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: raw black metal, post-black metal, Son Cubano (mixed vocals, mostly harsh vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Sadness, Buena Vista Social Club, Willie Colón, Violet Cold
Country: Chile
Release date: 11 July 2025

One of my favorite aspects of metal is how well it can syncretize with any other genre¹. In my last couple reviews, I’ve done a bit of stylistic globetrotting for the blog, covering death metal mixed with Andalusian flamenco and heavy metal centered around traditional Byzantine chant. Today’s record of focus, To Escape’s debut I Wish to Escape, presents a new fusion: black metal and Son Cubano (Cuban sound). Interestingly, many Cubans no longer see the traditional form of Son Cubano (a blend of African and Spanish styles) as particularly relevant², as the genre has now assimilated into a broader range of Latin styles—mambo, bolero, salsa, timba, etc—to form the real “Cuban sound” of today. But both traditional Son and its modern derivatives utilize guitar, trumpet, and various forms of African and Latin percussion to form the instrumental basis for the style, and so the conversion to metal isn’t as far fetched as it may seem on the surface; however, converting raw post-black metal into Son is still no small task. Is one man band To Escape able to do that and become the next outstanding and innovative fusion act?

Well, no, and I think I Wish to Escape is entirely a false promise. Beyond too-quiet implementations of Latin percussion—snaps, bells, maracas, shakers, and güiro—mixed into the blast beats, as well as lovely acoustic Spanish guitar intro and outro tracks, nothing feels particularly Cuban about the sounds of the record. In the folk’s stead, we have a melodically focused raw black metal album with an upbeat twist. Relatively happy and nostalgic melodies are what David Sepulveda excels at, and unlike 99.9% of his contemporaries, the bass shares the leads equally with the guitars, the former featuring a shockingly round and full tone against the rawness of the rest of the record. From the outset of “Art of Their Misery,” addictively saccharine melodies with guitar and bass harmonies bleed through the speakers, and you’ll have riffs like the main ones in “Art of Their Misery” and “Desert in My Eyes, in Your Eyes I See” in your head for days…

… because of how repetitive they are. Sure, Sepulveda comes up with addictive leads and genuinely catchy melodies—despite some really unpleasant guitar tones (e.g. at the start of “Those Who Don’t Know”)—but he has a tendency to ride a single riff for ages. You’d expect a self-proclaimed post-black metal band to work with buildups more. I do appreciate when he throws more aggressive trem-picking into the writing to up the ante, as on “Desert in My Eyes, in Your Eyes I See,” but he plays around with slower tempos more often much to my chagrin. How To Escape plays around with form and structure more is in the percussion, where Sepulveda runs through blast beats and Latin dance rhythms with equal ease like a less-refined Caio Lemos of Kaatayra. Unfortunately, this is raw black metal, and the more interesting percussion gets lost in the characteristically fuzzy mix of the style. For example, you can pick out the bells underpinning the latter half of “Art of Their Misery” or the maracas near the start of “Path of Your Destiny.” I Wish to Escape is frustratingly unsuccessful at implementing its own gimmick.

Whether intentional or not, the record can also be a painful listen apart from the brighter leads and bass. Despite all the engaging and challenging drumming, many moments sound like Lars Ulrich on a black metal record (“Desert in My Eyes, in Your Eyes I See,” “Path of Your Destiny”). The guitars can seem drunkenly out of tune during solos (“There Is No End,” “The Infinite Chain.” The latter also has painfully amateur, emo clean vocals). Finally, Sepulveda’s harsh vocals. They’re a love em or hate em deal, on the visceral end of the black metal spectrum with a bit of a screamo quality. They’re certainly emotive—and he gets some entertainingly inhuman frog sounds out in “The Infinite Chain” and “That Unbreakable Chain”—but they don’t work well with the melodic quality of the music. 

I was extremely excited to hear Son Cubano in a black metal record, and now I feel like an unwary fish lured by an angler. My streak of compelling genre mixtures has come to a close. If you’re a huge fan of old Sadness, Trhä, and other rawer post-black bands, To Escape will prove a worthwhile listen with strong hooks and mostly creative drumming, but don’t go into it expecting anything unique.

Recommended tracks: The Beginning of the End, Art of Their Misery, There Is No End
You may also like: Trhä, Life, Kaatayra, Cicada the Burrower, Old Nick
Final verdict: 5/10

Related links: Bandcamp

Label: independent

To Escape is:
– All instrumentation, vocals, and lyrics by David Sepulveda
With guests:
– Additional percussion arrangement and production by Garry Brents

1. I’m still waiting for a tango nuevo + prog metal fusion, but at least we have Rodolfo Mederos’ lovely De Todas Maneras mixing prog rock and tango nuevo in the meantime. But I dare a prog metal fan to listen to Astor Piazzola’s masterpiece Tango: Zero Hour and tell me that mixing it with metal wouldn’t work amazingly. ︎
2. For a legendary piece of a modern take on the traditional sound, Buena Vista Social Club’s 1997 album is essential listening. ︎

The post Review: To Escape – I Wish to Escape appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Style: 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, post-rock, post-black metal (harsh vocals, German lyrics)
Recommended for fans of: Harakiri for the Sky, Ellende, Svalbard, Alcest
Country: Austria
Release date: 18 April 2025

I’m a big Harakiri for the Sky fan, but even as an apologist I’ll admit their last four albums have been virtually the same. Without a drastic change in sound, it’s hard to imagine how they’ll grow their current audience—and honestly, that’s fine. The formula works for me, and if that’s all they continue to do, I’ll keep showing up. After releasing Scorched Earth earlier this year and touring North America to support it (I’m currently wearing the shirt I got at their stop in Salt Lake City), I didn’t expect a new album from Karg—another post act fronted by Harakiri’s Michael Kogler (aka J.J.). The two bands are currently touring together in Europe, so Kogler is pulling double duty at each stop. The man is a machine.

Though Karg became a fully staffed band in 2014, it began as Kogler’s one-man melodic black metal project in 2006, releasing debut Von den Winden der Sehnsucht in 2008. With each release, the grip on a core black metal sound loosened, as Karg began monkey-branching toward post-metal—and on Marodeur, their tenth full-length, they might just be reaching for a post-rock branch. That’s not to say the black metal roots are gone; Marodeur still offers plenty of double-kick intensity and fiery tremolo-picked passages. The monkey’s tail, so to speak, is still gripping that particular vine for balance. But post-rock has taken firm hold—clean intros frequently give way to distorted walls of sound, vibes and feels from violins and pianos texture the soundscape with a heavy sorrow, and when repetitions occur, they are done with some variation.

My favorite track on Marodeur is undoubtedly the opener, “Schnee ist das Blut der Geister,” beginning with a spacious ambient gaze, soon joined by a delicate guitar motif that floats just above the mix. As low, distorted power chords and bass-heavy drums crash in, the soft lead line continues threading through the noise, underscored by Kogler’s raw, anguished shouts. A bridge follows, almost nu-metal in its stripped-down power chord structure, and it’s punctuated by flashes of natural harmonics. From there, the song returns to the main motif—now reimagined in a higher octave, inverted, and layered with distortion—before it folds into a lower register and variation while the clean lead line rejoins. The track closes with a gentle dolce piano outro, softly setting down the weight of all the emotion that came befo–… Wait a minute. Doesn’t that description sound vaguely familiar?

For all the introspection and atmosphere Marodeur conjures, I kept circling back to one distracting and unavoidable thought: this sounds so much like Harakiri for the Sky. Kogler’s signature, angst-drenched caterwaul, emotional melodies charged by arpeggiated guitar passages, all pushed along by an intense rhythm section—it’s all here. Which raises the question: Why does this album exist separately at all? If the soundscape, voice, and even the emotional register are nearly identical, what is Marodeur really trying to say that hasn’t already been screamed into the void?

After several playthroughs of Marodeur, I’ve started to think the question isn’t what this album is trying to say, but why it needs to say it. Maybe it’s not about novelty, but necessity. Kogler is still processing the same emotional terrain, but with a different cast of collaborators. Beyond the full Karg lineup, the album features guests like Firtan’s Klara Bachmair, whose mournful violin appears on half the tracks. Svntarer’s Marko Kolac and Perchta’s Julia-Christin Casdorf also lend subtle vocal contributions to “Kimm” and “Schnee ist das Blut der Geister,” respectively. These voices and textures don’t rewrite the book, but they do help shape its sonic prose a bit differently.

With each listen, the Harakiri déjà vu still lingers—but so do new details that draw me in. The post-rock and alternative elements become more pronounced on repeat spins. “Anemoia” opens with a drum-and-bass groove and high, strummed guitar chords that wouldn’t sound out of place on an early ‘00s alt-rock tune. “Reminiszenzen einer Jugend” is similar to the opener’s dynamic arc, slipping from a quiet bridge into chunky, drop-tuned riffs that pass through nu-metal territory. And “Kimm” features a screechy lead guitar in the opening verse that feels almost like a heavy, mournful echo of Catherine Wheel or Failure. Marodeur rewards revisiting—not because it transforms, but because its layers slowly reveal themselves.

In yet another way that mirrors Harakiri for the Sky (I promise I will commit harakiri for myself if I make this comparison again), Marodeur occasionally stretches its songs beyond what their ideas, hooks, and variety (or lack thereof) can sustain. Even though I enjoy each track, I can’t escape the feeling that the longer ones could say the same things in less time. “Annapurna” delivers all its emotional weight in five minutes, so eight and a half feels bloated. The same goes for “Yūgen,” and even the opener “Schnee ist das Blut der Geister”—my favorite track. The emotional core here is powerful, but sometimes the songs linger long after they’ve made their point.

Marodeur redefines Karg in some minor ways compared to their recent releases, but it doesn’t carve out a wholly distinct identity from Harakiri for the Sky. Yet it doesn’t feel redundant either. The album aches with sincerity, draws from a wider musical palette than it first appears, and—despite its length and familiar voice—keeps pulling me back in. Maybe that’s the point. Maybe Marodeur isn’t about saying something new, but about the need to keep saying it.

Recommended tracks: ”Schnee ist das Blut der Geister,” “Reminiszenzen einer Jugend,” “Anemoia,” “Verbrannte Brücken”
You may also like: Zéro Absolu, Avast, Artificial Solitude
Final verdict: 6.5/10

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

Label: AOP Records – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Karg is:
Michael J.J. Kogler – Vocals
Paul Färber – Drums
Daniel Lang – Guitars
Georg Traschwandtner – Guitars
Christopher Pucher – Guitars

With guests:
Klara Bachmair  – Violin
Julia-Christin Casdorf (Perchta) – Guest Vocals on “Schnee ist das Blut der Geister”
Marko Kolac – Guest Vocals on “Kimm”
Michael Eder – Piano on “Schnee ist das Blut der Geister”

The post Review: Karg – Marodeur appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Artwork by Nick Steinhardt

Style: blackgaze (mixed vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Lantlôs, Møl, Sadness, Harakiri for the Sky
Country: US-CA
Release date: 28 March 2025

Whether you’re a black-metal purist, a blackgaze-hipster, or simply a fan of innovation in music, you’ve probably run into the story of Deafheaven at some point—the story of how they released an album with a pink cover filled to the brim with pretty melodies while also being undoubtedly rooted in black metal. I am, of course, talking about their 2013 album Sunbather, a black metal opus flavored with indie rock and screamo inspiration that also spawned some of the most toxic arguments in every music forum of the time. Just have a look at the reviews for the album on Metallum and you’ll find no middle point between 0s and 100s. Some took this new idea with open arms and celebrated it to no end, while more purist fans of the genre flat out rejected it as not kvlt, an embarrassment to metal. 

Where did I lie in this whole mess? Well, I got into metal in 2017, so I showed up to this war like Troy Barnes arriving with pizzas into a burning apartment. The comment warfare in random Loudwire videos addressing Sunbather certainly made me curious, and I approached it with an open mind. Not to my surprise, the purists were wrong, and I experienced one of the coolest releases of the decade whilst not paying attention in biology class. Deafheaven really knew how to deliver chaos with a hopeful tone. The lyrics were interesting, the structure of the album was impeccable, and every song left you feeling like you had just experienced an epic journey where you found hope in the darkest of times. Despite exploring territories both gritty and dreamy in subsequent works, Deafheaven never seemed to reach the level of critical acclaim born from that one pomegranate pink album. Not until this year, at least, as Deafheaven’s latest release, Lonely People with Power, has generated an equally fervent discourse in the music sphere. Bear with me as I try to explain why this LP has put our blackgaze buddies back on top of the music critic websites.

For starters, the sound of Lonely People with Power is… harsh. Even the heaviest tracks on previous LPs don’t compare to ‘’Doberman’’ or ‘’Magnolia’’; these songs have minimal blackgaze undertones and are simple black-metal bangers through and through. Everything is spot on here, be it the creative and energetic drum compositions from Daniel Tracy, providing a big sense of urgency and franticness, or Kerry Mckoy’s intricate guitar work that always manages to keep things interesting with a mixture of furious tremolo picking and agonizingly relentless melodies. Even when the lighter, dreamier moments of previous albums come, they usually function as huge climaxes after minutes of unrelenting tension. 

The entirety of Lonely People with Power feels like a short film of sorts, and these climaxes have a near-cinematic feel of experiencing a turning point in the story that keeps you on your toes, awaiting the next twist that is about to arise. Further exhibiting this cinematic vibe, Lonely People flows seamlessly whilst also utilizing breaks, silences or interludes before any larger shifts in sound. The ‘’Incidental’’ tracks all but confirm a three-act structure with how well they set up introduction, confrontation, and resolution. A particular highlight is “Incidental II”, in which a quiet, somber interlude is interrupted by a barrage of industrial sounds, expressing a sense of distress within the album’s story. This major tension setter effectively prepares the listener for the strongest point of the album—the tracks ‘’Revelator’’ and ‘’Body Behaviour’’. The former has a riff that will stick in your brain upon first listen and nag you until you hit replay, along with a melody that expresses panic and distress, which follows along the lyrics of self-loathing and irreparable ego and builds upon the previous track’s distressing atmosphere. On the other hand, ‘’Body Behaviour’’ leans as close as ever to their sound from Ordinary Corrupt Human Love, particularly its chorus that fuses dream pop and black metal. 

All the while, George Clarke delivers the best vocals of his career. Whether taking the lead or acting as a rhythmic addition to the chaos, each lyric is delivered with passion and anger, further raising the album’s already unbelievable intensity. Take, for example, the track “Amethyst”, where two minutes of spoken word build up allow for him to make a huge, dramatic entrance. Clarke sounds like an anguished man who’s desperate to stay alive, and the lyrics match, putting you in the shoes of a salvaged being who will not stop searching for a “glow”. Following its title, the album portrays people whose hunger for power consumes them to the point of being unable to form meaningful relationships or find a higher purpose in life. These people then try to find meaning and connect with others through morally dubious means—the exemplary “Body Behaviour” for instance explores two powerful men attempting to bond over the sexualization of women.

The only flaw I can pinpoint is that the album takes a bit to get going, with the first fifteen minutes or so missing the highlights of later tracks. But this slower start lends an even bigger punch to Lonely People’s middle and ending parts, making what follows all the more impactful. The whole album functions as one big blackgaze track in that sense, with the first half building unrelenting tension and the second finally releasing it all in incredible catharsis. And boy is it a payoff, for its second half is perfection. The penultimate track ‘’Winona’’ brings the listener an extreme amount of catharsis with what is arguably the album’s best climax. The track’s build-up thrives in its simplicity, scaling things back mid-song to a beautiful acoustic guitar melody before exploding with distortion and tremolo picking, unleashing a barrage of emotions while re-working that same melody. The climax itself is vintage Deafheaven—major-key melodies with black metal shrieks that make you feel like gravity no longer exists and you can finally float away into heaven. And if that wasn’t enough, closing track ‘’The Marvelous Orange Tree’’ delivers a slower, yet equally epic and heavenly atmosphere with dream-pop vocals and a blackened but mellowed out sound.

Twelve years ago, Deafheaven caused a rampage in the metal community with the controversial Sunbather. After the dust settled, a general consensus formed: Sunbather is a modern classic. And yet, Deafheaven refused to recycle their formula, opting to always offer something new with their releases. The fruits of innovation grew for over a decade and brought us yet another masterpiece in Lonely People With Power.

Recommended tracks: Revelator, Winona
You may also like: Skagos, Together to the Stars, Asunojokei, Constellatia, Violet Cold
Final verdict: 9/10

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

Label: Roadrunner Records – Facebook

Deafheaven is:
– George Clarke (vocals)
– Kerry McCoy (guitars)
– Chris Johnson (bass)
– Daniel Tracy (drums)
– Shiv Mehra (guitars, keyboards)

The post Review: Deafheaven – Lonely People with Power appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Post-black metal, deathcore, progressive metal (mixed vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Alcest, Astronoid, Cattle Decapitation
Country: Australia
Release date: 04 April 2025

I sometimes wonder what life would be like if I were born in the pre-Internet age. Well, technically I was, but my teenage years coincided with the proliferation of broadband connections into practically every home in the developed world, including mine. Combined with my burgeoning love of metal music, high-speed Internet opened up doors of musical exploration which a non-online version of myself couldn’t have accessed. I remember when (the now entirely defunct) MP3.com was a legal music sharing and discovery site, the day Napster came online, and the first YouTube video—all before I turned twenty. These tools, combined with browsing forums and record label websites, exposed me to various metal subgenres. Today, I use the likes of Bandcamp and Spotify, but the spirit of exploration remains.

Which brings me to Illyria—a band recommended to me by a forum user (shoutout to Keyser) several years ago that has found a consistent place in my rotation ever since. Would offline me ever have discovered a small, progressive post-black metal act from Australia? Probably not. The Subway itself has yet to find space to cover them, and obscure prog acts are our bread and butter.

Considering that fact, a brief overview of their discography is in order: though rooted in a post-black metal sound that they carved out on their 2016 self-titled debut, each subsequent Illyria release finds new ways to break from that mold. The Carpathian Summit (2019) reaches into progressive rock and metal territory, weaving in intricate compositions and varying styles to complement the emotive black metal core. By contrast, Take Me Somewhere Beautiful (2022) dials back the post-black intensity, making space for raw punk energy and screamo-anthem catharsis. Then there is last year’s Wanderlust, a relentless yet melodic storm where searing extreme metal collides with shoegazey introspection. Illyria are always stretching, but never remove their footing entirely from their post-black base.

With The Walk of Atonement, their latest release and first EP, Illyria doesn’t stray too far from its predecessor sonically. And why should they? For my money, Wanderlust is their crowning achievement, and we’re not even a year removed from its release. This extended player feels like, well, an extension of Wanderlust—retaining the heavy death metal bits, a dose of stank-face groove, and the lost-in-thought soft moments, albeit enlarged to a single twenty-three-minute composition. Yet, it is also different. An unsettling eeriness permeates the soundscape throughout. Atonement is taking us back to the Dark Ages, and not just the pre-Internet kind: we’re going medieval, man.

Frontman Ilija Stajić says that this release “is an homage to an experience I had in a fictional world that I was totally immersed in. It is evident throughout our discography that I enjoy writing about video games that I play. The Crusader Kings and Mount & Blade series with its truly amazing modding community had me entranced when composing this EP.” The lyrics, title, and album art certainly evoke the time period and geographic setting of those games: public trial, judgement and punishment, revenge and personal justice—all wrapped in religious undertones.

Like the strict and unforgiving traditions of medieval societies, prog fans have fairly exacting and sometimes contradictory standards. We like recurring themes, but not repetition; the vice of adhering to genre hallmarks tempered by the virtue of musical originality; variety and variance, but also cohesion and congruence. The Walk of Atonement understands this delicate balancing act, and through a plethora of melodic and stylistic choices largely avoids wavering on the high wire. A walking, trudging melodic motif appears throughout the EP in different contexts that ties its handful of sections and moments, and thus the release as a whole, together. The vocals utilize an array of styles—black metal rasps, death metal gutturals, that weird cool scrungy thing that Cattle Decapitation’s Travis Ryan does, as well as cleans that range from melodious whispers to bombastic refrains. Similarly diverse, the guitars would find a home in the aforementioned extreme metal genres in various moments, while the drums fill in with some blast beat bliss and double bass intensity where appropriate. In the background, moody strings, synths, and intricate piano accompaniment provide a hefty amount of color and atmosphere to the aural landscape. Atonement is mostly a metal EP, for sure, but it efficiently and effectively caters to my prog fancies (re: variety) in its tight timeframe.

At the outset of this piece, the lyrics ask the gathered mass to cast stones in judgment. I’m happy to oblige in this regard, but looking at the scattered options on the ground, I’m not really finding any rocks big enough to cause any serious damage. There are a few pointy pebbles, though. I lift one and heave it. The transition into the bridge is way too abrupt and stilted. Another. And that bridge itself lingers too long on a slow and repetitive melody. One last tiny, but smooth stone for good measure. I don’t know how effective the angsty vocal timbre in the intro is. I’ll let other hecklers in the crowd try to bloody up our martyr, as these criticisms are all that I have in me.

Predicting Illyria’s next move has never been easy—each release reshapes expectations set by its predecessor. So, even though a lot of the Wanderlust influences are here, The Walk of Atonement is a neat little aside in their work that could be only that—or it could be a show of strength for lengthier, proggier things to come. I’ll be listening either way.

Recommended tracks: It’s one composition, so listen to the whole thing!
You may also like: Serein, Subterranean Lava Dragon, Together to the Stars
Final verdict: 7.5/10

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

Label: Self release

Illyria is:
– Ilija Stajić (vocals, guitar)
– Andre Avila (rhythm guitar)
– Harry Prosser (lead guitar)
– Jeffrey Anderson (bass)
– Cam Stone-Griffin (percussion)

The post Review: Illyria – The Walk of Atonement appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Artwork by Noirs Dessins

Style: post-black metal (mixed vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Alcest, Deafheaven, An Autumn for Crippled Children, Violet Cold
Country: Canada
Release date: 08 February 2025

It really is strange to write reviews in this blog about bands like Unreqvited. They definitely have enough of a fan base that you’d think anyone into the band’s genre would know about them, but they’re also tiny in comparison to prog/black metal giants that need no introduction here. How do you begin this? Do I have to give you the whole explanation as to what they do and what they’re good at? Do I just jump to talking about the main changes to their sound and reviewing the meat of the album? I believe the name must at least ring a bell if you enjoy post-black and have ever actively searched for more bands past the Alcest/Deafheaven duo. But, for the uninitiated…

Unreqvited have been a mainstay in the post-black metal scene for the better part of a decade now. Known for their ability to create larger than life soundscapes that capture a simultaneous co-existence between beauty and agony, their instrumental approach to the genre has always had them leaning closer to the post in post-black. They’ve been incredibly prolific as well, with nine LPs in nine years, all having something that differentiated them from one another. Whether it’s the cinematic approach on Mosaic I, the orchestral elements in Empathica, or the more blackgaze-y influenced sound in Beautiful Ghosts, you know that when they release a new album, you’re bound to hear some changes in their sound. A Pathway to the Moon was released after the longest break between albums in the band’s existence, and it offers perhaps the band’s biggest change yet: Vocals! 

The impact of this change is felt immediately in the first minutes of Pathway; Instead of what would normally be a slow, dramatic instrumental build-up to set the scene, a minimal backing track supports the heavenly voice of William Melsness, who takes centre stage to create a heavenly atmosphere in a short overture. After the serene, ethereal opening, “The Antimatter’’ shatters that tranquility pulling the listener into a stark, near void-like soundscape. This trope really is about as post-black 101 as it gets, but the sharp contrast between both styles is something that wasn’t usually present in Unreqvited’s previous releases. Whereas previous works would see both the styles of black metal and post-rock co-existing, “The Antimatter’’ has these completely different ideas actively fighting each other. The first black metal chops leave a big impression on the listener; they come right out of the gate by displaying a sound so theatrical and dramatic that it may just get confused for a Xanthochroid song. Orchestral touches are spread all around the album in general, and they really add an extra layer of freshness to this release’s heaviest moments. Oh right, the tracks now have vocals, and I am a big fan of the harshes present as well! They are way grimmer than what I’ve come to expect in post-black metal, and their presence really adds to Pathway’s void-like soundscapes. 

I sadly have less positive things to say about the clean vocals. They’re serviceable by all means but fail to deliver that final kick to release all the tension that was built up during the harsher sections. Cleans in this genre can bring a lot of dynamism to the table, but here they’re mostly flat choruses with little to no memorable melodies. These cleans also expose one of my pet peeves with this album; its production. Whilst there’s nothing that sounds bad, it is simply far too clean and generic. I am far from a black metal purist, but previous Unreqvited releases had found that perfect middle point between clean instrumentals while also having a bit of rawness to it, especially to enhance the moments of absolute tension. And this flaw in its production is most obvious when the clean vocals are meant to express any type of strong emotion and fail to deliver. I will however admit that this production style fits Pathway’s lead single “The Starforger” quite well. A poppy, heavenly song with very serviceable choruses which leave a lasting memorable impression; it certainly works far better in a polished atmosphere where the clean vocals can deliver a catchy melody on top of very simple moody guitar licks. 

I know most of my feedback has been about the first half of this album and the reason is because the second half really doesn’t have a lot of noteworthy things to mention. The two distinct styles initially settle for a pleasant middle point in “Void Essence / Frozen Tears”, with the clean sections being especially memorable. However, the production still takes something away from the harsher melodies, and the track starts a very slow approach towards ending this journey. Whilst never getting close to being bad, the dipping point in the final three songs is felt, as every time I finished this album I was left with very little to say about this closing trio. One repeats the typical post-black 101 formula we’ve mentioned, only far slower and incredibly focused on its pop aspect; one’s a one minute interlude; and to close things off we get a very slow, albeit sonically pleasant closing track. “Departure: Everlasting Dream” does thrive with beautiful orchestral elements that give the feeling of ending a difficult journey and seeing the light at the end of the tunnel, but it would’ve served the album better had it not felt like we were already out of that tunnel fifteen minutes ago. 

All in all, A Pathway to the Moon delivers a pretty listening experience that’s too front-heavy to really strike a chord with me. The addition of vocals is a success, but Unreqvited still need to learn how to structure an album around them, as the flow of A Pathway to the Moon leaves a bit to be desired.   

Recommended tracks: The Anitmatter, The Starforger
You may also like: Nishaiar, Skyforest, Mare Cognitum, Vestige
Final verdict: 6.5/10

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

Label: Prophecy Productions – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Unreqvited in question is:
– William Melsness (all instruments)

The post Review: Unreqvited – A Pathway to the Moon appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Post-black metal (harsh vocals)
Recommended for fans of: The Great Old Ones, Oranssi Pazuzu, Blut Aus Nord
Country: France
Release date: 14 February 2025

Sometimes, an album is undeniably massive. Whether in compositional scope, sound, conceptual ambition, or a combination of all three, a release will occasionally emerge that leaves you in a daze. Finishing the album feels like walking out of a dark movie theater on a bright day after watching an engrossing film—you’re suddenly transported back to reality before your brain can catch up. Wandering the shopping mall parking lot with a sense somewhere between wonder and disorientation, you drift toward your car and—oh, shit! It’s Valentine’s Day, and I forgot to grab my wife a card and some chocolates. I better head back…

Wilhelm, the February 14th release by post-black metal band Decline of the I, is one of those reality-warping albums. Admittedly, the effects of this dark, immersive work are especially stark as I write this review from sunny Southern California, genuinely surrounded by a view of palm trees and blue skies. But the point remains: Wilhelm is a vast, hefty record. For forty-five minutes, Decline of the I journeys through an expanse of bleak, blackened soundscapes and shifting dynamics, layering in bites of spoken philosophy and elements from an array of musical dimensions. To say Wilhelm is ambitious is to put it lightly, but ambition doesn’t count for much without execution. For the most part, the band reins in the album’s disparate pieces to deliver a dense, atmospheric experience that etches an early mark as one of 2025’s best.

Wilhelm holds no shortage of blast beats, tremolo riffing, or shrieks and howls; and it’s full of the patient builds and oscillations from calm to heavy that characterize post-metal. Opener “L’ Alliance Des Rats” rolls through all these conventions and gives an upfront taste of the album’s general sound, while also offering some of the distinctive ingredients used heavily later on—electronic percussion, monastic chants, ethereal choirs, bowed strings, and spoken word. The album’s quality is obvious from the first of its five tracks: the traditional black metal portions are straight infernal, and the slower, post-inspired sections are incredibly detailed and often lead to colossal payoffs. Meanwhile, the more eclectic features meaningfully enhance the atmosphere instead of sounding frivolous or gimmicky.

Sonic explorations abound, Decline of the I incorporates extended forays into dark trip-hop (most prominently in “Entwined Conundrum” and “Diapsalmata”) and bridges centered around layered choral singing (“L’ Alliance Des Rats”). Wilhelm’s tracks are further embellished by consistent violin and cello, ubiquitous choral harmonies and chants, and a few dissonant guitar leads—my favorite being the air-raid-siren tremolo that soars over the outro of “Éros N.” Even the spoken word passages and soundbites peppered throughout, which always run the risk of being trite, contribute to the album’s distinctive feel rather than cheapen it. Especially impressive is how the vocals, utilizing lower-register harshes and banshee-like screams, integrate amidst this all, knowing when to take the lead and when to provide backing texture. 

My initial focus on the record’s distinctive and experimental aspects shouldn’t be misinterpreted: the core band is also excellent. Decline of the I puts forward some of the more memorable guitar work I’ve heard in the genre lately, particularly the riff-fest that bursts out in the middle of ”Entwined Conundrum” and the melodic tremolos forming the base of “Éros N.” The slick drum performance is similarly outstanding, managing to form a backbone across wandering, unconventional compositions while supplying plenty of interesting rhythmic change-ups. These two instruments’ strong, steady presence helps support the album’s labyrinthine structure and bind together its many pieces. Being picky, I’d like a more audible and active bass, but despite its lack of stand-out moments, it provides just enough body to keep the album’s rich mix from sounding thin. 

Zooming out, Wilhelm’s grandiose compositions largely flow well. The slower, atmospheric movements are uniformly strong and meticulously crafted, and the band generally enters and exits them gracefully. But there are a few instances that feel as if Decline of the I wrote something worthy of including but couldn’t quite decide how to incorporate it: the trip-hop sections toward the beginning of “Entwined Conundrum” and “Diapsalmata,” for example, sound like standalone interludes; and the epic closing song, “The Renouncer,” feels like two or three separate tracks fused together. On the whole, though, Decline of the I executes its ambitious vision for Wilhelm with impressive cohesion, and the album plays as a captivating, complete work. 

Ultimately, Decline of the I delivers a record that compromises on neither the fierce blackened passages nor the detailed post-metal explorations, excelling handily at both. And the album’s several distinctive elements push it up a level—the listening experience is grand, dynamic, and plainly a lot of fun, sitting at just the right amount of excess. Although not a customary Valentine’s Day gift, Wilhelm swept me off my feet and carried me right into the bleak beyond

Recommended tracks: L’ Alliance Des Rats, Éros N
You may also like: The Ruins of Beverast, Panzerfaust, Inferno
Final verdict: 8/10

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

Label: Agonia Records – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Decline of the I is:
– A.K. (vocals, guitars, keyboards, programming)
– AD (bass, additional vocals)
– SK (drums)
– SI (vocals)

The post Review: Decline of the I – Wilhelm appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: atmospheric black metal, post-black metal (harsh vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Altar of Plagues, Blut Aus Nord, Wolves in the Throne Room
Country: France
Release date: 24 January 2025

Sometimes, you find an album with a concept you connect to deeply through music’s unmatched ability to convey a shared, familiar human experience. Other times, you find Kadath. 

Atmospheric black metallers The Great Old Ones’ latest LP journeys the listener through a soundscape influenced by H.P. Lovecraft’s novella The Dream-Quest of Unknown Kadath, a work about which I know nothing. My knowledge of Lovecraft’s universe is limited to the sporadic bits and pieces I’ve picked up subconsciously from the numerous other bands that draw upon his lore. So far, all I’ve put together is that there’s a giant, cosmic squid-like creature, or maybe several. But, no matter the inspiration or one’s familiarity with it, an hour-long record leaning heavily on the atmosphere it creates can be a captivating experience—or, perhaps more likely, it can be a tedious slog. Unsure of its literary underpinnings but excited nevertheless, I dive in to find out which way Kadath sways.¹

With an apparent urge to let you know the album’s title right away, the vocalist screams ‘Kadath!’ not fifteen seconds into the opening track, and a grim, guitar-driven surge follows. Evident immediately is the production, which, almost paradoxically, is thick and full while also being spacious, with plenty of room for each instrument to breathe. The result balances the spectral and the material: the sound’s smooth outer edges glisten evocatively and its heavy center pulses palpably. While the band’s more dissonant contemporaries (especially Blut Aus Nord) might look to suffocate the listener within the nightmares they create, The Great Old Ones leave space open to wander amongst Kadath’s horrors. Either approach, of course, can be done successfully, and the rich, darkened expanse created as soon as the needle drops bodes well for the rest of the album.

A striking atmosphere and production mean little if not filled with strong compositions, and on this Kadath also delivers. More than anything, the record is a glowing testament to the power of plain ol’ riffing: if you want to nod along to melodic mid-pacers, check “The Mouth of Madness”; if you’d rather risk damaging your neck, “Those from Ulthar” provides some heft; go ahead and bounce around to the groovy triplets and folkier flourishes found throughout “Me, the Dreamer”; or you could roll with the blackened tremolos in “Under the Sign of Koth”—the choice is yours. A lot of riffs can be stuffed into an hour of music, and The Great Old Ones make sure that each of theirs hits. Better still, melodic and atmospheric leads are often placed gracefully on top of the riffs below, further accentuating the album’s ‘spectral yet material’ aura. Another point for ‘captivating experience.’

Kadath isn’t just about the guitars: the drumming showcases rhythmic variety that keeps the compositions fresh while also offering plenty of its own character, and an active and audible bass slithers its way across all the tracks. If you check in on the rhythm section at any point in the album, one member (or both) is bound to be doing something interesting; neither spends much time simply going through the motions. Meanwhile, the vocalist’s coarse howls ring out in a style befitting (I imagine) of Lovecraftian horror, but the performance could be more dynamic—the vocals remain monotone for the most part, providing emphasis by dragging out certain words or syllables rather than by changing in tone or emotion. 

Any journey through the album would be incomplete without stopping to mention its figurative centerpiece: the penultimate track “Leng,” a fifteen-minute instrumental behemoth. For me, a ‘fifteen-minute instrumental behemoth’ would typically tip an album decidedly toward ‘tedious slog,’ but The Great Old Ones’ talent for crafting engaging compositions makes the track anything but tedious. “Leng” puts on display all the band has to offer: it’s simultaneously Kadath’s most pummeling, delicate, atmospheric, rhythmically dynamic, and instrumentally accomplished track—seriously, go listen for yourself. The last instrumental epic I remember truly enjoying was “Plateau of the Ages” from Agalloch’s The Serpent & The Sphere, released more than a decade ago. “Leng” is even better. 

If you couldn’t tell, I quite enjoy the sonic landscape that Kadath creates, but I wish the journey through it were a little shorter. Despite the dynamic instrumentation and compositions, I sometimes find myself drifting—possibly because Kadath’s overarching feel, while crafted excellently, doesn’t expand far beyond what you get in the album’s first few minutes. Although I’d prefer the album trimmed to fifty minutes, I wouldn’t want to be the one holding the shears. No passages immediately come to mind as superfluous, and each track has an identity distinct enough to warrant its inclusion. 

On the whole, Kadath leans resoundingly toward ‘captivating’ rather than ‘tedious.’ It’s an atmospheric success with a compositional and instrumental prowess strong enough to keep the journey compelling. Even without any knowledge of the Lovecraftian world from which the album spawned, I’ll gladly (and ignorantly²) return to Kadath for another trip.

Recommended tracks: Leng; Me, the Dreamer
You may also like: Thy Darkened Shade, Inter Arma, Sulphur Aeon
Final verdict: 7.5/10

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

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

The Great Old Ones is:
– Benjamin Guerry (guitars, vocals)
– Aurélien Edouard (guitars)
– Alexandre Rouleau (guitars)
– Gregory Vouillat (bass)
– Julian Deana (drums)

1. After strong urging from many of my peers—including but not limited to: Andy, Justin, Cooper, and Zach—I promise to check out some Lovecraft. ︎
2. Well, maybe not always ‘ignorantly’ in light of the promise above. ︎

The post Review: The Great Old Ones – Kadath appeared first on The Progressive Subway.