If House Of All’s first two records were the sound of ex-Fall members building a new temple from old bricks, House Of All Souls is where the ghosts come to dance. The third album from the band formed by five veterans of Mark E. Smith’s chaotic shadow-world of a band takes a giant leap forward, with Karl Burns back behind the drums.

A mythic figure among Fall faithful, Burns, who played on the band’s earliest recordings and popped in and out like a post punk poltergeist, makes a surprise return here. His presence, alongside two other two-man drum pairings and up to three guitarists per track, creates a rhythm section that’s not so much tight as tectonic. It may sound like a simple a reunion, but it’s more of an elaborate reinvention.

From opener “The Devil's House” to the eerie, morbid closer “Born At Dawn And Dead At Sunset,” House Of All Souls is the band’s most cohesive yet still exploratory album yet. While still rooted in the post-punk scrape and snarl of their shared past, it bends toward something more psychedelic, more mystic, something stranger. That cohesion is no small feat. With seven members - each with a distinct style and a deep well of musical baggage - the risk of collapse is real. But instead, the record clicks into place like a séance reaching full communion. Phil Lewis, who’s filled in live for Pete Greenway, makes his studio debut, further blurring the line between lineup and legacy.

The production too, feels elevated; smeared with echo and mire, yet sharp enough to slice. It’s a record you don’t just listen to, you inhabit. And there’s no obvious path through it, just valleys and peaks of musical unease, bursts of brilliance, and the feeling that you’re never quite alone in the world. Fifty years on from the Fall’s founding, House Of All isn’t just an echo of that legacy. House Of All Souls proves they’ve conjured something new, and it’s very much alive.