Style: Black metal, atmospheric black metal, folk (harsh vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Winterfylleth, Grima, Havukruunu, Panopticon, Abigail Williams
Country: New York, United States
Release date: 8 August 2025

Native American and Norse peoples share a few historical parallels in how they were confronted, overrun, and transformed by Christian evangelization. Norse paganism was gradually outlawed in favor of Christianity in the high middle ages, while colonization of and expansion within the New World saw many Native American peoples and practices eradicated via law, violence, and disease. Many surviving texts and oral traditions from these cultures were subsequently preserved (and thus perverted) through Christian reinterpretation and narrative.¹ In both histories conversion to Christianity was, to put it lightly, highly encouraged. The treatment and transformation of these two ocean-separated populations isn’t a mirror image, but their history certainly rhymes.

In its developing stages, a large part of Scandinavian black metal identity was rooted in rebelling against that historical inertia and embracing the old ways²—continuing to shape the genre to this day. All that to say: I can see how the sights, sounds, and lyrics of black metal might have a certain appeal to somebody of Native American descent. Though he’s not the first to infuse an indigenous influence with extreme metal, Jon Krieger’s Blackbraid is certainly my favorite. Blackbraid I was an instant darling and my favorite release of 2022; the Native American inspiration, artwork, and dour yet melodious atmosphere in the music hit all the right spots for me. Blackbraid II (2023) was even better, expanding on and refining the ideas from its predecessor and cementing Krieger as more than just a one-off.

Blackbraid III has now descended upon us, with no shortage of the fire and frost of its elder brethren. As before, riffs arrive in a variety of guises: tremolo-picked blizzards punctuated by brash high chords, power-chord progressions that chant beneath soaring lead lines, and even a few chugs on the low end for good measure. The unceasing wintry gale of the harmonious guitars in “Tears of the Dawn” will blanket you in aural snow, and the hollow production style of the album only adds to that chilling effect. “God of Black Blood” trudges with slow, face-crumpling heaviness (and has the album’s standout guitar solo). My favorite track, though, is “And He Became the Burning Stars.” It opens with a triplet-driven 6/8 riff whose rhythm is an oar cutting through turbulent waters. Surrounding this riff are dissonant yet melodic chords that crash into it, feeling both alien to the riff but perfectly at home in the album’s broader sound. But, the real magic of the song comes in its melodic and soft bridge that transitions into the latter half of the piece, which completely transforms the song into something as beautiful and pensive as the opening was aggressive. You’ll remain exhilarated and moved across its ten minute runtime.

The music here is so consistently captivating that the greatest criticism I can level at Blackbraid III is its overly rigid structure. The opening tracks set a template that the rest of the album rarely strays from: a soft, acoustic opener (“Dusk (Eulogy)”) followed by a full-throttle black metal scorcher (“Wardrums at Dawn on the Day of My Death”). This pattern is almost ever-present, deviating only after “Wardrums…” and again at the very end, with a fantastic cover of Lord Belial’s “Fleshbound.” One particular interlude track, “The Earth Is Weeping,” is overly repetitive, three times as lengthy as it should be, and should have been attached to its predecessor as an outro. Others, though, justify their place—like “Traversing the Forest of Eternal Dusk,” which weaves flowing guitar melodies, Native American flute, and what sounds like genuine field recordings of a living forest into something transportive. Such interludes are the quiet nighttime fires that keep you alive amidst the icy gusts of the black metal blizzard about you.

Krieger’s knack for creating evocative song titles continues to be in full effect³ on Blackbraid III. With names like “And He Became the Burning Stars” or “Wardrums at Dawn on the Day of My Death,” the part of me that longs for lore and some form of spiritual communion with nature swells just reading them. The lyrics are no slouch either: “The dust of my spirit / Shall flow forth at twilight / A sacred sepulchre in frost / An offering of flesh to the moss” (from “The Dying Breath of a Sacred Stag”). Adding to the effect is the top-notch vocal delivery and production on III. While not being able to understand a harsh vocalist’s specific words almost never detracts from a song for me, intelligible rasps and gutturals can only elevate the material—and nary a scathing shriek passed through my ears that I couldn’t understand on first listen.

I came into Blackbraid III with expectations that were miles high, and in that sense I might be slightly disappointed. Across its fifty-three minutes, the shifts between fury and calm create a cycle of tension and release that mirrors the ebb and flow of the natural landscapes that the album evokes. Thus, the music clings to the tonal and structural palette of its magical predecessors—perhaps to a fault. The consistency that Blackbraid has displayed across three releases is both a blessing and a curse. I tend to be most interested in trying out new flavors from an established artist, and Blackbraid III doesn’t exactly try any different recipes in the cookbook. Yet its strong songwriting, deep integration of the creator’s folklore, and solid production values go a long way to turn a “more of the same” release into something that I’ll keep spinning over the years.

Recommended tracks: And He Became the Burning Stars, Traversing the Forest of Eternal Dusk, The Dying Breath of a Sacred Stag, Like Wind Through the Reeds Making Waves Like Water
You may also like: Saor, Walg, Valdrin, Pan Amerikan Native Front
Final verdict: 7.5/10

Related links: Bandcamp | Official Website | Instagram | Metal-Archives

Label: Independent

Blackbraid is:
– Jon S. Krieger, also known as Sgah’gahsowáh (vocals, guitars, bass)
With guests:
– Neil Schneider (drums)

1. I myself grew up in an American-born Christian tradition that bastardizes the history of Native Americans. ︎
2. And I mean the old “old ways,” not the South/Central Europe circa 1939 “old ways.” ︎
3. “Barefoot Ghost Dance on Bloodsoaked Soil,” “Warm Wind Whispering Softly Through Hemlock at Dusk” (Blackbraid I), “A Song of Death on the Winds of Dawn,” and “Twilight Hymn of Ancient Blood” (Blackbraid II) being some favorites from previous albums. ︎

The post Review: Blackbraid – Blackbraid III appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Artwork by: Benjamin König

Style: Atmospheric Black Metal, Doom Metal, Psychedelic Folk (Mixed vocals, mostly clean)
Recommended for fans of: Alcest, Myrkur, Opeth, Panopticon, Primordial, Ulver
Country: Finland
Release date: 13 June 2025

A fun fact about me: I love a fun ghost / skeleton / creepy homie on some cover art. The crimson bone-buddy getting his bask on fronting The Last Ten Seconds of Life’s Soulless Hymns, Revocation’s spoopy tomb gracing Deathless, The Tritonus SkeleBell dominating Hooded Menace’s sixth LP; each one factored heavily into my listening interest. For as much as the music has the final say, never, ever underestimate the power of an attention-grabbing album cover. Maybe it matters less these days with the popularity of auto-shuffles and (probably AI-generated) playlists, but for me, careening towards middle-age and still fond of making record store hauls, artwork is the first thing I experience before ever considering “play.” And the best artwork often tells us something about what we’re getting into, a sort of visual preview of the aural secrets about to be uncovered.

So, when Nocturne—the seventh release by Finnish atmoblack doomsters Hexvessel—was recommended to me, I took one look at the ghosty fellow casting the ol’ “spectral sprinkle” over that sleepy, snow-capped hamlet isolated amidst a moody charcoal expanse and knew I had to give the album my time. Unfamiliar with Hexvessel and their oeuvre but with all my folk / black metal radars going off, I was eager to see if Nocturne’s musical offerings proved as winsome as the endearingly dreary (endrearing?) artwork. Or would this zesty spectre leave me dusted with disappointment? Grab your soul salt shakers, and let’s have a taste, shall we?

What struck me almost immediately upon firing up Nocturne (aside from the frustratingly ubiquitous practice of pointless openers in metal—titled “Opening,” no less) was how interrelated the music and artwork feel. Songs roll over the horizon like ghostly clouds, sketched in rainy-day hazes of fuzzed guitars, sprinkling in delicately-plucked folk acoustics amidst the ebb and flow of roiling black metal tremolos and hail-storm blast beats. Glimmers of death-and-roll cut through the gray on tracks like “Inward Landscapes,” adding spurts of energy to the haunting, often funereal backdrop of wailing guitars, doleful bells, and ritual-esque timbre of vocalists Mat Kvohst McNerney and Saara Nevalainen. Baleful synths carve out images of forlorn worship houses from the formless charcoal landscape (“A Dark and Graceful Wilderness”), wherein one could imagine frightened villagers huddling, seeking some measure of safety as this leering spectre drifts, steadfast and resolute, across their homes—I’m reminded of Count Orlok’s shadow falling upon Wisborg in Robert Eggers’ Gothic masterwork, Nosferatu (2024). Supplying terror not through red-teethed violence, but rather via sheer enveloping presence.

There is a mournful, otherworldly quality to Nocturne’s atmospheric blackened folk, especially in softer cuts like “Concealed Descent,” where morose acoustic guitar and violin take center stage alongside McNerney’s wistful cleans. The paganic dirge of “Unworld,” with its lurching, Brave Murder Day-era Katatonia opening riff, chanted vocalizations, and smoky heft, constructs notions of grandeur in decay; this small storied town, perhaps built upon the bones of ancient edifices, sundered by slicing winds of black metal aggression amidst the deliberate marching of funeral doom aesthetics. By the time closer “Phoebus” blows through, there’s nothing left, our spectral harbinger having folded man’s scaffolding back into the architecture of the (other)natural world. In many ways, I’m brought to the doorstep of Panopticon’s folk / black metal crossroads, except replace twangy americana with the dreamy plucking that seems to signify Finnish folk,¹ then toss in some slow and dolorous doom vibes for added flavor. Hexvessel have set out with a particular sonic palette and aesthetic in mind, and they do nothing to disturb it across Nocturne’s near-hour of play.

Which brings us to perhaps my only true gripe about Nocturne: like Spectral Bae closing in to sprinkle the town with his damnedruff, Hexvessel’s assemblage of fuzzy, doomed-out atmoblack tunes have a tendency to drift across the consciousness. Multiple times, I lost track of where I was in the album, lulled by a particular folky moment or vibed-out bridge before being shocked back into awareness by one of McNerney’s intermittent harsh cries or an equally intermittent energetic drum run. Sometimes, I found myself halfway across the album; other times, still wrapped in the ashen folds of a longer thread (“Sapphire Zephyrs,” “Inward Landscapes,” “Mother Destroyer”). This makes the album something of an “easy” listen, a record to throw on and just chill out to, despite the large swaths of razoring guitars and blasting snares. Lacking measures of more “conventional” structures, this is hardly an album to inspire sing-alongs, or even headbanging. There are no real central riffs, no sense of verse-chorus-verse dynamics for a listener to grab on to. This lends Nocturne an organic quality, affording a pleasantness to the experience—a dream-like effect—even if I’m often left struggling to remember where I was in the aftermath. More mood-setting than neck-snapping.

Fans of groups like Enisum, or fellow Prophecy partners Ceresian Valot will certainly find much to enjoy about Nocturne. Hexvessel thrum with the kind of naturalism that tends to lurk, perhaps overlooked, in black metal; everyone remembers the church burnings, the edginess, but this genre has been more than religion-bashing, murder, and hate crimes across its many storied decades. Nocturne, with its gloomy moods and pagan, almost druidic nature vibes, represents one of my favorite breeds of black metal. More about the journey than any singular sonic destination, Hexvessel’s latest may struggle to maintain my full attention at times, but there’s something to be said for the kind of album you can just… float away on. A fine dusting, indeed.

Recommended tracks: Unworld, Phoebus, A Dark and Graceful Wilderness
You may also like: Blood Ceremony, Ceresian Valot, Enisum, Nechochwen, Wolvennest
Final verdict: 7/10

Related links: Bandcamp | Spotify | Official Website | Facebook | Instagram | Metal-Archives

Label: Prophecy Productions – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Hexvessel is:
– Mat Kvohst McNerney (vocals, guitars, songwriting)
– Kimmo Helén (piano, keyboards, strings, guitars)
– Jukka Rämänen (drums, percussion)
– Ville Hakonen (bass)
With guests:
– Aleksi Kiiskilä (lead guitars)
– Saara Nevalainen (female vocals)
– Yusaf Vicotnik Parvez (lead vocals, “Unworld”)
– Juho Vanhanen (backing vocals, “Phoebus”)

1.  Assuming Finnish folk sounds like the kind Finnish metal bands employ. ︎

The post Review: Hexvessel – Nocturne appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Progressive rock, post-rock, folk (clean vocals, Ukrainian lyrics)
Recommended for fans of: Riverside, Porcupine Tree, The Pineapple Thief
Country: Ukraine
Release date: 30 May 2025

Let’s address the elephant in the room right away: How do you offer fair, critical insight into an album by a band from a war-torn nation—especially when the conflict is ongoing and the album is, by all appearances, rife with both overt and metaphorical references to that very struggle? Though I admire a bevy of Russian art and music, and I studied the language for three years in college, I’d like to make one thing crystal clear: Слава Україні. Now that my biases are laid bare, please know that my intention here is not to flatten Obiymy Doschu’s (Обійми Дощу) Vidrada into a one-dimensional token of trauma or resistance. Political reality matters, but so does the music.

And man, the music really tickles my prog fancy. My review history makes no secret that I lean towards the metal side of the spectrum. However, I make it a point to step outside my wheelhouse about once per month, just to avoid missing the forest for the trees. Vidrada fits that bill. It’s built mostly on soft acoustic plucking, dolce string melodies, and mellow, even-keeled vocal lines—practically the polar opposite of my usual fare. I tend to prefer such elements as textures to break up my metal, while Vidrada instead uses metal to break up these textures, and only sparingly at that. For all the ways it might not cater to my kvlt mentality, the LP more than makes up for it by appealing to my prog senses: non-standard time signatures, unconventional voicings, and multi-layered compositions abound.

Take “На відстані” (“At a Distance”) for example. A lurching 7/8 synthesizer melody and haunting vocal line—accompanied by a yearning string section and various distant, arpeggiated guitar touches—make up the bulk of this track. Right before this would all start to feel repetitive, the song deftly transitions—and this is going to sound weird, though I swear it works—into a soft, barely distorted, not downtuned djent outro. When individualized, these descriptors might not sound like the most unorthodox things in the progressive rock space, yet the overall vibe of the song is a tad ominous and delightfully eccentric.

“At a Distance” isn’t the only track that takes things in a heavy direction at the end. “Істини” (“Truths”) has an immensely off-beat melody (played over a steady 6/8 time) driven by a piano in its opening moments, and opting  for a mournful tone instead of an ominous one. The choruses bring in a distorted guitar with palm-muted chugs alternating to an anthemic melody, and emphatic strings to give the track a different weight than any other song on Vidrada. What makes the track truly stand out, though, is the death metal growl that comes completely out of left field towards the end. Being the penultimate track, the changeup feels like a world where Opeth had only ever written Damnation-style albums and then threw in a “Ghost of Perdition” intro in the back half of a random song. The switch is so jarring that I don’t think it entirely works, but it certainly gets points for shaking things up.

“Truths” and “At a Distance” stand apart on Vidrada, diverging from the album’s prevailing blend of sweetness, tenderness, and hope. That amalgam is present not just in the gentle melodies and soft instrumentation, but also in the lyrics. While some of the text makes direct reference to the tragic and unjust conflict in Ukraine, the message doesn’t ask for your pity, instead it yearns for the light of a better day. “Після війни” (“After the War”) prays: “After the war we will return to our cities to live as we should; playing with children under clear skies. Breathing in the world with full, open hearts.” These aren’t tunes and words for war drums, they’re lullabies for survival, and I am touched on some level by almost all of them.

Many individual moments on the album really tug at my heartstrings, and most of said moments seem to include a beautiful, driving, staccato string accompaniment. Vidrada’s closer “Не опускати руки” (“Don’t Give Up”) is probably the standout in this regard. The song builds up to its wonderful outro, and releases with emotive strings that add to an anthemic vocal chant and rallying cry. The title track “Відрада” (”Refuge”) has a chorus with strings that punctuate the melody and punch-uate you right in the feels, and it’s yet another track with a bright outro. Other moments, however, lean a bit dull and overstay their welcome. The opening minutes of this album, for example, had me afraid I was going to have to trudge through it. “Діти” (“Children”) starts with a guitar motif that, in contrast to the majority of the album, makes me feel nothing. Thankfully, these moments were rare.

Taken as a whole, Vidrada is a remarkably cohesive and emotionally articulate record. While not devoid of virtuoso pyrotechnics or overt heaviness in the music and lyrics, those aren’t its driving forces. Rather, empathy and optimism carry the melodies and message of this release. It’s not flawless nor pioneering, and some stretches drift a little too far into saccharinity, but even the lulls feel like part of the album’s greater patience and poise.

Слава Україні

Recommended tracks: Refuge, Don’t Give Up, At a Distance, Truths
You may also like: Iamthemorning, Haven of Echoes, Esthesis, Fjieri
Final verdict: 7.5/10

Related Links: Bandcamp | Instagram | Facebook | Spotify

Label: Independent

Obiymy Doschu is:
Volodymyr Agafonkin — vocals, acoustic guitar, music (1, 3–8), lyrics
Mykola Kryvonos — bass guitar, producing
Yaroslav Gladilin — drums
Olena Nesterovska — viola, music (2)
Yevhenii Dubovyk — piano, keyboards
Oleksii Perevodchyk — electric guitars

With guests:
Kateryna Nesterovska — violin I
Anastasiia Shypak — violin II
Artem Zamkov — cello
Karina Sokolovska — back vocals
Mariia Zhytnikova — back vocals (1, 4)
Andriy Tkachenko — extreme vocals (7)
Oleksiy Katruk — contributions to guitar parts

1. Volodymyr Agafonkin — idea, photo
   Viktoria Groholska — watercolor painting
   Kateryna Yefymenko — retouch & editing
   Mariia Agafonkina, Daryna Agafonkina — models ︎

The post Review: Obiymy Doschu – Відрада (Vidrada) appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

No artist credited

Style: darkwave, singer-songwriter (clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Oceans of Slumber, Dead Can Dance
Country: Texas, United States
Release date: 21 February, 2025

With each release, Oceans of Slumber continue to be possibly the most frustrating band in all of the prog sphere for me. On paper, their sound should be incredible, and every member of the band has more than enough talent to make masterpieces, Between ever-shifting genre conventions, production that toes the line between mediocre and outright bad, and albums that are far too long for their own good, I just can’t seem to make them stick. They have moments of fleeting brilliance, like ‘Decay of Disregard’ from 2020’s The Banished Heart and the title track of Where Gods Fear To Speak, where I feel an incredible band just waiting to poke through. This all being said, why do I have such a fixation and frustration with them in particular? There are plenty of middling prog bands I could furrow my brow at, so why them?

The reason is Cammie Beverly has a voice that can reduce even the manliest of metal dudes to tears. She is, indisputably—and even with the reputation OoS holds in my book—one of my favorite clean vocalists in the entire scene. She adds a soulfulness that I don’t often find in prog cleans, and her band knows that well. The Banished Heart continues to be my favorite effort due to the sheer number of songs that let Cammie shine, combined with the band’s most varied and creative song selection, even if the album is overly long.

Since I’m trying to expand my horizons a bit (see, I’m not reviewing prog death!), I figured this would be the perfect album to sink my teeth into. At a measly twenty-eight minutes, House of Grief is dwarfed by even the shortest OoS album, and to me, that’s a big plus in its favor. Another positive is every song is chock full of the siren-like croons and soulful musings Cammie Beverly is known for. I can’t knock the vocals on this album, even if I tried my very hardest to find a flaw, but House of Grief suffers from the exact same problem as every Oceans of Slumber album.

Take the album’s title track and opener for example: a very pretty song in its own right, yet completely propped up by a vocal powerhouse to a fault. A melancholic piano and simple drum beat drive the song, save for the strings near the middle, but it all floats around in limbo, and before I know it, most songs are over before I feel they’ve started. ‘For the Sake of Being’ dashes this fault for most of its four-minute runtime, the track arguably the album’s standout, with an electronic drone and string plucking eliciting as much Dead Can Dance as it does a calmer Massive Attack. However, the building crescendo towards the song’s back half builds to nothing, leaving me feeling as though this was a repurposed OoS clean section.

This album has no through line, just like every OoS album. All twenty-eight minutes of this album glide by, with varying standout moments in between, but nothing holds it all together. A collection of incredibly pretty songs, melancholic atmosphere, all riding on Beverly’s vocal talent and that alone. The choral refrains of ‘House of Grief’ and ‘Paraffin’ sound undeniably similar, with the latter adding a bit more dramatic flair; but by the time I’ve reached that point, I’ve already found that the album lacked the variance or creativity that make certain Oceans of Slumber songs click.

‘Another Room’ is yet another standout, mixing up the tempo near the beginning before letting Cammie unleash the bluesy wails that every fan of hers loves. But it falls right back into the same beginning section right after, making the entire song feel half-baked and unfinished, especially given the short runtime. There’s nothing that makes me want to come back to this album, which would be less frustrating if this were someone with a fraction of the talent, but Beverly could command so much more attention. I find the standout moments fleeting between even more moments of sullen plodding, which I shouldn’t be saying about the driving force of an incredibly popular and well-respected prog band.

Like I’ve said this entire review, I can only walk away from this with a sigh of disappointment. I was hoping that Cammie Beverly had a project I could hold up high in the musical archives of my brain. Her voice continues to be one of the best in the scene—and continues to be wasted on albums that have little to no overall vision. A clear display of vocal talent, which is basically her on every Oceans album, isn’t enough to win me over. Without anything else to truly talk about, this record feels mostly empty to me. 28-minutes of music that floats along without much of a highlight anywhere to be found. With the sheer weight of Beverly’s voice, and her many, many years composing music, all I can remain is indifferent to this album. 

Recommended tracks: For the Sake of Being, Paraffin, Another Room
You may also like: Marjana Semkina, Ophelia Sullivan, Exploring Birdsong
Final verdict: 5/10

Related links: Bandcamp | Spotify | Facebook | Instagram

Label: Independent

Cammie Beverly is:
– Cammie Beverly (everything)

The post Review: Cammie Beverly – House of Grief appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: modern classical, jazz fusion, progressive rock, folk, new age, minimalism (instrumental)
Recommended for fans of:  Ludovico Einaudi, Tigran Hamasyan, Phillip Glass, the chill space-y songs of the Mario Galaxy soundtrack
Country: Russia/United Kingdom
Release date: 28 February 2025

At the blog, we all have our niches. Claire has started her journey here as the foreign language expert; Zach is the prog death king; say the word “neofolk” and Dave is chomping at the bit. I am the weird avant-garde metal guy, so that I’m also the de facto Iamthemorning coverer is probably a surprise. Despite their dark Victorian lyricism, the chamber prog duo are light and fluttery with Gleb Kolyadin’s piano skills the defining instrumental aspect of the band: he’s easily ranked among the best piano players in prog since Iamthemorning’s 2012 debut. After covering their debut in a Lost in Time piece, as well as Marjana Semkina’s¹ solo work, Chris handed me the reins to cover Kolyadin’s third solo album².

With his distinct levity and minimalist classical-with-jazz fusion style, Mobula isn’t a surprising album from Kolyadin, but he changes things up enough from The Outland to make this record stand apart. Rather than playing with a small handful of lengthier, cohesive tracks as he did in 2023, Kolyadin presents Mobula as a series of musical vignettes—fourteen tracks with only one cresting five minutes. Each one unfurls like a short sci-fi poem, but I struggle to find a throughline: some tracks are proggy and orchestrated (“Parallax,” “Fractured,” “Tempest”) while others are Kolyadin alone playing a hundred year old grand piano (“Crystalline,” “Nebular”). Both styles are successful, but the tracklist bears an underlying tension, detracting from the experience of what on the surface is a peacefully atmospheric record.

Kolyadin flaunts his mastery of space across Mobula. On “Glimmer” he begins with a simple minimalist arpeggio which expands to build the universe out of a chord; the grand piano on “Crystalline” has endless depth, Kolyadin’s thoughtful use of silence and the sustain pedal engrossing; and the tricky buildup of “Tempest” creates an epic, giant sound in a crescendo barely lasting 2:30. Kolyadin’s greatest skill on Mobula is his less-is-more approach. Even when songs become more complicated—whether incorporating fretless bass, new age-y flute, or Evan Carson’s percussion—one can easily trace a lineage of their purpose in the song. Mobula features nothing superfluous, and Kolyadin is a uniquely thoughtful composer in the prog world. 

The production on Mobula is expansive, filling my headphones with its range of sounds. However, in its atmosphere, the production often seems reverberant and detached, particularly when Kolyadin is alone with the keys. Although capturing something beautiful in a deeply nostalgic way³, the sound isolates the piano from the listener instead of creating an intended sense of tranquil loneliness. The production negatively affects both the guitar and the flute, as well, with the former often a bit shrill during its extended notes and the latter often cheapened to sound like a recorder playing new age (particularly noticeable on “Radiant”).

Although Mobula’s format doesn’t work as well as The Outland’s more traditional structuring, another album focused on these shorter tracks from the poloniumcubes (which is a musical diary for Kolyadin containing over five hundred of these short-form pieces) is an intriguing prospect. With a dozen different concepts, Mobula still has fantastic successes across its less traditional album structure. As mentioned before, “Tempest” is a masterclass in short-form crescendo; the mixing of fretless bass and piano on “Parallax” is unusual but delightful; and intricate finger-picked guitar and violin on “Fractured” support that Kolyadin can successfully extrapolate his unique piano style to other instruments. My problem with Mobula boils down to curation more than anything wrong with the individual tracks, although several feel like half-fleshed ideas—which makes sense as this is the releasing of a musical diary. 

Coming from a genre so focused on maximalism, Kolyadin continues his case that a thoughtfully minimalist approach can be as triumphant as the best of the maximalists. Even though I’m not as impressed with Mobula as with his previous works, Gleb Kolyadin is guaranteed to elicit the most beautiful and expansive sounds possible from any piano he lays his deft fingers on.

Recommended tracks: Afterglow, Crystalline, Fractured, Tempest
You may also like: Marjana Semkina, Iamthemorning, Evan Carson, Secludja, John D. Reedy
Final verdict: 6.5/10

Related links: Bandcamp | Spotify | Facebook | Instagram

Label: KScope – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Gleb Kolyadin is:
Gleb Kolyadin – grand piano, keyboards
Evan Carson – percussion
Vlad Avy – electric guitar (1, 4, 7, 13)
Ford Collier – low whistles (2, 5, 7, 12), bansuri (5) and bombarde (12)
Liam McLaughlin – electric guitar (10, 12)
Zoltan Renaldi – bass (1, 2, 4, 5, 7, 9, 12), upright bass (12)
Charlie Cawood – acoustic & classical guitar, glockenspiel, guzheng, zither, electric kalimba, taishogoto, bow guitar (4, 9)
PJ Flynn – bass (3)
Henry Isaac Bristow – violin (9)
Ilya Izmaylov – cello (1)
Mr Konin – electronic rhythms

1. The other half of Iamthemorning ︎
2. As he covered Kolyadin’s previous album The Outland ︎
3. I cannot help but compare the intensity of atmosphere on a track like “Observer” with the feeling of desolation on a lonely planet in Mario Galaxy ︎

The post Review: Gleb Kolyadin – Mobula appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Painting by: Asthâghul; Visual design by: Francesco Gemelli

Style: Experimental black/death metal, folk (mixed vocals)
Recommended for fans of: The Ruins of Beverast, Oranssi Pazuzu, Blut Aus Nord, Leviathan (the Wrest one)
Country: France
Release date: 20 September 2024

Asthâghul is one of metal’s most mystifying presences. Solo project Esoctrilihum is written entirely in a self-made up language and its lyrics (allegedly) speak of the occult. The person/entity/musical force with a shadowy lore is extremely prolific, too, releasing up to two albums a year chock full of dense arrangements across the experimental black/death metal spectrum. Four years ago, the hype for Eternity of Shaog also reached my corner of the internet, and I was enthralled by its suffocating, yet mystifying atmosphere and emotionally potent use of violin. I cannot say I’ve kept up with all their releases, but I was happy to tackle the newest release, Döth-Dernyàlh.

To get the biggest hurdle out of the way first, let’s talk about length. Asthâghul has seldom been one to keep their records short, and at a chunky eighty minutes, Döth-Dernyàlh is no exception. Compared to earlier releases, however, Döth-Dernyàlh is far less oppressive as melodic elements are pushed to the forefront of the mix and its extreme metal aspects largely reside in the background. Its cavernous, reverb-laden mix is light on the ear, as if you heard the band playing from a distant chamber instead of witnessing it from up close. For those reasons, Döth-Dernyàlh is not at all fatiguing to listen to despite its length—from a sonic perspective at least.

None of this means that Döth-Dernyàlh is in any way gentle. Asthâghul’s tortured screams echo through layers of reverb while spooky 90s black metal synths fill the air as faint tremolo riffs, pulsating blast beats, and double pedal work remind us that this is indeed a metal record. What makes Döth-Dernyàlh so captivating, though, is how Asthâghul develops the atmosphere around a consistent rhythmic motive, creating immersive sections in which a variety of instruments play around a pulsating rhythm that last for minutes before moving onto the next idea. Traditional songcraft is largely eschewed for stream of consciousness compositions that take the listener on a trip through the astral plane where emotions flow in and out of existence at seemingly random levels of intensity. 

The most interesting addition to Esoctrilihum’s sound this time around lies in the exploration of psychedelia and folk music. Acoustic guitar frequently takes the lead, providing melody and color to balance out the abrasive aspects in a manner ranging from straightforward campfire folk a la Falkenbach to Kaatayra-esque sections where acoustics dance over otherwise extreme metal instrumentation. A general pagan aesthetic is also achieved through a constant pulse of dreamy, somewhat ominous synths interwoven by melancholic melodies from the nyckelharpa, and frequent chants from Asthâghul. Even in the album’s most cavernous, abrasive moments, the resulting soundscape is enthrallingly magical. 

Normally, this is where I’d enter my criticism paragraph, but there’s nothing I can really point to that goes wrong on Döth-Dernyàlh. It’s the kind of record that you put on while working and then lose track of time as you enter a flow state until eventually it peters out of existence but it still lingers on in your mind for a few minutes after it’s done as you come to realize that you barely remember anything that happened except for the vague sensation that it was a pleasant experience. I guess if anything, I’m missing standout moments. The album isn’t completely formless—the tracks do all come with their own identity—but there is a homogeneity to the sound that prevents individual moments from shining through, and I’m lacking some of the emotional catharsis that Asthaghul did manage to achieve on earlier albums.

Overall though, I enjoyed Döth-Dernyalh. While it lacks stand-out moments, the atmosphere is thoroughly compelling, and the fact that its eighty minute runtime flew by like it did is a testament to that. Do not look here for a conventional experience; this is a journey through the dreams of a mad musical entity that is as fascinating as it is strange, and a fitting addition to Asthaghul’s mystifying catalog.

Recommended tracks: Atüs Liberüs, Murzaithas
You may also like: Kaatayra, Bekor Qilish, Vauruvã
Final verdict: 7/10

Related links: Bandcamp | Spotify | Metal-Archives page

Label: I, Voidhanger – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Esoctrilihum is:
– Asthâghul (everything)

The post Review: Esoctrilihum – Döth-Dernyàlh appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Progressive death metal, folk, chamber music (mixed vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Ne Obliviscaris, Opeth, Gorguts
Country: Pennsylvania, United States
Release date: 24 June, 2024

When I show my music taste to my friends, they describe it as the most powerful attack with piss poor accuracy. A solid 85% of the time, I show them a complete miss that leaves them second guessing their friendship with me, but that remaining 15% is where the real heavy hitters come in. I still remember my friend proclaiming Wilderun the greatest thing to ever happen to music after showing him “The Unimaginable Zero Summer,” mere days after he said he wasn’t into prog.

But the secret is, this attack is also effective on me, too. When I comb through the new releases, there’s a low, low chance that anything sticks. Half the time, it’s usually from a band I already know. Then, there’s the even lower chance for that critical hit. That natural 20, just when I need it the most. In a late-night haze, I discovered Orgone’s Pleroma from a random Youtube recommendation, and it only took me the first few seconds to realize this was going to be something incredibly special.

When a death metal album starts with beautiful, dueling clean vocals, violin, and piano, you know it’s going to be great, but it’s what comes after that sold me on Pleroma: Instead of the typical, Opethian riffing you’d hear in many prog-death bands, Orgone opts for something you’d hear from the Gorguts playbook. This is, to my knowledge, the first album that fuses dissodeath-style riffing and songwriting with those beautiful, melodic breaks that prog-death is generally known for.

“Valley of the Locust” gave me whiplash when I first heard it, especially after getting lost within the trance-inducing intro. Stephen Jarrett treats his guitar more like a screaming violin, retaining much of the screechy-skronky riffage that makes this album special. I could hear the actual violin in the background, but it all seemed to get lost within the chaos at first. The five-ish minute mark gave me a break to try and decipher what I’d just listened to, with the death metal fading away to the album’s first chamber section.

As great as the first “real” track was, it was the stretch of “Hymne a la Beaute” to “Ubiquitous Divinity” where Pleroma really drew me in. Going full Aquilus and almost entirely eschewing death metal for the next eleven minutes, Orgone paint the most amazing sonic portrait with the use of their female vocalist (whose name I unfortunately can’t find anywhere) and their string instruments.

Like the aforementioned master of fusing black metal and classical, Orgone prove their serious chops in not just fusing genres together within this stretch of songs, but writing those genres seamlessly into their sound. Any of these songs could stand on their own, and the fact that they provide a nice break and segue into the nearly eighteen minute ‘Trawling the Depths’. 

While Pleroma is pretty massive at sixty-five minutes, I wouldn’t call it bloated in the slightest. That being said, it’s one dense album. It took me a few listens for things to truly sink in, and I have still barely parsed most of the album’s epics.

What’s even more incredible is the album managed to hold my attention after “Trawling the Depths.” Here I was thinking I was ready to throw in the towel until I realized the album’s finale and title track was almost over. And what an ending it has. It almost seems that the entire affair is building and building to that final, triumphant shout of “COLOR THE LIIIIIIIIGHT”, making it one of my favorite musical moments of the year and a serious contender for the coveted SOTY.

I had no clue that Orgone existed before this year, but this album is, without a doubt, one of the best thing’s I’ve heard all year. Scoring it is gonna be a bit tricky since while I know it’s incredible, I feel like I’ve barely scratched the surface of what Pleroma has to offer. So, I score this conservatively with a caveat for the time being. This is likely to end up on my end of year list, and when it does, I think I’ll have a more concrete score then. Until then, I’ll just have to keep spinning this.

Recommended tracks: Please just listen to the whole thing
You may also like: Aquilus, Dessiderium, Lorem Ipsum
Final verdict: 9/10

Related links: Bandcamp | Facebook | Metal-Archives page

Label: Independent

Orogne is:
– Andrew Ransom (Bass)
– Kent Wilson (Cello)
– Justin Wharton (Drums, precussion)

– Steven Jarrett (Guitars, vocals, keyboards)

The post Review: Orgone – Pleroma appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Prog rock, jazz-rock, folk (clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Steely Dan, The Flower Kings, Yes, Kamasi Washington, Jethro Tull, Jacob Collier
Country: International
Release date: 10 May 2024

A prog flute legend, 40% of Supertramp, Toto’s drummer, like eight famous jazz musicians, Al di Meola, and Rainbow’s keyboardist walk into a bar. The bartender says, “this is far too specific and unfunny to be a joke.” And indeed, it’s actually A Memory of Our Future, Mandoki Soulmates’ sixth studio LP after over two decades in the biz. This thing is a who’s who of global talent, the supergroup to end all supergroups. Surely the sheer quantity of skill prevents Mandoki Soulmates from falling by the wayside like so many disappointing supergroups before them. 

A Memory of Our Future sounds superb, its completely analog production quality crystal clear and sparing no detail. Balancing eighteen performers weaving in and out of the fray, Mandoki Soulmates never lose track of anything, even perpetually under-mixed and overlooked rhythm instruments like the bass and tabla crisp and loud. Most favored in the mix is Ian Anderson’s (Jethro Tull) flute, taking a clear lead in tracks like “Blood in the Water” and “Devil’s Encyclopedia,” and his reedy lead tone seems as good a candidate as any to be the stock in this melting pot of prog and jazz talents, though I admittedly prefer when the various brass players take a more traditionally jazz-y lead.

Mandoki Soulmates smoothly mix their members’ prog and jazz heritages along with a distinct “global music” influence à la Anderson/Stolt—mostly from the Hindustani classical tradition with frequently used tabla and infrequent sitar—to create shifting song-structures and varied soundscapes, somewhere between Steely Dan, Jethro Tull, and The Flower Kings. Perhaps closest in ambition, however, is modern jazz titan Kamasi Washington whose several hour long albums similarly gather a huge crew of amazing musicians to ebb and flow with all the drama of the movements of the cosmos. Unfortunately, Mandoki Soulmates, despite being primed to similarly exude charismatic drama, play it safe with standard grooves and an implementation of the jazz instruments which makes A Memory of Our Future sound like hotel lobby music. Rather than stunning climaxes where the whole band builds off one another’s energies, most songs build back to repetitive choruses, all the while at a snail’s pace. If there wasn’t such varied instrumentation, A Memory of Our Future would land somewhere between pop rock and muzak. 

The biggest crutch to creating a bit of pizazz is the vocal performance, which, except for some pleasant harmonizations, is dry with limited range and a stock-standard tone. The choruses are redundant, usually chanting the song title a couple of times before moving on, and the lyrics are cringeworthy, such as calling social media the “Devil’s Encyclopedia”—boomer prog at its finest. Instrumentally, Mandoki Soulmates excel as a group with this much collective experience should. Play it safe they certainly do, but Al di Meola’s acoustic sections are gorgeous, the several keyboardists all have chances to shine—notably on closer “Melting Pot”—and “The Wanderer” highlights some spectacular fretless bass playing, the tone to die for. As an extended jam, A Memory of Our Future works, and if the energy were increased, this thing would be an amazing spiritual jazz album, but with the vocals it’s all filler, no killer. Stellar instrumental ornamentation can’t save a seventy-eight minute, bland album. Mandoki Soulmates have all the most expensive spices but use them in such minute quantities as to be a disappointing tease.

If you want the most expensive sounding muzak ever, A Memory of Our Future is perfect, yacht rock for a prog fan. Its length makes it ideal to throw on during a lazy Sunday afternoon as background music for reading the newspaper, but it’s a shame these eighteen musicians are reduced to this. It’s monstrous at eighty minutes long with as many people as it has, yet it never leans into excess. Something like this needs swagger, gusto, pizazz, and drama: A Memory of Our Future lacks that, a pitifully soulless use of pedigree.

Recommended tracks: The Big Quit, A Memory of My Future, Melting Pot
You may also like: Anderson/Stolt, Transatlantic, Southern Empire
Final verdict: 5/10

Related links: Bandcamp | Spotify | Official Website | Facebook | Instagram

Label: InsideOut Music – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Mandoki Soulmates is:
– look at the cover art

The post Review: Mandoki Soulmates – A Memory of Our Future appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Symphonic black metal, folk, classical (mixed vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Opeth, Ne Obliviscaris, Emperor, Agalloch, Chopin, Debussy
Country: Australia
Release date: 3 May 2024

Aquilus should be, by all accounts, a lightning in a bottle band. With a whole ten years between debut Griseus, which remains my favorite black metal album ever, and the first half of the massive Bellum, it almost seemed that Horace Rosenqvist had called it quits. To this day, Bellum I is an album I regret not reviewing for the Subway, so we’ll take this as a sort of retroactive review of both records.

So, let’s get that out of the way. Bellum I proved that Aquilus is one of the most unique musical projects out there. What seems like normal sympho-black on the surface gives way to some of the most beautiful classical piano pieces I’ve ever heard, and Rosenqvist’s ability to juggle between the two seamlessly is what makes them stand out among everyone else. But Bellum I is only half of the output that Rosenqvist spent ten years making. How does the album’s second half stack up?

It brings me every ounce of joy to say that Aquilus has not lost any of that quality between releases. Bellum II is mostly held up high by two massive, seventeen minute songs, and the album’s all the better for it. Before you get there, the opening duo ‘By Tallow Noth’ and ‘Into the Earth’ set the stage for a new era of the project, that sees Rosenqvist working with sessions drummers, violinists and opera singers. Thundering drums welcome you back to the more metal side, and the back-half includes that trademark, Chopin-esque piano.

Despite the inclusion of some new faces, Aquilus’s core sound remains intact and stronger than ever. Rosenqvist has always been a master of song movements, but there’s more cohesion than ever here. The transition from classical to blast beats at the start of SOTY contender ‘Night to Her Gloam’ made me sit the fuck down and appreciate all the hard work that’s gone into this album. The thundering, Ne Obliviscaris-like toms that bring ‘By Tallow North’ to a massive crescendo locked me in just like ‘Nihil’ off Griseus did. 

‘Nigh’ and ‘My Frost Laden Vale’ would collapse in the hands of a less skillful band. But Aquilus earn that insane runtime by filling every crevice of these two songs with the best ideas they could get. The Be’lakor reminiscent riff in ‘Nigh’, coupled with the screaming solo that follows would be enough to satisfy me, but that would leave out the absolutely breathtaking, jaunty folk section that follows, which builds and becomes one of the best riffs Rosenqvist has ever written.’Into the Earth’ begins with a frenetic, thrash-y jaunt that slowly moves into dark folk territory, and this is all in the first two minutes. 

The Opeth influence is still clear in Bellum, as there’s still plenty of Akerfeldtian octave chord shifting and sections in 6/8, but there is so much more to be found on both albums. Aquilus don’t forget to have a bit of aggression with their beauty, and the changes from pummeling to soothing have never been better. In fact, Aquilus remind me of why I love early Opeth so much and why I fell in love with prog to begin with: they write songs in movements, skillfully branching out through each section without feeling stuffed or endlessly noodly. Aquilus know when its time to slow a song down for a bit, just to make room for the next upcoming epic riff. 

If I were just talking about the two epics, I would just give this album a 10/10 and call it my AOTY. Unfortunately, it’s not just that. Upon first listen, I was a little disappointed that such a massive, epic album ends on what is essentially very pretty noise. However, upon listening to it as one massive, two-hour piece, I find that my initial pacing quibbles with Bellum II are solved. Bellum I seems like a classical album with metal bits, while Bellum II very much feels the opposite, and I think they compliment each other quite beautifully in that way. 

Aquilus’s talent seems to know no bounds. They stand high and proud among a genre laden with Emperor wannabes and guys who stick trem riffs over a synth and call it sympho-black. Horace Rosenqvist and company understand the very meaning of blending classical and metal, and this is why I cannot help but gush over how incredible Bellum as a whole has turned out. Now that Rosenqvist has a whole band at his disposal, let’s see how the next masterpiece is going to turn out. 

Recommended tracks: Nigh to Her Gloam, My Frost Laden Vale, but you owe it to yourself to listen to both albums back to back
You may also like: Dessiderium, In Vain, Lamentari
Final verdict: 8.5/10 (9/10 for Bellum as a whole)

Related links: Bandcamp | Spotify | Facebook | Instagram | Metal-Archives page

Label: Northern Silence Productions – Bandcamp | Facebook

Aquilus is:
– Horace Rosenqvist (Everything)

The post Review: Aquilus- Bellum II appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Progressive folk/rock (clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: yeah idk about this one chief, King Crimson maybe? Opeth?
Country: United Kingdom
Release date: 19 February 1971

One of the many wonders of music history to me is how such complicated and out-there music as progressive rock was at the forefront of mainstream music in the 1970s. Somehow, a perfect storm formed to break from the music industry’s usual streamlined simplicity for the lowest common denominator. But even within that era of seemingly unbridled experimentation, there were acts which were simply too weird, too uncompromisingly creative for the industry, and thus fell to the wayside. Comus is such a band; formed by art students Roger Wootton and Glenn Goring loosely based upon a shared adoration of Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band’s “monumentally atmospheric and quirky” live shows. The band rose to prominence in their local scene through playing at folk clubs around the London borough of Bromley, eventually releasing their debut First Utterance in 1971, an album so weird and genre-bending that their label Pye Studios didn’t know how to market it, and that VIP music journalist Penny Valentine described it as “a cat being strangled.” Fans loved it, labels hated it, and later it became a cult classic; the perfect Prog Subway material!

While I in no way condone animal cruelty, the unsettling nature of the music in this album may as well evoke such mental imagery; Comus do not shy away from the ugly or the uncomfortable in the slightest, something instantiated well by the opening song “Diana.” It seems like a merry tune at the surface because of its jaunty folk rhythm and playful vocal cadences, but the rhythm is played in atonal chords, and the vocal melodies are sung with deeply unsettling and high pitched nasality, twisting the song’s merry character into a horrifyingly suspenseful one. Eventually violin and Middle-Eastern percussion take over to drive up the suspense in a thrilling chase sequence with a sinister end, thoroughly immersing you in Comus’s strange world. A quick look at the lyrics also confirms the song’s horrifying nature, detailing a twisted tale wherein its namesake is raped in the forest by a man whose lust has overtaken his sanity.

Comus has a very peculiar base sound within the prog rock sphere. The conventional rock instruments (that being electric guitar, bass, and a drum kit) are nowhere to be found, and they do not use a synthesizer either like most of their peers. Instead, rhythm is created through hand drums and other unlisted percussion instruments, acoustic guitar, and occasionally, the violin, and melody comes from the plethora of folk instruments used, the acoustic guitars, and a wide range of vocal techniques. What’s really fascinating though about Comus is how they let each component run independently, but still manage to tie them together into a cohesive whole. None of the individual elements are particularly complex for prog rock standards, but the greater whole is nothing short of mesmerizing. 

And the songwriting is just as layered and dynamic as the arrangements are. Comus sweep you along through their immersive world of psychedelia with guile, never losing the plot despite all the contrasting moods it goes through, from bubbly folk passages like in “The Bite” to the suspenseful strumming with dramatic vocals of “Drip Drip” to the frequent psychedelic passages and skin-crawling atonal chords. Each song is replete with clever vocal lines, impactful lead melodies, and a well thought out musical story arc with a memorable climax. The song “Drip Drip” in particular is a whirlwind of moods that somehow still manages to be monumentally catchy and it delivers one of the greatest climaxes I have ever heard, and closer “The Prisoner” also ends the album with an absolute bang of a crescendo.

The major exception on First Utterance is the second song, “The Herald,” which abandons the dynamism and unsettling nature of the rest of the material; instead, the track takes you on a beautiful, otherworldly twelve minute journey, gradually unfurling around acoustic guitar picking through gentle woodwind instruments, sliding bass, violin, and co-singer Bobbie Watson’s breathtakingly ethereal singing. The original version was only five minutes, but it was later extended for unknown reasons. Not that I’m complaining though; the song’s brilliant, and fits well within the album’s flow despite how different it is to the rest. 

Comus is a band like no other. The fact that half a century later there still hasn’t been a band able to recreate the magic of First Utterance is a testament to its quality and uniqueness. Among major prog musicians, only the legend Mikael Akerfeldt seems to have cited significant influence from this album. He even went as far to name the Opeth album My Arms Your Hearse after a lyric from “Drip Drip.” In fact, Mikael was so enamored with First Utterance that he once teamed up with the Swedish festival Melloboat 2008 organizer Stefan Dimle to email Comus so incessantly to perform that they came out of retirement just for that festival and made a live CD of it. So to wrap things up, if my words weren’t enough to convince you of Comus’s greatness, take it from the man, the myth, the legend, Mikael Akerfeldt himself that First Utterance is 1000% worth your time.

Recommended tracks: Drip Drip if you want a taste, otherwise everything
You may also like: No one sounds like Comus

Related links: Bandcamp | Spotify | Official Website | Facebook | RYM page

Label: Pye Records – Facebook | Official Website

Comus is:
– Roger Wootton (lead vocals, acoustic guitar)
– Colin Pearson (violin, viola)
– Glen Goring (6-string & 12-string acoustic guitars, slide & electric guitars, hand drums, vocals)
– Andy Hellaby (fender bass, slide bass, vocals)
– Rob Young (flute, oboe, hand drums)
– Bobbie Watson (vocals, percussion)

The post Lost in Time: Comus – First Utterance appeared first on The Progressive Subway.