Artwork by: Marald van Haasteren

Style: Doom Metal, Alternative Metal (Clean Vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Alice in Chains, Baroness, Pallbearer
Country: New York, United States
Release date: 27 June 2025

This may upset some people, but I thought Alice In Chains’ mid-Aughts reformation yielded some of the band’s coolest work. Perhaps not anything remotely as eternal as “Man in the Box,” “Rooster,” or “Would?,” but the shift from dark, moody grunge to dark, moody, doom-inspired grooves and atmosphere on Black Gives Way to Blue (2009) and The Devil Put Dinosaurs Here (2013) was fucking sick. Furthermore, they helped propel me towards bands like Pallbearer and other purveyors of riff-forward heavy rock. Disappointingly, the William DuVall-era of Alice in Chains has seen little activity since 2018’s Rainier Fog. Luckily, Blood Vulture has swooped in to partake of Jerry Cantrell and the boys’ lunch.

Circling the skylines of New York, the titular Blood Vulture reveals itself as one Jordan Olds, host of YouTube talk show Two Minutes to Late Night and, apparently, omni-gifted musician. From the girthsome, riff-forward doom guitars, modern metalcore-flavored synthesizers, roiling bass, down to the eerie Jerry Cantrell-esque crooning and bellowing, Olds executes nearly every aspect of debut album Die Close. One-man projects are nothing new in the world of metal (black metal, especially, seems laden with bedroom conjurers). While undertaking such a project is, I think, deserving of some measure of applause out the gate, there runs the risk that such high-minded ambitions may outstrip the capacity of the practitioner. For every Midnight Odyssey, a thousand more Oksennus¹ (Oksenni?) exist, filling the void with noise. Olds, to his credit, appears to have sidestepped some of this auteur-minded hubris by stacking a sizable guest roster at his back. But is this enough to give Blood Vulture’s debut the wings needed to soar? Or is the folly of man destined to curse Die Close with Icarian luck?

I’ll not beat around the wing—er, bush: This album kicks ass. From the opening guitar line and creeping vocal motifs of “Die Close: Overture” (finally, an intro that warrants its existence!) to the last resplendent harmonies of “Die Close: Finale,” Blood Vulture spends forty-five minutes delivering delectable platters of slow-rolling, tectonic alternative metal skewed toward a darkly Gothic ethos about a vampire living out the last of his immortal days long after the death of Humanity. Thick yet nimble riffs drill through post-apocalyptic landscapes of thunderous drums and growling bass tones, synths glittering like snatches of starlight piercing smog-choked skies. Olds’ voice is rich and thrumming with a decadent power worthy of his centuries-old protagonist. Alongside the obvious Cantrell-canting, there’re nuggets of John Baizely (Baroness) lingering in his harmonies (“Die Close: Interlude”), and even flashes of Sumerlands’ Phil Swanson in the way his voice melds with the production, culminating in a mosaic of winsome sonic idents.

Musically, Die Close haunts the liminal space between the morbid emotionality of Alice in Chains and the heaving riff-roil and production-blasting of modern doom mavericks Pallbearer. Olds buries the listener in bone-churning, groove-laden guitars, like the plaintive howls of Mankind’s vengeful ghost echoing across this blasted necropolis called Earth. Moe Watson’s drumming is equally committed, pounding and bludgeoning whatever life remains, heavy as the footsteps of our doomed vampiric wayfarer—yet capable of breaking into bursts of potent energy when required (“An Embrace In The Flood,” “A Dream About Starving To Death,” “Grey Mourning”), striking out with stampeding double bass and frenzied ride cymbal strikes like a sudden onset of PTSD. Doom metal can sometimes wander into realms of navel gazing, keen to drill away at a riff or motif endlessly to the point where the proverbial horse is beyond beaten. Blood Vulture soars over this pitfall thanks to considerate track lengths and song structures designed around forward momentum. Guest contributions from the likes of Kristin Hayter (Reverend Kristin Michael Hayter, ex-Lingua Ignota), Brian Fair (Shadows Fall, Overcast, Hell Night, Downpour), and Jade Puget (AFI, Blaqk Audio, XTRMST) fit into Die Close’s architecture flawlessly, adding to the album’s layers of dark, tragic beauty. (Hayter on “Entwined” creates an absolute standout of a track, in particular, her gospel-like vocals the perfect partner to Olds’ resonant cleans.) Even the interludes, of which there are three, secure worthy positions thanks to how they return to and build upon what becomes the album’s central motif, with “Die Close: Finale” closing the story with the kind of sorrowful bombast worthy of a suffering immortal.

Another feather in Blood Vulture’s plumage is a far simpler (on paper), yet no less important matter—one that has oft-wounded many an ambitious band and, generally (for me), marred the very reputation of the vaunted concept album. Olds has managed to strike a fine balance between his narrative goals and musical musts. He never forgets that Die Close is an album. Not a book. Not a movie. An album, whose mission first and foremost must be to enrapture the listener with its sonic wiles. Lyrics, and storytelling by proxy, are necessary components to this configuration, but when Aristotelian directives override bardic needs with three-act fancies, there’s little to be salvaged from the experience. Barring the “Die Close” trifecta of interludes, any of Die Close’s seven proper tracks can stand strong in a playlist shuffle without blunting momentum or capsizing the story, as the narratives are nestled snugly within the ebb and flow of their parent songs.

Since Sleep Token dropped Even In Arcadia back in May, I have been wondering if there would be anything in 2025 to come along and grab me in any similar way. I’ve listened to more than a few fun records, but most have been missing some measure of that special sauce required to saturate my taste. Blood Vulture doesn’t entirely reach the same level of addictive listening—few things will, at least until Silent Planet drops a new album—but this has been the first record post-EIA that I’ve sat back and gone, “I don’t really have anything negative to say.” Maybe the production could be a little clearer at times—the bass tends to get lost amidst the ruckus, an affliction all too common within metal—but this is some of the grooviest, coolest stuff I’ve listened to all year. Olds (and his collaborators) must certainly be commended for dropping such a confident piece of work. I don’t know who in 2025 may be waiting for new Alice in Chains, but if you’re out there, fret not: Blood Vulture is here to fill the void, and then some.

Recommended tracks: A Dream About Starving To Death, Grey Mourning, Entwined, Die Close: Finale
You may also like: A Pale Horse Named Death, Hangman’s Choir
Final verdict: 8.5/10

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

Label: Pure Noise Records – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Blood Vulture is:
– Jordan Olds (vocals, guitars, bass, synthesizers)
With guests:
– Jade Puget (additional guitars on “Grey Mourning”)
– Kristin Hayter (additional vocals on “Entwined” and “Die Close: Finale”)
– Brian Fair (additional vocals on “Burn For It”)
– Moe Watson (drums)
– Gina Gleason (additional guitars on “Die Close: Interlude”, additional vocals on “Die Close: Finale”)
– Emily Lee (additional vocals on “Die Close: Finale”)
– Steve Brodsky (additional vocals on “Die Close: Finale”)
– Kayleigh Goldsworthy (violin on “Entwined,” “Die Close: Interlude,” and “Abomination”)

1. See Andy’s review of Auringolla Ei Ole Käsiä for details. ︎

The post Review: Blood Vulture – Die Close 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.

Album art by Matt Harvey

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Style: Neo-prog, bitpop, cybergrind (Mixed vocals, mostly clean)
Recommended for fans of: Sophie, iwrestledabearonce, Electric Callboy
Country: Illinois, United States
Release date: 20 June 2025

Optimism is often mistaken as a delusional kind of positivity, ignoring the negative and replacing it with a happier reality. In truth, optimism is more a mechanism of perseverance in the face of hardship: to the optimist, the nightmares faced are very real and often never-ending, but the inherent joy and excitement of life is too powerful to be weighed down permanently. Such is the perspective of artist Joey Meland, whose most recent release as Cocojoey, STARS, promises to focus on the good while living through inner and outer turmoil. Does STARS leave the listener in awe at its constellations of maximalist eclectic songwriting?

STARS is introduced with heartfelt neo-prog, immediately tapping into the 80s-tinged synth-cheese of Subway darlings Kyros; Meland pushes the euphoric synth work even further than the Brits, however, as opening track “TIME TO GO!” explodes into brilliant colors, charging forward at a manic clip. Japanese influences abound, whether it be the VGM aesthetic in many of the electronic elements (“MIDNIGHT LICKING HOURS”, “hearth<3”) or ultra-energetic j-pop that dances alongside dazzling jazz fusion snippets (“INFUSION BAbY”, “TIME TO GO!”, “COCOJOEY’S LACK OF REGRETS”). Stuttering drum’n’bass moments bubble to the surface on tracks like “THE I LIKE SONG” and “ANOTHER LIFE”, with beats cleverly slipping out of tandem with the rest of the instrumentation for an accented percussive flair. Underneath, a furious cybergrind underbelly occasionally roars to the forefront like an intrusive thought, sending these saccharine passages into abject chaos.

Meland’s approach to songwriting can most succinctly be described as the sound of tearing the absolute fuck out of a room covered in glitter, shattering glass in unbridled rage and admiring the iridescent refraction caused by the shrapnel. Ultra-melodic and ultra-intense ideas often exist within seconds of each other, inexorably locked together as a fundamental part of composition. Sometimes, the transitions from bitpop to cybergrind are effortless and smooth (“TIME TO GO!”) and sometimes they are a violent bass-heavy cudgel (“ANOTHER LIFE”). The experience is always fun and full of earworms, but can become overwhelming at times, like being fed a series of ultra-technicolor light shows Clockwork Orange-style only interrupted by abrupt visits to a human-sized centrifuge. “TIME TO SPARE”, for example, grafts shiny staccato fusion chords to impenetrable walls of abrasive blast beats, shrieking howls, and shrill synthesizers. To help balance the intensity, tracks like “TRUST IN EVENTS” temper their instrumental vigor, and two palate cleansers, “hearth<3” and “TINY SPRITE IN THE ORCHESTRA OF STARS”, help to imbue a sense of triumph and carefree placidity. Additionally, Meland will often telegraph central melodic ideas throughout a track to give the listener a compositional foothold.

Despite the almost inhuman level of effervescent melodicism, there is an utter sense of relatability to STARS’ compositions, the lyricism standing at their nexus. Meland lays bare their myriad frustrations with life and the challenges of staying optimistic in a world that constantly beats you down. Most immediately striking is “TRUST IN EVENTS”, which showcases the oxymoronic nature of desiring life despite being so absolutely tired of it: ‘Yet I wonder why my time alive is so intense / cause it’s been taking / It’s taking everything and everything and everything and everything and everything and everything and every effort now to / Keep looking ahead but living in a moment’. 

A delicate vulnerability shines through across STARS, making sure to balance the dread with an equal amount of optimism and love. “MIDNIGHT LICKING HOURS” is a contemplation of the inner life of Meland’s cat, Coco, and the value of a relaxed, carefree lifestyle; “THE I LIKE SONG” is a centering mantra that brings into perspective all the things that make life worth living, stating ‘I’ll recite this and I’ll remember all the times I thought it was worth / Sticking out through one more night’; and “TINY SPRITE IN THE ORCHESTRA OF STARS” is a heartfelt dedication to a loved one that gently guides the listener across a 16-bit galaxy.

The coalescence of lyrical duality and songwriting extremes exemplifies a singular focus in STARS’ point of view. “COCOJOEY’S LACK OF REGRETS” is a centerpiece of the record’s perspective: Meland gets personal about their experience with having Crohn’s Disease and how it affects their interactions with the world at large. 90s club-inspired piano beats deconstruct under the weight of glitchy electronics and frenetic cybergrind: ‘I already feel like shit / And I’m made to feel worse for it / Invasive thoughts, invisible illness’. The track cleverly juxtaposes an ineffable queerness with a roiling inner frustration—the digestive issues associated with Crohn’s have a profound impact and limitation on sexual expression, and its status as an ‘invisible illness’ often leads to invalidation at the hands of peers because ‘you don’t look sick’. And this is to mention nothing of the horrific mistreatment by healthcare companies who put disabled people through the wringer just so they have a basic chance at life, the track calling out Centene in particular as a predatory corporation that ‘takes advantage of sick people’. 

What the fuck is even up with that, anyway? Who decided it was okay to keep adding on to an impossibly complicated system that requires people who are already at a disadvantage to jump through inscrutable hoops for even the prospect of a life without debilitating challenges? On top of that, we are constantly put through stressors that our minds are SIMPLY. NOT. DESIGNED. FOR. DO YOU THINK THAT IT’S NORMAL FOR PEOPLE TO BE COGNIZANT EVERY SINGLE DAY TO THREATS THAT ARE COMPLETELY OUTSIDE OF OUR CONTROL AND IMPOSSIBLE TO EVEN UNDERSTAND? OUR WORLD IS A MINEFIELD OF ANXIETY AND THREAT THAT IS SO FAR BEYOND ANYTHING THAT EVOLUTION COULD HAVE PREPARED US FOR. HOW THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO FUNCTION AT FULL CAPACITY ALL DAY EVERY DAY WHEN EVERY WAKING MOMENT IS A REMINDER OF HOW EVERYTHING I CARE ABOUT CAN BE UNCEREMONIOUSLY RIPPED AWAY FROM ME BY FORCES I DON’T EVEN UNDERSTAND BECAUSE I DON’T SUBSCRIBE TO NEUROTYPICAL AND HETERONORMATIVE IDEALS? I JUST WANT TO FUCKING EXIST WITHOUT HAVING TO ACTIVELY FIGHT AGAINST MY MIND AND AGAINST EVERYTHING ELSE TO FUNCTION IN ANY MEANINGFUL WAY IN A WORLD NOT DESIGNED FOR PEOPLE LIKE ME.

…..

Suddenly, the hyper-melodic j-pop and technicolor excess feels much less cutesy, as if its main purpose is as a last bastion of idealism and escapism in a pervasive fight against forces out of our control. The glistening melodies hold back a volcanic fury that builds in pressure when we’re left to reflect on the injustices imposed on us. One also gets a sense of artistic expression as a means of exhaust, channeling life experience from the artist’s interior world into something with a life of its own—its placement outside of the mind both gives it less power over the artist and serves as a beacon to those who relate. In most cases, the catharsis is felt fully, but “ANOTHER LIFE” and “ODD EYE SLIDE” leave a bit to be desired compositionally, leaning into the record’s excess without giving enough focus to latch onto. The most successful example of artistic exhaust is “COCOJOEY’S LACK OF REGRETS”, where the theme is established early. Meland proclaims that they ‘got pissed and wrote this track’ in its opening moments, and across the piece’s runtime, they come to terms with their circumstances: ‘Didn’t choose this life, but now it’s mine / I’ll never give up, I do my best / Break it down with my kitty ‘til my final rest’. “REGRETS” ends with a powerful proclamation, spitting in the face of those who try to put them down: ‘you can’t make me regret my existence’.

STARS utilizes song structure, texture, melody, and intensity as a meta-commentary on the inner life of a disabled queer person, taking both the good and bad in stride; the end result is a glittering canvas designed to channel and purge the abject exhaust of life by any means necessary. In the closing seconds of “TIME TO SPARE”, all of the anger, glitz, and pretense that coalesces across STARS is flushed down the toilet as ideas are chopped and screwed into oblivion, rendered into an unrecognizable soup of wiggly air before suddenly cutting off. And at the end of the day, flushing out the overwhelm is often the best course of action—the human experience is too rich and full of excitement and love and happiness to forsake the things that bring us joy.

Recommended tracks: COCOJOEY’S LACK OF REGRETS, TIME TO GO!, THE I LIKE SONG, hearth<3
You may also like: Kyros, Bubblegum Octopus, Joey Frevola, PhonoPaths
Final verdict: 8.5/10

Related links: Bandcamp | Spotify | Instagram

Label: Hausu Mountain Records – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Cocojoey is:
– Joey Meland (everything)
With guests:
– Stop Motion Plant Choir (vocals, track 2)
– Coco (meows, tracks 2, 3, 6)
– Floricane (vocals, track 6)
– Angel Marcloid (guitars, track 2)

The post Review: Cocojoey – STARS appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

No artist credited

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Style: Technical death metal, progressive death metal, flamenco (Mixed vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Beyond Creation, Necrophagist, Ne Obliviscaris
Country: Spain
Release date: 4 April 2025

In a genre like technical death metal, the sky is the limit in the context of ambition: do you want to play and sing inhumanly fast like Archspire? Maybe you want to pull your listeners backwards in time through a black hole like Alkaloid? Perhaps, in typical Nile fashion, you just want to not be ‘Hung Upside Down on a Stake in the Underworld and Made to Eat Feces by the Four Apes’. Like their contemporaries, Spanish tech deathers Ash of Necrossus are no strangers to ambition—their debut, Sands of the Great Unfolding, showcased a hefty zeal in the attempt to compose a single hour-long track, but was ultimately held back by issues of song structure and leaning too heavily on genre tropes. In a grand change of pace, Ash of Necrossus have dialed back the track lengths significantly but expanded the scope of their musical palette through the introduction of flamenco on latest album, Predicated by the Maw of Time, the first chapter of a self-titled trilogy. Fool me once, shame on you, but will Ash of Necrossus’ undying ambition fool me twice?

Predicated by the Maw of Time operates on a principle of grandeur at virtually all times: aggressive, highly-polished technical death metal riffage will often give way to cinematic, larger-than-life melodies and harmonized clean-harsh verses. However, the central conceit of Predicated is the heavy use of flamenco, with tracks like “Ash II: How Far Reaches the Procession?” being almost entirely composed with frenetic acoustic guitars and lively cajón replete with ornamentation. Like any tech death band worth its salt, each track features a heavy dose of fretless bass, sometimes even leading the melody while the guitars follow suit in the background (“Woven into Calamitous Forms”, “Bipinnatus”).

Whereas First Fragment and Impureza use flamenco as a dressing to add intrigue to their tech death, Ash of Necrossus establishes it as a songwriting focus. “Ash II” is a mostly-instrumental nine-plus minute track that sits in the style across nearly its entire runtime, intertwining fretless bass with punctuated acoustic guitar chords. The fretless bass lends a ‘spacey’ feel to the flamenco, with tracks like “Bipinnatus” and “Nebula Aflame in the Soul of Icharion” creating a stunning ebb and flow of cosmic tech death intensity and acoustic contemplation akin to Iapetus’ The Body Cosmic; the closing moments of “Bipinnatus” in particular feel like being gently pulled out of a field and into the stratosphere to wander among a vivid galaxy. There are times, though, where Ash of Necrossus could use a bit of restraint in their approach: the flamenco guitar used on bite-sized epilogue “Ash V” is a little extra, furiously thrashing about before coming to a sudden and unceremonious stop. I do wish the conclusion was a bit more satisfying, as it likely is set up as a segue to the heretofore unwritten Part II, but it does detract slightly from the experience as a standalone listen. Additionally, the flamenco guitar and the rhythm guitars clash a bit and get a bit too cluttered at moments on “Unsevered”, making it difficult to parse a central through-line despite the crystal-clear production.

Lyrically, Predicated by the Maw of Time focuses on coping with the sudden death of a loved one and consequently facing one’s own mortality, telling a bittersweet story of self-exploration not unlike Dessiderium’s Keys to the Palace. Tracks like “Ash II: How Far Reaches the Procession?” and “Ash IV: Predicated by the Maw of Time” ruminate on the meaning of death and our place in the universe, betraying fears of being forgotten by the sands of time. Metaphors such as describing one’s bones as ‘a fossilized relief’ are pitted against questions of whether time will ultimately wither the narrator’s visage featureless. On “Bipinnatus”, the namesake flower is explored in depth, its inflorescence imposed against an infinitely large prairie. Here, the cosmos is indirectly described as both a vast and uncaring void and at the same time a grand tapestry that is incomplete without each of its parts; the oxymoronic nature of space as both a place of utter emptiness and stunning interconnection is not lost on Ash of Necrossus.

Predicated does not paint healing as a linear process, but as one with sharp ups and downs that follow a loose upward trend. For example, closing epic “Nebula Aflame in the Soul of Icharion” ends on a, well, Icarian note: the narrator’s grandeur established on “Unsevered” begins to show its cracks and lead to a downward spiral before the track’s end. Some metaphors across Predicated’s runtime do come off as a bit on-the-nose, however, particularly on “Unsevered” and “Ash III: An Unrelenting Lurch into Oblivion”, but given the nuanced take on the healing process as a whole, these blemishes are by and large forgivable.

In the end, it’s hard to see Predicated by the Maw of Time’s ambition as anything less than a roaring success. A healthy dose of flamenco underneath a crisp tech death base adds an undeniable freshness and depth to the sound, opting instead for a natural ebb and flow in songwriting as opposed to a towering and inscrutable behemoth. These moments of delicacy are augmented by thoughtful and contemplative lyricism that effectively conveys the narrators fears, struggles, and realizations. You’d be a fool not to check this one out.

Recommended tracks: Ash II: How Far Reaches the Procession?, Nebula Aflame in the Soul of Icharion, Bipinnatus
You may also like: Dessiderium, Iapetus, First Fragment, Impureza, Pedro Iturralde
Final verdict: 8.5/10

Related links: Bandcamp | Facebook | Metal-Archives page

Label: Independent

The post Review: Ash of Necrossus – Ash of Necrossus, Part I: Predicated by the Maw of Time appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Artwork by Derek Setzer

Style: doom metal, drone, experimental (clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Krallice, Sunn O))), Earth
Country: United States
Release date: 28 March 2025

Hey, are you a big fuckin’ weirdo? Yeah, me too.

Did you enjoy Krallice‘s 2017 release Go Be Forgotten? Me too.

Because you’re a big fuckin’ weirdo, did you get stuck on “Outro” and wish that there was an entire album that sounded like it? Well first of all, if you answered yes to this question please reach out to me because boy that is an extremely niche group we both belong to. Second of all, I have some great news for you!

The Overmold is an experimental doom/drone duo featuring Mick Barr (Krallice) and Tim Wyskida (Khanate), who have come together under the I, Voidhanger banner to present their collaborative efforts to big fuckin’ weirdos like you and me. Barr’s unique, ambiguous harmonic guitar stylings are at the forefront of the sound on The Overmold, and are perfectly complemented by Wyskinda’s freeform drum performance, which propels the compositions forward and breathes life into them. The compositions themselves range from sprawling labyrinthian soundscapes to more structured evocative vignettes, but the interplay between Barr and Wyskinda is always the focal point from which these structures take shape. While the compositional prowess on display is nothing to sneer at, The Overmold is distinctive in its reliance on performance and technique to effectively extract every last drop of meaning from its songs. 

The bulk of The Overmold is comprised of “The Overmold” (written by The Overmold, in case you forgot), a semi-improvisational, thirty-five-minute foray into sinister, tension-building atmosphere. Barr’s guitar playing is akin to a lighthouse lamp cutting through thick fog, utilizing repeated motifs around which bass and vocal harmonies dance in and out. Wyskinda’s drumming is strikingly delicate; even his kick drum is barely audible at times. Freeform fills and agile cymbal work builds and releases tension, adding motion to an otherwise glacial pace. Monotone choral/whispered vocals subtly weave in and out of the background, adding emotional depth without distracting from the main performances, equally pacifying and paralyzing. All of these performance techniques on their own already build a compelling, uneasy ambience, but there is an acute attention to the small details that pushes “The Overmold” from good to great. 

Barr and Wyskida are frighteningly in sync and are able to pull off a massive range of dynamics that are not often heard in metal or metal-adjacent music, at least to the extent explored on The Overmold. Deeply intimate moments build into explosive crescendos and die back down again like an undulating vista of rolling hills. Even more rare is the gratuitous use of rubato; phrases swell in and out, trailing off in ritardandos that catch back up at the start of the next phrase. During more structured moments the dynamics or tempo remain constantly in flux, as if we were not listening to a piece of music but to a massive living, breathing organism. Even the song structure adheres to this conceit, with the most brazen moments of movement and overwhelming climaxes appearing in the middle of the track. Equal attention is given to both the music and the empty space that surrounds it, resulting in an extremely intimate experience. 

The production from Colin Marston perfectly captures all of the intricacies held within “The Overmold”. Every tiny detail of the performances are given space to breathe, and it is a joy to be able to hear the reverberations of a kick drum or the overtones of a held note so regularly. There is even a subtle use of panning that only revealed itself to me around my third listen. Marston’s attention to detail rivals that of the compositions themselves, and both in conjunction result in a truly special listening experience. 

The remaining three tracks are shorter, more structured explorations of The Overmold’s sound. “Songs of the Beyonder” starts with a sixteenth note hi-hat against a triplet eighth note strumming riff that is instantly engaging. The main motif is astoundingly pretty and very reminiscent of Krallice, and I love how it comes back at the end with added harmonies and a more bravado performance. “Buildings of Skin” starts out continuing the prettiness, but becomes much more harmonically antagonistic as the song goes on, ending in a jarringly dissonant sung interval. “Withering Other” acts as a sort of palate cleanser and is the most harmonically vague of the three shorter tracks, a “dark unfocused fog of clarity”, and the perfect way to ruminate on the sheer weight of The Overmold’s experience.

Over the course of the past week or two, The Overmold has turned into an experience that I look forward to engaging with every night. I am constantly finding small details that I had missed in previous listening sessions, and the atmosphere is an addictive ambrosia that is a perfect way to wind down at the end of a long day. A good pair of headphones and an hour or so of time to spend really focusing is practically demanded of the listener, but quickly becomes completely justified. The result is that The Overmold has become my favorite listening experience of the year so far, and is a record that I will be habitually returning to for a long while.

Recommended tracks: The Overmold
You may also like: Khanate, Ocrilim, Blind Idiot God
Final verdict: 8.5/10

Related links: Bandcamp

Label: I, Voidhanger Records – Bandcamp | Facebook

The Overmold is:
– Mick Barr (guitars, bass, vocals)
– Tim Wyskida (drumset, percussion)

The post Review: The Overmold – The Overmold appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: post-metal, progressive metal, sludge metal (mixed vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Isis, Cult of Luna, Neurosis, Tool
Country: Poland
Release date: 6 January 2025

Imagine drifting serenely through torrential waters, unbothered by the crashing waves above or ripping undercurrents below. Immersed but protected, you’re calm, undulating gently amid the ocean’s mighty forces. You find tranquility in watching the surrounding chaos, until you emerge safely as the storm concludes. For half an hour, Emovere, Obscure Sphinx’s latest EP, places the listener into this suspended state.

More than eight years after their last studio work, the Polish quartet Obscure Sphinx has resurfaced with Emovere, a lengthy three-track EP. The band is fronted by Zofia “Wielebna” Fraś, a vocal powerhouse whose silky singing and raspy screams sit at the center of the band’s sound. A dark, down-tuned brand of post-metal forms the soundscape around her, oscillating fluidly between crushing and calm; tidal-wave riffs and thunderous rhythms give way to shimmering bridges, only for the water to rise again. Obscure Sphinx composes with a deft hand, knowing how and when to move the listener from one passage to the next through seamless transitions; and the band’s ever-tight musicianship and feel for rhythm elevate the compositions. The result is simply enrapturing. The album is a cathartic journey—the word ‘emovere’ loosely translates to such—that’s awe-inspiring yet soothing, and deeply resonant.

“Scarcity Hunter” begins the album ominously with drums slowly pounding, a deep bass line following, and the guitar sitting lightly on top. Fraś’s vocals drone ritualistically, while portentous whispers accent the space behind her. Right as the track is about to reach the minute mark, it opens up and pummels the listener: the guitar turns heavy and distorted, accompanied by now-crashing drums and a thick bass you can feel in your chest, with Fraś letting out her first set of magnificent screams in a tone reminiscent of Sound of Perseverance-era Chuck. But before the intensity grows overbearing, the band dials it down and delivers an excellent instrumental bridge, flexing a keen sense of timing and showcasing Emovere’s melodic side. 

This measured ebb and flow between different atmospheres and dynamics is a defining characteristic of the record. The tracks unfold patiently but contain a wealth of instrumental nuance and never approach monotonous. “Scarcity Hunter” ultimately concludes with a long, Tool-inspired passage that builds deliberately behind Fraś’s elegant voice until it reaches a roaring, chill-inducing climax—one of Emovere’s musical and emotional high points. Another lengthy build into a climactic outro finishes the album in “Nethergrove,” but it doesn’t ring repetitious, thanks to fresh instrumentation and a dynamic vocal performance. “Nethergrove” is perhaps Emovere’s highlight: a thirteen-minute slow burner that meanders among harmonic peaks and depths before resolving in the album’s heaviest moment. 

Providing balance between the record’s bookends is “As I Stood Upon the Shore,” the shortest and most straightforward cut of the three. Its structure somewhat resembles a more accessible verse-chorus approach while still allowing space for textural shifts and changes in tone. “As I Stood Upon the Shore” is a welcome, enjoyable listen in its own right, and more importantly it exemplifies the compositional balance Obscure Sphinx achieves in Emovere—not only within each track but also in the flow of the work as a whole. 

The interplay between Fraś and the music surrounding her, enhanced by dense but pristine production, is aural velvet. When the record’s thirty minutes conclude, it’s challenging not to return to the beginning for another pass. Emovere’s primary drawback is that it’s an EP—if it ran for another twenty minutes at a similar quality, it would stand as a formidable album-of-the-year contender not a week into January. Nonetheless, Emovere commands mindful relistens, providing plenty to explore until Obscure Sphinx submerges us in its next sonic journey.

Recommended tracks: All three
You may also like: Blindead / Blindead23, Múr, E-L-R, Cavernlight
Final verdict: 8.5/10

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

Label: Independent

Obscure Sphinx is:
– Michał “Blady” Rejman (bass)
– Mateusz “Werbel” Badacz (drums)
– Zofia “Wielebna” Fraś (vocals)
– Aleksander “Olo” Łukomski (guitars)

The post Review: Obscure Sphinx – Emovere appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: symphonic deathcore, technical death metal (harsh vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Lorna Shore, Worm Shephard, Shadow of Intent
Country: Minnesota, United States
Release date: 3 May 2024

After Worm Shephard’s The Sleeping Sun was released in 2023 I truly thought that the genre of symphonic deathcore had found its crown jewel. Sure, Lorna Shore’s Pain Remains from the year prior gleamed brightly, but The Sleeping Sun delivered in spades the level of heaviness, grandeur, and bombast that the genre had been building towards for years. Like most deathcore releases, I eventually grew tired of The Sleeping Sun after a few months; perhaps I simply spun it too much, or perhaps, as I would come to learn, The Sleeping Sun was not the best symphonic deathcore had on offer. Enter genre greenhorns Synestia & Disembodied Tyrant.

Each with their own back catalogues of singles and full releases, the two man Synestia and one man Disembodied Tyrant each had pieces of the puzzle that eventually became the collaborative EP The Poetic Edda. Combining the symphonic bent of Synestia’s previous work with the sheer brutality and clever production skills of Disembodied Tyrant created a product so addictive that the DEA may as well list it as a schedule I substance. Across its four tracks, The Poetic Edda delivers pure unadulterated deathcore fun.

The EP begins with “Death Empress,” a stellar opening that clears the path for all to follow with its crystalline symphonic production and absolutely face-melting lead guitar tone. The track weaves its way through all the stylings of modern deathcore with ease and eventually climaxes with what very well may be the best breakdown of the year thanks to its clever use of synthesized symphonic elements and other various production trickery. Yes, the string sections and choral elements are synthesized—this is an underground deathcore band we’re talking about—but at no point did I feel that the synthesized elements detracted from the final product. If anything, it opened the release up to more creative expression as it was no longer limited by physical possibility.

“I, The Devourer” scales much of the same terrain as its predecessor, taking the listener through barked verses, symphonic segues, and catchy buildups. It also features one of my favorite moments from the EP where, at its halfway point, the track breaks into a metalcore-tinged riff that propels the song straight into the solo, another track highlight. Employing a style somewhere between that of Rings of Saturn and Lorna Shore, the leadwork in combination with the machine gun fire riffage beneath it combine to create something that could only be a product of the modern music age: utterly pristine and shimmering, yet addictive and just plain fun to listen to. 

The EP’s title track sounds a lot like the previous two tracks, and it is usually here in my listen-throughs where the release’s few flaws start to show. Like a lot of deathcore, The Poetic Edda only has a few truly solid ideas and it kinda beats them to death. Yes, each breakdown rips, but you can only listen to so many rhythmic escapades that sound as though they were composed via a series of elaborate dice rolls before things start to get a little tiresome. Yes, the lead guitar and violin sound amazing in unison, but you can’t do the same thing in back to back tracks, especially on a four track EP with so little time to deliver your point.

Thankfully, The Poetic Edda shakes off the dust with its final track, a reimagining of Vivaldi’s “Winter.” When I see The Poetic Edda referenced online, this track almost always gets the first mention and rightfully so. Even though you’ve heard all these melodies before (even if you don’t think you have, trust me), Synestia & Disembodied Tyrant are able to revitalize them with blast beats, breakdowns, and brutal barking vocals; the whole thing is just plain fun. The cover is so good in fact, that I hope both bands will be able to top it with later releases; we all know what happened to Alien Ant Farm. Thankfully, Disembodied Tyrant has already released the equally high quality The Tower: Part One which sees the one man band once again shedding the symphonicism for raw aggression, and I’m sure Synestia isn’t far behind with another release of their own. Regardless of the paths these bands take in the future, I just hope that they collaborate again because The Poetic Edda is too good to happen just once. It seems that symphonic deathcore has found its crown jewel, for now.

Recommended tracks: Death Empress, Winter
You may also like: Dragoncorpse, Vermilion Dawn
Final verdict: 8.5/10

Related links: Bandcamp: Synestia, Disembodied Tyrant | Spotify: Synestia, Disembodied Tyrant | Facebook: Synestia, Disembodied Tyrant | Instagram: Synestia, Disembodied Tyrant | Metal-Archives page: Synestia

Label: Independent

Synestia is:
– Sam Melchior (guitars, orchestrations)
– Ville Hokkanen (vocals)
Disembodied Tyrant is:
– Blake Mullens (vocals, guitars, orchestrations)
– Rene Gerbrandy (drums)

The post Missed Album Review: Synestia & Disembodied Tyrant – The Poetic Edda appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

No artist credited (let us know!)

Style: Power metal, progressive metal (clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Angra, Symphony X, (Luca Turilli/Lione’s) Rhapsody (Of Fire)
Country: Italy
Release date: 24 January 2025

If you happen to be in Tuscany, for all its cultural delights, between the yearly Battle of the Bridge event in Pisa, lampredotto panini by the duomo in Florence, and the bottomless glasses of Brunello and Montepulciano in its many hillside vineyards, I urge you to take a moment and revel in your surroundings. If you listen carefully, there, echoing from the rolling marble hills of the Apuan Alps, you can hear the faint sounds of power metal as Massa’s Labÿrinth gears up to release their 10th album In The Vanishing Echoes of Goodbye. A high-octane output of progressive, melodic power metal, this no-holds-barred release contains all of the hallmarks of what made this band a staple of the Italian metal scene: virtuosic riffing, high-altitude soaring vocal acrobatics, and machine-gun drumming packaged in creative arrangements and intelligent songwriting. 

The album opens on “Welcome Twilight”, which comes to life with a doomy, heavy riff and floor tom groove, modulating into a gallop where a labyrinthine keyboard/guitar arpeggio twists and turns above. Settling into a double-time feel, guitar maestro Olaf Thörsen’s high-speed precision picking then sets the backdrop for Roberto Tiranti’s expressive vocals. The epic chorus kicks in with dramatic Latin chanting and a memorable hook while the rhythm section keeps a breakneck pace. I have to imagine that seeing these guys live with the strobe lights going while drummer Matt Peruzzi employs his rapid-fire kick bursts would send anyone into an epileptic fit. The guy keeps a pace that would make Aquiles Priester (Edu Falaschi) sweat. 

There’s a technicality here typical of the genre, but In the Vanishing Echoes of Goodbye also showcases more of a heavier side of Labÿrinth with “Heading To Nowhere”, a track that features some clear thrash influence and a riff that wouldn’t feel amiss on an Annihilator disc, and “Accept The Changes” which begins with a minor-key lick and a dark, broody symphonic metal element – but also some decidedly 80s AOR sensibilities with “Out Of Place” and “The Right Side Of This World”: anthemic sing-along choruses and Bon Jovi-esque synth stabs aplenty. “The Healing” presents one of the album’s two power ballads, and it’s brilliantly produced, exhibiting emotional acoustic guitar with excellent cymbal work atop, a hard-hitting sorrowful chorus and tasteful fadeout. The second one, “To The Son I Never Had” is an evocative narrative piece of life advice from a man to his ostensibly hypothetical son; it’s well executed and a more mellow, sentimental, zippo-lighters-swaying-in-the-air type of ballad with only a slight deviation into a hard rocking interlude about 2/3rds of the way through for an inspirational guitar solo. 

The production on this album is massive. Each snare hit resonates through your cranial cavity as the kick drums send mighty pressure waves through your chest. The track listing is purposeful and most songs stand out with increasingly catchy refrains and the oft-featured instantly appealing twin-guitar melodies in true Iron Maiden fashion. The lyrical work is often introspective but sometimes turns outwards to society at large; however, the band struggles to find a way to address it in a manner that avoids coming off as trite. Labÿrinth stated that the record was inspired by the worldwide political turmoil brought about in the wake of the recent pandemic. This latter element is addressed haphazardly in the track “Mass Distraction” where a verse about misinformation includes the line “I recognize bullshit from a thousand miles away” – and “Inhuman Race”, where a clumsily-added, newsroom voiceover about an American “specialized combat vehicle” supplied to Ukraine and captured by Russia during the ongoing war, remarks on its potential consequences over tinkly piano and saccharine falsetto vocalization. It was such a jarring inclusion that I couldn’t help but burst into laughter. It doesn’t match the tone of the track, let alone the album. And it’s such a hamfisted way of bringing up geopolitics on an album that has mostly been about individual passion and personal life experience. But I digress.

Labÿrinth are masters of their art, no doubt about that, and the consummate musicianship of every member is on full display. The compositions are fun and varied, and feature lots of different influences from RATT to Queensrÿche and in between. The self-styled pioneers of Italian prog-power have little and less to apologize for on this release. Far be it from me to tell an artist to keep their noses out of geopolitics or epistemology, but I think there are ways to approach these subjects without falling into the classic pitfalls of banal metaphors or smacking the audience on the head with the point you’re trying to make. Then again, media literacy is becoming scarcer by the day. In The Vanishing Echoes Of Goodbye is an unrelenting and uncompromising release jam-packed with anthemic choruses and hair-raising guitar leads, proving once again why Labÿrinth are principal players in Tuscany, and in the Italian metal scene at large.

Recommended tracks: Welcome Twilight, Heading for Nowhere, The Right Side of This World
You may also like: Vision Divine, DGM, Michele Luppi’s Los Angeles
Final verdict: 8.5/10

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

Label: Frontiers Records – | Facebook | Official Website

Labÿrinth is:
– Roberto Tiranti (vocals)
– Olaf Thörsen (guitars)
– Andrea Cantarelli (guitars)
– Nick Mazzucconi (bass)
– Matt Peruzzi (drums)
– Oleg Smirnoff (keyboards)

The post Review: Labÿrinth – In the Vanishing Echoes of Goodbye appeared first on The Progressive Subway.