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: 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.

Style: Melodic black metal, folk metal, dark folk (Mixed vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Agalloch, Panopticon, Ulver, Saor
Country: Utah, United States
Release date: 17 September 2010

The Cascadian black metal movement birthed many artists who reflect on nature through a Romantic framework. Agalloch traverse snowy landscapes, looking on at modern society through sorrowful eyes and a yearning for ancient mythologies; Wolves in the Throne Room bring these mythologies to life through incantation and reflective rituals; and Ash Borer cling on to the natural world as they anticipate our impending doom. Being from Salt Lake City, Utah, multi-instrumentalist Jake Rogers’ Gallowbraid project is geographically removed from the Cascadian black metal scene, but his heart is planted firmly in the scene’s aesthetics, style, and ideals. Singular opus Ashen Eidolon evokes the same heartbreak as Agalloch, taps into the same desire to ‘just become one with the moss’ as WITTR, and ruminates on the same fears of death as Ash Borer, all in a concise and urgent folk/black metal package.

Ashen Eidolon follows in the footsteps of Agalloch‘s landmark debut, Pale Folklore: mournful arpeggiation meets mid-paced crunchy guitars, melodic tremolos, and a raspy, world-weary vocal delivery. Intertwining the gravelly and heavy sensibilities are much lighter elements, like acoustic guitar, flute, and clean group vocals. The quieter moments carved out by folk instruments not only work as contrast against the black metal ideas, but are a force unto their own, acting as a springboard for explosive climaxes on the two extended tracks and leading along the pensive “Autumn” interludes. Compositions are nonlinear in structure, stringing along a series of contemplations that build into a larger narrative. Filtered through the lens of a golden Autumn forest, a Gothic Romanticism seeps through the album’s painful recollections of loved ones past (“Ashen Eidolon”) and the unease of coming to terms with one’s own death (“Oak and Aspen”).

Though undoubtedly imposing in scope, Ashen Eidolon dials back the cinematic approach of its predecessors in exchange for additional heft in its compositions. Each piece exudes a weighty kineticism through powerful, forward drum work and an uptempo punch; the end result is a masterful balance of plaintive heartbreak and fervent chthonic energy. “Ashen Eidolon” in particular opens with a roiling and hypnotic wall of distorted guitars, tearing through flaxen canopy while remaining grounded by wistful melodic accents. “Oak and Aspen” features soaring arpeggios, chunky drum grooves, and stunning walls of black metal trems, but leans into more melancholy ideas in its climax: the instrumental intensity is dialed back and room is given for Rogers to proclaim a quiet river as his final resting place among the aspen.

The use of folk instrumentation contributes greatly to Ashen Eidolon‘s grandeur, both in the longer tracks and the palate-cleansing acoustic pieces. “Autumn I” bridges the title track and “Oak and Aspen”, offering space to sit and process the opener’s intensity through gentle guitar work, dirging group vocals, and lingering flutes. “Autumn II” acts as an epilogue, its mournful guitars intertwining with warm flutes that hint at the sense of closure brought by the narrator’s death at the end of “Oak and Aspen”. However, Ashen Eidolon‘s most effective use of folk ideas comes about two-thirds through the title track, as ferocious tremolos rip and roar through the forest until they’re given pause by fast-paced, staccato acoustic strumming. The electric guitars and drums respond in kind, mimicking the acoustics and soaring high above the trees in ascendant splendor before gently gliding back into the woods on the backs of doomy chords and haunting clean vocals.

Adorning these arboreal peaks and valleys are reflections on the elegance of Autumn and contemplations on the nature of death. The title track takes a stream-of-consciousness approach to its lyricism, lines like ‘Gold and ochre / behold the tapestry of the Fall / There is a beauty, a certain subtle grandeur / In the withering that consumes us all’ ruminate on the ephemeral qualities of life through the lens of changing seasons. “Oak and Aspen”, on the other hand, is more story-driven, Rogers at first frustrated by his grief but ultimately accepting and even embracing it by the track’s end. Unable to define his sorrow as he watches the seasons pass, he contemplates how the trees that surround him experience death: ‘Do the oaks feel this distant pain? Can the pines offer me relief? / Have the aspens wept with the rain? Does the forest know this untouchable grief?’ The track concludes by finding solace in how death and change are are fundamental connectors of all things and that, even through heartache and suffering, not all is lost: ‘Through words of wind and verse of falling leaves / Its song is one of sorrow and days long past / The time is gone but the memories always last.’

Ashen Eidolon is a testament to death and the myriad ways it manifests as an agent of change. Through high-energy songwriting, evocative Romantic imagery, and earthen folk instrumentation, Rogers reminds us that there is beauty to be found in small moments, in nature’s inevitable decay, and in how our lives and bodies continue on in ways anew after our passing. The added heaviness in Gallowbraid‘s approach gives extra impact to its sentiments and establishes a stunning contrast for both its quieter moments and its climaxes. Even in the most barren of deserts, the spirit of black metal and the misty Cascades live on.

Recommended tracks: Ashen Eidolon, Oak and Aspen, Autumn I
You may also like: Fellwarden, Thrawsunblat, Cân Bardd

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

Label: Northern Silence Productions – Bandcamp | Facebook

Gallowbraid is:
– Jake Rogers (everything)

The post Lost in Time: Gallowbraid – Ashen Eidolon appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Dark folk, neofolk (Mixed vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Empyrium, Vàli, Ulver’s Kveldssanger, The Moon and the Nightspirit
Country: France
Release date: 7 March 2025

Songwriting in dark folk is a particularly tricky balancing act: too few elements and pieces come across as bland and stilted, and too much going on leads to a feeling of claustrophobia antithetical to the genre’s chthonic sensibilities. Additionally, a formula for success is somewhat unclear as compositions are often based in simplicity, atmosphere, and ‘vibes’. So what does a successful dark folk record sound like? Let’s discuss Sous l’Orage Noir – L’Astre et la Chute (Under the Black Storm – The Star and the Fall), the latest release from French multi-instrumentalist Wÿntër Ärvń, as a case study: will it bear a garden of earthly delights, or will we be left to fend for ourselves Under the Black Storm?

With a lighter and more gossamer approach to dark folk than 2021’s Abysses, Sous l’Orage Noir’s tracks are acoustic guitar-led pieces with a considerable use of woodwind, strings, and gentle percussion as accentuation. Every so often, though, Wÿntër Ärvń delivers a black metal twist through raspy bellows that cut through its misty aura. Along with harsh vocals, tracks like “Ad Vesperam” (In the Evening) even introduce brief moments of squealing dissonance in its backing instruments. Compositions often begin decidedly spacious, with “Appellé à l’Abîme” (Called to the Abyss), “Un Voile sur l’Azur” (A Veil over the Azure), and “L’Astre et la Chute” leaving plenty of negative space for their motifs to reverberate against. Pieces are wont to ebb and flow in layers, filling the emptiness with embellishments and texture without ever cresting too high in intensity.

A hallmark of dark folk is the relationship between natural beauty and sadness, and Sous l’Orage Noir’s compositions successfully culminate in a gorgeous and pastoral atmosphere that underlies a touch of darkness. “Ad Vesperam” exemplifies this the most bluntly, beginning with hypnotic and repetitive guitar work accentuated by warm cello swells. Near its end, though, the cellos turn quite sour, ruminating on dissonant bowing and backdropping Wÿntër Ärvń’s harsh vocals, conjuring a feeling of torment as the sun sets on a dying field. Opener “Une Voile sur l’Azur” takes a more subtle approach, gingerly moving from idea to idea in a way that gives an ineffable delicateness to its composition. In its first moments, “Une Voile” establishes evergreen imagery around spacious guitarwork while infusing an airy plaintiveness into its melodies. Subtle percussion builds in prominence over its runtime, but never overtakes the guitars. Later on, flutes and bagpipes reprise the central guitar idea, coming together like an ornate and fragile fabergé egg.

The interaction between guitars and any number of other instruments is strikingly prominent across Sous l’Orage Noir. “Appelé à l’Abîme” has a distinct focus on counterpoint between slowly tremoloing guitars and more languid picking to create a sense of simultaneous stillness and motion. Later in the track, the slow picking drops out to make room for earthen female vocals to gracefully coil around the tremolos. Closer “Ad Umbras” (To the Shadows) also features heavy interplay, entwining the guitars with a contemplative woodwind section before the reeds drop out in place of a deep and lurching choir. “Vingt Ans de Brouillard” (Twenty Years of Fog) features some of the most beautiful guitar work, a simple motif slowly encouraging along an array of clarinets and subtle choirs that intermittently respond to the guitar’s ideas. Any of these elements could stand on their own, but when brought together, it’s like watching wisps of smoke slowly dance around each other, urging a stillness in yourself to avoid disturbing its gentle swirls.

Sous l’Orage Noir is without a doubt an excellent showcase in both independence and synergy between instruments along with anguish and beauty, but where is there left to go after ‘beauty’? While every track is lovely—many of them touchingly so—there is a lack of through-line that ties each piece together, leaving a feeling that each track is an unrelated vignette. To Wÿntër Ärvń’s credit, there is a vague nautical theme in some of the song titles and album art, but a bit more effort to tie everything together or utilization of motifs across each track would help to create a more cohesive package. Additionally, each use of the vocals—whether it be cleans, harshes, or chanting—is magnificent, and Sous l’Orage Noir could stand to use them a bit more liberally. Tracks like “Ad Umbras” and “Vingt Ans de Brouillard” use vocals for a split-second or solely as a backdrop, and could benefit from bringing them to the forefront, similar to their use in “Appelé à l’Abîme”, “Ad Vesperam”, and “Sous l’Orage Noir”.

I walk away from Sous l’Orage Noir – L’Astre et la Chute with a sense of quietude: the record is an effortless listen with endless replayability, forging nuanced interactions between instruments while exhibiting a unique spin on dark folk through the use of harsh vocals. Despite its more intense elements, there is a fragility to its compositions that evokes a diaphanous tapestry to be cherished and held lightly. With an overall package that could be a touch more thematically related and a bit of underutilization of its vocals, Sous l’Orage Noir falls just short of being a dark folk landmark, but its blemishes aren’t going to stop me from indulging in its texturally and melodically rich vignettes.

Recommended tracks: Ad Umbras, Vingt Ans de Brouillard, Un Voile sur l’Azur, Appelé à l’Abîme
You may also like: October Falls, Ulvesang, Liljevars Brann, Sangre de Muérdago + Judasz & Nahimana
Final verdict: 8/10

Related links: Bandcamp | Spotify | Facebook | Instagram

Label: Antiq Records – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Wÿntër Ärvń is:
– Wÿntër Ärvń (guitars, vocals, percussion)
– Judith de Lotharingie (vocals)
– Laurene Tellen’Aria (harp)
– Geoffroy Dell’Aria (bagpipes, tin whistle, shakuhachi)
– Raphaël Verguin (cello)
– TAT (guitar)
– Vittorio Sabelli (clarinet)

The post Review: Wÿntër Ärvń – Sous l’Orage Noir – L’Astre et la Chute appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Neo-pagan folk, dark folk, neofolk (Clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Sowulo, Heilung, Forndom, Nytt Land
Country: Norway
Release date: 24 January 2025

The bear is among the most fearsome and mystical members of the animal kingdom, its intrigue reaching as deep as spoken language and as high as the cosmos. The word for ‘bear’ in many Indo-European languages is forever lost to time due to its tabooistic nature: Iron Age peoples opted instead to refer to it using epithets such as ‘the brown one’ in Germanic cultures or ‘honey-eater’ in Slavic regions out of fear of summoning the creature by uttering its name. Moreover, the bear commanded much respect in antiquity thanks to its imposing stature. Not one, but two constellations are named in homage to the creature, with origins likely dating back to a prehistoric notion of a she-bear taking part in a cosmic procession known as ‘the great hunt’. Needless to say, humans and bears have a complex relationship whose ties are etched deep into our cultures and consciousness. On their latest album, Birna, renowned folk outfit Wardruna aim to channel this ursine mysticism into calls for a more nature-focused world—does Birna successfully coax the she-bear from her rest, or do Wardruna need more time to hibernate?

A cursory listen of the pre-release singles would lead you to believe that Birna is a sort of career retrospective for Wardruna. After all, “Hertan” (Heart) taps into the soft and trance-inducing rhythmics of Runajlod – Gap Var Ginnunga in its beginning moments; “Birna” (She-Bear) conjures the larger-than-life percussion and bellowing horns that etched out Runaljod – Ragnarok‘s landscapes; and “Hibjørnen” (The ‘Hi-bear-nator’, as it were) showcases the same delicate minimalism as Skald‘s “Voluspá” through a picked lyre and bare vocal performance. Dig a little deeper, though, and one finds that Birna showcases a marked evolution in Wardruna‘s sound: “Himinndotter” (Daughter of the Sky) and “Ljos til Jord” (Light to Earth) experiment with utterly danceable drumbeats in their middle sections; “Dvaledraumar” (Dormant Dreams) and “Jord til Ljos” (Earth to Light) dabble in ethereal and otherworldly neofolk à la Alora Crucible; and “Skuggehesten” (Shadow Steed) is Wardruna‘s darkest piece to date, utilizing industrial rhythmics and gravelly horns to create a sort of bardcore analog to Nine Inch Nails.

Birna recounts the struggles of a person trying to reconnect with nature, the titular she-bear acting as guide and mentor along the way. Hardened by the modern world, ”Hertan” describes the narrator’s desires to molt their carapace—they yearn to cultivate an Animist perspective, asking the she-bear to trade places with them on “Birna” in the hopes of understanding her point of view. The stretch from “Ljos til Jord” to “Jord til Ljos” chronicles the experience of hibernation before being awoken on “Hibjørnen” by the coming of spring and the impassioned calls for the she-bear’s return on “Himinndotter”. Birna’s closing tracks document the narrator’s takeaways from their journey: after being faced with the harsh reality of the she-bear’s impending doom, the narrator must keep focused on what drives them when overwhelmed with a dying world (“Skuggehesten”), take time to slow down and listen to the ‘Voice of the Trees’ (“Tretale”), and retain conviction in the face of imposing challenges (“Lyfjaberg”).

From its opening moments, Birna betrays its heart, literally—a simple heartbeat in 6/8 forms the rhythm of “Hertan”, gradually introducing instrumental layers until a climax is reached mid-track. With a couple of exceptions, “Hertan” establishes the central songwriting conceit of Birna, slowly building on fiery rhythmics that urge to be liberated from their reins. “Himmindotter” shows its most effective execution, a lurching and pronounced chant of ‘BIR! NA!’ exploding into exultant singing and an irresistible percussive dance. Other notable moments include a repeated refrain giving way to a soaring vocal breakdown on “Lyfjaberg” and the scratchy staccato instrumentation of “Skuggehesten”, which fills every corner of the listener’s mind until a flash of reassurance signals through bright strings and hopeful lyricism. 

Other tracks experiment with more free-form structures, most notably “Dvaledraumar”, Birna’s oaken crown jewel. Opting instead to use layering as a tool for subtlety as opposed to a tool for tension-and-release, “Dvaledraumar” begins as a gradually shifting ambient piece, evoking a dark and ethereal backdrop that is cut through by Selvik’s voice and a hypnotically teetering lyre. Frigid torpor embodies deep vocals and subtle soundscaping to capture a gloriously plaintive and dreamlike atmosphere, but soon enough, the ice melts, the birds begin singing, and the sun beckons a bleary-eyed hibernator from their cave. “Jord til Ljos” recontextualizes the lyricism and lyre melodies of “Dvaledraumar”,¹ embracing the teeming life of early spring yet still trying to shake the cobwebs off after a long rest. “Tretale” aims for a similar free-form structure—and mostly succeeds—but spins its wheels for a hair too long and doesn’t quite end up capturing the intoxicatingly primal atmospheres of “Dvaledraumar” or “Jord til Ljos”.

The issue of ‘historical accuracy’ is a must in the discussion of primal-leaning folk artists, particularly so in the case of Wardruna. Despite frontman Einar Selvik’s myriad comments to the contrary, much of their fanbase sees their music as an authentic vision of ancient Norse (read: ‘viking’) music due to its ineffable chthonic energy and percussion-heavy orchestration. While Wardruna undoubtedly capture an ‘ancient’ and ritualistic atmosphere in their music, it’s fundamentally channeled through a modern-day interpretation of Migration Period Germanic culture. At its musical core, little ties this style of folk music to its ancient ancestry, which typically focused on simple compositions designed for storytelling as opposed to Wardruna‘s cinematic and larger-than-life soundscaping.

However, this somewhat blunt songwriting approach can be seen as a necessity to fully encompass a desired point-of-view—in ancient times, Animist principles were simply lived without thought, but embracing this same perspective in modern times is exceedingly difficult without considerable work. The intentionality in contemporary Animist folk songwriting helps to facilitate a more tangible connection to nature in a society designed to be anything but. Additionally, it would be disingenuous to deem Birna a wholly modern recreation, as it leans on many known ancient Norse practices, like channeling the storied mythology of the she-bear that colors the album’s concept; the seljefløyte on “Dvaledraumar”, a strikingly ephemeral woodwind made from goat willow branches that only lasts a day or two after construction; and the use of lyre on “Dvaledraumar”, “Jord til Ljos”, and “Hibjørnen”, an instrument deeply entrenched in the Migration Period Germanic musical œvre.²

While they may keep an eye to the past, Wardruna’s messages of ecological (and cultural) rehabilitation are a direct product of the here and now, a time when these messages are needed more urgently than ever. Through strikingly cinematic songwriting, soul-bearing vocal performances, and an unwavering desire to cultivate an Animist worldview, Birna opens a powerful dialogue between myriad forces of nature, manifesting through our most celestial and feared of beasts. Many people may feel overwhelmed and powerless at the hands of the modern world’s nightmarish machinations, but Birna serves as a reminder to stop, even for just a little bit, and find solace through a reconnection with our innermost primal selves. Take a moment to walk beside the bear, swim upstream with the fish, and seek counsel from the trees; they may have more to say than you think.

Recommended tracks: Dvaledraumar, Jord til Ljos, Ljos til Jord, Hertan, Himinndotter
You may also like: Nordein, De Mannen Broeders, Alora Crucible, Sangre de Muérdago + Judasz & Nahimana
Final verdict: 9.5/10

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

Label: Sony Music – Facebook | Official Website

Wardruna is:
– Einer Selvik (vocals, all instruments)
– Lindy-Fay Hella (vocals, flute)
– Arne Sandvoll (percussion, vocals)
– HC Dalgaard (percussion, vocals)
– Eilif Gundersen (horns, flutes)
– John Stenersen (moraharpa)

1. These themes are recontextualized again on “Hibjørnen”, marking the end of the narrator’s journey alongside the bear. ︎
2. In the end, I have little opinion either way on whether a modern interpretation or a faithful recreation is better in the context of music—the main takeaway here is to never buy a bridge from a Wardruna fan who tells you their music is authentically ancient. ︎

The post Review: Wardruna – Birna appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Dark folk, Drone, Choral (Clean vocals, spoken word)
Recommended for fans of: Les Mystères des Voix Bulgares, Nytt Land
Country: The Netherlands, Belgium
Release date: 11 October 2024

Though religion has always been a guiding force in music, many artists in the modern day use ecclesiastical themes as a means to transcend religion, whether it be exploring sentiments unrelated to the church or as an act of religious subversion. Lingua Ignota’s Sinner Get Ready, for example, soaks itself in bloodstained religious fervor with the goal of processing a bevy of painful and complicated emotions both related and unrelated to Kristin Hayter’s relationship to Catholicism. While not nearly as extreme and macabre as Sinner Get Ready, De Mannen Broeders’ Sober Maal approaches music from a similar perspective—Amenra frontman Colin van Eeckhout and Flemish folk musician Tonnie Dieleman use religious themes as a framework for coming to terms with death and grief. ‘Sober maal’ is a Dutch phrase that in a Christian context describes a small meal one has in the name of practicing gratitude; let’s count our blessings and fully digest the contents of this sober maal.

Recorded in a church in Zeeland, Sober Maal favors simplicity in its folk compositions: opener “Alle Roem is Uitgesloten” (All Fame Is Out of the Question) utilizes very little outside of a droning hurdy gurdy and sparse piano to build to its choral conclusion. The rest of Sober Maal follows suit, as tracks begin with a simple idea that is surreptitiously expanded upon, like the slowly accelerating percussion of “Verteere Heel” (Digest Whole) or the teetering motif that conjures funereal reflection on the title track. Sober Maal also features several spoken word segments that act as palate cleansers between some of the more monolithic hymns.

While simplicity often betrays a dearth of compositional ideas, for De Mannen Broeders, it is a vessel for accessibility and deep meditative atmospheres. Everything from the production to the songwriting feels salt-of-the-earth, even down to the poetry: despite my limited experience studying Dutch, I was able to follow along with several pieces without needing to translate due to its relative simplicity. “Verteere Heel” begins with just a simple one-two percussive pattern, but the weight of each hit is felt deep as its sonic footprint is carved into the church’s negative space; moreso as both the percussion and the accompanying vocals increase in intensity and speed near the song’s conclusion. Similarly, “Sober Maal” utilizes a repeating melody that is accentuated by piano stabs, imposing a weighty heartbreak through its mournful rumination on a single idea.

With a keen sense of space, De Mannen Broeders take full advantage of the ecclesiastical setting: buzzing folk instruments and somber musings reverberate endlessly along the walls of the church, creating an all-encompassing sound that flirts with mysticism all within a minimal palette. “Grafschrift” (Epitaph) is mostly comprised of mandolin and vocals, but the power and fullness in their delivery is augmented by a persistent reverb, vocal lines punctuated by the relative silence in their separation. “Alle Roem is Uitgesloten” most directly utilizes drone ideas, guiding the listener into a trance before concluding with a moving choral passage. “Onze Lieve Vrouwe” (Our Dear Lady) takes the opposite approach to “Alle Roem”: a hurdy gurdy briefly establishes the mood as the space is filled with transcendent choral passages, only being brought back to the forefront as a complement to the choir in its closing moments. “Omer III”¹ opts for a more subdued approach, as its central focus is a spoken word passage over contemplative droning.

Sober Maal’s poetry sits in stark opposition to its musical pieces, putting into perspective the fullness evoked by the instrumentation and choir. De Mannen Broeders’ ability to create such powerful tension and release through simplistic compositions and clever use of negative space by juxtaposing full reverberating soundscapes with sparse silence is laudable. “Ons Nu Voorbij” (Past Us Now) does the best job at organically incorporating these poems through a seamless transition from former track “Onze Lieve Vrouwe,” evoking the feeling of a speaker closing a funeral service after a hymn. Additionally, “Omer III” does well with its spoken word, though it is accompanied by musical backdrop, distinguishing it from other poetic passages. 

The spoken word approach does not pay off entirely, however: “Asemruumte” (Breathing Space) is a bit too repetitive and is clunky in execution, setting a negative precedent for the otherwise decent spoken sections later on Sober Maal. Moreover, the transition from “Alle Roem” to “Asemruumte” is relatively sudden, the lack of an audio cue making the poetry feel unprecedented and jarring. “Van Licht Ontdaan” (Bereft of Light) sits somewhere in the middle, posturing as a decent if somewhat forgettable palate cleanser. Moreover, while the choir performance forms one of Sober Maal’s central points of interest, some of the lines are rhythmically awkward: “Alle Roem Is Uitgesloten” and “Grafschrift” are particularly guilty of shoving too many syllables into lines, though “Grafschrift” handles this better as it only features two singers as opposed to an entire chorus, which stops the track from becoming too muddied with voices.

In its last moments, De Mannen Broeders encourage us to move forward even while holding on to grief: closing poem “Ons Nu Voorbij” asserts that bringing together people who care has real meaning, and that it’s important to look after ourselves in the name of those who have left us. There is space inside us for the people we have lost, but still space to continue growing and experience life in full, as our deceased loved ones surely would have wanted. Sober Maal is a beautiful and cathartic folk release, effectively using a religious context and a simple songwriting approach to articulate the complications of loss and grief, and ultimately serving as a reminder to give space for the things we are grateful for.

Recommended tracks: Onze Lieve Vrouwe, Grafschrift, Omer III, Verteere Heel
You may also like: Natural Snow Buildings, Hellvete, The Visit, Sangre de Muérdago + Judasz & Nahimana
Final verdict: 8/10

Related links: Bandcamp | Spotify

Label: Relapse Records – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

De Mannen Broeders is:
– Tonnie Dieleman (banjo, mandolin, vocals)
– Colin van Eeckhout (hurdy gurdy, percussion, vocals)
– Pim van de Werken (piano, organ)

1. I’m being told by my official Dutch fact-checker (aka co-writer Tim) that this text is from Omer Gielliet (1925-2017), a catholic priest and artist from Breskens, The Netherlands. ︎

The post Missed Album Review: De Mannen Broeders – Sober Maal appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Dark Folk, Atmospheric Black Metal (Mixed vocals, mostly clean)
Recommended for fans of: Empyrium, Summoning, Agalloch
Country: Germany
Release date: 27 September 2024

Have you ever come across something and felt like it’s bait? Like someone smarter than you set up a trap that’s just a bit suspicious in how perfect it is for you but it’s also way too enticing to turn up? Well, the Dave trap has been laid down, and its name is Helja Kor, the debut of Germany’s Liljevars Brann: from the creature that stalks the sepia-drenched forest on the album cover to the promise of hypnotic dark folk and black metal, I’m about two feet away from grabbing the proverbial carrot under the box that is this album. Will I be rewarded justly by my insatiable desire for the carrot, or will I be trapped under the box like the silly gullible mammal I am?

Well, the trap seems convincing enough at first glance. Liljevars Brann compose a mix of dark folk and atmospheric black metal, establishing subdued ideas that meditate on themselves through extended pieces. Don’t let my description fool you, though—Helja Kor offers very little in terms of peace, as in its very first moment, a pained scream reverberates through a forest, quickly establishing the misery that seeps into every facet of the album. Save for maybe the Uaral album where the guy literally cries over folk instrumentation, this is likely one of the saddest folk/black albums I’ve ever heard, conjuring imagery of a forest that slowly drains the energy of all who pass underneath its canopies. Even the vocal performances sound rotted: this is not a commentary on technique or polish, but the vocals truly sound like the aches and creaks of a decaying forest floor.

Compounding the oppressive mood is the extensive repetition baked into these tracks—Helja Kor stays steadfast to its ideas, for better or for worse, as most tracks reach upward of ten minutes with little variation. The opening title track, for example, establishes an intertwining acoustic and electric guitar motif, iterating on themselves and staying with the listener for the entirety of its eleven-minute duration while drums plod along in the background. This atmosphere remains throughout the entirety of Helja Kor, save for the singular blast beat that makes itself known near the end of “Brannstjerningen,” which sounds enervated to the point of exhaustion, lurching forward for only a couple of seconds before capitulating to weighty folk instrumentation. The execution is remarkable here, but it’s a formula that can’t quite hold across its entirety, as the extended contemplations become disorienting and difficult to listen to at times due to their unrelenting persistence. Nothing here is bad by any means, but tracks like “Krieglande” way overstay their welcome when I’ve been gently and delicately beaten into submission by everything that came before it.

Despite Helja Kor’s immense anguish, There are brief moments of beauty that peek through: “Danse Mej Brodar I Fyre” opens with a delicate acoustic guitar that effuses peace, and moments of “Sjelvind” evoke calm pastoral feelings through carefree acoustic arpeggiation. Moreover, the vocal performance, despite its contorted and ugly exterior, is quite interesting in that it’s sung in a constructed language that sits somewhere between North and West Germanic, so speakers of German or Norwegian may be able to make out certain phrases and ideas. I would love if Liljevars Brann offered lyrics and their translations to get a better idea of their point of view.

Content to wallow in mournful moods in a forest that seemingly stretches on forever, Helja Kor wasn’t the trap I expected it to be, but the carrot I got in the process was a bit overcooked and mushy. Liljevars Brann succeed greatly at establishing a woeful and anguished atmosphere in Helja Kor’s opening pieces, but the overlong length brings the listening experience close to actual woe and anguish at times. If you can stomach the excessive repetition and the overwhelming oppression, then Helja Kor should be mandatory contemplative fall listening. If that sounds like too much for you, stick with something that features a bit more bombast and grandeur.

Recommended Tracks: Helja Kor, Dansa Mej Brodar I Fyre, Brannstjerningen
You may also like: Caladan Brood, The Flight of Sleipnir, The 3rd and the Mortal, October Falls, Dreams of Nature
Final verdict: 6/10

Related links: Bandcamp | Spotify | Facebook | Instagram

Label: Octopus Rising Records

Liljevars Brann is:
– Sjelvindur (vocals, composition)
– Kristjan (drums)

The post Review: Liljevars Brann – Helja Kor appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Art rock, trip-hop, ambient, electronica, dark folk (clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Massive Attack, Radiohead, Chelsea Wolfe, Nine Inch Nails, Björk, Bent Knee, Steven Wilson when goes more electronica
Country: UK
Release date: 1 November 2024

Art has many purposes, but a lot of the time it becomes a vehicle for escapism; I sit contentedly through many a middling film or serviceable album with a handful of bops because that’s all I want from them. It’s only through serendipity and the mystery of resonant frequencies that we can occasionally come across art that wends its tendrils deep into the cracks of the soul; that can resaturate dried husks of truth with meaning once more, that, due to some combination of neural pathways and reverberating sound waves, can invoke a physiological response that borders on the profound. 

i Häxa, taken from the Swedish term for “witch”, is a project comprised of vocalist Rebecca Need-Menear (Anavae) and producer/instrumentalist Peter Miles (highlights include producer for Architects and co-producer on Tesseract’s War of Being) and blends art rock, trip-hop, ambient, industrial, and dark folk influences together into one heady brew¹. Originally conceived as a single flowing suite, but released as four EPs (the first two of which I reviewed here), and now fused into a single album, there’s a few different ways to listen to the full i Häxa. Everything flows but there are recognisable song formations, distinct quarterings within that flow—at the same time, it makes little sense to listen to, for example, “The Well” without listening to “Fog of War” because the two are parts of a seamless whole.

Swollen layers of synths and pulsating backbeats, graceful piano and lamenting strings form the instrumental backbone of i Häxa with Need-Menear’s sinuous, high-toned voice—in timbre, a more powerful, just-going-through-a-phase sister to Magdalena Bay’s Mica Tenenbaum—sojourning from vulnerable (“Circle”) to threnodic (“The Well”) to boisterous (“Destroy Everything”). Around half the tracks feature spoken word recitations from Need-Menear—the dread monologue of “Fog of War”, the rhythmic poetry that drives “Inferno”, the venomous whispers on “Army”—and her deft ear for enunciation, her oratory range, and paganic lyricism keep the listener hanging on every word. Where spoken word in music all too often falls flat with ropey oration and lazy samples, for i Häxa it’s a vital and astonishingly successful texture. 

I could wax lyrical about each track for a while, but suffice it to say that the flow and complexity of the arrangements is pleasing, playing with time signatures (I still can’t work out the beat on “Eight Eyes”), manipulated vocals (“Vessel”, “Sapling”), and reprises (“Circle” builds on a piano melody first explored in “Last at the Table” while repurposing lyrics first heard on “Sapling”). On a song-to-song basis, i Häxa consistently impress, but it’s the interweaving overall structure that sells it, the consistent quartering, the effortless flow, the reprisal of motifs—sometimes familiar, sometimes transformed—all coming together to form something holistic. Despite marrying analogue and digital, i Häxa ultimately feels strangely natural, as though this energy always existed somewhere and Need-Menear and Miles became conduits for its message. That might be a weird metaphor but it’s one of the highest compliments I can pay to music; something that feels less like it was created and more like it always existed in some form and has only just found articulation. 

By the time we get to the penultimate double whammy of “Blue Angel” and “Infernum”, i Häxa have brought us to a place of malign chaos where crushing Aphex Twin-esque beats and volatile synths pulsate while cascading neoclassical strings and eerie choral vocals form a sonic tableau of damnation. Miles’ beats are consistently, to use a technical term, sick: evoking Massive Attack on “Underworld” and “Dryland” (that strings/vocal motif/beat combo is straight Heligoland), and more acrid dance acts like The Prodigy or Squarepusher on “Infernum”. Kudos has to go to the strings across the record which are utilised in versatile ways, from the energetic melody on “Dryland” to the tenebrous quartet on “Circle”. The impressive thing is that i Häxa can span such a vast musical territory—in genre, tempo, instrumentation—and make the work in its totality feel cohesive and flowing. 

I’ve probably made my point: I really like i Häxa, but I do want to give special attention to the lyrics. Need-Menear’s voice and delivery give life to her poetic lyrics as on “Sapling”—”did all we know turn out to be our worst addictions/and are we failing?, or the recitation on “Fog of War”—“heat has its own smell, its own language, and my skin will be scorched long before I understand its words”. Mysterious and evocative, the imagery swings from more intimate registers (“Last at the Table”, “Dryland”, “Circle”) to existential dread (pretty much everything else), always hitting on something spine-tingling. Additionally, I have to, again, praise the visual accompaniments to the album, as the music video for Part One is engraved on my brain in all its strange imagery and autumnal hues. Everything this duo touches feels like the work of true artists, living and breathing a unique vision. 

i Häxa’s eponymous debut has quite simply beguiled me. It’s a stunning work melding a variety of genres and viewpoints into a cohesive work of art, a flowing sonic experience, some primordial evocation of the sublime embodied in the dread words of a lost witch yearning for meaning to manifest within this mortal coil. Need-Menear and Miles have crafted something truly unique in spite of its familiar foundations, haunting in its poignance and sonic force, brimming with a depth to which one can’t help but succumb, something that nestles in the heart and lays eggs there. Come wander into the underworld, give in to your sick desire for the inferno; you won’t regret it, I promise.

Recommended tracks: pick any of the EPs and listen to it in full (or just do the full album, after all it was originally conceived as one long suite) but if you have to have individual tracks to hook you: Underworld, The Well, Dryland, Sapling
You may also like: Ophelia Sullivan, Marjana Semkina, Mingjia, Meer
Final verdict: 9.5/10

1. Their first gig was at ArcTanGent festival who lumped them, understandably, in the “uncategorised” category alongside Kalandra (clearly a folk rock group), Sans Froid (art rock), and Doodseskader (ok, I’ll grant them that one). Meanwhile, Imperial Triumphant got a category all to themselves, “esoteric death metal”, which isn’t even all that accurate.
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Related links: Bandcamp | Spotify | Facebook | Instagram

Label: Pelagic Records – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

i Häxa is:
– Rebecca Need-Menear (vocals)
– Peter Miles (all instruments)

The post Review: i Häxa – i Häxa appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Galician Folk, Dark Folk, Drone (Clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Trobar de Morte, The Moon and the Nightspirit, Current 93, dark folk Agalloch
Review by: Dave
Country: Spain, Luxembourg
Release date: 9 August 2024

The last few decades have shown a resurgence and celebration of folk music traditions across the world, so much so that it even made its way into the Eurovision Song Contest in 2021 with “Shum,” Go_A‘s psytrance-meets-folk rendition of a Ukrainian ritual rain dance. The modern folk scene is so rich and abundant that it effectively falls into your hands with the most cursory of searches: case in point, one quick look at the most recent dark folk releases on RateYourMusic pointed me to Sangre de Muérdago and Judasz & Nahimana‘s latest collaboration, A Ilus​ã​o da Quietude (The Illusion of Stillness). Does Ilus​ã​o awe the listener into stillness as indicated, or is the stillness simply an illusion?

Formed out of a series of collaborations between Sangre de Muérdago and Judasz & Nahimana starting in 2021, Ilus​ã​o is at its core a Galician folk release comprised of manifold string instruments such as hurdy gurdy, viola, and nyckelharpa sitting alongside electronic and industrial sounds crafted by music boxes, waterphones, and synthesizers. Ilus​ã​o is imposing in its song structures and daring in its implementation of electronic elements as it flows from extended piece to palate cleanser, with tracks “Lars Persson” and “Murmurios a Correr” offering a chance to meditate and recuperate after the extended cuts “Cantiga da Rainha das Aguas” and “Cantiga de Folhas e Agulhas,” respectively. Neofolk and dark folk are no stranger to electronic and industrial elements, as can be seen in the ethereal soundscape “Hollow Stone” from Agalloch’s The White, but whereas the intense synthetic passages of “Hollow Stone” sit in stark opposition to The White’s calmer folk moments, Ilus​ã​o shows a fierce integration of the mossy and the mechanical, melting from section to section and coalescing in grand climaxes, never losing its primal edge in the process.

Ilus​ã​o lends itself well to its earthen soundscapes thanks to its inextricable connection to folktales and mythology. Opener “Cantiga da Rainha das Aguas” (Song of the Queen of Waters) depicts an entity borne of the clouds as it journeys through the water cycle, the music flowing in tandem: the track begins with a hushed and plaintive guitar tone accompanied by soulful vocal work, gradually building in dynamics and intensity, introducing more string instrumentation as the entity falls to earth. Through the exploration of springs, streams, and rivers, the music implodes into electronic ambience, a clanking music box, and hushed whispers, finally mustering the strength to rebuild its former form as the entity is taken by the sun back to its home in the clouds. “Cantiga de Folhas e Agulhas” (Song of Leaves and Needles) follows a similar structure, though the storytelling is more impressionist and depicts the cycle of life from birth to death using vivid forest imagery, aching and glacial as mournful group vocals slowly conjure momentum before falling into an electronic abyss that resolves with a somber group vocal dirge. Closer “Murmurios a Correr” is a powerful union of organic and metallic instrumentation, interweaving subtle and eerie synthetic whines and heart-wrenching strings before being lead to an a capella group-sung close.

Projects such as these commonly take the form of splits, where each artist submits separately penned songs that contribute to a larger idea, but the nature of Ilus​ã​o’s collaboration proves itself to be different, presenting instead as a melting pot of Sangre de Muérdago’s chthonic Galician folk soundscapes and Judasz & Nahimana‘s quasi-industrial ritualistic droning and hauntingly gorgeous vocals, the end product a record neither could pen on their own. Moreover, Ilus​ã​o’s centerpieces feature uncommonly long track lengths for both artists, making it clear that their collaboration provided space for them to experiment not only instrumentally but with song structure as well: the two “Cantiga”s stretch out to sixteen minutes apiece, meditating and morphing around themselves until crumbling under their own weight, only to piece themselves back together by the end into something just as beautiful, a Galician folk analog to Japanese kintsugi crafting techniques.

Staggering in its execution and breathtaking in its prosody, A Ilus​ã​o da Quietude effuses an undeniable sadness, and yet I can’t help but feel elation among its melancholic foggy breath. It is rare that I am this immediately enthralled with such a cursory find, but Ilus​ã​o’s inventive instrumentation and soul-touching vocal work immediately floored me with its ability to evoke a strong and primal wistfulness. Ilus​ã​o is without a doubt one of the greatest folk pieces to come out this year, and I’m hopeful that Sangre de Muérdago and Judasz & Nahimana will come together in the future to grace us with more forward-thinking orchestrations.

Recommended tracks: Cantiga da Rainha das Aguas, Murmurios a Correr, Cantiga de Folhas e Agulhas
You may also like: The Visit, Musk Ox, Thragedium
Final verdict: 9/10

Related links (Sangre de Muérdago): Bandcamp | Spotify | Official Website | Facebook | Instagram | RateYourMusic
Related links (Judasz & Nahimana): Bandcamp | Spotify | Facebook | Instagram | RateYourMusic

Label: Throne Records – Bandcamp | Official Website | Facebook

Sangre de Muérdago is:
– Pablo C. Ursusson (guitars, strings)
– Georg Börner (strings, percussion)
Judasz & Nahimana is:
– Pricila da Costa (vocals, percussion)
– Angelo Mangini (synthesizer)

The post Review: Sangre de Muérdago, Judasz & Nahimana – A Ilus​ã​o da Quietude appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Art rock, trip-hop, alternative folk, dark folk, dark ambient, alternative rock (Clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Chelsea Wolfe, Radiohead, Massive Attack, Portishead, Björk, Emma Ruth Rundle, Anna von Hausswolff. And some comparisons more specific to this blog: Steven Wilson’s arty/electronic works, Lunatic Soul, later Ulver, The Black Queen, iamthemorning
Country: UK
Release date: February 16th 2024 (Part One); May 17th 2024 (Part Two)

If I have a specific love outside of progressive metal, it’s arty, rocky, electronica-tinged, trip-hoppy… stuff. I don’t know what to call it exactly, it’s more a vibe than a genre, but if you look at the bands in the “recommended” section above then you’ll know the ballpark I’m in; the not-so-mainstream music that forefronts complex instrumentation, emotional sincerity and strange sonic textures. There’s been some good examples as of late, from the new Beth Gibbons and St Vincent albums to Steven Wilson’s foray into electro-prog last year, but what I didn’t expect was that I’d find one of the best groups in this realm repped by Pelagic Records, the label founded by Robin Staps of progressive metal band The Ocean, better known for doom, sludge and post-metal¹.

i Häxa is comprised of vocalist and visual artist Rebecca Need-Menear (one half of alternative rock group Anavae), and instrumentalist and producer Peter Miles (producer for We Are The Ocean and Architects, and co-producer on Tesseract’s latest album), and these two EPs Part One and Part Two form the first half of their audacious audiovisual project. Part One (From the Earth) has been released with an accompanying short film while Part Two (Fire) comes with a live studio performance. A giddy concoction of trip-hop, art pop, folk, and dark ambient flavours form the bulk of this genre-defying brew which relies on exquisite production, hauntingly rich vocals, and an intense dichotomy of tension and release, softness and abrasiveness. Both EPs run to just over fifteen minutes and each feature four tracks that flow together like one long suite. 

Need-Menear’s honeyed voice oozes threat and vulnerability in equal measure, and she modulates exquisitely: on “The Well” (Part Two) she starts out husky, sinuous, and just a little caustic, ultimately crescendoing with a belting, cathartic vocal solo over chaotic strings and ambient layers straight out of Radiohead’s most raucous work—the track also gambles on gradually slowing the feel during the climax, the drums reducing from half time to quarter, etc, while the energy of the vocals and strings increases, which pays off beautifully. A handful of songs—”Inferno” (Part One), “We Three”, and “Fog of War” (both Part Two) feature prominent spoken word pieces, also by Need-Menear, who narrates with a deft feel for rhythm, enunciation, and intensity. On “Inferno”, the ambient textures and pulsating drumwork slowly build to an unbearable maelstorm, trapping her voice in labyrinthine layers of sound, while “Fog of War”, which closes Part Two in hair-raising fashion, ends with some of her best apocalyptic prose: “It didn’t occur to me how helpless we are/walking, organic containers/at the mercy of circumstance/I am too afraid to cry/eyes glued to the hues of my southern hemisphere/ablaze/a borealis of flame”—your move, Yeats. All too often, spoken word in music is ill-conceived and lacklustre, but for i Häxa it’s a vital and chilling component within the overall composition.  

Miles, meanwhile, is the perfect instrumental partner, combining folk-tinged guitar and elegant piano with intense layers of synths and complex trip-hop inspired drum work; an entente between analogue and digital. “Underworld” explodes into a filthy electronica beat reminiscent of Massive Attack’s “Angel” but with an even greater sense of heft and menace; the looping background vocals underlying “Sapling” sit amid gorgeous piano, and ominously percussive ticking with a 3/4 feel, all of which form the perfect bedrock for one of Need-Menear’s most emotive performances; and the two drum lines played in counterpoint on “We Three” confer an unsettling energy. The verses of “Eight Eyes”, meanwhile, unfold in 5/4 with a possible bar of 7/4 here and there², before the polyrhythmic chorus, and on “Inferno” Miles sojourns over the piano in free form, a gentle fluttering beneath growing tension. All these subtleties are nestled within an enormous wall of sound, and yet are distinct within that immense totality, demonstrating Miles’s profound intuition for balancing every sonic element.

As this is an audiovisual experience, it’s worth delving into the accompanying film pieces. Part One’s EP-length music video has fantastic production values, creative costumes, and dynamic camerawork, borrowing from the visual language of folk horror, with Dantean symbols of hell, and themes of death and rebirth. Violently contorting forest spirits paw at Need-Menear who plays the nameless protagonist, and as Miles’ synths intensify under her tortured narration during “Inferno”, we see her trapped in a claustrophobic prison of human flesh, somewhere on the Botticelli to NBC’s Hannibal spectrum. The imagery conjured here is striking: Need-Menear wreathed in red light watching herself cradled in the arms of a forest spirit, breaking free from a fabric amniotic sac, a bewebbed sapling ablaze in a clearing. If a pop artist with millions of dollars and a professional director at their disposal put out this exact film we’d be hailing it as one of the best music videos ever made.

You might think the live in studio video for Part Two would struggle to reach up to the expectations set by Part One’s feature. And while Need-Menear, Miles and company aren’t pushing the limits of cinematic performance art this time, the vibes are impeccable nonetheless, reflecting the more darkly intimate tone of these songs. With the studio draped in bloodred velveteen and a deer skull chandelier looming menacingly overhead, the performance becomes increasingly claustrophobic. By the time spoken word piece “Fog of War” comes to close proceedings, the camera’s flitting around in panicked circles like a trapped moth, tortured screams emanate amid the performers wringing pandemonium from their instruments (this performance goes a little harder than the EP version), and Need-Menear’s knelt down amidst it all intoning dread premonitions from some infernal tome—you’ll find few studio performances that go harder. Both of these visual components add new dimensionality to the music, and prove rewarding and worthwhile companion pieces, little artworks in their own right.

With a Part Three and Part Four of this solstice-guided work set for release by November³, I’m very excited to complete this journey given the excellence of the first two instalments. Suffice to say, that i Häxa is an extraordinarily bold and audacious project of musical and visual artistry, an addictive, arresting and cathartic listen that I’ve had on repeat since discovering it. Everyone involved, both the main duo, the guest musicians, and all those involved in bringing the visuals to life, should be incredibly proud of themselves—kudos to Pelagic Records, too, who continue to impress with their open-minded signings. Existential, intimate, pagan, and utterly sublime, i Häxa looks set to be one of 2024’s strangest and most rewarding musical experiences..

Recommended tracks: Underworld, Sapling; Eight Eyes, The Well (but really I suggest you sit down and take half an hour to watch both video pieces in full)
You may also like: Ophelia Sullivan, Courtney Swain, Dreadnought, Suldusk, Marjana Semkina, White Moth Black Butterfly, Meer, Exploring Birdsong
Final verdict: 9/10

1.  The Ocean’s last album, Holocene, introduced electronica influences to their sound, and Pelagic rep a few other artists who play with trip-hop, drone and electronica, such as Playgrounded, BRUIT≤, and SHRVL, but i Häxa nevertheless rank among their most out-there signings. 
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2.  Counting above four is hard so I might have this wrong. Suffice to say, there’s weird time signatures happening.
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3.  Rest assured I’ll be reviewing those two EPs after they’ve both come out, and to assess the project in its entirety. 
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Related links: Bandcamp | Spotify | YouTube | Facebook | Instagram

Label: Pelagic Records – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

i Häxa is:
– Rebecca Need-Menear (vocals)
– Peter Miles (instruments, production and mixing)

The post Review: i Häxa – Part One & Part Two appeared first on The Progressive Subway.