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.

Style: Neofolk, dark folk (Clean vocals, mostly instrumental)
Recommended for fans of: Vàli, Ulver (Kveldssanger), Empyrium, Agalloch (The White EP), Nest
Country: West Virginia, United States
Release date: 9 May 2025

The book Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer is a revelation, outlining in no uncertain terms a synthesis of scientific and Native Animist thought into a singular holistic worldview. In her book, she recounts and analyzes Eastern Woodland mythos through stories from several tribes, including the Potawatomi and Haudenosaunee peoples. At their cultural nexus lies gratitude, an ethos that one reciprocates the gifts of nature through stewardship, mutual care, and the creation of art. Neofolk-turned-black-metal project Nechochwen aims to embody this gratitude on latest record spelewithiipi through a series of vignettes dedicated to the river and region of the same name¹. How does Nechochwen express their gratitude for the land that shaped them?

A carefree, pastoral air encompasses spelewithiipi’s compositions, led by guitars and occasionally embellished by flutes, hand drums, and field recordings. Many pieces encompass the dark folk spirit of Ulver’s Kveldssanger through their motif-drenched guitar work while others lean into an americana edge with twangy sliding notes, rambling melodic expositions, and playing inspired by banjo techniques. “Precipice of Stone” even tends to a Tenhi songwriting style with gloomy psychedelic soundscaping and dirging drumwork from Pohonasin; the tonality and open voice of Nechochwen’s cathartic vocalizations in the latter half lends the piece a distinct Eastern Woodland touch.

The central ethos of spelewithiipi is presented on opener “lenawe’owiin”, meaning ‘Native American way of being’². Nechochwen weaves a web of ideas shaped by personal, interpersonal, and cultural knowledge, reflecting on dreams and visions (“lenawe’owiin”, “Precipice of Stone”), locations that inspire thought on past and future (“spelewithiipi”, “mthothwathiipi”, “Great Meadows Vista”), and figures steeped in intrigue (“othaškwa’alowethi behme”, “Nemacolin’s Path”). “tpwiiwe”, or ‘one who brings truth’, is a glyph commonly inscribed on prayer sticks to give thanks to any number of beings and spirits; the track itself is intended as a sort of tpwiiwe whose symbolism is left up to the listener. The experience is particularly striking, inspiring a series of internal struggles and resolutions while reflecting on how gratitude manifests in my life. spelewithiipi’s presentation as a whole inspires an easygoing stream-of-consciousness, sauntering unhurriedly between concepts while staying tethered to its central tenets like stories told around a campfire with friends.

spelewithiipi’s pieces go through similarly relaxed trajectories, morphing internally within sections and starting anew once an idea has reached its end. Many tracks end up surprisingly oblique in their structure despite the simplicity of the compositions, requiring some patience and effort to get a hold of their fuzzy sensibilities. “spelewithiipi”, for example, dreamily captures glimpses of a single location, gently exploring its river banks before moving on to a scene from another time. “tpwiiwe” and “mthothwathiipi” guide the listener in similar form through a subtle and suggestive evolution of balmy picked acoustics. The approach begins to fall apart a bit, however, on closing tracks “Nemacolin’s Path” and “Primordial Passage”. The former embodies the spirit of Chief Nemacolin, renowned for his remarkable skills as a guide and navigator through forest landscapes; the latter internalizes the mix of excitement and wistfulness that comes with leaving your homeland and being the first to explore a new place. Both gently reprise melodies from their opening sections, but the pieces meander a bit too liberally, missing ideas that give a sense of direction.

Thematically, this nonchalant approach is relaxing and soothing, but it bears additional challenges when looking at spelewithiipi’s songwriting narrative. Plenty of variation is offered in length and structure: some tracks are internally complete, and some are more nebulous. Overall, though, there is an underlying sense of heterogeneity that prevents the pieces from coalescing as wholly as the ideas behind them. The drumwork on “lenawe’owiin”, for example, feels like it’s building to something more intense that never comes, giving a sense of incompleteness when the record suddenly moves on to another idea. Additionally, “othaškwa’alowethi behme” is a mysterious and somewhat foreboding interlude with nice soundscaping, but it feels a bit jarring in its placement after “tpwiiwe”, one of spelewithiipi’s more tranquil and delicate moments.

In trying to ford spelewithiipi’s forests, I realize I simply don’t have the same navigational acuity as Nemacolin. Swelling with beauty, metaphor, and gratitude, the record vividly explores a multi-faceted relationship with land, culture, and self, but without the context behind the pieces, the compositions can sometimes struggle to bear the weight of their meaning. Regardless, spelewithiipi offers ample food for thought under its delicate structure and free-flowing approach, inspiring a closer examination of the land that surrounds us and our relationship to it.

Recommended tracks: tpwiiwe, mthothwathiipi, Precipice of Stone
You may also like: Ulvesang, October Falls, Liljevars Brann, Wÿntër Ärvń, Sangre de Muérdago
Final verdict: 6/10

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

Label: Nordvis Produktion – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Nechochwen is:
– Nechochwen (guitars, flute, hand drums, vocals)
– Pohonasin (bass, drums)

1. Spelewithiipi is the Shawnee name for the Ohio River, but specifically the area surrounding Ohio and West Virginia. ︎
2. The language is not specified, but the blurb related to this track on Nechochwen’s Bandcamp calls out the loyalhanna hotewe, implying the word likely comes from that group. ︎

The post Review: Nechochwen – spelewithiipi appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Dark folk, neofolk (Mixed vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Empyrium, Vàli, Ulver’s Kveldssanger, The Moon and the Nightspirit
Country: France
Release date: 7 March 2025

Songwriting in dark folk is a particularly tricky balancing act: too few elements and pieces come across as bland and stilted, and too much going on leads to a feeling of claustrophobia antithetical to the genre’s chthonic sensibilities. Additionally, a formula for success is somewhat unclear as compositions are often based in simplicity, atmosphere, and ‘vibes’. So what does a successful dark folk record sound like? Let’s discuss Sous l’Orage Noir – L’Astre et la Chute (Under the Black Storm – The Star and the Fall), the latest release from French multi-instrumentalist Wÿntër Ärvń, as a case study: will it bear a garden of earthly delights, or will we be left to fend for ourselves Under the Black Storm?

With a lighter and more gossamer approach to dark folk than 2021’s Abysses, Sous l’Orage Noir’s tracks are acoustic guitar-led pieces with a considerable use of woodwind, strings, and gentle percussion as accentuation. Every so often, though, Wÿntër Ärvń delivers a black metal twist through raspy bellows that cut through its misty aura. Along with harsh vocals, tracks like “Ad Vesperam” (In the Evening) even introduce brief moments of squealing dissonance in its backing instruments. Compositions often begin decidedly spacious, with “Appellé à l’Abîme” (Called to the Abyss), “Un Voile sur l’Azur” (A Veil over the Azure), and “L’Astre et la Chute” leaving plenty of negative space for their motifs to reverberate against. Pieces are wont to ebb and flow in layers, filling the emptiness with embellishments and texture without ever cresting too high in intensity.

A hallmark of dark folk is the relationship between natural beauty and sadness, and Sous l’Orage Noir’s compositions successfully culminate in a gorgeous and pastoral atmosphere that underlies a touch of darkness. “Ad Vesperam” exemplifies this the most bluntly, beginning with hypnotic and repetitive guitar work accentuated by warm cello swells. Near its end, though, the cellos turn quite sour, ruminating on dissonant bowing and backdropping Wÿntër Ärvń’s harsh vocals, conjuring a feeling of torment as the sun sets on a dying field. Opener “Une Voile sur l’Azur” takes a more subtle approach, gingerly moving from idea to idea in a way that gives an ineffable delicateness to its composition. In its first moments, “Une Voile” establishes evergreen imagery around spacious guitarwork while infusing an airy plaintiveness into its melodies. Subtle percussion builds in prominence over its runtime, but never overtakes the guitars. Later on, flutes and bagpipes reprise the central guitar idea, coming together like an ornate and fragile fabergé egg.

The interaction between guitars and any number of other instruments is strikingly prominent across Sous l’Orage Noir. “Appelé à l’Abîme” has a distinct focus on counterpoint between slowly tremoloing guitars and more languid picking to create a sense of simultaneous stillness and motion. Later in the track, the slow picking drops out to make room for earthen female vocals to gracefully coil around the tremolos. Closer “Ad Umbras” (To the Shadows) also features heavy interplay, entwining the guitars with a contemplative woodwind section before the reeds drop out in place of a deep and lurching choir. “Vingt Ans de Brouillard” (Twenty Years of Fog) features some of the most beautiful guitar work, a simple motif slowly encouraging along an array of clarinets and subtle choirs that intermittently respond to the guitar’s ideas. Any of these elements could stand on their own, but when brought together, it’s like watching wisps of smoke slowly dance around each other, urging a stillness in yourself to avoid disturbing its gentle swirls.

Sous l’Orage Noir is without a doubt an excellent showcase in both independence and synergy between instruments along with anguish and beauty, but where is there left to go after ‘beauty’? While every track is lovely—many of them touchingly so—there is a lack of through-line that ties each piece together, leaving a feeling that each track is an unrelated vignette. To Wÿntër Ärvń’s credit, there is a vague nautical theme in some of the song titles and album art, but a bit more effort to tie everything together or utilization of motifs across each track would help to create a more cohesive package. Additionally, each use of the vocals—whether it be cleans, harshes, or chanting—is magnificent, and Sous l’Orage Noir could stand to use them a bit more liberally. Tracks like “Ad Umbras” and “Vingt Ans de Brouillard” use vocals for a split-second or solely as a backdrop, and could benefit from bringing them to the forefront, similar to their use in “Appelé à l’Abîme”, “Ad Vesperam”, and “Sous l’Orage Noir”.

I walk away from Sous l’Orage Noir – L’Astre et la Chute with a sense of quietude: the record is an effortless listen with endless replayability, forging nuanced interactions between instruments while exhibiting a unique spin on dark folk through the use of harsh vocals. Despite its more intense elements, there is a fragility to its compositions that evokes a diaphanous tapestry to be cherished and held lightly. With an overall package that could be a touch more thematically related and a bit of underutilization of its vocals, Sous l’Orage Noir falls just short of being a dark folk landmark, but its blemishes aren’t going to stop me from indulging in its texturally and melodically rich vignettes.

Recommended tracks: Ad Umbras, Vingt Ans de Brouillard, Un Voile sur l’Azur, Appelé à l’Abîme
You may also like: October Falls, Ulvesang, Liljevars Brann, Sangre de Muérdago + Judasz & Nahimana
Final verdict: 8/10

Related links: Bandcamp | Spotify | Facebook | Instagram

Label: Antiq Records – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Wÿntër Ärvń is:
– Wÿntër Ärvń (guitars, vocals, percussion)
– Judith de Lotharingie (vocals)
– Laurene Tellen’Aria (harp)
– Geoffroy Dell’Aria (bagpipes, tin whistle, shakuhachi)
– Raphaël Verguin (cello)
– TAT (guitar)
– Vittorio Sabelli (clarinet)

The post Review: Wÿntër Ärvń – Sous l’Orage Noir – L’Astre et la Chute appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Progressive rock, neofolk, ambient (clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Anathema, Heilung, The Pineapple Thief, Lunatic Soul
Country: Sweden
Release date: 31 January 2025

You’re traveling alone along a dark forest path, wrapping your cloak tight as the first raindrops of an impending storm begin to tap softly upon the boughs above. Night has begun to fall, the clouds occluding any semblance of a sunset as the slate-gray sky slowly shifts from light to dark. As if in response to your imminent need for shelter, the glow of a fire beckons from between the trees. Cautiously approaching, you see a strange man in foreign clothing, sitting at a campfire in a shallow cave shielded from the elements. Upon seeing a fellow traveler in need, he invites you in, and while you’re wary of sharing a cave with a stranger, it beats the prospect of staying out in the increasingly harsh elements. While cooking a modest meal upon the fire, the man shares stories and songs from a faraway land, some grandiose and fantastical, some muted and mundane. With every tale, his careworn yet smooth voice begins to meld with the surrounding soundscape of crackling logs and the pounding rain just outside, and the tension from a long day’s travel slowly seeps out of your soul. The journey ahead is long, and many dangers remain, but for a brief moment, there is respite.

Such is the experience of listening to the music of former Tribulation guitarist Jonathan Hultén. While Hultén is no stranger to abrupt genre swings, having overseen his previous band’s transition from straightforward death metal to blackened goth-rock, his decision as a solo artist to abandon metal entirely in favor of hushed, acoustic folk music on 2020’s Chants From Another Place was about as much of a 180-degree turn as he could have possibly made. For his latest effort, Eyes of the Living Night, Hultén aims to diversify his new sound into something more lush, dynamic, and sweeping. Sure, the soft, acoustic Nick Drake-isms of his previous work are still present, particularly in the campfire croon of “Vast Tapestry”, but with the addition of a more colorful sonic palette this time around. You’ve got electric guitars, synths, gnarly organ (“The Dream Was the Cure”), and programmed electronic beats (“Afterlife”), to name a few, and it makes the overall genre of the album rather difficult to pin down. Hultén calls it “ambient dream-grunge”, which seems at first blush like an intentionally absurd mess of self-contradictory terms, yet ends up being as good a term as any to categorize the fuzzed-out, melancholic, ethereal sounds on offer.

Still, with all this experimentation in genre, there is always the risk of straying from the carefully maintained tone of hazy, primeval warmth that wraps around the listener like a warm blanket, tossing it aside in favor of mere shallow gimmicks. Happily, that is decidedly not the case here; every switchup in the soundscape is but a tool in service of establishing the album’s positively immaculate sense of vibe. The closest comparison would be later-era Anathema, who similarly used whatever musical elements made sense in crafting their melodramatic yet ultimately sunny and optimistic brand of soft prog– and while Hultén may approach things with a bit more melancholic, woodsy mystique, he too makes music aiming to unburden the listener’s soul and make it soar. From the grandiose post-rock-adjacent dynamic swells in opener “The Saga And the Storm” to the atmospheric solo piano piece “Through the Fog, Into the Sky”, there’s a sense of sweeping, transportive magic throughout, no matter the scale, as though each song were its own unique yet equally cozy little fey dimension.

How Hultén achieves this is a bit difficult to neatly describe. The melodies are a part of it, to be sure. Like all of the best folk music, a number of the melodies here, such as the gentle yet hypnotizing waltz “Song of Transience”, feel timeless, as if they had thrummed for millennia in the collective subconscious of humanity before Hultén plucked them out of the ether and gave them physical form. The arrangements and production are also warm and full of depth, lending a sense of vitality and fullness throughout. However, the biggest X-factor here is Hultén’s voice. True, he’s not some showy virtuoso (though parts of “The Dream Was the Cure” and “Starbather” show he can belt it out if needed) but rather he sets himself apart through his absolutely stunning use of vocal timbre. Not only does his natural tone have just the right tinge of roughness to add a sense of humanity to an otherwise-angelic croon, but his use of layering and timbral shifts makes his voice blend into the instrumental arrangement in a truly unique way. Take, for instance, the thrumming, vibrant harmonies in “The Dream Was the Cure” that sound reminiscent of the drone tones in bagpipes or hurdy-gurdy. Or maybe the mesmerizing combination of rasp and vibrato that somehow makes a held note in “Riverflame” remind me of the talkbox intro to Snarky Puppy‘s “Sleeper”, of all things.

Any criticisms I can muster towards Eyes of the Living Night are relatively minor, and stem largely from personal taste. I would say that Hultén’s complete avoidance of any outright solos or anything remotely “metal” does slightly dampen the album’s more energetic songs. Some slightly heavier guitars at the climax of “The Saga and the Storm” would have made it hit so much harder, and adding in some kind of extended, progressive instrumental passage to “Starbather” would solidify the ’70s prog throwback vibe the song flirts with but doesn’t quite commit to, while also making it feel like a proper showstopping closer. In addition, the ballads’ melodies do occasionally skew a bit simple and “nursery rhyme” for my liking (“Vast Tapestry” in particular), and “A Path Is Found” is a decent but somewhat inessential interlude where the guitar and violin mostly spin their wheels for a minute.

At the end of the day, though, these are small blemishes upon an absolute stunner of an album. It successfully takes the sounds of Hultén’s previous work through a marked expansion in scale and musical diversity without sacrificing the fragile yet heartfelt coziness that made it special in the first place. Eyes of the Living Night takes that quiet, peaceful inner sanctuary and expands it into its own world, a starlit realm whose shadowed corners hold no dangers, just treasures that the light hasn’t quite reached yet. The night within is, in its own way, a living thing, a dynamic entity whose darkness and dread can be dispelled if one has the determination to press on and the will to switch one’s perspective. It is a challenging journey, yet a rewarding one, and there is no shame in resting for a moment by a nice, warm campfire before pressing on.

Recommended tracks: Afterlife, Riverflame, The Dream Was the Cure, The Ocean’s Arms
You may also like: Tvinna, Silent Skies, Oak
Final verdict: 8/10

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

Label: Kscope – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Jonathan Hultén is:
– Jonathan Hultén (vocals, all instruments except those noted below)

With:
Esben Willems (Drums)
Ida Nilsson (Harmonica on “Dawn”)
Maria Larsson (Violin on “A Path Is Found”)

The post Review: Jonathan Hultén – Eyes of the Living Night appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Neo-pagan folk, dark folk, neofolk (Clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Sowulo, Heilung, Forndom, Nytt Land
Country: Norway
Release date: 24 January 2025

The bear is among the most fearsome and mystical members of the animal kingdom, its intrigue reaching as deep as spoken language and as high as the cosmos. The word for ‘bear’ in many Indo-European languages is forever lost to time due to its tabooistic nature: Iron Age peoples opted instead to refer to it using epithets such as ‘the brown one’ in Germanic cultures or ‘honey-eater’ in Slavic regions out of fear of summoning the creature by uttering its name. Moreover, the bear commanded much respect in antiquity thanks to its imposing stature. Not one, but two constellations are named in homage to the creature, with origins likely dating back to a prehistoric notion of a she-bear taking part in a cosmic procession known as ‘the great hunt’. Needless to say, humans and bears have a complex relationship whose ties are etched deep into our cultures and consciousness. On their latest album, Birna, renowned folk outfit Wardruna aim to channel this ursine mysticism into calls for a more nature-focused world—does Birna successfully coax the she-bear from her rest, or do Wardruna need more time to hibernate?

A cursory listen of the pre-release singles would lead you to believe that Birna is a sort of career retrospective for Wardruna. After all, “Hertan” (Heart) taps into the soft and trance-inducing rhythmics of Runajlod – Gap Var Ginnunga in its beginning moments; “Birna” (She-Bear) conjures the larger-than-life percussion and bellowing horns that etched out Runaljod – Ragnarok‘s landscapes; and “Hibjørnen” (The ‘Hi-bear-nator’, as it were) showcases the same delicate minimalism as Skald‘s “Voluspá” through a picked lyre and bare vocal performance. Dig a little deeper, though, and one finds that Birna showcases a marked evolution in Wardruna‘s sound: “Himinndotter” (Daughter of the Sky) and “Ljos til Jord” (Light to Earth) experiment with utterly danceable drumbeats in their middle sections; “Dvaledraumar” (Dormant Dreams) and “Jord til Ljos” (Earth to Light) dabble in ethereal and otherworldly neofolk à la Alora Crucible; and “Skuggehesten” (Shadow Steed) is Wardruna‘s darkest piece to date, utilizing industrial rhythmics and gravelly horns to create a sort of bardcore analog to Nine Inch Nails.

Birna recounts the struggles of a person trying to reconnect with nature, the titular she-bear acting as guide and mentor along the way. Hardened by the modern world, ”Hertan” describes the narrator’s desires to molt their carapace—they yearn to cultivate an Animist perspective, asking the she-bear to trade places with them on “Birna” in the hopes of understanding her point of view. The stretch from “Ljos til Jord” to “Jord til Ljos” chronicles the experience of hibernation before being awoken on “Hibjørnen” by the coming of spring and the impassioned calls for the she-bear’s return on “Himinndotter”. Birna’s closing tracks document the narrator’s takeaways from their journey: after being faced with the harsh reality of the she-bear’s impending doom, the narrator must keep focused on what drives them when overwhelmed with a dying world (“Skuggehesten”), take time to slow down and listen to the ‘Voice of the Trees’ (“Tretale”), and retain conviction in the face of imposing challenges (“Lyfjaberg”).

From its opening moments, Birna betrays its heart, literally—a simple heartbeat in 6/8 forms the rhythm of “Hertan”, gradually introducing instrumental layers until a climax is reached mid-track. With a couple of exceptions, “Hertan” establishes the central songwriting conceit of Birna, slowly building on fiery rhythmics that urge to be liberated from their reins. “Himmindotter” shows its most effective execution, a lurching and pronounced chant of ‘BIR! NA!’ exploding into exultant singing and an irresistible percussive dance. Other notable moments include a repeated refrain giving way to a soaring vocal breakdown on “Lyfjaberg” and the scratchy staccato instrumentation of “Skuggehesten”, which fills every corner of the listener’s mind until a flash of reassurance signals through bright strings and hopeful lyricism. 

Other tracks experiment with more free-form structures, most notably “Dvaledraumar”, Birna’s oaken crown jewel. Opting instead to use layering as a tool for subtlety as opposed to a tool for tension-and-release, “Dvaledraumar” begins as a gradually shifting ambient piece, evoking a dark and ethereal backdrop that is cut through by Selvik’s voice and a hypnotically teetering lyre. Frigid torpor embodies deep vocals and subtle soundscaping to capture a gloriously plaintive and dreamlike atmosphere, but soon enough, the ice melts, the birds begin singing, and the sun beckons a bleary-eyed hibernator from their cave. “Jord til Ljos” recontextualizes the lyricism and lyre melodies of “Dvaledraumar”,¹ embracing the teeming life of early spring yet still trying to shake the cobwebs off after a long rest. “Tretale” aims for a similar free-form structure—and mostly succeeds—but spins its wheels for a hair too long and doesn’t quite end up capturing the intoxicatingly primal atmospheres of “Dvaledraumar” or “Jord til Ljos”.

The issue of ‘historical accuracy’ is a must in the discussion of primal-leaning folk artists, particularly so in the case of Wardruna. Despite frontman Einar Selvik’s myriad comments to the contrary, much of their fanbase sees their music as an authentic vision of ancient Norse (read: ‘viking’) music due to its ineffable chthonic energy and percussion-heavy orchestration. While Wardruna undoubtedly capture an ‘ancient’ and ritualistic atmosphere in their music, it’s fundamentally channeled through a modern-day interpretation of Migration Period Germanic culture. At its musical core, little ties this style of folk music to its ancient ancestry, which typically focused on simple compositions designed for storytelling as opposed to Wardruna‘s cinematic and larger-than-life soundscaping.

However, this somewhat blunt songwriting approach can be seen as a necessity to fully encompass a desired point-of-view—in ancient times, Animist principles were simply lived without thought, but embracing this same perspective in modern times is exceedingly difficult without considerable work. The intentionality in contemporary Animist folk songwriting helps to facilitate a more tangible connection to nature in a society designed to be anything but. Additionally, it would be disingenuous to deem Birna a wholly modern recreation, as it leans on many known ancient Norse practices, like channeling the storied mythology of the she-bear that colors the album’s concept; the seljefløyte on “Dvaledraumar”, a strikingly ephemeral woodwind made from goat willow branches that only lasts a day or two after construction; and the use of lyre on “Dvaledraumar”, “Jord til Ljos”, and “Hibjørnen”, an instrument deeply entrenched in the Migration Period Germanic musical œvre.²

While they may keep an eye to the past, Wardruna’s messages of ecological (and cultural) rehabilitation are a direct product of the here and now, a time when these messages are needed more urgently than ever. Through strikingly cinematic songwriting, soul-bearing vocal performances, and an unwavering desire to cultivate an Animist worldview, Birna opens a powerful dialogue between myriad forces of nature, manifesting through our most celestial and feared of beasts. Many people may feel overwhelmed and powerless at the hands of the modern world’s nightmarish machinations, but Birna serves as a reminder to stop, even for just a little bit, and find solace through a reconnection with our innermost primal selves. Take a moment to walk beside the bear, swim upstream with the fish, and seek counsel from the trees; they may have more to say than you think.

Recommended tracks: Dvaledraumar, Jord til Ljos, Ljos til Jord, Hertan, Himinndotter
You may also like: Nordein, De Mannen Broeders, Alora Crucible, Sangre de Muérdago + Judasz & Nahimana
Final verdict: 9.5/10

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

Label: Sony Music – Facebook | Official Website

Wardruna is:
– Einer Selvik (vocals, all instruments)
– Lindy-Fay Hella (vocals, flute)
– Arne Sandvoll (percussion, vocals)
– HC Dalgaard (percussion, vocals)
– Eilif Gundersen (horns, flutes)
– John Stenersen (moraharpa)

1. These themes are recontextualized again on “Hibjørnen”, marking the end of the narrator’s journey alongside the bear. ︎
2. In the end, I have little opinion either way on whether a modern interpretation or a faithful recreation is better in the context of music—the main takeaway here is to never buy a bridge from a Wardruna fan who tells you their music is authentically ancient. ︎

The post Review: Wardruna – Birna appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Cover by Terrance McLarnan

Style: experimental ambient, industrial, neofolk (clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Bohren & der Club of Gore, Chelsea Wolfe, ROME
Country: United States-CA
Release date: 11 October 2024

Half of your favorite musicians have very different music taste than you’d be led to believe from their day-to-day project (check out any of the hundreds of Amoeba What’s in My Bag episodes if you’re a nonbeliever of my claim, but a highlight for a metalhead is Travis Ryan of Cattle Decapitation showing off his love of old Turkish pop). Leila Abdul-Rauf is likely a familiar name to the death metal-minded of you as the guitarist of Vastum, yet her solo work has eschewed metal completely, opting for a surreal take on ambient soundscapes. I quite liked the spooky aura of her 2021 album Phantasiai and its modulated trumpet (yes, that was one of the main instruments creating the soundscape), but on Abdul-Rauf’s fifth solo release, she changed her process substantially. 

After a taxing past couple years of being alive for everybody (tune into the news if you’re confused and good morning from your coma), Abdul-Rauf felt a call to compose more thoroughly on Calls from a Seething Edge, and while the dreamy ambient haze remains, Calls has a cinematic rhythmicity new to her music. To achieve this more anxious, urgent sound, she utilizes folk and industrial elements to strike through the always lurking ambience. No longer content to haunt from the atmosphere, Leila Abdul-Rauf uses Calls from a Seething Edge to slowly—but actively—choke the listener. This all works to dramatic effect, the juxtapositions between more beautiful, Medieval-tinged folk (“Mukhalafat,” “Failure to Fire”) and heavier Chelsea Wolfe industrial sections (“Summon,” “Crimes of the Soul”) is jarring and gripping. For an album this slow and with such little distortion, Calls is able to conjure a foreboding heft that only the upper echelon of dark ambient artists achieve.

Abdul-Rauf also enlists the help of several collaborators to see her vision come to life, and their contributions keep Calls varied and interesting. Gregory Hagan’s eerie violin, the beautiful acoustic guitar passage of Derrick Vela (Tomb Mold, Dream Unending), and the hand percussion of Sam Foster are highlights. Yet it is partly the ambition to include such talented guests which weighs Calls from a Seething Edge down. There’s appealing variety and creative layering, but the album—and even many songs—comes across as largely disjointed. The opener “Summon,” for instance, starts with layered trumpets and synth atmospheres and then transitions into a dissonant choral arrangement like Lingua Ignota before switching to the viola and acoustic guitar to end. Everything on its own is an interesting enough idea to pursue, but they don’t feel fleshed out nor cohesive. 

Perhaps more frustrating is Abdul-Rauf’s emphasis on vocal arrangements this time around. The first dissonant choral part on the album was intriguing because it was novel, but each instance after became increasingly tiring, and by the end I was sick of them. She leans into a droning quality of her voice, and the whole shebang becomes repetitive, and it even takes away from some of the instrumental variety. I even prefer the whispered delivery on “Mukhalafat,” and I get immediately distracted from the lovely Bohren & der Club of Gore-informed jazz of “The Light That Left You” as soon as the sultry, slightly dissonant vocal delivery starts. 

This is certainly impressive ambient/folk/industrial from a primarily metal artist, and I can tell Abdul-Rauf loves it and has great passion for her craft, but Calls from a Seething Edge is an album weakened by its own ambition. The call to compose during a worldwide time of strife is honorable, but I think the disconnected dreamscapes of Abdul-Rauf’s prior works are a more fitting soundtrack to dystopia.

Recommended tracks: Mukhalafat, Failure to Fire, Crimes of the Soul
You may also like: Galya Bisengalieva, Murcof, The Lovecraft Sextet, Pan Daijing
Final verdict: 6/10

Related links: Bandcamp | Spotify | Facebook | Instagram

Label: independent

Leila Abdul Rauf is:
Leila Abdul Rauf – most stuff

Gregory C. Hagan – viola on tracks 1, 4 and 7
Sam Foster – percussion, additional drum sampling on tracks 1, 2 and 6
Derrick Vella – acoustic guitar on tracks 1 and 7
Vincent van Veen – electric cello, electric upright bass on tracks 3 and 4
Ryan Honaker – violin on track 4
Ed Lloyd Grey – acoustic upright bass on track 5

The post Review: Leila Abdul-Rauf – Calls from a Seething Edge appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: progressive black metal, folk black metal (mostly harsh vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Negura Bunget, Enslaved, Heilung, Moonsorrow, Thy Catafalque
Country: Romania
Release date: 30 August 2024

At its core, genre is a reflection of culture: a framework for a specific moment in artistic and societal time. Genre evolves and shifts as do the values underlying them; they capture the zeitgeist. For example, what’s labeled as metal today isn’t the rock your dad delighted in because the artistic and musical expressions have gone far beyond a tritone or two and some distortion come the digital age. Likewise, I could quibble about how Sur Austru elegantly mix black metal, progressive metal, and folk music, but I opine that they simply write Romanian music, an amalgamation of their musical heritage, cultural traditions, and pride for their nation as a musical love letter to Romania; however, genre isn’t why we’re all here, it’s for quality, inspired music: do Sur Austru fit the bill?

For context, out of the skeleton of classic Romanian atmospheric black metal band and cornerstone of Eastern European metal Negurǎ Bunget sprung two amazing successors: Dordeduh and Sur Austru, both of which I discovered with their magnificent 2021 releases, Har and Obârsie, respectively. While both bands provided excellent first impressions, Dordeduh had a clear edge with their refined, progressive songwriting and more crystalline production qualities. Datura Străhiarelor closes the gap. Distilled passion forms Sur Austru’s third album; to start, Sur Austru is a community-driven effort, its cover art painted by carefully-chosen, local artist Bogdan Tigan and its lyrics penned by the young Romanian poet Călin Miclauș, taleing years of dedicated studies into Romanian folklore and mystical traditions—particularly of its eschatology—and the performance is, of course, performed in their native tongue.

Beyond exterior aesthetics, we’re treated to a wealth of instruments, ranging from the traditional metal band (plus flute) to a regional ensemble featuring the toacǎ (Orthodox liturgical percussion instrument), bucium (style of alphorn/bugle), nai (pan flute), and woodblock (percussion). My hesitation to reduce Datura Străhiarelor to mere metal is how well Sur Austru intertwine the folk and metal, closing in on the levels of compositional brilliance of Aquilus’s elegant neoclassical black metal. Elements of black metal suffuse Datura Străhiarelor as a remnant of Negurǎ Bunget, but the metallic sounds serve to emphasize the traditional music, forcing it to be punchier through distortion, adding a heft to morph the delicate, fluty Romanian folk sounds to something closer to the proto-Germanic paganry of Heilung. The greatest strength of Sur Austru’s sound on Datura Străhiarelor, though, is the percussion in its cascading, hypnotic (though never outright repetitive) patterns, building each song’s intensity from cavernous, brooding skin-beatings all the way up to crashing blast beats. Nearly every track builds in this fashion to swirling, sublime crescendos, using the drums’ increasingly speedy ritualistic pounding to mark their progress. These climaxes are certainly the highlights of the album, the culmination of storytelling lyrically and musically, yet, as grandiose sections often are, it’s through their context in which they work best, provided in the form of hazy atmospheres.

Every track on Datura Străhiarelor contains several psychedelic folk sections, flowing in transcendent swaths of new age-y flutes over nature sounds—birds chittering and thunderstorms—and atmospheric synths, conjuring the aura of an alpine trek through the Carpathians, a Romantic gesture through its simple pastoralism. These alternating and layered streams of psychedelia and intricate metal riffing create long, progressive, and meandering tracks, the songwriting exuding both the power and ease of the natural world and the heaviness of death and destruction. For example, intro “Arătarea” has birds chirping, the epic, foreboding war-cries of the bucium, and ends with a triumphant pagan guitar part. “Strânsura” has chants with an air Moonsorrow in the style choice before switching to complex alternate picking at 4:20; the flutes share the lead with the guitars in the bombastic ending sequence. Other tracks lull with a dreamlike quality such as “Cele Rele” or the women’s choir clinching the end of “Fărmăcarea.” On a less serious note, the booming “OOH-AH”s of “Împărăcherea” sound like the boys are working in a dwarven forge, the imagery certainly funny—still epic. 

The sole thing holding Sur Austru back is its lack of memorable melodies. In its fifty-four minute journey through dreams and the end of the world, Sur Austru cover a lot of ground and, obviously, beautifully integrate Romanian music into metal. However, Sur Austru can get a bit lost in the atmosphere—certainly not a problem on its own as their rhythm section and psychedelic tinge more than hold their own—but I feel like even the heroic climaxes lack a certain extra melodic oomph that Dordeduh have mastered. In this regard, Datura Străhiarelor almost functions as a brighter foil to The Ruins of Beverast with its occult, percussive buildups and effortless endowing of magnitude through sweeping structure choices. Despite its slightly lacking melodies, Sur Austru are vastly improved songwriters. 

More progressive and even more Romanian, Datura Străhiarelor handily improves on Obârşie. With an impeccable sense of ebb and flow, Sur Austru do justice to their love of their country, and I want more bands to celebrate their local artists while incorporating regional tradition in their music rather than blindly imitating what’s popular in the West (ie USA and UK). Sur Austru are authentic, and the heartfelt nature of Datura Străhiarelor is obvious: this was laboriously made, and Sur Austru’s passion pays dividends.

Recommended tracks: Cele Rele, Fărmăcarea
You may also like: Dordeduh, The Ruins of Beverast, Thragedium, Finsterforst, Aquilus
Final verdict: 8.5/10

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

Label: Avantgarde Music – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Sur Austru is:
– Ovidiu Corodan (Bass, Toacă, Vocals)
– Mihai Florea (Guitars, Bucium, Vocals)
– Ionut Cadariu (Keyboards, Flute, Nai, Vocals)
– Tibor Kati (Vocals, Guitars, Keyboards, Bucium)
– Beni Ursulescu (Drums, Vocals)
– Paul Marcu (percussion)
– Călin Puticiu (Percussion, Woodblock)
– Călin Miclauș (lyrics)

The post Review: Sur Austru – Datura Străhiarelor appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Neofolk, Tribal Ambient, Neoclassical New Age (Clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Jeremy Soule, Nature and Organisation, literally any of Toby Driver’s projects
Review by: Dave
Country: Connecticut, United States
Release date: 8 August 2024

What do you get when you take a Toby Driver project, strip away the metallic viscera of Kayo Dot, deconstruct the moody Radiohead-meets-post-hardcore sensibilities of Maudlin of the Well, and forego the horrifying imagery of solo work like In the L…L…Library Loft? The end result is Alora Crucible, a Toby Driver project focused less on outwardly intense expression and dedicated to exploring softer orchestral ideas. Debut Thymiamatascension combined new-age sensibilities with touches of post-rock, coming across as the soundtrack to arcane alchemical experimentation akin to tracks like “The Second Operation (Lunar Water)” from Kayo Dot’s Hubardo. Follow-up release Oak Lace Apparition teases the listener with imagery of oaken specters and album art of a looming spherical creature among a gray forest. Does Alora Crucible’s latest exist in a similarly tranquil space as previous output or has the project adopted Driver’s familiar taste for the uncanny?

Oak Lace Apparition eschews the post-rock elements of Thymiamatascension and focuses instead on textured orchestral new-age soundscapes and hypnotic tribal ambient vignettes, manifesting as raw animist neofolk seeking to explore mystical otherworlds nested in the most secluded corners of the forest, featuring the lush impressionist meandering found in Jeremy Soule-style soundtracks combined with the focus on strings present in Musk Ox’s output. An effervescent natural beauty is present across Oak Lace Apparition, accompanied by hints of dissonance created by exceedingly bright chord choices underlying much of the string orchestration. A veritable spectrum of greens are used to paint forest imagery contrasted by stark shadows on “Amongst Ewdendrift a Corridor,” established with a hypnotic plucked motif that is occasionally accented by sharp string instrumentation that is almost overwhelming in its lusciousness; opener “Through the mist, a peak of icy water; where can I find you, pelagian bird?,” gently rocks back and forth between dynamic extremes as moments of woodland serenity are bookended by moments of trees thrashing in unison as unnaturally powerful gusts push over the forest like fingers brushing over high pile carpet; and “Cenote Vacío” sees the listener hunched over a placid river as sparse instrumentation creates a gentle, pillowy backdrop to spoken word poetry.

At times, the oversaturated imagery can be almost too much to take in. Closer “I Destination” is a sixteen-minute piece carried by the discordant wail of bright violins, ebbing and flowing from foreground to background as other motifs and voices overlap in melodious cacophony for brief moments before being swallowed up by the original violin motif, an experience akin to a warm embrace of light beaming from an impossibly beautiful eldritch god, terrifying in its splendor. The gentle chanting of “I destination…” augments this terror further, signaling to the listener that following this light will lead to the end, but the end of what exactly is hard to say: all that is revealed at the end of this piece is a metallic-yet-organic chirping sound that fizzles out, bringing the experience to a cathartic albeit unsettling close as whatever was beckoning to you has finally met you face-to-face.

Therein lies my biggest hurdle when listening to Oak Lace Apparition, and many other Toby Driver projects: it tends to veer too far into these worldly-yet-otherworldly soundscapes, leaving the listener to meander hopelessly around unsettling instrumentation. A core element that draws me so intensely to  dark/neofolk is its ability to foster a deep connection to the natural world, and when Oak Lace Apparition paints the forest as so beautiful that the beauty turns into hostility, the listen becomes uncomfortable and the connection to nature is ruptured, in the process dragging out these unenjoyable ideas over tracks that are, save for one, eight minutes or longer. This is not to detract from the genuinely serene moments, however, as tracks that feature just a touch of dissonance like “Amongst Ewdendrift a Corridor,” “Spindle’s Whorl,” and “Unseen Ending in the Grass Above” are at their core touching and gorgeous, showing a tasteful balance between that which is grounded in reality and that which is unknowable.

Like many Toby Driver projects, I have a complicated relationship with Oak Lace Apparition: I find many moments to be beautiful, too beautiful even, to the point of making my skin crawl. There is a familiar and worldly musical base that is undeniably lush and texturally rich, and at the same time, the entire package is laced in quasi-eldritch dissonance, the end result a hyper-vivid simulacrum of reality that is fundamentally altered from its source material, and that, frankly, freaks me the hell out. If that is an experience that intrigues you, then I urge you to give Oak Lace Apparition a listen, but if you are less comfortable with experiences that feel like your understanding of reality is being pushed, then look to more standard folk output like Ulver‘s Kveldssanger or Musk Ox‘s Woodfall.

Recommended tracks: Amidst Ewdendrift a Corridor, Cenote Vacío, Unseen Ending in the Grass Above, Spindle’s Whorl
You may also like: Geinoh Yamashigurumi, Stephan Micus, Musk Ox
Final verdict: 7/10

Related links: Bandcamp | Spotify | Facebook | RateYourMusic page

Label: House of Mythology – Official Site | Bandcamp | Facebook

Alora Crucible is:
– Toby Driver (vocals, hammered dulcimer)
– Timba Harris (violin)
– Cristina Pérez (piano, synthesizer)

The post Review: Alora Crucible – Oak Lace Apparition appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: neofolk, prog rock (clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Stream of Passion, Myrkur, Opeth, Forndom
Review by: Andy
Country: Belgium
Release date: 22 June 2023

Entering Polaris are back with their second album this year *checks watch*, about zero seconds after their first. Recklessly moving forward from the power/prog, Entering Polaris will not stick with that style on Atlantean Shores’ sister album, instead trying to be sort of like King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard. This time they present a “fully acoustic; dark and atmospheric” album entitled And Silently the Age Did Pass, how does it stack up to the enjoyable–but not groundbreaking–Atlantean Shores? 

The dark strings of the plaintive neofolk are rich and full, produced wonderfully. Balancing several string and vocal parts simultaneously, the listener never needs to strain to pick out every gorgeous detail. The relaxed vibe maintained across all of And Silently the Age Did Pass heavily relies on vibrant, full-bodied cellos, dancing acoustic guitars, and the slightly grittier sound of an electric bass, although Entering Polaris are just as happy to include piano, violin, various percussive elements (like bells and handclaps), and several accomplished vocalists, both male and female. My single biggest gripe with the album, however, is that except for the extended piano piece “Always a Moment Too Late,” Entering Polaris almost never deviate from a very similar pace which the acoustic guitars push forward with a rhythmic efficiency: This consistent pace–and mood–while super pretty, also doesn’t so easily allow for memorability. 

In fact, I’d go so far as to say And Silently… is almost the ideal background music for a rainy day reading a book, occupying a similar niche in my rotation as Secludja or Forndom. The vocalists all provide a wonderful element to gravitate towards while participating in a focused listening, at least, especially when the group vocals–passing as choral backing–are used. “Projected Horizons” and “The Light at the Edge of the Earth” are neck-and-neck for my favorite performance on the album as both guests soothingly croon over the pretty little acoustic bits. However, the restrained songwriting doesn’t allow the singers to do much more than keep a simple tune, and many of the lines end up being sung in a very similar cadence–not unlike Max Enix–although Entering Polaris at least allow the vocalists some freedom to sing you what are basically lullabies. 

My favorite track, the four part, title track finale, runs the gamut of techniques and tools that Entering Polaris have on the album. Starting with some legit soprano singing, the track quickly builds off a frankly stunning minimalist motif at the start of Part II. Had the album actually messed around with piano parts like this more, I think I’d be a lot more interested to use this as something intellectually stimulating instead of as something to help me drift off into a slumber. “…And Silently the Age Did Pass” certainly concludes the album with a good final impression at least.

Of course, any complaints will likely fall on deaf ears as Entering Polaris clearly wish to be a jack-of-all-trades and master of none. With a clear talent for songwriting, production, and guestlist hunting, I can’t blame ‘em, but I’d still love to hear an improved version of And Silently… at some point. However, I will move on, just as Entering Polaris will: See you at the next two albums!

Recommended tracks: Projected Horizons, The Light at the Edge of the Earth, …And Silently the Age Did Pass (especially Pt. II)
You may also like: Musk Ox, Secludja, John D. Reedy, Sisare, Iamthemorning, Mariana Semkina
Final verdict: 6/10

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

Label: Freya Records

Entering Polaris is:
– Tom Tas (guitars)
– Vincent Van Kerckhove (drums)

The post Review: Entering Polaris – And Silently the Age Did Pass appeared first on The Progressive Subway.