Style: Doom metal, post-metal, drone, neofolk (Mixed vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Conan, The Ocean, Neurosis, Om, Bell Witch, Lingua Ignota
Country: Canada
Release date: 8 August 2025

From a natural history perspective, the Earth has a remarkably tumultuous past. Starting its life in a barrage of cataclysmic impacts in the early solar system, the relative calm we experience today is uncharacteristic for our mercurial blue marble. Even going back just a few million years, the natural world was brutal, predatory, and unforgiving, a perfect landscape for metal’s monstrous riffs and dire atmospheres. Born from the primordial soup of Canadian doom metallers Völur and experimental electronic artist Cares, collaboration Breathless Spirit exhumes grayed fossils of old, uncovering dismal and violent pasts through experimental metal and folk music. The record is the latest in a series of collaborations from Völur known as “die Sprachen der Vögel”, or “The Language of Birds”; do Völur and Cares take off in glorious flight or does the language of Breathless Spirit fall on deaf ears?

Instrumental “Hearth” opens Breathless Spirit with the sound of flowing water, violins dirgefully rowing atop its currents as they repeat a thrumming motif. Völur and Cares take a loose approach to album flow, meandering along sinuous streams that traverse through lands of neofolk, drone, doom metal, and post-metal. This is not to say that they are lackadaisical or unfocused in their songwriting—each piece exudes an intentionality and plays a greater role in the record’s compositional narrative. Dynamics play a central role in song progression, as pieces are wont to begin slowly and subtly in the name of a monstrous climax (“Hearth”, “Windborne Sorcery II”, “On Drangey”) or begin raucously before petering out gently (“Breathless Spirit”).

Breathless Spirit embodies a certain nocturnal quality: the journey is one of de-emphasized riffs and subdued melodies in favor of hazy atmospherics, where silhouettes of the timberline stand out against a twilight sky but the details beneath are scant. Folkier sections invoke Impressionistic strings whose forms are gently tugged through gradual and minimal evolutions. Pieces like “Windborne Sorcery I”, “Hearth”, and “On Draney” are particularly delicate and intimate, tapping into a despondent sorrow that searches in vain for the words to articulate its internal world. The most stunning of these passages is the calmer second half of “Breathless Spirit”, where the harmonious vocals of Laura C. Bates and Lucas Gadke engage in plaintive dialogue with Bates’ expressive violin work; underneath, Cares’ keyboards add texture and color through subtle staccato jazz chords. Swirling winds then portend a powerful climax at the hands of Justin Ruppel’s kinetic drumming and Gadke’s psychedelic bass work in one of Breathless Spirit’s more ascendant moments.

The heavier tracks take a more chaotic and abrasive approach to Impressionism. A repetitive and chromatic riff etches out a jagged bed for Bates’ untethered banshee wails in the closing moments of “Windborne Sorcery II”, and watery tremolos reach a terrifying crest atop crushingly heavy drumwork in the first part of “Breathless Spirit”. The deluge of sludgy riffs reaches a head around the two-minute mark, where they pull back for a muted drum solo that builds into an eldritch vortex of intensity before the dam bursts and the track breaks down into placid folk instrumentals. Though these heavier moments engender an intense atmosphere, they are relatively impersonal compared to the calmer tracks, carrying an emotional detachment that makes them challenging to engage with fully. Try as I may, I can’t see the shrieking climax of “Windborne Sorcery II” as anything but well-done if unmoving, and the most compelling segment of closer “Death in Solitude” is when its stark tension finally begins to break thanks to subdued drum work and ominous clean vocals. A touch of melody in these sections would go a long way: “Breathless Spirit” is the most engaging of these heavier tracks as its riffage forsakes chromatic meandering for a more well-defined melodic identity. Additionally, the track doesn’t stay in its more intense form for too long, transitioning at just the right time into softer ideas.

Gripes with individual sections aside, Breathless Spirit is untouchable from an album flow perspective. There is a magic in the way that Völur and Cares effortlessly evoke compositional narrative as if Breathless Spirit’s disparate pieces were meant to be together. The earthen melodies of “Windborne Sorcery I” act as a perfect springboard into the apocalyptic doom of “Windborne Sorcery II”, whose chaos moves effortlessly into the oceanic heaviness of “Breathless Spirit”, ending on an appropriately calm note for “On Draney” to gently morph around droning violins. By hinting at future sections through subtle style shifts that retain the identity of their respective tracks, Breathless Spirit forges an inexorable bond between ideas that oscillate in intensity, style, and atmosphere.

Breathless Spirit coalesces a unique artistic vision through its experimental approach to metal. The nocturnal, primordial nature of its compositions lends the record to plaintive contemplation in its quieter moments and uproarious chaos in its heavier sections, even if these heavier sections often miss a bit of expressiveness. Still, the overall package is impossible to deny thanks to an alchemic magnetism between the band members and among Breathless Spirit’s disparate genres.

Recommended tracks: Breathless Spirit, Windborne Sorcery I, Hearth
You may also like: Wyatt E., Alora Crucible, The Ruins of Beverast, Sumac, Aerial Ruin
Final verdict: 7.5/10

Related links (Völur): Bandcamp | Facebook | Instagram | Metal-Archives
Related links (Cares): Bandcamp | Facebook | Instagram

Label: Batke Records

Völur is:
– Laura C. Bates (strings, vocals, percussion)
– Lucas Gadke (bass, keyboards, woodwinds, vocals)
– Justin Ruppel (drums, percussion)
Cares is:
– James Beardmore (keyboards)

The post Review: Völur, Cares – Breathless Spirit appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Artwork by: Marald van Haasteren

Style: Doom Metal, Alternative Metal (Clean Vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Alice in Chains, Baroness, Pallbearer
Country: New York, United States
Release date: 27 June 2025

This may upset some people, but I thought Alice In Chains’ mid-Aughts reformation yielded some of the band’s coolest work. Perhaps not anything remotely as eternal as “Man in the Box,” “Rooster,” or “Would?,” but the shift from dark, moody grunge to dark, moody, doom-inspired grooves and atmosphere on Black Gives Way to Blue (2009) and The Devil Put Dinosaurs Here (2013) was fucking sick. Furthermore, they helped propel me towards bands like Pallbearer and other purveyors of riff-forward heavy rock. Disappointingly, the William DuVall-era of Alice in Chains has seen little activity since 2018’s Rainier Fog. Luckily, Blood Vulture has swooped in to partake of Jerry Cantrell and the boys’ lunch.

Circling the skylines of New York, the titular Blood Vulture reveals itself as one Jordan Olds, host of YouTube talk show Two Minutes to Late Night and, apparently, omni-gifted musician. From the girthsome, riff-forward doom guitars, modern metalcore-flavored synthesizers, roiling bass, down to the eerie Jerry Cantrell-esque crooning and bellowing, Olds executes nearly every aspect of debut album Die Close. One-man projects are nothing new in the world of metal (black metal, especially, seems laden with bedroom conjurers). While undertaking such a project is, I think, deserving of some measure of applause out the gate, there runs the risk that such high-minded ambitions may outstrip the capacity of the practitioner. For every Midnight Odyssey, a thousand more Oksennus¹ (Oksenni?) exist, filling the void with noise. Olds, to his credit, appears to have sidestepped some of this auteur-minded hubris by stacking a sizable guest roster at his back. But is this enough to give Blood Vulture’s debut the wings needed to soar? Or is the folly of man destined to curse Die Close with Icarian luck?

I’ll not beat around the wing—er, bush: This album kicks ass. From the opening guitar line and creeping vocal motifs of “Die Close: Overture” (finally, an intro that warrants its existence!) to the last resplendent harmonies of “Die Close: Finale,” Blood Vulture spends forty-five minutes delivering delectable platters of slow-rolling, tectonic alternative metal skewed toward a darkly Gothic ethos about a vampire living out the last of his immortal days long after the death of Humanity. Thick yet nimble riffs drill through post-apocalyptic landscapes of thunderous drums and growling bass tones, synths glittering like snatches of starlight piercing smog-choked skies. Olds’ voice is rich and thrumming with a decadent power worthy of his centuries-old protagonist. Alongside the obvious Cantrell-canting, there’re nuggets of John Baizely (Baroness) lingering in his harmonies (“Die Close: Interlude”), and even flashes of Sumerlands’ Phil Swanson in the way his voice melds with the production, culminating in a mosaic of winsome sonic idents.

Musically, Die Close haunts the liminal space between the morbid emotionality of Alice in Chains and the heaving riff-roil and production-blasting of modern doom mavericks Pallbearer. Olds buries the listener in bone-churning, groove-laden guitars, like the plaintive howls of Mankind’s vengeful ghost echoing across this blasted necropolis called Earth. Moe Watson’s drumming is equally committed, pounding and bludgeoning whatever life remains, heavy as the footsteps of our doomed vampiric wayfarer—yet capable of breaking into bursts of potent energy when required (“An Embrace In The Flood,” “A Dream About Starving To Death,” “Grey Mourning”), striking out with stampeding double bass and frenzied ride cymbal strikes like a sudden onset of PTSD. Doom metal can sometimes wander into realms of navel gazing, keen to drill away at a riff or motif endlessly to the point where the proverbial horse is beyond beaten. Blood Vulture soars over this pitfall thanks to considerate track lengths and song structures designed around forward momentum. Guest contributions from the likes of Kristin Hayter (Reverend Kristin Michael Hayter, ex-Lingua Ignota), Brian Fair (Shadows Fall, Overcast, Hell Night, Downpour), and Jade Puget (AFI, Blaqk Audio, XTRMST) fit into Die Close’s architecture flawlessly, adding to the album’s layers of dark, tragic beauty. (Hayter on “Entwined” creates an absolute standout of a track, in particular, her gospel-like vocals the perfect partner to Olds’ resonant cleans.) Even the interludes, of which there are three, secure worthy positions thanks to how they return to and build upon what becomes the album’s central motif, with “Die Close: Finale” closing the story with the kind of sorrowful bombast worthy of a suffering immortal.

Another feather in Blood Vulture’s plumage is a far simpler (on paper), yet no less important matter—one that has oft-wounded many an ambitious band and, generally (for me), marred the very reputation of the vaunted concept album. Olds has managed to strike a fine balance between his narrative goals and musical musts. He never forgets that Die Close is an album. Not a book. Not a movie. An album, whose mission first and foremost must be to enrapture the listener with its sonic wiles. Lyrics, and storytelling by proxy, are necessary components to this configuration, but when Aristotelian directives override bardic needs with three-act fancies, there’s little to be salvaged from the experience. Barring the “Die Close” trifecta of interludes, any of Die Close’s seven proper tracks can stand strong in a playlist shuffle without blunting momentum or capsizing the story, as the narratives are nestled snugly within the ebb and flow of their parent songs.

Since Sleep Token dropped Even In Arcadia back in May, I have been wondering if there would be anything in 2025 to come along and grab me in any similar way. I’ve listened to more than a few fun records, but most have been missing some measure of that special sauce required to saturate my taste. Blood Vulture doesn’t entirely reach the same level of addictive listening—few things will, at least until Silent Planet drops a new album—but this has been the first record post-EIA that I’ve sat back and gone, “I don’t really have anything negative to say.” Maybe the production could be a little clearer at times—the bass tends to get lost amidst the ruckus, an affliction all too common within metal—but this is some of the grooviest, coolest stuff I’ve listened to all year. Olds (and his collaborators) must certainly be commended for dropping such a confident piece of work. I don’t know who in 2025 may be waiting for new Alice in Chains, but if you’re out there, fret not: Blood Vulture is here to fill the void, and then some.

Recommended tracks: A Dream About Starving To Death, Grey Mourning, Entwined, Die Close: Finale
You may also like: A Pale Horse Named Death, Hangman’s Choir
Final verdict: 8.5/10

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

Label: Pure Noise Records – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Blood Vulture is:
– Jordan Olds (vocals, guitars, bass, synthesizers)
With guests:
– Jade Puget (additional guitars on “Grey Mourning”)
– Kristin Hayter (additional vocals on “Entwined” and “Die Close: Finale”)
– Brian Fair (additional vocals on “Burn For It”)
– Moe Watson (drums)
– Gina Gleason (additional guitars on “Die Close: Interlude”, additional vocals on “Die Close: Finale”)
– Emily Lee (additional vocals on “Die Close: Finale”)
– Steve Brodsky (additional vocals on “Die Close: Finale”)
– Kayleigh Goldsworthy (violin on “Entwined,” “Die Close: Interlude,” and “Abomination”)

1. See Andy’s review of Auringolla Ei Ole Käsiä for details. ︎

The post Review: Blood Vulture – Die Close appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Artwork by: Albert Bierstadt (1868); Layout by: Annick Giroux

Style: Epic Doom Metal, Folk Metal, Heavy Metal (Mixed vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Unleash the Archers, Cirith Ungol, Visigoth
Country: Illinois, United States
Release date: 27 June 2025

Growing up, I was all about fantasy, especially in my metal. Themes of wonder and romance, mythical beasts and steadfast warriors filled my imagination. Yet these days, I’ve found it harder and harder to connect with this formerly potent musical leyline. Call it a reflection of the times. I still love the bands I grew up with—the Kamelots, Symphony Xs, and Dios—and I’ve flirted with some newer makes and models (Unleash the Archers has done some fantastic work in the space). But, as we’ve marched closer towards dystopia, tales of adventure seem perhaps churlish compared to the angst and uncertainty permeating our modern world. Sauron is winning, and the Fellowship is splintered over a culture war.

Yet there’s a part of me that yearns to believe in heroes of might and magic once more. Which brings us to Chicagoan heavy metal warband, Fer de Lance (not to be confused with the Peruvian thrashers of the same name). Coming onto the scene only five years ago with their Colossus EP, and debut full-length The Hyperborean in 2022, the band have flown completely under my radar until now. They peddle in “epic doom”—basically, fantasy-fuelled, mid-paced heavy metal full of lurching, heroic riffs and deliberate kitwork, like a steadfast march towards glory and gold. Taken in by the gorgeous cover art of latest album, Fires on the Mountainside, and intrigued by the promise of the epic doom metal by which Fer de Lance mark their trade, I was eager to see if these mighty men of metal have what it takes to break the curse and return the fire to my fantasy-loving heart.

If ever there was a soundtrack to evoke the sword-and-sorcery, devil-may-care adventuring of Robert E. Howard’s brooding Cimmerian, Conan, and kindred ilk, Fires on the Mountainside makes a strong case for consideration. From minute one, opener (and title track) “Fires on the Mountainside” saunters forth with jaunty guitar and a bard-worthy chorus as frontman MP bellows “I seeee… fires on the mountainside,” tossing in some Woah-ohs for good measure. Flickers of black metal emerge in the bridge as trem-picking and rasped vocals create a sense of descent into danger, showcasing Fer de Lance’s ability to steer the material wherever the greatest adventure lies. At nearly thirteen minutes, “Fires on the Mountainside” is one hell of a way to kick off a record, as it twists and turns and climbs across subgenres, from rousing epic doom, black metal, and glints of folk in the acoustic-strummed guitars that underpin much of the proceedings. MP’s range is impressive as he plumbs the depths of rattling growls, tough-guy gravel, all the way to the high-fantasy heights of falsetto wails.

What follows across the album’s forty-nine minutes sees the band pull from much of the same arsenal—though like the aforementioned Conan, they’ve descended from their wind-swept kingdom well-versed in their chosen arts, as no two songs sound the same. Take “Fire & Gold” with its Western-infused musical gallop, hand tambourines and stomping drums heralding a lone stranger’s ride into the kind of town where violence and virtue may yet clash, the dusty road stained black with an enemy’s blood under the white-hot bake of high noon. The chorus of “Death Thrives (Where Walls Divide)” sees MP’s harshes hit a vicious cadence akin to Legion of the Damned frontman Maurice Swinkels, giving the song an extra dose of theatrical menace before shifting into Eastern-influenced guitar wizardry of a most fine kind. MP finds some Ronnie James Dio-adjacent power in the vocals on “The Feast of Echoes,” leaning into some fun “mhmmmhmms” that make me think of a testosterone-fueled version of Rainbow.¹

Elsewhere and everywhere, I’m reminded in small ways of Eternal Champion, mostly in the band’s full-fledged commitment to the material. Fires on the Mountainside is refreshing: Unlike some fantasy-themed bands who write with their tongues planted firmly through cheek (and thus dabbling in irony-poisoned cringe), Fer de Lance write and perform their music with an unabashed, shameless love for the fantasy genre—theatrical, yes, but taken seriously. The songs are rousing, with full-chested deliveries and a palpable energy, despite the more moderate pacing. My only real complaint about the album is that some of the songs drag on a tad too long, and after a while I tend to forget where I am on the record. This is the kind of album that would absolutely thrive on a playlist. The songs are replete with fun transitions showcasing the music’s textures, which provide each track with individual merit. Yet together, Fires on the Mountainside loses some of its energy, the blazing bonfire giving ground to the encroaching shadows of distraction. By the time we reach “Tempest Stele,” the storm has turned into more of a gust and my legs ache for want of resting.

All said, Fer de Lance have come out of (subjectively) nowhere to impart upon mine ears a winsome collection of epic tales. In a day and age where fantasy-themed metal has largely been relegated to my rearview, Fires on the Mountainside stands as a perfect reminder that there are still bands out there writing the kind of stuff I crave—and new ones, at that! Like my current reading experience with Robert E. Howard’s The Coming of Conan the Cimmerian, Fires on the Mountainside offers a collection of well-crafted gems worthy of uncovering—perhaps best individually, rather than in one fell swoop. If you’ve been starved for metal of a steelier order, or just on the lookout for something new, then heed that yonder firelight in the distance, and let Fer de Lance take you on a glorious adventure.

Recommended tracks: Fires on the Mountainside, Death Thrives (Where Walls Divide), The Feast of Echoes
You may also like: Eternal Champion, Sumerlands, Conan
Final verdict: 7/10

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

Label: Cruz de Sur Music Records – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Fer de Lance is:
– Rüst (bass, acoustic guitars, vocals, percussion)
– MP (vocals, guitars, keyboards)
– Scud (drums, vocals)
– J. Geist (guitars)

1.  I would love to hear Fer de Lance cover “Gates of Babylon.” ︎

The post Review: Fer de Lance – Fires on the Mountainside 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.

No artist credited

Style: Doom Metal, Progressive Metal (Clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Ghost Brigade, Sunride, In The Woods…, Lunatic Soul
Country: Finland
Release date: 23 May 2025

One of the best pieces of advice I’ve picked up in my years as a critical assessor for fiction manuscripts¹ is that a work should be reviewed for what it is or tries to be, rather than what you want it to be. For example, when my dad first watched The Mummy (1999), he hated it because he expected a horror film. Once he accepted the movie for what it was trying to be—an action-horror comedy—he ended up enjoying it. This is a philosophy I’ve tried to carry over in my various creative engagements, whether that’s with movies, music, or video games, and one I’d like to think I’ve been fairly successful with in my critiques. However, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have expectations of my own when I saw that former members of Ghost Brigade had formed a new band.

For those unaware, Ghost Brigade were a much-beloved Finnish melodic death/doom band who released four albums between 2009-2014, then promptly went on hiatus before permanently disbanding in 2020. Their third LP, Until Fear No Longer Defines Us, remains my one and only experience with them—a muscular brew of gloomy doom and deliberate melodeath—but it was potent enough that seeing the name “Ghost Brigade” associated with this new venture was sufficient to stoke interest in me. Thus we arrive at Ceresian Valot and their debut Uumen—Finnish for “depths.” Let’s go spelunking, shall we?

Within moments of hearing opener “Ajattomuus / Rajattomuus,” wisps of Until Fear No Longer Defines Us’ doleful menace haunt the grounds on which Ceresian Valot tread, mostly in the mournful extended guitar lines, methodical yet flourishing drumwork, and the atmosphere of thoughtful melancholia that settles over the track like a hazy graveyard mist. As we wind into a soft electronic backbeat and clean vocals (sung entirely in Finnish, across the album), however, Ceresian Valot begin to reveal their layers. Uumen eschews melodeath entirely in favor of a folkier, more ambient approach defined by gentle looping guitars, often sharing space with the light fluttering of electronic percussion. The acoustic drums provide much of the album’s punch, partially due to their placement in the mix, securing the album’s mid-tempo thrum alongside the bigger riffs. Notes of Lunatic Soul texture the synth work (“Taivaankatsoja,” “Uumen”), standing in as a quick vector for the album’s light Gothic haze.

When the guitars take a more central and metallic role (“Pohjavirtauksia,” “Karavaaniseralji,” sections of “Ajattomuus / Rajattomuus”), Uumen shows its teeth, establishing a strong sense of groove and rhythm, practically lassoing one’s neck and forcing it into a lurching bang. The electronic elements also feel the most empowered here, laying themselves out as a velvet drape upon which the guitars can carve out fresh shapes of measured aggression and doleful melodies. Alternatively, cuts like “Uumen” and “Hyoky” present something of a musical dead-end; anemic electro-beats and thin cleans operating as interludes to Uumen’s more impassioned (and lengthy) pieces. Their inclusion might feel more inspired were the album keen to draw on harsher elements. With more aggression flowing in the mix, this would create a palatable necessity for such ambient detours. Stacked against the comparatively lighter—and dronier—touches of Uumen’s chosen aesthetic, however, I’m not entirely sold on their inclusion.

That said, as mentioned, it’s important to try and take things at the value by which they wish to sell themselves. Ceresian Valot are not Ghost Brigade, nor are they particularly interested in being so. Yes, there are notes of that former band lurking around, but I believe this says more about the associated members’ style and internalized approaches than any active effort to resuscitate their previous sonic adventures. Uumen, according to the band, stands as “dynamic and multidimensional with a broad range of sound and vision [including] alternative, rock, progressive, and various genres of metal.” Which brings me to a different issue, connected entirely to Uumen’s ambitions. In book reviewing, I’ve learned that the more “awards” a book touts in its marketing copy, the higher chance the content will be poor. Likewise, I’ve learned to read band promos with a similar level of wariness. Thankfully, Uumen is hardly a bad album—in fact, I’ve found it rather pleasant to listen to, its vibes decidedly relaxing despite (or perhaps because of) their melancholic intentions. I just think the band’s aims have outpaced the album’s reach, is all. Uumen is a doom metal album, feathered with touches of folk and echoes of electronica to help secure its progressive tagging. Pick any of the non-interlude tracks off the album, and you’ll have experienced all the strata of Uumen. Moody, driving riffs; mournful guitar lines; dreamscape electronics; punchy, methodical drums; all wrapped around clean vocals that never really move the needle off of “gentle.”

And you know what? I’m fine with that. Do I wish Uumen were more of what made Until Fear No Longer Defines Us so special to me? Sure, absolutely. I miss the interplay between Ghost Brigade’s deep, melodramatic cleans and monstrous growls. The way the heavy melodeath riffs and thundering kitwork instilled a sense of urgency and danger—and just pure Gothic epicness—to everything. Ceresian Valot seek a more introspective route. And while the decision to root the lyrics in Finnish might harm my ability to read into the accuracy of that approach, I respect that the band wanted to try something different from what (most of) them had created before. Uumen may not be a perfect album—it’s a tad one-dimensional, the vocals are underwhelming, and the programmed bits struggle to justify themselves in meaningful ways—but I can’t sit here and act like I didn’t glean enjoyment from what it wanted to be. What it was: forty-four minutes of chilled-out Gothic doom.

Recommended tracks: Taivaankatsoja, Karavaaniseralji, Valojuovat, Pohjavirtauksia
You may also like: Church of the Sea, Error Theory, Year of the Cobra, Hermyth
Final verdict: 6/10

Related links: Bandcamp | Spotify | Facebook | Instagram | RateYourMusic

Label: Prophecy Productions – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Ceresian Valot is:
– Ville Angervuori (bass)
– Wille Naukkarinen (guitar, programming)
– Panu Perkiömäki (vocals)
– Veli-Matti Suihkonen (drums, percussion)
– Joni Vanhanen (keyboards, vocals, programming)
– Tapio Vartiainen (guitar)

1.  A fancy way to say “book reviewer” ︎

The post Review: Ceresian Valot – Uumen appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: progressive death metal, doom metal (harsh vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Blood Incantation, Tomb Mold, Esoteric
Country: New York, United States
Release date: 30 May 2025

When I was fourteen—ready to start high school baseball and with aspirations of playing beyond—I totaled my shoulder: my growth plate separated and fractured (colloquially known as Little League shoulder), and I had recurrent biceps tendinitis during recovery. Years of physical therapy didn’t fully fix it, so my baseball career was over just as it was going to truly begin. Seven years ago, while recording Weeping Sore’s debut False Confession, guitarist and vocalist Doug Moore seriously injured his shoulder, leaving him unable to play guitar. Many of his frustrations and pains are easy for me to empathize with, but some of what Moore was feeling I can only imagine. Planning on going to law school after his graduation from an Ivy league, Moore veered paths to become a full time death metal vocalist and guitarist (for Pyrrhon, Seputus, recently Scarcity). Famously a tenuous, financially risky career, pursuing music couldn’t have been an easy choice for Moore. Thus, by losing out on a fundamental asset to his livelihood and passion—the ability to play guitar—Moore’s late nights of shoulder pain must have been filled with potential regrets along with the typical pesky discouragements of recovery. 

Born of six years of work and bestowed with a fitting title, The Convalescence Agonies is Moore’s triumphant yet deliberate return to guitar playing and a sonic diary of his recovery of sorts, written during the excruciating reunion with his guitar. Doom-y riffs lurch forward in tumultuous, lumpy strides, utilizing both shimmering, bright tones (“Empty Vessel Hymn”) and tasteful amplifier feedback (“Pleading for the Scythe”) in equal measure for that sweet juxtaposition between heartaching beauty and pain. Despite the extended time away from his instrument, Moore’s guitar playing would have you believe it’s an extension of his body on The Convalescence Agonies. The mixing and mastering from Chris Grigg and Greg Chandler capture the earthiness of Moore’s guitar tones while the lead guitars absolutely sing when they appear—there is a guitar lead in “Sprawl in the City of Sorrow” that somehow feels as vibrant as a trumpet during the best climax on the album, and the main riff of “Empty Vessel Hymn” is a gilded swing with the most succulent guitar tone on a doom metal record since Worm’s half of the Starpath split. I even hear hints of Schuldiner in Moore’s playing on The Convalescence Agonies.

Delivered through a mix of septic, cavernous gurgles and acerbically vitriolic shrieks, Moore’s imagery in the record’s lyrics—long one of his strongest attributes as a musician and band leader—details chronic pain, as well as the physical and mental transformations that go along with it. Fading in and out of metaphor and bitter dysphemism, Moore gets his point across clearly yet artfully. Together with Steve Schwegler’s drumming, the vocals on The Convalescence Agonies ground the record and help the record effortlessly transition between doom metal to death metal. Swirling and blasty drums and piercing highs announce the arrival of death metal sections like clockwork, with cascading pounding on the drums and vocals from the nadir of Moore’s extensive range heralding the decadently heavy doom metal. 

With a dramatic flair, Weeping Sores incorporate Annie Blythe’s cello into several tracks, adding luxurious texture to the songs. The epic title track features my favorite moment on the record as Blythe imposes herself atop a blackened storm of tremolos, the effect similar to Ne Obliviscaris sans clean vocals. In addition to Blythe’s contributions, Brendon Randall-Myers (Scarcity) guests on nearly every track as a keyboard player for Weeping Sores; his spooky tones contribute to a haunting atmosphere reminiscent of Bedsore’s Dreaming the Strife for Love in their retro progginess. Randall-Myers’ playing is understated, relegated to the background, but it’s essential to The Convalescence Agonies’ atmosphere and mood—he’s sorely missed on “Sprawl in the City of Love,” the lone track without his feature. In fact, the weakest aspect of The Convalescence Agonies is when Weeping Sores plays into unembellished death/doom for extended periods of time. The proggy gothiness from the keys, cellos, and lead solos clandestinely makes itself an indispensable quality for the record.

The Convalescence Agonies is a record of passion. The suffering that inspired it and persisted throughout the writing and recording process is embedded in the album’s DNA. The songs are dark and moody. Yet, an air of triumph overrides the negativity by the LP’s end with the title track’s bombastic symphonic black metal midsection and climax before slinking back down into moody keyboards. Moore pours his heart into this record as he perseveres through chronic pain, and even without regaining full use of his shoulder yet, he has crafted an instant death/doom classic.

Recommended tracks: Empty Vessel Hymn, Sprawl in the City of Sorrow, The Convalescence Agonies
You may also like: Pyrrhon, Dream Unending & Worm, Civerous, Kayo Dot, Seputus, Bedsore, Felgrave, Scarcity
Final verdict: 8/10

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

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

Weeping Sores is:
– Doug Moore – guitar, bass, vocals
– Steve Schwegler – drums
With guests:
– Annie Blythe – cello (tracks 1, 3, 5)
– Brendon Randall-Myers – keyboards (tracks 1, 2, 4, 5)
– Lev Sloujitel – prepared banjo (track 2)
– Pete Lloyd – additional guitars (track 3)

The post Review: Weeping Sores – The Convalescence Agonies appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

No album artist credited

Style: Blackened doom metal, progressive metal, sludge metal (mixed vocals, mostly harsh)
Recommended for fans of: Acid Bath, Crowbar, Mastodon
Country: Georgia, United States
Release date: 22 May 2025

Ah, the epic. Perhaps one of the most iconic facets of progressive music, alongside odd time signatures, genre experimentation, and being huge fucking nerds. Yet prog is not the only genre known for such indulgences – far off in the swampy, bong-clouded realms of doom metal, its own acolytes have long been toiling away on leaden, album-length opuses that make the likes of “Supper’s Ready” or “Octavarium” seem downright breezy by comparison. Despite both genres sharing a predilection for track lengths well past the double-digit minute count, though, their approaches are often diametrically opposed. While prog epics are often crafted in an effort to transport listeners on a journey through the wildly varying ups and downs of a suite’s many movements, doom epics are glacial and ponderous, aiming to smother listeners in a consistent atmosphere of musical and, often, emotional heaviness. 

But what if an artist made an effort to unite these two seemingly incompatible approaches? Could it be possible to craft an epic that incorporates both the gargantuan, lumbering tread of doom and the kaleidoscopic variety of prog in one complete whole? Bravely leaping into this challenge is Nambil Mas, a project helmed by a single Nambil Mastermind known as Sam Libman, with a ninety-minute, four-track slab of interestingly titled progressive sludge metal over a decade in the making. While some of the genre tags and Libman’s Atlanta roots may lead one to expect some simple Nambil Mastodon worship, the sound here leans slower, heavier, and more experimental, blending viscous, dense doom with the odd meter riffs and synthy atmospheric passages of prog, plus a shot of blackened, shrieking extremity for good measure. It’s an impressive feat of ambition for one largely unknown fellow; we shall see if he has crafted a Nambil Masterpiece, or if Nambil Más is more like Nambil Menos.

Alright, let’s rip the bandage off: while Welcome to the Nambil Masquerade certainly wins points for effort, much of the music on offer across this gargantuan sonic tetraptych is a painfully unpleasant slog to wade through. One problem, immediately obvious on the opening title track, is that the production and guitar tones frequently cross the line from “endearingly lo-fi” to “agonizingly amateurish”. The abrasive walls of distortion overpower the undermixed drums and often bizarrely distant-sounding vocals to create an effect that is nothing short of migraine-inducing, which wouldn’t be that huge of an issue except, let me remind you, every song is over twenty minutes long. Sure, there are softer, less grating sections on occasion to give hapless listeners a break, but it doesn’t change the fact that minute after minute of those goddamn guitars jackhammering my eardrums is enough to have me reaching for the ibuprofen and giving a Nambil Massage to my poor, aching temples.

This leads us, naturally, to the other main issue with this album: namely that Libman never met an idea he didn’t want to extend well past its sell-by date. To put it bluntly, each track (well, most of them at least) consists of roughly eight minutes’ worth of musical ideas stretched across twenty in much the same way a medieval prisoner is stretched upon the rack, riffs beaten so hard into the ground that nothing but a smoldering crater remains. Now, some might say, “Hey, that’s not fair – this is (partially) a doom metal record, after all. Isn’t repetition and slow pacing part of building an immersive atmosphere?” And to that I reply: doom’s slow burns only work if the atmosphere they’re building is worth a damn. From the fuzzed-out, Sabbath-esque jams of Dopesmoker to the weeping, funereal melodies of Mirror Reaper, doom’s most well-regarded epics all paint an immersive sonic landscape that listeners can genuinely get lost in: a far cry from the insufferably basic “throw a bunch of distortion on a guitar and play slow” approach that Nambil Mas so often resorts to. Thus this attempted Nambil Mashup of subgenres leaves us with a set of tracks that are too clunky and repetitive to work as proper prog epics, but too texturally dull and obnoxious-sounding to muster the impact of good doom metal – the worst of both worlds.

It’s a shame, too, because when Libman exercises his more progressive instincts, there are plenty of moments that, while a bit undercooked, show genuine promise. The aforementioned title track’s back half offers an off-kilter vintage Sabbath/Zeppelin style passage that could be a fun little diversion if its clean vocals weren’t so strangely quiet, and the following psychedelic synth section is one of the few long, repetitive parts of the album that actually manages a somewhat pleasant atmosphere. Closer “The Nambil Masochist” offers some genuinely energetic, mosh-worthy riffs in spots, and the high, wailing vocals at the end are almost impressive enough in their range to distract from the painful, cringy edge of its lyrics¹. “Nambil Masturbation” is somehow the strongest of the four, softening the unpleasant guitar tone with layers of orchestral synths while crafting a surprisingly stirring sympho-black climax that made me wonder if, just maybe, I’ve treated this album a bit too harshly.

Then “Nambil Mastication” comes on, and I realize that, if anything, I haven’t been harsh enough. Remember how I said only most of the tracks had about eight minutes’ worth of musical ideas? That was because this pathetic excuse for an epic has far, far less. Picture, if you will, the bummiest dude at the local Guitar Center, high on weed and low on talent, trying out a distortion pedal. He strums a few basic chords before letting the sound hang for an uncomfortable length of time, possibly mustering a “Duuuude” or two as he stares into space, before playing a couple more and repeating the process. Now imagine this going on for nine fucking minutes straight, and you have the intro to this abysmal, godforsaken waste of runtime². No percussion, no structure, no texture beyond the shittiest bargain-bin distortion imaginable for nine of the precious, finite minutes I have left upon this Earth. And somehow the next four minutes are even worse! At least the stoned Guitar Center guy played fucking notes – this is just vaguely gurgly, deeply unpleasant noise with the occasional bit of guitar feedback whining above it. The mediocre death-doom of the track’s final third almost comes as a relief by comparison, though it’s still not up to the already-shaky standards of the other three.

“I’ll drag myself through miles of shit and mud”, screams Libman on the aforementioned track, perhaps unwittingly creating a perfect metaphor for the experience of sitting through much of Welcome to the Nambil Masquerade. Though there certainly are tiny flashes of gold, or maybe pyrite, to be found amidst this fecal torrent – some solid odd meter riffs here, an inventive bit of atmosphere there – I sure as hell don’t feel in the mood to stick my pan back into that malodorous slurry and start sifting through it all again anytime soon. What a Nambil Mess.

Recommended tracks: Nambil Masturbation, really none of them but that one’s the least bad
You may also like: Sumac, Simulacra, fuck it I don’t care anymore get me out of here get me out
Final verdict: 2.5/10

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

Nambil Mas is:
– Sam Libman (everything)

1.  From that song: “So for this night, I take, this knife  / stick it in, ‘til I break skin / I’ll, starve myself. I’ll… fuck myself!” Truly a poet. ︎
2. Perhaps the most unpleasant experience I’ve ever had from a highly-rated album on this site was Sumac‘s The Healer, an album opening with ten-plus minutes of utterly pointless, structureless instrumental dicking around while some dude gives halfhearted growls from the next room over. This shit makes Sumac sound good. ︎

The post Review: Nambil Mas – Welcome to the Nambil Masquerade appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Artwork by: George Gkousetis for Semitone Labs

Style: Doomgaze, Gothic Metal, Industrial Rock (Clean Vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Boris, Villagers of Ioannina City, early Lucifer, Trees of Eternity
Country: Greece
Release date: 11 April 2025

Of all the elements, none seem to me as foreboding as water. The ocean, specifically; an abyssal plain mired in secrecy, capable of projecting statements of serenity and violent obliteration alike. Despite our best efforts at taming this monolith of nature, we remain unsuccessful. We’ve corrupted it, yes, but make no mistake: the waters will one day rise and eventually devour us in our hubris, rendering the supposedly immutable strength of our technological and “civilized” world nothing more than a fanciful reef of concrete, steel, and glass. Bleak, I know, but such is the measure of Greek doomgaze trio Church of the Sea.

Two years removed from debut Odalisque, the young Athenian cohort have plumbed the halls of their barnacled worship-house to deliver a conceptual, revisionist take on Eve, reimagining Christianity’s First Lady¹ as a rebel rather than sinner. Vocalist Irene leads this somber congregation as she doles out sirenic croons atop waves of Vangelis’ sundering guitar, and a crush depth of apocalyptic darkwave summoned by the archdiocese of atmosphere, Alex (synths/samples). The mood across Eva, like the sea, is dark and roiling and yawning; as all good doom should be. There is no coast on the horizon upon which this journey shall terminate. Eva demands you either float upon its waves or be pulled under and obliterated.

Sonically, Church of the Sea succeed in generating an undertow of effectively gloomy tracks, in no small part to the gnarled electronic beats and ever-constant churn of synthetic drones, hums and eldritch wails. Some people may scoff at a metal band using electronic drums in lieu of a proper set of skins, but I will dissent and applaud the choice. Alex knows how to establish and support the mood, carving a gorgeous melancholia from his synths and beatmakers. I was reminded often of another percussively electronic band, Luminous Vault, who likewise justified their decision on Animate the Emptiness (2019) by threading the vibe and texture of the electronics into the very DNA of the music. Oftentimes, Vangelis’ guitar forms a symbiosis with its synthetic counterparts, giving Eva a holistic quality it may otherwise have lacked (see Morbid Angel’s Illud Divinum Insanus for examples of how this could’ve gone very wrong). And Irene delivers a suitably doom-y performance reminiscent of Messa’s Sara Bianchin and Tribunal’s Soren Mourne, haunting and resonant.

And yet, despite Eva’s siren charms and beautifully realized texture, I found myself fighting to stay afloat as I bobbed along. This is not an “active” album—by that, I mean do not expect any uptempo rollicking. Eva wishes to soak into you, a calculating tendril curling up from unconquerable depths to twist and turn inside your mind. Which is well and good, except my consciousness is often far afield of any such infiltration, having been coaxed into periods of forgetfulness by a tracklist which struggles to differentiate its constituent parts in riveting enough ways. Once you hear “The Siren’s Choice,” you’ve heard everything Church of the Sea have on offer here. That’s not to say tracks lift riffs or motifs from each other, just that there are no real surprises on the album, no big highlights to create a sense of journey—especially problematic if one considers Eva’s narrative aims. Even if we overlook such peckish concerns, escaping the languid vortex is difficult, to the point where track names became little more than suggestions of progress as opposed to buoys by which to orient myself on this voyage of proposed rebellion.

Church of the Sea have proven a difficult denomination to pledge myself to. Their sermons are bewitching, for a time, but too quickly they begin to mirror my (admittedly limited) experience in our own terrestrial churches.² The solemn grandeur begins to fade away and my mind wanders, seeking stimuli of a more engaging design. I welcome others to sit at Eva’s pews; just try not to judge if you see me zoning out in the back, or slipping away to see what the crabs are up to.

Recommended tracks: Garden of Eden, Churchyard, Widow
You may also like: Bank Myna, The Silent Era, Drownship, Noctambulist, Kollaps/e
Final verdict: 6/10

Related links: Bandcamp | Spotify | Facebook | Instagram | RateYourMusic

Label: These Hands Melt Records – Bandcamp | Instagram | Official Website

Church of the Sea is:
– Irene (vocals)
– Vangelis (guitars)
– Alex (synths/samples)

1. Unless you count Lilith, but she gets even less love than Eve ︎
2. It’s mostly been for funerals, but even the “livelier” times have been full of humdrum ︎

The post Review: Church of the Sea – Eva appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

No artist credited

Style: Progressive Metal, Alternative Metal, Metalcore, Doom Metal (mixed vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Oathbreaker, Svalbard, Dawn of Ouroboros
Country: United Kingdom
Release date: 28 March 2025

One of my favorite current filmmakers is Robert Eggers. Across his four feature-length films (The VVitch, The Lighthouse, The Northman, and Nosferatu), he has deployed a sophisticated form of Gothic and Folk Horror drenched in bleak atmospheres and rigid historical framing, anointed in a blood-and-earth occultism pulled from mankind’s deepest, and darkest, spiritual roots. From this, he often conjures a visceral, powerful femininity at odds with patriarchal society’s desired—that is, demure—version. His witches are beguiling and primal, disposing of glamor for red-teethed hexcraft; mermaids tap into some mythic power to unmake man’s sanity; a would-be victim marks her captor with her own blood in violent defiance; a woman possessed of a spirit so emotionally resonant she can commune with forces across the cosmic gulf—and, so happens to be the only one capable of saving the very world which decried her gifts as hysterics.

Similarly, southern UK act Forlorn emerge as if from mist-choked fens to besiege our woefully ignorant “civilization” with vivid remembrances of Earth’s oldest nights. Inspired by horror cinema and headed by actual witch, Megan Jenkins, (in turn backed by her warlockian brothers-in-steel, Edd Kerton and Eathan White-Aldworth (guitars), James Tunstall (bass), and Jay Swinstead (drums)), Forlorn play a vicious blend of progressive metalcore and hardcore they’ve dubbed “folk horror.” Aether marks their debut full-length, following EP Sael in 2023 and a scattering of singles. Convinced by early releases like “Redeem, Release” and “Forsaken,” I was eager to sup of this witch’s brew.

Opener “Mother of Moon” establishes the album’s folk horror aspirations immediately with a summoner’s circle-worth of chanting and thundering buildup before fading into a smoky haze of silence. “Creatress” emerges from the silver-limned primordium like a seething nightmare, claws raking the bonfire-lit night with jagged riffage, cloven feet beating against the soil in a wash of energetic kit work as she howls her melancholy to the distant stars. The song is equal parts vicious and ethereal, with Jenkins’ plaintive cleans counterpointing her roiling growls. Razored chugs and tribal drumming give way to a brief black metal-flavored run of blast beats and rising tremolos, the bass burbling beneath like a promise sealed in blood.

This juxtaposition of haunting beauty and grinding, violent metalcore chaos is sown deep within Aether’s structure, yet no song feels derivative of its neighbor. “The Wailing” has a bounce and groove separate from “Creatress,” with Jenkins closing out on a moody invocation bringing to mind the hexen oeuvre of Gospel of the Witches’ Salem’s Wounds (2015). There’s something of Iridescent-era Silent Planet living in the throaty chugs comprising the main guitar line of “Funeral Pyre.” Jenkins channels the violent yet purifying nature of fire as she screams “I’ll see you all in Hell,” and pulls out some truly bestial lows for the song’s ending. “Keeper of the Well” carries whiffs of gothic doom amidst the grinding guitars, while closer “Spirit” completes this moonlit ritual with breathy gusto and visceral proclamation, promising “When the world splits open, I will be here” before intertwining with the aether of the natural world amidst punctuating guitars like ritual knives piercing flesh.

If I’ve any rune-carved bone to pick with Aether, I would point this particular rib at the “filler” tracks. At a lean 26 minutes and with only eight total offerings, sacrificing three to the altar of intro/interludes feels a tad wasteful. However, it’s hard to deny that, aside from “Mother of Moon,” both “Matrum Noctem” and “Veiled One” flow smoothly along the album’s leylines, to the point where I consistently forgot they were individual tracks and not extensions of their predecessors. I’m not usually one to demand more from a record, but in Aether’s case, I can’t help but crave more of this wicked mana surging through my ears.

Yet, if I’ve learned anything from witch movies, it’s that the longer a spell goes on, the greater chance there is of disaster. Forlorn have opted for quality over quantity. In so doing, they’ve ensured Aether never wanes. This choice encourages repeat listens, affording the participant time and space to really immerse themselves in the details, helped along by a punchy production empowering every element—from the emotive shifts in Jenkins’ voice, to the low-end buzz of Tunstall’s bass, and Swinstead’s tasty fills—to achieve maximum clarity and effect. The only victim here is some of the atmospheric elements, which can feel a bit lost in the fog, but if anything this adds to the fun of Aether’s replayability.

“Feel me in your skin, taste me in each breath,” Jenkins intones on “Spirit.”

Aether is a vessel of musical communion. A dark, beguiling fairy-tale of the Grimm variety, steeped in the primeval power of Nature and her forgotten children. Effortlessly summoning images of blazes in northern skies and deep, ancestral woods. A bridge back to ancient places from before mankind forsook the natural world and walled it away behind the cold, dehumanizing logic of modern civilization. Like Eggers’, Forlorn have crafted a viscerally feminine, occult work in Aether, one that—in a time where our mechanized patriarchal world feels increasingly hostile to the human spirit—offers the kind of comfort that helps music transcend “good” to become something great.

Recommended tracks: Creatress, The Wailing, Funeral Pyre, Keeper of the Well, Spirit
You may also like: Karyn Crisis’ Gospel of the Witches, Ithaca, Predatory Void, Venom Prison
Final verdict: 8.5/10

Related links: Bandcamp | Spotify | Facebook | Instagram | RateYourMusic

Label: Church Road Records – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Forlorn is:
– Megan Jenkins (vocals)
– Edd Kerton (guitars)
– Eathan White-Aldworth (guitars)
– James Tunstall (bass)
– Jay Swinstead (drums)

The post Review: Forlorn – Aether appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: progressive metal, doom metal, dark ambient (mixed vocals, mostly clean)
Recommended for fans of: Windhand, Chelsea Wolfe, Pijn, Latitudes
Country: Italy
Release date: 11 April 2025

Artistic development always comes at a cost. Individuality and consistency produce inherent tension, demanding that artists find compromise between their unique form of expression and the ability to communicate ideas in a resonant way. The Spin strikes a poised balance between forward progress and steady improvement, not so much an evolution reaching into new territory nor a recapitulation of tired, overly familiar themes as it is a recombination of existing traits developed throughout their prior discography. Underappreciated for far too long, the inventive Italian prog-doom metal outfit Messa have trod the boundary between underground and mainstream, jumping in popularity each time they released a new album or were featured in a roundup article somewhere, but never quite able to maintain that critical mass of fandom long-term. Perhaps they can finally spin ‘round their fortunes and build the audience they deserve.

Messa use their cauldron of influences to brew an otherworldly stew from ingredients including jazz, bluesy hard rock, dark ambient, and bleak doom metal. Longtime prog metal fans have probably already started imagining what this unholy concoction might sound like as if it’s the most normal thing in the world, but I encourage you to take a moment to consider the care required to create it. That they can throw together these alchemical components while maintaining such a high degree of cohesion is absolutely a testament to the musicians’ talents. The Spin pays off almost a decade of refining Messa’s signature blend, now distilled down to a potent spirit of sorrowful ambiance. Messa’s performance isn’t flashy with pretension or extravagance, instead opting for sharp, clean music saturated with emotional sediment drawn from doom metal’s benthic depths. The runtime also supports these shifting priorities—a shorter outing at a mere forty-ish minutes allows for a tighter focus on expressing the central driving anguish at the heart of the album.

Messa have undergone an interesting progression throughout their last few albums as they dial in on which facets of their music to showcase most. Where Feast for Water chose emotional expression as its first priority, Close settled into a more subdued but precise delivery. The Spin combines a bit of both approaches, presenting an immaculate, ethereal atmosphere that inherits the uncertain quietude of Feast while retaining some of Close’s assertive intensity. With all their varied influences, it’s a hefty task to balance the sparser sounds drawn from the ambient space with the thicker sections of blues/doom heartache, but Messa are equal to it. Despite the contrasts, both aspects contribute towards a common core of undefinable passion.

It’s hard to find an adjective more suited to Messa’s music than “haunting.” Every element, from Sara Bianchin’s voice lurking in the dark corners to the reverberating cymbal crashes, conspires to lure unsuspecting listeners close with soft sweetness before leaping into belted sections laden with devastating emotion. Beyond raw vocal power, though, The Spin develops its most compelling textures through the collaboration between Bianchin and the rest of the band. Moments like the choruses in “The Dress” perfectly marry the unique emotionality of the human voice with the inhuman intensity that amplified instruments provide. After an extended instrumental section featuring dueling solos from guitar and muted trumpet, the closing chorus reprise tears open the heavens with its towering display of emotion from both Bianchin and the accompanying guitars.

In contrast, The Spin’s verse sections prove to be its weakest point, often feeling like a means of getting from one point to another. Almost every track shares the same loose structure, usually with a pair of verse-chorus repetitions, an instrumental bridge, and one final chorus to close things out. The noteworthy moments arrive most consistently during those instrumental sections, as well as in individual flourishes and features—and let’s be clear, these are some stellar flourishes. That said, the verses in between feel like a return to the atmospheric but disappointing filler from Feast for Water (like “She Knows”). The Spin adds several layers of polish in both production and composition which help smooth over the listening experience compared to Messa’s earlier days, but it’s not enough to completely eliminate the underlying imperfections that still undercut their songwriting at times. Even with all of the band’s artistic progress uplifting The Spin, the empty verses of “At Races,” “Fire on the Roof,” and “Reveal” remain unfortunate detractors from an otherwise divine experience.

Sometimes, the price of consistency is character; other times, the price of progress is consistency. With their last two albums, Messa have now paid the price in both directions, first ramping up their consistency for a steadier and gentler outing in Close, then trading some of that consistency to hone their distinctive sound to its finest edge yet. While not every track on The Spin displays Messa’s full emotional range, the precision and quality of their musicianship are unquestionable, a testament to their effort and growth as artists. Furthermore, the highlights are truly stunning, enhancing vibrant performances with keen, experienced presentation. While the resulting album has its low points as well, Messa’s overall refinement of their sound and their display of stunning songwriting marks a turning point in their careers.

Recommended tracks: Void Meridian, Immolation, The Dress, Thicker Blood
You may also like: Dreadnought, Maud the Moth, healthyliving, SubRosa (the doom metal one from Utah)
Final verdict: 8/10

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

Label: Metal Blade Records – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Messa is:
– Sara Bianchin (vocals)
– Marco Zanin (bass, synthesizers)
– Alberto Piccolo (guitars, synthesizers, piano)
– Rocco Toaldo (drums, vocals)

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