved.
Every track feels like another log tossed onto the flame. You can feel the smoke in the room.
The Shape of the Blaze
What’s wild about Chama is how clean it sounds without losing any of its dirt. Cavalera’s sons, Zyon (drums) and Igor Amadeus (bass), make a difference here. There’s muscle in the rhythm section, but there’s also chemistry — an instinct that doesn’t have to be rehearsed.
You hear it in “Favela / Dystopia,” which lurches between a marching riff and hypnotic percussion. It’s a heavy song, but not for heaviness’s sake — it’s groove and movement, the body before the brain.
“Black Hole Scum” is the closest thing the record has to an old-school rager, pure head-down momentum. But even that one feels tighter, more sculpted than Soulfly’s early chaos. This isn’t the wild swing of Primitive; it’s the focused punch of veterans who still have something to prove.
There’s restraint here, but it’s not about holding back — it’s about control. Max has always been at his best when he balances fury with feel, and that’s what Chama nails.
Sound and Structure: Fire in the Studio
Produced by Max and Arthur Rizk, Chama sounds alive. You can practically hear the room in the drums — air moving, skins shaking, metal breathing. The mix is thick and modern but not overdone.
The tribal percussion isn’t background decoration; it’s the backbone. On tracks like “Eternal Pyre” and the closer “Chama,” it carries everything, pushing the songs forward like a heartbeat. The guitars don’t crowd it; they dance around it, carving out space.
The record flows like a single ritual — no filler, no downtime. It builds, breaks, then circles back, each song feeding the next. The pacing feels intentional, the kind of sequencing that used to matter more than it does now.
There’s also warmth in how it’s played. You can tell these aren’t parts built on a grid — they’re lived in. When Max yells, it’s not perfect, but it’s real, and that’s the kind of imperfection you can’t fake.
The Spirit Beneath the Flame
For all the screaming and distortion, Chama is about connection. The word flame might sound simple, but here it’s everything — family, faith, purpose, rebellion.
Max Cavalera has always worn his spirituality like armor, but on this record it feels like a compass. The fire isn’t about destruction; it’s about direction. The presence of his sons adds weight to that. You’re hearing legacy in motion — a band that’s literally generational now.
That energy translates in every groove. Chama feels alive because it’s rooted in something personal. When Max chants, when Zyon rolls the toms, when the guitars lock into that heartbeat rhythm — it’s all conversation.
This might sound grand, but it’s true: Chama feels like communion. Loud, sweaty, slightly chaotic communion.
Legacy: The Fire That Never Dies
In the context of Soulfly’s catalog, Chama sits somewhere between reflection and renewal. It doesn’t reinvent the band, but it redefines their focus. The fire is still there — just burning cleaner, hotter, and a bit wiser.
Longtime fans will recognize the DNA — the tribal patterns of Soulfly, the grit of Dark Ages, the swagger of Prophecy. But there’s also a freshness that comes from the lineup’s energy. This is a band not looking backward but grounding themselves deeper into who they’ve always been.
Where a lot of legacy acts coast, Soulfly still chase the spark. You can hear it in how the songs breathe, in how the record never quite sits still.
When the final drums of the title track fade out, it doesn’t feel like an ending. It feels like the next fire starting somewhere else.
Final Verdict: 8.5 / 10
Chama is Soulfly in full spirit — raw, rhythmic, alive. It’s not a retread or a nostalgia trip. It’s fire with direction, chaos with intent.
Every riff, every drum hit, every growl sounds like it means something. After all these years, that’s rare.
Cavalera hasn’t mellowed; he’s sharpened. He’s found a way to turn age into fuel.
When Chama ends, there’s a heartbeat that doesn’t go away — the kind of pulse you only get from music that’s honest.
And maybe that’s what Soulfly’s been chasing all along: not just noise, not just fire, but a flame that still feels alive.
