Artwork by: Jess Allanic

Style: Metalcore, Alternative Metal, Progressive Metal (Mixed Vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Poppy, Rolo Tomassi, Lake Malice, Wargasm, Holy Wars, As Everything Unfolds
Country: United Kingdom
Release date: 11 July 2025

Back in 2012, the Marvel Cinematic Universe changed the game and shook the industry with the release of The Avengers, a years-in-the-making blockbuster that brought all their disparate heroes together on the silver screen in a historic first. An approximate $1.5 billion later, and suddenly everyone else wanted a money-making universe of their own. DC Studios fast-tracked an Extended Universe; Fox brought back Bryan Singer for 2014’s X-Men: Days of Future Past, which saw OG trilogy stars reprise their roles alongside the new blood. Universal, the original maestros of the crossover universe, jumped back into the game with the Dark Universe, an especially ill-fated attempt that perfectly illustrated the folly of such heedless trend chasing. Hell, even Daniel Craig’s Bond tried with a series of interconnected films. Nowadays, the very mention of a connected universe is enough to elicit a solid groan from people who enjoy actual films over slop. This shit is exhausting. I have a job; I shouldn’t have to do more work to watch a movie. So, when I read the words “Welcome to the Calva Louise Universe” on UK metallers Calva Louise’s Bandcamp, you best believe my groan was mighty.

A three-piece with their own Avengers-esque story—that of unlikely compatriots drawn from disparate corners of the world for an ultimate purpose—Calva Louise is the collaborative brainchild of Venezuelan Jessica Allanic (vocals, guitars), Frenchman Alizo Taho (bass), and New Zealander Ben Parker (drums). Their albums tell a sci-fi story conceived by Allanic when she was younger, following a woman named Louise who discovers a mirror world beyond our own, populated by “Doubles.” Edge of the Abyss is their fourth LP, and my first experience with the band. With a sonic cuisine bringing together razor-edged metalcore, sci-fi electronica, art rock, and a charismatic frontwoman in Allanic, Calva Louise has the sort of core ingredients known to hook my tastes. But, can a first-timer like me survive such a plunge into the cinematic abyss, sans homework? Or do I need to spool up a subscription to Calva Louise+ for further education?

Put down the credit card and unroll those eyes: Edge of the Abyss is not only a stand-alone experience, but an exceptional one at that. While I’m certain there’s connective threads to prior albums linking all of this grand dimension-traversing narrative together, one may safely leave that at the feet of the Calva Louise lorekeepers. Packaged here are eleven tracks and forty minutes of absolutely gonzo, balls-to-the-wall progressive metalcore shot through a multiversal portal of Latin American rhythms, dance-hall-club thumpers, and an uncorked vocal performance to rival Poppy’s most schismatic aural shenanigans. Allanic goes full Bruce Banner / Hulk, delivering saccharine-inflected, almost playfully psychotic cleans reminiscent of bubblegoth-era Kerli before jumping into the purple pants to unleash an arsenal of razored screeches and some surprisingly thunderous lows. Like Poppy, Allanic changes styles at the drop of a dime, made all the more impressive when she switches fluidly from English to Spanish across the majority of Edge of the Abyss. There’s some real psycho-mania energy on display, as if Allanic’s performance comes from a mind ruptured by secrets not meant for mortals. Whether swaying into a sing-along verse (“Barely a Response”) or spitting out vocals like broken teeth (“WTF”), Allanic lands every stroke of her deranged performance with serious aplomb. Her guitar work impressively matches the lunacy via a skronky mathcore-esque freneticism.

If Allanic is the Tony Stark of this outfit, Parker and Taho are Captain America and Thor. Parker provides an especially fluid performance on drums, conducting the album’s rhythmic aims like a meth-addicted octopus as he rolls, blasts, and rides across the kit. He’s thick and punchy in the mix, standing toe-to-toe with Allanic’s churning guitar, knowing when to let a simple beat ride and when to start rolling bones under his double-bass. Taho’s bass playing gets lost in the shuffle on the album’s louder moments (one of the only metal sins Edge of the Abyss commits), but his tones are warm and resonant when audible, thrumming like a steady current to power the madness. Meanwhile, guest contributor Mazare steps in with Hawkeye-level assists, backboning and accenting the record with a slew of dancey beats and skittering keys that add to Edge of the Abyss’s eclectic—and unfettered—fun. The Latin American flavors are integrated well into this glitchy, chaotic stew, feeling authentic and purposeful rather than tacked on for “prog points.”

Metalcore has a tendency to get staid and repetitive, following a very tight structure emphasizing (if not entirely built around) breakdowns and uplifting, cleanly-delivered choruses. A good time, but whole albums can be hard sells for those not entirely beholden to the genre’s whims. On the opposite side, bands like The Dillinger Escape Plan or the aforementioned Poppy can be difficult commitments for me due to the mania that drives their sounds. I can get down with unhinged vocals and whiplash time signatures, but an entire album’s worth runs the risk of grating on my nerves. There’s a novelty factor at play, too, the threat of a “gimmick” overriding the listening experience. A band has to have something more guiding them; strong songwriting, variety, solid pacing… any and all of these go miles towards taking the parlor trick of “we can play 350 bpm” and transmogrifying it into an album you actually want to sit with.

Calva Louise might have easily fallen into this pit of wacky novelty, and I fully expected them to, on first listen. Yet they defied my odds with Edge of the Abyss. Every song has a life all its own, refusing to repeat ideas or fall into genre tropes (no wasteful intro tracks here!). Perhaps this sounds silly, but there’s a scrappiness that translates through the music, a DIY ethos which, despite the modern production, empowers the band’s efforts. Calva Louise sound hungry on Edge of the Abyss, like a tenacious creature throwing everything it has at survival. I’m reminded of early efforts by acts like Slipknot and Mudvayne—not sonically, but spiritually. A vitriolic commitment to artistic vision, in defiance of outcome, is something I’ve long admired. That Calva Louise is four albums deep and able to conjure this kind of energy is delightful.

Like when I sat down recently to watch Marvel’s Thunderbolts*,¹ I stepped into Edge of the Abyss stuck somewhere between frayed hope and pre-loaded disappointment. So far, 2025 hasn’t been the best year for new metal releases; barring a handful of standouts, most of what I’ve heard has sat well within the “okay” to “decent” territory—and much like Marvel’s output of the last decade, I was starting to get a little numb to it all. Luckily for me, hope won the day on both accounts.² Calva Louise was far more than I expected, an energetic, multicultural detonation of influences with an origin story befitting a Stan Lee “Excelsior!” Full of twisting genre shifts, infectious melodies, and one of my favorite vocal performances of the year, Edge of the Abyss is a precipice I wholly recommend pitching oneself into.

Recommended tracks: Tunnel Vision, WTF, Aimless, Lo Que Vale, El Umbral, Hate In Me
You may also like: Knife Bride, The Defect, Reliqa, Bex
Final verdict: 9/10

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

Label: Mascot Records – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Calva Louise is:
– Jess Allanic (guitars, vocals)
– Ben Parker (drums)
– Alizon Taho (bass)
With guests:
– Mazare (electronics)

1. Yes, the asterisk is part of the title. If you know, you know. ︎
2.  Thunderbolts* was refreshingly good. ︎

The post Review: Calva Louise – Edge of the Abyss appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: experimental black metal, psychedelic black metal, dissonant black metal (harsh vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Oranssi Pazuzu, Blut Aus Nord, Ulcerate
Country: United Kingdom
Release date: 1 August 2025

A couple of my non-metal friends asked me the difference between black metal and death metal at dinner the other day, and I struggled to come up with a sufficient answer before finally deciding on “black metal focuses on atmosphere; death metal on bludgeoning.” It’s a drastic oversimplification, but how else would you describe the minutiae of extreme metal subgenres to people who would hear both as offensive noise? I was relatively proud of my off-the-cuff answer. British psychedelic black metal band Sea Mosquito certainly fit my miniature description of black metal as a wave of guitar, synth, and drums washes over the listener for forty-four minutes on Majestas. The record can be oppressively nightmarish, but without many distinct riffs, the atmosphere the group conjures is key to their success. 

The guitar parts function in the same manner as the synths—a background for the drums and rare lead guitars. From the swirly album opener “Organs Dissolved in Lacquer” to the dissonant closer “To Look upon Your Own Skeleton,” you are baptized in tremolo picking, awash in ambient synths. Occasionally, Sea Mosquito blesses the listener with a cleaner guitar tone, providing a lead above the murk like on “In Reverence of Pain.” Those moments with something more concrete to grab onto are godsends amidst the dark, hellish undercurrent. Beyond the guitars, the drums on Majestas are strong and dynamic. The drummer transitions between nice blast beats like on “In Reverence of Pain” to being the center focus like at 3:00 in “Organs Dissolved in Lacquer,” where he does monstrous cascading lines as if he provides the riff. While the rest of the band waffles about on their instruments, he carries Sea Mosquito’s inertia and rhythm—without him, Majestas has no movement.

Weirdly, Sea Mosquito leave the vocals drowning in the shadows while the acerbic highs would do well to create some clearer tension in their sound. When the vocals take center stage—the spoken harshes heralding the climax of “Ascension” and the spoken Arabic in the ghazal in “Ode to Wine” notably—are the moments when Majestas reaches its full potential. The lyrics, while difficult to parse except when vocalist Nuun switches into a more spoken register, are always interesting, contributing excellently to the cult-like atmosphere. My favorite track, “Ascension,” is elevated by its critique of postmodernism, with a crystal-clear uttering of “you will never feel the power of the sublime” leading into a bright, expansive, yet oppressive wall of sound as a climax. Many of the lyrics are inspired by Romanian religious scholar Mircea Eliade, and the literary slant is one of the album’s strongest assets in terms of atmosphere-crafting. 

But despite the many atmospheric strengths of Majestas, the emphasis on that aspect of their sound is the record’s downfall. Hardly a memorable moment is to be found in most of the tracks on the record, as it becomes an amorphous slog, more focused on textural style than songwriting substance. The album is nightmarish, psychedelic, and literary, yet the lack of sharp songwriting and forgettable riffs, while also mixing the vocals too low, is too much to overlook, leaving Sea Mosquito to be just another dissoblack album to add to the pile.

Recommended tracks: Ascension, In Reverence of Pain, Ode to Wine
You may also like: Decline of the I, The Great Old Ones, Haar, Omega Infinity, Noise Trail Immersion
Final verdict: 6/10

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

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

Sea Mosquito is:
– Nuun – Voice
– Fas – Spirit
– Akmonas – Soma

The post Review: Sea Mosquito – Majestas appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: progressive death metal (harsh vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Ne Obliviscaris, Black Crown Initiate, Opeth
Country: United Kingdom
Release date: 4 July 2025

Progressive metal is a genre that thrives off pushing its own boundaries, each band trying to outdo their peers be it through instrumental prowess, philosophical depth, or sheer originality. As such, progressive metal is a genre defined by its high water mark albums: releases where an artist breaks free from the faceless crowd around them and manages to rise head and shoulders above, often inspiring a legion of copycats in their wake. In the wider prog scene, albums like Dream Theater’s Images and Words, Tool’s Ænima, and Meshuggah’s Nothing are such examples, but if one narrows their focus to progressive death metal, two bands come starkly into view: Opeth and Ne Obliviscaris.

While the bands’ respective sounds differ in some fundamental ways, their fusions of the unabashed viscerality of death metal with an insistence that the sub-genre could be something beautiful have made them the forerunners of modern progressive death metal. In the horde of imitators that now ape their every move, it can be hard to find music worth listening to over its muses, but perhaps it’s the struggle that makes it all the more pleasing when you find something worth sharing. Enter Erebor with Infinitus Somnium.

Eschewing the much more technical stylings of Inherent Malevolence, their debut release, Infinitus Somnium, or an infinite dream in Latin, sees Erebor honing their skills in longform composition. Made up of a single three-part track that comprises its entire forty-three minute runtime, this album is an exercise in tension and release. Across it, one is equally likely to hear a reverb-laden clean guitar ringing out in saccharine sadness as they are to hear a blistering solo or torrential blast beat. In fact, the tracks are more akin to post-metal in structure, with their meticulous buildups and decidedly epic climaxes, albeit with a clearly prog death texture. In my first listens, I struggled to work my way through a few of the more intense transitions, but as I became more familiar with the album, they went down easier and I now enjoy basically every moment.

The majority of the enjoyment I gleaned from Infinitus Somnium came from subtle ease and sway of tension between the guitar and drum parts to create spectacle. Take for instance, the rapid fire riffage and ensuing hailstorm of blast beats that begins the first heavy section of “The Endeavor.” The guitars alter their accent patterns to emphasize different parts of the drumbeat as the entire riff evolves into increasingly epic versions of itself, speaking to both the band’s compositional chops and their commitment to grandeur. And it’s that same commitment that makes dozens of moments across the album so engaging. From the actually hilarious drum fill that kicks “The Tower” into gear to the delightfully melodic and tastefully shreddy solos scattered across Infinitus Somnium, there is hardly a time while listening that I’m not smiling in the joy of prog death done well.

With its extended compositions and panoramic soundscapes, Infinitus Somnium demands comparisons to Ne Obliviscaris. The drumming across the album is wrought with the double bass heavy stylings of Dan Presland, and moments like the blooming chords around the middle of “The Endeavor” or the monumental climax of “The Apotheosis” sound as though Erebor’s guitarists may have a tape recorder hidden somewhere in NeO’s practice room. Erebor are clearly big fans of the death metallers from down under, and they wear their influences on their sleeve. 

Still, when you pit yourself up against one of the greats, you aren’t getting out of it scot-free. In a stat by stat comparison to NeO, Erebor holds its own except for in one category: the bass. Don’t get me wrong, Infinitus Somnium has plenty of bass sound—in fact, the mix in general is quite good—but the bass parts are just not that exciting. They weave their way through the drum and guitar parts like a corn snake through a field… and that’s all it does. On an album where every other instrument is free to explore the peaks of its potential, I expected one or two standout bass moments and never found them. Speaking of expectations, another element that Erebor lacks in respect to most other progressive death metal bands of this style is clean vocals, and their absence is noticeable. Many of the extended clean guitar sections throughout the album sound as though they were written around a lead melody, but nothing ever appears. There are a few intimate solos, and violin rears its head for a few seconds in “The Tower,” but the issue remains apparent as chords ring out and the drums chill out for a few seconds to support something that just never happens. Cleans very well may not be in the cards for Erebor, but they need to find something to fill the gaps in the softer moments. Bass perhaps? Thankfully, the harshes are totally serviceable and just varied enough to keep the sections where they are employed engaging.

Coming from a band that just switched from technical to progressive death metal and employing the ever risky album structure of one long song, Infinitus Somnium is an album that surprised me with how much I enjoyed it. While it doesn’t reach the same euphoric highs of the bands it imitates, it gets damn close, and I find myself wanting more in this long-form compositional style from Erebor. Who knows? With Xen out of band, any subsequent Erebor album may be the next best thing in the absence of Ne Obliviscaris.

Recommended tracks: The whole thing. It’s one long song.
You may also like: An Abstract Illusion, Serein, Tomarum, Citadel, Iapetus
Final verdict: 7.5/10

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

Label: independent

Erebor is:
– Will Unwin (bass)
– Tom Unwin (drums)
– Mia Bennet (guitars)
– Jordan Giles (guitars, vocals)
– Valentine Rodriguez (vocals)

The post Review: Erebor – Infinitus Somnium appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Artwork by: Anja Curhalek

Style: Progressive Metal (Mixed vocals, mostly clean)
Recommended for fans of: Riverside, Porcupine Tree, Haken, Dream Theater, Mastodon
Country: United Kingdom
Release date: 27 June 2025

We live in times of great extremes. I know, I know—what a bold and challenging statement. “Thank you for enlightening us, o’ hallowed reviewer,” I hear you say, “Don’t you have a Sleep Token record to be glazing?” Yes, I do. But first, I have to craft an in for this review. Extremes: they are everywhere, pushed by immoral politicians and greedy draconian billionaires alike. One can’t scroll five seconds on YouTube without being assaulted by clear evidence of the matter; everywhere, reaction channels gobble up the latest controversy, news, trends, horror, et cetera, reducing often complex scenarios to grift-minded notions of black and white. Nuance, like the dodo, has flung itself mightily from the cliffs of reason, choosing extinction over the existential nightmare Humanity has hatched for itself. Yet, for all my lamenting nuance’s ignoble end at the hands of hot-takers and corpo-grifters, there is an undeniable “red tape” surrounding it. And when the world is on fire and no one’s listening, sometimes there just isn’t time for artful conversation. When things are desperate, you can’t necessarily risk the message going over peoples’ heads.

Sometimes, you just gotta spell it out, like colorful alphabet magnets arranged upon the refrigerator door of our collective ignorance.

Enter UK multi-instrumentalist Grace Hayhurst. After six years of singles and EPs under the eponymous Grace Hayhurst, The World Is Dying represents her debut full-length, a near-hour’s worth of progressive rock / metal replete with introspective and adventurous guitar alike pattering across sonorous beds of classical piano and swirling synth keys that add flavors of 80s Rush and Symphony X’s neoclassical era. Energetic kitwork by long-time contributor Robin Johnson (Kyros) rounds out Hayhurst’s sound. For the first time in her budding career, Hayhurst brings her voice to the table as well, offering a straightforward indictment as she runs through a venerable Litany of Disasters and Failings on “The World is Dying,” before proclaiming “the world is dying and it’s our fault.” Prog has its muscles, of course, a capacity to tap into somber subject material. Yet often bands will lean into the poetic, the suggestive, when it comes to lyrics, seeking a safe artistic middle ground rather than go right to the throat of the matter. Grace Hayhurst has chosen the path of least resistance on The World Is Dying—but presentation matters much as the message does, maybe more so when dealing with music. Does she get the point across with verve? Or is she stuck screaming into a void?

Let’s start with the good: the music. Hayhurst acquits herself with general aplomb across the entirety of The World Is Dying, showcasing a fine ear for rhythm, melody, and composition. Her guitar shifts from crunchy, driving riffs, searching, Nick Johnston-esque lines, and bouncy prog grooves with nary a sweat. Keys create a fertile bed of mood and atmosphere, often tapping into the album’s darkest and most playful moments alike. The bass, while more suppressed in the mix than I’d like, nonetheless rolls about with purpose when presenting itself, possessed of a warm, buoyant tone that, in cooperation with the resonant piano skirmishes and Johnson’s lively percussions, gives The World Is Dying a jazzy flair and infectious kineticism that had me drawing sonic leylines to fellow UK progsters, Exploring Birdsong. Tracks ebb and flow smoothly across ideas and transitions; take “Our Forest, The Earth,” for example, moving from moody buildup of tribal drums and desolate guitar / bass, before a warbling synth line winds like a fuse before detonating into a jaunty rundown of prog-rock fun, including a soft detour into Tool and Gunship-flavored territory along the bridge as the opening motif returns, only to unfurl in new directions.

However, not everything in The World Is Dying pulls through unscathed. While almost every track offers measures of classical beauty and modern prog-madness, some additions struggle to manifest in winsome ways. While “Revolution’s” transition into baroque doom is pretty cool, as are the initial Sadness-coded black metal rasps accompanying the shift, the rasps take on a cartoonish, almost Donald Duck-vibe that completely jettisoned me from the otherwise good time I was having. And, sadly, that extends to the vocals as a whole. There’s a theatricality to Hayhurst’s breathy falsetto that, like Geddy Lee’s alien screeching on early Rush releases, has the potential to align with the music’s bombastic aims. Unlike Lee, however, Hayhurst’s singing lacks power, range, and finesse, often coming across like a karaoke performance. When used purely for vocalization, her approach works decently enough at bolstering atmosphere (as on parts of “And It’s Our Fault,” “Take Off,” or “Armistice”). But there’s no working around that her voice stands as The World Is Dying’s weakest link, disruptive to the otherwise pleasant instrumentation. Clarity also becomes an issue: whether the vocals’ placement in the mix, her style, or both, lyrics are often hard to parse—an issue when messaging is such a concern.

Attempting vocals overall after focusing largely on instrumental-only material showcases a measure of resolve on the part of Hayhurst that should be commended; clearly, she felt this material would benefit from lyrics, and I’m inclined to agree. However, while repeat listens have afforded me the time to hear how her singing fits into the overall architecture of the songs, first-time listeners run the risk of being shunted clear out of the experience. This is a shame, because Hayhurst certainly has an ear for how vocals can be slotted into her music, with the chops to compose and execute solid, fun prog tunes—and pace them, too. Despite nearly striking the hour’s toll, The World Is Dying avoids listener fatigue by virtue of every track (sans the pointless “Prologue,” “Armistice,” and closer “Absent Futures”) being chock-full of sonic evolutions and exuberant performances. If the vocal problem can be solved (perhaps by passing that particular set of reins to an outside source, as with the drumming), then I think a future release would have the legs needed to make a stand. Of course, she could also return to her instrumental roots, instead. However, Hayhurst has proven to have the mettle necessary to learn and grow to meet her artistic aspirations; this is simply another hurdle for her to clear. So, the world may be dying, and yeah, it’s our fault, but life is hardly over.

Recommended tracks: The World is Dying, Our Forest, The Earth, Revolution
You may also like: Exploring Birdsong, Temic, Althea, Haven of Echoes
Final verdict: 4/10

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

Label: Independent

Grace Hayhurst is:
– Grace Hayhurst (guitars, bass, keyboards, piano, vocals)
With guests:
– Robin Johnson (drums)

The post Review: Grace Hayhurst – The World Is Dying appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

No artist credited

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No artist credited

Style¹: Avant-prog, art pop, neo-psychedelia (clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Cardiacs, Gentle Giant, Mr. Bungle, Frank Zappa
Country: United Kingdom
Release date: April Fools, 2025

Excuse my language, but what the fuck is this? Prog rock might have gotten stale with all the competent yet unimaginative 70s worship groups out there², but some bands take the concept of innovation to levels where you start wondering whether they even set out to create an enjoyable experience in the first place. In such a tradition do we find vaguely Cardiacs-adjacent³ British avant-prog ensemble Lost Crowns. Ensemble groups in prog aren’t exactly new—Meer has seen great underground success as of late—but Lost Crowns are a wholly different breed, and their latest offering The Heart Is in the Body is—ironically—possibly one of the purest intellectual constructs in music I’ve heard to date. Let’s dissect this bad boy, shall we?

How many different things can you play at once while keeping a coherent arrangement? If Lost Crowns are to be believed, the answer to that question is yes. Vocal harmonies, ever-shifting polyrhythmic drumming, percussive and melodic guitar lines, keyboards in sync with only the kick drum on the lower end while in counterpoint with the rhythm guitar on the higher end, wind instruments playing atonal melodies, often all at the same time define much of The Heart Is in the Body. If you get dizzy reading that, deciphering all the madness while listening is bound to make your brain explode. Lost Crowns bring nearly every Western European instrument under the sun into this album as well: saxophone, clarinet, bassoon, harmonium, flute, violin, bagpipe, dulcimer, and a whole lot more you can read in the credits below. These instruments are brought together in a crystal clear, cosy mix with just enough reverb to evoke a chamber feeling, meaning not a single note is Lost in Crown’s quest to overstimulate the listener.

“Try not to think, you need to feel the music!” my mom would often say while I was growing up, but jeez, Lost Crowns do not go for any easily recognizable feeling either. With how choppy and angular not just the rhythm section but also the vocal melodies and lead instruments are, listening to The Heart Is in the Body becomes rather akin to a solfège exercise than an emotional journey of any kind. “The Same Without”, for example, starts with a melancholic, serene atmosphere consisting of nothing but vocals, harmonium, and some strings. Chaos erupts when guitars, drums, and keyboard come in, and so little of the opening mood remains that we might as well have been in a different song. After that, only the chorus (?) provides some sense of recognizable catharsis; everything else is an overly well-designed labyrinth. Even though Lost Crowns usually maintain a sense of narrative in their songs, they also pull out the rug from under you at any given time with rhythmic switch-ups and unpleasant atonal melodies. It’s hard to care about where a song will go next if it switches things up fifteen times in the time it takes to form that thought. All the variety in instrumentation and layering cannot save The Heart Is in the Body from the monotony of its chaos. 

The two major exceptions to the maximalist style on The Heart Is in the Body are “O Alexander” and closing epic “A Sailor and His True Love”, which are overwhelmingly atmospheric tracks. The former is a disorienting psychedelic piece while the latter ventures into folk territory, somewhat bringing Comus to mind in its estranging yet somehow cosy mix of genres. Both tracks lose themselves to off-kilter indulgence at points, but on the whole stand out for their relatively simple arrangements. Merely allowing some breathing room for the instruments instead of cramming in a dozen at once does wonders for the emotional connection that was lacking otherwise. These songs still aren’t easy to follow by any means, but considering how hard the rest of the album is to listen to, they are a blessing. 

Safe to say, The Heart Is in the Body is an utterly bewildering album. At its best, you’ll find some of the most interesting, challenging music you’ll hear all year; at its worst, you’ll also find some of the most interesting, challenging music you’ll hear all year, but this time in a bewildering manner with a level of chaos that makes Between the Buried and Me seem tame in comparison. For the majority of the album’s duration, I fell in the latter camp; however, I do expect that our analytically inclined readers will have a field day with this album’s intense attention to detail and frighteningly complex narrative structure. Do proceed with caution, however, because The Heart Is in the Body is not for the faint of heart, nor the faint of body.

Recommended tracks: She Didn’t Want Me, A Sailor and His True Love
You may also like: Good NightOwl, Comus, Stars in Battledress, Eunuchs, Cime
Final verdict: 4/10

1. Alternatively, according to my colleague Tim: Canterbury prog on crack. ︎
2.  We’re actually severely lacking in classic prog rock specialists on our staff so if you’re into that and like to write about music, please consider applying! ︎
3.  Main man Richard Larcombe and his brother James were in Stars and Battledress who have played shows with Cardiacs. James also mixed The Garage Concerts. ︎

Related links: Bandcamp | Spotify | Facebook | Instagram | Rate Your Music

Label: Independent

Lost Crowns is:
– Nicola Baigent (clarinet, bass clarinet, saxophone, recorder, flute)
– Charlie Cawood (bass guitar, double bass, handbells, sitar)
– Sharron Fortnam (vocals)
– Keepsie (drums, handbells)
– Richard Larcombe (lead vocal, guitar, harmonium, harp, tin whistle, violin, cello, concertina, English border bagpipe, dulcimer)
– Rhodri Marsden (piano, keyboards, bassoon, saw, recorder, tremelo guitar, percussion, theremin, vocals)
– Josh Perl (keyboards, vocals)

With guests:
– Mark Cawthra (vocals on 2, 5 and 6)
– Susannah Henry (vocals on 3)
– James Larcombe (hurdy gurdy on 8)
– Sarah Nash (vocals on 3 and 7)

The post Review: Lost Crowns – The Heart Is in the Body appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Hard rock, psychedelic rock (clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Clutch, Mastodon, Green Lung, Acid King
Country: United Kingdom
Release date: 2 May 2025

Somewhere west of the Mississippi and the Great Plains, on a two-lane highway stretching a hundred-mile gap between a remote, small town and an even smaller, more remote town, a red pickup truck and its driver barrel down the road. The sun directly overhead at the start of their journey, they head towards rolling hills covered in nothing but squirrel-tail grass. Our driver feels for the CDs in the sleeve strapped to the sun visor and pulls one at random: Slung’s In Ways. As the truck approaches the first incline, the driver presses play, and Katie Oldham’s acrid roar on “Laughter” sets the album off at a pummeling pace. Responding in kind, the driver mashes the accelerator to get the well-worn pickup over the first hill at a matching rate. That is how In Ways hits at first—with a physical, momentous, low-Slung swagger.

If you asked me where Slung are from, based solely on In Ways, I’d have guessed the southwestern United States—the place I currently call home. The vibes here are thick and dusty in the air, as wide as the open sky ahead, and have me pining for the mountains out my doorstep. In some Ways, this LP is the soundtrack to the lonely drives around the West I took in my late teens and early twenties. I can hear and feel the excitement of going pedal to the metal on some flat, straight stretch of Interstate with nothing and nobody for miles around in the throaty, pentatonic guitar riffs of “Laughter” and “Matador.” Should I drive through the ominous storm on the horizon? I’m “Thinking About It,” and the brooding melodies of “Class A Cherry” fit the mood. The pedal steel guitar in “Nothing Left” has me lost in thought, and creates the perfect ambiance for the setting sun and the quiet world it departs—a reminder to turn on the headlights. No road trip would be complete without a stop at a scenic view to admire the reverent majesty of Mother Earth, and the soft melodies and power chords of “Come Apart” will do just fine for that. With an atmosphere that so vividly evokes memories, sights, and sounds from my region, it’s almost disorienting to find out that Slung are from England, not some dry corner of Utah or New Mexico. Are they trying to mimic Americana? I don’t think so. In Ways feels a step beyond that, as if they’re dreaming it from across an ocean.

Though I can’t discern a lyrical or other thematic through-line on In Ways, its concept does seem to be division. The difference between the former and latter halves of the album is stark, with the front side full of loud, up-tempo, rocking bangers and the back half comprised of quiet, pensive, aching songs of reflection (with one exception in each of those halves). But what makes the shift work—what almost prevents the album from feeling split in two—is the emotional continuity: that sense of movement from outside to inside, from memory to nostalgia, from the road under your tires to the thoughts in your head as you coast with the cruise control and admire the view.

Katie Oldham’s vocals are In Ways’ motor. She doesn’t dominate every track, but when she cuts loose, you can feel a tingle up your spine. Her raw delivery on “Laughter” sets the tone early, with a visceral yell that tears the record open like a crack of thunder. But her most stunning moment comes on a softer (and my favorite) track, “Heavy Duty,” where she holds back for almost the entire song. That restraint makes room for the other elements to do the emotional lifting: a bending guitar melody that makes my soul yearn, a subtly melodic bass line humming beneath the surface, and that pedal steel guitar painting an aural sunset on the soundscape. Then, in the closing moments of the song, Oldham belts the final chorus with a force and vibrato that could echo across valleys, making the hair on my arms stand up straight. Her voice doesn’t just carry the songs; it marks turning points in them. It’s less of a spotlight and more of a flare, briefly lighting up everything around it.

Still, for all its emotional resonance, the back half of In Ways merges indistinctly. Once the record passes the midpoint mile marker, the dynamic range narrows, and the tempos and textures begin to blur as each song becomes less unique than the one before it. The sighing pedal steel from “Heavy Duty” isn’t breathing any differently on “Falling Down” or the title track; nor do the plaintive, slightly distorted power chords from the guitar tell me a different story between “Limassol” and “Nothing Left.” For this reason, the division of the two musical personalities on this LP doesn’t entirely work. If the songs had been sequenced differently, I wonder if I would have even noticed—I certainly wouldn’t have cared. So, even though there’s something to enjoy in all of the tracks, on repeat listens, a few become skippable due to a lack of variety.

And yet, there’s a cumulative power to In Ways’ structure, a gradual letting off the gas and a waxing clarity that gives way to an emotional pull inward. By the time the final notes of “Falling Down” fade out, In Ways has completed a transformative journey. It starts in a storm and ends in the silence after. There may not be a map in the liner notes, no specific concept to decode, but the drive is one I’d be glad to make again. Though I’m not sure exactly where we started, for me, it feels like coming home.

Recommended tracks: Heavy Duty, Collider, Nothing Left
You may also like: Sergeant Thunderhoof, Howling Giant, Calyces, Pryne, Vokonis
Final verdict: 7/10

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

Label: Fat Dracula Records – Official Website

Slung is:
Katie Oldham – vocals
Ali Johnson – guitar
Ravi Martin – drums
Vlad Matveikov – bass

The post Review: Slung – In Ways appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: post-punk, baroque pop (clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: The Beatles, Black Midi, Keller Williams, Steve Reich, Love, The Beach Boys, The Smile
Country: United Kingdom
Release date: 4 April 2025

Black Country, New Road’s last studio album Ants from Up There was something of a musical epiphany for me. After years of my music taste trending towards the obscure and impenetrable, I found myself a staunch death metal elitist. Draped in my camo cargo shorts and faded band tees, I’d turn my nose up at any album that didn’t have, by my estimation, the proper amount of blast beats, breakdowns, and harsh vocals. It didn’t matter how well composed or beautiful a piece of music was; all that mattered was whether the music fit into the increasingly narrow definition that I needed it to so as to appease my elitist nature. In all honesty, I think it was a sense of elitism that drove me to write here at The Progressive Subway in the first place, but there’s no quicker way to kill a metal elitist attitude than to expose it to truly great non-metal music. In talking to my fellow writers, I was quickly shown just how wrong I was about metal’s place on the musical throne. Slowly but surely, melody and levity crept their way back into my music taste, and it was then that I found Black Country, New Road.

I discovered Ants from Up There a few months after its release, and I was immediately enraptured by its delicacy. Isaac Wood’s vulnerable timbre, the two-pronged chamber folk/pop attack of violin and saxophone, and the post-punk laden guitar and bass riffs created a mixture entirely foreign to me, and I quaffed it down like a desert-bound traveler in an oasis. While tracks like “Concorde” and “The Place Where He Inserted the Blade” merely got stuck in my head, longer cuts “Snow Globes” and “Basketball Shoes” imprinted themselves upon my musical DNA, like drops of blood in water, once released, inextricable. I was a fanatic, and like a fanatic, I researched the source of my fascination. As any BCNR fan now knows, I learned of how Isaac Wood left the band mere days before the album’s release, and thus my worshipping only grew more devout; after all, the best way to make something seem legendary is to ensure it can never be recreated.

Having never toured in support of their newest album, BCNR announced that they would not be looking for a new vocalist, and that vocal duties would instead be split amongst the band’s six other members. I was skeptical of this approach—after all, Isaac Wood, at least in my estimation, was the beating and bleeding heart that made Ants from Up There so visceral. But I’ll be the first to admit that BCNR truly surprised me with 2023’s Live at Bush Hall. Despite coming across more like a playlist than a cohesive album, with each track’s vocals being taken by a different member of the band, Live at Bush Hall showed that Black Country, New Road could in fact exist, at least in some form, without Isaac as frontman. Since then, two years have passed, and BCNR has been hard at work. This time a bona fide studio album was the result; its name is Forever Howlong.

Vocal and songwriting duties have been split between the band’s three female members Tyler Hyde, Georgia Ellery, and May Kershaw, and immediately Forever Howlong distinguishes itself from its forerunners. Where Ants from Up There featured a distinctly masculine perspective, not just in the sense of Isaac’s vocals but in his choice of lyrical content, and where Live at Bush Hall seemed to thrive on the juxtaposition between the masculine and feminine perspectives, Forever Howlong narrows in on the feminine. In tracks like “Mary” and “Nancy Tries to Take the Night,” we see our heroines struggle against the trappings of domesticity and rebel when the opportunities arise. But in tracks like “Two Horses” and “For the Cold Country,” we see our same¹ heroines, struggling to get by on their own. This fuzziness of conviction can be found everywhere on the album, from the lyrics and instrumentals to the album’s overall flow.

Instrumentally, Forever Howlong continues to chart the depths of post-punky baroque pop that BCNR has plumbed across its discography. However, Forever Howlong differs from its predecessors primarily in its lack of set piece instrumental sections. The closest we ever get to such a moment is the drone work on “For the Cold Country” and the ostinato work on “Nancy Tries to Take the Night,” but even those moments feel as though they are in service to the vocals. In fact, Forever Howlong is more vocally driven than any other BCNR release. Tracks like “Socks” rely exclusively on vocals as propellant and slide dangerously close to stagnant as the vocals slip tastefully in and out of tune, while other cuts like the title track follow the vocals more literally with bits of diegetic silence. 

Such a strong focus on driving vocals can only succeed when the production is top-notch, and Forever Howlong has that department more than covered. BCNR has never had any production issues, but this new album blows their previous output out of the water. Layers come and go like tissue paper and gossamer, yet in conjunction they become full and succulent. Even as the vocals come in at barely a whisper, there can be heard tinkling piano, noodling sax, and tasteful tom fills, each adding their own frisson-inducing texture. Like any great art pop, this is an album best enjoyed with your fullest attention as each note rings out crystal clear.

The only hangup I have with Forever Howlong is its flow. Each track leading up to the double whammy of “For the Cold Country” and “Nancy Tries to Take the Night” feels like a piece in a carefully constructed staircase of intensity that ultimately climaxes in glorious splendor, and then there’s two tracks that come after. On their own, the title track and “Goodbye (Don’t Tell Me)” are perfectly fine, both continuing the trend of tasteful and delicate art pop that defined the album’s front half, but when viewing them as part of Forever Howlong I can’t help but see them as outliers of an otherwise well defined rising trendline. The real issue here is that I don’t think a simple rearrangement of tracks would have fixed this; had the final two tracks instead been somewhere in the album’s front half, I’d probably instead be complaining that the album was a bit samey with the only major impacts occurring in its final few tracks, and simply removing tracks never feels like a satisfying solution in an already lean album. I understand that not all albums need to climax on their final track, but it is far and away my preference when it comes to album flow. At the end of the day though, this is a minor gripe, and maybe I’ll come to enjoy the two closing tracks with time.

The more I sit and listen to Forever Howlong, and the more I try to compare it to Ants from Up There, the more I realize what a fruitless endeavor that is. Where Live from Bush Hall seemed to be defined by the absence of Isaac Wood, Forever Howlong is its own invention, and in its delicate nooks and crannies, it forges a new identity for Black Country, New Road. As someone who once shut out entire genres in favor of brutality and extremity, it’s albums like these that make me glad I’ve changed my ways. While Forever Howlong may not reach the same mythical heights as Ants from Up There, it carves a new space entirely—one softer, stranger, and equally beautiful.

Recommended tracks: Two Horses, For the Cold Country, Nancy Tries to Take the Night
You may also like: Eunuchs, The Orchestra (For Now), Maruja
Final verdict: 8/10

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

Label: Ninja Tune – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Black Country, New Road is:
– Tyler Hyde (bass, lead vocals)
– Lewis Evans (saxophone, flute, backing vocals)
– Georgia Ellery (violin, mandolin, guitars, backing and lead vocals)
– May Kershaw (keyboards, piano, accordion, backing and lead vocals)
– Charlie Wayne (drums, percussion, banjo, backing vocals)
– Luke Mark (guitars, backing vocals)

1. It’s unclear whether this album is conceptual. BCNR has always toed that line. ︎

The post Review: Black Country, New Road – Forever Howlong appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Neo-prog, symphonic prog (Clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Yes, Steven Wilson, Marillion, Genesis, Frost*
Country: United Kingdom
Release date: 28 March 2025

There’s a certain kind of excited anticipation in revisiting an artist you used to love long ago. For me, it often jogs memories of doing excessively deep musical dives while playing video games in high school in the early 2010s. One such band was IQ and their 2004 record, Dark Matter, my first foray into neo-prog and a beloved album of mine throughout high school. Unfortunately, Dark Matter got lost to the sands of time when I went to college and became tainted by the Gospel of Djent, so imagine my surprise when I saw IQ in our review queue after fifteen years with a new record called Dominion. What better time than now to catch up?

Dominion betrays an evolution in IQ’s visage only noticeable in a fifteen-year absence. There is an air of familiarity in the wispy, keyboard-led neo-prog passages that weave through compositions short and long, some generously reprising a central idea (“No Dominion”) and others throwing repetition to the wayside as they yearn to ebb and flow around a core feeling (“The Unknown Door”). “One Of Us” is a wholly acoustic piece that acts as a palate cleanser to the monstrous opening epic “The Unknown Door”, whose intro showcases a gentle acoustic section redolent of Jack Johnson. Heavier moments seldom surface, but their presence always centralizes a piece, such as the extended jam in the center of “The Unknown Door” and the pounding, kinetic drums of “Far From Here” dueling with groovy guitar work.

The ambitious song structures featured on Dominion are standard fare for IQ, but a nagging lack of direction—and occasionally, profound disinterest—pervades many of its bulkier tracks. The strongest thread holding together “The Unknown Door”, for example, is vibes, as little is working towards the track’s cohesion outside of a few vague lyrical ideas. Its middle section is quite fun, indulging in dramatic synth-prog cinematics that juxtapose against smooth and cool organ-led moments, but none of it feels particularly interconnected: you could swap around ideas or even take a couple out to the exact same effect. Additionally, the bookending eight or so minutes feel more like an exercise in excess than anything, lumbering from gentle heartfelt moment to gentle heartfelt moment. “No Dominion”, on the other hand, is much more capable of maintaining structure around its crystalline keyboards and beautifully melodic solo. Unfortunately, the track almost immediately loses the plot regardless by surrounding its keyboards with pleasant-but-toothless verses, amorphous instrumentation, and grating flickers of autotune in Peter Nicholls’ vocals. “Far From Here” succeeds the most at balancing cohesion and interest, slowly building up its relatively gritty instrumentation into a colorful crescendo across its runtime and bringing the listener down as gently as they were lifted up.

IQ try to find a happy middle ground between more concrete sentiments in their lyricism and the oblique word-painting of Jon Anderson-era Yes on Dominion. However, much of its writing sits in an uncomfortable middle ground between these two extremes, struggling to shine in either respect. Dominion’s more tasteful lyrics emerge on closer “Never Land”, nostalgically lamenting the loss of a loved one, and “Far From Here” has some admittedly fun moments in the word play ‘Right or the left brain, who’ll decide? / What if the right had nothing left / Would the left get nothing right?’ On the flip side, the verse ‘Was it always going to be how it appeared / Beneath the moonlight? / What if I had told you anything you want to hear / Would that make it all right?’ from “One of Us” is not only prosaic but also rhythmically clunky, awkwardly jammed into the track’s meter. “The Unknown Door” features lines like ‘Beyond the veil of night / Unaware anywhere, is there still time? / Won’t be long from this moment on / With two of one kind and all we leave behind’, which are encased in hopelessly elliptical symbolism.

The last synth pads of “Never Land” fade out, and for a few seconds, I look at Dominion’s cover in silence. Its heavier moments perk my ears up without much fuss, but the record leaves little impression on me due to a lack of songwriting focus in its more extended pieces and lyricism that just doesn’t work most of the time. Like a pleasant at first but ultimately uncomfortable exchange with an old friend, the connection I had with IQ as a teenager just doesn’t really hold up under current circumstances. Is there anything left to say, or should I just take my leave and move on? It is getting late, after all, and I still have some errands I need to run. Maybe in another fifteen years, IQ and I will be different again in a way that’s more similar.

Recommended tracks: Far From Here, One of Us
You may also like: Dry River, Moon Safari, Ice Age, Kyros
Final verdict: 5/10

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

Label: Giant Electric Pea – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

IQ is:
– Peter Nicholls (vocals)
– Mike Holmes (guitars)
– Tim Esau (bass)
– Neil Durant (keyboards)
– Paul Cook (drums)

The post Review: IQ – Dominion appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Progressive metal, post-metal, alternative metal (instrumental)
Recommended for fans of: Tool, Pelican, Russian Circles
Country: United Kingdom
Release date: 14 March 2015

It’s instrumental, but it sure ain’t late-night jazz—Obelisks is a three-track EP by UK-based progressive metal band Midnight Jazz Club. Whatever the time of day, this release comes punctually: the early months of 2025 have filled my ears disproportionately with releases leaning into the more extreme ends of progressive music, and a melodic instrumental album is quite welcome. Whether Obelisks satisfies that craving, however, is another matter.

Midnight Jazz Club play a brand of instrumental prog with a style straddling the line between post- and alternative metal. The sonic landscapes they create are airy and broad, but there’s also an ever-present, energetic drive and groove—it’s all quite accessible and well-produced, reminiscent of a floatier Tool. Indeed, each of Obelisks’ three tracks reminds me of something gleaned right from Lateralus’s legendary title track. But even if the music sounds slightly derivative, it’s done well enough, and the band has a knack for writing tuneful riffs and melodies. The hook in “Refraction,” for example, sets an infectious, soaring guitar melody on top of a groovy underlying riff with an all-too-catchy chord progression. The band pulls the same trick out of the bag in “The Obelisk,” etching another enjoyable—though quite similar—hook. The verse riffs and bridges, too, have an entrancing pulse to them.

But the issue for me is that Obelisks sits in the odd spot of not having the technical wizardry that makes instrumental prog the spectacle that it can be, while also not having large dynamic sweeps or sufficiently detailed soundscapes to fill the space in the way an effective post-metal album might. Rather, the tracks are each a collection of progressive metal-by-numbers riffs and Tool-inspired bridges. There are no solos to be found, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but also no deep explorations in sound or composition. The songs all have the same feel and even the same set of limited dynamics.

To be sure, the components in each track evolve slightly as they’re repeated, offering rhythmic shifts and marginally differing arrangements. And the instruments are played well, with an active bass carrying along in a big Lateralus-like tone and a powerhouse drum performance—the last couple of minutes in “Crystalline” are particularly thunderous. The guitars, meanwhile, are tight and layered well. Yet the band never leaves the comfortable territory of “conventional riff here, pulsing bridge there.” The album proceeds along a relatively straight line, not taking the compelling detours one might hope for in a progressive instrumental work.  

And therein lies a problem: listening to Obelisks reminds less of the works by today’s renowned instrumental prog artists (take your pick) and more of a generic progressive metal album’s vocal-free reissue. The tracks’ sound and structures are stylized in such a way that would seem to accommodate a vocalist, and the instruments and compositions aren’t doing enough to add intrigue to that open musical space. Something needs to lead Obelisks. Vocals often fill such a role, but more instrumental detail and varied songwriting would do perfectly fine as well.

The upshot here is that Midnight Jazz Club deliver music that glides into the brain and stays there with zero friction. This makes for a pleasant albeit unnoticeable listen, ultimately at odds with the “progressive” label that the band identifies with. As Obelisks’ tracks carry along, I’m left waiting for a meaningful shift in feel, intensity, or compositional structure that never comes. Fortunately, the band is relatively new—Obelisks being their second proper release, both EPs—and I would bet they’re capable of pushing their style into more interesting and ambitious dimensions without sacrificing much of the catchiness that makes it accessible. Until then, my search for a satisfying melodic counterweight to this year’s extreme string of releases continues.

Recommended track: The Obelisk
You may also like: A Burial At Sea; Shy, Low
Final verdict: 4.5/10

Related links: Bandcamp | Spotify | Facebook | Instagram

Label: Independent

Midnight Jazz Club is:
– Chris Bowe (guitars)
– Chris Southern (guitars)
– Craig Rootham (bass)
– Tom Unwin (drums)

The post Review: Midnight Jazz Club – Obelisks appeared first on The Progressive Subway.