Style: Doom metal, post-metal, drone, neofolk (Mixed vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Conan, The Ocean, Neurosis, Om, Bell Witch, Lingua Ignota
Country: Canada
Release date: 8 August 2025

From a natural history perspective, the Earth has a remarkably tumultuous past. Starting its life in a barrage of cataclysmic impacts in the early solar system, the relative calm we experience today is uncharacteristic for our mercurial blue marble. Even going back just a few million years, the natural world was brutal, predatory, and unforgiving, a perfect landscape for metal’s monstrous riffs and dire atmospheres. Born from the primordial soup of Canadian doom metallers Völur and experimental electronic artist Cares, collaboration Breathless Spirit exhumes grayed fossils of old, uncovering dismal and violent pasts through experimental metal and folk music. The record is the latest in a series of collaborations from Völur known as “die Sprachen der Vögel”, or “The Language of Birds”; do Völur and Cares take off in glorious flight or does the language of Breathless Spirit fall on deaf ears?

Instrumental “Hearth” opens Breathless Spirit with the sound of flowing water, violins dirgefully rowing atop its currents as they repeat a thrumming motif. Völur and Cares take a loose approach to album flow, meandering along sinuous streams that traverse through lands of neofolk, drone, doom metal, and post-metal. This is not to say that they are lackadaisical or unfocused in their songwriting—each piece exudes an intentionality and plays a greater role in the record’s compositional narrative. Dynamics play a central role in song progression, as pieces are wont to begin slowly and subtly in the name of a monstrous climax (“Hearth”, “Windborne Sorcery II”, “On Drangey”) or begin raucously before petering out gently (“Breathless Spirit”).

Breathless Spirit embodies a certain nocturnal quality: the journey is one of de-emphasized riffs and subdued melodies in favor of hazy atmospherics, where silhouettes of the timberline stand out against a twilight sky but the details beneath are scant. Folkier sections invoke Impressionistic strings whose forms are gently tugged through gradual and minimal evolutions. Pieces like “Windborne Sorcery I”, “Hearth”, and “On Draney” are particularly delicate and intimate, tapping into a despondent sorrow that searches in vain for the words to articulate its internal world. The most stunning of these passages is the calmer second half of “Breathless Spirit”, where the harmonious vocals of Laura C. Bates and Lucas Gadke engage in plaintive dialogue with Bates’ expressive violin work; underneath, Cares’ keyboards add texture and color through subtle staccato jazz chords. Swirling winds then portend a powerful climax at the hands of Justin Ruppel’s kinetic drumming and Gadke’s psychedelic bass work in one of Breathless Spirit’s more ascendant moments.

The heavier tracks take a more chaotic and abrasive approach to Impressionism. A repetitive and chromatic riff etches out a jagged bed for Bates’ untethered banshee wails in the closing moments of “Windborne Sorcery II”, and watery tremolos reach a terrifying crest atop crushingly heavy drumwork in the first part of “Breathless Spirit”. The deluge of sludgy riffs reaches a head around the two-minute mark, where they pull back for a muted drum solo that builds into an eldritch vortex of intensity before the dam bursts and the track breaks down into placid folk instrumentals. Though these heavier moments engender an intense atmosphere, they are relatively impersonal compared to the calmer tracks, carrying an emotional detachment that makes them challenging to engage with fully. Try as I may, I can’t see the shrieking climax of “Windborne Sorcery II” as anything but well-done if unmoving, and the most compelling segment of closer “Death in Solitude” is when its stark tension finally begins to break thanks to subdued drum work and ominous clean vocals. A touch of melody in these sections would go a long way: “Breathless Spirit” is the most engaging of these heavier tracks as its riffage forsakes chromatic meandering for a more well-defined melodic identity. Additionally, the track doesn’t stay in its more intense form for too long, transitioning at just the right time into softer ideas.

Gripes with individual sections aside, Breathless Spirit is untouchable from an album flow perspective. There is a magic in the way that Völur and Cares effortlessly evoke compositional narrative as if Breathless Spirit’s disparate pieces were meant to be together. The earthen melodies of “Windborne Sorcery I” act as a perfect springboard into the apocalyptic doom of “Windborne Sorcery II”, whose chaos moves effortlessly into the oceanic heaviness of “Breathless Spirit”, ending on an appropriately calm note for “On Draney” to gently morph around droning violins. By hinting at future sections through subtle style shifts that retain the identity of their respective tracks, Breathless Spirit forges an inexorable bond between ideas that oscillate in intensity, style, and atmosphere.

Breathless Spirit coalesces a unique artistic vision through its experimental approach to metal. The nocturnal, primordial nature of its compositions lends the record to plaintive contemplation in its quieter moments and uproarious chaos in its heavier sections, even if these heavier sections often miss a bit of expressiveness. Still, the overall package is impossible to deny thanks to an alchemic magnetism between the band members and among Breathless Spirit’s disparate genres.

Recommended tracks: Breathless Spirit, Windborne Sorcery I, Hearth
You may also like: Wyatt E., Alora Crucible, The Ruins of Beverast, Sumac, Aerial Ruin
Final verdict: 7.5/10

Related links (Völur): Bandcamp | Facebook | Instagram | Metal-Archives
Related links (Cares): Bandcamp | Facebook | Instagram

Label: Batke Records

Völur is:
– Laura C. Bates (strings, vocals, percussion)
– Lucas Gadke (bass, keyboards, woodwinds, vocals)
– Justin Ruppel (drums, percussion)
Cares is:
– James Beardmore (keyboards)

The post Review: Völur, Cares – Breathless Spirit appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Drone, ambient, post-rock (Mixed vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Sumac, Sunn O))), Swans
Country: Connecticut, United States
Release date: 1 August 2025

A ghost yearns for escape from the house in which they died, contemplating the weeds that grow over their grave; a man sees the reflection of a familiar yet contorted face in place of his own in a bathroom mirror, slowly eroding his sanity; at the end of a hopelessly long corridor, blasphemous rituals force prophecy out of the mouth of a severed head. Stories of haunting tie a past that cannot be ignored to the present, occupying spaces both physical and mental. Kayo Dot‘s latest record, Every Rock, Every Half-Truth Under Reason, lives wholly in this haunted world, casting incorporeal shadows on doorways through amorphous, experimental post-rock and shrill, brittle drone. Can Kayo Dot exorcise the ghosts of their past, or will the specter of half-truths loom forever?

Reuniting the lineup from Kayo Dot‘s 2003 debut Choirs of the Eye, flashes of the group’s past manifest in elements of Every Rock. The spoken word passages that adorn “Oracle by Severed Head” and lengthy ambient piece “Automatic Writing” recall the poetry present in many of Choirs‘ pieces. The freeform post-rock from the debut is let even further off the reins as “Oracle by Severed Head” and “Blind Creature of Slime” contort notions of song structure and rhythm into something even more obscure and unrecognizable. What is noticeably new, though, is the presence of sonoristic drone pieces, sitting in high-pitched and microtonal chords for lengthy periods accompanied by hoarse harsh vocals. Lyrically, Every Rock is teeming with the paranormal, crafting imagery around desecrated bodies (“Oracle by Severed Head”), a paranoid decay of wellbeing (“Closet Door in the Room Where She Died”), and entities bubbling with indiscriminate hatred (“Blind Creature of Slime”).

The signature compositional style of Every Rock is one of sheer intractability: well-defined beginnings and endings seldom appear across its extended pieces, and tracks are labyrinthine in structure. Opener “Mental Shed” immediately introduces harsh vocals and gleaming organs with no fanfare, suddenly transporting the listener into a painfully bright liminal space that stretches endlessly in all directions. The only musical footholds are clambering percussion and faint, ephemeral woodwinds. “Closet Door in the Room Where She Died” embodies a similar form, being led along by shrill keyboards, menacing strings and woodwinds, and wailing shrieks from Jason Byron; occasionally, a ghastly choir vocalizes in response to the maniacal ramblings of the narrator. From this Lynchian compositional approach arises an ineffable discomfort and occasional terror as the scant elements that engender a sense of familiarity either quickly fade away in wisps of smoke or melt into something unrecognizable.

Every Rock‘s post-rock tracks are similarly esoteric, albeit with an execution based on heavy use of free-time rhythms and asynchronous accents. “Oracle By Severed Head” gently introduces jangly guitars, splashing drums, and placid woodwinds which ebb and flow around Toby Driver’s diaphanous vocals. Everything plays in the same oscillating rubato but on wildly different accents, as if the constituent parts are a stewing suspension where each component is magnetically repelled from the other. Near its end, strings congeal each element into a towering behemoth as the track builds into a massive climax. “Blind Creature of Slime”, on the other hand, is compositionally stubborn, sporadically iterating on a single guitar phrase underneath a forceful and powerful vocal performance. The track begins on its highest note, wrapping its tendrils around the listener’s consciousness and forcing them to face the narrator’s blinding hatred, but spins its wheels for a touch too long. There is an intentionality in its repetitious unease, but by the end, I’m broken out of the suspension of disbelief needed to buy in to “Blind Creature” fully.

Working in tandem with the subtle evolution in Every Rock‘s tracks is the overall album pacing. Many of the record’s most stunning moments are born from the contrast and transition between drone and post-rock. The transition from “Mental Shed” to “Oracle by Severed Head” feels all the more cathartic and dreamy due to the intense release from the former’s shrill synthesizers into the latter’s hazy and relaxed instrumentation. The petering out of “Automatic Writing” makes the explosive introduction of “Blind Creature of Slime” even more intense. Additionally, the break in the piercing organs in the final third of “Closet Door in the Room Where She Died” creates a stark and powerful silence after they etch into the listener’s consciousness for ten-plus minutes. The longest track, “Automatic Writing”, is comparatively weaker when looking at the other drone tracks. In concept, the piece is compositionally brilliant, slowly coalescing its constituent parts from a blurry fuzz into wistful ambient passages with longing poetry, delicate soundscaping, and ascendant group vocals; I just wish it reached homeostasis more quickly. Its mammoth introductory segment evolves at a glacial pace—even Driver’s vocals are rendered textural as notes are held out for remarkably long intervals. Were “Automatic Writing” edited down, it would likely have the same emotional impact as the aforementioned tracks, but stands as a bit too meandering to fully earn its runtime as-is.

Every Rock, Every Half-Truth Under Reason is a brilliant, though occasionally flawed, marriage of the relatable and the surreal. Ultimately, the record chooses not to exorcise its ghosts, but instead invokes them, asking the listener to share the space and embrace the discomfort of that which is unknowable and irresolute. By cleverly subverting ideals of song structure, rhythm, and tonality, Every Rock fully embodies the liminal spaces inhabited by that which haunts us.

Recommended tracks: Oracle by Severed Head, Closet Door in the Room Where She Died
You may also like: Khanate, Alora Crucible, The Overmold, Natural Snow Buildings
Final verdict: 7.5/10

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

Label: Prophecy Productions – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Kayo Dot is:
– Toby Driver (vocals, guitar, bass, keyboards, organs, clarinet, flute, drums)
– Greg Massi (guitars)
– Matthew Serra (guitars)
– Sam Gutterman (drums, vibraphone, percussion)
– Terran Olson (clarinet, saxophone, flute)
– David Bodie (percussion)
With guests:
– Jason Byron (vocals, track 3)

The post Review: Kayo Dot – Every Rock, Every Half-Truth Under Reason appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Progressive rock, symphonic prog (Clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Gong, Steve Hillage, Rush, Motorpsycho
Country: Tennessee, United States
Release date: 4 July 2025

Very few works are as satisfying to come across as an overly ambitious yet brilliant opus. Azure’s Fym, Dissona’s Paleopneumatic, and Native Construct’s Quiet World are journeys across fantastical landscapes and across genres, dedicating themselves to a persistent theatrical grandeur; their lofty goals are overwhelmingly successful, and a slight lack of polish lends these records a timeless charm and a much-needed sense of humanity. Enter Pishogue, a genre-transcending duo featuring Georgia’s Finnian Boyson as Bælor’Throndoth and Tennessee’s Spife as, uh, Spife. Pishogue’s self-titled LP explored menacing and hypnotic Berlin school synths as a framework for an expansive story involving the collapsed continent of The Eldslunds, a setting rife with advanced technology, magical corruption, and prophecy. The duo’s latest release, The Tree at the End of Time, wholly recontextualizes the synths of Pishogue into a symphonic prog framework, detailing a pivotal moment in The Eldslunds’ history involving the transfer of knowledge and subsequent ascension of a Pishogue introduced in the debut. Like the titular character, do Pishogue transcend their expectations or do they collapse under the weight of their ambition?

Comprised of two expansive twenty-minute pieces, The Tree at the End of Time explores myriad textures as the movements weave in and out of free-form keyboard soundscapes and psychedelic, high-energy progressive rock jams. Dissonance is used as an accentuating feature, both in the synths (14:10 on “The Ascension of Metatron”) and in the guitars (4:30 on “The Tree”). In The Eldslunds, improvisation is the name of the game: each track moves about within a loose structure, focused more on the natural evolution of a song than on careful placement of motifs as Spife and Bælor’Throndoth play ideas off of each other. The record exudes 70s sensibilities, particularly in the fuzzy and warm production, the instrumental timbre, and in Spife’s vocal performance. Atop all this is an intricate story involving a Pishogue discovering a tree that imbues them with aeons of knowledge, cementing them as an avatar for the old gods.

Throughout both synthesized soundscapes and distorted progressive rock, the free and relaxed nature of improvisation is fully embodied across The Tree at the End of Time. Ideas introduced by Spife are allowed to stew for a few bars before Bælor’Throndoth introduces additional layers, and vice versa. Most notable is the accelerando drum buildup near the end of “The Tree”. Bælor’Throndoth smartly waits for Spife’s drum solo to culminate before releasing the tension with bright synth pads and swirling organ melodies, only to then build those into an utterly explosive finale alongside a cacophony of percussion. Additionally, the ferocious and kinetic jam at 4:20 on “The Tree” features keyboards that slowly creep in, allowing the listener to settle into the groove before being twisted into a frenetic and whining synth/guitar dance. Pishogue’s synergy is palpable across the record, as their performances show a prudence necessary to keep the loose song structures stable and cohesive. However, that doesn’t mean they restrain themselves entirely, as plenty of chaos is allowed to bleed in across both pieces in tandem with the more intense story beats. A frightening and volcanic section erupts around 12:40 of “The Ascension of Metatron”, where wailing guitars and stuttering drums are buried under harsh organ stabs, reflecting the inability of the Pishogue’s mind to comprehend the weight of The Tree’s gifted knowledge.

Whereas most prog prides itself on crystal-clear, almost clinical precision and cleanliness, Pishogue revel in an organic and raw feel that lends itself magnificently to The Tree at the End of Time’s improvisational nature. For example, the organ melody that introduces a Rush-flavored drum pattern on “The Ascension of Metatron” begins just a bit earlier than the drums, and the two fall out of lockstep for a couple of bars near the end of the first verse when briefly switching to an off-beat, but the section as a whole is so energetic and fun that the brief blemishes do little to mar the enjoyment. Where it becomes a bit more challenging to appreciate The Tree at the End of Time’s looseness is when these moments go on for too long: the organ solo at 4:50 on “Ascension” falls out of line with the drums a bit too persistently and ends up pulling me out of the experience for a moment. The track quickly pulls itself back together, though, with biting drum-bass interplay leading into a delicate and ethereal folk section. Additionally, many of the vocal performances are a little too raw and wild, particularly across “Ascension” during the blown-out and overwhelming vocals around 14:25 and the pitchy delivery in the track’s first verse. These are likely meant to represent the more fractured moments of the Pishogue’s sanity, but they are just a bit too grating in delivery; if anywhere could use some polish, it would be these sections.

Despite the occasionally eldritch soundscapes, free-form song structure, and use of dissonance, much of The Tree at the End of Time is ineffably cozy thanks to its unapologetic 70s sensibilities. The aforementioned folk section of “Ascension”, for example, features soft harmonized vocals, gently picked guitars, and wistfully delicate synth melodies not unlike the contemporary folk of the time; a playful flute dances around the section as well. Around 9:10 on “The Tree”, a fuzzy guitar melody evokes the feeling of entering an enchanted forest before leading into a triumphant solo. The more intense sections of the record often sit right alongside these more serene and bright sections, showcasing an effective compositional balance and evoking a dynamic narrative arc with logical flow.

The Tree at the End of Time shows a skillful collaboration between two artists, embracing the organic and sometimes messy nature of improvisation among monolithic symphonic prog pieces. Though a few sections could benefit from a bit of extra polish, particularly in the vocal delivery and in the rhythmic execution, much of the record effectively glides along its stream of consciousness and tells a dynamic high fantasy story.

Recommended tracks: The Tree
You may also like: Moving Gelatine Plates, We Broke The Weather, Karmic Juggernaut, David Bedford, Egg
Final verdict: 7.5/10

Related links: Bandcamp | Instagram

Label: Independent

Pishogue is:
– Spife (drums, guitar, bass, keyboards, violin, vocals)
– Bælor’Throndoth (bass, keyboards)

The post Review: Pishogue – The Tree at the End of Time appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Progressive metal, post-hardcore (Mixed vocals)
Recommended for fans of: The Contortionist, Circa Survive, Voyager, Ions
Country: Georgia, United States
Release date: 18 July 2025

[An up-front disclaimer: Effuse’s vocalist, Chris Deese, is a fellow writer here at the Subway and also manages some of our social media. Though avoiding bias is impossible in this situation, this review reflects my honest take on On Others free of external forces or pressures.¹]

An inexorable bond exists between a piece of art and the world that surrounds it. Artistic expression is virtually impossible in a void, as the lived experience and ideals of the artist inevitably bleed into the design of a work. How, then, does an artist relate and react to the influence of the outside world? Atlanta, Georgia’s Effuse investigates this topic on latest EP, On Others. Do they successfully navigate the waters of artistic expression, or does the “Augury” foresee bad tidings for the quintet?

Adorned with touches of post-metal and post-hardcore, On Others explores an airy and cinematic take on progressive metal by way of Clairvoyant (The Contortionist). Tension-and-release comprises the central songwriting approach, encouraging ideas and moods to smoothly flow across its runtime. The use of a bright-yet-gloomy tonality in the guitarwork imbues a sense of drama and a wistful vocal style helps anchor songs melodically and inject the occasional earworm. Each track features punctuated grooves that dance around swirling polyrhythms and weightless tremolos; many of the EP’s grander moments evoke the feeling of being swept into the air or being submerged under giant crashing waves.

On Others’ greatest compositional strength lies in its monolithic structure. Every piece establishes its own identity through an internal ebb and flow while contributing to the EP’s greater ideas. Effortless transitions further heighten this sense of interconnectedness: every track either matches or builds on the momentum of the previous, whether it be the exhilarating switchup between chunky grooves on “Observer” and “Augury” or the grand synthesizers and fading guitars of “Orbweaver” descending into the gently picked melodies of “Two Cathedrals”. The bridge of each track provides additional contrast as Effuse explore more intense and abrasive textures through harsh vocals and frenetic drumming. Closer “Two Cathedrals” proves to be the most experimental in its stuttering and antsy climax, but never quite settles into its grooves, interrupting the track’s momentum and diminishing its grandiosity in the process.

Atop the hefty grooves, vocalist Chris Deese adds a vivid melancholic flair by tapping into the melodic sensibilities of post-hardcore, particularly that of Circa Survive’s Anthony Green. The performance on opener “Observer”, for example, is in-your-face and dramatic as Deese leans into a forceful delivery, throwing his voice around with momentum and even a bit of grit. On the other hand, much of “Augury” is plaintive and delicate, showcasing restraint and waiting until the bridge to let loose and explore staccato rhythms. Deese’s clean vocals are undeniably expressive and powerful, and his harshes are crystal clear in their enunciation, but they don’t quite match the expressiveness and bite of the cleans. As a consequence, the harsh vocal sections tend to come across as more functional in purpose, save for “Augury”, which manages to capture attention through compelling rhythms and effective interplay between the vocals and drums. Ironically, the harsh vocals shine the most when they are used as an accent to the cleans or when the two are harmonized. This is done to great effect during the closing moments of “Orbweaver”, where the cleans and harshes engage in a lockstep dance before the harshes drop out for an expansive conclusion.

The sense of melancholy embodied by the vocal performance extends to the EP’s lyrical themes. Focusing on the relationship between artist and audience, On Others is a reflection on the interpretation of art and the artist’s reaction to external forces. “Observer” discusses a breach of boundaries at the hands of an audience who may read into a piece too deeply or project their own worldview onto it, taking their read as gospel and engaging in the ‘death of the author’ as the piece’s original intent is masked. This theme is explored further on “Augury”, where the narrator betrays his frustration at this side of the audience: Deese opines that ‘The way we read the air’ is ‘Almost comical’ and refers to the audience’s interpretations as an ‘unbearable weight that holds me down’. The track later suggests that it may not even matter if a personal touch is missing from the art as people will fill in the blanks with their misunderstandings regardless, considering that ‘They won’t see / They won’t know / If I remove myself’.² 

Though the lyrics are a bit esoteric at times—I struggle with the metaphors on “Orbweaver” and “Two Cathedrals” and their place in the overall theme—there is a strong sense of cohesion through the reintroduction and repurposing of ideas. Repeated references are made to ‘painted skies’, representing the myriad approaches to artistic interpretation both intended and unintended by the artist. Additionally, the EP features many nods to the suggestion of ‘removing one’s self’ from the artistic creation process in an attempt to distance the artist’s works from their own ego and transcend potential outside influences.

Through cinematic and airy pieces, On Others weaves together groovy progressive metal and somber melodies into a panoramic and free-flowing musical experience. In both its imperfections and its lyricism, On Others effectively showcases the limitations of art as a means to convey ideas due to external influences and the internal world of the artist. This is of course not expressed as a motivation to stray from artistic pursuits, but as a way to cherish and celebrate the weird and wonderful evolution of ideas from the mind of the artist to the mind of the audience. Regardless of intention or interpretation, there is no better joy than to sing your melancholia out loud or to immerse yourself in grand, sweeping atmospheres.

Recommended tracks: Observer, Augury, Orbweaver
You may also like: Lattermath, Valis Ablaze, Hologram Earth, Inhalo
Final verdict: 7.5/10

Related links: Bandcamp | Spotify | Facebook | Instagram

Label: Independent

Effuse is:
– Chris Deese (vocals, keyboards)
– Taylor Kuter (guitars)
– Kane Lewis (guitars)
– Christopher Kingsbury (bass)
– Bob Stocking (drums)

1. That’s a cheeky bit of foreshadowing for you. Also, hi Chris! ︎
2. I’d be remiss to not mention the sheer irony in presenting my interpretation of Effuse’s work here and the funny feeling of critiquing and interpreting a piece of art that is in many ways about the interpretation and critique of art. ︎

The post Review: Effuse – On Others appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Power metal, progressive metal (Clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Stratovarius, Queensrÿche, Fates Warning
Country: Texas, United States
Release date: 27 June 2025

As any musician knows, actually writing music is only part of the album cycle. To craft a successful record, deep thought must be given to the recording process, the mixing, and the mastering, otherwise there’s a much slimmer chance of your vision truly coming to life. Texas prog metallers Transcendence were quite cognizant of this when penning their planned-for-2020 record, Nothing Etched in Stone. Intended to be a singular piece, recording and mastering issues surfaced from the constraints of the pandemic. After five years, the group has finally gotten the chance to re-record and distribute the album, with the caveat of splitting it into two parts. Does Nothing Etched in Stone, Part I etch itself into the progressive metal monolith?

Nothing Etched in Stone effuses a classic heavy metal sensibility—glimpses of Queensrÿche emerge in vocalist Brian Dixon’s timbre and in the straightforward, riff-heavy approach to songwriting. Choruses are the compositional focal point, as the surrounding sections serve as a buildup to these moments led along by the vocals. In many cases, Transcendence feels more closely aligned with power metal than it does progressive metal with its relatively compact runtimes, focus on melody over technicality, and energetic sensibilities.

The lack of showboating or complex song structures is not to say, however, that Nothing Etched in Stone is a dull or featureless listen. The vocals in particular are a standout, Dixon imbuing his performance with charisma and energy. On “Take Control”, he takes on a Timo Kotipelto-style (Stratovarius) approach full of excitement and large melodies, while “One Fear” interplays djenty grooves with brooding vocal lines. Closing ballad “Ruins… Before the Dawn” best showcases Dixon’s versatility, as he is given room to both pull back and punctuate: the harpsichord plays nicely with his varied performance, shining a light on the more delicate aspects of his voice and juxtaposing the more in-your-face lines from previous tracks with an impassioned and heartfelt atmosphere.

Ironically, though, many of the tracks in between end up falling flat precisely because of Dixon’s energy. Despite his charisma and distinctive timbre, there is a sense of homogeneity as his execution sits at a single level across almost all of Nothing Etched in Stone. “Ruins… Before the Dawn” is the central exception to this rule, indicating that Transcendence are fully capable of writing dynamic and layered pieces if they so choose to. Maintaining the excitement of the first two tracks is challenging without any variation; in the case of Nothing Etched in Stone, little room is given for more delicate, restrained passages and virtually no extra oomph is given to climaxes. As a consequence, the record is rendered a bit stale for most of its runtime.

The backing instruments don’t fare much better, often lacking the charisma or prominence of the vocals. Transcendence’s chorus-focused approach means that in many instances, the music becomes an afterthought, particularly when taking into account the overabundant mid-paced tempo comprising the bulk of the album’s runtime. The pacing is also done no favors by the relatively pointless intro track, nor is it helped by the two consecutive interludes before “Ruins”, which do little more than derail the album’s compositional arc. However, the band manage to break out of their confines on occasion, whether it be the surprising instrumental switch-up halfway through “Last Solstice”, the melodic, high-energy guitar leads on “Take Control”, or the temperamental djent grooves on “One Fear”. Additionally, “Voices in the Dark” features energetic guitarwork along with a solo which interplays nicely with the vocals, and the use of harpsichord and a bass-forward chorus on “Ruins” adds a tinge of baroque flavor. 

More so than remastering and perfecting the recording, Nothing Etched in Stone, Part I needs to be tweaked to make room for more exploration of highs and lows. Were the band to utilize more dynamics by giving space to recede in intensity or push its sound a bit further, the record would be a thoroughly enjoyable slab of chunky power-prog. Nothing Etched in Stone is evidence of Transcendence‘s potential as songwriters, especially when executing the dreaded ballad, but unfortunately, these highlights are marred by an overall homogeneous listen. Knowing that this is only half of the whole piece and pacing issues have already emerged gives me concern for the fate of the upcoming Part II, but I will remain optimistic—nothing is etched in stone, after all.

Recommended tracks: Ruins… Before the Dawn, One Fear, Take Control
You may also like: Pathosray, Conception, Enbound, Lancer
Final verdict: 6/10

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

Label: Cosmic Fire Records – Facebook | Official Website

Transcendence is:
– Kirk Wood (bass, vocals)
– Derrek Edwards (drums)
– Jeff Ford (guitars)
– John Howser (keyboards, piano)
– Brian Dixon (vocals)

The post Review: Transcendence – Nothing Etched in Stone, Part I appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Progressive metal, jazz fusion (Instrumental)
Recommended for fans of: Atheist, Cynic, The Omnific
Country: International
Release date: 30 May 2025

The fretless bass is an indispensable tool for tech deathers and fusioners alike. With its otherworldly and smooth timbre, the instrument adds a distinctly heady flavor to any piece. I personally can’t get enough of it, and neither can bassists Steve DiGiorgio (Death, Autopsy, Control Denied, among many others) and Jeroen Paul Thesseling (Obscura, Pestilence) of Quadvium, an instrumental progressive metal group based on the conceit of, “What if fretless bass but more?” On their debut, Tetradōm, DiGiorgio and Thesseling duel and weave around technical fusion passages, but are two Quads better than one?

Tetradōm finds a firm base in 90s technical death metal (Cynic, Atheist) and modern fusion prog (Exivious, Gordian Knot, The Omnific), grafting together twisted branches of instrumental aggression with smooth and jazzy chord choices in a signature double-bass (not that kind) sound. Many tracks are labyrinthine in nature, wildly transitioning from idea to idea at the drop of a hat. To glue this collage together, Quadvium bookend songs by reprising an introductory idea or reincorporating passages from earlier in a track. The fretless basses often sit at the compositional center, sometimes swirling around each other in a jousting frenzy (“Náströnd”), at other times coalescing in ethereal harmonies (“Eidolon”). The texture and sound of the bass is explored all throughout Tetradōm, often evoking in the quieter moments imagery of still, placid water gently rippling against a cosmic sea backdrop.

And like water off an astral duck’s back, Tetradōm’s ideas roll off my consciousness the moment they pass through my tetra-dome. Most tracks begin cohesively enough, then descend into chaos: pieces like “Moksha”, “Ghardus”, and “Nästrónd” introduce a melody that builds in intensity only to follow them up with a bevy of sudden, jarring transitions into unrelated ideas. As a consequence, any momentum that may have been established is halted and the revisited passages feel like separate tracks that were spliced and rearranged into a single piece. I enjoy many of the ideas that Quadvium try, particularly the jagged tech deathy fusion that opens “Apophis” and its subsequent piano break, or the tranquil floating bass of opener “Moksha”. But for the ideas to have impact, they need to offer context for a grander moment or lead to a central theme; a collage of cool moments that are bookended by a motif does not a successful song make. The production doesn’t do these pieces any favors either. The louder parts of “Moksha”, for example, are difficult to listen to as every instrument feels crunched into oblivion, none given space to breathe or any sense of prominence in the mix.

Tetradōm’s most successful songwriting appears on “Ghardus” and “Eidolon”. The former begins with a lopsided fusion drum solo that rolls into a foreboding atmosphere complete with creeping guitars and ominous, thrumming bass. This establishing idea gradually evolves across the track’s runtime, coming to a semi-climax with a pleasant guitar solo and a surprising piano break. “Ghardus” still gives the slightest nagging feeling of meandering but at least lays down a solid compositional foundation for Quadvium to explore their double-bass (still not that kind) frenzy. “Eidolon” features a breathtaking and otherworldly bass tone, swirling tides of purple ebbing and flowing in intensity to staccato rhythms and intermittent soloing. The songwriting is not quite as strong as “Ghardus”, but manages to explore its established ideas well and even includes a subtle nod to opener “Moksha” to bookend the record.

The premise of Tetradōm had me giddy with excitement, but its execution swiftly yanked me out of my suspension of disbelief. The briefest lapses in my attention left me wondering how the hell we got here, and even when listening with a laser focus, the songwriting approach is a largely inscrutable as tracks fly from idea to idea. However, it may be more helpful to see Tetradōm as a sketchbook that prototypes the possibilities of this playing style. With a bit of songwriting finesse and a continued lean into the strengths of the fretless bass, one can only hope that future Quadvium releases are a two-for-one deal worth investing in.

Recommended tracks: Eidolon, Ghardus, Apophis
You may also like: Coevality, Gordian Knot, Vipassi, Panzerballett, Barend Tromp, Exivious, Planet X
Final verdict: 4/10

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

Label: Agonia Records – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Quadvium is:
– Steve DiGiorgio (bass)
– Jeroen Paul Thesseling (bass)
– Yuma van Eekelen (drums)
– Eve (guitars)

The post Review: Quadvium – Tetradōm appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Neofolk, dark folk (Clean vocals, mostly instrumental)
Recommended for fans of: Vàli, Ulver (Kveldssanger), Empyrium, Agalloch (The White EP), Nest
Country: West Virginia, United States
Release date: 9 May 2025

The book Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer is a revelation, outlining in no uncertain terms a synthesis of scientific and Native Animist thought into a singular holistic worldview. In her book, she recounts and analyzes Eastern Woodland mythos through stories from several tribes, including the Potawatomi and Haudenosaunee peoples. At their cultural nexus lies gratitude, an ethos that one reciprocates the gifts of nature through stewardship, mutual care, and the creation of art. Neofolk-turned-black-metal project Nechochwen aims to embody this gratitude on latest record spelewithiipi through a series of vignettes dedicated to the river and region of the same name¹. How does Nechochwen express their gratitude for the land that shaped them?

A carefree, pastoral air encompasses spelewithiipi’s compositions, led by guitars and occasionally embellished by flutes, hand drums, and field recordings. Many pieces encompass the dark folk spirit of Ulver’s Kveldssanger through their motif-drenched guitar work while others lean into an americana edge with twangy sliding notes, rambling melodic expositions, and playing inspired by banjo techniques. “Precipice of Stone” even tends to a Tenhi songwriting style with gloomy psychedelic soundscaping and dirging drumwork from Pohonasin; the tonality and open voice of Nechochwen’s cathartic vocalizations in the latter half lends the piece a distinct Eastern Woodland touch.

The central ethos of spelewithiipi is presented on opener “lenawe’owiin”, meaning ‘Native American way of being’². Nechochwen weaves a web of ideas shaped by personal, interpersonal, and cultural knowledge, reflecting on dreams and visions (“lenawe’owiin”, “Precipice of Stone”), locations that inspire thought on past and future (“spelewithiipi”, “mthothwathiipi”, “Great Meadows Vista”), and figures steeped in intrigue (“othaškwa’alowethi behme”, “Nemacolin’s Path”). “tpwiiwe”, or ‘one who brings truth’, is a glyph commonly inscribed on prayer sticks to give thanks to any number of beings and spirits; the track itself is intended as a sort of tpwiiwe whose symbolism is left up to the listener. The experience is particularly striking, inspiring a series of internal struggles and resolutions while reflecting on how gratitude manifests in my life. spelewithiipi’s presentation as a whole inspires an easygoing stream-of-consciousness, sauntering unhurriedly between concepts while staying tethered to its central tenets like stories told around a campfire with friends.

spelewithiipi’s pieces go through similarly relaxed trajectories, morphing internally within sections and starting anew once an idea has reached its end. Many tracks end up surprisingly oblique in their structure despite the simplicity of the compositions, requiring some patience and effort to get a hold of their fuzzy sensibilities. “spelewithiipi”, for example, dreamily captures glimpses of a single location, gently exploring its river banks before moving on to a scene from another time. “tpwiiwe” and “mthothwathiipi” guide the listener in similar form through a subtle and suggestive evolution of balmy picked acoustics. The approach begins to fall apart a bit, however, on closing tracks “Nemacolin’s Path” and “Primordial Passage”. The former embodies the spirit of Chief Nemacolin, renowned for his remarkable skills as a guide and navigator through forest landscapes; the latter internalizes the mix of excitement and wistfulness that comes with leaving your homeland and being the first to explore a new place. Both gently reprise melodies from their opening sections, but the pieces meander a bit too liberally, missing ideas that give a sense of direction.

Thematically, this nonchalant approach is relaxing and soothing, but it bears additional challenges when looking at spelewithiipi’s songwriting narrative. Plenty of variation is offered in length and structure: some tracks are internally complete, and some are more nebulous. Overall, though, there is an underlying sense of heterogeneity that prevents the pieces from coalescing as wholly as the ideas behind them. The drumwork on “lenawe’owiin”, for example, feels like it’s building to something more intense that never comes, giving a sense of incompleteness when the record suddenly moves on to another idea. Additionally, “othaškwa’alowethi behme” is a mysterious and somewhat foreboding interlude with nice soundscaping, but it feels a bit jarring in its placement after “tpwiiwe”, one of spelewithiipi’s more tranquil and delicate moments.

In trying to ford spelewithiipi’s forests, I realize I simply don’t have the same navigational acuity as Nemacolin. Swelling with beauty, metaphor, and gratitude, the record vividly explores a multi-faceted relationship with land, culture, and self, but without the context behind the pieces, the compositions can sometimes struggle to bear the weight of their meaning. Regardless, spelewithiipi offers ample food for thought under its delicate structure and free-flowing approach, inspiring a closer examination of the land that surrounds us and our relationship to it.

Recommended tracks: tpwiiwe, mthothwathiipi, Precipice of Stone
You may also like: Ulvesang, October Falls, Liljevars Brann, Wÿntër Ärvń, Sangre de Muérdago
Final verdict: 6/10

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

Label: Nordvis Produktion – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Nechochwen is:
– Nechochwen (guitars, flute, hand drums, vocals)
– Pohonasin (bass, drums)

1. Spelewithiipi is the Shawnee name for the Ohio River, but specifically the area surrounding Ohio and West Virginia. ︎
2. The language is not specified, but the blurb related to this track on Nechochwen’s Bandcamp calls out the loyalhanna hotewe, implying the word likely comes from that group. ︎

The post Review: Nechochwen – spelewithiipi appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…..

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

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

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

Related links: Bandcamp | Spotify | Instagram

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

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

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

Style: Free folk, drone (Clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Le Mystère des Voix Bulgares, Natural Snow Buildings, Anna Von Hausswolff, Wardruna (Skald)
Country: Ukraine
Release date: 30 May 2025

One of the most lamentably forgotten arts is giving attention to ‘boring’ things. A certain magic can emerge from focusing on an otherwise unremarkable space that gently invites instead of demands your attention. I recently glimpsed this magic while sitting by a pond with a friend—at first glance, it was a fairly still swath of lily pads accented by longleaf pines in the background. However, after staring into the mud for long enough, the mind becomes acclimated to the space and the pond suddenly bursts with life unseen. Damselflies skitter from pad to pad and myriad groups of frogs croak a call-and-response while the water ripples with activity below, tiny specks of detail that are missed by a cursory glance at the vista. Often, the depths of minimal music are reflected similarly, as the subtle changes in quiet and still pieces suddenly feel intense and stark once one is accustomed to their space. Such is the experience with Гільдеґарда (Hildegard), a collaboration between Ukrainian artists Heinali and Andriana-Yaroslava Saienko which extends the emotions from a split-second reaction to traumatic wartime events into lengthy compositions. What sort of life emerges in their subtle, buzzing mix of drone and free folk?

Comprised of two twenty-minute pieces¹, Гільдеґарда is strikingly skeletal in design: the only instruments used are Heinali’s synthesizers and the vocal work of Saienko. Heinali’s previous work is dedicated to modern recontextualizations of Medieval musical tradition, and Гільдеґарда is no exception. The synthesizers at times possess a flute-like timbre, and intrigue is added to each track through Saienko’s performance of pieces by Hildegard von Bingen, a medieval polymath and composer. Saienko polymerizes the modern-ancient performance through Gregorian chants and Ukrainian musical tradition, often slipping into open voice and adorning the slowly-performed pieces with plentiful ornamentation.

The spartan instrumentals immediately draw attention to Saienko’s performance. Hildegard’s compositions are known for challenging performers through huge interval jumps, but Saienko makes the performance seem effortless as she glides from note to note. She particularly shines when utilizing open voice, adding a stunningly rich and contemplative color to the Gregorian chants through ornamentation. Heinali’s synthesizers lay the groundwork for a meditative state; Saienko’s vocals lift the music to ascension. The core of each piece is the droning keyboards that begin imperceptibly and are rendered inescapable by the end. On “O Ignis Spiritus”, gentle and quiet synthesizers replicate a subdued flute, pulsing in tandem with the rapturous vocal performance. Across the track’s runtime, the synths lose their woodwind sensibility and take on a crunchier feel. By the halfway mark, Saienko’s performance reaches a head with the intensifying thrumming; her sudden howling fades away to an extensive keyboard solo that itself gets swallowed in the inevitable wall of sound. Гільдеґарда’s pieces are monolithic glaciers, growing and evolving at an imperceptible clip, with enough force to scar the surface of the Earth as they move steadfast across the horizon.

“O Tu Suavissima Virga” utilizes a similar structure to “Spiritus” but with an even more understated and subdued approach. The electronics are almost inaudible whirring pulses that stubbornly maintain their stead while approaching an impending crescendo. Saienko’s performance is hushed and diaphanous, taking on a delicate affect for an overwhelming majority of the track. The impact when she finally pushes her voice is powerful, but the journey requires considerable patience as most of the track’s twenty minutes sit in a singular compositional space. Additional stillness is invoked by the piece’s monochromatic nature: the electronics maintain an unwavering hum and the vocals use little to no ornamentation until a full twelve minutes in, and even then, Saienko’s projecting melodicism is ephemeral at best. Her voice, like everything else, is swallowed whole by the synthesizers shortly after. “Virga” pushes the limits of Гільдеґарда’s subtlety, coming together as a powerful whole but spinning its wheels a bit too long in places. The comparatively short collaboration between Heinali and Saienko, “Zelenaia Dubrovonka”, exemplifies that a similarly powerful effect can be incited in a more concise runtime.

Song duration aside, there is a sobering stillness that is engendered by Гільдеґарда. The two pieces were inspired by the split-second reaction to a missile striking nearby Heinali’s studio in Kyiv. In contrast to cacophonous and maximalist music, which has potential to fill the gaps in our minds and bludgeon any sense of inner exploration, the stripped-down and minimal approach of Гільдеґарда is a mirror held up to the listener. Through its ample room for contemplation, “Spiritus” and “Virga” conspire to necessitate a summoning of one’s inner turmoil. Despite my desire for a more compact runtime, extending these pieces is a necessity to give room for safe exploration of the emotional space the record embodies.

Гільдеґарда is a record of few movements and incremental development, all done with great purpose—its minimalism exists for the listener to fill in the negative space themselves and open up their mind for emotional exploration and healing. The record exists not to coddle but to give a gentle-yet-assertive courage to confront stresses head-on through its patient evolution and rich, ascendant vocal performance. Gaze into the mud of Гільдеґарда—you may be surprised what life you’ll find.

Recommended tracks: O Ignis Spiritus
You may also like: CHVE, Pelt, De Mannen Broeders, 58918012, Širom
Final verdict: 7.5/10

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

Label: Unsound – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Heinali is:
– Oleh Shpudeiko (keyboards, electronics)
In collaboration with:
– Andriana-Yaroslava Saienko (vocals)

1. Heinali and Saienko penned a third (and considerably shorter) track as part of their collaboration, “Zelenaia Dubrovonka”, but this isn’t considered part of Гільдеґарда. ︎

The post Review: Heinali, Andriana-Yaroslava Saienko – Гільдеґарда (Hildegard) appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Atmospheric black metal, dark folk (Mixed vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Agalloch, Pantopticon, Ulver
Country: Italy
Release date: 9 May 2025

While admittedly I am a sucker for head-spinning technicality played with surgical precision, there is a nagging sense of exclusivity to the elite performances of tech death and progressive metal. To play pieces by artists like Archspire or Animals as Leaders requires a level of dedication to solely performance, meaning that expression of ideas in this space is relegated to those with perfect timing or those who obsess over recording details. Many folk-adjacent genres, on the other hand, often revel in a lack of technicality or absolute precision in favor of a more ‘organic’ sound, choosing to instead focus on the intent of the music and let the rhythms breathe more naturally. Heavily inspired by Agalloch, a landmark band in this more folky style of metal, Italian artist Esox aims to tap into this sensibility through the murky and predatory depths of lakes and wetlands. Does the one-man project’s debut release, Watery Grave, engender these primal sentiments, or does it go off the deep end in the name of a chthonic atmosphere?

At the heart of Esox’s sound is the namesake pike, a menacing freshwater predator with ultra-sensitive attunement to the movements of water and a penchant for lying in wait for its next victim among aquatic plants. Melancholia seeps into every moment of Watery Grave, depicting the final thoughts of a man who attempts to end his life by drowning. Tracks are often introduced with plaintive acoustic guitars and soundscaping, whether it be rain beating on a lake or the sound of creaking wood. From its waterlogged base emerges black metal intensity, replete with atmospheric tremolos and blast beats in free-flowing compositions that often culminate in a melodic solo. Pensive folk instrumentation sweeps in to gently carry tracks downstream after an intense prey chase; truthfully, Watery Grave is as much dark folk as it is black metal.

Watery Grave’s most ascendant moments happen when the folk instrumentation is given space to shine. The blast beats in opener “As I Descend Above the Water” are cleverly springboarded into by acoustic guitars and the sounds of rain, and the extended ambient section afterwards is euphorically woeful. Esox effectively captures an aquatic sensibility in the instrumental effects, as if the chords being played are a rippling disturbance on a placid lake. My favorite moment of Watery Grave is the intro to “Livyatan melvillei”¹, which sits in suspicious stillness as an ominous whale call is juxtaposed against the sound of creaking; one can’t shake the thought that something massive is waiting underneath the surface for a moment of inattention or vulnerability to strike. The metal sections, in comparison, range from enjoyable to frustrating. The opener’s black metal aggression works great as a piece of the greater whole, adding a sense of aggression to the placid seascapes and building to a melodic solo in its climax. However, the climactic solos across the black metal sections run into an unignorable problem: they’re just not played in time. The arpeggios on “Esox Lucius” and “As I Descend Below the Water” are in a fearsome rhythmic altercation with the drums as the guitars can simply never agree to the established beat, as if they were recorded completely separately with no checking to see if they work together.

Don’t get me wrong—I absolutely adore Esox’s aqueous sensibilities, and I think that in many instances Watery Grave does a great job of encompassing the listener in murky aquatic atmospheres through ineffably organic performances and unsettling soundscaping. But despite all the record has going for it, the prevalent off-time playing is just too much, almost to the point of being able to predict when it will happen next. My attention during Watery Grave should be directed to the lurking menace camouflaged by underwater flora. Instead, I end up focusing on whether an upcoming guitar arpeggio is going to line up with the drums, trying to make sense of the arrhythmic harsh vocal cadence, or guessing how long it will take the left and right acoustic guitars to sync again. No matter how powerful your atmosphere is, too much rawness and imperfection in the performance is going to create an unintended dissonance that actively fights against the underlying aesthetics. Of course, I don’t want Watery Grave to be an ultra-polished product with metronomic precision, but I at least want to feel some level of rhythmic cohesion in the instrumentation, and these slip-ups happen just often enough that it seriously detracts from my enjoyment.

Attention to detail is brought to many facets of Watery Grave, from compositional prudence to striking underwater ambience, and I wish that same level of attention was given to the performance itself. Esox has the makings for something evocative and brilliant; at this point, it’s just a matter of matching the sky-high ambition with a bit more experience. I’ll be more than happy to dive back into the pike-laden waters for future releases, but Watery Grave is a lake I’ve had my fill of.

Recommended tracks: As I Descend Above the Water, The Unbearable Cry of the Sea, Walden
You may also like: Gallowbraid, Nechochwen, October Falls, Botanist
Final verdict: 5/10

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

Label: Independent

Esox is:
– Esox (everything)

1. Livyatan melvillei is a particularly massive extinct species of sperm whale. The inclusion of saltwater sea life here does throw me for a loop a bit as everything up to this point seems to be focused on freshwater, but it should be pointed out that this is a redux of a previous Esox track, so its aquatic idiosyncrasy is not entirely surprising. ︎

The post Review: Esox – Watery Grave appeared first on The Progressive Subway.