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.

Album art by Matt Harvey

Style: Post-rock, post-metal (instrumental)
Recommended for fans of: Godspeed You! Black Emperor, This Will Destroy You, Explosions in the Sky
Country: Australia
Release date: 4 July 2025

Post-rock is a genre whose appeal has always seemed to me to be obvious on paper, but elusive in practice. In theory, a genre built upon methodical, building soundscapes that layer textures upon textures until they crest in a wave of emotional catharsis would be an easy sell for someone with my generally high tolerance for long-form musical endeavors and weakness for big, climactic crescendos. Yet in practice, so many bands in the genre end up feeling like they’re lost in an aimless, hookless limbo, slowly and dutifully turning the volume knob up and down enough to serve as decent-enough background music but never managing to feel like their glacial compositions are truly saying anything. The instrumental nature of much of the genre also can prove challenging – without the facile aid of lyrics to tell audiences what a song is getting at, artists are left to paint a far more abstract picture, a hazy melange of soundscapes that needs a great deal of compositional finesse and intentionality to truly convey anything meaningful. 

Of course, there are other ways to shortcut this issue – a band could, say, utilize spoken word audio samples as a means of grounding their compositions as the soundtrack to true stories of harrowing loss and sacrifice. And indeed, after the tragic passing of frontman Chris Torpy, Sydney post-rock ensemble We Lost the Sea took this very approach for their pivot into instrumental music on 2015’s Departure Songs, a bleak yet fiercely hopeful record that would be swiftly enshrined as one of the most essential albums in the genre. Yet such a potent hook only works once, and after follow-up concept album Triumph & Disaster was met with rather less rapturous reception, it became clear that returning to that level of gut-punching catharsis would be easier said than done. And now, after nearly six years, We Lost the Sea have finally returned with A Single Flower, another massive opus that largely sheds its predecessors’ explicit narratives in favor of a more abstract theme of beauty amidst tragedy. Has this lengthy development period produced another classic of the genre, or is this flower destined to wilt away like so many others?

To be honest, it took a few spins of this album for me to be sure of the answer. Don’t get me wrong, the level of sheer skill and craftsmanship on display here is obvious from the very first listen. From the way opener “If They Had Hearts” gradually develops its simple motif from a sparse, floaty guitar into a roaring post-metal tempest to the insistent, heartbeat-to-cacophony build of “Everything Here Is Black and Blinding”, it’s clear that We Lost the Sea know their way around the sacred art of the post-rock crescendo. The soundscapes here have also been crafted with incredible care and precision – every dynamic peak is led by a titanic trio of guitars (plus keyboard) loaded to high heaven with an arsenal of effects pedals, every valley built from minimalistic, echoey clean picking and layers of soft, sun-dappled synths. New drummer Alasdair Belling is particularly integral in driving the music forward, his precise, heart-thumping rhythmic pulse evolving expertly into intricate, kit-smashing beatdowns that spice up every climax without losing their impeccable pocket. But plenty of albums can be skillfully constructed, can pull off big dynamics and intricate arrangements with competence and professionalism, and still fail to fully land. What is that extra factor, that ineffable je ne sais quoi, that made my reaction to A Single Flower evolve from “Huh, this is some pretty well executed post-rock” to “Holy shit, why is this music making my hands quiver and my breath catch in my chest?”

Well, if I could easily put it in words, that je wouldn’t be very ne sais quoi, now would it? The old saying about music criticism being like “dancing about architecture” holds particularly true with music this abstract. But if I were to put a finger on it, I would have to say that it’s the expertly considered pacing and composition that put it over the edge. These pieces develop and evolve their central motifs with a sense of intentionality and motion that few other post-rock acts can match. Sometimes it’s just one big crescendo (“If They Had Hearts”), but more often these tracks, particularly epics like “Bloom (Murmurations at First Light)” and “Blood Will Have Blood”, justify their sprawling lengths via expert dynamic push and pull, recontextualizing soft, vulnerable melodies into cinematic, overwhelmingly emotional counterpoint. Every new musical layer and bit of tension stacks onto the track like a stone until what was once soft and feather-light becomes a nigh-unbearable pressure upon the listener’s spirit, yet like a modern-day Giles Corey, I simply keep asking for more weight. Then, when the pressure abruptly releases, there’s a sense of deep relief, of finally being able to breathe again, that invites the listener to look at the moments of simplicity and calm between life’s many moments of tension in a new light. 

This is ordinarily where I’d list my gripes with the album, but honestly there aren’t enough to fill a full paragraph. I suppose the production could be polarizing to some; while its fuzzy, bass-forward sound is excellent at conveying the compositions’ darker and more oppressive moments, fans of the twinklier side of things will find themselves wishing for a less muddy mix with more clarity in its highs. And I’ve seen some mixed opinions on the brief “jig” section on “Blood Will Have Blood”, but I honestly think it’s great – its major key and shuffle rhythm radiate a sense of defiant positivity, of looking one’s demons in the eye and dancing them away. 

My biggest issue with A Single Flower, then, has nothing to do with its quality, but how long it took me to appreciate it. Simply put, this is not the most immediately accessible album in the world. It’s an album that requires a certain headspace and level of immersion to truly get lost in as opposed to simply floating by in the background, and with its hefty 70-minute runtime, recommending that you not only listen through something this sizable but give it multiple spins if it doesn’t land is one hell of an order. Is “The Gloaming” a heartwrenchingly gorgeous, cinematic interlude whose string arrangements call forth grief and determination in equal measure, or is it a mere throwaway, a decent-but-cliched soft passage taken straight from the “Make People Sad” course in Film Score 101? Is “Blood Will Have Blood” a fantastic, sweeping epic whose sense of dynamic push and pull makes its 28 minutes fly by, or is it simply too damn long and in need of a major trim? Obviously I agree with the former proposition in both these hypothetical questions now, but the more lukewarm side was in charge during my first listen, and it might be for anyone I point towards this album as well.

Don’t get me wrong, I consider A Single Flower to be an excellent work, a harrowing yet resolutely optimistic album laden with melodies that feel as though they’re blooming and decaying all at once. Yet, if just one flower blooms in a sea of desolation, its stark beauty will go unnoticed by anyone simply scanning the horizon. But if one focuses in on the barren wastelands, if one looks closely enough at the banal darkness surrounding our existences, there’s often quietly resolute spots of beauty, solitary flowers of light pushing through the darkness. All you need to do is keep searching for it.

Recommended tracks: A Dance With Death, Bloom (Murmurations at First Light), Blood Will Have Blood
You may also like: Bruit ≤, Deriva, Fall of Leviathan
Final verdict: 8.5/10

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

Label: Bird’s Robe Records – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

We Lost the Sea is:
– Mark Owen (guitars, piano)
– Matt Harvey (guitars, noise)
– Carl Whitbread (guitars)
– Matthew Kelly (piano, synth, rhodes)
– Kieran Elliott (bass)
– Alasdair Belling (drums)
With guests:
– Sophie Trudeau (strings on “The Gloaming”)

The post Review: We Lost the Sea – A Single Flower appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Post-metal, progressive metal (mixed vocals)
Recommended for fans of: The Ocean, Mastodon, Psychonaut
Country: Croatia
Release date: 21 June 2025

Some things are much harder to learn later in life. As a triathlete, I lament the fact that I didn’t learn to swim properly as a kid. Sure, I eventually picked up the freestyle stroke well enough, but I’d be significantly faster had I instilled proper technique when my mind was younger and more malleable. At age 33, no matter how much I train, my technique has stagnated, even as I get fitter and fitter. Languages are similar, as I’m sure the hordes of people my age who’ve given up on Duolingo can attest. There’s a little-used word for the late learner, who may have missed the formative advantages of youth: an opsimath.

Opsimath also happens to be the name of the one-man metal project masterminded by Croatian multi-instrumentalist and vocalist Kristijan Bajlo. What the name refers to is up for interpretation: musically, is Bajlo an opsimath? Unlikely, given that he’s the same age as me and has built up a formidable list of active and past projects dating back to at least 2007. Perhaps the name refers to a late decision to begin Opsimath, and the learning required to carry it out, as the project wasn’t created until 2020. Maybe the name is nothing more than a name. Whatever the case, after Opsimath’s strong 2023 debut, Bajlo is back with Hauntings of Intrepid Stardust. Joining him is a host of guest musicians and vocalists, though he remains the project’s primary driver. Opsimath or not, does Bajlo’s follow-up effort show learning and progression, or does it stagnate like my middling swim stroke?

Although rooted in post-metal, Bajlo isn’t afraid to draw from whatever genres he sees fit, as Hauntings of Intrepid Stardust has elements from all over the metal universe. The overt black metal inspiration of the debut is nearly absent, but you can hear shades of prog, groove, stoner, thrash, a touch of Gothenburg, death, and others. And while none of Bajlo’s songwriting is especially unique in isolation, the way he dynamically infuses these different styles keeps the record exciting. Hauntings’ structure is somewhat unorthodox, offering eight tracks, with four heavier ones each followed by a softer one. From a compositional or conceptual standpoint, it’s not clear to me why Bajlo organized the songs in this heavy-soft pattern, and the listening experience can feel a little disjointed. But the quality of the songs themselves and Bajlo’s ability to wield and blend different genres so effectively make this easy to forgive. 

“The Snake,” for example, has a groovin’ albeit somewhat generic verse riff with Hetfield-like vocals, but soon the tempo slows and a proggy, off-kilter triplet rhythm takes hold; a hooky chorus follows, a soulful solo and swinging bridge comes after that, and then the track explodes into a full-on death metal section. That’s a lot packed into a song that’s so easy to listen to. Meanwhile, Gothenburg-esque guitars propel “The Beast” forward into a thrashy midsection and ripping solo. The two standout songs, however, are opener “Into the Abyss” and penultimate track “Under the Sunless Sky,” each being an absolute riff fest with plenty of texture. The former includes a classical guitar opening with traditional percussion, and the latter features an excellent mixture of male and female vocals. “Under the Sunless Sky” also has one of the catchiest riffs of the year, beginning the bridge just shy of the three-minute mark. The guitar solo that comes in and plays over it is the icing on the cake. 

Hauntings’ four other tracks—all of the softer variety—don’t quite match up in quality to their heavier counterparts, but they’re well done and enjoyable enough. Each is driven primarily by clean guitars, light percussion, and emotive vocals. Indeed, Bajlo and his guest vocalists are notably strong across the entire album, heavy and gentle tracks alike, varying emotion and intensity as each passage demands with gruff yet often melodic deliveries. From the hellish growls before the final chorus of “The Snake” to the heartfelt crooning of “Through the Whirlwinds,” the vocals consistently impress. The performance in closing track “Onward” is the biggest surprise, having an approach with an uncanny resemblance to that of Pain of Salvation’s Daniel Gildenlöw. Odd as that may seem after seven songs without theatrical flair, the vocals are charming and provide a memorable ending to the album.

Ultimately, Hauntings of Intrepid Stardust stands as an accessible yet refined metal album. Its main ingredients—the songwriting, vocals, and instrumental performances—are rock solid, and it boasts a production and mix on par with any other album out there. Although Hauntings might not feel perfectly balanced in its structure and quality, and its material isn’t earth-shattering, anyone who enjoys metal should find quite a lot to like. Hauntings of Intrepid Stardust builds upon Opsimath’s debut and delivers another success—Bajlo, the opsimath perhaps, has done it again. Maybe that’s all the inspiration I need to get back in the pool.

Recommended tracks: Into the Abyss, Under the Sunless Sky, Onward
You may also like: SIKASA, Cobra the Impaler, Hippotraktor, Obscure Sphinx
Final verdict: 7/10

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

Label: Independent

Opsimath is:
– Kristijan Bajlo (all instruments, vocals)
With guests:
– Bruno Longfield (vocals, “Into the Abyss”)
– Karlo Žampera (lead guitars, “Into the Abyss” and “The Snake”)
– Linda Primožić Kinda (classical guitars, “Into the Abyss”)
– Toma Cukrov (keyboards, “Take Me Home”)
– Dario Berg (vocals, “The Snake”)
– Damir Tomić (vocals, “The Beast”)
– Bruno Grobelšek (lead guitars, “The Beast”)
– Lea Magzan (vocals, “Under the Sunless Sky”)
– Viktor Petrina (lead guitars, “Under the Sunless Sky”)

The post Review: Opsimath – Hauntings of Intrepid Stardust appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Progressive Metal, Death Metal, Black Metal (Mixed vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Opeth, Borknagar, In Mourning, old Leprous
Country: Finland
Release date: 13 June, 2025

A recurring conceptual puzzle that lingers in progressive music communities is whether artists can be considered “progressive” while treading over waters previously covered by other sonic adventurers. For example, a band can be technical in their utilization of progressive songwriting techniques, showcasing fairly unconventional compositions in the grand scheme of music creation. However, many critics will still complain that these bands are not “progressive” because their contributions have largely been done before. This stubborn desire that prog fans have for innovation creates tension with their love for music that replicates sounds established by influential artists in the scene.

It’s well within reason for these kinds of thoughts to creep in and out of one’s mind while listening to an album like Vitruvian Rays, the debut LP by Sargassus. It displays an interesting execution of many techniques spanning progressive death metal, melodic death metal, black metal, and jazz fusion. Additionally, Sargassus show an admirable ability to deconstruct the tropes of these genres and rearrange them in ways that we don’t often expect, but little provided here is particularly new or original – few times does it even offer material worth taking the time to come back to.

On a positive note, Sargassus display a talented understanding of harsh and soft dynamics in metal instrumentation. The drummer, Matias Rokio, often contrasts intense snare drums, double-bass kicks, and blast beats in moments of high impact with softer, jazzy, prog-induced fills in transitional interludes or moments of respite. The guitarist, Teemu Leskinen, begins nearly every track with a moody melodeath riff, and as the song progresses, mix and match levels of gain and distortion on that riff, and then alters that riff again tremolo-style during climaxes. Leskinen and Rokio mix and match these techniques with each other to obtain new combinations in moments, as though they are collecting them like trading cards. Vocalist, Matias Stenman, mostly sticks with deep, textured growls and gurgles, both of which sound notably experienced. On a few occasions, he will also present rather ominous, ritualistic chants that do wonders for the eerie vibe of the album. Bassist, Mertta Halonen, seems to be rather static, providing compositional continuity by keeping the other band members anchored in subtle grooves. The synthesis of these instrumental components creates a sound most similar to a band like In Vain, Opeth, or Dawn of Ouroboros. 

Sargassus often take riffs that sound derivative at first but develop them into something of their own. For example, the main riff from “The Lone Idunn Grows in Shade” sounds eerily reminiscent of “Dual Existence” by Enshine—a fellow progressive melodeath band—to the point where it almost sounds ripped off. Sargassus presents it acoustically, then they distort it, add growls, and slowly increase the intensity of the rhythm section. The riff is reverted back to acoustic, but now it’s backed with impressive-as-hell jazz-infused drum fills; then it’s distorted again and delivered through blackened tremolos accompanied by evil shrieks. As a cool down, the riff is presented undistorted acoustic again, this time, alongside some nasty growls which create a gestalt creepiness similar to the way Borknagar used to do aggressive growls on top of soft instrumentals. The execution is thoroughly fleshed out in an interesting way, even though I’m a stickler for riffs that sound like they’ve been done before.

The writing of “Pahat Veräjät” and “Carving the Veins of God” seem to have similar songwriting elements in mind; the former features sinister vocals and particularly progressive drumming, the latter having an ultra killer tremolo riff. These two tracks also showcase excellent band chemistry, each member contributing to a sum greater than its parts. Another outstanding track is “On the Shoulders of Atlas,” which subversively closes with an extended melody that lounges around with these layered guitar chords and ominous vocals. I love when tracks have unexpected song structures and/or close tracks unconventionally. However, the band totally missed out on developing this nice riff into an epic climax by building it up with a harsher intensity through their aforementioned black metal and death metal techniques. This extended closer could have been turned into a sublime climax and could have been the best track on the album, but instead ….

The rest of the tracks have less success. “Judgment of the Four” meanders around for a while and peaks with this super lukewarm guitar solo that doesn’t know if it’s supposed to be this glistening, melodic respite amongst the brutality or a showcase of technicality. The solo sort of rides a wave in the middle of the two, leaving it to sound rather unimpressive. The band seemed to go for a sound similar to An Abstract Illusion here (can you blame them?) but failed in execution. The other tracks that bookend the album are just boring. They don’t have catchy melodies, nor do they experiment much with the song dynamics like you would expect from a band inspired by Opeth or In Vain.

While the band showcases a thorough understanding of the contents of the scene they’re grounding themselves in, even pushing the bar in a few moments on the album, their success is too scattered and not compelling enough to make up for their flaws. I’d go further to argue that a lot of this debut is, in theory, doomed from the start since Sargassus takes too much from bands that came before them. Many of these influential bands had much greater creativity and presented more compelling melodies over a decade before Vitruvian Rays. If bands like Borknagar, Leprous, and Opeth can growl over melancholic riffs, jazzy drums, and the like—but do so with stronger hooks and more powerful emotion—new bands are going to need to think more outside the box to overcome the standard set by their predecessors.

Recommended tracks: Carving the Veins of God, Pahat Veräjät, On The Shoulders of Atlas
You may also like: In Vain, Dawn of Ouroboros, Stone Healer, Schammasch, Enshine, IER, Aenaon, Eternal Storm, She Said Destroy
Final verdict: 6/10

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

Label: Independent

Sargassus is:
– Matias Stenman (vocals)
– Teemu Leskinen (guitar)
– Matias Roko (drums)
– Mertta Halonen (bass)

The post Review: Sargassus – Vitruvian Rays appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Post-metal, progressive metal, progressive rock (clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: The Ocean, Steven Wilson, Pink Floyd, Alice In Chains
Country: Greece
Release date: 13 June 2025

Just last month, I was in Kalamata, Greece, my then-fiancée’s hometown. She and I had spent a few days there, and the next day we were to travel up to Athens, where we’d stay for a few more days and have our wedding. While lounging at a fancy Kalamata hotel and looking for something to listen to, I happened upon The Lotus Matter—a young post-metal group based in Athens who had just released their debut, In Limbo Pt. 1. This bit of serendipity was enough to give them a try. Fittingly, the album ended up accompanying me on the drive to Athens and during the little time I had to explore the city before the big day. For better or worse, in my brain, In Limbo is now inextricably tied to the most notable time of my life. An odd pairing with the start of marital bliss, but that’s how things go.  

Although The Lotus Matter play a style that’s categorizable as post-metal, a mishmash of influences make its way into the music. With surprising accuracy, the band describe their sound as including aspects of The Ocean, Porcupine Tree, Alice In Chains, Opeth, Radiohead, and others. More than anything, though, The Lotus Matter are ambitious and not afraid of sonic exploration. In Limbo Pt. 1 holds only five tracks, one being a seventeen-minute epic, and a roster of guest musicians that’d be robust for even a well-established band. Does this group of young Athenians, who now happen to own the mental soundtrack to my marriage, pull it all off—or have they spoiled my matrimonial memories?

A lush, atmospheric opener primarily of piano chords, light synths, and female vocals—building into a passage of swelling strings—immediately draws in the ears and provides a promising start. “Into the Bone” then follows, with riffs and ambience sounding somewhere between Steven Wilson and The Ocean. Color me impressed. Quickly apparent is the band’s ability to create enticing, intricate soundscapes filled with music that finds a balance between progressive and accessible. The bridge of “Into the Bone” is particularly strong, offering layered vocal melodies, modern-era Opethian guitars complemented by jazzy piano, and some play with the meter. The spirit of sonic exploration is furthered in the penultimate track “Run,Rest,Return,” a seventeen-minute epic that morphs slowly across several influences. Whether it’s post-rock atmospherics, heavier riffing, proggy synths backed by groovy bass, a soulful Gilmour-esque solo, grungy belting followed later by Radiohead-like vocal apathy, or swingy 3/4 with female vocals oooing and ahhing á la The Dark Side of the Moon, The Lotus Matter find a way to work it in without being too jarring. The track is quite the ride. 

The ambition showcased in In Limbo, however, comes at a cost. While “Run,Rest,Return” is a success overall, some of the proggier parts in its first half feel as if they were thrown in to add complexity rather than contribute to the song as a whole. Meanwhile, the strong riffing and compelling Alice In Chains-inspired vocals in “Erased?” are somewhat squandered by the track’s awkward rhythmic variations and transitions. The song seems to get lost within itself, covering too much ground without enough thought given to keeping its entirety coherent. It also features bagpipes that, while a fun touch, strike more as a gimmick than a meaningful addition to the composition. And closing track “The Shepherd” puts a lovely bow on the album, but contains another overtly Pink Floyd-like solo section; it too closely retraces the one in the track before, which was a welcome surprise that works only once. With In Limbo, The Lotus Matter are willing to take risks, and not all of them land. But the effort is commendable, and, to be sure, several of the band’s more interesting choices end up working out. 

Still, a few other issues hold In Limbo back from sitting among the upper echelon of progressive post-metal albums. Although the vocal lines and melodies are well-written and the guest vocalists are effective, the main vocals could use some polish and emotion. For music as expressive as that of In Limbo, the vocal performance is comparatively monotonous. In a similar facet, and perhaps an issue with the production, the band never quite explode out of the soundscapes they create or the tension they build—sonically, the bigger moments fall a little flat. This is especially apparent given the noticeable influence of The Ocean, a band that thrives on a planet-smashing sound bursting out of layered ambience. A more spirited vocal performance and production would liven up and enhance the album’s dynamic composition.

Nevertheless, In Limbo Pt. 1 is ultimately a relative success. The Lotus Matter swung for the fences, and although they didn’t knock their debut out of the park, they made solid contact. Much of the album is beautifully done, and overall, the band made good use of their extensive guest roster. Even if slightly messy and sonically lacking at points, In Limbo feels complete and compelling. The Lotus Matter have a high ceiling, and I imagine their next effort will see the rougher edges smoothed and a more mature sound. In the meantime, In Limbo Pt. 1 will remain an odd but pleasant enough matrimonial soundtrack.

Recommended tracks: Into the Bone; Run,Rest,Return
You may also like: Obscure Sphinx, SIKASA, Oak
Final verdict: 6.5/10

Related links: Bandcamp | Spotify | Facebook | Instagram

Label: Sound Effect Records – Facebook | Official Website

The Lotus Matter is:
– Constantinos Nyktas (guitar, vocals)
– Giorgos Petsangourakis (guitar)
– Aggelos Bracholli (keys, vocals)
– Panagiotis Vekiloglou (bass, vocals)
With guests:
– Lazaros Papageorgiou (drums)
– Katerina Charalampopoulou (lead vocals on “In Limbo,” backing vocals on “Into The Bone” and “Run,Rest,Return”)
– Stavrialena Gontzou (backing vocals on “Into The Bone” and “Run,Rest,Return”)
– Kostas Trakadas (trumpet on “Run,Rest,Return”)
– Konstantinos Lazos (bagpipes on “Erased?”)
– Aggeliki Ikonomou (violin on “In Limbo”)
– Nikos Firgiolas (viola on “In Limbo”)
– Rafail Kontogouris (viola on “In Limbo”)
– Marianna Maraletou (cello on “In Limbo”)

The post Review: The Lotus Matter – In Limbo Pt. 1 appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: post-metal, sludge metal, shoegaze, noise rock, stoner rock, post-hardcore (mixed vocals)
Recommended for fans of:  Parannoul, Asian Glow, Neurosis, Boris
Country: South Korea
Release date: 15 May 2025

Modern medicine is amazing. People have lived well over a year with an artificial heart, and doctors can perform entire heart transplants. Alas, the human being still needs a heart, be it a machine or originally somebody else’s, and a person would wither and die almost instantly without the blood-pumping organ. South Korea’s Baan have a mission: rip out the still-beating heart from four genres and try to keep the result alive for sixty minutes. According to their Bandcamp, Baan aim to be “Doom but not boring / Screamo but not crying / Hardcore but not macho / Shoegaze but not sucks.” Dodging all four of those pitfalls while playing those genres is gonna require a musical miracle to occur on Neumann. Do Baan achieve what doctors cannot?

Let’s proceed one by one. Neumann certainly avoids the crying part of screamo by not being screamo beyond some halfheartedly shouted harsh vocals; the record also contains some amateur cleanly sung, crowd-chant adjacent cleans. Both vocal styles are completely obliterated by the mix to the point of being nearly inaudible—they may have recorded them from across the street—rendering them a strident nuisance. Similar to the self-described “screamo” aspect of Baan’s sound, the macho part of hardcore, by virtue of mostly avoiding true punkiness, is eschewed by Baan. Those two soul-of-the-genre omissions are cheating, though, and Neumann is really post-y, noisy, atmospheric sludge metal, with the atmospheric part coming from shoegaze and stoner rock influence.

Thankfully, the doom metal (read: sludge and post- metal) parts are not boring, and the shoegaze aspect don’t sucks [sic]! Fuzzed out guitars and Baan’s love of noisy amplifiers drive Neumann, and the South Korean band have a keen ear for melody and rhythm, with wistful yet hard-hitting guitar parts and dynamic, Mastodon-esque drumming. “Birdperson 새사람” has the first shoegaze part around 3:40 with airy guitars above pummeling double bass, but it’s not until the second track “Early Bird Dies Fast” where Baan hit their stride, the spacey trem picking of the simultaneously woolly yet shimmery guitars playing a beautiful tune—almost nostalgic in tone, as if Astronoid wrote stoner doom. The strongest asset in the band’s arsenal, however, is their weaponization of noise, with exemplary moments like the middle breakdown of “Sing a Brave Song 2 씩씩한 노래를 불러라 2” and the sludgy violence of “Reversal of a Man.” The bass playing is also killer, but unfortunately it almost never makes an appearance with the exception of “Sing a Brave Song 1 씩씩한 노래를 불러라 1” where it gets significant time leading. 

Despite the strength of the riffs and drumming, the album wears itself thin within forty minutes, the schtick played out. By the end of the three-part “Sing a Brave Song 씩씩한 노래를 불러라,” I’m snoozing at the prospect of more Baan, and the boring track “Not Yet” contributes nothing that previous songs like “Histrionic” hadn’t done better. Moreover, the closer, “Oldman 헌사람,” plays into a tedious atmospheric intro that lasts for several minutes before recapping with uninspired shoegaze vocals from Asian Glow; so, I’m forced to admit that while the shoegaze instrumental sections don’t sucks, the shoegaze vocals sucks. Baan clearly had fun tinkering with their amplifiers and jamming out—at the expense of a more concise, better album. 

South Korea is truly a hotbed for noisy, homemade shoegaze recently (Parannoul, Asian Glow, Huremic), and Baan have certainly made a name for themselves with the release of Neumann. Their mix of energetic, growly, and fuzzy guitar tones with passionate and delicate melodies contributes something new to their scene. The band just needs an editor and a better singer. But fans of everything from post-metal to punk will find something to enjoy in Neumann—I certainly did.

Recommended tracks: Early Bird Dies Fast, Histrionic, Sing a Brave Song 1-3 씩씩한 노래를 불러라 1-3
You may also like: Meth., The Angelic Process, Glassing, Huremic, Sadness
Final verdict: 6/10

Related links: Bandcamp | Spotify | Instagram

Label: independent

Baan is:
반재현 [Baan Jae-hyun]
김진규 [Kim Jin-gyu aka April 28th]
이성재 [Lee Seong-jae]
장진웅 [Jang Jin-ung]

The post Review: Baan – Neumann appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Post-metal, post-black metal, blackgaze
Recommended for fans of: Messa, Oceans of Slumber, Suldusk
Country: Norway
Release date: 23 May 2025

There are, it seems, two kinds of post-metal, which can be neatly divided into the kind that bores me and the kind that interests me. The genre inherited the entrenched ideal of build and crescendo that defines much of the more uninteresting post-rock out there—Mogwai to Pelican, Explosions in the Sky to Amenra—centering a compositional conceit over giving the music a sense of purpose beyond its structure. On the other hand, you’ve got the more dynamic post- acts who dare to insert outside influences and build on the genre’s foundational precepts to create something more, which is how we get to the likes of Talk Talk to Bruit ≤, The Ocean to M​ú​r. Notions of genre purity are unnecessarily limiting, the post- genres are better when they get weird with it.

Fortunately, on debut Man Under Erasure, Norwegian quintet Feversea are melding post-metal and post-black influences with occasional hints of sludge and doom. Led by the airy, haunting vocals of Ada Lønne Emberland, the band sit firmly between the lighter blackened stylings of Suldusk, the creative post-metal of Messa, and the melodic doomy leanings of Oceans of Slumber. Thick riffs vie with blackened tremolo while occasional blast beats and banshee screams cut through the languid clean vocals that dominate throughout.

After a quick introductory track featuring whispered male vocals over an arpeggiated synth motif, “Murmur Within the Skull of God” gets the ball rolling with a blackened sludgy riff that forms an indefatigable foundation for Emberland’s almost disdainful delivery, the track eventually capitulating to blast beats and screams. “New Creatures Replace Our Names” follows that same structural pattern, with an intense blackened mid-section after a delicious slow-build and a compelling ascending riff, but the rest of the song is rooted in a more doomy milieu reminiscent of Oceans of Slumber. This is the general formula of Man Under Erasure, by no means adhered to rigidly, but representative of the record’s tenor.

The problem with a lot of emergent post-metal bands is their lack of dynamism, a willingness to trudge along at the same tempo for fifty minutes. Thankfully, Feversea’s wider range of influences get the metronome working overtime, as with the fevered blackened punk of “Until it Goes Away” which, its energy spent, spends its latter half in keening lament. Meanwhile, “Decider” with its rather gothic, almost ritualistic intro gives way to a thick bass riff over incessant blasts, eventually exploding into quasi-mathcore freneticism ala Rolo Tomassi. Simultaneously, outside of these moments, much of the rest of the track is a dead-ringer for recent Dreadnought, particularly the epic instrumental outro. Feversea contain multitudes. 

Closer “Kindred Spirit” leans further into the post-black influences, opening with a lengthy instrumental section which centres tremolo picking and unrelenting blasts. The move towards a doomier pace and emphasis on vocal harmonies thereafter recalls the more recent work of Dreadnought, probably Feversea’s closest match in style. “Sunkindling”, despite its brevity, is perhaps the most unique track. Centred around a defiant chug, a palimpsest of vocal layers form a subtle-yet-apocalyptic backing choir bestowing a much more epic quality, and yet an instrumental wall-of-sound constantly threatens to drown out the voice of the collective. The production, clear and capacious, allows the comparative weightiness of this track’s choices to really shine; the dynamic contrast between Feversea’s inherent sonic chiaroscuro is prioritised by the production for the better. Nevertheless, this is one of few moments to truly wow; it’s the moments that stand against the post-metal and post-black foundations that see Feversea at their best, but these aren’t enough to define tracks.

Demonstrating an intimate and accomplished understanding of the trappings of the genre, Feversea show a great deal of promise here. Whilst the band’s promise of “incorporating influences from neofolk and post-punk” feels a touch overstated, lacking the more overt swings of Messa’s latest, it’s nevertheless the daring to incorporate outside influences that makes Man Under Erasure. Perhaps the trap of pedestrian post-metal hasn’t been fully shorn, but Feversea are at no risk of being erased.

Recommended tracks: Sunkindling, Decider, Until It Goes Away
You may also like: Dreadnought, Huntsmen
Final verdict: 7/10

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

Label: Dark Essence Records – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Feversea is:
– Isak Lønne Emberland (guitar)
– Ada Lønne Emberland (vocals)
– Alexander Lange (guitars)
– Jeremie Malezieux (drums)
– Aleksander Johnsen Solberg (bass)

The post Review: Feversea – Man Under Erasure appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Atmospheric black metal, dark folk (Mixed vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Agalloch, Pantopticon, Ulver
Country: Italy
Release date: 9 May 2025

While admittedly I am a sucker for head-spinning technicality played with surgical precision, there is a nagging sense of exclusivity to the elite performances of tech death and progressive metal. To play pieces by artists like Archspire or Animals as Leaders requires a level of dedication to solely performance, meaning that expression of ideas in this space is relegated to those with perfect timing or those who obsess over recording details. Many folk-adjacent genres, on the other hand, often revel in a lack of technicality or absolute precision in favor of a more ‘organic’ sound, choosing to instead focus on the intent of the music and let the rhythms breathe more naturally. Heavily inspired by Agalloch, a landmark band in this more folky style of metal, Italian artist Esox aims to tap into this sensibility through the murky and predatory depths of lakes and wetlands. Does the one-man project’s debut release, Watery Grave, engender these primal sentiments, or does it go off the deep end in the name of a chthonic atmosphere?

At the heart of Esox’s sound is the namesake pike, a menacing freshwater predator with ultra-sensitive attunement to the movements of water and a penchant for lying in wait for its next victim among aquatic plants. Melancholia seeps into every moment of Watery Grave, depicting the final thoughts of a man who attempts to end his life by drowning. Tracks are often introduced with plaintive acoustic guitars and soundscaping, whether it be rain beating on a lake or the sound of creaking wood. From its waterlogged base emerges black metal intensity, replete with atmospheric tremolos and blast beats in free-flowing compositions that often culminate in a melodic solo. Pensive folk instrumentation sweeps in to gently carry tracks downstream after an intense prey chase; truthfully, Watery Grave is as much dark folk as it is black metal.

Watery Grave’s most ascendant moments happen when the folk instrumentation is given space to shine. The blast beats in opener “As I Descend Above the Water” are cleverly springboarded into by acoustic guitars and the sounds of rain, and the extended ambient section afterwards is euphorically woeful. Esox effectively captures an aquatic sensibility in the instrumental effects, as if the chords being played are a rippling disturbance on a placid lake. My favorite moment of Watery Grave is the intro to “Livyatan melvillei”¹, which sits in suspicious stillness as an ominous whale call is juxtaposed against the sound of creaking; one can’t shake the thought that something massive is waiting underneath the surface for a moment of inattention or vulnerability to strike. The metal sections, in comparison, range from enjoyable to frustrating. The opener’s black metal aggression works great as a piece of the greater whole, adding a sense of aggression to the placid seascapes and building to a melodic solo in its climax. However, the climactic solos across the black metal sections run into an unignorable problem: they’re just not played in time. The arpeggios on “Esox Lucius” and “As I Descend Below the Water” are in a fearsome rhythmic altercation with the drums as the guitars can simply never agree to the established beat, as if they were recorded completely separately with no checking to see if they work together.

Don’t get me wrong—I absolutely adore Esox’s aqueous sensibilities, and I think that in many instances Watery Grave does a great job of encompassing the listener in murky aquatic atmospheres through ineffably organic performances and unsettling soundscaping. But despite all the record has going for it, the prevalent off-time playing is just too much, almost to the point of being able to predict when it will happen next. My attention during Watery Grave should be directed to the lurking menace camouflaged by underwater flora. Instead, I end up focusing on whether an upcoming guitar arpeggio is going to line up with the drums, trying to make sense of the arrhythmic harsh vocal cadence, or guessing how long it will take the left and right acoustic guitars to sync again. No matter how powerful your atmosphere is, too much rawness and imperfection in the performance is going to create an unintended dissonance that actively fights against the underlying aesthetics. Of course, I don’t want Watery Grave to be an ultra-polished product with metronomic precision, but I at least want to feel some level of rhythmic cohesion in the instrumentation, and these slip-ups happen just often enough that it seriously detracts from my enjoyment.

Attention to detail is brought to many facets of Watery Grave, from compositional prudence to striking underwater ambience, and I wish that same level of attention was given to the performance itself. Esox has the makings for something evocative and brilliant; at this point, it’s just a matter of matching the sky-high ambition with a bit more experience. I’ll be more than happy to dive back into the pike-laden waters for future releases, but Watery Grave is a lake I’ve had my fill of.

Recommended tracks: As I Descend Above the Water, The Unbearable Cry of the Sea, Walden
You may also like: Gallowbraid, Nechochwen, October Falls, Botanist
Final verdict: 5/10

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

Label: Independent

Esox is:
– Esox (everything)

1. Livyatan melvillei is a particularly massive extinct species of sperm whale. The inclusion of saltwater sea life here does throw me for a loop a bit as everything up to this point seems to be focused on freshwater, but it should be pointed out that this is a redux of a previous Esox track, so its aquatic idiosyncrasy is not entirely surprising. ︎

The post Review: Esox – Watery Grave appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Post-hardcore, post-metal (Mixed vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Rolo Tomassi, Converge, Terminal Sleep
Country: France
Release date: 25 April 2025

Our inner emotional worlds are an unwieldy, convoluted place: feelings never come standalone and can’t be neatly filed away, as they end up bleeding into facets of our lives both conscious and unconscious. So why should we expect that managing these emotions is a clean and regimented process? Sometimes, the best course of action when dealing with messy and intense feelings is an equally messy and intense approach. For French band Point Mort, this manifests through testaments to fury and exhaustion on latest record, Le Point de Non-Retour (The Point of No Return). Will we reach cathartic relief by its end, or will indulging in these grievances take us past the point of no return?

Intro “ॐ Ajar” transmutes Le Point de Non-Retour’s opening moments from bubbling inner tension into righteous fury by juxtaposing buzzing electronic percussion against sass-tinged cleans and distorted harsh screams. Vocalist Sam Pillay proclaims, ‘I LOST MY MIND’ on following track “An Ungrateful Wreck of Our Ghost Bodies,” and blast beats annihilate any semblance of restraint; out of Point Mort’s primordial sludge of rage emerges a stream-of-consciousness rarefaction of frustration and anger. Le Point de Non-Retour is a blender of post-hardcore intensity, post-metal contemplations, and straightforward hardcore punk assaults. Chunks of its constituent forms can be found in the suspension, but the product as a whole is one of its own, uniquely integrating elements of sludgy neocrust, black metal blast beats and tremolos, and slippery, undulating electronics that urge the listener to sway in tandem. On very rare occasions, tracks will reprise an idea or utilize a chorus, but song structures generally follow the inner train of thought that manifests when processing complex and extreme emotions.

Each track brings an ineffable sense of excitement and intrigue while retaining vulnerability in rage-room songwriting. “An Ungrateful Wreck of Our Ghost Bodies” is an act in three parts, beginning in excessive neocrust chaos with head-smashing percussion and rumbling rhythms. After a smooth and ethereal quieter section, the intensity returns in full—but in a more refined and straightforward form, creating a sense of drama and progression through a willingness to sharpen focus in the track’s final hours. The bite-sized “Skinned Teeth” brings a sense of vigor through the use of double-kick drums and fast-paced stuttering drum patterns, adhering to an unstoppable kinetic force across its short runtime. In contrast, the cinematics of “The Bent Neck Lady” emerge through a comparatively slower burn, beginning with heavily reverbed vocals and a slowly building drum pattern under smooth, swirling percussion. By the halfway mark, the listener is pulled in by a riptide of sludgy grooves from guitarists Aurélien Sauzereau and Olivier Millot, and near its end, a volcanic intensity is broached in repeated throat-tearing screams.

Le Point de Non-Retour’s sense of pathos is centralized in the vocal performance. Pillay showcases several styles, injecting melodrama through clean vocals, acerbic and acidic harshes, and occasionally veering into sass territory with a pouty and irreverent half-sung, half-spoken affect. Pillay’s harshes in particular are stunningly powerful, her eviscerating shrieks projected into an endless chasm of grief and consternation. Most striking is the performance that concludes “The Bent Neck Lady”; overtop wailing tremolos and blast beats, Pillay lets out the most pained and haunting howls of the record over and over, the anguish and frustration too much for words. The sass vocals work well in their subtle incorporation on the verses of the title track, adding a playful spin that almost evokes SOPHIE’s “Faceshopping”. A majority of the time, though, the squealy and sneering delivery ranges from listenable to tolerable, adding little more than texture to the music. I’d frankly prefer if they were either incorporated more regularly into the compositions or taken out to create a more cohesive mood instead of only being used intermittently.

Through chaos comes clarity—sometimes, the easiest way to organize ourselves is to malleate and rearrange the internals, letting things explode and seeing where they land before bringing the pieces back together. Point Mort’s Le Point de Non-Retour goes through a similar process of deconstruction, destruction, and creation, breaking down the fundamentals of hardcore punk, post-rock, and post-black metal, and congealing them into an unstoppable wall of visceral intensity. While the end product may not be rid of its inherent rage, the record most certainly alchemizes it effectively, embodying a much-needed catharsis by its conclusion.

Recommended tracks: An Ungrateful Wreck of Our Ghost Bodies, The Bent Neck Lady, Le Point de Non-Retour
You may also like: Gospel, Habak, Volatile Ways, American Nightmare, Tocka, Hoplites
Final verdict: 8/10

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

Label: Almost Famous – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Point Mort is:
– Olivier Millot (guitars)
– Sam Pillay (vocals)
– Damien Hubert (bass)
– Simon Belot (drums)
– Aurélien Sauzereau (guitars)

The post Review: Point Mort – Le Point de Non-Retour appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Sludge Metal, Post-Metal (Harsh Vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Cult of Luna, EyeHateGod, Acid Bath, Khemmis, Dvne, Mastodon, Inter Arma
Country: United States, AR
Release date: 14 March 2025

Awakening from the Arkansas underground in 1996, Rwake are ancient, nearly thirty years into their journey at the time of this review, with a respectable body of work behind them. Rooted in sludge metal tradition, their sound fuses scathing hardcore vocals, mid-paced melodicism, doomy expanses, and tinges of death metal reminiscent of Acid Bath—a volatile mix that gives rise to brooding, multi-dimensional compositions. After a string of releases beginning with Absence Due to Projection in 1998, the band truly made waves upon signing with Relapse Records for 2007’s Voices of Omens, their most aggressive album to date. That release earned them a tour across the eastern U.S. and a spot at the Texas metal festival Emissions from the Monolith, lifting them from obscurity into the spotlight of the American underground. They followed it with Rest, after which the band stepped away, as personal lives took precedence. Over a decade later, Rwake finally reemerge with their long-awaited return: The Return of Magik.

Such a long wait naturally invites skepticism about the band’s current inspiration and creative fire. In the face of this anticipation, Rwake offer a lineup change involving Austin Sublett stepping in to replace longtime guitarist Kris Graves. With Sublett, the looming nods to traditional doom—shades of Black Sabbath and Mournful Congregation—have largely faded. In their place are more dynamic textures: mid-tempo rhythms, a gloomy but aggressive melodicism, and anthemic passages that at times recall the grandeur of Candlemass. Another notable shift lies in the vocal delivery. The Return of Magik trades out Rest’s hardcore punk snarls for a caustic palette of high-pitched screeches, broken only by measured eruptions of visceral, rebellious shouts.

The songcraft on The Return of Magik is monolithic and variegated in texture, with even its shortest tracks stretching just shy of the eight-minute mark. Structurally, the album splits into two modes. Three songs—”You Swore We’d Always Be Together”, “The Return of Magik”, and “With Stardust Flowers”—are more riff-driven and immediate. Following that are two sprawling epics: ”Distant Constellations and the Psychedelic Incarceration”, and “In After Reverse”. The epics struggle under their own weight, ambitious in scope but left wanting in their pacing, identity, and execution.

Within the style that Rwake indulge in, several key metrics define the greatness of a composition: balance, variety, pacing contrast, and an intuitive flow that ensures no passage overstays its welcome. “The Return of Magik” stands as the shining example of all these traits. It opens with tremolo-driven grooves, anthemic harmonies, and sharp melodic turns, before descending into a doomier section where bellowing punk vocals contrast tastefully with the caustic screams that came before. The song then circles back to a faster pace, closing with a final surge of urgency that ties the entire structure together. From the heterogeneous riffing to the overall balance each section brings, this track shows that Rwake are still as capable as they were the decade before.

The other two riff-driven tracks fall short of the excellence achieved by “The Return of Magik.” In “You Swore We’d Always Be Together,” tonal variety is present, shifting from dark dissonance to Mastodon-esque melodicism, but the pacing remains static, lacking the tempo changes necessary to create a structured sense of evolution. “With Stardust Flowers” carries a cry for greater ambition: the same ingredients that make the album’s title track so compelling are present, but the track ends too abruptly, feeling rushed and incomplete. Both songs are solid in isolation, but with greater dimensionality and structural expansion, they could have reached something far more impactful.

In the final stretch of the album, Rwake make bold leaps which stumble into drawn out messes. Here, the problem lies in failed experimentation. “Distant Constellations and the Psychedelic Incarceration” is an ambitious attempt at mystic intrigue that falls flat. Built around a spoken-word section that runs four minutes too long, what might have been an occultish—if vaguely hippie-flavored—atmosphere devolves into a long-winded rant that renders the rest of the track irrelevant. “In After Reverse” fails to a slightly lesser degree, pairing active riffing with a sluggish interlude. But that interlude, composed of whispered vocals and minimal ambient drones, feels bare and underdeveloped—an attempt at the quiet tension of a forest lurking with something unnamed instead evokes awkward emptiness. Both tracks cry out for stronger execution and a more refined approach to atmosphere and pacing.

Despite its fractured quality, The Return of Magik is a commendable return after more than a decade of silence. It is unclear if Rwake will release more albums in the future—but if so, then this album should serve as a moment of introspection. Let go of the ambitions of narrative-driven songs, tighten the standards for pacing and contrast, and lean more heavily into the band’s greatest strength: the volatile duality between harsh screams and hardcore snarls. There’s still power in Rwake’s sound, but it demands a clearer frame to truly shine.

Recommended tracks: “The Return of Magik”
You may also like: Mizmor, 16, Fange, Sunrot, Decline of the I
Final verdict: 6/10

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

Label: Relapse – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Rwake is:
– Chris Terry (vocals)
– Brittany Fugate (vocals)
– Jeff Morgan (drums, acoustic guitar, 12-string bass)
– Reid Raley (bass)
– Austin Sublett (guitar)
– John Judkins (guitar)

The post Review: Rwake – The Return of Magik appeared first on The Progressive Subway.