Style:  progressive black metal, electronica, industrial metal, symphonic metal (harsh vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Mechina, Thy Catafalque, Sigh
Country: France
Release date: 1 August 2025

I love when an artist has a philosophical vision that the music matches. The man behind Creatvre, Raphaël Fournier, knows exactly what he wants Toujours Humain (Always Human) to represent: a deep tension between being human and being part of the fast-approaching technological future. In I, Voidhanger’s Bandcamp blurb for the record, Fournier drops some absolutely fire explanations like “It [Toujours Humain] echoes the cries of those no longer heard, fragments of tweets turned into prayers” and “It’s an allegory of self-erasure for individuals, as programmed by those who set the agenda… The shame of still being biological.” A bit pretentious? Absolutely. But the description is undoubtedly poetic, and Toujours Humain definitely walks the walk.

As a writer at a blog of luddites, I am naturally drawn far more to the side of Creatvre that looks toward the past and not the imminent technocratic future. The project’s 2020 record, Ex Cathedra, is brilliant Baroque-inspired black metal with flute and real strings; in 2025, the Baroque aspect of Creatvre’s sound is wrapped into synthwave à la Keygen Church, the only remnants of non-electronic instruments being sax and trumpet in tracks like “R+X,” “Diffimation,” and “Shaïna.” Toujours Humain successfully distorts their classical compositional style rooted in human tradition into an industrial, synthesized album that sounds like it could be from the future.

Synths and synthesized choirs, off-kilter electronic beats, and industrial metal barking harshes lay down the foundation for Toujours Humain and its view of technology. Atop that base, Creatvre creatively branches out in a couple ways: the aforementioned Baroque influence in impressive counterpoint (“Hope Inc.”, “Chant des Limbes”), dancey industrial beats under trem picking (“Plus Humain”), vocoder (“Plus Humain”) and dynamic synthwave (“Toujours en Bas,” “Diffamation”). Fournier also explores several compositional assets that don’t work in his favor, like the constant industrial sections focused on rhythm much more than melody, the latter of which is Creatvre’s strong suit. Some tracks rely too much on those industrial cliches, too, leading them to be completely forgettable on the tracklist (“R+X” aside from its trumpet part, “810-M4SS”). Fournier’s vocals are also one-note, staying entirely within a small span of mid-range harsh growls, with an odd whispered quality from multilayering, that feel out of place compared to the often exploratory and dynamic music on Toujours Humain. 

Exacerbating the middling industrial metal sections is a loud, fittingly over-produced sound. The strong guitar leads on “Syntropie” and “Chant des Limbes” get buried in a dozen different synth tones, which bleep, bloop, arpeggio, and provide a fat bottom end to the sound. No room is left for breathing in the mix—not that our cyborg counterparts will need air—in favor of a full, epic sound. The choral moments are the only ones that benefit from the loud mix, as they achieve a bombastic score-like quality, similar to Neurotech. The rare moments where fewer elements are moving around the sonic space in parallel are clearly where Creatvre excels; for instance, at 1:12 in “Hope Inc.”, Fournier isolates the main lead guitar with a single synth line to go into the Baroque-infused main melody in the “chorus” of sorts. The track also has a much more energetic swing than much of the rest of the album, mostly avoiding the industrial slog. 

Fournier gets his point across on Toujours Humain that man and machine are on an imminent collision course with his blend of old and new, but I hope that he rediscovers his more human composition because my still-unchipped brain prefers the symphonic black metal of Ex Cathedra over the industrial synthiness of Toujours Humain. Or, perhaps, I’m just too slow at evolving to fit the new technology and will be left behind as an embarrassing remnant of what our species was, fleshy and reliant on oxygen.

Recommended tracks: Hope Inc., Chant des Limbes, Diffamation
You may also like: Grey Aura, Neurotech, Keygen Church, Les Chants du Hasard
Final verdict: 6/10

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

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

Creatvre is:
– Raphaël Fournier (voice, guitars, bass, synths, drums, trombones, trumpet, saxophone)
With guests:
– Ombre Ecarlate (additional composition)
– Cédric Sebastian (additional vocals on tracks 6-7)

The post Review: Creatvre – Toujours Humain appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Progressive metal, alternative metal (clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Tool, Karnivool, Soen (pre-Lotus), Leprous
Country: France
Release date: 21 June 2025

I first discovered Mantra by way of a review on this very blog covering Medium, their 2019 EP conceived around a gimmick of releasing two separate tracks which could be overlaid on top of each other to create the “true” full song. It should be no surprise that Mantra might return to a highly conceptual approach for their latest album Celestial. One “season” of this album has been released on each equinox or solstice starting last fall, and now that we’ve passed the summer solstice to complete the cycle, the four parts can finally be brought together for the full experience. I initially intended to review Celestial last fall after the project was announced and the first EP released, but it quickly became clear that trying to develop an analysis based on what was essentially an introduction would be a flawed approach. With the benefit of greater context, the opening tracks from Fall still feel like mostly setup, but now provide a proper introduction to a broader work instead of a ramp leading directly over the edge of a sheer cliff.

As a first impression of Mantra, Medium has always left me feeling a bit, well, medium—not due to any great flaws in the music itself, but because of how little its structural gimmick enhances the listening experience. Each track individually, as well as the final combination, just sounds like a normal (and generally pretty good) song; it doesn’t feel like either of the component parts are missing anything critical, but by the same token, putting them back together doesn’t offer any great sense of completion. With that in mind, Celestial faces a similar test: was it worth the song and dance around its staggered release, and do the chopped-up pieces join together in a way that feels more meaningful than just producing any old album themed around the four seasons? Or will the disjointed scheduling lead to an equally disjointed listening experience when all is told?

Mantra’s musical aesthetic as a whole is not the most original, nor generally the most flashy or virtuosically impressive. Their success depends heavily on maintaining a rich mix of alternative elements, with hefty bass, dark-roasted malt guitars, and edgy half-growled vocals that only rarely break completely into harsh tones. Medium’s greatest shortcoming was undercutting that core richness by dividing one strong track into two weaker ones. Although Celestial’s limitations are less inherent to its release structure, it seems its development may have focused more on each section’s role within the turn of the seasons rather than polishing each track to be the best it could be. Whatever the story of Celestial’s conception, though, the result is far from a failure. The opening Fall sands down some of the metal edges in favor of a heavy progressive rock hybrid that could be compared to Leprous’s most recent works or this year’s outing from Derev, but the second quarter Winter unfolds an icy shroud, hearkening back to Mantra’s more familiar styles with omnipresent bass and choppy, deliberately off-balance rhythms embedded in heady time signatures.

Mantra apply their penchant for grandeur towards building cathedral-worthy scenes filled with epic choral guest vocals from Juliette and Matthis Lemonnier, like the section just past the midpoint of Winter’s second track “Vessel” or the climactic final moments of the monolithic Spring. Celestial’s lyrics hint at grand extraterrestrial topics of apocalypses and dying suns, cosmic purpose granted to a chosen savior, and the folly and failure of one imagining a divine destiny that was never there. Despite the effort put into the seasonal release cadence, the four seasons don’t feature heavily as lyrical or stylistic themes, aside from the general connection between seasons and the sun; the focus lands instead on the deific glory of stars and the spiritual feelings they inspire. Widespread piano presence and the usage of particularly chime-like effects from both guitar and keyboard echo earthly religious musical traditions as well as evoke a more natural “music of the spheres” that might lend itself to pagan worship.

The biggest thing missing from Celestial is a sort of “wow” moment, a grand climax to make the listener sit up in awe. Their past works have accomplished this with satisfying, drawn-out development, which piles up more and more elements until the music is full to bursting. Celestial’s triumphant moments during the Winter and Spring seasons arrive too early in the tracklist and don’t quite reach the required heights, but Mantra’s overall compositions are strong nonetheless, providing an abundance of smaller peaks throughout to help keep the energy high.

Mantra remain single-minded in their goal to push the boundaries of musical composition through experiments in unconventional release formats. It’s unfortunate that these efforts don’t add a ton to the music itself; the base talent and quality of their compositions provide a strong starting point, but their final productions struggle to rise above that level and achieve true excellence. Mantra continue to deliver moody, untamed rhythms with a dark, satisfyingly crunchy toasted edge. With strong production and clever ideas behind the music, there’s plenty to recommend Celestial, even if the band’s full machinations haven’t quite come to fruition. I just wouldn’t advise waiting nine months to collect all the pieces.

Recommended tracks: Winter I – Isolation, Winter II – Vessel, Spring – Home, Summer I – Transcendence
You may also like: Mother of Millions, Diagonal Path, Riviẽre, In the Silence, Traverser
Final verdict: 7/10

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

Label: Vlad Productions – Bandcamp | Website | Facebook

Mantra is:
– Gabriel Junod (percussion)
– Pierre Junod (vocals)
– Arthur Lauth (bass, piano)
– Simon Saint-Georges (guitars, electric oud)
With guests:
– Juliette Lemonnier (additional vocals)
– Matthis Lemonnier (additional vocals)
– Niqolah Seeva (oud)

The post Review: Mantra – Celestial appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: technical death metal, progressive death metal, flamenco nuevo (mixed vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Beyond Creation, Allegaeon, Gorod, Ne Obliviscaris, Camarón de la Isla, Paco de Lucia, Nile
Country: France
Release date: 11 July 2025

The Romani gitanos in Andalusia were onto something ascendant with their flamenco music. Incorporating aspects from a plethora of musical traditions for their guitar playing and vocals—North Indian, Arabic and North African, Spanish, and Sephardic—the aggressive style of finger-picked acoustic guitars is practically synonymous with Spanish music. Flamenco is extremely distinct, too, with its own canonical melodies (heavily characterized by descending notes), modes, and rhythms, along with microtonal portamento and improvisation courtesy of the singer. Since flamenco is such a rigid system, folding metal into the mix is certainly a difficult task, although an incredibly intriguing one. Since 2010, France’s Impureza have wanted to be the face of the blend, and now on their third album, Alcázares, they continue making a strong case that they are.

Spanish guitar playing and flamenco have made their way into the technical death metal scene before with icons like First Fragment and Allegaeon, but both of them isolate the style from their core metal sound. On paper, (more on that later) Impureza bring the flamenco front and center. Largely taking their metal sound from modern fretless luminaries Beyond Creation, Impureza rely on frantically blasting drums, racing guitar lines, raspy harshes, and, of course, the voluptuous fretless bass. From there, the wild Frenchmen add on their distinct mix of conquistadorial, belted clean vocals, acoustic flamenco guitar lines, and Latin percussion. When it all comes together, the sound is glorious. Prime examples of Impureza firing on all cylinders come after the fully acoustic intro track bedecked with flourishes of Latin percussion and lush strings—such as during first song, “Bajo las Tizonas de Toledo,” which brings the Andalusian elements into the picture around the halfway point, weaving them in and out of the muscly riffs. “Castigos Eclesiástico” starts at a less furious tech pace but opens with the acoustic guitars in tandem with the death metal riffs; the closer “Santa Inquisición” has the most consistent mix of the disparate styles; and “Pestilencia” even brings some trumpet into the mix for another layer of Hispanic flair. 

“Bajo las Tizonas de Toledo” and “Reconquistar” both have a dramatic grand pause after a long tech death section, from which they turn into purely acoustic guitars with fretless bass and cleans. Impureza clearly know what they’re doing on the flamenco front, both as performers and writers, so it’s extremely frustrating that the band doesn’t integrate the acoustic guitars for the majority of the riffs. Impureza need to lean even harder into the flamenco death metal gimmick; yes, they’ve gone further with it than their peers, but they haven’t explored the style nearly as much as they could. 

Although nowhere near as satisfying as the acoustic flamenco sections, the style of playing seeps into the electric riffs, so not all is lost. Impureza’s riffs gallop in tight, marching staccatos, the melodies descending in furious bouts of Nile-esque guitar flurries; additionally, the riffs are in flamenco’s distinctive altered Phrygian mode. Most of the time when I have problems with a gimmick in progressive metal, I dislike that the artist is a “genre tourist” and don’t know the scene they’re imitating well enough to compose anything more than the basic stereotypes. But Impureza are masters of flamenco, and their problem is that they could push the envelope even further. The baroque ornamentation on their chuggy riffs and the wild chromatic solos are more proof that both the metal and flamenco influences are solid, so I just wish they’d use the acoustic more during the metal bits. 

In the eight long years since Impureza’s last album, flamenco metal really hasn’t progressed much (except for First Fragment’s 10/10 Gloire Éternelle), so I pray that Alcázares begins an invigoration for the style. Even though this record hasn’t fully lived up to Impureza’s lofty potential, the sick flamenco parts and killer riffs should keep me satisfied until the next release of the rare fusion.

Recommended tracks: Covadonga, Castigos Eclesiásticos, Santa Inquisición
You may also like: First Fragment, Equipoise, Augury, Kalaveraztekah, Triana, Curanderos, Ash of Necrossus, Ade
Final Verdict: 7.5/10

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

Label: Season of Mist – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Impureza is:
– Esteban Martín – All Vocals
– Lionel Cano Muñoz – Rhythm, Lead & Spanish Guitars
– Florian Saillard – Fretless Bass
– Guilhem Auge – Drums
With guests:
– Xavier Hamon – Percussion
– Louis Viallet – Orchestration

The post Review: Impureza – Alcázares 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: Djent, metalcore (Instrumental)
Recommended for fans of: Vildhjarta, Monuments, Northlane, Periphery
Country: France
Release date: 10 April 2025

In chromatically sparse but rhythmically dense genres like djent, repetition and evolution is the simplest key to success—artists like Meshuggah and VOLA thrive on taking a single idea and letting their imaginations mash and contort its crooked rhythms to their heart’s desire. While it’s undoubtedly possible to tastefully execute a more stream-of-consciousness approach, the end result often comes closer to Aaru than Between the Buried and Me in the wrong hands. So where does that leave French multi-instrumentalist Ares on his seventh full-length record, Human Algorithm…? Will he stay on the tried-and-true path of constant marginal change or eschew the Djent Algorithm for more adventurous pieces?

Well, one track in and the listener can glean all there is to know about Human Algorithm…: moaning lead guitars underlie chunky 01110—10-10 grooves, repeated ad nauseam until Ares has decided the dueling guitars have suffered for long enough. Variations so subtle that they push the definition of ‘variation’ do occur, but the overall soundscape never changes—every track boasts a singular idea, a singular mood, and a singular groove that haphazardly dances around nebulous lead guitar work. To claim that either of these elements take the spotlight would be a misrepresentation: the experience is closer to having your attention drift between the two as you get bored of whatever you happen to be focusing on. Occasionally, the monotony is broken up by spoken-word sections that are either clichéd into oblivion and distastefully used (“Going Mad”) or performed by the dorkiest men you can imagine (“Edicius”).

The guitar leads on Human Algorithm… are by far the more grating of the two key elements. As expected of the name, you’d think they’d play some role in musical progression, but in an ironic twist of fate, very little is actually led by these guitars. For the vast majority of Human Algorithm…, they are conscribed to repeat featureless melodic fills until the guitar’s B and E strings break. Glimpses of melody and catchiness emerge on some of the repeated ideas on “Surpressure”, but the rest of the time, the timbre of the leads is like a shrill whine, conspiring with the dearth of melody to create an unintentional wall of tinnitus. The rhythm guitars are much more palatable than the album’s leads, but to call them ‘good’ would be an overstatement. While never grating, the underlying chugs tend to aimlessly lumber along, adding little more to the compositions than a respite when the lead guitars become too piercing to pay attention to. The voice-overs do little to help the music, either—the topics covered are quite serious, including societal critique and suicide, but it’s hard to meet clips like the one on “Edicius” at their level when they’re delivered by a guy who sounds like an Orson Welles impersonator that teaches accounting at a community college.

In its final hours, an aural hail-mary is delivered: a semblance of compositional variation comes in to yank the listener out of instrumental waterboarding. I am not exaggerating my jarred surprise at “Schizophrenia’s” singular tempo change near its end or the acoustic guitar breakdown of “Human Algorithm”, as by the time they surface, I had completely given up hope for tracks with multiple sections. What’s more, the title track manages to take advantage of the chunky rhythm work, laying down a fun stop-start groove to lead its center section. In absolutely no way do these pieces make up for the mind-numbing deluge that precedes them, but when you’re desperately clawing for variation after thirty minutes of stagnant djenty metalcore, it’s like a breath of fresh air.

Repetition is the bread and butter of djent, but everything should be taken in moderation, even moderation. Human Algorithm… is much too content in its musical ideas, ruminating on them for far longer than is enjoyable or even tolerable in some cases. When Ares does break the mold and tries for more quote-unquote ‘adventurous’ songwriting styles, the result is decent but hardly enough to save a record fraught with dorky voice-overs, featureless grooves, and equally featureless and endlessly grating lead guitars.

Recommended tracks: Human Algorithm, Schizophrenia
You may also like: Aaru, Uneven Structure, Auras, Ever Forthright
Final verdict: 3/10

Related links: Bandcamp | Facebook

Label: Independent

Ares is:
– Ares (everything)

The post Review: Ares – Human Algorithm… appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Post-metal, blackened sludge, ambient (harsh vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Cult of Luna, Amenra, Neurosis
Country: France
Release date: 21 March 2025

Enthusiasm for progressive metal is actually a relentless pursuit of novelty. Music of this genre is diverse, transgressive, abrasive, but above all else, wonderfully strange. Through this lens, each stab at originality that a musician takes is commendable; even the most misguided of attempts are unilaterally positive contributions to the medium. Experimentation pushes boundaries. You know the old joke about how the first person to taste cow’s milk must have been really, really hungry? This is an accurate characterization of every prog critic.

Dear reader—I have tasted at the Frenchman’s udder. I have come to know the weird and wonderful. BÅKÜ’s SOMA is excellent. The “OPPOSITE” suite that constitutes this record’s five tracks is a darkly fun psychic exploration. Oftentimes the label of “experimental” is the dinner table stand-in for “it sounds like ass,” but SOMA is the rare album that both abounds and astounds with left-field surprises. It has a wholly unique tongue-print. Rather than try to capture this vibe with so many wafer-thin descriptors, I would like instead to strongly recommend a blind listen to anybody with the slightest predilection for post-metal. I treasured my time with this music.

Sonically, I interpreted SOMA as a collage of unconscious experiences. “Soma” is a Greek root word referring to the body or flesh (as well as the tranquilizing narcotic from Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World). Save for the occasional brain-in-a-jar, each listener to SOMA is bound by some corporeal form that has been subjected to impulses beyond their control. BÅKÜ casts a fearful mood over these impulses, as if they are intrusions on our somatic reality. Sleep, fear, panic, autonomic processes (thoughtless, like a breath or heartbeat), even natural death: these experiences are part and parcel of living with a human body. They exist in parallel (dare I say OPPOSITE) to our conscious actions and decisions—the control that we believe we have. I ask without disdain: what medium could be better suited to such themes than post-metal, the easiest metal subgenre with which to dissociate?

BÅKÜ demonstrates an astonishing mastery of their genre on this debut album—it is delightfully easy to get lost between the sounds of SOMA. I often think of the Apple Music description of ISIS’s seminal Oceanic: “Post-metal must be an ordeal.” Add a helping of lurching ambience and sludgy riffs and each track off SOMA sounds like a terrific tumble down ten flights of stairs, as later recalled on a morphine drip. A careful hand controls the chaos. Riffs are afforded the exact duration of a welcome stay, slip back to make room for new ideas, reintroduce themselves when appropriate. Some of them are incredibly catchy, too; this allows SOMA to exist in the valley between inviting and off-putting.

“OPPOSITE 1” explicitly states its purpose by sampling English-language medical advice: getting less than six hours of sleep at night will cause a breakdown of the body itself. “Lack of sleep will even erode the very fabric of biological life itself,” the voice forebodes, describing incidents of cancer, sinus disease, and the destruction of DNA before signing off with a tongue-in-cheek “I do hope you sleep well.” Here BÅKÜ gives us the musical equivalent of Rod Serling describing a time he had to get up early for work, then showing us half an hour of graphic combat footage. This passage consists of the only decipherable vocals on the record and sets the tone for what is to come: a picture of lived experience painted with violent ambience.

SOMA—to invoke another fictional drug—is a mélange. Every “OPPOSITE” introduces itself as an individual, separate soundscape. Contrast the world music and cultic hymnal chants that open “OPPOSITE 2” with the ASMR muttering and night sounds that open “OPPOSITE 4.” Synths (credited as oscillateurs) and samples are used liberally to build atmosphere. By the end of the record it is abundantly clear why the band needed three guitarists. BÅKÜ has a gripping fascination with guitar tones and effects that matches the chaotic and diverse energy of its more synthetic elements. The common element threading these songs together is the tortured vocal performance by Daniel Arnoux. “OPPOSITE 3” accompanies his screams with the faintest tinkling of ivories, and the production is so crisp that each catch in his voice can be heard. It is a genuinely affecting listen. SOMA puts both the agony and the theatricality of metal front and center—the atmosphere fits its genre like a glove.

Post-metal has given us vast, churning, meditative works. Cult of Luna’s Mariner, The Ocean’s Pelagial, ISIS’s seminal Panopticon—each is an auditory planetarium of its own making. “Live, Båkü’s strengths are multiplied tenfold,” reads the official description of SOMA on BÅKÜ’s Bandcamp page. “The concert becomes a hardcore pagan ceremony, a moment of shared trance, a collective waking dream…” Having never experienced a BÅKÜ concert even thirdhand, I can not attest to the accuracy of this claim. However, SOMA is so vivid that I am inclined to believe them. The album hints, if not outright demonstrates, that BÅKÜ are capable of writing a classic in the genre. If they bottled this sound, I would not drink it. I would bathe in it.

Recommended tracks: OPPOSITE 3, OPPOSITE 5
You may also like: The Salt Pale Collective, Sumac, Obscure Sphinx, Adrift, Old Man Gloom
Final verdict: 8/10

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

Label: Independent

BÅKÜ is:
– Daniel Arnoux: vocals, guitars, synthesizers, samples
– Mathieu Oriol: guitars
– Thomas Brochier: guitars
– Yoan Parison: bass
– David Esteves: drums

The post Review: BÅKÜ – SOMA appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Atmospheric black metal, dungeon synth, neofolk (Mixed vocals, mostly harsh)
Recommended for fans of: Summoning, Moonsorrow, Apocalypse Orchestra, Runescape music
Country: France
Release date: 21 March 2025

As I sit in stop-and-go nightmare rush hour traffic for the third time this week, I can’t help but think of the I Think You Should Leave with Tim Robinson sketch about the Darmine Doggy Door. At one point, Robinson looks directly at the camera and demands to know, ‘What the fuck is this world? What have they done to us? WHAT DID THEY DO TO US?‘ Of course, this is meant to be taken humorously in the context of a guy losing his mind over a pig in a Richard Nixon mask, but there is an undeniable truth to his sleep-deprivation-induced outburst. That one moment from Robinson’s sketch resonates so deeply due to the hostile architecture that comprises our modern world in both physical and cultural aspects. Frankly, I need to get the hell away from it sometimes, and there’s no better time to get involved in some escapism than an overlong drive home that does nothing but waste my and everyone else’s time, money, and energy. French black metallers Cercle du Chêne aim to hit that escapism sweet spot on debut Récits d’Automne et de Chasse (Stories of Autumn and the Hunt), a mix of dungeon synth and black metal depicting a group of wild beasts who convene under a tree to recount folk stories. Will you get lost in the tales they spin?

It’s a bit difficult to pin down whether Récits d’Automne et de Chasse is more of a black metal record or a medieval dungeon synth record—the two styles sit almost entirely in lockstep throughout its runtime, with Runescape-style MIDI tracks establishing a melodic and thematic framework while atmoblack guitars follow suit to cultivate tension and release. Récits luxuriates in a lackadaisical vibe, taking time to develop its ideas and gently approach climaxes with triumphant horns and Moonsorrow-flavored chants. This is less out of disinterest for the compositions and more out of an unshakeable desire to ‘stop and smell the roses’, allowing its myriad journeys to unfold at their own pace.

What works most in Récits‘ favor is its ineffable charm. Black metal is typically borne out of ugliness, anger, and aggression, and Cercle du Chêne are happy to subvert these principles entirely in the name of grand atmospheres and a ‘woodland fantasy creature’ aesthetic. The fervent tremolos and triumphant horns of “Le Trésor dans l’Onde Noire” (Treasure in the Black Wave) conjure imagery of a mouse in medieval warrior garb setting off on an adventure to conquer an evil king terrorizing their village and discover a legendary treasure in the process; dramatic organs and dirging guitar chords on “Dans le Crystal du Givre” (In the Frost Crystal) see a goose monk exploring an icy cavern only to find an enchanted crystal at its heart; and excited strings intertwine with woodwinds, harsh vocals, and group chants on “La Croix Entre les Bois” (The Cross between the Woods) as a party of travellers cautiously explore an unfamiliar and foreboding woodland. Though tracks like “Dans le Crystal du Givre” and “Un Duel de Rois” (A Duel of Kings) may come across a bit rough around the edges and plod along for a bit too much time in their middle sections, the MIDI synths that weave through Récits are just so god damn adorable that I can’t help but smile when I listen.

While the dungeon synth moments hit almost without fail, their impact would be significantly lessened without the presence of black metal adding some much-needed heft and tension. The buildup in the center section of “La Croix Entre les Bois”, for example, wouldn’t hit nearly as hard without the harsh vocal performance and powerful guitar layering. Additionally, the black metal satisfyingly takes center stage in the middle of “Aux Jours de Chasse” (In the Days of the Hunt), as an ominous synth break explodes into double-time blast beats and furious tremolos. While most of Récits is infectiously pleasant, this moment is particularly ugly and intense, wavering between aggressive instrumentation and delicate synth breakdowns into one of the record’s most grand conclusions. Though, as much as I adore the dungeon synth base, I do wish the black metal was let off the reins a bit at times, either exploring counterpoint ideas against the non-metal instrumentation to add complexity and texture or to simply switch up the pace a little. In its current state, the quality of the black metal ranges from serviceable to excellent, and in most cases, this is a function of how much the black metal is allowed to divert.

The slight lack of variety in Récits d’Automne et de Chasse’s metal moments gives me a tinge of concern in the back of my mind for how far this style can be explored, but these are concerns unfitting for an orphaned woodland grouse who just discovered they come from a line of renowned magicians. Récits is a debut brimming with charm that has me smiling through some of the most obnoxious and wasteful of human constructs. With a touch of polish and some more freely exploring black metal, the forest canopy is the limit; I am giddily excited for what’s to come next from Cercle du Chêne. Pick up a copy of Redwall and let’s forget that any of that ‘real life’ garbage exists for a little while.

Recommended tracks: La Croix Entre les Bois, Le Trésor dan l’Onde Noire, Aux Jours de Chasse, Sur les Toits d’une Tour
You may also like: Caladan Brood, Ashlands, Bakt, the works of Brian Jacques
Final verdict: 7.5/10

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

Label: Antiq Records – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Cercle du Chêne is:
– La Griesche (vocals)
– Hyver (synths, guitars)
– Frère Loup (guitar)

The post Review: Cercle du Chêne – Récits d’Automne et de Chasse appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Art by Shad Mouais

Style: Progressive death metal, technical death metal (mixed vocals))
Recommended for fans of: Obscura, Alkaloid, Black Dahlia Murder, Gorod
Country: France
Release date: 4 April, 2025

Watching real life character development before your eyes is always interesting. Artists rarely show their true forms right out of the gate; whatever insanely ambitious project they may have brewing might just not match their current level of talent. It takes years, maybe decades of honing that craft to see a vision like that through. The early works of George R.R Martin don’t even hold a candle to how efficiently his epic A Song of Ice and Fire series is written, nor do the pre-Dickinson Iron Maiden albums have anything on their legendary mid-80s discography run. Gorguts didn’t create their dissodeath empire in a day, and even the mighty Archspire shot out of the gate with a misstep.

Fractal Universe didn’t quite get the memo, and released Engram of Decline, which is to this day, a masterclass in tech-death riffing and song structure. Sure, it’s a bit bloated, and the vocals weren’t quite there yet, but it’s a record full of face-melting riffs, jazzy solos, and just the right amount of sax. The prog influences, breakneck tempo changes, and spacy ambiance cemented Fractal Universe as a band who quickly rose to power in the tech-death pantheon. Then, they dipped further into prog and further away from tech, and any worry I had of them losing identity quickly faded with releases two and three. Rhizomes of Insanity and The Impassable Horizon are somehow even better releases than the debut, showing a band who’ve matured far faster than most. Surely, on the Great Filters, fortune favors this band over the massive amount of tech-death bloat we’ve experienced in recent years?

The Great Filters starts strongly enough, with a signature spidery riff pattern before quickly changing to the clean vocals we’ve come to know and love on their last two releases. But, something’s off—almost immediately. Vince Wilquin’s cleans sound a touch whiny here, and continue to sound that way for the rest of the album. The powerful rasps and delicate, Morean-like (Alkaloid, Noneuclid) vocal patterns have been completely eschewed in favor of something nasal, and they’re not at all pleasant to listen to. The growls are secondary on the whole record, added beforehand to make the soaring, clean chorus on every song feel like it has some semblance of dynamics. There’s a blandness to this record that hasn’t been found on any of the band’s prior releases, complete with the same spacey clean guitar that needs to be used during the clean verses. Every song follows nearly the exact same formula, feeling like better pieces of other Fractal Universe songs shoved where they don’t belong. 

Even the production sounds off, not in the typical, plastic-y way that tech-death normally does. The Great Filters tip-toes between sounding clinically clean and overwhelmingly compressed, with both the softer and heavier sections being lifeless and hollow as a result. There’s an oomph to The Impassable Horizon’s glassy, grunting, audible bass and incredible guitar tones, all while remaining crystal clear in the dynamics. The drums are mixed horribly here, with a nearly inaudible snare and nonexistent kicks meekly driving most of the songs. Not to mention the overuse of sax, which is the only instrument that seems to be mixed correctly. Vince Wilquin’s skills are nothing to scoff at, but having it showcased in almost every song for the sake of padding ruins the gimmick as early as ‘Causality’s Grip,’ and by the time the sax appears on ‘Specific Obsolescence’, I was rolling my eyes and experiencing what can only be described as aural pain from the oppressively generic solo that followed.

‘The Equation of Abundance’ sees the band dip into an almost ballad-like territory, and it reaffirms that The Great Filters’ songwriting is all over the place. Gone are the face-melting riffs and solos, instead replaced with generic, odd-timed chugs. Each song has the standard, massive chorus where the vocals are belted out and the chords are huge, but just like the rest of the record, they feel more like ticks off a playbook than the band actually experimenting with their songwriting chops. There isn’t an ounce of memorability on this record, yet I can still sing the amazing chorus of ‘Flashes of Potentialities’ from Rhizomes, because that record didn’t write the same song nine times.

I can’t be the slightest bit forgiving, because this isn’t some no-name band. This is a band that is near and dear to my heart, and I’ve just watched them miss the pool and dive headfirst into concrete. As I write this, the outro of ‘A New Cycle’ plays, offering a reprisal of the intro chugs and lead-line. Instead of feeling that my soul has ascended and my palette sated, I can only feel that I’ve looked upon something empty. This serves as a shining example of playing to a formula, and forgetting what made the band so outlandish and unusual in the first place. Instead of progressing, everything here is regressing, back to the very antithesis of what a genre like progressive death metal is all about. I guess regression is a type of character development too, right? 

Recommended tracks: The Void Above
You may also like: Carnosus, Synaptic, Retromorphosis
Final verdict: 4/10

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

Label: M-Theory Audio – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Fractal Universe is:
– Vince Wilquin (vocals, guitar, saxiphone)
– Valentin Pelletier (bass)
– Clement Denys (drums)

– Yohan Dully (guitar)

The post Review: Fractal Universe – The Great Filters appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Related links: Bandcamp | Spotify | Facebook | Instagram

Label: Antiq Records – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

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

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

Style: screamo, chamber music (mixed vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Beethoven, La Dispute, In Fear and Faith, Astor Piazzolla
Country: France
Release date: 14 February 2025

Sometimes an album sinks its teeth into you and latches on in a completely unexpected way. At just thirteen minutes and three tracks, Même Quand ta Main Quittera la Mienne sank its jaws into my flesh as unexpectedly as a sweet golden retriever randomly taking on the temperament of an XL bully. I loved, and still regularly spin, Vivre Encore from the French quartet, but French screamo—even with gorgeous chamber instrumentation—had to be a fluke. There is no way a band with French screamo vocals could triumph on back-to-back releases, right?

Triumph Lorem Ipsum have. That I’d love the chamber instrumentation is a given, so let’s tranquilize the massive pink elephant in the room before discussing the composition further: the vocals are screamo. In French. And I can’t get enough of them. Maxime Foulon absolutely nails the full capacity for emotion in the human voice with his performance—singing about the heartbreaks and successes of parenthood. Even without understanding the language, Foulon’s eviscerating screams, aggressive barks, and wailing cleans evoke raw emotion in a primal way. While his vocals on “Tes Yeux Clos” are still impressive, the performative highlights are found on the back half of the EP. On “Et le Mal,” Foulon follows the rhythmic elegance of the drumming while utilizing the most of his emo-y cleans; accordingly, he takes the melodic lead from one of the instruments for the only time on the album by toning his voice down from the acerbic harshes. Finale “Tes Jours sans Moi” uses his voice to match the instrumental buildup, starting with hushed spoken word and only growing in drama and bombast until he lets out an anguished scream.

The instrumentation is simply divine Baroque-inspired chamber music. In contrast with the harshness of the vocals, the piano, violins, piano, drums, and acoustic guitars are playful in intricate counterpoint, but their defining aspect is a singular intensity I’ve heard in pitifully few albums ever—all of which I consider among the best of all time. Like Ad Nauseam’s Nihil Quam Vacuitas Ordinatum Est or Astor Piazzolla’s Tango: Zero Hour, the instrumentation on Même Quand ta Main Quittera la Mienne is at once extremely dense moment-to-moment but also in possession of an unstoppable sense of forward propulsion. The arpeggiated finger-picked guitar and pizzicato violin often herald the unrelenting momentum, and at other times the violin and piano’s fight for the main melody command the pace, starting within the first minute of “Tes Yeux Clos.” Lorem Ipsum also utilize changing tempos and dynamics to their advantage, as in the violent acoustic trem picking to start “Et le Mal,” the spiraling violin at the end of the same track, or the beginning section of “Tes Jours sans Moi” with its “Moonlight Sonata”-esque pace. 

As if Lorem Ipsum’s godly performances weren’t enough to solidify the EP as the release to beat this year, their songwriting is absurdly awesome, redolent of Ne Obliviscaris but in condensed form. For instance, “Tes Yeux Clos” begins alike “And Plague Flowers the Kaleidoscope” with its dynamic acoustics; soon after the first instrumental swell and scream, Alexander Foulon’s violin sweeps in with the melody, his style classical but raw like Tim Charles; and the final buildup of the song around 4:00 is simply sublime, leading into a crowd chant just like in “Libera.” Even the choice of chamber instrumentation equals to Ne Obliviscaris when they drop to just a string quartet in “Misericorde Pt. 1.” This is not to say Même Quand ta Main Quittera la Mienne sounds like NeO, per se (or at all), but merely to compliment them that their songwriting has truly ascended the mortal plane into that of the gods. Spending a paragraph comparing Lorem Ipsum to a band with which they have almost nothing alike is a stretch, but I struggle to get across how profoundly my taste this record is—how godly the compositions are—without comparison.

Why oh why must the EP be only thirteen minutes long? I need more, and while I love Vivre Encore, it simply doesn’t show the same maturity Lorem Ipsum display here. At even a prim thirty minutes of this quality, I’d be tempted to slap a 10/10 on Même Quand ta Main Quittera la Mienne, but as is, the EP is simply—and a tad frustratingly—not enough. Turning from so-beautiful-it-hurts to painfully raw in an instant, Même Quand ta Main Quittera la Mienne has snared me, the release truly unique and Andy. Of course, Baroque screamo hasn’t really been done before Lorem Ipsum as far as I’m aware, but never have I fallen so in love with a short EP or heard traces of so many other albums I love in a package like this. Même Quand ta Main Quittera la Mienne is at once transcendent of and blind to genre.

Recommended tracks: all three
You may also like: Ad Nauseam, Musk Ox, So Hideous
Final verdict: 9/10

Related links: Bandcamp | Official Website | Facebook | Instagram

Label: independent

Lorem Ipsum is:
Maxime Foulon • Piano / Vocals 

Arthur Deshaumes • Guitar 

Alexandre Foulon • Violin 

Bastien Gournay • Drums

The post Review: Lorem Ipsum – Même Quand ta Main Quittera la Mienne appeared first on The Progressive Subway.