Style: Black metal, atmospheric black metal, folk (harsh vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Winterfylleth, Grima, Havukruunu, Panopticon, Abigail Williams
Country: New York, United States
Release date: 8 August 2025

Native American and Norse peoples share a few historical parallels in how they were confronted, overrun, and transformed by Christian evangelization. Norse paganism was gradually outlawed in favor of Christianity in the high middle ages, while colonization of and expansion within the New World saw many Native American peoples and practices eradicated via law, violence, and disease. Many surviving texts and oral traditions from these cultures were subsequently preserved (and thus perverted) through Christian reinterpretation and narrative.¹ In both histories conversion to Christianity was, to put it lightly, highly encouraged. The treatment and transformation of these two ocean-separated populations isn’t a mirror image, but their history certainly rhymes.

In its developing stages, a large part of Scandinavian black metal identity was rooted in rebelling against that historical inertia and embracing the old ways²—continuing to shape the genre to this day. All that to say: I can see how the sights, sounds, and lyrics of black metal might have a certain appeal to somebody of Native American descent. Though he’s not the first to infuse an indigenous influence with extreme metal, Jon Krieger’s Blackbraid is certainly my favorite. Blackbraid I was an instant darling and my favorite release of 2022; the Native American inspiration, artwork, and dour yet melodious atmosphere in the music hit all the right spots for me. Blackbraid II (2023) was even better, expanding on and refining the ideas from its predecessor and cementing Krieger as more than just a one-off.

Blackbraid III has now descended upon us, with no shortage of the fire and frost of its elder brethren. As before, riffs arrive in a variety of guises: tremolo-picked blizzards punctuated by brash high chords, power-chord progressions that chant beneath soaring lead lines, and even a few chugs on the low end for good measure. The unceasing wintry gale of the harmonious guitars in “Tears of the Dawn” will blanket you in aural snow, and the hollow production style of the album only adds to that chilling effect. “God of Black Blood” trudges with slow, face-crumpling heaviness (and has the album’s standout guitar solo). My favorite track, though, is “And He Became the Burning Stars.” It opens with a triplet-driven 6/8 riff whose rhythm is an oar cutting through turbulent waters. Surrounding this riff are dissonant yet melodic chords that crash into it, feeling both alien to the riff but perfectly at home in the album’s broader sound. But, the real magic of the song comes in its melodic and soft bridge that transitions into the latter half of the piece, which completely transforms the song into something as beautiful and pensive as the opening was aggressive. You’ll remain exhilarated and moved across its ten minute runtime.

The music here is so consistently captivating that the greatest criticism I can level at Blackbraid III is its overly rigid structure. The opening tracks set a template that the rest of the album rarely strays from: a soft, acoustic opener (“Dusk (Eulogy)”) followed by a full-throttle black metal scorcher (“Wardrums at Dawn on the Day of My Death”). This pattern is almost ever-present, deviating only after “Wardrums…” and again at the very end, with a fantastic cover of Lord Belial’s “Fleshbound.” One particular interlude track, “The Earth Is Weeping,” is overly repetitive, three times as lengthy as it should be, and should have been attached to its predecessor as an outro. Others, though, justify their place—like “Traversing the Forest of Eternal Dusk,” which weaves flowing guitar melodies, Native American flute, and what sounds like genuine field recordings of a living forest into something transportive. Such interludes are the quiet nighttime fires that keep you alive amidst the icy gusts of the black metal blizzard about you.

Krieger’s knack for creating evocative song titles continues to be in full effect³ on Blackbraid III. With names like “And He Became the Burning Stars” or “Wardrums at Dawn on the Day of My Death,” the part of me that longs for lore and some form of spiritual communion with nature swells just reading them. The lyrics are no slouch either: “The dust of my spirit / Shall flow forth at twilight / A sacred sepulchre in frost / An offering of flesh to the moss” (from “The Dying Breath of a Sacred Stag”). Adding to the effect is the top-notch vocal delivery and production on III. While not being able to understand a harsh vocalist’s specific words almost never detracts from a song for me, intelligible rasps and gutturals can only elevate the material—and nary a scathing shriek passed through my ears that I couldn’t understand on first listen.

I came into Blackbraid III with expectations that were miles high, and in that sense I might be slightly disappointed. Across its fifty-three minutes, the shifts between fury and calm create a cycle of tension and release that mirrors the ebb and flow of the natural landscapes that the album evokes. Thus, the music clings to the tonal and structural palette of its magical predecessors—perhaps to a fault. The consistency that Blackbraid has displayed across three releases is both a blessing and a curse. I tend to be most interested in trying out new flavors from an established artist, and Blackbraid III doesn’t exactly try any different recipes in the cookbook. Yet its strong songwriting, deep integration of the creator’s folklore, and solid production values go a long way to turn a “more of the same” release into something that I’ll keep spinning over the years.

Recommended tracks: And He Became the Burning Stars, Traversing the Forest of Eternal Dusk, The Dying Breath of a Sacred Stag, Like Wind Through the Reeds Making Waves Like Water
You may also like: Saor, Walg, Valdrin, Pan Amerikan Native Front
Final verdict: 7.5/10

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

Label: Independent

Blackbraid is:
– Jon S. Krieger, also known as Sgah’gahsowáh (vocals, guitars, bass)
With guests:
– Neil Schneider (drums)

1. I myself grew up in an American-born Christian tradition that bastardizes the history of Native Americans. ︎
2. And I mean the old “old ways,” not the South/Central Europe circa 1939 “old ways.” ︎
3. “Barefoot Ghost Dance on Bloodsoaked Soil,” “Warm Wind Whispering Softly Through Hemlock at Dusk” (Blackbraid I), “A Song of Death on the Winds of Dawn,” and “Twilight Hymn of Ancient Blood” (Blackbraid II) being some favorites from previous albums. ︎

The post Review: Blackbraid – Blackbraid III appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Black metal, atmospheric black metal, post-black metal (harsh vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Emperor, The Black Dahlia Murder, Carach Angren
Country: Washington, United States
Release date: 18 July 2025

This year has seen no shortage of post-black metal releases. So many, in fact, that I’m overwhelmed with pings from Andy to check out this or that release in one of my favorite genres. I can’t keep up. But, as I let my Release Radar play the other day at my real job¹, a vaguely post-black track piqued my interest. I opened my Spotify window to see a track called “No Less Than Death” by… Abigail Williams? Damn. Truth be told, they are a band that fell off my radar ages ago for whatever reason. I remember them having a vaguely symphonic black metal sound—with a metalcore oomph. What I was listening to at that moment, however, reminded me of Numenorean more than anything: moody, resonant, and full of rich vocal harmonies before the raspy black metal vocals took hold. Strange to open up a review of an album by talking about the closer, but it’s how I was introduced to A Void Within Existence. Would the rest of the LP sink its teeth into me in a similar fashion?

To find out, I hit rewind. The first thing to grab my attention as A Void Within Existence opened was the bass work of John Porada. “Life, Disconnected” starts the LP off with a slow, dissonant crawl in which the bass is almost front-and-center. I love a black metal album where you not only feel the bass, but hear it audibly in the mix as well. “Nonexistence” commences in similar fashion, but opting for sadness over angry dissonance. The track wanders through a murky melancholy, and ends with a guitar solo full of breathing bends that twist your insides in David Gilmour fashion. My only gripe here is that it ends too soon, leaving you wanting more. But honestly, that might be my only real complaint about any of these songs: I just want more. And when a seven, eight, or nine minute track ends and feels like it flew by in half the time, is that even a complaint? Or just a sign something special is happening?

Though many tracks are emotive—and boy howdy, take your pick among despair, grief, wonder, or almost any other plaintive feeling—the beating heart within this …Existence is a tech-laden strain of black metal that is as varied as it is heavy. Much of that impact is owed to the drumwork of Mike Heller. You may know him from his contributions to about a million different projects and bands, including Fear Factory and Malignancy, but most notably for a handful of us at the Subway from his recent work in Changeling. He is credited here as a session musician, which makes me pity the poor soul that Abigail Williams find to play these blistering, hyper-technical drum parts on tour. “Void Within,” a furious and scraping black metal odyssey, showcases Heller’s prowess. His brute intensity and technical precision are cranked to eleven throughout the track. Lightning-fast double-bass, relentless blast beats, varied use of every cymbal at his disposal, and a flurry of whimsical fills on all of the toms come together in a performance that is both dazzling and tasteful—never showy for its own sake, but always exactly what the song demands (and then some).

A Void Within Existence would be a strong black metal release even if it were made up solely of songs like the aforementioned “Void Within,” or another glass-eating black metal track like “Still Nights.” But the veteran musicians that currently comprise Abigail Williams turn …Existence into something much more ambitious. You’ll know exactly what I mean when you listen to the whole of “Talk To Your Sleep,” which starts with the stankiest of down-tuned riffs. If I ever get a job hammering railroad spikes, this is the track I’m listening to for my rhythm and pace. What takes “Talk To Your Sleep” to another level, though, is the melodic bridge it eases into halfway through its runtime. It’s one of those elevating moments on A Void Within Existence that confirms you’re listening to songwriting that’s as emotionally intelligent as it is heavy.

From the fleeting strings and drifting keys that haunt its margins, to the earthquaking heaviness at its core, that emotional intelligence is woven into the compositional choices that comprise A Void Within Existence. Abigail Williams don’t simply stack riffs or pile on atmosphere for the hell of it. Rather, a keen sense of pacing and a dollop of emotive contrast provide the hooks that have kept me spinning this album repeatedly. Just when you think you’ve mapped the territory, the ground shifts beneath you—come for the nihility, stay for the empathy.

Take “Embrace the Chasm,” for instance. The song opens with a familiar black metal snarl—solid stuff, I think to myself. But almost on cue, as if Ken Sorceron (the everpresent frontman of Abbie Dubs) had heard my thoughts, the track pivots. Suddenly, gloomy arpeggios drift in, shadowed by echoing piano, pulling the song into a more introspective space. “We’re not aiming for ‘solid,’ here,” he seems to say—and the song isn’t done shapeshifting yet. In its final third, the track unfurls into something strangely serene, and almost hopeful. The melodies lift upward, carrying you into something both heavy and soothing. A black metal lullaby, drifting towards peace. In that shift from fury to beauty I feel the nuance that has kept me tethered to this genre: a rage giving way to release.

If you told me that Abigail Williams were going to drop one of my favorite releases of the year (and the cover art is taking my top spot in that regard), I would have been surprised. Not because I ever held any dislike for the band, but because I hadn’t thought about them in so long. They’d quietly drifted out of rotation. But A Void Within Existence has pulled me right back in. The album is moody, technical, surprising, and—like my favorite extreme metal releases—bridges brutality with beauty in a way all its own. Consider this my belated apology for ever letting them slip off my radar, and a nudge to make sure they don’t fall off yours.

Recommended tracks: No Less Than Death, Embrace the Chasm, Talk to Your Sleep, Void Within
You may also like: Valdrin, Illyria, …And Oceans
Final verdict: 8.5/10

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

Label: Agonia Records – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Abigail Williams is:
– John Porada (bass)
– Ken Sorceron (vocals, guitars)
– Vance Valenzuela (guitars)
With guests:
– Mike Heller (drums)

1. This will probably come as a shock to our readers, but working solely at The Progressive Subway wouldn’t pay the bills. Or even a bill. ︎

The post Review: Abigail Williams – A Void Within Existence appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Progressive metal (clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Dream Theater, Haken, Threshold, Circus Maximus
Country: Germany
Release date: 25 July 2025

Progressive metal is no stranger to classic literature. From Mastodon’s retelling of Moby Dick on Leviathan (one of my all-time favorite albums) to Symphony X’s The Odyssey based on, well, The Odyssey, prog metal fans could probably ace a high school literature class just by referencing their record collections. The two media may as well be siblings—sharing complex and expanding structures, lofty ideas and existential themes, and a tendency to prioritize the journey over any particular moment or destination. Both demand patience while rewarding immersion, and you’re going to need a lot of the former with Tiny Miracles, the second full-length from international prog-metalers Sad Serenity. From well-known works like Thoreau’s Walden to relatively obscure science fiction short stories such as An Empty House with Many Doors by Michael Swanwick, each of the six tracks on Tiny Miracles takes some influence from the literary realm, blending music and narrative in true prog fashion.

Sad Serenity’s 2023 debut, The Grand Enigma, revealed a band that pulls from the traddiest of trad-prog: high vocals hover atop liquid smooth distorted guitars, various and sundry tickled ivories, and some flashy drum-work—all wrapped in a flair for technical proficiency, a taste for intricate songwriting, and an eye toward grand, cinematic ideas both lyrical and musical. Their music prays to Dream Theater while lighting candles at Haken’s altar. Tiny Miracles is no different in this regard. With improved production, refined riffage, and a clear concept, the LP marks an upward trajectory for Sad Serenity.

However, one element of their debut still looms large: excess. Now, I’ll happily listen to a twenty-minute prog epic. I’m an endurance listener, not a sprinter. But long songs still need movement, contrast, and development to earn their keep. Here, little if any tonal variation within or between the songs helps to establish their identities. Rather than unfolding, the songs often feel stretched to their absolute limits. “Tiny” miracles, these are not. “The Elemental Dance,” Tiny Miracles’ lengthiest showcase at nearly twenty-three minutes, illustrates this issue. Opening with a skip hopping guitar riff accompanied by some attention catching synths and keyboards, it journeys through several movements spliced by quasi-interludes that provide only a little dynamic contrast. These movements—mostly made up of identically-toned guitar riffs and impressive, sweepy solos—aren’t distinguishable enough from each other to recall much beyond the intriguing intro.

I’m tempted to say that you could superimpose that problem on Tiny Miracles as a whole, but a few standout songs and ideas prevent me from doing so completely. I particularly enjoy “Alter Ego”—based on Robert Louis Stevenson’s Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. The song’s monstrous opening riff, soft and catchy vocals in the verse, and contrasting melodies are appropriately thematic to the classic story that speaks to the light and dark inside of us all. “A Cabin in the Woods,” Sad Serenity’s version of Henry David Thoreau’s Walden, is lofty and grandiose, exploring melodies ranging from appropriately woodsy to insane and delirious with cabin fever. The end result is far removed from the simple and meditative ideals of Thoreau’s experiment.

Though several songs are elongated past their own good, I continue to be drawn in by Tiny Miracles’ literary inspiration and lyrics. The aforementioned “Alter Ego” does a fantastic job of setting the stage of its tale: “Fog’s slow creeping / Gas lantern’s glimmering / Town life’s procession still rolling in.” The lyrics also capture the emotional core of Stevenson’s story with lines like: “Caught in between incongruous natures / Paradoxal through and through / Daydreams of their separation / A Man’s not truly one, but two.” The affective pull of the lyrics is made all the more powerful by vocalist George Margaritopoulos’ delivery. Though not presenting a lot of tonal variety, Margaritopoulos shows some impressive upper range (“Torn,” “Tell the Moon”).

The other musical components of Tiny Miracles follow the path laid by the vocals: exceptional musicianship undermined by a lack of variety, which leads to a kind of outstanding sameness that makes the album hard to distinguish from moment to moment. The album has some genuine highlights, but they’re often interwoven into extended stretches that blur together. Like the literature that inspired it, this record demands full engagement from the listener. But unlike those works, it struggles to consistently reward the listener for that attention. Sometimes tangled in its own sprawl, the album will both awe and test your endurance, leaving you equal parts impressed and adrift.

Recommended tracks: Alter Ego, Cabin in the Woods, Tiny Miracles
You may also like: Headspace, Vanden Plas, Virtual Symmetry
Final verdict: 6/10

Related links: Bandcamp | Spotify | Facebook | Instagram

Label: Independent release

Sad Serenity is:
– Marcell Kaemmerer (guitars, keyboards, bass)
– George Margaritopoulos (vocals)
– Vinny Silva (drums)
With guests:
– Andrew Huskey (vocals)
– Lathika Vithanage (violin)
– Ellen Mross (accordion)
– Aranka Stimec (transverse flute)

1. The promo copy I received had a sticker covering most of the artist’s name, and I’m unable to otherwise determine the artist. ︎

The post Review: Sad Serenity – Tiny Miracles appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Black metal, melodic black metal (harsh vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Emperor, Dissection
Country: Ohio, United States
Release date: 20 June 2025

As a ten-year old kid, I first discovered The Hobbit in my elementary school library. Its charm, characters, call to adventure, and perhaps above all, its meticulously crafted fictional world drew me in like no story ever has—at least in the literary realm. That initial enchantment naturally led to The Lord of the Rings, just in time for Peter Jackson’s films to hit theaters as I was finishing the books. I’ve returned to Tolkien’s saga many times since, and still revisit it now and then. As often happens, a love of Middle-earth opened the door to other high (and low) fantasy realms. Does your book have a map of a fictional world in the opening pages? Then I’ll probably check it out at some point.

Pair the allure of fantasy with my innate love of metal, and it’s no surprise that artists like Blind Guardian and Summoning quickly became favorites—bands whose music is conjured for a Tolkien-bred imagination. A few years ago, I was able to add another group to that cabal: Valdrin. But, unlike those who reinterpret familiar stories or put music to an existing lore, Valdrin have created a mythos all their own—a literary world inscribed upon black metal scrolls. I would be doing their work a disservice trying to summarize the hero’s journey of the titular character and his struggle with the malevolent Nex Animus, but suffice it to say: spiritual warfare, collapsing worlds, and existential dread are just the beginning.

Valdrin’s newest chapter, Apex Violator, continues their long-running saga of mythic chaos with a relentless, oppressive energy. While their previous album, Throne of the Lunar Soul, explored moments of triumph and sorrow amidst celestial fallout, Apex Violator is all sinister fury—a bit melodic, a tad fantastical, but pure scraping black metal cloaked in eldritch atmosphere. Scathing riffs wrapped in dissonant arpeggiation (“Ignite the Murder Shrine,” “The Muttering Derelict”), blistering percussion (“Poison Soul Vents”), and demonic, blood-curdling howls (“Veins of Akasha”) make up the bulk of this EP. We’re forgoing variety in favor of overwhelming force, here.

That dark force is made all the more sinister by various synths, keyboards, and choral chants throughout Apex Violator, lending a bit of flavor to the black metal cacophony. These elements are rarely the primary focus—they instead haunt the soundscape and lend an ominous sense to the EP. A standout in this regard is “Black Imperial Smoke,” whose macabre vocal chants can be nothing but cursed hymns echoing from the halls of a shadowy ruin. Additionally, the bridge in “Poison Soul Vents” has been stuck in my head for the past week, in no small part due to the deep, thrumming piano underneath the ominous guitar riff.

Still, I miss the sadness and grandeur that Throne of the Lunar Soul sprinkled around. Apex Violator is fairly one-note by comparison—little if any acoustic pensiveness, triumphant melody, or interludes for a breather to form those peaks and valleys that help create a truly standout album for me. This EP being a chapter dedicated to Nex Animus, I can understand why the atmosphere of the album is pure evil. I can’t help but wonder what pairing it with an emotionally unraveling latter half might do to elevate it, though.

As a standalone listen, Apex Violator may blur together a little, with little in the way of audible contrast. Yet, fans of the dark majesty of Emperor or the seething, melodic dissonance of Dissection will find much to admire here. Valdrin channels the phantasm of those black metal titans through the lens of their grim cosmology—and for the initiated, the fury of Apex Violator is another book of scripture. Map or not.

Recommended tracks: Black Imperial Smoke, Ignite the Murder Shrine
You may also like: Stormkeep, Caladan Brood, Gallowbraid
Final verdict: 7/10

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

Label: Avantgarde Music – Bandcamp | Facebook | Instagram | Website | Metal-Archives

Valdrin is:
– Colton Deem (guitars)
– Carter Hicks (vocals, guitars, keyboards)
– James Lewis (bass)
– Ryan Maurmeier (drums)

The post Review: Valdrin – Apex Violator appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Progressive metal (clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Dream Theater, Haken, Circus Maximus, Threshold, Voyager
Country: Finland
Release date: 16 May 2025

I know this will come as a shock to readers of a website dedicated to the progressive music underground, but I hate modern mainstream pop. Pick a facet of a song in the genre—melody, rhythm, tempo, etcetera—and it has all largely homogenized into a single mold flattened to a I-V-vi-IV chord progression¹ at 100 BPM with a bass drop targeting TikTok virality. I’m not so elitist as to call all pop music shallow or worthless, but when accessibility comes first, anything musically interesting to me usually comes last. With that in mind, I’m often at a loss for words to explain why I love progressive metal that has a semblance of pop sensibility. Some of my favorite modern artists—like Protest the Hero or Periphery—have a knack for throwing in a poppy hook at just the right moment to recontextualize a phrase or an entire song.

On that note, Joviac’s Autofiction, Pt. 1 – Shards appears to have tossed its hat into the ring. Taking plenty of influence from progressive powerhouses like Dream Theater and Haken, these Finns blend those inspirations with a flair for prog popification that’s undeniably catchy. So catchy, in fact, that I thought I might end up writing them off as cliché…until I saw their Bandcamp page include “addictive hooks and even clichés” in their mission statement. Turns out they got there first—and honestly, I can’t hate on the sincerity. Shards’ third track “B.O.M.B.” perfectly illustrates this embrace of hooks and tropes. In one of the transitional sections of the song, the lyrics deliver repeated, stacked rhymes that feel like they have no meaning: “Containing it, maintaining it, restraining it. I’m torn apart by gravity, calamity, depravity. It’s off the chart, and I can’t explain or give a name for this pain. I’m losing my aim. So I have to keep—” repeating the phrase. It’s corny and cringey, but ear-wormy as hell nonetheless.

Such moments don’t mean that the progressive metal that makes up the core of Shards is taking a backseat, though. The album opens with two instrumental tracks. The first, “Level 1,” wouldn’t sound out of place on Six Degrees of Inner Turbulence, with its flowing yet staccato rhythm, power chord groove, and organ-like keyboard accompaniment. Comparatively, the soft and airy textures of “Haven” stand starkly against the preceding song, but the piece serves as more of an extended intro to the aforementioned “B.O.M.B.” Later in the album, another instrumental track (“Level 7”) provides a delightfully heavy start, transitioning into an infectious guitar riff while a punctuated synth tip-toes over the top that will have you rewinding the track before it even has a chance to finish.

By contrast, what follows “Level 7” is a purely vocal track which all the choir kids should love. “Open Eyes and Mind” beautifully adds an additional voice and builds more accord each time the song’s singular phrase repeats. Which leads me to vocalist/guitarist Viljami Jupiter Wenttola: I can’t say that his voice has the most striking or distinct timbre, and on the lower end he struggles to get into the baritone range that some moments of songs demand. But, as “Open Eyes and Mind” and tracks like “Canvas” illustrate, his sense of melody and harmony is so spot-on that those aforementioned foibles hardly merit a mention. Wenttola’s vocal lines are the primary bait on Joviac’s hook, and I’m biting every time.

If you only listen to one song off of Shards to see if it’s for you, I’d consider “Shine” the album’s exemplar. The snappy riffs, sing-along vocals, and addictive keyboard motifs all take turns calling for your attention, and while the song is relatively straightforward in terms of structure, the off-beat main melody and tastefully shredding guitar solos carry the progressive credentials into this pop concoction. “Canvas,” on the other hand, eschews pretty much all prog sensibilities to create a radio-rock, quasi-ballad single straight out of the ‘80s—and I’m a total sucker for it. Elsewhere, Joviac don’t shy away from the more progressive elements of their sound and songwriting, and songs like “Burn” and “Once” illustrate all of it—longer compositions, unconventional structures, and even a tasteful amount of djenty downtuned rhythm to give the songs a distinctly modern flair.

The Dream Theater worship that Shards puts on display should reel in any fans of the prog metal standard-bearers (you can’t see it but I’m raising my hand right now). Many clean tones mirror the glassy sound of Images and Words, while several of the the low-tuned, overdriven guitars have a distinctly Train of Thought liquid smoothness to them. Varied and distinct keyboard sounds, and a bass that does more than just provide the bottom end also contribute to this vibe. And—not to put too fine a point on the comparison—the closing notes that ring out in “Burn” are a descending melody that will sound familiar to anybody who put “Metropolis” (the song or album) in heavy rotation at some point in their life. About the only thing that The Pull Me Understudies don’t infuse from the masters at any point is the percussion. By and large, the drumming is quite reserved on Shards compared to most progressive metal, making sparing use of flashy fills or heavy double bass precision. The drums are mostly content to maintain the tempo, keep things moving, and let the other instruments do the showing off.

Make no mistake, though, the influence from The Progfessors doesn’t define Joviac’s sound on Shards. Their blend of progressive metal and catchy refrains grows on me with every spin, and that medley becomes more its own thing with each and every listen. Autofiction, Pt. 1 – Shards doesn’t just flirt with accessibility—it weaponizes it. While I still have a distaste for modern pop, Joviac might make me stop saying that out loud if they keep twisting it into something this dense and nerdy. I’m already eagerly awaiting Autofiction, Pt. 2.

Recommended tracks: Shine, Level 7, Once, B.O.M.B.
You may also like: Moron Police, Maraton, Lost in Thought, Virtual Symmetry
Final verdict: 8/10

Related Links: Bandcamp | Facebook | Instagram | Website | Metal-Archives

Label: Independent

Joviac is:
Viljami Jupiter Wenttola – Vocals, Guitar
Antti Varjanne – Bass
Johannes Leipälä – Guitar

1. This video is still as relevant as ever. Things have only homogenized further since. ︎

The post Review: Joviac – Autofiction, Pt. 1 – Shards appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Technical death metal, brutal death metal (harsh vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Suffocation, Dying Fetus, Gorguts, Nile, Immolation
Country: Canada
Release date: 20 June 2025

Of all the technical death metal OGs, Cryptopsy remain at the top of my favorites list. Blasphemy Made Flesh and None So Vile—hell, I’ll even add Whisper Supremacy to this list—are ‘90s death metal essentials with one overarching ethos: uncompromising technicality fused with unyielding brutality. After those releases, however, things get… controversial. By the mid ‘00s the group began to introduce other genre flavors into their sound—Once Was Not’s brash guitar work and syncopation left a distinct mathcore aftertaste, and The Unspoken King’s embrace of melody and breakdowns gave a deathcore-tinged aroma. Fans lost it. Cries of “sellout!” echoed across various and sundry forums and comment sections.² Amid the backlash came several changes in the lineup—which the band was never immune to—but in 2012, they stabilized. Their self-titled album that year, with just one founding member left, was widely regarded (somewhat ironically) as a return to form. And since then? They’ve clung to that sound like a lifeline.

An Insatiable Violence continues to hang on for dear life. Or at least it wants you to do so. This is a continuation of Cryptopsy’s post-2012 era sound: intensely technical rhythms, breakneck tempo changes, and Flo Mounier’s hyper-complex drumming are all here. Right out of the gate, vocalist Matt McGachy lets loose his signature howl (which will never get old) and we’re off, tumbling through a hellscape of rhythmic contortions, dissonant melodies, and blast-beaten obliteration. For better or worse, the intensity rarely lets up. Across its eight tracks, Violence stays pedal-to-the-fucking-death-metal: all gas, no brakes, nor breaks. It’s Cryptopsy, after all.

Still, on every track Cryptopsy provides a moment of clarity when the band lets a groovy bridge or tempo change shine by taking a swinging, half-time riff and using it to transition between two scorching sections. “Dead Eyes Replete” and “Embrace the Nihility” are probably my favorites in this regard. Other tracks, like “Until There’s Nothing Left” and “The Nimis Adoration,” have moments where they bring Olivier Pinard’s bass forward in the mix to showcase a sickly melody, letting the bass come up for air to do more than just keep the songs heavy on the low end. I wish Cryptopsy leaned into that consistently, because it works. These reprieves don’t mean I’m trying to make a case for less brutality. On the contrary, a showstopper on this LP is the blistering vocal work. I’ve always been a fan of McGachy’s voice (and his flowing locks), and he delivers another fantastic performance on Violence. “Fools Last Acclaim” showcases McGachy’s inhuman prowess, letting his vocals run the gamut from demonically low gutturals to wraith-like raspy high shrieks. Likewise, the ferocious drumming on this LP is top tier. Flo is a bit of an icon in the genre, and his combination of brute intensity and flawless precision is present in all thirty-four minutes of the album’s runtime.

But, despite the clear technical brilliance that An Insatiable Violence puts on display, the lack of variety might be the biggest criticism here. And that sucks to say, because as mentioned earlier, fans revolted when Cryptopsy even peeked outside of their wheelhouse. I don’t mean to say that the songs blend together—nobody is going to confuse Christian Donaldson’s groaning riffs in “Malicious Needs” with his fiery assault in “The Art of Emptiness”—but rather that few, if any, moments step outside the tightly constructed box the band has kept to in this era. That’s the price of consistency, I suppose. No filler, but few surprises. The production on the album is also tight and clear—perhaps to a fault. Every note is crisp; every kick of the bass drum surgically accurate. The polish really helps showcase Cryptopsy’s technical prowess, but it also scrubs away that filthy feeling that helped form the appeal of those early albums. It’s a fair trade-off, and one that fits their current mode well, even though it risks coming off as clinical.

A certain paradox exists with being an establishing act in extreme metal. When you break new ground early on, many metal fans expect you to stay rooted in the foundation you laid, resisting changes in design or renovations over the years. Cryptopsy have weathered the backlash that often comes with defying those expectations, enduring lineup shifts and stylistic detours along the way. But they’ve emerged with a sound that feels both true to their roots and sustainable in the long term. For longtime fans, that might be enough. For those looking for more innovation in tech-death, An Insatiable Violence will seem a bit rote. As for me, I’ll keep coming back to it—because I love this band, and because even when they’re not reinventing the wheel, they’re burning rubber like few can.

Recommended tracks: Malicious Needs, Fools Last Acclaim, The Nimis Adoration, Embrace the Nihility
You may also like: Malignancy, Brodequin, Serocs, Hideous Divinity
Final verdict: 7/10

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

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

Cryptopsy is:
– Christian Donaldson (guitar)
– Matt McGachy (vocals)
– Flo Mounier (drums)
– Olivier Pinard (bass)

1. Ex-vocalist of Cryptopsy from 2001-2003, who passed away in 2024 ︎
2. Which is just silly. Moving from one extreme metal genre to a variation on another extreme metal genre isn’t “selling out” by any stretch of the imagination, folks. ︎

The post Review: Cryptopsy – An Insatiable Violence appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Progressive rock, post-rock, folk (clean vocals, Ukrainian lyrics)
Recommended for fans of: Riverside, Porcupine Tree, The Pineapple Thief
Country: Ukraine
Release date: 30 May 2025

Let’s address the elephant in the room right away: How do you offer fair, critical insight into an album by a band from a war-torn nation—especially when the conflict is ongoing and the album is, by all appearances, rife with both overt and metaphorical references to that very struggle? Though I admire a bevy of Russian art and music, and I studied the language for three years in college, I’d like to make one thing crystal clear: Слава Україні. Now that my biases are laid bare, please know that my intention here is not to flatten Obiymy Doschu’s (Обійми Дощу) Vidrada into a one-dimensional token of trauma or resistance. Political reality matters, but so does the music.

And man, the music really tickles my prog fancy. My review history makes no secret that I lean towards the metal side of the spectrum. However, I make it a point to step outside my wheelhouse about once per month, just to avoid missing the forest for the trees. Vidrada fits that bill. It’s built mostly on soft acoustic plucking, dolce string melodies, and mellow, even-keeled vocal lines—practically the polar opposite of my usual fare. I tend to prefer such elements as textures to break up my metal, while Vidrada instead uses metal to break up these textures, and only sparingly at that. For all the ways it might not cater to my kvlt mentality, the LP more than makes up for it by appealing to my prog senses: non-standard time signatures, unconventional voicings, and multi-layered compositions abound.

Take “На відстані” (“At a Distance”) for example. A lurching 7/8 synthesizer melody and haunting vocal line—accompanied by a yearning string section and various distant, arpeggiated guitar touches—make up the bulk of this track. Right before this would all start to feel repetitive, the song deftly transitions—and this is going to sound weird, though I swear it works—into a soft, barely distorted, not downtuned djent outro. When individualized, these descriptors might not sound like the most unorthodox things in the progressive rock space, yet the overall vibe of the song is a tad ominous and delightfully eccentric.

“At a Distance” isn’t the only track that takes things in a heavy direction at the end. “Істини” (“Truths”) has an immensely off-beat melody (played over a steady 6/8 time) driven by a piano in its opening moments, and opting  for a mournful tone instead of an ominous one. The choruses bring in a distorted guitar with palm-muted chugs alternating to an anthemic melody, and emphatic strings to give the track a different weight than any other song on Vidrada. What makes the track truly stand out, though, is the death metal growl that comes completely out of left field towards the end. Being the penultimate track, the changeup feels like a world where Opeth had only ever written Damnation-style albums and then threw in a “Ghost of Perdition” intro in the back half of a random song. The switch is so jarring that I don’t think it entirely works, but it certainly gets points for shaking things up.

“Truths” and “At a Distance” stand apart on Vidrada, diverging from the album’s prevailing blend of sweetness, tenderness, and hope. That amalgam is present not just in the gentle melodies and soft instrumentation, but also in the lyrics. While some of the text makes direct reference to the tragic and unjust conflict in Ukraine, the message doesn’t ask for your pity, instead it yearns for the light of a better day. “Після війни” (“After the War”) prays: “After the war we will return to our cities to live as we should; playing with children under clear skies. Breathing in the world with full, open hearts.” These aren’t tunes and words for war drums, they’re lullabies for survival, and I am touched on some level by almost all of them.

Many individual moments on the album really tug at my heartstrings, and most of said moments seem to include a beautiful, driving, staccato string accompaniment. Vidrada’s closer “Не опускати руки” (“Don’t Give Up”) is probably the standout in this regard. The song builds up to its wonderful outro, and releases with emotive strings that add to an anthemic vocal chant and rallying cry. The title track “Відрада” (”Refuge”) has a chorus with strings that punctuate the melody and punch-uate you right in the feels, and it’s yet another track with a bright outro. Other moments, however, lean a bit dull and overstay their welcome. The opening minutes of this album, for example, had me afraid I was going to have to trudge through it. “Діти” (“Children”) starts with a guitar motif that, in contrast to the majority of the album, makes me feel nothing. Thankfully, these moments were rare.

Taken as a whole, Vidrada is a remarkably cohesive and emotionally articulate record. While not devoid of virtuoso pyrotechnics or overt heaviness in the music and lyrics, those aren’t its driving forces. Rather, empathy and optimism carry the melodies and message of this release. It’s not flawless nor pioneering, and some stretches drift a little too far into saccharinity, but even the lulls feel like part of the album’s greater patience and poise.

Слава Україні

Recommended tracks: Refuge, Don’t Give Up, At a Distance, Truths
You may also like: Iamthemorning, Haven of Echoes, Esthesis, Fjieri
Final verdict: 7.5/10

Related Links: Bandcamp | Instagram | Facebook | Spotify

Label: Independent

Obiymy Doschu is:
Volodymyr Agafonkin — vocals, acoustic guitar, music (1, 3–8), lyrics
Mykola Kryvonos — bass guitar, producing
Yaroslav Gladilin — drums
Olena Nesterovska — viola, music (2)
Yevhenii Dubovyk — piano, keyboards
Oleksii Perevodchyk — electric guitars

With guests:
Kateryna Nesterovska — violin I
Anastasiia Shypak — violin II
Artem Zamkov — cello
Karina Sokolovska — back vocals
Mariia Zhytnikova — back vocals (1, 4)
Andriy Tkachenko — extreme vocals (7)
Oleksiy Katruk — contributions to guitar parts

1. Volodymyr Agafonkin — idea, photo
   Viktoria Groholska — watercolor painting
   Kateryna Yefymenko — retouch & editing
   Mariia Agafonkina, Daryna Agafonkina — models ︎

The post Review: Obiymy Doschu – Відрада (Vidrada) appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Black metal, post-black metal, blackgaze (mixed vocals, mostly harsh)
Recommended for fans of: Numenorean, Astronoid, Alcest, Ghost Bath
Country: Romania
Release date: 18 May 2025

Maybe it’s due to my Pacific Northwest upbringing, but I’ve always found comfort in overcast skies and long stretches of dark. And while I don’t think of myself as a sad person, I’m drawn to sad music the way someone might be drawn to black clouds or the night feeling. I find a certain kind of beauty in melancholy that doesn’t ask for resolution—it just exists, quiet and steady, like a hard truth that no one is trying to fix. A song steeped in sorrow can feel oddly comforting, not because I’m looking to wallow, but because there’s something artful about the way sadness is shaped into sound—stretching melodies, choosing words more carefully, and making silence, yes, even silence, more meaningful.

Which is exactly what Genune’s Infinite Presence does. While the album is rooted in black metal and certainly makes a blistering entrance, it quickly reveals its true nature: a collection of tracks dripping with dejection but glowing with cautious optimism. Genune’s primary tool in balancing this duality is their guitar work. The tracks are driven forward with furiously strummed power chord progressions that loudly echo black metal’s punk ancestry, yet they’re imbued with bright, yearning melodies and chord progressions that wouldn’t feel out of place on an Astronoid record.

On top of these chord progressions, Genune layer arpeggiated melodies that cut through the noise like threads of light. Nowhere is this more effective than on “Little Fountains,” where the lead lines tug at the heart with a delicate ache. “I Want You Here” is another standout—its chiming guitar motifs echo like bells from a tower that simultaneously acknowledge a period of mourning as they ring in a new day. While sadness is in the soundscape, the melodies and instrumentation refuse to let the hurt wallow, pulling it forward one trembling note at a time.

Even songs that seem like they are going to break out of this mold eventually come back around. “To Not Grow Old” and “Stay a Little Longer” both begin in familiar dissonant territory wrought with scraping textures and scowling, raspy vocal work, but they soon shift into the same melodic sensitivity that defines Infinite Presence. These transitions are arguably the only seamless ones on the entire album; elsewhere, the shifts into different flavors of melancholy are a bit too abrupt or unnatural, sometimes even between tracks. “Little Fountains” feels like it ends in the middle of a thought not fully articulated, being interrupted by the intro of “Stay a Little Longer.” Some transitions also come completely out of left field, such as the switch into a distinctly synthwave extended outro on that same track.

Calling out an oddity such as that synthwave outro seems strange when zooming out on Infinite Presence since the album generally stirs in distinct influence from other genres to great effect. Streaks of 90s alt-rock and even Americana surface throughout the LP. The title track is an extended interlude that sounds akin to a withered, folksy blues song plucked from the rocking chair of a rural porch, while a lot of the melodic flow and instrumental textures in tracks such as “The Sun Will Always Shine” and “I Want You Here” wouldn’t sound out of place on an R.E.M. or Cranberries album. Yet, Infinite Presence is still a black metal album. Though not without its quiet and pensive, clean-sung, and post- bits, plenty of blast beats, raspy and harsh vocal lines, and scorching guitar work make up its core. The contrast might occasionally dip into Gimmickland—like that piano bit in “The Sun Will Always Shine,” which is simultaneously beautiful and goofy—but the emotional core is so earnest I can’t fault it for those brief detours.

In the same way a grey sky can feel warm, Infinite Presence holds space for both sorrow and solace. Without asking you to pick a side, it wants you to feel hope and despair, fragility and ferocity—and invites you to sit with all of it. While some fumbled transitions and rocky experimentation keep the album out of flawless territory, its emotional clarity and melodic ambition more than make up for its rough edges. Genune may still be working out the finer points of their fusion, but what they’ve created is something I’ll revisit: a black metal album that both aches and dares to feel hopeful.

Recommended tracks: Little Fountains, I Want You Here, The Sun Will Always Shine
You may also like: Zéro Absolu, Ultar, Together to the Stars
Final verdict: 7/10

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

Label: Consouling Sounds – Official Website | Instagram | Facebook

Genune is:
Dragoș Chiricheș – guitars, synths, acoustic guitar
Cosmin Farcău – guitars
István Vladăreanu – bass, voice
Abel Păduret – drums
Victor Neicutescu – voice

The post Review: Genune – Infinite Presence appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Post-metal, progressive metal, djent (instrumental)
Recommended for fans of: Cloudkicker, Scale the Summit, Pelican
Country: Utah, United States
Release date: 20 April 2025

A question for my fellow instrumental music lovers out there: how infuriating is it when someone dismisses a track just because it doesn’t have vocals? You know the type. “I need lyrics to connect to a song,” or “How am I supposed to know what it’s about with no singer?” My personal favorite: “It’s not a song without vocals.” Depending on which expert you ask, they might be technically correct¹—but let’s be honest, we’re talking about the unwashed masses here, and what they’re really saying is “I don’t know how to engage with music unless someone spells it out for me.” Don’t you just want to smack them upside the head with something that really connects with you? The emotive melodies of Cloudkicker are that for me. Whack. How can you not feel this?

I came across Saranhedra thanks to my fellow reviewer Doug, who described it as “a fusion of post-metal with more melodic/traditional instrumental metal.” That alone piqued my interest, but then I noticed that Carian—the one-man project of Randy Cordner—is based out of Provo, Utah, where I went to college. Provo isn’t exactly a hotbed for my kind of music, so I was really rooting for this to be good. When I hit play and “Sunstone” began, I thought I was in for a bit of a slog. The slow, repetitive guitar line and eerie atmosphere—combined with the monolithic cover art—felt like it was setting up a vaguely doom metal funeral dirge. But then “Katalepsis” kicked in, and suddenly I was back in my college apartment, listening to Cloudkicker’s The Map Is Not the Territory for the first time. Saranhedra has a similar layered, melodic djent sound with punchy rhythm and emotional lift—except this time, it’s new. And it’s coming from Provo? Fucking Fetching wild. But is similarity to one of my favorite artists enough to come back time and again?

The heart of Saranhedra lies in its rhythmically engaging, melodious progressions. It belongs to that rare class of instrumental music where repetition isn’t a crutch—it’s a transformation. You might still be humming along to a similar motif by the end of a piece, but the aural landscape around it has been altered to varying degrees depending on the track, thus you’re rarely finishing in the same place that you started. Providing a heft of color to the soundscape is the lead guitar: soaring phrases (“Crissaegrim,” “Saranhedra”), happy tappy cadences (“Legion,” “Magog”), and even a bit of shred here and there (“Orphanim and a Flaming Sword”) all add a Scale the Summit vibe to this LP.

Unlike a lot of djent that gets stuck in a loop of polyrhythmic chugging and ambient filler, Carian writes songs. You feel each track is going somewhere and that the songs aren’t just texture and tone, but full-on compositions. Instrumental metal has a volume problem—not just in decibels, but in saturation. There’s so much of it, made with relative ease in a home office or basement, that standout work is increasingly difficult to find. Last month, I browsed the djent bazaar and picked up a random LP. Total dud. This time, I got lucky. Saranhedra isn’t reinventing anything, to be clear, but it brings melody, momentum, and a spirit that connects with me to a style that often forgets those things.

Speaking of volume problems, let’s talk about the drums on this release—I can’t fucking fetching hear them half the time. There are so many layers of beautiful guitar melodies that absolutely bury everything else, and the drums are what suffer most because of that. Which cymbal is being smacked right now? I repeatedly ask myself. It’s complete guesswork to my relatively fine-tuned ear for those things. While simultaneously, some lively, complex, and energetic fills are completely wasted under the guitar deluge. It’s frustrating because the percussive elements themselves feel like they have something to say, but the mix refuses to let them speak. This flaw doesn’t ruin the album, but spending more time getting the mix just right could have elevated Saranhedra from good to great.

Mixing and production issues aside, the heavy Cloudkicker influence on Saranhedra is a bit of a double-edged sword. On one hand, I can’t get enough of it. On the other, I can’t dole out high marks for moving the genre forward. But all the same, I can’t recommend this album enough, and if you’re an instru-metal fan, you owe it to yourself to give the stirring melodies of Saranhedra a shot, because—as you are well aware—a lack of vocals does not mean a lack of voice.

Recommended tracks: Crissaegrim, Orphanim and a Flaming Sword, Sardis, Magog
You may also like: The Arbitrary, Scaphoid, Hecla
Final verdict: 6.5/10

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

Label: Independent release

Carian is:
– Randy Cordner (everything)

1. Which, as we all know, is the best kind of correct. ︎

The post Review: Carian – Saranhedra 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.