Style: Progressive death metal (harsh vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Blood Incantation, Death, Morbid Angel
Country: Florida, United States
Release date: 25 July 2025

Between the summers of 2017 and 2018, I had the misfortune of living in the oppressively muggy hellscape that is Jacksonville, Florida. I was in my mid-twenties, fresh out of law school, and ready to complete a year-long gig that happened to be based there. Surely the coastal city—geographically one of the largest in the United States—has some nice areas and redeeming qualities, but those aren’t what I remember. No, the Dirty J was home to a dilapidated downtown area, characterless suburban sprawl, a rash of severe storms, and incessant swampy heat. I really can’t think of a better setting to inspire some winding, gritty, feverish death metal. And that’s exactly what we get from Jacksonville’s own Haxprocess.

The band’s sophomore album, Beyond What Eyes Can See, offers forty-five minutes of progressive death metal packed into four meaty tracks. Drawing clear inspiration from Blood Incantation, these Floridians place psychedelic twists among wandering riffs, all given life by a warm, old-school-tinged production. Haxprocess’s sound is heavy, but at the same time open and expansive—much like their overstretched hometown. In case you couldn’t tell, I wasn’t a fan of my year in Jacksonville. Will Beyond What Eyes Can See bring something good out of that godforsaken city?

Haxprocess’s style of death metal can be distilled down to two words: riff salad. Countless riffs comprise the band’s long, freeform compositions, frequently taking a core idea and permuting it several times over—rhythmically, in phrasing, and in texture. A captivating dual-guitar attack characterizes Beyond What Eyes Can See, as one guitar often strays from the other, comes back with harmonization, or unites fully for emphasis. The album holds plenty of strong leads and solos as well. Although the drums are consistently shifting and grooving, and the bass occasionally pokes out with some runs of its own, the guitars are clearly the central focus, and the album’s better for it. 

Once in a while, Haxprocess cease the heavy, greasy riffing and stray into psychedelic territory. The final few minutes of “The Confines of the Flesh” feature a few dreamier passages amidst the fray, and “Thy Inner Demon Seed” comes to a halt about halfway through and switches over to an infectiously trippy section built atop lighter, swirling guitars. Album closer “Sepulchral Void” pulls a similar trick around its midpoint as well, offering a compelling bridge of clean guitars and emphatic volume swells. Although the airy passages are a welcome break from the serpentine death metal, they could be incorporated a little more smoothly. These shifts to lighter atmospheres aren’t the only sticky compositional points on the album, either—across all tracks but with notable frequency in the closer, the band come to a hard stop simply to switch from one heavy texture to another. Despite being four long tracks, Beyond What Eyes Can See can feel like an album of bits and pieces. 

In a similar vein, the tracks’ lengths aren’t always fully justified. Opener “Where Even Stars Die” does a good job of stringing together strong parts cohesively and varying textures logically, but the other tracks aren’t quite as successful. “The Confines of the Flesh,” particularly, tests just how many similar pinch-harmonic-centered riffs a listener can endure as it wanders from part to part. And throughout the album, many riffs begin to sound the same—a shocking amount end with only slightly varying, choppy triplet phrases. On the whole, the songs tend to be a little bloated. That said, the Haxprocess do strike gold now and again: the harmonized, drawling riff that closes “Thy Inner Demon Seed,” as well as the track’s psychedelic middle bridge, are prime examples. It’s passages like these that pull the listener back in and keep the album engaging.

Ultimately, Beyond What Eyes Can See is a solid take on riff-centered, sprawling, and sometimes spacey death metal with old-school flair. Compositionally, the album leaves a bit to be desired, and the tracks’ component pieces aren’t always of even quality. Still, there’s plenty of guitar work to enjoy, and the highest points are full of creativity and intrigue. Haxprocess might not have done the unthinkable and redeemed Jacksonville in my mind, but Beyond What Eyes Can See is more enjoyable than anything else I remember of that wretched city.

Recommended tracks: Where Even Stars Die, Thy Inner Demon Seed
You may also like: Ancient Death, Horrendous, Bedsore, Felgrave, Tomb Mold
Final verdict: 6.5/10

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

Label: Transcending Obscurity Records – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Haxprocess is:
– Lothar Mallea (guitars and vocals)
– Shane Williamson (guitars)
– Davis Leader (bass)
– Adam Robinson (drums)

The post Review: Haxprocess – Beyond What Eyes Can See  appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Progressive death metal (mixed vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Septicflesh, Fleshgod Apocalypse, Strapping Young Lad, Children of Bodom
Country: United States (NY)
Release date: 4 July 2025

What’s in a name? The walls of my music library are lined with bands whose creative output I passed over for years due to their terrible branding. Septicflesh, Fleshgod Apocalypse, Bedsore… the list goes on. I’ll never understand why so many good artists choose to debase their projects by naming themselves after bodily functions or necrotic diseases. While I may be more prudish than many in the metal scene (I judiciously save up swear words for special occasions and avoid them in everyday use), I’ve nonetheless learned that sometimes, you have to set aside preconceptions based on a band’s name, and let the music speak for itself. And who better to come gushing forth from the underground metal scene to help me enact this principle than the campily-named Pissectomy?

Setting aside for a moment the troubling medical implication of a pissectomy (where is the piss going? Does the procedure make you unable to piss, or does it cause a constant stream to be siphoned from your body?), Pissectomy’s name was clearly chosen for shock value. The band’s early output leaned into this, with deliberately subversive and urine-based lyrical themes and a sample-heavy, drugged-out noisegrind style. However, the adage of “let it mellow if it’s yellow” seems to have shaped Pissectomy’s style and restraint over time, as the latest record holds a surprising amount of refinement under the toilet-seat humour.

Pissectomy is nominally a one-man project helmed by Jason Steffen of New York and South Korea¹, but much of new release Electric Elephant Graveyard is brought to life by a cast of hired guns from Fiverr (an online marketplace for freelance service providers) and similar platforms, and the result is intriguingly genre-fluid. The first two tracks on the album are lavishly outfitted in sympho-death grandeur—think of the aforementioned Septicflesh or Fleshgod Apocalypse—but then the orchestra quietly slips out the back before the third track, “Sharkstar”, without so much as a tuba case banging against the doorframe on the way out. Save for a subtle reprise of some strings in album closer “Singularity”, the rest of the album relieves itself of symphonic elements, offering up riffs and licks galore with predominant influences from death metal titans like Cannibal Corpse and Children of Bodom, plus dashes of power, thrash, and prog.

For all of Pissectomy’s crude branding, Electric Elephant Graveyard is surprisingly restrained in its use of urinary humor, and it’s certainly not evident in the music itself. The tracks are layered, and even in a single offering like the seven-minute “Starstorm Omega”, multiple stylistic themes from fantastical power metal pomp to rhythmically itch-scratching, proggy helter-skelter are deployed thoughtfully. If you were not privy to Pissectomy’s subject matter, you could listen to almost the entire album without noticing any overt nephritics. Occasional lyrical groaners like “rest in piss” or “war and piss” are easy enough to miss. The jig is up, however, on the rather overtly-named “Pissrealm Antichrist”, where a layered vocal chorus repeatedly chants “all hail piss and shit”.

With Pissectomy’s freelanced cast of contributors, who exactly deserves credit for the various elements of Electric Elephant Graveyard is cloudy². The vocal duties, for instance, are shared between Steffen himself and at least one guest contributor, Topias Jokipii. Whatever the division of labour, the results are dynamic and versatile. There’s a simperingly evil D&D-grade sorcerer flavour to the spoken word on “Pissrealm Antichrist”, Cannibal Corpse-esque torridly deep pigsqueals on “Sharkstar”, and a gritty clean vocal refrain on “Sharkstar” that sounds like King Diamond pitched down an octave or so out of the screeching falsetto stratosphere. The guitar work, though, might just be number one. Steffen is clearly having a blast, and moments like the indulgently sprawling solo in “Welcome to Dead End” or the tightly coiled, chugging bursts on “Starstorm Omega” demonstrate equal parts laudable musicianship and clever composition.

While there is some level of tonal coherence across Electric Elephant Graveyard, as Pissectomy keeps up a steady flow of momentum, a clearer sense of identity would help the record to better coalesce. Pissectomy is a former noisegrind band blending elements of symphonic, power, death, thrash, and progressive metal into their sound. And while Steffen clearly has reverence for all of these genres, the crossing of the streams can be a bit much. There’s even an acoustic guitar interlude, “Astronomy”, which is lovely but lands rather disjointedly in the album’s entirety. Perhaps some of the vignette-based songwriting from Steffen’s noisegrind roots is hampering the development of a cohesive whole. The individual elements succeed, but a step back to take in the big picture across the album’s forty minutes could help everything stick together.

 If given ten guesses as to what a band named Pissectomy would sound like, I wouldn’t have come close. While I still wouldn’t rush to pop this album on the aux, Electric Elephant Graveyard’s balls-to-the-wall energy, as well as veneration for the various genres influencing Pissectomy’s sound, makes for a surprisingly charming listen. Sometimes, you have to be prepared to flush your assumptions down the drain.

Recommended tracks: Welcome to Dead End, Sharkstar, Singularity
You may also like: Shadecrown, Sigh
Final verdict: 6.5/10

Related links: Bandcamp | Instagram | Metal-Archives

Label: Independent

Pissectomy is:
– Jason Steffen (guitar, vocals)
– Topias Jokipii (vocals)
– People from Fiverr (other assorted instruments)

1. Steffen is currently stationed with the US military in South Korea as a fighter pilot. ︎
2. Like your pee might be if you’re dehydrated. ︎

The post Review: Pissectomy – Electric Elephant Graveyard appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: symphonic metal, heavy metal, Byzantine chant (clean vocals, choral)
Recommended for fans of: Batushka, Rotting Christ, Therion, Haggard
Country: Greece
Release date: 6 July 2025

Monastic monophonic chant gets me going: the style of religious music is utterly sublime. After the Great Schism in 1054, the Church split into Catholicism and Eastern Orthodoxy, and both sects developed their own unique—but overlapping—chant. As a (unfortunately) confirmed Catholic, I had to choose a confirmation name, so naturally, I went with Gregory after my adoration of Gregorian chant. But back to the Byzantine side: the musical and cultural differences of the liturgical style are clearly due to Ottoman influences coming from the East. Rather than evenly tempered Catholic modes, the Byzantine monks used a complex set of eight modes called echoi with microtonal intervals, the vocalists relying on melismas (slides between notes) in opposition to the Catholic monks who stick to full jumps between intervals.

This miniature history/music theory lesson should help frame Greek heavy metaler Δynamis’ debut album Byzantine Metal. The record, as the title so helpfully tells us, merges traditional Byzantine chant with metal. For a debut in a largely untapped realm—Batushka are the only obvious forebear—Byzantine Metal is a successful exploration of the intersection between Orthodoxy and metal. The lyrics are from actual hymns, and the majority of the music is sung in Greek with sing-along choruses in English. The clear highlight chorus is that of “Cherubic Hymn,” the lyrics all about celebrating Hellenic identity.

Vocally, Δynamis fill Byzantine Metal to the brim with wonderful monophonic choral lines provided by a full men’s choir of five, and their melismatic ornamentations to the vocal lines are immediate starting from opener “Kyrie Ekekraxa (Psalm 140).” Naturally, choirs fit in well with the epic vibes metal curates, but the ways in which Δynamis bring the traditional Byzantine chant into something modern and fit for the heavy metal ear is brilliant. The highlight performance on the album is from guest vocalist Billy Vass (on tracks “Kyrie Ekekraxa (Psalm 140),” “Kyrie Eleison,” and “Cherubic Hymn”) whose tone is superb for heavy metal, somewhere in between Tobias Sammet (Avantasia) and Daniel Heiman (Sacred Outcry). But his technique is the highlight, as he perfectly imitates the single melodic line of the choirs underneath him but with the bold, solo singing voice of metal. 

Beyond the strong Hellenic vocals, Δynamis keep the instrumentals high stakes epic with a variety of orchestration and shreddy guitar solos. They follow in the track’s distinct modes and accompany the clean vocal lines exceptionally well at some points (chorus of “Polyeleos (Psalm 135),” intro “Alosis 1453 (Psalm 78)”). When not riffing underneath a chorus, guitarist Bob Katsionis often works in conjunction with the Greek choral quintet to create wonderful buildups—the buildup into the English chorus with Vass in “Kyrie Eleison,” for instance, is one of the most hype and epic buildups I’ve heard this year despite the track’s brevity. However, most of the actual “riffs” on Byzantine Metal are plodding and uninspired, mostly power chords at a lollygagging pace. Of course, the guitars are certainly not Δynamis’ main point of interest, but hearing flashes of their melodic brilliance during most of Byzantine Metal makes the remainder seem disappointing. Having the guitars mostly be relegated to a mildly distorted texture so that the chanting sections remain “metal” is bland songwriting.

A brief aside into music theory-lite again: In opposition to the plainsong style of Gregorian chant which relies on improvised harmonization, Byzantine chant is highly structured although still freeflowing in rhythm and ornamentation. Unfortunately, Δynamis missed this memo as the band aimlessly hop section to section with little sense of cohesive flow. Byzantine Metal drifts through a string of bombastic, often ingenious ideas, but Δynamis easily lose the plot, and often I found a song blowing right by without me noticing much of what happened beyond “wow these are sick chants.”

Byzantine Metal is a history and music theory lesson along with a (in-theory) rad Hellenic heavy metal album all at once, and Δynamis showed off their love for Eastern Orthodox traditions to a whole new audience. With more emphasis on bringing Eastern melody into the guitar rather than relying on drab power chords—while possibly enlisting Vass as a full-time band member—Δynamis may become a powerful force in the powerful Greek metal scene. They’re already a unique one.

Recommended tracks: Kyrie Ekekraxa (Psalm 140), Kyrie Eleison, Alosis 1453 (Psalm 78), Cherubic Hymn
You may also like: Sacred Outcry, Ensemble Sreteniye, Epta Astera, Tim Donahue
Final verdict: 6.5/10

Related links: Bandcamp | Facebook

Label: independent

Δynamis is:
– Christopher Laskos: (Vocals/Choir, Keyboards, Choir Conducting)
-Bob Katsionis (Guitars/Bass/Keyboards/Drums)
With guests:
– Dimitrios Balageorgos, Athanasios Glaros, Lazaros Koumentakis, Stefanos Koumentakis, Christopher Laskos (choir of chanters)
– Billy Vass (Lead Vocals on tracks 1, 3, 8)
-Kyriakos GP (Guitar solo on track 8)

The post Review: Δynamis – Byzantine Metal appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Post-metal, progressive metal, progressive rock (clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: The Ocean, Steven Wilson, Pink Floyd, Alice In Chains
Country: Greece
Release date: 13 June 2025

Just last month, I was in Kalamata, Greece, my then-fiancée’s hometown. She and I had spent a few days there, and the next day we were to travel up to Athens, where we’d stay for a few more days and have our wedding. While lounging at a fancy Kalamata hotel and looking for something to listen to, I happened upon The Lotus Matter—a young post-metal group based in Athens who had just released their debut, In Limbo Pt. 1. This bit of serendipity was enough to give them a try. Fittingly, the album ended up accompanying me on the drive to Athens and during the little time I had to explore the city before the big day. For better or worse, in my brain, In Limbo is now inextricably tied to the most notable time of my life. An odd pairing with the start of marital bliss, but that’s how things go.  

Although The Lotus Matter play a style that’s categorizable as post-metal, a mishmash of influences make its way into the music. With surprising accuracy, the band describe their sound as including aspects of The Ocean, Porcupine Tree, Alice In Chains, Opeth, Radiohead, and others. More than anything, though, The Lotus Matter are ambitious and not afraid of sonic exploration. In Limbo Pt. 1 holds only five tracks, one being a seventeen-minute epic, and a roster of guest musicians that’d be robust for even a well-established band. Does this group of young Athenians, who now happen to own the mental soundtrack to my marriage, pull it all off—or have they spoiled my matrimonial memories?

A lush, atmospheric opener primarily of piano chords, light synths, and female vocals—building into a passage of swelling strings—immediately draws in the ears and provides a promising start. “Into the Bone” then follows, with riffs and ambience sounding somewhere between Steven Wilson and The Ocean. Color me impressed. Quickly apparent is the band’s ability to create enticing, intricate soundscapes filled with music that finds a balance between progressive and accessible. The bridge of “Into the Bone” is particularly strong, offering layered vocal melodies, modern-era Opethian guitars complemented by jazzy piano, and some play with the meter. The spirit of sonic exploration is furthered in the penultimate track “Run,Rest,Return,” a seventeen-minute epic that morphs slowly across several influences. Whether it’s post-rock atmospherics, heavier riffing, proggy synths backed by groovy bass, a soulful Gilmour-esque solo, grungy belting followed later by Radiohead-like vocal apathy, or swingy 3/4 with female vocals oooing and ahhing á la The Dark Side of the Moon, The Lotus Matter find a way to work it in without being too jarring. The track is quite the ride. 

The ambition showcased in In Limbo, however, comes at a cost. While “Run,Rest,Return” is a success overall, some of the proggier parts in its first half feel as if they were thrown in to add complexity rather than contribute to the song as a whole. Meanwhile, the strong riffing and compelling Alice In Chains-inspired vocals in “Erased?” are somewhat squandered by the track’s awkward rhythmic variations and transitions. The song seems to get lost within itself, covering too much ground without enough thought given to keeping its entirety coherent. It also features bagpipes that, while a fun touch, strike more as a gimmick than a meaningful addition to the composition. And closing track “The Shepherd” puts a lovely bow on the album, but contains another overtly Pink Floyd-like solo section; it too closely retraces the one in the track before, which was a welcome surprise that works only once. With In Limbo, The Lotus Matter are willing to take risks, and not all of them land. But the effort is commendable, and, to be sure, several of the band’s more interesting choices end up working out. 

Still, a few other issues hold In Limbo back from sitting among the upper echelon of progressive post-metal albums. Although the vocal lines and melodies are well-written and the guest vocalists are effective, the main vocals could use some polish and emotion. For music as expressive as that of In Limbo, the vocal performance is comparatively monotonous. In a similar facet, and perhaps an issue with the production, the band never quite explode out of the soundscapes they create or the tension they build—sonically, the bigger moments fall a little flat. This is especially apparent given the noticeable influence of The Ocean, a band that thrives on a planet-smashing sound bursting out of layered ambience. A more spirited vocal performance and production would liven up and enhance the album’s dynamic composition.

Nevertheless, In Limbo Pt. 1 is ultimately a relative success. The Lotus Matter swung for the fences, and although they didn’t knock their debut out of the park, they made solid contact. Much of the album is beautifully done, and overall, the band made good use of their extensive guest roster. Even if slightly messy and sonically lacking at points, In Limbo feels complete and compelling. The Lotus Matter have a high ceiling, and I imagine their next effort will see the rougher edges smoothed and a more mature sound. In the meantime, In Limbo Pt. 1 will remain an odd but pleasant enough matrimonial soundtrack.

Recommended tracks: Into the Bone; Run,Rest,Return
You may also like: Obscure Sphinx, SIKASA, Oak
Final verdict: 6.5/10

Related links: Bandcamp | Spotify | Facebook | Instagram

Label: Sound Effect Records – Facebook | Official Website

The Lotus Matter is:
– Constantinos Nyktas (guitar, vocals)
– Giorgos Petsangourakis (guitar)
– Aggelos Bracholli (keys, vocals)
– Panagiotis Vekiloglou (bass, vocals)
With guests:
– Lazaros Papageorgiou (drums)
– Katerina Charalampopoulou (lead vocals on “In Limbo,” backing vocals on “Into The Bone” and “Run,Rest,Return”)
– Stavrialena Gontzou (backing vocals on “Into The Bone” and “Run,Rest,Return”)
– Kostas Trakadas (trumpet on “Run,Rest,Return”)
– Konstantinos Lazos (bagpipes on “Erased?”)
– Aggeliki Ikonomou (violin on “In Limbo”)
– Nikos Firgiolas (viola on “In Limbo”)
– Rafail Kontogouris (viola on “In Limbo”)
– Marianna Maraletou (cello on “In Limbo”)

The post Review: The Lotus Matter – In Limbo Pt. 1 appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Progressive rock (clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Deep Purple, Yes, The Flower Kings, Kansas, Spock’s Beard
Country: Norway
Release date: 16 May 2025

To meaningfully assess a modern progressive rock band, one must first embrace the act of judgment—a process I’ve long since systematized. In the incomprehensibly vast progressive musical landscape of the year 2025, whether they know it or not, all prog rock bands that come across my desk are being judged. While this may sound harsh, it’s more of a complex calculation than it is an exercise in caviling, with all bands landing somewhere on a three-dimensional vector graph in my mind: the X axis measures how technically proficient the band is; the Y axis measures their creativity and originality; and Z is for how seriously they take themselves. While I am not prepared to misappropriate my professional Microsoft Visio license to create a full diagram of how various well-known prog rock acts slot onto the plane, this graph is foundational to my assessment and appreciation of bands in the genre. And there’s certainly an optimal zone when it comes to seriousness: the more unabashedly zany or tongue-in-cheek a band is (think Cheeto’s Magazine), the greater creativity and technical prowess I expect in order for them to establish a foothold in a favourable quadrant. Conversely, many titans of the prog rock scene (Jethro Tull, Transatlantic, etc.) engage in a degree of navel-gazing pretension which cannot, in my eyes, be redeemed, even by their beefy musical chops.

So, do Norway’s Magic Pie land in the sweet spot? One could reasonably assume that the band’s name belies a lack of seriousness. But these seasoned rockers have a deft hand with the ingredients on their latest record Maestro. The goofiness is not mixed in too liberally; rather, the prevailing flavour is a hearty, feel-good seventies-inspired prog in the vein of Flower Kings or Steve Hackett, with dashes of Kansas– or Queen-like vocal harmonization, and a few heavier spikes of Dream Theater dashed in.

Almost all of Magic Pie’s previous albums have featured a long epic track, and Maestro is no exception. Does the rather prolixly-titled opening track, “Opus Imperfectus Pt.1 – The Missing Chord” need to be eighteen minutes long? Certainly not, but Magic Pie are enjoying themselves throughout. The free-flowing, unhurried compositional structure sees the band ramble through a symphonic intro, mellotron-infused retro shine, and amply proportioned, meandering solos. It’s less a circle-jerk and more of a jovial fun time, calling to mind some of the stream of consciousness unwinding of Deep Purple or Dire Straits’ live acts. Maestro‘s fun, catchy verve is perfectly captured in the track’s unhurried, anthemic chorus, which slides into a catchy modulated phrase as the backing vocals build a sort of intoxicating thrall.

But not all of Maestro unfolds with such buoyant charm. As a follow-up to “Opus Imperfectus”, the ballad “By the Smokers Pole” is a down-tempo snooze, and this is where Magic Pie’s pacing issue comes into the foreground. There’s certainly fun to be had in the space between the two-part “Opus” that bookends Maestro, as in the straightforward rockin’ opening of “Somebody Else’s Wannabe” that blooms into a rhythmically fleet-footed proggy jaunt. Dedicating so much space to the opening and closing tracks, however, leaves the five tracks in the middle shuffling to find a place to stand; some more successfully than others. The two-minute “Kiddo…”, for example, has no footing at all, stuck in some no man’s land between an interlude and a full song.

Vocally, Icelander Eirikur Hauksson never really stuns. While he flashes some zany theatricality across the album, calling to mind the gusto of David Bowie or Freddie Mercury, his delivery prevailingly rests in an unremarkable mid-range comfort zone marked by a loose vibrato—capable if a little cut-and-dried, though the plush backing vocals do some work to infuse more flavour. By comparison, the instrumental deliveries are punchier, and easily shoot Magic Pie up my technical proficiency axis: the guitars and keys tumble and cavort around each other, cascading into long, careening solos that weave together everything from bluesy twang to spacey prog-metal shimmer, as the bass and drums knit a tight groove underneath.

Conceptually, I lose Maestro’s lyrical thread somewhere in between the Maestro jumping into the ocean in the first track, and Hauksson opining about the proliferation of social media in “Kiddo…” While “tortured virtuoso struggles to compose his magnum opus” seems like a premise spit straight out of Prog Rock Idea Generator Dot Com¹, and it certainly isn’t scoring the band any gains on my originality/creativity axis, the concept is so light-handed as to be virtually untraceable across the album’s forty-nine minutes. This is just as well with me, albeit probably not in line with Magic Pie’s intention.

Maestro may not push boundaries, nor does it fully transcend the gravitational pull of its own “epic” opening. But with a high technical coefficient and just enough self-awareness to avoid tumbling into the black hole of prog pretension, Magic Pie chart a respectable course through the vector space. For all its uneven pacing and conceptual fuzziness, if you’re looking for a warm, comforting slice of prog rock that’s easy on the palate, Magic Pie’s Maestro is worth digging into.

Recommended tracks: Opus Imperfectus Pt. 1 – The Missing Chord, Somebody Else’s Wannabe
You may also like: Moon Safari, Southern Empire, The Twenty Committee, The Cryptex
Final verdict: 6.5/10

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

Label: Karisma Records – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Magic Pie is:
– Kim Stenberg (guitar)
– Eirikur Hauksson (vocals)
– Erling Henanger (keyboard)
– Lars Petter Holstad (bass)
– Martin Utby (drums)

1. Whether or not this is a real website is left up to your imagination, dear reader ︎

The post Review: Magic Pie – Maestro appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Post-rock, post-metal (clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Pelican, Tool, Vulkan, Oceansize
Country: Belgium
Release date: 23 April 2025

Growing up with autism, my relationship with the concepts of solitude and authenticity was perhaps unusual. Over the years, many people have commented positively on my authenticity in spite of the social pressure for conformity. Little did they know, however, that a large amount of that perceived authenticity stemmed from sheer social ineptitude—after all, one can’t conform to rules they are unaware of or neurologically incapable of adhering to in the first place. Similarly, the frequent periods of prolonged social isolation I have gone through have seldom been voluntary. Belgian post-metal band Capitan’s second album, Facing Currents, explores the emotional struggle of discovering one’s true identity through prolonged solitude and trying not to lose that identity when reconnecting with others. My autism has forced me to undergo this process many times, maybe even to the point of trauma¹, so while I do not relate to the voluntary aspect, I did find myself moved by the concept. 

Post-metal can be a fairly homogenous genre with many bands playing some shade of Neurosis and/or Cult of Luna worship: long build ups with increasingly sludgy riffs building in complexity with tribal drumming building to an eventual cacophonous crescendo—that’s the name of the game. Capitan are primarily rooted in melodic post-rock, but regularly get heavy and incorporate tribal percussion in line with the post-metal tradition. They also integrate psychedelic elements and some proggy transitions redolent of Tool. This leads to a familiar, yet fresh overall sound in a similar ballpark to the seldom-replicated Oceansize². Further brought to life by a vivid, crystal-clear production, Facing Currents is a very immediate album. Björn Nauwelaerts has an uncharacteristically powerful voice for post-rock, and his bright tone and melancholic melodies give the songs on Facing Currents a lot of memorable moments en route to the big finish. He can also belt with the best of the best of them, giving a lot of meat to the heavier moments; most post-metal bands would place harsh vocals there but with Nauwelaerts’ performance I didn’t even miss them!

Capitan’s lyrics are poetic not in structure but certainly in how they evoke mood and emotion, immersing you in the emotional state of the protagonist as they go through the process of self-rediscovery. Water, breath, and light are used as recurring symbols to express emotional overwhelm, suffocation, loss of identity, and healing. The story of Facing Currents is not so much about the events as they are about the emotions corresponding to them: from drowning in the feelings of isolation (“Immerse”), to feeling suffocated by daily life (“Choke”) and unfulfilling relationships (“Apnea”), to the confusion and fear of an identity crisis (“Facing Currents”), to eventual healing (“A Pale Blue Light”) and refinding one’s footing in the world (“The Ascent”). The lyrics are raw and expressive, capturing the protagonist’s emotional journey with striking vulnerability. Facing Currents doesn’t even necessarily read like finding new facets of your personality; its real beauty lies in accepting and finding solace in what is already there.

Clocking in at thirty-eight minutes spread across six tracks (plus the intro), Facing Currents is refreshingly concise for a sprawling genre like post-metal. The first half is paced effectively, with each track having its own unique identity and momentum: “Immerse, Pt. I & II” are built on hypnotic tribal grooves and psychedelia-tinged guitarwork, leaning heavily on the Neurosis and Tool influences, whereas “Apnea” is a more conventional post-rock/metal hybrid track, starting with a spoken word piece and somber vocals before gradually lifting up our emotions with ethereal strumming to prepare you for the thundering, heavy grooves of the song’s second half. “Choke” keeps up the momentum as the most immediately aggressive track on the album, recalling Cult of Luna in its double crescendo structure. The second half of Facing Currents, however, starts to show Capitan’s limitations. Every remaining song starts with a long, ethereal post-rock section that becomes increasingly indistinct as the album goes on. “Facing Currents” and “A Pale Blue Light” erupt into distortion at nearly identical points in the song, and “The Ascent” only differentiates itself by keeping the floatiness for a guitar solo crescendo instead of yet another heavy climax.

This strict adherence to traditional post- song structures ends up making Capitan sound surprisingly conventional despite their distinctive palette, causing the songs to become increasingly predictable as the album goes on—a slow, clean buildup into a heavier, emotionally charged climax works only so many times before it gets stale. That is not to say the second half of Facing Currents is without stand-out moments, though. The repeating vocal motif in the title track is deeply moving, and the crushing doom riffs of “A Pale Blue Light” are a welcome change in intensity. Björn Nauwelaerts also consistently stands out for his expressive delivery, even if his melodies become a bit predictable near the end. Another point of critique is that the crescendos on Facing Currents often end up being underwhelming. Take “Apnea”, for instance, whose guitar solo and eventual doomy outro do the minimum of what is required to make them work but nothing more; or “Choke”, whose second crescendo merely repeats the pounding rhythm of the first one with no variation or development. Similarly, the guitar solo in “The Ascent” has a beautiful narrative structure but is barebones in execution and finishes the album with a disappointing fadeout. I usually found myself more compelled by the journey along the way, thanks to Capitan’s unique mix of styles, rather than the big finish.

On Facing Currents, Capitan have made a refreshing niche for themselves. They blend genres in a natural way with sophistication to evoke an ethereal yet earthy sound with powerful, melancholic melodies and rich atmospheres. But for all its sonic variety, the album often plays things structurally safe, leaning too heavily on predictable builds and familiar post-metal formulas. Still, the foundation is strong—Capitan are never anything less than competent, and they deliver some magic on a few occasions. If they can find a way to support their unique voice with more daring songwriting, they might well become one of the most exciting groups in the genre. But such is the road to self-actualization: there is always room to grow.

Recommended tracks: Immerse Pt. II, A Pale Blue Light
You may also like: Riviẽre, Múr, Mother of Millions, Sgàile
Final verdict: 6.5/10

Related links: Bandcamp | Spotify | Facebook | Instagram

Label: Independent

Capitan is:
– Björn Nauwelaerts (vocals, keyboards)
– Kevin Brondel (lead guitar)
– Rafaël Clavie (rhythm guitar)
– Jonathan Lievrouw (bass)
– Nick Boonen (drums)

1.  The Thought Spot made a great video linking autism to repeated ego death. ︎
2.  Seriously, where are the Oceansize imitators at? I need mooooooore. ︎

The post Review: Capitan – Facing Currents appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Album art by Alex Tillbrook

Style: Alternative metal, alt-pop, djent (mixed vocals)
Recommended for fans of: bruh it’s Sleep Token; VOLA meets Hozier plus, er, like, Imagine Dragons?
Country: United Kingdom
Release date: 9 May 2025

Today, in a special double review, Ian and Christopher take on the latest release by the biggest and perhaps most controversial band in the genre. Even in Arcadia, there are people arguing about Sleep Token!

Review by: Ian

I believe it was Sir Isaac Newton who said that “every sudden wave of hype produces an equal and opposite backlash”, and perhaps no other band today exemplifies that definitely real adage quite like Sleep Token. It’s strange to look back on the days of their initial rise, how this weird djent/R&B band from London with a Ghost-esque masking gimmick and an unusually skilled drummer exploded out of seemingly nowhere in early 2023 with a set of increasingly buzzed-about singles, culminating in the release of their blockbuster third album, Take Me Back To Eden. The countervailing surge of hatred was equally sudden, though in hindsight, not surprising. Heralded (though by no means solely initiated) by Anthony Fantano’s withering 2/10 panning of the album, they rapidly became the very definition of “uncool”¹, with many eagerly seizing upon Sleep Token‘s often unapologetically poppy songwriting and straightforward djent riffs as evidence of them being “not metal”²—a fake, pop band that you’d have to be some terminal poseur / Imagine Dragons fan / big dumb mouthbreathing coworker NPC to enjoy. 

And look, I’m not gonna sit here and tell you those criticisms were entirely baseless. TMBTE‘s attempts at straightforward pop music were indeed plasticky and unconvincing, burying Vessel’s otherwise interesting vocal timbre under suffocating layers of Autotune. And sure, much of the guitarwork felt far too basic to be sitting alongside II’s intricate, fluid drumming. But somehow… I still really liked it, dammit! For all its flaws, the album was a genuine evolution of the Sleep Token sound, an ambitious, widescreen expansion into more adventurous song structuring and genre switches with some seriously powerful, emotionally resonant melodic hooks. It’s not exactly topping my Album of the Year list, but there are people who act like this band is soulless nothing slop with zero redeeming qualities, and… I feel like we didn’t hear the same album.

But where does this leave us now? Well, Sleep Token sure as hell aren’t upstarts anymore. They’re one of the biggest bands in modern rock, possibly the biggest to come up this decade, with a massive, frighteningly devoted legion of fans and a nearly-as-vocal coalition of detractors. Thus, it was inevitable that their follow-up album, Even In Arcadia, would have massive expectations set upon it, for good and ill alike. And in terms of meeting those expectations, seven-plus minute opener “Look to Windward” is one hell of an initial salvo. Starting off with a slow burn of atmospheric, almost chiptune-esque synths beneath Vessel’s trademark croon before a barrage of pummeling guitars abruptly takes over, it comes across as a full-on showcase of every established part of the band’s sound. It’s got intricate drumming, simple yet gargantuan-sounding riffs, rattling trap percussion, and a vocal performance that ranges from smooth, cocky R&B verses to delicate, harmonized falsettos to withering, blackened screams—as if to say “We’re still Sleep Token and we can still do Sleep Token things, and do them damn well.” While it’s unlikely to convert any skeptics, it’s one of the best executions of their usual sound yet, and a reassuring reminder that their core competencies are still very much in place.

With the formula firmly re-established in the space of a single song, it’s time to sprinkle in some surprises, and that’s where subsequent song (and lead single) “Emergence” comes in. Its verses are some of the most rhythmically interesting stuff they’ve put out possibly ever, with II’s percussion sinuously twisting around some already rather syncopated vocal lines in a deliciously off-kilter clash, constantly teasing at downbeats that don’t quite arrive until the beautifully melodic choruses show up to dissipate the tension. Combine that with the gorgeous, delightfully surprising saxophone coda³ provided by Bilmuri‘s Gabi Rose, and you have yet more evidence that Sleep Token are still a decidedly progressive band despite their mainstream appeal. They’re prog in the same way that bands like Bent Knee are prog, not by having the wackiest time signatures or the weedliest solos, but by blending pop stylings with pieces of disparate genres to create a bold, adventurous sound full of stylistic and compositional left turns that defies easy categorization or comparison.

And it’s a damn good thing we’ve got that evidence, too, since unfortunately, Even In Arcadia‘s midsection gives plenty of signs that the prog gatekeepers may kinda have a point. While it’s all very competent, with some dutifully pleasant melodies and titanic, IMAX-ready chugs as per usual, much of tracks 3-8 feels like Sleep Token by the numbers, with precious few of the surprises that made previous songs like “The Summoning” so special. Tracks like “Dangerous” and “Provider” capably ratchet up the musical intensity from synthy atmosphere to elastic trap beats to stadium-filling guitar, but do little else with their musical structure, coming off a tad forgettable. The title track tries its best to be the type of achingly vulnerable piano ballad that they’ve done so well in the past, but is sabotaged by suffocating layers of movie-trailer overproduction, with only Vessel’s desperate, gritty final line managing enough emotional heft to strike a genuine chord through all the sludge. Most egregious is “Past Self”, a decent-yet-straightforward R&B snoozefest whose only surprise is that there are no surprises—no riffs, no genre mixing, just a synth arpeggio that could be coming out of a kid’s toy replica of a Legend of Zelda fairy fountain. Sure, there are bright spots—”Caramel” is a lyrically wrenching look at what it’s like to be on the receiving end of a ravenously parasocial fanbase, elevated by II’s drumming at its absolute crispest—but even that is undercut by “Provider” being a blatant wink and nudge toward the most fanatical, BookTok-horny elements of said parasocial fanbase just two songs later.

Thankfully, the last two tracks do a fair deal to right the ship. “Gethsemane” easily ranks up there with Sleep Token‘s absolute best tracks, spinning its soft, emotionally resonant falsetto intro into a shockingly intricate, mathy Midwest emo guitar riff, a long-awaited step up in complexity to stand side by side with the band’s drumming. Add in a chorus that reprises “Euclid”, quite possibly the most powerful, indelible chorus the band have ever written, and you’ve got me wondering where the hell this energy was for the past few tracks. Maybe it’s my inner sappy theater kid, but these melodramatic hooks still hit me straight in the heart no matter how overblown others may find them, and closer “Infinite Baths” keeps that streak going with aplomb. Its deliciously weepy, harmonized slow build into its gargantuan chorus is the sort of shit I eat right up, and the Pink Floyd reference in its atmospheric bridge was a fun touch. I’m a bit more mixed on its heavy closing section; though a final dose of aggression is certainly welcome in an album that is, on the whole, softer than its predecessor, it also feels like it’s spinning its wheels a tad, fading out without giving a proper conclusion.

“I know these chords are boring, but I can’t always be killing the game,” sings Vessel in “Damocles”, an apropos quote from a wildly inconsistent album in which, more than ever, the band’s aura of cult-like mysticism comes off as a thinly veiled metaphor for one decidedly mortal man’s insecurities and broken relationships. Sleep Token feel increasingly caught between contradictory impulses—the drive to innovate and push their sound forward versus the pressure to push out more of the same stuff that made them popular in the first place, the need to appease their suddenly massive fanbase versus the fear of said fans getting a little too into their music, the divine and spiritual versus the human body’s base desires… the acid versus the alkaline, one might say. The public, too, has been utterly polarized; as before, the fans of this band are going to hear an entirely different album than the haters. Yet, this time, I can hear both albums in equal measure, the innovative, heartfelt brilliance heard by the faithful existing alongside the dull, focus-grouped glurge that reaches the ears of the apostates. Perhaps this is a tightrope that Vessel and co. can continue to walk well enough, but as someone who was largely on the believers’ side beforehand, this represents a troubling shift. If it all looks like heaven but feels like hell… maybe you’re just in purgatory.

Ian’s final verdict: 6.5/10

Review by: Christopher

Metal has always suffered from a streak of elitism, bearded gatekeepers daring to pronounce upon what’s metal and what’s not, and the genre has always picked out enemies to pile upon. Avenged Sevenfold were roundly mocked for their hard rock sensibilities and emo aesthetic, virtually all of nu-metal was the subject of derision both deserved and unwarranted, and if you trust the people at Metal-Archives.com—and you shouldn’t—even prog stalwarts Between the Buried and Me are apparently not metal. The latest band to be stood in the corner and made to face the wall for their vnkvlt ways are Sleep Token, the bemasked UK group fronted by the anonymous Vessel, who claims to be the Earthly representative for an ancient deity called Sleep. The band’s amalgamation of djenting riffs, Hozier-grade sadboi pop, and libidinous RnB gloss has been met with cult-like fervour and impassioned denunciation in equal measure. Whether Sleep Token are or aren’t a) metal, b) progressive or c) good is—just like their deranged lore and Instagram posts that always begin with “Hark!” “Behold”—a matter of debate to be resolved by people who don’t wash. The band’s actual function within the musical ecosystem is a simple and time-tested one: plausible deniability for the alternative kids to claim they don’t like mainstream music while listening to something clearly deeply inspired by mainstream music and so popular in and of itself that it is, in fact, mainstream. 

Now, the blend of djent, mournful pop and hip-hop that Sleep Token peddle has, admittedly, never quite worked for me—I’m the dissenting voice in this double review, after all⁴—but on fourth album Even in Arcadia, the band have clearly lost their lustre. This Place Will Become Your Tomb was a solid work of alternative metal with a pop sheen, and the marriage of the two styles was fully consummated, carried with a poise similar to that of Denmark’s VOLA. Arcadia’s relationship with metal, however, is that of a checked-out divorced father visiting his kids every other weekend: he turns up, eventually, smelling strongly of whisky and he’s really phoning it in on this whole fatherhood thing. An unfortunately large percentage of Arcadia is Vessel’s self-pitying croons over generic RnB beats and enigmatically banal synths. When the band remember they have to include riffs in order to keep the charade alive, they’re dreadfully shoehorned. 

After a pretty successful opening number, “Emergence” settles into the banality which will come to plague Arcadia—even in Arcadia they have banality! Ancient deity Sleep has caught up with the noughties hip-hop scene, and he’s decided that his human conduit on Earth should communicate thusly. “Emergence” still has some Riffs and is a bit more compositionally finessed than the real duds in the latter half, but the, ahem, emergence of phat beats and Vessel’s generic RnB flow telegraph Arcadia’s imminent problems. Oh, and there’s a saxophone solo which appears with all the grace of a guest contribution that makes you go “oh, and there’s a saxophone solo”, possessed of a rather thin, midi-ish tone which did make me wonder if a saxophonist actually played on the record—it’s Gabi Rose and she does, and does so well, it’s the way that sax solo is mixed which I find strange to the ear (the violin solo on the title track, however, has no such credit and, therefore, may be synthesised). “Past Self” and “Caramel” lean into the type of quintessentially white hip-hop that’s plagued pop from the Backstreet Boys through Justin Timberlake all the way to post-Post Malone. The greater sin of “Caramel” is that it veers, without justification, into a heavier section with backing screams that seem completely out of place. And this happens over and over on Arcadia: Sleep Token are happy to practically stop a song so they can wedge in a requisite metal section. The riffs are no longer executed with the enthusiasm of the previous records, and there’s little energy expended to ensure the heavier and lighter elements blend smoothly. 

The more pop-centric tracks on older records still had heft: “Mine” built post-rock fashion from its jaunty synth motif into a thickly-riffed climax; the chant of “The Love You Want” was eventually accompanied in its final chorus by Car Bomb-esque wonky djent; and “Granite” allowed a thrumming eight string low-end to counter its otherwise typical poppiness. Frequently, the “heavy parts” on Arcadia’s offerings tend toward the strumming of thicc but generic bass lines in the chorus—at least on “Damocles”, Vessel has the self-awareness to admit “I know these chords are boring.” On “Gethsemane”, Sleep Token remember they were meant to record guitar parts, leading to Intervals-esque noodling that is at least engaging but feels a touch out of place. Still, this track tries out some ideas beyond the usual formula, be it Vessel’s frequent and rather refreshing utilisation of falsetto, or a bit of rhythmic start-stop in the choruses, and some better integrated djenting—even if all that is for naught when he ends up going back to the dull ol’ mid-tempo RnB. The problem is that while it wouldn’t be prudent or relevant to speculate as to Vessel’s race, his hip-hop credentials are akin to the average white middle manager’s. His flow, such as it is, barely varies, watering down every song it touches to one uninteresting idea. 

Refrains, meanwhile, are hammered home with desperate repetition, as if the band know that there are no true hooks here. How many times can you listen to a man repeat “So go ahead and wrap your arms around me, arms around me, arms around me” before you stick a butter knife in an electrical socket? Ignore my frazzled, smoking hair. Vessel’s rhyme scheme is steeped in a hip-hop flow but delivered like a sad giant workshopping his first ever diss track. Also, I don’t understand (and certainly don’t care to dig into) the lyrical themes. Supposedly, the band is centred around this eldritch terror called Sleep and is speaking His gospel, but most of Sleep Token’s lyrics are universal-yet-neutered paeans to a litany of situationships. Either Sleep Token is a failed sex cult run by a man lacking the raw sexual charisma of the late L. Ron Hubbard or Vessel is writing fanfic for his own “I’m being topped by an eldritch god”⁵ stories. Neither prospect is appealing.  

Now, those of you rooting for the prosecution in this double review will be baying for blood. But I can’t deny that Even in Arcadia has a handful of compelling moments: the tense build into the metal drop on opening number “Look to Windward” is skilfully done, even if the middle third of the track turns into a fifth-rate OneRepublic⁶ mimic. “Emergence” might not be inspired but it feels more like “classic” Sleep Token and has a sense of composition lacking elsewhere. Closing track “Infinite Baths”, despite the silly title, is the clear standout—indeed, Sleep Token have form for bookending their albums strongly. The build around halfway through the track sees string swells leading into a succession of actually thought-through djent riffs which are, again, compelling in a way that so much of Arcadia isn’t. Sleep Token understand tension and release. It’s one of their great strengths, and yet this album is almost devoid of it. 

With a little metal for the sake of keeping up appearances, Even in Arcadia leans harder into a sort of noughties hip-hop vibe that’s as purposeless as it is irritating. Vessel sings another round of curiously sexless erotic laments that are sure to keep his fans doxxing him, but the shtick is getting tired, and Sleep Token sound spent. The group’s cult-like fandom won’t notice the misstep, but this is a curiously uninspired outing for a band who, whether you consider them metal or not, are undeniably the biggest artist in the modern scene. Are Sleep Token metal? Who cares. The question you should be asking is “Am I getting old?” and you’re not gonna like the answer. 

Christopher’s final verdict: 4/10

Recommended tracks: Look to Windward, Emergence, Gethsemane, Infinite Baths
You may also like: Sermon, Rendezvous Point, Intrascendence

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

Label: RCA Records – Facebook | Official Website

Sleep Token is:
– Vessel (vocals, keyboards, guitars)
– II (drums)
With guests:
– Gabi Rose (saxophone on “Emergence”)

1. This very site is no exception, as is readily evidenced by the review accompanying mine. Enjoying these guys’ music is, shall we say, a… minority opinion around here. ︎
2. As someone who strongly views genre as something artists do rather than something they are, this whole debate perplexes me. I will simply say that Sleep Token are unambiguously a band that does metal, sometimes, and whether they spend a sufficiently large percentage of their runtime doing it to “be” metal will be left as an exercise for the people who actually give a shit. ︎
3. My fellow writer Andy called this part “cliche”, a take I would expect from someone who listens to car alarms and shrimp noises in his free time. ︎
4. Oh, you thought Ian’s 6.5 was mean? Just you wait. ︎
5.  Vessel might top or they might take it in turns. Let it never be said that this blog isn’t sex positive. ︎
6.  Remember OneRepublic? They released that one album, Dreaming Out Loud, in 2007. The most successful single was “Apologize” which Timbaland remixed. “Stop and Stare” was good, too. Then they disappeared and never made music again, or so I assumed until researching for this review which led me to the baffling discovery that they have 53 million Spotify monthly listeners and released their sixth album last year. Who the fuck is listening to OneRepublic in 2025?! ︎

The post Double Review: Sleep Token – Even in Arcadia appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Groove metal, progressive metal, deathcore (Mixed vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Gojira, Fit For An Autopsy, Shokran, Lamb of God
Country: Greece
Release date: 25 April 2025

Humans have had a long-standing fascination with technology, dreaming of grand cybernetic implants¹ and attempting to bring a primal touch to its steel and silicon creations. This fixation has even bled into music: the crux of pop act Magdalena Bay’s 2022 Mercurial World tour was imparting humanity into a robot named Chaeri by ‘feeding’ her secrets sent in by listeners to a voice mailbox, then having her come out onstage and dance. Oria sits in a similar state, trying to find their humanity after years of calcification into machine. Does their latest release, This Future Wants Us Dead, transcend its metallic form or are we left with a heart of steel by its end?

Oria’s schematics can be traced back to two sources: Gojira and Fit For an Autopsy. Swirling around chunky grooves, crushing the listener under crunchy breakdowns, and exuding a biting humanist lyrical bent, This Future Wants Us Dead explores myriad compositional ideas while sticking steadfast to its rigid sonic framework. A bevy of vocal styles are used across the record, including mechanical cleans (“Tantalia”), half-shouted spits (“Pirates, Parrots, and Parasites”), and full-bodied deathcore harshes (“Guided by the Hand of G.O.D.S.”); Oria even throw in some throat singing for good measure (“Clouds of Anatta”). Structurally, This Future Wants Us Dead loosens and becomes more organic across its runtime, beginning fairly regimented in its compositions and allowing them to flow and breathe a bit more near its end.

So how does Oria handle its transition from machine to man? Well, when getting settled into any new body (an experience I’m sure we’re all familiar with), growing pains are inevitable. Opening track “Metamorphocene: The New from the Shell of the Old” in particular feels the most like a machine trying to recalibrate to its limbs, as its straightforward grooves are serviceable but missing a bit of punch to make them stand out. Additionally, the vocal performance is the record’s weakest, the harsh vocals lacking bite and the clean vocals coming across as stilted and robotic, and not in a way that is likely intended. Nevertheless, vocalist Leonidas Plataniotis seems to become more comfortable in his performance over the course of This Future Wants Us Dead. He fully comes into his own on “Guided by the Hand of G.O.D.S.” as he harshly bellows ‘Taste the agony of freewill’ before the listener is absolutely cudgeled by a breakdown. On the climax of “From Wastelands to Vile Hands”, he charismatically proclaims ‘We—will—rise—on top of the bile!’ and “Clouds of Anatta” sees a clever call-and-response of half-harsh rasps and throat singing. The lyricism matches this evolution in confidence, showing a steadfast conviction to individualism and self-agency. 

The instrumental work betrays a much more subtle growth, beginning with a set of groove-heavy tracks that eventually become more generous with their breakdowns. The verses of “Pirates, Parrots, and Parasites”, for example, contain a bouncy core, guitar grooves rebounding off of punctuated snare hits and holding back from crushing heaviness. Later tracks like “Chthonic Uprising” and “Guided by the Hand of G.O.D.S.” are centralized by their breakdowns, using weighty chugs and group shouts to build into steamrolling climaxes. Moreover, it’s quite remarkable how easily Oria explore ideas within the relatively narrow framework of grooves and breakdowns, changing their formula up enough on a track-by-track basis to instill a strong identity and avoiding the trap of samey-ness commonly present in more groovy approaches to metal.

However, within these standout moments emerges a subtle flaw: song flow. In any given moment, a track has something engaging and fun going on, but when trying to piece together the progression of a piece, it’s difficult to make out its intention or trajectory. What’s missing is some kind of central idea to hold compositions together—yes, many tracks happily sit in a verse-chorus structure, but repetition of ideas is not quite enough to coalesce a piece into something cohesive. “Terragenics”, for example, sits in a similar groove across its runtime, establishing a Meshuggah-with-extra-squeals riff in its opening moments. The track ends with a surprising and engaging black metal-ish section, but the two parts don’t feel particularly related. The establishing staccato off-grooves are all but abandoned, and so I end up confused about how we got here. Each piece without a doubt has interesting moments and compelling vocal melodies, and I wish that tracks were more faithful to their best ideas instead of stringing together passages that happen to occasionally land on genius.

The closing moments of This Future Wants Us Dead tap into the missing nuance and elegance in its compositions, transforming from a ponderous fledgling into something wholly organic and finessed. The last two tracks in particular showcase songwriting mastery from two separate angles. “Tantalia” is sharply focused and tight, stubbornly ruminating on a tumbling groove led along by clean vocals. Occasionally, the rollicking trems get knocked into heavy breakdowns, but never without purpose or clever transitions, deftly pummeling the listener into the ground across its runtime. Conversely, “Slow Down, Take a Breath and Bury the World that Was” is a slow-burner, beginning with sparse percussion, subdued vocals, and quiet guitar picking. More layers and more intensity are added as the track progresses, taking a detour with an Inmazes-style (VOLA) solo on its way to a triumphant climax. As Plataniotis proclaims ‘We embrace our power within’, the track opens up, the agency demanded from the lyrics expressing a cathartic release as an ascendant djent groove triumphantly soars in newfound freedom.

Despite its cold and robotic exterior, This Future Wants Us Dead is remarkably human in both its desire for independence and its imperfections. Regimented and stilted in its introductory moments, Oria wield their appendages with style and focus by the record’s end. There are certainly still kinks to work out in the machine, though: a stronger focus on tight songwriting around their best ideas and a more persistent confidence in the vocal delivery will help to augment their output considerably. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to recharge my cybernetic arm-gun.

Recommended tracks: Slow Down, Take a Breath and Bury the World that Was; Tantalia; Pirates, Parrots, and Parasites
You may also like: Nostoc, Ahasver, Interloper, Hippotraktor
Final verdict: 6.5/10

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

Label: Theogonia Records – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Oria is:
– Leonidas Plataniotis – Vocals, Guitars
– Thanasis Kostopoulos – Guitars
– Stefanos Papadopoulos – Bass
– Jordan Tsantsanoglou – Drums

1. I’m still waiting on my Mega Man-style lemon shooter. ︎

The post Review: Oria – This Future Wants Us Dead appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Label: Independent release

Carian is:
– Randy Cordner (everything)

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

The post Review: Carian – Saranhedra appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Artwork by: Rachel Demetz

Style: Alternative Metal, Death Metal, Progressive Metal (Mixed Vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Arch Enemy, Jinjer, The Agonist, Ad Infinitum
Country: Spain
Release date: 25 April 2025

Anlage. Merriam-Webster defines it as “the foundation of a subsequent development.” It is a beginning, a description upheld and embodied by Spain’s femme-fatale metallic quartet, Indar, who more poetically outline it as an “essence, the first sprout that emerges from a sown seed.” Formed in 2020 in Barcelona, Indar have been nurturing this particular seed for five years; their first single, “Rotten Roots,” emerged in October 2023, with the fifth (and final), “Oxyde” arriving November 2024. Five months on and debut album Anlage has burst from the soil, in search of the nourishing light above.

Speaking of plants, I’m reminded of the 1989 Toho feature, Godzilla vs Biollante. In it, Godzilla’s cells are used to create a hybrid of plant and human when a scientist attempts to immortalize his dead daughter’s soul. After its initial “birth” where it attacks a team of saboteurs, Biollante flees into Lake Ashi and transforms into a mammoth rose-like entity. Later, it evolves again, its form taking on some of the dinosaur-like aspects of Godzilla—mirroring yet expanding upon its genetic inspiration, one could say.

Likewise, Indar’s breed of alternative metal finds their roots grasping at several possible influences: from vocalist Sara Parra’s venomous rasps bearing marks of Angela Gossow (ex-Arch Enemy), Defacing God-esque blackened melodeath rumblings (“Swallow,” “Oxyde,” “Udol,” “Nostalgia”), the echoes of gothic doom à la a rocked-out Red Moon Architect (“Rotten Roots”), to the Stolen Babies vibes lurking within “Prey” and “Goodbye Ground.” Parra’s cleans often hit with a clarity and power not unlike Nina Saeidi (Lowen), and the progressive-doom sprinkled throughout had me drawing frequent comparisons to her band.

Though their core sound never strays far from familiar, Indar are hardly imitation. Guitarist Karmen Muerza, for example, prefers rock-flavored riffing and black metal tremolos as opposed to, say, Michael Ammott’s (Arch Enemy) neoclassical pyrotechnics and anthemic death-dealing. She tends to fold her guitar into the general flow of songs, reinforcing as opposed to informing the direction of the music. Occasionally, she breaks out to impart some goth-doom flourish that wouldn’t feel out of place on a Draconian record (“Oxyde,” “Udol,” “Nostalgia”). The rest of the band follows similarly, with drummer Nana Nakanishi and bassist Marta Coscujuela providing a solid foundation for their compatriots to maneuver alongside. The result feels like a real team effort, every element cooperating to deliver on Indar’s moody, doomy, death-orbiting prog’n’roll—which, like the aforementioned Biollante, could hardly be mistaken for any of their perceived inspirations.

Where Indar struggle is with the very concept of anlage itself. Starting with the eponymous track (and opener), we are treated to the ever-popular dramatic synth instrumental. Expecting a segue into “Swallow” to really kick things off, I was surprised when all that drama simply… fizzled out into silence, leaving “Swallow” to start over and rendering “Anlage” meaningless. Worse, the two subsequent tracks (“Rotten Roots” and “Prey”) adhere to the same playbook, each building up before unfurling into the song-proper. This leaves Anlage’s front half kinetically inert. And while the individual tracks are entertaining in isolation, this interchangeability left me with a disappointing sense of arrested development. It’s not until “Goodbye Ground” that we get some momentum within the tracklisting, and by then Anlage has hit its midpoint. I’m not saying every track needs to jump headfirst into the waters, but in this case I think a little variety in the format would go a long way towards cultivating a more engaging album journey.

Fortunately, Anlage’s second act leads us to some of the group’s strongest offerings. “Oxyde” is an ear-perker, with Parra’s razored screams and breathy cleans cutting deliciously against the song’s gothic vibes. Follow-up “Udol” conjures occult bonfires blazing against the velvet skein of deep night with its ethereal vocal lines and at turns hammering-and-haunting melodeath—to say nothing of the earworm chorus and ascendant ritualism of “Nostalgia.” But closer “Thalassophobia” is where the band fully blooms into what feels like their final form, bursting from the sod with palpable energy and a lust for long-form life as they wend through nearly nine minutes of vivid melodeath, smoky doom passages, a hefty breakdown, and ethereal prog-death bass runs that wouldn’t feel out of place on Absolute Elsewhere-era Blood Incantation. Parra pulls from her entire repertoire, delivering vicious snarls and gorgeously resonant harmonies before the song hits a final trench run of kicked-up sonics and aggression.

Indar are clearly competent songwriters, and when they decide to cut loose it can lead to a lot of fun. However, the indecisive start-stop-start of Anlage’s opening act feels like a band uncertain of their own development. The comfort here is that Anlage itself is only a beginning: with their roots established, it will be interesting to see how Indar mature from here.

Recommended tracks: Oxyde, Udol, Nostalgia, Thalassophobia
You may also like: Eccentric Pendulum, Crystal Coffin, Guhts
Final verdict: 6.5/10

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

Label: LaRubiaProducciones – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Indar is:
– Sara Parra (vocals)
– Karmen Muerza (guitars)
– Marta Coscujuela (bass)
– Nana Nakanishi (drums)

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