Style: progressive metal, power metal (clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Dream Theater, Kamelot, Symphony X, Circus Maximus
Country: Sweden
Release date: 3 December 2010

Back in my day, all prog metal was either power metal or thrash metal rabble rabble. Prog-tinged USPM (Queensrÿche, Savatage, early Dream Theater) or techy thrash (Toxik, Mekong Delta, Watchtower) were prog metal before all this djent and “dissonant death metal” nonsense. At the blog, Sam and I often lament about the dearth of power/prog releases in the 20s, and even scouring the depths of the underground often nets us nothing. Heck, modern cult classics from Tanagra, Dimhav, Eternity’s End, and Michael Romeo are nearing (or have eclipsed) half a decade ago now. It’s rough to be a fan of traditional prog metal and its power-tinged sibling in 2025 and has been for ages, but 2010 was a different story. Seventh Wonder’s fourth album, The Great Escape, is a (semi-) modern masterpiece of power/prog, arguably the genre’s pinnacle of the last fifteen years straight. 

A power metal band is no stronger than their vocalist, and Tommy Karevik is a cult favorite pick as among the best in all of prog, combining a rich timbre and vocal agility with a musical theater sensibility. The closest touchstone for style and timbre I have is combining Roy Khan (ex-Kamelot) and Brendan Urie (Panic! at the Disco), but Karevik is easily equal to those legends himself. He injects endless energy into The Great Escape’s already energetic instrumentals, his flair for drama always over-the-top yet satisfying. For instance, in iconic opener “Wizeman,” after a slick guitar solo near the end, the track isolates Karevik and a lovely melody before the bass drags the duet back to metal; then, after a grand pause, Karevik belts “FLY A————WAAAAAY” into a reprisal of the main theme. There isn’t a single other vocalist on Earth who could have me not rolling my eyes from cringe on the group’s most popular song “Alley Cat,” but when Karevik sings “Oh baby let me stay your alley cat” I totally would let him. The best vocal performance, however, is on “King of Whitewater,” his agility and belting showed off more than any other song because of the sense of urgency in the chorus.

The Great Escape is breathless. Of course, Karevik hits impressive notes endlessly, but instrumentally Seventh Wonder almost always reach the same kind of balls-to-the-wall intensity except for brief, well-timed pauses. “Wizeman” starts the album without any frou-frou entrance, diving straight into a shreddy synth and guitar riff. Moreover, The Great Escape has so many hooks it’s comically unfair to other music; this also contributes to the breathless quality. By that I mean that once you’ve absorbed a hyper power/prog section and have it stuck in your mind, all of a sudden a new chorus or killer solo or resplendent melody comes along before your brain has time to take in what’s happening. So even seven years after I first heard The Great Escape, new earworms routinely crawl their way into my brain and latch on. While writing this Lost in Time piece, the duet with Karevik’s wife on “Long Way Home” stood out to me like it had never before because the track is a sweet moment—the bass on the track is killer, too. 

Although Karevik is the highlight and the zenith of prog singing in general on The Great Escape, the instrumentalists also attain a level of awesomeness that few prog bands before or since have on an album. Holding the whole thing together is bassist Andreas Blomqvist, his phat tone often mimicking the active guitar parts perfectly or else soloing on his own like on “Move on Through.” Seventh Wonder pays the bass its due. The two melodic players, Johan Liefvendahl on guitars and Andreas Söderin on keys, alternate between complex, Dream Theater-inspired solo sections and smart little keyboard-orchestrated bits and stellar riffs like at 2:30 into “Alley Cat.” For a genre which thrives on technical ability and the individual, these guys work perfectly on their own and as a unit.

Of course, I’ve ignored the pink elephant in the room: “The Great Escape” (song). Much like Symphony X’s genre-perfecting closer “The Odyssey,” “The Great Escape” is modeled off an epic poem, Sweden’s own 50s classic Aniara. Over the course of a bombastic, euphoric thirty minute journey, the band re-weave the story of the spaceship Aniara: the triumphs and tragedies of a ship destined to save humanity from a dying planet. In structure and story similar to Shadow Gallery’s “First Light” but much more metal in execution, the story is touching and by the final acoustic re-hashing of the main theme you’ll have the breath knocked out of you. If anything, the track is so tirelessly climaxing in sweet melodies that it can be a little over-the-top for my brain, but the explosions of brilliant songwriting—the galloping heavy metal riff at 5:00, the backing vocals at 9:00, the bass tapping at 15:35, the synths at 26:20—ensures that each moment is necessary. “The Great Escape” transcends the rest of the stellar album, and the track is in an echelon of epics like “The Odyssey,” “Octavarium,” and “First Light,” downright essential prog metal no matter who you are. 

At sixty-eight minutes long, each half of The Great Escape would make a killer album (or lengthy EP) on their own, and, admittedly, they come across a tad disjoint. But together, the album and epic are power/prog of a magnitude we literally haven’t seen since. With possibly the best vocal performance on a prog metal album ever, classy production, and a ton of replayability from all the catchy riffs and choruses, The Great Escape is indispensable. I long for the glory days of power/prog when bands were unafraid to write album-length epics and the Dream Theater worship bands transcended being mere clones.

Recommended tracks: The Great Escape, Wizeman, Alley Cat, King of Whitewater, by the way did I mention The Great Escape
You may also like: Pagan’s Mind, DGM, Darkwater, Teramaze, Shadow Gallery

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

Label: Frontiers Records – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Seventh Wonder is:
– Tommy Karevik (vocals)
– Andreas Blomqvist (bass)
– Johan Liefvendahl (guitars)
– Andreas Söderin (keyboards)
– Johnny Sandin (drums)

The post Lost in Time: Seventh Wonder – The Great Escape appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: progressive metal, post-metal (mixed vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Astronoid, Devin Townsend, Kardashev, Wintersun
Country: United Kingdom
Release date: 13 December 2024

When I was younger, I snorted up any ‘epic’ metal as if I were an 80s rockstar and it was cocaine. Huge, sweeping guitar solos, a million layers of synth orchestras, and booming vocals are indulgent, as delectable and rich as a devil’s food cake. Artists who master these emotional and bombastic peaks are few and far between—Wintersun, Kardashev, Devin Townsend, and Neurotech are some easy examples—but when the style is done well, it almost always becomes an instant Andy classic. From Bristol, Frank Harper’s one man act Caelestra is also a triumphant and massive undertaking, promising a mix of post-black metal, retro synths, and prog. Can he overpower my senses with pure epic power?

Bastion is an interesting mix of Astronoid’s dreaminess and the more crushing moments of Devin Townsend’s discography, with a dash of An Abstract Illusion in the compositional style. In short, Caelestra is nothing if not epic. The most noteworthy component of his style is the penchant for tremendous, in-your-face walls of sound. Blast beats atop uber-melodic major-key sections—not unlike Neurotech’s wonderful Symphonies records—make up the bulk of each track, the Townsendian fry screams the cherry on top for creating a beautiful, but heavy, soundscape. Even the atmospheric breaks in between the massive climaxes sound eerily similar to Devy’s later ambient stuff (listen to “Soteria” and compare to the weird bits of “Borderlands” or “Singularity” off of Empath). I certainly wouldn’t say Caelestra is a clone, but he wears his influences on his sleeve.

As for the Astronoid comparison, the autotune-y effect on the high-pitched clean vocals as well as the dreamy synths underlying the blast-beat heavy sections sound like they could be straight from Air, Astronoid’s debut. I also hear lots of similarities in keyboard choices to An Abstract Illusion like at 2:27 in “Lightbringer”; moreover, the way each track flows from each section to the next in a stream-of-consciousness (but well-composed) way is similar to the Swedish underground prog titans, as well. Unlike AAI, though, when Calestra has a great idea, he doesn’t always stick with it, much to my chagrin. The section around 6:00 in “Finisterre” is criminally short with its epic blackened swell and crashing drums. Other components of Bastion’s sound, like the theremin in closer “Eos” or the choral effects in “The Hollow Altar,” are underutilized.  

Paradoxically, despite switching between ideas too frequently, I also find Bastion to be frustratingly one-note—probably because both the pitched fry screams and autotune-y falsettos stay extremely monotonic. The production also contributes to this as lots of detail is lost underneath the unbalanced mix, a common problem for other maximalist bands like the granddaddy of them all, Wintersun. There’s so much going on at most moments that more chaotic sections of Bastion get completely buried in the master, leaving only the repetition of drums and same-note vocals.

At the end of the day, Bastion is epic and its climaxes are awesome to behold, but the overall package falls a little flat. Caelestra is undoubtedly skilled, far beyond competent at every instrument he lays his hands on, but paradoxical missteps in songwriting alongside washed out details make for a homogenous experience. Sometimes in this line of duty an album you think should click for you just doesn’t, and it’s always frustrating—it’s a lot more fun to sing praise for an album than to heap on criticism (well, sometimes). I’ll be keeping my eye on Caelestra, as he clearly has potential to make an album worthy of praise-heaping in his future.

Recommended tracks:  Finisterre, The Hollow Altar
You may also like: OU, Múr, Neurotech, An Abstract Illusion, Atavistia
Final verdict: 6/10

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

Label: independent

Caelestra is:
– Frank Harper (everything)

The post Review: Caelestra – Bastion appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Album artwork by Gigi Cavalli Cocchi.

Style: Progressive rock, symphonic rock (clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Porcupine Tree, new Opeth, Pink Floyd, Yes
Country: Italy
Release date: 06 December 2024

There are some albums that loudly demand your attention, and others that quietly, politely ask for it. This one does both, but not always in equal measure. What I’ve got here is an Italian prog rock release of epic proportions: The Good Man by Alex Carpani is just two nearly-thirty-minute tracks (also conveniently split by the artist into nine parts each) that span multiple styles and moods from ambient synth and fusion to the more conventional (is that the right word for it?) riffing found across the prog spectrum. Carpani’s influences reverberate throughout this record with enough clarity to evoke certain familiarity and he manages to keep the sound fresh without ever sounding derivative to the point of unoriginality but sometimes can stumble with keeping the listener engaged with its frequently shifting tone and pace. 

There’s a lot to take in on this release. The shifting moods interplay with the changing soundscapes, from heavy to soft, slow to fast, to create a dynamic that gives the album some movement. The Good Man is an album that doesn’t hide behind flashy technical wizardry, but competent musicianship doesn’t necessitate boastful showmanship, as Alex skilfully balances interesting and intricate riffing with emotional weight in the songwriting. Although the album is two singular tracks, there’s a lot of variation within the individual pieces—the two pieces ebb and flow with grace, like the scenes of a movie, often recalling elements that came before and reworking them into something that fits the later narrative. 

On “Amnesiac”, psychedelic Pink Floyd-esque moments of quiet introspection and experimentation are introduced, where background elements take precedence, and atmospheric keyboard work is complemented with a soprano operatic background vocal while the guitar takes a backseat to sentimental string pads. This is contrasted with loud, exuberant heavy guitar sections à la Haken, verses which come in later on “Heart Calling” (“part 7”). Trading emphasis between steady, double-kick triplets, and off-beat, syncopated staccato riffing over soaring keyboard leads, these kinds of feel changes add a sense of dynamism and help give a long track a feeling of momentum. 

On “Good and Evil”, the pace slows down a bit. It’s a little more reserved, with fleeting moments of effervescence – the occasional energetic Steven Wilson-ey, new-Opeth-ish heavy part coming in after long periods of contemplative mulling about. I liked this contrast on “Amnesiac”; I was less fond of it a second time around. It felt more like a continuation of the first track that did little to move the album along than a wholly separate one. The various movements for the most part all kind of lull you into a trance; first slow, then upbeat, then slow again. Although it makes for a very cohesive, very consistent listen, there just wasn’t enough to differentiate from the first 28 minutes to really grab a hold of me. However, there were some interesting moments like “Flirting With Darkness”: an enthusiastic rock break that provides a bit of renewed energy after the aptly named “Stillness and Ecstasy” (emphasis mine) – and “Mystical”, where after a string-backed word from the late Pope John Paul II, we spontaneously break into fugue. As a pipe organ toccata channels Bach, the percussion section thunders in with bass accompaniment, breaking into what could almost be considered neoclassical prog, and delineating this as what I felt was the highlight of the album. The song has several more transitions between slow and fast, deciding on a more upbeat rock sound on the final track “Everything Falls Into Place” with heavily effected reverberant guitar melodies and saxophone, before sliding into more abstract ambient territory for the album finale.

Alex Carpani has been around the block some, he certainly doesn’t need my validation here; I have the utmost respect for what he tried to do with this project and to say I didn’t enjoy it would be unfair as there are certainly moments I keep going back to, and parts of these two tracks that have made my regular rotation. Ultimately, though, The Good Man as a whole failed to resonate with me in a manner that I felt significant. I commend the work of his band and in particular, mezzo-soprano Valentina Vanini, whose contributions to this album cannot be overstated. A rather pensive release, with moments of bombast peppered throughout, Alex Carpani has crafted the thinking man’s prog rock album, but its unhurried nature might test the patience of those looking for more urgency and a swifter pace.

Recommended tracks: “Amnesiac Part 2 Perfect Chaos”, “Amnesiac Part 9 End Of The Day”, “Good and Evil Part 5 Flirting With Darkness”, “Good and Evil Part 9 Everything Falls Apart”
You may also like: Wounded Knee, Osanna, Karmamoi
Final verdict: 7/10

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

Label: Independent Artist Records

Alex Carpani is:
– Alex Carpani (vocals, keyboards, production)

The post Review: Alex Carpani – The Good Man appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Symphonic metal, progressive metal, power metal (mixed vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Therion, Haggard, Agrippa’s occult philosophy, Fleshgod Apocalypse, the works of Albertus Magnus, Rhapsody of Fire
Review by: Francesco
Country: Netherlands
Release date: 21 December 2024

When I was a younger man, I was obsessed with the music of film. I speak, of course, of the classical-inspired original compositions that used to score films and trailers before the recent trend of including lowest-common-denominator pop crap that permeates practically every new film release of the last decade. The sweeping melodies of string sections and elevated tension of the percussion, the paces accelerando as the chills ran down my spine, the pieces finally crescendoing into a marked climax – and it was like feeling a week’s worth of emotions in a two-minute period. At some point, I started listening to heavy metal and picked up the electric guitar for the first time. Eventually, I discovered Rhapsody (later ‘of Fire’), and 16-year-old me was immediately obsessed. In the time since, I’ve been all up and down the symphonic metal style and its associates power, death, black…(thrash when?) – and even though it’s no longer my go-to these days, I can always be persuaded to lend an ear to a fugue or two. Enter Black Yet Full of Stars, an impressive orchestral metal project by Amsterdam-based Italian composer Carlo M. Dini. Dark Wing Gospel is the second release under this name and features an all new lineup, including among others Davide Penna (Mirrormaze) on clean vocals and Ludovico Cioffi (Delain) on growled vocals. 

The album takes a slightly different approach to most symphonic metal; whereas many bands tend to emphasize the more standard metal elements, to which an orchestral tapestry is merely a backdrop, Black Yet Full of Stars prioritizes instead creating rousing symphonies in multiple movements, to which the metal generally takes a support role, only ever taking the forefront during solo guitar sections. As such, to suggest Dark Wing Gospel is replete with the iconic riffs or memorable sweep-picking solos of some other symphonic, perhaps neoclassical, progressive power metal outfits would be misleading; although metal is without question an important ingredient on this album, it is only part of the whole. Think more Therion, and less Rhapsody or Kamelot. The focus here has ostensibly been to create textured landscapes that conjure up grandiosity, majesty, and at times, despair; menace. The baritenor singing of Davide Penna evokes triumph and agony with a dark, emotive voice reminiscent of Adagio’s Christian Palin, while the brash, confrontational harsh vocals of Ludovico Cioffi hearken hellish creatures and dark sentiment in a manner not unlike that of Asis Nasseri from Haggard.

Certainly, ‘orchestrator’ is a title Carlo does not take lightly to, as Dark Wing Gospel is an ambitious release even for the bombast that typically defines symphonic metal. Right from the start, you can get a sense of the theatrical, grandiose nature of the album with the overture of “Halom Shacor”, the opening track of the album. The threatening sound of a pounding march fades into a sinister violin and rumbly grand piano, introducing choirs (with real people, no MIDI!) and horns, and a mounting anticipation that builds and builds, until the drums and guitars kick in with a syncopated beat that immediately gets you making a stank face. Starting a symphonic metal album with an instrumental orchestral suite isn’t groundbreaking territory by any means, but there’s a sophistication here that Carlo’s formal background in music brings to the record; there’s a definite cinematic flair here that feels very much like listening to an epic film score.

With a runtime of only forty-eight short minutes, Dark Wing Gospel packs as much as sonically possible into each of the six tracks – with only one of those coming in under the five-minute mark, and the longest being just shy of nine minutes – but as such, the pieces tend to flow into one another so well that I often found myself having to look back at my phone to redetermine which track was currently playing. The whole album is over before you know it, and even though you’re left reeling in the wake of this dramatic spectacle, indeed it can be challenging to recall the differences between pieces as the strings and horns and entire symphony sometimes becomes a blur. This isn’t necessarily a detractor, but it’s another one of the ways in which it tends to feel more like a soundtrack than a metal album. And indeed, there’s apparently an entirely orchestral and vocal remix of the album in the works that is due for release at some point.

Black Yet Full of Stars doesn’t try to reinvent the wheel with Dark Wing Gospel, but competently utilizes all the arcane knowledge that came before to forge a progressive, cerebral symphonic metal experience that fully immerses the listener with its esoteric essence. The sum and substance of this album are found throughout the genre and style, but few can competently alchemize them in the way Carlo has done. Though placemarkers can be slightly challenging to find as you run through the track listing, uniformity is not necessarily a bad thing, and it makes for a very consistent release. There’s no shortage of massive, epic Italian symphonic metal works, and Dark Wing Gospel is no exception. And yeah, maybe this album was made in the Netherlands, but it has the boot of Italy written all over it. Truly his magnum opus, these oeuvres transmute a base metal into a noble one, and render this album a joy to listen to.

Recommended tracks: “Nigredo, Foulest Servant”, “Albedo, Ancient Heart”, “Rubedo, The Artist”
You may also like: Adagio, Winter’s Verge, Audiomachine, the alchemical writing of Paracelsus, Stormlord
Final verdict: 8.5/10

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

Label: Independent

Black yet Full of Stars is:
– Carlo M. Dini (composer, producer)

The post Review: Black Yet Full of Stars – Dark Wing Gospel appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: blackgaze, atmospheric black metal, folk black metal, post-metal, new age (mostly clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Alcest, Summoning, Myrkur
Country: Ethiopia
Release date: 5 December 2024

The pseudonym for a shaman whose true name is unpronounceable to humankind, Enat Meret resides in a realm of pure energy where she guides those lost in darkness. Her world pulses with resonant powers, the spiritual and corporeal no longer separated, flowing in streams of liquid light. Here, music is a vitalistic force, as alive as you or I, its energy as awesome as a god’s. She desires to bring her power to Earth so that we once again become one entangled force with our mother planet we have divorced ourselves from before we further effect a cataclysm of Solarian proportion; she is also a vocalist. Cosmic black metal act Nishaiar, dwellers of the Portals of Zenadaz, are her prophet, their music seeking to bridge the two realms. 

How could a band ever live up to the promise of music with the potential to unite mankind and reacquaint our species with our ravaged planet—that their music is from a universe of pure photonic energy? I’ve known that Nishaiar had the potential for a few years; I adore the Ethiopian band’s “terrestrial year 2021” output, Nahaxar, and I think that album—with its characteristic and unique blend of wall-of-sound post-metal, atmospheric black metal, and tribalistic chants and percussion—could conceivably have emanated from some nacreous Shambhala. Nahaxar was at once apocalyptic with its overwhelming climaxes but in the end always kept a sense of hope for the purpose of humanity through its humanistic folk in the wonderful post-crescendo sections. Although Nahaxar didn’t quite reach the limitlessness that the description of Enat Meret promises, I could easily imagine the band evolving to harness her powers fully. At any moment after turning on Enat Meret the first time, I expected a voltaic shock from the otherworldly black metal as Enat Meret’s voice and prophets transformed me in my blindness into a world of new colors divorced from my fleshly confines: it never came.

At odds with the spiritually and musically intense thematics, the sixth album from the Gondar-based group takes a more relaxed approach than does Nahaxar, operating in a style closer to new age-y post-rock than to black metal for much of its hour-long runtime. Not until the third track “Yemelek” does Enat Meret culminate in anything more than unexcitable post-rock, and the stuttering synths and weak, reverb-y female vocals of Lycus Aeternus, Enat Meret, or Lord of Zenadadz (I do not know which of the three members credited with vocals does what) are redolent of Myrkur’s weakest album, Spine. “Yemelek” with its huge wall of black metal, celestial and angelic chanting, and trumpets, however, is immensely satisfying despite the too-long buildup of the first two songs. The latter half of the track features a deluge of percussion like a meteor shower and even a sax solo, which while a little out of place timbrally, is well-composed in context. A few other tracks reach similar blackened highs—“Enat Midir” and “Heyan” notably—and these tracks stand out amid the stream of folky new age and frail shoegaze-y post-metal similar to Alcest’s Les Chants de l’Aurore.

The lack of metal in the rest of the tracklist significantly takes away from the impact of Enat Meret, noticeably the enervated female vocals which only work in juxtaposition with the mostly absent harsh vocals. I would expect and desire Enat Meret’s realm to positively burst with explosive force like Sunyata or Mare Cognitum when translated to Earthly music by her conduit Nishaiar; the plaintive ambient folk is lovely but slightly boring in its placidity. Within these atmospheric tracks, some styles work better than others: for instance, the hypnotic percussion of “Netsa” plays into the band’s Ethiopian origins without being trope-y, but “Alem” is slow and rather bland post-rock. Moreover, Enat Merat is fairly bloated, and if the album were ten tracks rather than fifteen, cutting out several of the filler tracks between the black metal ones, the buildups before the releases would be less tedious. 

Additionally, on Nahaxar, the flow between metal, post-rock, and folk music worked well thematically. Massive swells of black metal heralded calamity with civilization-destroying force; then in the aftermath, post-rock provided a delicate release of tension, a stillness to peacefully contemplate; the folk segments from the cradle of humanity provided a glimpse into a rebuilding, stripped of distortion and, by extension, technology, returned to Earth as it were; finally, the cycle would repeat. Hubris is the way of mankind. Enat Meret, while largely composed of the same basic timbres and genres, is arranged much more haphazardly. I feel no sense of internal logic governing the occasion of switches between genres—they shift, and that’s that. Compared with the breathtaking narrative flow and ambition Nishaiar has achieved before, Enat Meret comes across as a bit rudderless.   

My soul was ready to be led by Enat Meret’s shamanic wisdom—I’d looked forward to a Nahaxar follow-up for three years now—but I don’t feel significantly changed. Perhaps it’s because I’m already environmentally aware and in touch with Earth, rendering me less changed by the shamanic power than Taylor Swift or Elon Musk would be or perhaps it’s because I’m a bigger fan of cosmic black metal than of new age ambient. I still think Nishaiar is a project worth listening to and among the best metal acts Africa has, but I will undoubtedly be returning to Nahaxar instead of Enat Meret for my fix of otherworldly spiritual energy.

Recommended tracks: Yemelek, Mebet Kubet, Netsa, Heyan
You may also like: Eldamar, Violet Cold, Kaatayra, Bríi, Mesarthim, Medenera, Nelecc, Celestial Annihilator
Final verdict: 6.5/10

Related links: Bandcamp | Facebook | Metal-Archives page

Label: independent

Nishaiar is:
– Explorer of the Abyss (bass)
– Arcturian Night (drums)
– Lord of Zenadadz (guitars, vocals)
– Lycus Aeternam (keyboards, vocals)
– Enat Meret (vocals)

The post Review: Nishaiar – Enat Meret appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Power Metal, Progressive Metal, (vocals)
Recommended for fans of: NanowaR of Steel, Gloryhammer, Tenacious D
Country: Spain
Release date: 17 December 2024

My co-writer Chris is remarkably good at finding music of all kinds—he provided me with not one, but two of my favorite albums of the year and has sent plenty of interesting non-Subway recs my way. But what is most remarkable is how good he is at finding straight-up weird shit: just the other week, he jokingly dropped the latest Kaosis into the chat, to which I wasted no time assembling my review. Well, now, I’m back with more weird shit from the Chris archives. This time, we’re talking about Gigatron’s La Xusta de Zarathustra, an off-the-wall power metal concept album that you have to hear to believe.

Gigatron reside mostly in the world of power metal, but incorporate progressive undertones through their songwriting and mixing of genres: a song can go from traditional power metal into folk metal and finish off with an EDM passage as if these combinations were commonplace. La Xusta de Zarathustra also casts its net wide with respect to the vocals: many different styles are used here to represent different characters, whether it be standard high-energy power metal vocals, high-pitched falsettos, or the copious use of a zany ‘gremlin’ voice reminiscent of that near the end of Native Construct’s “Come Hell or High Water,” but even more shrill and gravelly. In line with the absurd mish-mash of genres and vocal styles is the album’s story, which involves a set of characters unmasking a series of conspiracies perpetrated by the bourgeoisie, whether it be vaccine microchips, AI bots designed to destroy all humans¹, or a Moon colony populated entirely by Nazis. Gigatron took one look at moderation and said, “¡Vete a la mierda!” Thankfully, La Xusta has a fairly down-to-earth spoken word ending that involves the main characters having a feast in Valhalla with notable Norse figures Loki, Lemmy Kilmister, and King Kong.

One can quickly infer that Gigatron are happy to take the piss out of absolutely everything: they positively live for the bit, and will commit to it well beyond the point of enjoyability. La Xusta De Zarathustra is constantly looking for the next moment to interject with something wacky, marring the decent power metal that underlies these frustrating moments. Most songs have a solid foundation that is inevitably ruined by something decidedly obnoxious, whether it be the horrifically shrill flute of “¡Plandemia!,” the techno-glitches of “PutopIA,” or the zany gremlin vocals on virtually every track.² For the first song and a half or so, it’s charming, but it quickly becomes way too much over La Xusta’s runtime. It makes me wonder, am I the joke here? Are Gigatron laughing at me knowing that I’m giving my undivided attention to a shrill goblin talking about Moon Nazis over dance metal beats?³

Despite wanting to tear my hair out on several occasions, it would be completely unfair for me to disregard La Xusta’s compelling instrumentation—though the songwriting is a little weird on tracks like “Distorsión” or “Apócrifus Yisus,” whose ending sections are vastly different than their beginnings, the actual riffage is quite well done. The former has energetic Stratovarius vibes and the latter indulges in satisfying folk ideas before launching into swaggering classic heavy metal. Opener “RulalaXusta” is also quite enjoyable as a folky introduction without too much chaos. Moreover, I have to admit there were sections that broke me down and actually did make me laugh: the inclusion of King Kong in the Valhalla feast caught me off guard, and something about the aggressive German over a cyber metal breakdown on “Nazis en la Luna” was, despite its abject tastelessness, quite silly in a way that I enjoyed.

Gigatron are distinctive power metal songwriters, but where they leave me wanting is in their lack of moderation—I’d like to think I’m not some stick-in-the-mud who wants everything to be brooding and serious, but it definitely grinds my gears when a band commits this hard to bits that weren’t that funny in the first place and subsequently beats them into oblivion. This rings especially true when the bits involve horrifically grating vocals, as much of La Xusta is plagued by. Were the songwriting cleaned up a bit and some balance brought to their execution, I would be much more receptive to La Xusta de Zarathustra, but as it is, I just can’t vibe with its overt wackiness. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to hurry to my goblin voice lessons.

Recommended tracks: RulalaXusta, Distorsión, Apócrifus Yisus
You may also like: Ethmebb, Cheeto’s Magazine, Toehider, Joey Frevola, Blake Hobson
Final verdict: 4/10

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

Label: Independent

Gigatron is:
– Charly Glamour (vocals)
– Dave Demonio (guitars)
– Kike Turulo (bass)
– Johnny Cochambre (drums)

1. Though, I’m pretty sure from the fact that the song in question is called “PutopIA” and that they add a disclaimer at the beginning of their music video that assures none of it is AI-generated that they take a strongly anti-AI stance, which is quite based of them. Y’all know how we feel about AI around here. ︎
2. Though they taint most any song they appear on, they are a particular problem on “Distorsión,” “Nazis en la Luna,” and “¡Plandemia!” ︎
3. What’s even more absurd is that they begin the song about moon nazis with a Wizard of Oz reference. ︎

The post Review: Gigatron – La Xusta de Zarathustra appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Art Rock, Progressive Rock (Clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Quieter Caligula’s Horse, Later Leprous, Hjaltalín, Kalandra
Country: United Kingdom
Release date: 11 December 2024

One of the most memorable moments from comedy/advice podcast My Brother, My Brother, and Me involves a scenario about a man who stumbles into being his office’s ‘car guy’ despite knowing absolutely nothing about cars. The story culminates in him being asked to accompany his coworker to a dealership to help look for a new car. The joke/moral of the story came down to ‘people just want an adult around,’ and I think that rings true for all of us: the world is an overwhelming and scary place, and our fears in unfamiliar situations are assuaged by the presence of a person who conveys confidence. Composer and producer Caio Duarte aims to offer this to his children through music: Ifall’s latest output Stillness and Trust focuses on guidance for what to expect while navigating through life. Does his advice ring true for everyone, or does it fall on deaf ears?

Ifall betrays a calmer side of Duarte, as its progressive indie/pop rock sensibilities are a considerable departure from his work in thrash metal outfit Dynahead—endless streams of tremolo picks and frenetic instrumentation are eschewed in favor of quietly picked guitars and lush orchestrations on Stillness and Trust. Though most of its runtime is light and airy, heavier moments make themselves known, particularly in the choruses and bridges (“Steel and Ills,” “Sol Ipsis”) and occasionally in track introductions (“Heed Within”). Vocals take center stage on Stillness and Trust, gently leading tracks to their climaxes and pushing musical ideas forward.

Vocals are the saving grace of Stillness and Trust—save for the few heavier moments, much of the instrumentation is relegated to backdrop as Duarte utilizes gorgeous soaring vocal melodies that add considerable emphasis to his already weighty words. Opener “Steel and Ills” begins with voice only, demonstrating the clarity in Duarte’s tone before locking in to Leprous-esque staccato experimentation; “Air” and “Temple of You” see Duarte exploring his inner Jim Grey (Caligula’s Horse) with delicate yet confident singing over soft piano and gently swaying guitars and drums; “The Hunger and the Thirst” and “Mount Mistake” present the best vocal performances, exuding heartbreak in the tracks’ closing melodies.

While undoubtedly beautiful on their own, what really makes the vocal melodies shine is the words behind them: Stillness and Trust’s intimate and touching musings moved me to the point of tears on multiple occasions. At its core are messages to his children describing the beauty and complications of life (“Steel and Ills,” “The Hunger and the Thirst”), the importance of taking in smaller moments (“Air”), and reminders to trust yourself during times of hardship (“Heed Within,” “The Hunger and the Thirst”). Duarte’s most moving lyricism outlines his dedication to his children and his desire to understand them: lines such as ‘I have mine, and you live there / You occupy me / And you won’t understand / As no one will ever understand yours’ from “Temple of You” describe how we hold the most important things inside of us, and how it’s difficult to understand how much someone can mean to you. Duarte recontextualizes this to hardships on “The Hunger and the Thirst,” proclaiming ‘And every turn of page / Will try to make you cave in / But remember thе only thing / You’ll ever be a mastеr of / Is yourself / The only thing you’ll ever be is yourself.’ My favorite moment, however, is the conclusion of “Mount Mistake,” where Duarte assures that his dedication to his children will live through them after he passes: ‘My decay, bittersweet / Collapsing gеntle memories / I brought you to this stagе / Just to share it with you / You’ll always be / The best thing I’ve ever seen,’ a line that reminds me of my recently deceased father every time I hear it.

Stillness and Trust has no problem mercilessly pulling at my heartstrings, but the experience as a whole exposes some fundamental flaws that hold it back from greatness. Likely the biggest offender is the production, which gives the album an overall hushed feel: even in its more dramatic moments (“Steel and Ills”, “Sol Ipsis,” “Heed Within”), the music feels restrained by the production. I want these sections to positively explode, but instead they only adorn me in a shower of sparks, taking passages that would have been radical heights and relegating them to moments of mild intrigue. In an album whose modus operandi is stripped back instrumentation, the contrast against bigger moments is necessary to maintain interest. Production issues when combined with the songwriting also drastically affect the memorability of the music: were it not for the well-crafted and intimate vocal lines, a majority of Stillness and Trust’s instrumentation would be rendered forgettable. There are instances where Ifall is able to work around these problems, however: the staccato vocals and soaring grandeur of “Steel and Ills” are catchy and mostly unmarred by the production, and I still get chills from the lush ending of “Mount Mistake,” even if the beginning is fuzzy in my mind.

Despite some clashing of production and songwriting, Ifall’s messages of care and guidance ring clear on Stillness and Trust. Caio Duarte is able to easily convey his musings thanks to a spectacular vocal performance that is occasionally augmented by equally dramatic instrumentation. Should Duarte find a balance with production that complements Ifall’s grander moments, he will have an album which is as compelling musically as it is lyrically. Until then, I’ll just sit here and keep crying about it—literally.

Recommended tracks: Steel and Ills, Mount Mistake, Heed Within, Sol Ipsis
You may also like: MEER, Iamthemorning, Marjana Semkina, Toby Driver
Final verdict: 7/10

Related links: Spotify | Facebook

Label: Independent

Ifall is:
– Caio Duarte (everything)

The post Review: Ifall – Stillness and Trust appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Nu-metal, Djent (Mixed vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Slipknot, very early Karnivool, Limp Bizkit, Amaranthe
Country: New Zealand
Release date: 6 December 2024

While it is often hard to believe in serendipity, it’s quite easy to believe in the Infinite Monkey Theorem and all of its graces: enough apes in a room bashing on typewriters will eventually write a profound work. In a similar vein, get enough people on Earth and humanity will produce a Tommy Wiseau to exact a fully committed and profoundly cringe vision, creating works like The Room, Best F(r)iends, and The Neighbors in the process. Get even more people on Earth and a community will develop around niche media like this, which is where I come in: I have been graced to be part of a group that opens discourse on underground progressive works good and bad. My dear co-writer Chris was kind¹ enough to introduce me to We Are the Future, the latest release from Kiwi nu-metal outfit Kaosis and a work of camp, absurdity, and cringe only possible thanks to the Infinite Monkey Theorem. I urge you to take some time and explore with me this brain rot-inducing labor of love.

You’ve heard Kaosis before: maybe not directly, but their style of nu-metal was done to death in the early 2000s, and now that the requisite two decades have passed for it to be considered nostalgic, Kaosis are mercilessly yanking it back into existence and forcing it to dance like a dreadlocked homunculus in JNCOs. All the ingredients to conjure such an unearthly creature are there: a philosopher’s stone forged from Slipknot’s cutting room floor riffs (“Breaking the Fallen”), a vessel overflowing with djent grooves that can be most warmly described as ‘characteristic of the genre’ (“Blood of Angels”), and the blood of Fred Durst to top it all off (“God Inside”). Most tracks feature verses with harsh vocals over featureless riffs that lead into a clean-sung chorus and a bridge containing a guitar solo with varying degrees of interest. Soloing seems to be the central focus of We Are the Future’s sound, as very little else save for the occasional bongo interjection (“Human Tumour,” “Arrival of the Fittest”) and an interesting drum pattern or two (“See! See! I Told You Baby!”) leave anything to sink your teeth into.

However, the music itself is not the main focus here: frankly, the experience rarely moves beyond exceedingly bland and forgettable nu-metal with the occasional five-second snippet of intrigue. The real attraction is the series of music videos accompanying each track, like Daft Punk’s Interstella 5555 but worse in every way, featuring a wildly diverse and utterly unhinged cast of characters such as: 

• A trailer pagan ready to sing Peyton Parrish to you on your way to Y’allhalla; 
• Scorpion from Mortal Kombat on bass; 
• Your mom’s friend Leroy on drums; 
• A giant dog responsible for keyboard duties and hype poses; 
• Dril on guitars, eternally encased in a flaming blue aura; 
• and 75 of their closest friends², including special guests Björn Strid of Soilwork, Anders Colsefni of Slipknot³, and several notable appearances from mysterious second drummer Bongo Jimmy. 

Special attention must be brought to the two women featured in each video who do nothing but dance; I can only assume they are sorceresses coercing the other band members out of whatever hell dimensions they came from onto this plane of existence. Typically, the visual media of a band is mostly irrelevant to the musical content itself, but in the case of We Are the Future’s strong sense of, um, imagery along with the inclusion of two members who do literally nothing but dance, Kaosis make it clear that the aesthetics of their art are mandatory for the full experience.

Each video follows a similar format—we are thrown into some kind of apocalyptic cyberpunk landscape, the camera zooms in to the band, and we are subjected to four minutes of random cuts between each band member along with hologram projections of the guest musicians. The first video is the most frantic with several cuts and excessive camera shake effects, featuring snapshots of a CG cybernetic woman who… just kind of sits there wired up to a bunch of machines? Maybe the music videos are being downloaded into her brain to develop consciousness? It reminds me of when Microsoft released that Twitter bot that was instantly corrupted by the internet, but instead of being fed racism, the cyborg is being fed someone’s fever dream of an ICP opening act. She is never seen again after the first video, meaning we’ve either fully sunken into her consciousness or the band blew their budget on the opener’s edge-of-your-seat CG cinematography.

Other notable moments include the non-sequitur t-rex cameo at the end of “Human Tumour”; the entirety of “God Inside” being inexplicably filmed in a 1:1 aspect ratio topped off with ten seconds of the guest vocalist shifting back and forth like an NPC idle animation at its end; or the multiple instances of members playing their instruments with absolutely no sound, such as the drummer powerfully nailing a tom fill that doesn’t exist on “Memory Never Dies” or the flame-aura guitarist silently shredding while one of the women stands and stares awkwardly at the camera at the end of “See! See! I Told You Baby!” The bridge of opening track “Breaking the Fallen” is particularly apt, as a deluge of camera switches and random zoom-ins of band members’ hands and faces is met by chants of “I can’t take this” over and over. Yeah, you and me both, sister.⁴

Such baffling descriptors will naturally lead one to thinking of silliness poster children Gloryhammer, who revel in camp and absurdity. However, their approach involves everyone being in on a larger joke, taking the piss out of its own low-effort storytelling, and any narrative depth Gloryhammer tries to attain is rendered hollow in the process due to its reliance on irony. The Kaosis approach, on the other hand, fully eschews irony, coming from a place of true earnestness: messages about the state of the world delivered through Steven Hawking voice samples, a desire for a cool image, and a point of view that tells people that you’ve thought once or twice about, like, society and stuff permeate We Are the Future. There’s absolutely no reason to believe that they aren’t completely convinced of themselves: the fact that there is a dog person behind a giant holographic man urgently yelling “If you ask me, it affects everything! IT AFFECTS EVERYTHING!” at the end of “Over This” makes a strong case for Kaosis’ unwavering conviction to what they’re saying, whether it be worth hearing or not.

We Are the Future is an all-encompassing experience for the worst, from the green-screened Mortal Kombat backdrops to the wildly divergent designs of each band member to the absolutely punishing deluge of guest musicians, all coalescing in a fever dream cyberpunk dumpster fire backdropped by tepid nu-metal that offers little of interest in any respect. And yet, through the dumpster fire, I come out the other side with a profound hope, as We Are the Future is a representation of the unwavering commitment of an artist to their vision: the end product is horrifically unpleasant to listen to and tasteless trash, but it is trash that’s only possible from a group that pours their entire heart and soul into a project, a beautiful microcosm of the human condition that mirrors the grandeur found in us all. For that reason, I wouldn’t change a single thing about We Are the Future: it’s perfect the way it is. That, or the sorceresses have cursed me with enzymes that are accelerating my brain rot—It’s hard to tell.⁵

Recommended tracks: Just go watch the video, it’s the only way to properly consume this
You may also like: Four Stroke Baron, Max Enix, Doodseskader, Sarcas
Final verdict: Flaming blue aura/10

Related links: Spotify | Official Website | Facebook | Instagram

Label: Independent

Kaosis is:
– Xen (vocals, production, nightmare mastermind)
– A bunch of other unlisted people
– Bongo Jimmy

1. Read: sadistic ︎
2. Seriously, We Are the Future has so many pointless guest musicians that it puts Folkearth and Max Enix to shame. ︎
3. Colsefni’s inclusion here is particularly interesting, given the drama between him and Kaosis: apparently, Colsefni re-recorded Slipknot’s Mate. Feed. Kill. Repeat. with the band, but later denounced the release as many post-recording decisions, including release details and mastering, were made without him, suggesting that his contributions to We Are the Future were made before the release of this EP. ︎
4. Kaosis’ crimes against music don’t stop here—just weeks before the release of We Are the Future, Kaosis dropped an AI-generated music video that self-inserts them into a set from Woodstock ‘99, featuring an all-new song with such faff lyrics that I thought those were also AI-generated. ︎
5. My peer Andy says it’s almost certainly the latter. ︎

The post Review: Kaosis – We Are the Future appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: technical death metal, brutal death metal, progressive death metal (harsh vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Archspire, Analepsy, Atheist, Devourment
Country: United States-IL
Release date: 13 December 2024

When December comes around and list-making season is upon us, album releases inevitably slow to a trickle. But in 2024’s dearth of Yuletide releases, Misanthropy are set to release their third full length album, The Ever-Crushing Weight of Stagnance; it is succulent manna from heaven in this dire time for a music fan. To hear this album in December overwhelms the senses like a rainfall in the Sahara, so plentiful the deluge of stellar riffs. It is my duty to caution every tech fan not to finalize their year end list yet: Misanthropy will be the best gift under the tree.

These Chicagoans aren’t subtle, from the most aggressive fretless bass tone I’ve ever heard to the solos which erupt out of the foundations of the song like bubbling magma with nowhere to escape, the pressure building up in a violent ejaculation of liquid stone. Within just the first song, “Of Sulking and the Wrathful,” the band has me asking several profound, life-altering questions… Is 2:30 what it would sound like if Devourment could gallop? Is the swing solo at 3:45 what First Fragment would sound like if their jubilance were turned into a deep hatred for mankind? Each moment is fresh and exciting because you know damn well whatever filth is imminent will pulverize you. The faster cuts are nonstop tech eargasms, but even slower cuts like “Descent” never relent their chokehold. “Descent” builds through slimy pinch harmonics and Ad Nauseamisms (you can’t tell me that little tremolo at 2:15 isn’t straight from III). And my goodness the riffs: I think “A Cure for the Pestilence” may contain my favorite since Horrendous’ Ontological Mysterium last year… until possibly only two tracks later at 4:00 into “Sepulcher.”

Keeping The Ever-Crushing Weight of Stagnance engaging throughout its forty-four minutes is the band’s engagement with differing tempos. The album spans the gamut of death metal from the crawl of Worm’s death/doom to Archspire’s legendarily hyperactive pace, and, even more miraculously, Misanthropy keep the package coherent with well-composed, hyper-organized transitions between riffs—there’s a calculated chaos in their sound not unlike Aseitas’ very solid album from earlier this year. To keep Misanthropy’s cadence honest, Paul Reszczynski (drums) and Mark Bojkewycz’s (fretless) monitor the rhythm section like Scrooge keeping track of his pursestrings—that is to say, they’re tight. Just listen to how Reszczynski beats up the kit at 3:40 in “Sepulcher.” Like any good prog/tech band, the guitarists are no slouches either: Kevin Kovalsky and José Valles excel at filthy breakdowns just as much as they do at face-melting shred. The four-piece operate as a hulking beast, loping with as much momentum as a planet-sized asteroid. 

Kovalsky is also quite the vocalist with squalid belches, gutturals, and growls, a fitting collection of brutal techniques. He even switches to predominantly piercing highs in “Sepulcher,” and I wish he made that switch more. While the instrumentation is incredibly varied with unceasingly mutating riffs, Kovalsky’s vocals get left behind to only a touch above serviceability—despite showing off he has the ability to spew vitriol like a demon. But besides the desire to hear more of his throaty highs, Kovalsky is well-balanced in the mix as are the rest of Misanthropy, and despite the punishing nature of brutality on the old tympanic membranes, The Ever-Crushing Weight of Stagnance is incredibly easy to listen to and doesn’t revert to lame genre tropes like the slam snare or the hyper-clean mix that modern tech death bands succumb to.

Overall, the production is wonderfully organic, probably even Fair Trade. 
Misanthropy have channeled their hatred for humanity into a hydroid beast, rippling with muscle and bristling with energy. I name dropped a lot of fantastic tech bands in the review, but while Misanthropy draws from many, they never feel derivative; The Ever-Crushing Weight of Stagnance transcends its influences to carve out its own niche in one of the most crowded scenes in the underground. Misanthropy is punishing and frenetic, a holiday gift that will uproot best-of lists and be on repeat well into 2025.

Recommended tracks: Of Sulking and the Wrathful, A Cure for the Pestilence, Descent, Sepulcher
You may also like: Carnosus, Replicant, Malignancy, First Fragment, Veilburner, Heaving Earth, VoidCeremony, Aseitas
Final verdict: 8.5/10

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

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

Misanthropy is:
Kevin Kovalsky – Guitar and Vocals
Paul Reszczynski – Drums
José Valles – Guitar
Mark Bojkewycz – Fretless Bass

The post Review: Misanthropy – The Ever-Crushing Weight of Stagnance appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: experimental death metal, djent, avant-garde black metal (harsh vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Frank Zappa’s Jazz from Hell but death metal
Country: Canada
Release date: 6 December 2024

Sometimes the jokes write themselves: solo project of James Aniston Through Mists was inspired by the following quote throughout the creation of Hellscape: “if you’re going through Hell, keep going.” In only seven words, Aniston encapsulates my experience with forcing myself to listen to his seventh full length album in the past two years.  

Hellscape is a strange mix of “experimental” death metal, black’n’roll, djent, and sizable unintelligible sections I’ll just call “crap” for categorizing reasons. Through Mists never really settles into a groove (by this I mean a coherent style, but also literally because he can hardly keep time despite the drums being programmed), and the constant switching almost immediately becomes a nuisance. And yet despite trying so many things, so little works. Like many a prolific one-man-band, I think the first big problem is a lack of somebody else to hold the artist accountable. Four months to churn out a complete experimental work worth listening to is a tall task, and the ideas across this collection of songs are spread thin, and most of the ideas do not work together at all. Only one moment really sticks out as a riff that would survive the cutting board if I were an honest friend—the main riff in “Footsteps in the Dark”—but its coolness is a byproduct of nailing the thin line between maniacally unhinged and nonsense; I think he was as lucky to stumble into it as a flipping a coin and having it land on its side.

If poor attempts at djent in your death metal weren’t enough of a deterrent, the most offensive aspect of Through Mists is Aniston’s vocal performance. I’ve heard more charming vocals in pornogrind albums. His rasps, growls, and shrieks are all woefully out of time and produced annoyingly loudly—just as loud as the poorly programmed drums which mostly play in a tremendously bland 4/4 Lars tempo. But really the vocals drag a merely completely incompetent instrumental performance down to the bottom of the death metal barrel with acts like Spacefog and Enigmatist. Seeking out good experimental metal and then enduring this Hellscape is like contracting an STD from splinters in said barrel and then having the infected pus squirt up into my eye. It’s an assault to my ears. 

On top of all of this, it’s produced terribly with a MIDI-core base that sounds cheap and amateur. The instrument which suffers most from this particular aspect of the sound is the piano, which I unfortunately hoped could be a saving grace; instead, the horrific keys push Through Mists into tartarus, deeper than hell. They are so goddamn annoying, quirky like Frore 5 Four’s tedious circus music prog metal, disgustingly obnoxious like Frank Zappa’s Jazz from Hell, and awkwardly failing to be experimental like a worse version of the free jazz death metal outfit Effluence, the end product insufferably cacophonous and grating. Aniston should throw away his keyboard to focus on the guitar which he at least has a couple passable riffs using. Then he should find a friend to help balance out his varied ideas into something more palatable. 

Hellscape is hell to listen to, and I would only wish it upon my worst enemies. As always, I respect the hustle and misguided love for music that a fertile solo artist produces, but if you truly love the medium, take some more pride in what you produce. This is a bad bedroom demo, not something that should have seen the light of day. I’d rather have suffered the classic fire and brimstone.

Recommended tracks: Footsteps in the Dark
You may also like: Effluence, Enigmatist, Spacefog, Pagan Rites, Enopolis, Void of Nothingness
Final verdict: 2/10

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

Label: independent

Through Mists is:
– James Aniston (everything)

The post Review: Through Mists – Hellscape appeared first on The Progressive Subway.