Album art by Bruno Gonzalez

Style: Blackgaze, post-metal (harsh vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Deafheaven, Alcest, Saon, Lantlôs, Agalloch
Country: Austria
Release date: 24 January 2025

Since 2011, Harakiri for the Sky have made themselves a notable presence in the metal scene—not a headliner band nor a forgettable opener. Their sound defines an accessible fusion of the deeply layered and atmospheric aspects of post-metal, with a sprinkling of melody infused black metal. All of this crystallizes into melancholic journeys through somber, aural landscapes.

Everything about the creation of Scorched Earth set the stage for a massive return to form. The band’s 2018 album Arson was followed by a series of middling, unremarkable albums. When their 2021 release, Mære, left both me and critics cold, it was clear that Harakiri for the Sky needed a new creative spark. This inspiration took root in the hiatus that occurred from 2021 to 2025, which involved J.J. (Michael V. Wahntraum) going on a personal pilgrimage of self-discovery; he was processing the end of a long-time relationship, which led him to a family-owned cabin far off in the woods, where he could find himself in solitude. Simultaneously, civilization itself was in the middle of the COVID pandemic, which added a world-weary angle to J.J.’s contemplations.

Harakiri for the Sky are masters of painting a gloomy vista: the use of emotive, if somewhat predictable harmony, layered vastness with piercing high melodies and ostinatos, and a strong sense of when to break from a momentous riff. Whether it’s a rainy day, a break up, or sense of existential unease, their sound functions as the backdrop to them all. The issue is, can they make a collection of songs that offers more than just a vibe—an album worth keeping?

The potential of being a keeper is present in Scorched Earth, manifested particularly in “With Autumn I’ll Surrender”. It is structured around a catchy motif which glides over the blackgaze/post-metal landscapes constructed by the rhythmic escalations of the harmonic beauty—starting slow, then reaching a gallop. Across the song’s eight minutes, this motif is built up, deviated from, and reintroduced in ways that keep the idea fresh and impactful. The issue, however, is that none of the other tracks measure up to it.

The band can’t escape the trap of songs having a convincing aesthetic but a vanishing trace of substance. This might not be apparent on a moment-to-moment basis, but the album’s overall songwriting leaves much to be desired. The beginning theme of “Heal Me,” consisting of a post-rock-esque soaring melody, becomes indistinct by drawing itself out and consisting mainly of tremolo-picked long notes—in this case, if the theme had more substantial variations that introduce a busier texture beyond tremolo picking, it might have been a keeper. “Keep Me Longing” has a theme containing a series of arpeggios, but its use in the song could easily be mistaken for some kind of secondary section, as it just doesn’t seem to have much of an identity. Although this theme is busy, it lacks contrast. Contours and textures that aren’t arpeggio-like would have gone far in making the motif more unique, and perhaps a more engaged rhythm section would have made the overall songwriting stronger. But a lack of diversity and memorability plague nearly the entire album.

In an ideal world, every song would be equally distinct, based firmly on ideas that compelled a relisten. Instead of lamenting its failures, I would suggest that the band look to the highlights of The Ruins of Beverast and Absu to develop a bit more sophistication in their composition in order to push themselves further. However, such a hope for Harakiri Of The Sky is a pipe dream, since they consistently fail to make songs that stand out from one another at all. Scorched Earth is a beautiful, but ultimately forgettable album. The only possible way forward from here is to take cues from the likes of Agalloch and Alcest in terms of motif-work.

Recommended tracks: With Autumn I’ll Surrender
You may also like: Together to the Stars, Constellatia, Asunojokei
Final verdict: 6/10

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

Label: AOP – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Harakiri for the Sky is:
– J.J. (vocals)
– M.S. (guitar, bass, producer)
– Krimh (drums)

The post Review: Harakiri for the Sky – Scorched Earth appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Artwork by Gaia Cafiso

Style: Power Metal, Prog Metal (mixed vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Unleash the Archers, Epica, Stratovarius
Country: United States, Wisconsin
Release date: 31 January 2025

It’s been a while since I’ve been so torn on my final judgment of a metal release. On one hand, the Queen of Dreams sophomore album, Subnivium, accounts for many of the sonic shortcomings (particularly being disjointed and having a muddy production job) of their debut album while tightening up their songwriting and aesthetic styles. But on the other hand, the band may have overcorrected for their previous criticisms, leading to an over-produced, homogenous follow-up. While Subnivium showcases many dimensions of competency, it also lacks the secret sauces, innovation and passion, which listeners expect from works that are not merely good, but groundbreaking. I particularly care much more about a band experimenting and delivering music through sincere, artistic desire rather than turning in an assignment that feels like a final exam in a music theory course. Subnivium feels like it landed somewhere in between the two.

The album’s intended style is present at the gates: Vocal-forward, melodic power metal with a small amount of progressive songwriting elements thrown in to add a hint of sophistication to the music’s trimmings—placing itself somewhere in between Epica and Unleash the Archers. Queen of Dreams occasionally partakes in a mix of screams and growls, however fleeting and sparingly. One will also notice that the band members have incredible harmony with one another, performing in a peculiarly unified whole—consequently, for better or worse, most of their songs sound extremely similar.

Additionally, one will hear the particular sharp and punchy production job crafted masterfully by Alex Parra at Second Sight Sound. This studio is also responsible for the recent Arch Enemy and Evergrey albums, and for those who are familiar, the hard-hitting rhythm sections and blasting distortions from those are similarly employed in Subnivium; albeit they glossed the synths, lead guitars, and vocals to sound a bit prettier and more colorful. From a technical angle, the album generally sounds quite good and the notes all pop distinctly—it’s as clean as a marbled granite countertop. Though, almost all of the songs are written to showcase melody and bright soundscapes, the production job best complements the songs with the hookiest melodies, such as “Radiant” and “Shield Anvil.”

I find it helpful to distinguish between horizontal and vertical listening experiences: horizontally, we’re able to pick up on how music sounds in single moments, oftentimes more represented by scattershot listens, skipping around and hearing a couple seconds of tracks more or less at random, or by paying close attention to some smaller interval; while the vertical experience demonstrates more of an invested listen from front to back, immersing in the way an album develops over time, analysing its exploration of ebb-and-flow and oscillating dynamics. 

In this sense, Subnivium sounds great horizontally since one is treated with mouthfuls of gorgeous guitar and synth solos, often harmonizing, and a talented vocalist who contrasts her powerful cadence with the energetic, crunchy rhythm section. However, after a while, the band will appear to know only one pace, one tone, one tempo, and it becomes easy to feel oversaturated with the cloying and repetitive delivery. This is the primary reason that I believe this album will get underrated in end-of-the-year rankings lists. To many, this is a serious downfall—especially in the world of progressive music, people usually do not like hearing the same thing over and over. 

Subnivium’s lack of variety is why I particularly appreciate the scattered bits of songwriting diversity we do get from the band. For example, “Kiln the Forgotten Flame” is a beautifully crafted and performed instrumental that gives us a short break from the endless choruses. The little fake-out ending around three and a half minutes into “Radiant” is a playful touch that breaks up the monotony. Other small elements, like the occasional distant harsh vocals, random bass solos, sentimental piano outros, or the attempt at a longer track as a closer, are moments I’d like Queen of Dreams to get more comfortable with.

Overall, despite my main criticism, Subnivium is a fairly successful effort from the band—particularly since they are still early in their career. Queen of Dreams corrected the occasional feeling of disjointedness from their debut and integrated a clean, professional production job. They’re undoubtedly a band comprised of skilled musicians. However, if they are to jump from just a decent band to an amazing one, they are going to need to look at different sources of inspiration: bands that can build on the dynamics of songs to deliver more sublime kinds of experiences rather than simply delivering verses, choruses, and riffs for the sake of filling empty space. We have a solid foundation here; now it’s up to the band to determine what else they can do with it. It is still not too late to avoid being pigeon-holed into a legacy of predictability.

Recommended tracks: Radiant, Shield Anvil, Kiln the Forgotten Flame
You may also like: Helion Prime, Triosphere, Empress, Dawn of Destiny
Final verdict: 6.5/10

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

Label: Independent

Queen of Dreams is:
– Ally Scott (keyboards)
– Caleb Scott (guitar, backing vocals)
– Dan Love (drums)
– Lnz Prazak (vocals)
– Tom Brown (guitar)
– Sky Talbott-Settle (bass)

The post Review: Queen of Dreams – Subnivium appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Album art by Dan Schaub

Style: Mixed Vocals (mostly clean)
Recommended for fans of: Dance Gavin Dance, Royal Coda, Maroon 5, Coheed and Cambria
Country: Utah, United States
Release date: 17 January 2025

Your friend is a prodigy at Harvard University: He has a perfect GPA, is the leader of the school debate team, and is one of the most productive research assistants at the institution. With a lightning quick mind that quickly answers every question the professor asks, your friend has a destiny to accomplish something great in the world.

He’s not without his weaknesses though: You take him to a frat party on a dare, and things don’t go smoothly. At some point, humorous discussions about football are met with stilted silence from him. At another point, he got the idea that pickup lines were cool, and completely made an ass of himself to some poor woman. A deeply one-sided conversation about the theoretical limits of quantum physics happened, which was met with people distracting themselves with memes on their phones. Eventually, he just leaves the party, and you kind of regret bringing him in the first place. This unfortunate analogy describes Mend, and Eidola’s journey to it.

A worthy contemporary to the likes of Dance Gavin Dance, Royal Coda, and Hail the Sun, Andrew Wells and his crew are a serious force in the Swancore scene, which is a particular strain of progressive post-hardcore. Their progressive qualities are exemplified by songs like “Contra: Second Temple” off of Degeneraterra, or “Caustic Prayer” off of The Architect, which are brimming with lush colors, busy and dense riffing, Andrew Well’s anthemic and lyrical voice, and songwriting that defies convention by strongly deviating from chorus driven structures. With an incredibly strong series of albums starting at their sophomore release, Eidola have proven themselves as a talented and consistent band with a definitive sound, and are now setting out to try something new.

Mend is a part of a duology which seeks to explore territory beyond the band’s definitive progressive trademarks. The first album in the duo, Eviscerate, incorporated aggressive metalcore influences in order to better describe the darker side of human nature. Mend, on the other hand, is an exploration of the light side of human nature, drawing from both rock sensibilities and straight-up pop music. Given that their sound is already quite bright, this is the only way they could push their sound forward towards something even more luminous.

All the components of a good album are here: vocal harmonies, sensual melodic lines, a stronger push towards a verse-chorus-verse structure, a variegated sonic palette, and a sprinkling of harsh vocals. Mend’s potential is exemplified in both “The Faustian Spirit” and “Godhead: Final Temple”. The former starts with a few sensual guitar lines, before moving into a build that is brimming with ideas: beginning low key and slightly stationary, and gaining intensity with Andrew’s cries and an almost total sense of evolution. Then the chorus hits, and it could rock a stadium with the resolution of the tension built before. “The Faustian Spirit” then demonstrates its sophistication by not merely reiterating the verses, but approaching each repetition of the chorus with totally different ideas while still remaining coherent.

Unfortunately, these two songs are flukes; the songwriting for the vast majority of the tracks struggles with middling attempts at choruses, incompleteness, questionable endings, and the occasional embarrassment. “Empire of Light” is seriously marred by Andrew’s Adam Levin aping: Singing ‘I don’t give a fuck’ repeatedly doesn’t come off as sexy as he thinks it does. “Blood in the Water” labors through an awkwardness; the initial transition to the chorus feels like a complete after-thought, and while the chorus itself has a marvelous quality, each subsequent verse and reintroduction feels poorly thought out and confused. “Prodigy”’s entire problem is that its chorus has the intensity of something that should have been a verse leading to somewhere greater.

This was an experiment for Eidola: A delving into something more conventional while not selling out completely. The result ranges from listenable to totally confused, with a tiny sprinkling of greatness. If the band were to return to this kind of sound in the future, there would need to be a serious effort to know the line where pop goes from cool to cringe, a bigger emphasis on build ups and coherency, and a commitment to choruses that stand out in intensity.

Recommended tracks: The Faustian Spirit, Godhead: Final Temple
You may also like: Makari, Meliorist, Senna, Galleons
Final verdict: 5.5/10

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

Label: Blue Swan – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

band in question is:
– Andrew Michael Wells (vocals, guitar)
– Sergio Medina (bass, guitar)
– Matthew Hansen (drums)
– Stephan Hawkes (producer)

The post Review: Eidola – Mend appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Album art by unknown

Style: Post-metal, hardcore, progressive metal, alternative metal (mixed vocals)
Recommended for fans of: The Ocean, Cult of Luna, A Perfect Circle
Country: Germany
Release date: 24 January, 2025

I’m about to admit a cardinal sin that will strip me of all metal cred: I really fucking love alternative metal, especially when it’s good. Any day of the week, I can get down with A Perfect Circle, Tool, and System of a Down more than most of my reviewer compatriots can. I make fun of our glorious leader Sam for listening to Breaking Benjamin, but it’s because I too wished to find my place in ‘The Diary of Jane’ once upon a time. However, when I take a risk on alt metal, I end up with trash ninety-nine percent of the time. That one percent nets me something like Chevelle’s NIRATIAS, but that’s few and far between—especially when we’re dealing with the underground.

But why do I like the horrendous subgenre known as alternative metal? Despite being the de-facto tech/prog-death guy of the Subway, simplicity gets me sometimes. A catchy, anthemic chorus against a backdrop of screamed verses gets the neurons firing more than I care to confess, and that’s exactly what ‘Idol’, the opener of Causes did for me. The sudden shift from screams to a chorus that sounds just like A Perfect Circle driven by guest female vocalist Hannah Zieziula was enough to sell me on the album, but was it enough to net it within that one percent of, dare I say, good alt metal?

Like practically the entire subgenre, Causes is junk food metal, and while that could sound like an insult, they’re leagues ahead of their contemporaries Sleep Token and Jinjer. Unfortunately, Causes plays it incredibly safe. There aren’t any “riffs” as much as there are chugging rhythms backed by simple lead lines. There isn’t any crazy rhythmic fuckery in the drums, and I’m not even sure the bassist showed up to the studio. The real star of the show is the vocalist, who like the rest of the band, isn’t credited anywhere on the internet. He shifts from growls reminiscent of a gravellier Tomas Lindberg (At the Gates) to the silky cleans I’d expect of a hardcore/alt metal act.

Causes never tries to reinvent the wheel, and Haven wouldn’t need to if the album wasn’t so plain. ‘Leash’ is about the furthest the band veers into the post-metal-tinged sound they’ve promoted for themselves, and I’d only say so because of the breakdown and buildup that follows. But even after listening to Causes multiple times now, I struggle to remember much of anything besides the choruses of the first two songs and much of the third. Everything after these first three relatively cohesive pieces falls apart under the weight of subsequent tracks.. There are only so many tricks that can keep my attention from waning, and Haven use them all up in the first 18 minutes of the album.

This isn’t to say Causes is bad, more that Haven is just having a bit of an identity crisis. Bands rarely fuse the pummeling, brisk nature of hardcore and prog to great success because the two styles are constantly at odds with each other, and it’s exemplified here. ‘Wesen’, coming hot off the heels of ‘Leash’, may as well have been left on the cutting floor, as should’ve interlude track ‘Theia’. The former only serves as a foray into electronica to give the album a tad bit of eclecticism, the latter simply a poor buildup into the closer. The last two real songs on the album have all but run out of steam, and in an attempt to drag along its runtime, end up feeling bloated and unnecessary. ‘Rue’ should build into a fist-bumping chorus a la A Perfect Circle’s ‘Pet’, but seems to lack any direction in its overlong seven-minute runtime. Its singular string chug of a main riff began to grate on me by minute three, and by the time its screamed refrain came once more, I found my attention elsewhere. Meanwhile, closer ‘Ankou’ nearly captures that energy the first half of the album had, but flows through too many glacial repeated sections to keep it up.

I’ve ragged a lot on Causes because I hear a band who’ve just nearly got it. It, in this case, being a cohesive and enjoyable sound. Haven are pulled between the post-metal leanings of Hippotraktor and alt metal stylings, and once they’ve figured this tug-of-war out, they can then focus on capturing that lighting in a bottle they had going in Causes’ first few songs. The aggression and skill at building to a chorus is there, but the songwriting suffers as a lack of identity rears its ugly head early on. I can only give a disappointing verdict, and a bunch of well wishes to Haven in the future.

Recommended tracks: Idol, Causes, Leash
You may also like: Hippotraktor, Seyr
Final verdict: 5.5/10

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

Label: Argonauta Records – Official Website

Haven is:
– I can’t find credits anywhere on the internet. Haven please DM us on Instagram so I can add them!

The post Review: Haven – Causes appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Progressive rock (clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Pink Floyd, Yes, Franco Battiato, Premiata Forneria Marconi
Country: Italy
Release date: 23 January 2025

“To have seen Italy without having seen Sicily is not to have seen Italy at all, for Sicily is the clue to everything.” Thus spake Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe of his Italian journey in 1787. Coming from Palermo myself, of Sicilian metal and rock acts I know too few—death metallers Dark Secret from Caltanissetta, symphonic black metal band Inchiuvatu from Sciacca, and doomers Haunted from Catania—but for prog, specifically? Much as Goethe remarks, it felt a little like I was missing a piece of the puzzle until today, when I found myself writing about just such a group: Ologram from Syracuse. Ologram just put out their sophomore album La Mia Scia (“My Trail”) in January—a melancholic, contemplative and nostalgic progressive rock release, in the vein of 1970s pensive prog acts like Pink Floyd, but lacking some of the blues or psychedelic influence. Unfolding at a slow and deliberate pace, steeped in somber introspection, its track listing flows by, carried on wistful melodies and poetic lyricism—yet, for all its atmosphere, La Mia Scia never really takes shape. The music drifts, traveling endlessly on the autostrada without ever reaching a destination.

The compositions on La Mia Scia struggle to move along with any real purpose, with Ologram often reusing tired, terraced dynamics over the course of the album: loud, quiet, loud again, with practically every song playing into some variation of this structure. Tending towards energetic choruses leading back into soft, reverberant arpeggiated guitar in the verses, by the fourth track “Non Sarai”, it all starts to feel a little repetitious. There’s hardly a memorable riff here aside from the intro to “Kasbah”, which distinctly recalls “Kashmir” by Led Zeppelin; and the intro to “1997,” where an electronic drum and background melody leads into a syncopated rhythm over a reverberant, emotional short lead guitar solo. 

There is a bit of experimentation on La Mia Scia, however, where beyond traditional rock elements and the aforementioned electronic drum samples in the intros to “1997” and “Non Sarai”, Ologram dabble in some symphonic or acoustic elements that present themselves midway through the album, on tracks like “Jacaranda” and “Descent”. On “Jacaranda”, the focus is on a crescendo acoustic-guitar-and-string-backed vocal performance that adds some variety, and lends a 70s progressive folk quality to La Mia Scia in the vein of fellow countrymen Premiata Forneria Marconi, or even something approaching Jethro Tull. And on the instrumental piece “Descent”, Ologram has their stand-out moment as they very nearly take on a symphonic prog metal sensibility with heavy palm-muting and synthesizer leads with violin backing—but these are some of the few times something, anything, interesting happens on La Mia Scia. 

Vocally, there’s an undeniable emotional weight—vocalist Fabio Speranza delivers every line with the weary sigh of someone lost in memory, lamenting the past. However, this mournful approach rarely varies, making the album feel even more one-note. Lyrically, La Mia Scia leans heavily on abstract metaphors and sentimental imagery. While it’s very flowery and contemplative, much like the music, it rarely leads anywhere concrete. The words sound profound but their meaning remains just out of reach; atoms entwine, trees embrace the sea, time stands still—all very poetic, sure, yet often leaving more of an impression than an impact. 

None of this makes La Mia Scia a bad record. It’s atmospheric, enveloping the listener in its brooding haze; the production is polished and spacious, with each instrument given room to breathe while the arrangements emphasize texture over momentum; and it’s sincere in its melancholy. But the tempos don’t change much beyond a midpace, the band never breaks a sweat, and variations in the soundscape are few and far between save for the aforementioned folky or fleeting heavy metal moments. La Mia Scia is frustratingly static, offering little to grasp onto beyond its mood. For those seeking an album to sink into, letting its sadness wash over them, there’s something here. For anyone looking for more—movement, excitement, or even just a hook that lingers—this may feel like a beautiful, but empty, experience.

Recommended tracks: “1997”, “Descent”, “Kasbah”
You may also like: Wounded Knee, Phantom Spell, Silver Nightmares, Alex Carpani
Final verdict: 6/10

Related links: Bandcamp | Spotify | Facebook | Instagram

Label: Independent

Ologram is:
– Fabio Speranza (vocals)
– Lorenzo Giannì (guitars, backing vocals on “Jacaranda”)
– Dario Giannì (electric bass, fretless bass, keyboards, mellotron)
– Roberto Giannì (keyboards, piano)
– Giovanni Spadaro (drums, percussion, electronic drums)

The post Review: Ologram – La Mia Scia appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: progressive metal, technical death metal, groove metal (mixed vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Gojira, Car Bomb, Slugdge, Anciients
Country: Costa Rica
Release date: 7 January 2025

Progressive metal just had a monster of a year, and Gojira reigned king. Very few acts in our genre have claimed a Grammy Award, and exactly one has played at the Olympics. If you were transfixed by “Mea Culpa (Ah! Ça ira!)” and now find yourself among the newest legion of prog fans: welcome! Next, consider checking out Nostoc’s latest release, Rites of Passage. While their name might not loom quite so large as history’s most notable kaiju (in fact, nostoc is a type of single-celled algae), this Central American act’s house style of groovy death metal invokes the same infectious riffage and relentless energy that drew me to Gojira in the first place.

Rites of Passage follows Nostoc‘s 2017 effort, Ævum, which featured such titles as “The Anamnesic Voyage” and (Lord have mercy) “Saturnian Mindscope Introspection.” The band’s latest release dials back the song titling—at times to a Seinfeldian extent—but continues to embrace an atmosphere of esoteric horror fantasy. Gustavo Quirós’s exquisite album art features a brain creature surrounded by mysterious emblems. My wordless understanding of Rites of Passage is that each of the creature’s eight pictographs represents one of the eight “rites.” For example, the feather might refer to the ave de luz y oscuridad (or, “bird of light and darkness”) referenced in the Spanish-language passage of “Opus.” Drawing these connections was an engaging exercise that helped me dig into the album’s narrative. 

Rites of Passage is about a primordial force of nature reclaiming an Earth that humanity has stolen from it, identifying this creature through track titles (“War Mother,” “Legion,” “Healer”) or explaining its motives (“The Whole,” “The Cleanse”). There are multiple valid interpretations of the “Healer”—a forest spirit, a biomechanical hivemind, a visitor from beyond—but one truth is undeniable: it’s pretty pissed off. The messaging is aggressively environmentalist without taking the listener out of the album’s world

The metal itself is equally aggressive. Speaking of a force of nature: drummer Emanuel Calderon is the unsung hero of this record. The drumbeats are full and thunderous throughout, but also erratic, rarely settling into one pattern, a bold choice that pays off handsomely on repeated listens. The vocals largely employ a crispy snarl which is positively demonic without sounding tortured. Nostoc‘s “Opus” (not to be confused with Nospūn‘s Opus) features the most vocal styles, mixing guttural death growls with more blackened banshee-yelling, clean vocals layered atop them, a downright melodic Spanish-language section, and some bizarre cackling thrown in for good measure. The band’s willingness to be theatrical on this front elevates just about every song on the tracklist to being “at least interesting” if not outright “good.” 

Rites of Passage is varied and eccentric enough to be undeniable prog, but never strays so far from its headbanging roots to alienate the baseline metalhead. This is a veritable niche, but I would have liked to see some more work like “The Path.” This song is a full-on detour into reverberated, flowery instrumental, à la the interstitial tracks on earlier Baroness albums. The tranquil strumming of “The Path” offers a reprieve from the music’s violence and serves as an atmospheric trailhead into “The Cleanse.” This is because Nostoc, unlike their namesake cyanobacteria, barely stop to breathe at all throughout Rites of Passage‘s 47-minute runtime. 

The music oscillates wall-to-wall between ferocious and menacing. Some listeners will appreciate this—and it undeniably serves the album’s story and aesthetic—but the lack of audible “footholds” becomes noticeable in the back half of Rites of Passage, when the songs really start to run together. “Moons of Daath” is the worst offender here: an eight-minute wall of sound broken up by the occasional groovy riff or unusual scream. Even the excellent “Opus” feels a little too long to bear the weight of Nostoc‘s sound, an issue that emerges more broadly across Rites of Passage’s runtime. If you listen through Rites of Passage and follow only the drums, it is a loud, eclectic, and ultimately great listen; if you do the same with the strings, or the vocals, it is similarly pleasant; but in unison, the band does not amount to more than the sum of its parts. If “the strings” and “the drums” are dance partners, they are perfectly in step, but one never twirls the other. Additionally, the vocalists, though talented, never come soaring in on the wings of a tasty riff: sometimes they seem content to simply tell a tale on top of the instruments, all the while screaming because, “Hey, we’re playing death metal!”

Groove metal at the level of technicality that Nostoc demonstrate is a fascinating genre experiment. Creating music that is both virtuosic and melodic is a tall order for any musician. If you are an appreciator of, for example, Gorguts-flavored death metal, you might even find these two endeavours to be at odds with each other. Technical metal demands attention; catchy metal necessitates a pit. The task of the progressive musician is to carefully string these disparate elements together into a satisfying composition. It is an unenviable task. I don’t think that Nostoc have entirely stuck the landing here: they have undoubtedly, however, created something both interesting and enjoyable to listen to, and that is an achievement in itself. Sonically, Rites of Passage is a whale of an album. That whale just hasn’t found its wings quite yet. 

Recommended tracks: Legion, The Path, Opus
You may also like: Ahasver, The Gorge, Pull Down the Sun, Sanzu, Liverum
Final verdict: 6/10

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

Label: Independent

Nostoc is:
– David Miranda (guitars)
– Emanuel Calderon (drums)
– Seth Gonzalez (bass)
– Alberto Hernandez (guitars, new)
– Adriana Muñoz (vocals, new)
– Freddy Lopez (guitars/vocals, former)

The post Review: Nostoc – Rites of Passage appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

January kicked off the year with a bang. If you like weird tribal folk stuff, you’ll be plenty pleased with a couple of our picks this month, and if that’s not your bag then we also have crescendous post metal, whiplash-inducing trad prog, intense dissonant death metal, and some folk metal with a South American twist. So whack the heating up, make yourself a drink, and kick back with our playlist while you peruse our picks. 

Wardruna – Birna
Recommended for fans of: Sowulo, Heilung, Forndom, Nytt Land
Picked by: Dave

In keeping with my reputation as a Gay Little Forest Goblin, I naturally gravitated quite heavily to Wardruna’s latest release, Birna. Posturing itself as both a retrospective of their previous work (“Hertan”, “Hibjørnen”, “Birna”) and as a springboard for evolution in their sound (“Dvaledraumar”, “Himmindotter”, “Skuggehesten”), Birna is a consummate folk release, combining powerful and larger-than-life cinematics with Animist lyricism designed to channel a more primal inner self through our relationship with the she-bear, a mystical and renowned creature throughout human history. “Dvaledraumar” in particular utilizes spacious and barren soundscaping to conjure a hazy dreamlike state, and despite its exceedingly minimal sonic palette, its atmosphere is all-encompassing and hypnotic. Additionally, “Himmindotter” and “Ljos til Jord” stand out for the opposite reason, utilizing high-energy percussion to craft utterly danceable moments that stand rooted in chthonic sensibilities. Overall, Birna is an intoxicatingly primal experience and a must-listen for those with a wilder edge.

You might also like: Nordein, De Mannen Broeders, Alora Crucible, Sangre de Muérdago + Judasz & Nahimana
Related links: Bandcamp | Spotify | original review

Obscure Sphinx – Emovere
Recommended for fans of: Cult of Luna, Neurosis, Tool
Picked by: Cory

More than eight years after their last studio work, post-metallers Obscure Sphinx have returned with Emovere, a thirty-minute, three-track EP. Put simply, it’s the band’s best work—and, released not one week into January, it may be the best post-metal we hear all year. Emovere’s sound centers around the dynamic vocals of Zofia “Wielebna” Fraś, whose emotive cleans and screams are a performance to behold. Surrounding her, dark, down-tuned instrumentation fluidly oscillates between crushing and beautiful, without a single passage or transition out of place. The result is a soundscape that’s awe-inspiring yet soothing, and ultimately deeply resonant. I haven’t been this taken with an EP in over a decade (since Haken’s Restoration), and I can’t wait for the band to return with a long player.

You might also like: Blindead / Blindead23, Múr, E-L-R, Cavernlight
Related links: Bandcamp | Spotify | original review

Labÿrinth – In the Vanishing Echoes of Goodbye
Recommended for fans of: Angra, (Luca Turilli/Lione’s) Rhapsody (of Fire), Symphony X
Picked by: Francesco

I don’t think it’s a risk to say that Italian power/prog metal bands are some of the best in the biz, and Tuscany’s Labÿrinth are certainly no exception. In the Vanishing Echoes of Goodbye has all the hallmarks of a great power metal album: memorable sing-along choruses, guitar playing at speeds a considerable fraction of c, flashy keyboard work, and the kind of double-kick drumming that would make a speeding locomotive blush. Labÿrinth are great at what they do and they love to let you know it. Remind me to add the Massa province to my next Italy travel itinerary; those hills are alive with the sound of progressive power metal music.

You might also like: DGM, Vision Divine, Michele Luppi’s Los Angeles
Related links: Spotify | original review

Discordant Meditation – Tragic Creature
Recommended for fans of: Disentomb, Morbid Angel, Gorguts
Picked by: Justin

Look, the other albums on this list are good listens, great even! But sometimes you just need your music to be a monster that hooks its claws into your chest and drags you into a pit with it. Well, Discordant Meditation is that monster, and Tragic Creature is that pit. Flurried guitar riffs weave through dense song structures; herculean drumming propels nearly every moment, and a deep, menacing vocal performance is just the cherry on top. The music is all tied together by a subtle psychedelic tinge that elevates Tragic Creature from your run-of-the-mill tech death album to one that claims a deserved spot among the best releases of January.

You might also like: Faceless Burial, Replicant, Fathomless Ritual
Related links: Bandcamp | Spotify | original review

Wyatt E. – Zam​ā​ru Ultu Qereb Ziqquratu Part 1
Recommended for fans of: Om, Lowen, Earth
Picked by: Andy

While I agree with my peer and good friend Dave for the majority of his excellent review of Belgian droners Wyatt E., I don’t feel the same way about the bookending tracks meandering too long in their post-metal-esque buildups. Getting lost in the journey is part of the fun, and even Zam​ā​ru Ultu Qereb Ziqquratu Part 1’s extended drones are psychedelia of the highest quality, in a league with Neptunian Maximalism (wow, what do the Belgians have in their water with regards to freaky drone??). And those middle tracks truly are superb, from the wonderful poetic narration and vocals to the shorter but still satisfying climaxes. Wyatt E. have truly done something next to impossible: written an interesting drone album. We’re going back to Mesopotamia with this one, boys.

You might also like: Sunnata, Zaum, Neptunian Maximalism, Uulliata Digir, The Ruins of Beverast
Related links: Bandcamp | Spotify | original review

Arraigo – Crioyo
Recommended for fans of: Salduie, Rata Blanca, Alestorm
Picked by: Claire

Fusing down-to-business heavy riffs with Argentinian cultural themes and traditional instruments, this third full-length album from Buenos Aires-based Arraigo is a lively ride. Crioyo rocks, it frolics and dances, and it even kind of swashbuckles. Not to be outdone by the folk-metal stylings of the bombo legüero, charango and co., the album’s guitar work is a nimble mix of chugging riffs and frolicsome soloing, and the vocal delivery is captivating in the band’s native Spanish. A host of infectiously catchy melodies are on offer across the album, and Arraigo doesn’t let up, throwing more and more elements at the wall for forty-two boisterously enjoyable minutes (wait, there’s trumpet now!?)

You might also like: Barloventos, Raza Truncka, Conception

Related links: Spotify | original review

Non-Subway Picks

L.S.Dunes – Violet (Post-hardcore)
The Thursday/Circa Survive/Coheed/MCR supergroup returned this month with their sophomore effort Violet, which saw them delve more into a refined version of themselves than the original, raw, punk version from their debut. An album that sounds like the feeling of someone grabbing you by the shirt as you walk away and begging you to stay. Picked by: Chris

The Weeknd – Hurry Up Tomorrow (synth-pop)
Of all the mega popstars, this guy and Bruno Mars are the best in my expert opinion. Over a sprawling eighty-five minutes, Abel Tesfaye shows up his gorgeous tenor and elegant synth pop arrangements. When lots of pop feels vapid, Hurry Up Tomorrow is refreshingly authentic. Picked by: Andy

The post Our January 2025 Albums of the Month! appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: progressive rock, post-hardcore, math rock (clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Eidola, Hail The Sun, Protest The Hero, Thrice
Country: Oregon, United States
Release date: 17 January 2025

Sometimes an album’s cover artwork alone is enough to fascinate you before you’ve even heard a note. In this case, what more is there to say than: frog. With cape. The fashionable amphibian dazzled the Progressive Subway writers from the moment he first appeared in our bookmarked albums, and the album which he fronts turns out to be almost as enigmatic as the figure himself. The lyrics throughout Object Unto Earth’s The Grim Village lean towards the abstract in a Rishloo-esque way, steeped in metaphor and built from tantalizing phrases made up of perfectly ordinary words whose slippery deeper meaning slithers away before you can get a grasp. Meanwhile, repeated mentions of frogs, crows, rats, and other beasts maintain a more grounded view of a forest community of intelligent animals.

The Grim Village features a unique guitar tone that defies any single descriptor, straddling the line between crunchy and fuzzy, combining the best parts of hard-edged post-hardcore, hazy psychedelia, and smooth, technical math rock. Individual tracks lean more in one direction or another, such as “On A Pale Horse I Thrive” which sets an aggressive post-hardcore tone early on, “Dreadful Lord of Toads” which maximizes the psychedelic elements, or the heavy post-metal overcast of “Onward With Blinding Speed” that opens the second half. These varied guitar features pair with a sharp vocal delivery reminiscent in part of Eidola, with also an echo of The Dear Hunter’s theatricality, and together these disparate components plot a map of the composer’s eclectic whims and whimsies as he leads the audience on a merry adventure through the woods.

The downside of all these different genre elements is that The Grim Village lacks a clear focal point or emotional center. At times edgy and hostile (“I Said I Wouldn’t but I Did”), at others dreamy and melancholy (“Alas, I Hop Along”), all these moods seem at odds with the overall aesthetic of Redwall-esque anthropomorphic forest creatures. As a further side effect, when certain tracks (like “Dreadful Lord of Toads” or the first half of “Sludge Crumpet”) let up on the forceful forward momentum and bring down the tempo, they tend to get lost in the milieu, not bound to the rest of the album by any obvious concept or even really by musical style. These drifting castaway moments divide the listener’s attention, robbing the more put-together climactic moments of some of their impact as the audience tries to piece together how we got from there to here. On the other hand, the nonconformity leaves room for unique little interludes like “For a Frogful of Dollars,” whose lively Western-film-inspired theme leaves me disappointed on every listen that it wasn’t developed into a complete song; a little more zest before the closing track might have helped carry through the momentum being built in the second half of The Grim Village.

Object Unto Earth founder Jonathan Zajdman offered some background behind the album’s development on their Instagram profile, saying “it became a love letter to being alive and being yourself, and how anything else is untenable and a waste of time.” He elaborated in a later post that the energy and creativity that drove The Grim Village’s creation arose from a nearly fatal car accident which he escaped with minimal injuries, saying that the creative process offered him a valuable form of catharsis after such emotional trauma. If I may read between the lines a little, that seems to also include the kind of existential emotional turmoil that follows a near-death experience. Although the surface-level concept expressed in the music itself has little to do with that fateful crash, the sense of catharsis comes through with full clarity; the final few tracks pull these themes out into full view in their lyrics. “Death is the Test of It” ends with the existential line ‘I died and I might and that’s okay,’ and “Bombina, Bombina!!” continues with its pseudo-chorus ‘Oblivion / You came a little bit too close / Now you’re here I′ve been struck by a fear / That I can′t outrun, outgrow, or face alone.’ These songs show the kind of radical acceptance needed in order to move on from such harrowing events, keeping their serious subject camouflaged by an upbeat and uptempo tone and emphasizing life’s little joys as a means of fending off mortality’s sudden proximity.

The Grim Village presents a peculiar collection of songs, some remarkable and some not so much, laying out their author’s inner thoughts with varying clarity and specificity and reflecting on the value of life’s experiences, even the most mundane ones. Like a woodland peddler, Object Unto Earth offer up an array of trinkets and baubles to catch the eyes of passing market-goers; some are little more than pretty polished river stones, but exotic treasures hide within, hinting at legends of their own. The eclectic styles and fantastical lyrics bring surprises at every turn, most of them exciting, but a few also a bit disappointing as the momentum spins out down a side trail. So come, join this caped croaker on an amble through the arbor, and maybe you can discover some existential dread along the way!

Recommended tracks: On A Pale Horse I Thrive; Onward With Blinding Speed; Death is the Test of It; Bombina, Bombina!!
You may also like: Vower, East of the Wall, Children of Nova, Anemera, Rosetta
Final verdict: 7/10

Related links: Bandcamp | Spotify | Official Website | Instagram

Label: Seven Sided Sounds – Instagram

Object Unto Earth is:
– Jonathan Zajdman (vocals)
– Eric Bloombaum (drums)
– Lucille (guitars)
– Emily Kinsey (bass)

The post Review: Object Unto Earth – The Grim Village appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: progressive black metal, heavy metal (mixed vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Haggard, King Diamond, Fleshgod Apocalypse
Country: Italy
Release date: 31 January 2025

If I won the lottery, I’d pay for Wilderun and Ne Obliviscaris to record and perform with whatever orchestra and choir they’d like. In my humble opinion, (competent) orchestration and metal pair like peanut butter and jelly, elevating both to hitherto unknown heights. Truly, few things in life compare to the wedding of these disparate styles. On one man band Selvans’ third album, the Italian horrorist enlists the help of a sixty-member orchestra and choir. That’s damn ambitious and I respect it; do his compositions justify the cost?

Saturnalia exudes campy fun, living up to the Roman festival it’s named after. With a baseline of King Diamond-y heavy metal, Selvans amplifies the sound with eclectic black metal riffing and an aura of Fleshgod Apocalypse’s grandeur. Selvan’s vocal attack is similarly varied: he shouts at you in Italian, performs freakily accurate King Diamond highs, attempts silly little whispers and more goblin-y harshes (“Fonte del Diavoli”), and showcases operatic talent (“Madre Dei Tormenti”). For every vocal success, however, he has several which work less well: like the obnoxious burp which heralds the start of “Madre Dei Tormenti” and the out-of-place spaghetti-Western styled whistle in “Il Mio Maleficio V’incalzerà!,” but Selvans is clearly an entertainer to his core, his performances full of drama and refreshingly passionate—over-the-top but deservingly so. The all-Italian lyrics are also quite the riot (according to my Italian peer Francesco), chronicling loony tales of cultist orgies (“Il Mio Maleficio V’incalzerà!”) and… um a man who escapes an asylum, is flayed and burned alive, only to have the devil come and make him into a figure of terror who goes and curses people with a band of outcasts (“Il Mio Maleficio”) (thanks for the translation help, Francesco!).

Instrumentally, Selvans achieves similar bombast, even disregarding the orchestration. Chock-full of heavy metal swagger, guitarists Chris D’Onofrio and Antonio Scelzi rip solos whenever they get the chance—highlights including the ends of “Il Mio Maleficio V’incalzerà!” and “Il Capro Infuocato.” When not soloing, the trem-picked riffs provide the ghastly horror vibe Selvans aims to achieve, creating a sense of maniacal unhingedness like Le Grand Guignol did almost twenty years ago. A bevy of retro prog rock organs and synths create a spooky atmosphere during the more metal-y tracks (so all but “Necromilieu” and “Madre Dei Tormenti”); both keyboard styles are fun, but with all the sounds at once in the heavier parts, everything can be a bit overwhelming.

And alas, the metal bits completely lose the orchestra. Just like Fleshgod Apocalypse, muddy production kills the full experience. The lead guitar and vocals are crisp above the menagerie of other textures, but those all blend together into a noisy, cluttered mess. In an ideal world, all of Selvans’ orchestrations and compositions would be a bit more deft—not to the level of Aquilus but perhaps handled like Lamentari. And this is where Selvans loses me despite their vibrant enthusiasm and jubilant, creepy songwriting: the group just get lost in the sauce. The ebbs and flows are thrilling, but by the end it doesn’t do much with symphonic grandeur, the songwriting never crescendoing to a satisfying enough climax (although the solos are undoubtedly great—I wish Selvans used them more). Along the same lines, the album closer “Fonte Dei Diavoli” is a little underwhelming: why does Saturnalia end on a fadeout???

I always respect ambition; it’s the driving force of prog, after all. But sometimes an artist has to rein it in, and that’s the case for Selvans. Fantastic musician, solid composer, fun ideator for concepts and stories, but the whole project just doesn’t coalesce in a satisfying way. That is not to say Saturnalia isn’t worthwhile, but I am sad that this is supposedly the final project under the Selvans name.

Recommended tracks: Il Mio Maleficio V’incalzerà!, Madre Dei Tormenti, Pantàfica
You may also like: Malokarpatan, Le Grand Guignol, Antipope, Pensées Nocturnes, Dissona, The Circle, Aenaon
Final verdict: 7/10

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

Label: Avantgarde Music – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Selvans is:

Selvans: vocals and keyboards
Chris D’Onofrio: guitars
Agares: bass
Marco Berrettoni: drums
Antonio Scelzi: additional lead guitars
Triumphator: solo track 4

The post Review: Selvans – Saturnalia appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Heavy metal, prog rock, theatre soundtrack (clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Saimaa, Area, Mike Oldfield, Premiata Forneria Marconi, Unitopia
Country: Italy
Review by: Christopher
Release date: 10 January 2025

A hundred restless figures in a cramped auditorium, a gentle hum of conversation and the occasional cough; nervously excited parents rifling through the program. This year, the ambitious new drama teacher has gone all out, and the kids are performing a musical version of William Shakespeare’s The Tempest. Bake sales have funded the production design: some parents have been working on papier-mâché stalagmites and stalactites for Caliban’s cave, and buckets of brown paint have been slapped onto the ship backdrop for the opening scene. The crowd hushes as the drama teacher steps onstage to give an introductory speech, and the Shakespeare fans in the audience itch for their first sight of the Boatswain and the Shipmaster. The two characters do indeed step out at the play’s opening, but what isn’t expected is the four grown men in a makeshift orchestra pit hammering out an Iron Maiden-esque overture that wobbles the set enough that it really does seem like the ship’s in a storm. As The Bard himself would say: if music be the food of love, then open up this fucking pit. 

Yes, here to steal the thunder from the it girl playing Miranda, and your own kid who got lumped with the curtain puller job is Italian prog metal outfit Opera Nera. Shakespeare’s original play contained songs for the players to perform, and the band lift their lyrics from these to reimagine them as if The Bard had been into rock operas, which he obviously would’ve been. Some tracks take their lyrics from other parts of the text (“This Island is Mine”, for example, borrows from a Caliban soliloquy), and others act as instrumental soundtrack or incidental music. In essence, Opera Nera’sThe Tempest is conceptualised not as a complete piece in and of itself, but as an accompaniment to a stage performance, an extra dimension of the play, to expand Prospero’s island.

“Hell is Empty” opens with lines from Caliban, the enslaved savage—‘Be not afeard; the isle is full of noises, Sounds and sweet airs, that give delight, and hurt not’—before the band bring out their twangling instruments and deliver a heavy metal aria. Power chords and duelling leads with a somewhat warbling quality, plus a solo section which, at one juncture, appears to homage Avenged Sevenfold’s “Afterlife” make for a rather generic start, and the production is instantly apparent as a weak point. Around half the tracks are rooted in a simple eighties style of heavy metal, shades of Iron Maiden, Dio, that sort of thing, but lacking somewhat in execution. “This Island is Mine” employs Dino Jelusick-esque gravelly belting while “Beseech, you sir, be merry” consists of little more than some chugs and a solo; there’s ultimately not much to say about these tracks because they don’t develop any ideas. Most are five lines of Shakespeare and a riff with an average song length of just over two minutes—such is the lot of music made for a play that isn’t actually a musical. However, there’s another side to Opera Nera, some unexpected flourishes which actually elevate their sound. 

If half of The Tempest is metal, the other half is some rather bold genre experimentation. “Flaut‘em and Scout‘em” [sic] goes for a clean guitar funk groove and wild sax solo, “You are Three Men of Sins” evolves from psychedelic chilled-out electronica in the vein of Air into a sort of Primus-esque chaos—given the lyrics are drawn from a pretty tense and climactic scene, this level of whimsy seems somewhat at odds with the play’s content but I’m no theatre critic. Meanwhile, “Lu capitano in testa” is an impromptu sojourn into full-blown Neapolitan folk (to reflect the character of Stefano who is described as a Neapolitan in the play and drawing upon a Neapolitan translation of the text for the lyrics), and “Come Unto These Yellow Sands” boldly attempts vocal harmonisation and clean guitar in the vein of Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young (ending with comical abruptness; the noise gates Opera Nera use are undeniably a problem). The jewel of the genre-hopping, however, is “Reaper’s Dance”, seven minutes of out-and-out trance that reprise the addictive ‘Ban, ‘Ban, Ca-Caliban’ chant from the track of that name of which it’s essentially a remix handled by guest musician, Pier Paolo Polcari. I don’t know about you, but I think all Shakespeare adaptations should have at least seven uninterrupted minutes of rave music. 

Herein lies the most bizarre problem afflicting Opera Nera: their stopovers in other genres are far more successful than their progressive metal which is, at best, bland, poorly produced rock opera clichés. On the other hand, “Reaper’s Dance” is unironically sick but it’s broadly the work of composer Pier Paolo Polcari (who’s worked with Massive Attack, which really explains the insane quality jump), just as “Lu capitano in testa” is mostly the work of guest musician Lino Vairetti. While the attempt at folk on “Come Unto These Yellow Sands” is admirable, with no expert to guide them, Opera Nera falter. The band’s strongest ideas are either carried by skilled guest musicians or fall prey to the band’s triumvirate of problems: poor production, undercooked compositions, and an unfortunate lack of skill. As a work that could theoretically accompany a production of The Tempest, this is an intriguing, ambitious and serviceable project as well as a unique undertaking for the progressive scene, but on most other metrics Opera Nera fall well short of muster.

Prospero intones his final lines, and the curtain falls as an ominous string quartet plays (“All the Devils Are Here”). The parents give a standing ovation, and the little actors take a bow. The families file out, their little Thespians in tow and head out towards the car park. Loading their instruments into a van are Opera Nera who were never invited up onstage and so, unlike Prospero, never received the audience’s applause to set them free. “You were great tonight, sweetie,” beams a proud mother walking past with her son, and a little sense of yearning jolts through the watching musicians. Behind his wife and daughter comes the proud father, singing a little ditty to himself: “Flout ‘em and scout ‘em, and scout ‘em and flout ‘em”, he croons tunelessly. And perhaps that’s enough for these sirs to be cheerful, even though our revels now are ended.

Final verdict: 5/10

Review by: Francesco

Since practically the dawn of civilization, grandiose epic concepts have been a staple of storytelling. And with the advent of the written word, the most popular form has been the literary form—between technological innovations and the evolution of the pop culture sphere, these epic tales and poems have been passed on in various media, very recently growing to include progressive rock and heavy metal. In 1977, Rush wrote “Xanadu”, a direct adaptation of Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s “Kubla Khan”—likely the earliest song explicitly based on an epic poem—setting it to grand, atmospheric prog music. Certainly a huge influence on epic metal storytelling, it was later followed by arguably the most popular and definitive metal music piece based on an epic literary work; another work of Coleridge’s, in fact – “Rime of the Ancient Mariner”, by Iron Maiden off their 1984 album Powerslave. Later oeuvres would include Blind Guardian’s interpretation of The Iliad and The Aeneid with “And Then There Was Silence”, and its counterpart “The Odyssey” by Symphony X. And if you fancy a bit of Shakespeare, perhaps? Well, to my knowledge, there are only a few: Rebellion’s Shakespeare’s Macbeth: A Tragedy in Steel (2002) and King Lear (2018), Anarchÿ’s The Spectrum of Human Emotion (2022) which was based on Hamlet, and the focus of this review: Italians Opera Nera and The Tempest—based off the play of the same name. To make an analogy; if Rebellion’s works were expressionist paintings, and Anarchÿ’s Spectrum was baroque, then Opera Nera’s The Tempest would be a child splattering the wall with finger paints. 

Ostensibly The Tempest was written as musical accompaniment to the play, and many of the tracks contain lyrics that are directly pulled from Shakespeare’s work. Introducing The Tempest with a line from Act III, Scene II, ‘Be not afeard…’ and transitioning into an ‘80s metal harmonized guitar track, Opera Nera immediately invites comparisons to Iron Maiden—and while there are certainly elements of heavy metal on this album, to suggest that the entire album is like this would not only be untrue, it would also be setting you up, dear reader, for disappointment. From the ‘60s psychedelic ballad in “Come unto these yellow sands”, to soft piano with vocal accompaniment in “My Master through his art”, and back to a heavy metal sound with “This island is mine”, Opera Nera often ventures off into genre territories so vastly different from one another you’ll need a map and compass to find your place. And that’s barely the half of it. It’s certainly very artsy, and yes, progressive music can be about pushing boundaries—but I think it’s wise to have direction, and that’s something I felt The Tempest was sorely lacking. 

The way The Tempest (the album, not the play) bounces around different ideas is jarring and gives the impression of an incomplete, or rather, unfinished work. The idea to make this a heavy metal album would have been one of the better creative decisions on this release, if it had not been left unexplored fully; instead, we get seven minutes of abysmal vocal trance music (“Reaper’s Dance”), a minute-and-a-half of funk-soul-jazz (“Flout ‘em and scout ‘em”), and whatever the fuck you call the two-and-a-half minutes of “Ban Ban Ca Caliban”. The best part of this album was the Neapolitan-language folk music of “Lu Capitanu in testa”. Why couldn’t they make a Neapolitan folk metal album instead? There’s just as much a lack of those as there are conceptual Neapolitan Shakespearean prog albums, and evidently they have more a knack for it than much of whatever else is on this album. 

Opera Nera’s Spotify biography reads “trying to experiment with formats in a metal key” and of the fourteen tracks on The Tempest, beside “Hell is empty”, “Beseech you, sir, be merry”, “This island is mine”, and “Yo, elves of hills” (which was intended to be “you elves”, making it accidentally the funniest title on the album), there was no other metal or metal-adjacent sonority to be found. Frankly, I would struggle to consider this a prog metal or prog rock album. It’s some type of abstract expressionist avant-garde musical concept album with everything from jazz to psychedelia to trance thrown at the wall just to see what sticks. It was probably one of the most absurd things I’ve heard in a while. Ragazzi, ma per cortesia. You are four men of sins.

Recommended tracks: Reaper’s Dance, Lu capitano in testa, Hell is Empty
You may also like: Osanna, Whom Gods Destroy
Final verdict: 3/10

Related links: Bandcamp | Spotify | Official Website | Instagram

Label: Independent

Opera Nera is:
– Marco Napolitano (guitars)
– Alessandro Pacella (bass)
– Eduardo Spada (drums)
– Tiziano Spigno (vocals)

The post Double Review: Opera Nera – The Tempest appeared first on The Progressive Subway.