Artwork by: Vojtěch Doubek / Moonroot Art

Style: Progressive Sludge Metal, Melodic Death Metal (Mixed vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Mastodon, Gojira, Tool, Baroness
Country: Sweden
Release date: 16 May 2025

Some words just hit different. We hear them and our minds are transported immediately to the far fields of imagination. “Gigafauna” is one such word for me. Whether I speak it, hear it, read it, or even think it, my mind’s eye alights upon creatures of infinite scale; sometimes describable (Godzilla), other times possessed of such nightmarish configurations as to defy all manner of human logic and reason (think Lovecraft’s non-euclidean treasure trove of horrors). Shearing through the gravity of worlds with lumbering tread, stars falling cold under their shadows. Immeasurable in might, unknowable of purpose, their very designs eschatonic in nature. To conjure even the idea of such a lifeform cements a sort of existential calamity for Humanity; in the wake of such an unfathomably colossal entity we would be but ants—smaller, even. Our great achievements, all the collective strength and technological power would do little but delay the inevitable snuffing of our flame. Faced with the incomprehensible, we would be forced to turn inward, a final reckoning with our very selves. The only victory left within our grasp.

Likewise, Swedish outfit Gigafauna lumbered into my awareness with the suitably eye-catching (and eldritch) album art for their sophomore LP, Eye to Windward. Proper to their namesake, the band proclaim to be treading through some hefty subject matter, including “environmental decay, existential dread, and the search for meaning beyond the confines of time and space.” And what better way to do so than via the conduits of sludge and melodic death metal, two genres capable of tectonic heft and grand, driving compositions alike. Having no prior encounters with this particular lifeform, I was excited to trawl in the wake of Gigafauna’s passage. Let’s see what we’ll uncover on this tenebrous safari.

Gigafauna delight in a forward-moving blend of sludge and melodeath; thick yet nimble riffs spiral around dexterous kitwork and a grumbling low-end, often signaling their approach well before vocalist Matt Greig’s arsenal of resonant cleans and surprisingly hefty growls hits the eardrums. The band crash through the metal undergrowth at a persistent clip, keen to reach their destination yet hardly afraid to make time for some detours along the way. Listen to “Drowning Light,” where stampeding Mastodon energy falls away to the kind of abrasively inquisitive guitar and bouncy tribal drumming that would feel at home in a 10,000 Days-era Tool track. Or the Gojira-esque grind-and-squeal guitar which dominates the main riff in “Pyres,” even as the track expands to include discordant soloing a’la Meshuggah before morphing again into an almost early aughts metalcore passage as Greig screams “God chose me!” The band whip together Amon Amarth melodeath with Avenged Sevenfold-flavored guitar lines on cuts like “Plagued” to create a slab of burly grandiosity that ends on an almost Primordial note.

Like a musical Man o’ War jellyfish—a creature composed of multitudes of separate organisms operating as a singular whole—Gigafauna pull these disparate sonic qualities into a symbiotic relationship, resulting in a majestic entity possessed of a maximal grace despite their gargantuan stature. Transitions between elements are seamless, yet never lose sight of nor erode a track’s original destination. Unlike the Man o’ War, carried across the sea on the whims of the wind, Gigafauna are unbowed by external forces. Eye to Windward represents a band in full control of their journey. Songs move with purpose, driven by the Almighty Riff, refusing to collapse into overwrought diatribes in favor of tight, consistent songwriting, and propelled by a punchy mix that adds considerable reach to every slick tendril of Gigafauna’s cosmic form.

But Gigafauna don’t quite have that mystic X-factor that takes good music to great and beyond. Perhaps it’s a matter of the sonic whole failing to rise above my storied connection to its many constituent parts. The aforementioned Tool-inspired bridge of “Drowning Light,” or the Gojira-isms lurking in “Pyres” and the closing moments of “Vessel,” for example; each stands strong as a solid element, yet fails to manifest the same kind of hypnotic pull as an actual Tool or Gojira. Perhaps that’s partially due to my long-standing history with those acts, whereas Gigafauna is new (though I’ve certainly been accused of recency bias, too). Regardless, I think that these “nameable” slices of Gigafauna’s aural makeup presenting as the most memorable, while the whole which they comprise cannot fully strike up a permanent residence in my brain, says enough as to why Eye to Windward falls just shy of ascending to greater form.

But that’s the thing about a journey: it needn’t always be new to feel exciting or satisfying. As I conclude my safari alongside this Gigafauna, stepping out from under its titanic shadow to rejoin the rest of the world in the sun, I must confess to this feeling of satisfaction. Though we may see in the celestial Gigafauna measures of terrestrial familiarity, that does not make them any less worthy of our attention. And should the earth tremble and the heavens quake beneath their returning tread, rest assured I’ll be there to walk bestride them once more, eager to hear what new stories they bring us from beyond the stars.

Recommended tracks: Plagued, Beneath Sun and Sky, Pyres, Drowning Light
You may also like: Dimhall, Void King, Blood Vulture
Final verdict: 7/10

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

Label: Independent

Gigafauna is:
– Jens Ljungberg (bass)
– Rickard Engstrom (drums)
– Arved Nyden (guitars)
– Matt Greig (guitars, vocals)

The post Review: Gigafauna – Eye to Windward appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: alternative rock, progressive metal (clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Anathema, Soen, Opeth, Porcupine Tree
Country: Sweden
Release date: 6 June 2025

Few metal bands have a body of work and influence quite like Katatonia. Over more than thirty years, the group has released thirteen studio albums and spawned about a thousand bands inspired by the moody, alternative brand of metal they’re renowned for. At the Subway, Katatonia is one of the bands most often listed in the “for fans of” section of our reviews, their name alone exuding a distinct type of dark melodicism. And say what you will about any individual release, but the band’s discography is legendary—moving from death/doom to gothic to varying shades of prog-tinged alternative with a nearly unmatched level of finesse and consistency.

Nightmares as Extensions of the Waking State comes months after a somewhat messy split with guitarist and co-founder Anders Nyström. Still, vocalist and co-founder Jonas Renkse wrote the band’s last two albums on his own and has done so again here, setting this one up to be business as usual. Some may bemoan this: following 2016’s phenomenal The Fall of Hearts, Katatonia’s past two albums were received largely as competent but not particularly inspired. And Renkse himself recently expressed some discontent with being the group’s sole songwriter, lamenting that it’s “sometimes very lonely; I would love the bouncing back and forth of ideas.” But any new Katatonia release is a welcome occasion, offering another opportunity to get lost in the somber and austere—yet strikingly lush—atmosphere the band has mastered. With Nightmares as Extensions of the Waking State, does Renkse find inspiration in isolation?

True to form, Nightmares holds plenty of engrossing synth textures, a groovy undercurrent of slightly off-kilter rhythms, and the gracefully restrained but emotive vocal performance we’ve come to expect of Renkse. Opener “Thrice” showcases Katatonia’s signature qualities at their most compelling, fitting a winding composition into a dynamic four and a half minutes that builds momentum and keeps intrigue throughout. Being perhaps the heaviest and most progressive song on the record, “Thrice” kicks things off on a bold note before the album settles into a sustained, more subdued flow. To be sure, the album’s intensity swells on occasion along the way. The brooding “Winds of no Change” features big, choral chants not previously as potent in the band’s music, and “The Light Which I Bleed” boasts a massive, strings-laden outro that plays on an earlier motif—it stands as the album’s high-water mark, though it fades out far too quickly. These aren’t the only energetic passages—the ripping solo in “Temporal” warrants a shout—but for the most part, Nightmares is gloomy and relatively lethargic.

Gloom and lethargy aren’t exactly negative descriptors when it comes to Katatonia, each playing an important part in the band’s sound. “Lilac” wields them beautifully, especially in the heavenly couple of minutes that close the track, where floating synths and haunting vocals accent a passage gently pushed forward by poignant guitars and restrained yet intricate drumming. However, the rest of Nightmares isn’t as successful in this vein; its tracks generally plod along without much variety or conviction. “Efter Solen” (“After the Sun”) at least offers something new, an understated cut sung in Swedish and grounded in soft electronica, but it’s notable more for these features than its impact. Ultimately, outside of the few parts outlined, I’d be hard pressed to pinpoint any exciting songwriting. In fact, I’d have a hard time recalling any other specific moments. The album sits in the ears pleasantly, though unremarkably. 

In Nightmares, you can hear Renkse’s apparent desire for a less isolated songwriting experience—it’s easy to imagine collaborators invigorating the compositional ideas, and especially giving wings to the album’s strongest sections. A few more layers to the back half of “Efter Solen” could have made it a standout; the motif and outro in “The Light Which I Bleed” could have been built upon and modulated to exceptional effect; and more of the delightfully detailed but accessible passages like those in “Thrice” and “Lilac” might have taken form. Alas, the album continues the band’s trend further away from engaging and resonant and closer to simply passable. Katatonia remain masters of creating a distinct, compelling atmosphere, but the once-sharp songwriting is dulling. 

Hopefully, Nightmares as Extensions of the Waking State is the closing of one chapter for the band, and the next is one of revitalization. Although the album is enjoyable, laying a few surprises and moments of inspiration atop Katatonia’s recognizable style, the need for a creative spark is clear. As with the two releases before it, too much of the album simply passes through the mind without leaving an impression—a shame for a band capable of delivering far more. Fortunately, Renkse has shifted the band’s sound several times before to great success, so it’s easy to remain optimistic that Katatonia’s next effort will have more staying power.

Recommended tracks: Thrice, Winds of no Change, Lilac, The Light Which I Bleed
You may also like: In the Silence, Oak, Ghost Brigade
Final verdict: 6/10

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

Label: Napalm Records – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Katatonia is:
– Jonas Renkse (vocals)
– Niklas Sandin (bass)
– Daniel Moilanen (drums)
– Nico Elgstrand (guitars)
– Sebastian Svalland (guitars)

The post Review: Katatonia – Nightmares as Extensions of the Waking State appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Artwork by Chris Williams

Style: Thall, Djent, Progressive Metal (mixed vocals, mostly harsh)
Recommended for fans of: Meshuggah, Frontierer, Humanity’s Last Breath, Car Bomb
Country: Sweden
Release date: 30 May 2025

Metal suffers from an unfortunate theme where genre pioneers eventually fall prey to the very scenes they helped create, buckling under the weight of their own stagnating influence. Look no further than Morbid Angel’s Illud Divinum Insanus, Dream Theater’s The Astonishing, or Metallica’s Lulu or St. Anger. Metal seems to carry with it a curse of longevity for such foundational acts; surviving long enough nearly ensures an artist will produce one of their pioneered genre’s worst releases to go along with whatever classics they may have created in the past. 

Vildhjarta are one such foundational act, single-handedly pioneering the sound of thall, an offshoot style of djent. Even today, there are arguments about whether or not thall should be classified as a genre proper, but whatever side of the argument one falls on, there is an undeniable and clearly defined difference between the two sounds. Thall started as an in-joke between Vildhjarta members in 2009—a mispronunciation of “Thrall” (a World of Warcraft character)—following the viral success of their Omnislash demo within the then burgeoning djent scene, using it as a descriptor for their music but keeping silent about the term’s meaning. Other groups picked up on the new terminology, using it to describe their own sound as well, even if that sound was nowhere near Vildhjarta’s particular style. Thall was essentially memed into existence, coming to a head in 2011 with Uneven Structure featuring a thall sticker on one of their guitars in the music video for “Awaken”; Vildhjarta would also release their debut LP Måsstaden, clearly defining the sound for the first time, officially partitioning it off from djent. 

Since then, thall has grown into its own scene, with bands such as Frostbitt, Mirar, Indistinct, FRACTALIZE, and Allt exploring the sound’s limits and applications. Vildhjarta themselves would once again further thall’s horizons in 2013 with the release of their Thousands of Evils EP. At this point, thall had achieved a clear distinction from djent: gratuitous bends, pitch-shifted leads, wide interval jumps, a post-metal-inspired focus on ambience, an even more stilted rhythmic conceit, and a slowly evolving tonal language all its own. Vildhjarta would fall silent for eight more years before releasing their 2021 follow-up to Måsstaden—Måsstaden Under Vatten—signaling thall’s largest evolution in sound since 2013. Now in 2025, we are subject to + Där skogen sjunger under evighetens granar +, raising the question: Was Måsstaden Under Vatten a portent of continuing inspired evolution, or will Vildhjarta fall prey to metal’s ever-looming curse of longevity?

+ Där skogen sjunger under evighetens granar + is, in some ways, a continuation of the sound explored on Måsstaden Under Vatten, which saw Vildhjarta take a step back from their more traditionally structured phrases and riff patterns, replacing their dense riff focus with a sparse, somber, and patient approach to songwriting. The songs were noticeably slower, with a reaffirmed focus on building a darker atmosphere and tension through synth textures and background guitar harmonies. + Där skogen sjunger under evighetens granar + continues the focus on atmosphere, utilizing the same techniques as before, but ramping the riff density back up past even Måsstaden’s levels while maintaining the somber, meandering songwriting approach.

The marriage of labyrinthine riff passages and patient atmosphere feels like Vildhjarta’s most complete sound yet, but the more I listen to + Där skogen sjunger under evighetens granar +, the more I realize that this sound has also been forcibly repurposed as a contextual backdrop for them to fervently explore a budding new tonal language. Short staccato rhythmic bursts, off-kilter legato scale runs, and huge nauseating interval jumps remain Vildhjarta’s primary riffing style, though with a realigned focus on evolving their—and therefore thall’s—unique melodic sensibilities. The long legato lines halfway through “+ Sargasso +” are where the cracks in the tonal foundation first start to show, with odd, seemingly “wrong” note choices slipping their way into the melody. Right afterward, “+ Ylva +” blows the sound wide open, with the back half especially braving previously unexplored tonal territory within thall. The riff starting around two and a half minutes in is less of a riff and more of a schizophrenic inner dialogue, the cadence of which feels not quite call and response, but vaguely conversational. A hazy backing guitar harmony wraps itself around the entire second half of the track, adding to the feverishness, the entire section marking the first true declaration of significant evolution within the genre in years. 

While before, Vildhjarta’s sense of melody seemed to emerge from a rhythmic foundation, this time around it feels like the rhythms are blooming from a tonal center, acting primarily as a jagged vessel for the off-kilter melody to nestle within. The ramped-up syncopation feels intrinsic and primordial, necessitated by nascent tonality instead of the deliberate desideratum of a style. Vildhjarta have successfully shifted their core direction from a post-Meshuggah rhythmic ideology to a fully realized evolution of the somber, brooding melancholy that was germinating onMåsstaden Under Vatten. Guitarist Calle Thomer has crafted a unique melodic language all his own, mixing expansive open intervals with dense pulsing chromaticism that often has seemingly little to nothing to do with the accompanying atmospheric harmony. Riffs not only completely ignore the tonic, but drag it down into the bubbling tar pit from which they seemingly emerged. Backing guitar and synth provide what context they can, but the lead guitar will often be on another planet entirely, having a conversation with itself, compartmentalizing whatever grotesqueries it had beheld while stargazing from its cosmic perch. 

There has always been a fragmentation between Vildhjarta’s riff-craft and their surrounding performances, but it’s taken to further extremes on + Där skogen sjunger under evighetens granar +, leading even to pockets of polyphony within some of the busier phrases. Take the opening riff of “+ röda läppar, söta äpplen +”, which sounds as if one had just woken up and was hearing a muffled conversation from the other side of a door. The interstitial melody that weaves between the traditional djent chugs mimics the tonality and cadence of hushed discord, as if there were secrets lurking just beneath the auditory surface. Cascading approximations of a broken arpeggio follow shortly after, straying even further from any sense of diatonic comfort. 

Thomer’s guitar-wizardry is certainly the centerpiece of + Där skogen sjunger under evighetens granar +, but this doesn’t mean the other performances are anything to sneer at. Frontman Vilhelm Bladin’s ever-improving vocal performance continues to provide texture, acting as an anchor point for the cacophonous instrumentals. His clean singing in particular is more emotive than ever (“Där mossan möter havet,” “Kristallfågel,” “Viktlös & evig”), adding yet another layer of melodicism for the riffs to sink their consonance-decaying claws into. Drummer Buster Odeholm’s performance is phenomenal; he has a striking ability to toe the line between insidious groove and near-arbitrary syncopation, unifying the two extremes in distinct manner. My favorite example of Odeholm’s particular style begins about a minute and a half into “+Sargasso +”: A constant eighth note hi-hat keeps tempo while shifting crash cymbals swell alongside the kick drum, which follows the guitar’s intense syncopation. As the phrase continues, it threatens to fall apart completely as the pattern becomes more and more intricate with Odeholm adding his own ornamentation on top of it all, before finally collapsing into a breathing, pulsing synth break as the song passes the two-minute mark.

Vildhjarta slowly and consistently poke and prod at the corners of thall’s melodic language over the runtime of + Där skogen sjunger under evighetens granar +, culminating in closing track “+ den spanska känslan +”, which climaxes around two-thirds of the way through with a phrase that fully lifts the veil off the previously gestural polyphony, opting to embrace it outright. A patiently funereal harmonized acoustic guitar line is introduced, only to be unceremoniously interrupted by a massive truck of a riff that completely ignores any mournful pretenses set up just moments beforehand. The acoustic line trudges on behind the mammoth tone of Thomer’s distortion, the most undiluted proclamation of Vildhjarta’s marriage between somber ambience, surreal tonality, and idiosyncratic rhythmic ideology to date. Moments like the above are eminently memorable but, as a whole, + Där skogen sjunger under evighetens granar + is less about the big standout moments than previous releases. The main focus this time around is on creating an alienating atmosphere through vague tonality, an atmosphere that ends up being antagonistic to genre newbies and veterans alike, perhaps not intentionally but as a result of its sheer otherness. 

+ Där skogen sjunger under evighetens granar + is—much like its cover art—rigorously technical and feverishly psychedelic, traits that are caught in a war of attrition, proliferating each other through constant battle-metamorphosis. These traits, along with every other trait mentioned thus far, form a howling constellation of stars that are connected through Vildhjarta’s paradoxical stylistic throughline of tonality by way of consistent dis-melodicism. Stare long enough into the night sky, and this constellation spirals into a whorling vortex, spilling forth hallucinatory aural terror from an eerie unknown. Indeed, Vildhjarta have convincingly eluded metal’s persistent curse of longevity, once again taking a leaping stride of innovation, dragging the entirety of thall behind them.

Recommended tracks: + Två vackra svanar +, + Sargasso +, + Den spanska känslan +
You may also like: Frostbitt, Mirar, Reflections, Uneven Structure
Final verdict: 10/10

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

Label: Century Media Records – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Vildhjarta is:
– Vilhelm Bladin (vocals)
– Calle Thomer (guitars, bass)
– Buster Odeholm (drums, bass)

The post Review: Vildhjarta – + Där skogen sjunger under evighetens granar + appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: progressive rock, neo-prog, soft rock (clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Transatlantic, Genesis, Yes, Neal Morse, Spock’s Beard
Country: Sweden
Release date: 2 May 2025

In the contexts of politics, education, the visual arts, and various other disciplines, the term “progressive” has a similar connotation to terms like “forward-thinking” or “experimental”. In this tradition, and in the context of rock music, the mid-1960s saw the term “progressive” being attached to compositions with more complex structure, new and unusual instrumentation¹, and virtuosic instrumental performances. The term “progressive rock” was coined in 1968 and the label was applied to some of the biggest rock bands of the next decade.

But the very act of defining a new genre of music solidifies it. Today, “progressive rock” and “experimental rock” evoke two quite different styles. Even at the end of the 1970s, when the heyday of progressive rock was nearing its end, the genre had become a caricature of itself. But as any street fair or amusement park will attest to, some people eat that shit up. Self-proclaimed “progressive” rockers The Flower Kings’ latest album, LOVE, seems—superficially, at least—to fall into those well-worn ruts of 1960s-style prog rock. But is there anything under that veneer? Was this caricature painted by Paulie, down on the Atlantic City boardwalk? Or Picasso?

LOVE ticks many of the boxes on the progressive rock checklist…

synths heavily featured on basically every song
multiple seven-plus-minute-long pieces
unusual percussion (wood blocks, marimba, glockenspiel)
instrumental and lyrical reprises across multiple tracks

…and at times is quite reminiscent of classic prog acts; “World Spinning” is like a lower-energy version of ELP’s “Hoedown”; the outro of “Burning Both Edges” could be a reference to the intro of Rush’s “Xanadu”, but without Neil Peart’s varied percussion; around 7:15 in “Kaiser Razor”, there’s a riff that sounds almost identical to the one at 3:55 in Genesis’ “Firth of Fifth”.

While The Flower Kings (consciously or otherwise) pay homage to their forebears on LOVE, they lack the compositional prowess which propelled those acts into the prog rock pantheon in the first place. On “We Claim the Moon”, a four-phrase melody is introduced early on, played in sync by guitar, bass, synth, and percussion. That exact musical idea is repeated as-is three times in the first ninety seconds of this six-and-a-half-minute track, and then abandoned wholesale—it is never repeated again. Just after this, a shorter, eight-note phrase is introduced, and that phrase is repeated twenty times throughout the remainder of the song. Neither of these two extremes is ideal. Despite the proverb which states otherwise, familiarity breeds appreciation: listeners want hooks, callbacks, and reprises. At the same time, we need a bit of variation to maintain interest. This is something that the aforementioned “Firth of Fifth” does so well: a primary melody is repeated multiple times throughout the song, but at different tempos and with different timbres as it’s played on different instruments. This keeps the listener engaged without boring them. Safe to say, The Flower Kings are no Genesis.

The dynamic range of LOVE leaves something to be desired, as well. For comparison, consider a piece like Yes‘s “Close to the Edge”: the first minute is almost entirely birdsong and chimes; then absolutely frenetic synths, driving bass, and frantic guitars; then a vocal break into a mellower, airy section; another break into an almost reggae-inspired verse, and so on. This wide variety of moods is nowhere to be found on LOVE, let alone in quick succession in a single song. Consider the introductions of a few tracks on this album: “The Elder” has a tempo of 112 bpm and begins slowly with vocals, bells, and piano; “The Phoenix” has a tempo of 120 bpm and begins slowly with strings, acoustic guitar, and vocals; “The Promise” has a tempo of 127 bpm and begins slowly with acoustic guitar and vocals. Some people might say they’ve written the same song eleven times for this album, but they’d be lying, it’s actually the same song twelve times.

Now, dear reader, you may think that it is unfair of me to compare The Flower Kings to prog rock legends like Yes, Genesis, and Rush, as I’ve done above. Let me tell you why it’s not: The Flower Kings call themselves “prog-rock legends” in their own Spotify bio. If that’s not an invitation to compare them to the greats, then I do not know what is.

All of that being said, there are a few small highlights on LOVE, but they come with caveats. The two instrumental tracks, “World Spinning” and “Kaiser Razor” are good examples. These are the two fastest tracks on the album (both exceeding 230 bpm), bringing a breath of fresh air to the otherwise steady trudge through seventy-one minutes of low-energy prog rock. “World Spinning” is a vibrant synth solo that pulls you in and then stops far too abruptly—an obvious missed opportunity. “Kaiser Razor” is also infectious: the main riff is a climb up a scale, repeated over and over, building up to… again, nothing. The song just kind of disintegrates after about two minutes. Both of these tracks feel like they are incredible seeds of ideas, which hadn’t yet been fully fleshed out before they were recorded as-is for LOVE.

The Flower Kings’ LOVE is a surface-level tribute to a nearly sixty-year-old genre of music. It lacks both the dynamism and the compositional acuity of the prior art which inspired it. LOVE is like the generic version of your favourite brand-name prog rock acts—it may contain the same ingredients, but it doesn’t have quite the same flavour. After LOVE, you’ll soon find yourself reaching for “real” progressive rock to get that imitation taste out of your mouth.

Recommended Tracks: Kaiser Razor, We Claim the Moon
You may also like: Neal Morse Band, Pattern-Seeking Animals, Jacob Roberge, Cosmic Cathedral
Final verdict: 4.5/10

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

Label: InsideOutMusic – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

The Flower Kings is

• Mirko DeMaio (Drums, Percussion)
• Lalle Larson (Grand Piano, Rhodes Piano, Hammond B3 & Synthesizers)
• Hans Fröberg (Vocals)
• Michael Stolt (Bass, Moogbass, Vocals)
• Roine Stolt (Vocals, Electric & Acoustic 6 & 12-string Guitars, Ukulele)

LOVE also features

• Hasse Bruniusson (Percussion)
• Jannica Lund (Vocals)
• Aliaksandr Yasinski (Accordion)

1. The Moog synthesizer, a staple of 1970s progressive rock, only began to be mass-produced in 1967, and was therefore genuinely cutting-edge at the time. The Doors’ “Strange Days” (1967) is an early example of its usage. ︎

The post Review: The Flower Kings – LOVE appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Post-classical, ambient folk, experimental, a cappella (clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Caroline Shaw, Roomful of Teeth, Philip Glass
Country: Sweden
Release date: 25 April 2025

The term “solastalgia” describes the mental distress caused by the changing of one’s home environment and the inability to prevent that change. It can manifest as climatic change, loss of species, rampant urbanisation, or any number of other alterations, but what it speaks to is a uniquely modern sense of grief. The inability of governments to tackle climate change is multifactorial—greed, stupidity, and denial are all in the mix—but perhaps the most important reason is the sheer incomprehensibility of the task. The unhelpful moniker ‘global warming’ belied the complexity of the phenomenon; the average temperature rises, yes, but the effects are instability, chaos. We are living through a manmade extinction event; the 1.9 million species on Earth we have identified are estimated to comprise a mere 0.1% of the species actually alive—scientists believe anywhere between an average of 24 to 150 species go extinct per day. Such a monumental catastrophe is beyond the powers of any human to comprehend, and so our grief is elliptical, localised, it intrudes upon us in banal guises, knifelike thoughts piercing consciousness at unexpected junctures. 

I doubt that Rebekka Karijord would object to being characterised as suffering from solastalgia. The Swedish artist, composer, and producer has worked on film soundtracks as well as her own solo material, and my first exposure to her was with the original soundtrack she composed for the documentary Songs of Earth with the London Contemporary Orchestra. (a male ʻōʻō in Kaua’i singing to a mate that would never hear him never join the duet the last of his species and now extinct) For that project, Karijord experimented with orchestral mimicry, attempting to emulate natural sounds like running water and melting glaciers via instruments. To her latest work, The Bell Tower, she brings that same experimental ethos. (your father scrubbing at stubborn insect splatters on the fenders a Pollock-esque invertebrate morgue as he washes the car something you’ve never done as there are so few insects now) Named for the Rainier Maria Rilke poem ‘Let This Darkness Be A Bell Tower’, this mournful, anthropocene work centres on the human voice. Karijord used specialist recording equipment to record the voices of twenty-five singers, and then built a sampling instrument to manipulate these voices and her own, and turn them, as such, into her instruments. (terrestrial species are migrating an average of 17 km per decade marine species around 70 km towards the poles in order to escape rising ocean temperatures) Karijord herself takes lead vocal duties for some tracks, and is joined by choral group Roomful of Teeth, but every other sound and “instrument” on this album is made by the manipulated vocals of Karijord’s digitised army, and so, albeit in a slightly unusual sense, the entire record is a cappella.

“Lacrimosa” opens with a mission statement, sampling a speech by the poet and philosopher Joanna Macy in which she talks about the need to offer gratitude to the things we’re losing: “how do you say goodbye to what is sacred and holy?” (humanity is a geological event which will be measurable in the strata millions of years from now will we be akin to the Permian extinction) Mournful human voices swell ambiently beneath the speech, building to a complex choral counterpoint as Macy’s speech ends. The voices, wielded like uncanny instruments, almost hellish in their tones, transform into undulating sirens and a persistent foreboding rasp heralding the environmental emergency before us. (the sea ice at Halley Bay thawed early in 2016 and 2017 collapsing under the weight of the nesting emperor penguins thousands of chicks drowned too young too weak to swim to endure the icy not icy enough sea) “Lacrimosa” gives a strong flavour of the various ways Karijord utilises the vocal samples, varying from overtly vocal-like noises to ambient textures to mimicking extant instruments. 

Some songs are more conventional: “Sanctuary” feels more of apiece with Karijord’s art pop origins and sees her take the lead with Roomful of Teeth harmonising in a simple verse-chorus structure. The ecological grief continues as she questions, “my daughter, have the springs gone silent / will you ever dare to have a child / or has the ocean reached your doorstep / and the sun turned hostile?” (my grandparents would recall six feet snowdrifts how extreme the winters were but it no longer snows a dusting at most perhaps cold but never snow it’s simply too dry) “A City by the Sea” contemplates a toxic sea with Karijord leading solo as samples pulse monotonously behind and the choir provide a textural polyrhythm, ending with a harmonised chant of “oh, let them take me now”. (approximately 25% of US congress representatives are climate deniers) Meanwhile, “Serenade”, a paean to nature and a yearning for transformation, uses vocal samples sparingly for a strings effect. The hauntingly muffled vocals in the mid-section recall a similar effect I’ve only ever heard on Ulver’s Shadows of the Sun, a similarly haunted and funereal record. 

Karijord pushes the post-classical influences further on a couple of tracks, notably “You, Mountain” and “9th Duino Elegy” both of which centre around madrigal vocal arrangements. (in 2016 the Siberian permafrost thawed to reveal a frozen reindeer corpse containing anthrax infecting twenty people and killing one boy as well as two-thousand reindeer) The former is possessed of a percussive quality, a number of syncopated voices moving in and out of synchrony in bursts of four before moving into a sample-driven section that segues into ambient registers, allowing Karijord to take the lead. The latter is a rather traditional madrigal arrangement between Karijord and Roomful of Teeth with multiple harmonies singing in counterpoint, lifting lyrics from the Rilke poem of the same name. (rainbows glisten on sand they lure me in close until I gag every inch of skin ripples twitching inhaling toxic gas I’m choking) This, alongside “Lacrimosa”, is one of the more arresting pieces on the album, a haunted elegy to the earth and our transient lives upon it. 

These more fully-formed pieces are punctuated by shorter, quasi-interludinal works. These tracks usually build layers of voices in almost post-rock fashion to a climactic volume before peeling back. (28% of all assessed species are considered to be endangered and at least 55% are vulnerable) “Fugue” bestows upon the vocal samples an almost brassier tone with higher raindrop voice-synths splashing with Poissonian abandon; “Megafauna Pt.1” opts for a lone synth and a desolate wind to evoke some lifeless tundra; and “Earth”¹ is a peel of plaintive voices ringing out against the terrible void. Unfortunately, these pieces are relatively simple experiments with vocal samples which feel a little undercooked and their congregation in the record’s second half weakens the album a little. (areas of India Australia northern South America Central Africa and the Middle East are set to become uninhabitable within the next twenty-five years as temperatures soar to unlivable levels) They lack the experimental qualities that make “Lacrimosa” such a highlight, or the focal lead work of Karijord and her collaborators to ground them in a stronger sense of identity. The closing piece, “Vespera”, another more interludinal piece, is more successful for its placement, a fully choral requiem which, in its final moments, features a sound like trilling birds settling into the canopy as dusk falls. (mourners clad in black gather around the glacier a frozen monolith turned to a puddle and a plaque with an inscription: This monument is to acknowledge that we know what is happening and what needs to be done. Only you know if we did it.) The longer sojourns on The Bell Tower demonstrate its greatest strengths allowing increased time for structural variation, evolution of ideas, and pushing the sample machine to stranger ends. 

The most powerful weapon humans have is our voice. Our ability to communicate, to justify terrible things, to agree to deals with other humans, to collaborate in building grand designs, to stamp our mark irrevocably on the planet, it all begins with the voice. It’s the murder weapon we’ve stabbed into the heart of nature, which makes for a terrible irony when it’s the very same thing we use to grieve our crime. Karijord’s anthropocentric requiem is a salve, something to ease the grief through shared acknowledgement. The Bell Tower demands to be listened to in the balm of pre-morning twilight with Macy’s exhortation on our mind, with gratitude and sorrow. When the sun rises, we must act. 

Recommended tracks: Lacrimosa, Sanctuary, 9th Duino Elegy
You may also like: Galya Bisengalieva, Courtney Swain
Final verdict: 7.5/10

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

Label: Bella Union – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Rebekka Karijord is:
– Rebekka Karijord (vocals, sampling)
With guests:
– Roomful of Teeth (vocals)

1. “Earth” struck me as being rather similar in style to David Crosby’s “I’d Swear There Was Somebody Here”, written in an almost hallucinatory state and dedicated to his girlfriend Christine Hinton who was killed in a car accident. ︎

Bibliography:  

• The Earth Transformed by Peter Frankopan
• The Sixth Extinction by Elizabeth Gilbert
• Is a River Alive? by Robert Macfarlane
• What the Wild Sea Can Be by Helen Scales
• Lyrics (“Rainbows glisten on sand…”) taken from “Way Too Long” by Bent Knee
• Data from the International Union for Conservation of Nature
• Probably some other stuff I Googled and forgot about.

The post Review: Rebekka Karijord – The Bell Tower appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Djent, progressive metal (harsh vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Meshuggah, Volumes, Dvne
Country: Sweden
Release date: 11 April 2025

On the whole, djent groups often struggle to stand apart from each other. The staccato riffs and polyrhythmic gymnastics of Meshuggah—pioneering as they are—were destined to influence and be imitated by countless metal musicians. Sometimes I’m still in awe that, over twenty-five years later, so many newer artists in the genre are still chasing the sound of Nothing and even Chaosphere. We reached critical mass on these homages and imitations long ago, making it that much harder for each successive newcomer to stand out in a meaningful way.

At the same time, the barriers to recording and distributing music have shrunk, making it easier for upstarts to set up their spot here at the djent flea market. Truth be told, I find myself wandering this bazaar most Fridays. And as I browsed the usual shouting stalls today, I happened upon Limbo’s humble stand. On display: their debut full-length Elicit. After one last glance across the vendors to see if anything else caught my eye, I decided to give this LP a spin.

At the end of my first listen, I struggled to remember anything about Elicit. I suppose that’s not automatically a bad sign—there’s nothing egregious enough to, ahem, elicit a strong reaction (Hello? Is this thing on?). Of course, the other side of that coin is that I’m not ruminating on any riff, pensive about any vocal passage, nor brimming to go check out that one breakdown again. Off-kilter rhythms in the bass drums, followed in lock-step by the guitars tuned down to the floor itself, with the crash cymbal counting a steady one, two, three, four just aren’t all that remarkable and memorable anymore. I guess Limbo is an oddly appropriate band name.

After spinning the album a few times now, I’ve come to appreciate one song in particular: “Emerald.” Its guitar parts feature some melodic, jogging runs that occasionally burst out of the low string insanity, while airy synths give a touch of atmosphere to the whole track. Original? No—but still effective, and much more so than the distracting synths scattered across other songs. The vocals on “Emerald” are serviceable enough in isolation: raspy growls that lean a little deathcore, though fairly one-note, much like they are throughout Elicit. The sledgehammer guitar riffs throughout this release, particularly in “Phantasmalian” and “Olēka,” are undeniably heavy, but they don’t break any new ground, not even in relation to each other. Every track, from the opener “Myriad” to the closing title track, runs at the same tempo, the same volume, and at the same brute intensity—with an ambient intro or outro sprinkled here and there.

Consequently, Elicit suffers from what I was tempted to call a distinct lack of variety. But really, the lack of variety here isn’t all that distinct; it’s the same homogeneity that plagues this flavor of progressive metal of late. Djent has kind of set itself up for this. When the ethos is “all rhythm, no melody,” you’re basically sprinting headfirst into a creative brick wall. Combine that with the fact that a lot of djent bands seem to write for gym playlist fodder—punchy, heavy, and gone before you know it—and we’re sitting in a veritable variety desert.

Ultimately, I fall on the negative side for Elicit even though there’s nothing outright offensive to my musical taste here—which, paradoxically, might be exactly the problem. In general, I’m much more likely to enjoy (or at least remember) an album that tries something that’s a little off the beaten path, even if the experiment doesn’t work. That’s why I get so much enjoyment out of djent-adjacent groups like Animals As Leaders, VOLA¹, or Periphery. All of those groups are nominally Meshuggah worship to some degree, but djent is only one weapon in their respective arsenals. I hope Elicit isn’t all that Limbo has to offer, as I’m always down to give some low-tuned heaviness a shot. But this LP is in, not good company, but certainly numerous company: the countless djent albums I’ve listened to and completely forgotten.

Recommended tracks: “Emerald”
You may also like: Múr, Mhorai, Vestigial, Monoscream
Final verdict: 4/10

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

Label: Self-release

Limbo is:
Marcus Douglas Johansson – Guitars
Julius Dellås – Guitars
Philip Elias – Bass
Daniel Håkansson – Vocals
Dennis Sandberg Nilsson – Drums

1. The Subway’s resident VOLA megafan Dave pointed out to me that VOLA drummer Adam Janzi actually guests on “A Thousand Windows.” “If he can’t save a djent song, no one can.” ︎

The post Review: Limbo – Elicit appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Progressive metal (mixed vocals)
FFO: Caligula’s Horse, Between the Buried and Me, Haken
Country: Canada/Sweden
Release date: 7 March 2025

You know the saying: it takes a village to raise a twenty-minute progressive metal Extended Play. Wait… that’s not the saying? Montreal/Stockholm-based Voidchaser could have fooled me with their latest release, Trust, which sees the band joined by a host of featured artists from near and far in a three-track extravaganza.

With so many contributors on Trust—at least one musician for each minute of music on the EP—it’s no small feat for Voidchaser to speak clearly with their own voice, since they have released but a scant few hours of music. Nonetheless, the band does stay true to the sound they pioneered on their 2024 debut album, Solace. In particular, there is a prevailingly upbeat, driving energy to Voidchaser’s sound. Even in the slower and more understated moments, the mood is never languid or melancholic. Of course, the recipe book for Trust contains pages from each of the featured artists: fellow Canadians Universe Effects¹ and The Anchoret, as well as Caligula’s Horse’s Jim Grey. Voidchaser also sprinkles and dashes in influences from greats like Between the Buried and Me, Haken, and Dream Theater, in quantities light enough to avoid sounding derivative.

The lengthy personnel list sometimes makes it hard to form a panoptic assessment of the musical performances of each contributor. I’m not sure who deserves credit for the zingy, vivid keyboard moments throughout “Time”, including the solo at 5:30. Regardless, the keys form a solid building block in the sound that Voidchaser is cultivating, evocative of BtBaM and even Seventh Wonder at times. On the other hand, this division of musical labour does allow the band to play to their strengths. I noted on Voidchaser’s releases from last year that vocalist Chad Bernatchez is more at home growling than singing; here, he leaves the majority of clean vocal duties to guests. The best of these vocal performances comes from Jim Grey in the breathless, pounding closing track “Trust”. Though he’s relegated to the final two minutes of the EP, his unmistakable vocal stylings compliment the incisive growls from the first half of the song; these take a backseat when Grey enters the fray. Together, they drive the track, and the EP as whole, across the finish line with exuberant energy that distills the best of what Trust has on offer.

The EP is billed as an “epilogue” to 2024’s Solace, picking up on the previous album’s plot: our protagonist is drifting through space with depleting oxygen tanks, reflecting on his life… and my eyes are already glazing over. Overwrought sci-fi concepts are a dime a dozen in progressive metal, and it takes a lot more than floating around in space to get me going. Fortunately, on Trust, Voidchaser don’t lean too hard on trope-y lyrics or spoken word. Outside of a moment near the end of the first track, there’s no overt talk of spacesuits or interstellar navigation. Instead, the band explores broader emotional themes that can be interpolated into the galactic setting without being too on-the-nose for listeners who prefer to let the music speak for itself.

Trust packs a lot into its short runtime: while I would rather see a band fit an hour’s worth of ideas into twenty minutes than the other way around, the EP is sometimes lacking space to breathe, notably on middle track “Dogma”. The pumping, rhythmic interplay of harsh vocals and keyboard at 1:40 is inspired, but squeezing oud², bansuri³, and saxophone features—plus a guitar solo—into the back half of the song diminishes the impact of each of those respectively stellar performances. It’s curious that Voidchaser have opted for such short releases here at the start of their career; even Solace clocked in at a svelte twenty-nine minutes. The approach of longer tracks on shorter releases, with a slew of different elements slotted into each song, comes at the expense of the immersion and time to unfurl afforded by a longer album.

I’d like to see Voidchaser walk a few more miles (or kilometres) in their own shoes before filling up their boot tray with a roster of other contributors. But despite their occasionally harried songwriting, the creative passion and musicianship fuelling this young band will propel them a long way—whether through the vast reaches of space, or just back to the recording studio to further refine their recipe and cook us up another album.

Recommended tracks: If you’re only going to check out one, “Trust”

You may also like: The Anchoret, Universe Effects, Ashbreather

Final verdict: 6.5/10

Related links: Bandcamp | Spotify | Facebook | Instagram

Label: Independent

Voidchaser is:
– Chad Bernatchez: Vocals, rhythm guitar
– Jici LG: Bass
– Jimmy Montbriand: Lead guitar
– Colin MacAndrew: Drums

1. With whom I was not previously familiar; they are fantastic and remind me of a heavier Reign of Kindo ︎
2. A Middle Eastern relative of the lute ︎
3. A bamboo flute of South Asian origin ︎

The post Review: Voidchaser – Trust appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

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: Folk metal, epic doom metal (Mixed vocals, mostly clean)
Recommended for fans of: Eluveitie, Summoning, Krux
Country: Sweden
Release date: 14 February 2025

Do you ever long for ‘the good old days’? Back when we all had to walk uphill in the snow both ways to get anywhere and ‘microplastics’ were just a fancy name for your soldier figurines? Maybe you want to go back even further than that: perhaps you long to be elegantly memorialized in a Renaissance painting, or you just want to wear the cool bird mask without people thinking you’re weird. Well, Swedish band Apocalypse Orchestra has got you covered! Their latest album, A Plague Upon Thee, aims to evoke the grandeur and direness of living in Medieval times through epic doom metal led by folk instruments. Will you be down with A Plague Upon Thee’s sickness, or will it leave you homesick for the here and now?

A Plague Upon Thee features a style of doom metal that lives and dies by the hurdy gurdy, acting in place of lead guitars and forming the central melody of virtually every track. A bevy of other folk instruments are used as well, including bagpipes and mandolas, but they more often than not play a supporting role in the songwriting. Guitars make themselves known as well and are mostly used to add rhythmic texture to pieces, save for a few tracks where they take on a more prominent role (“From the Athanor”, “Glass and Sun”). One would expect dire and foreboding metal fitting of an unstoppable pestilence based solely on the album art and title, but A Plague Upon Thee opts instead for climactic grandeur through enormous choruses and mystical churning melodies. Dynamics are the main songwriting tool, whether pieces wax and wane as a singular unit (“Virago”) or oscillate between quieter and more explosive moments (“Glass and Sun”).

The use of hurdy gurdy as a leading instrument is a magnificent idea given its versatility: its ability to both drone and create melody means that it can be used for anything from evoking a powerful hypnotic ambiance to creating an ineffable danciness. On A Plague Upon Thee, it teeters back and forth between droning atmospherics (“Virago”, “Glass and Sun”) and melodic focus (“Tempest”, “Anchorhold”, “Saint Yersinia”¹), adding ornamentation where necessary. On opener “Virago”, the hurdy gurdy even gets its own solo, becoming much more active and hitting a noticeably higher register; on the bridge of “Tempest”, it becomes fervent and heavily ornamented, accompanied by a powerful harsh vocal performance. The hurdy gurdy and other folk instruments come across a bit ‘clean’ on A Plague Upon Thee in that they sound immaculately performed without any blemishes or imperfections, in the process stripping them of their ‘organic’ feeling. While this isn’t necessarily a problem as it creates a charming Runescape feel and is likely a necessity to prevent the otherwise maximal layering from becoming too crowded, it does cause some of the folk instrumentation to blend together and makes distinguishing one from another challenging.²

A Plague Upon Thee’s biggest ail, however, involves breaking out of the songwriting mold that is established in the first couple tracks: virtually every track follows a similar structure and the folk instrumentation takes on a very narrow sonic palette. On “Virago”, for example, the hurdy gurdy oscillates between mystical droning and melodicism in a grand and epic songwriting framework; following track “Tempest” has the hurdy gurdy oscillating between mystical droning and melodicism in a grand and epic songwriting framework; after that, “Glass and Sun” uses the hurdy gurdy to… you get what I’m going for. Every song on A Plague Upon Thee is without a doubt fabulously executed, but the repetition over its runtime contaminates the infectious atmospheres, and by “Sacrament of Avarice”, I’m quite tired of hearing the instruments used in the exact same way again. Even the penultimate interlude “To Arrive” sounds like a truncated version of the more extended pieces.

“From the Athanor” introduces some much-needed variety into A Plague Upon Thee by using guitar as the songwriting focus, featuring a bona fide solo that isn’t restrained by the melodic palette of its accompanying folk instruments. The occasional use of harsh vocals also keeps things fresh, particularly on “Tempest” and “Saint Yersinia”, where they are thoughtfully accompanied by more tense and fervent instrumental passages. Furthermore, Many of A Plague Upon Thee’s more interesting ideas struggle to support the album as a whole but are wonderful when the tracks are listened to individually, including the dueling guitar-bagpipe solo on “Glass and Sun”, the particularly striking chorus of “Saint Yersinia”, and the delightfully skipping ornamentation of “Anchorhold”.

It’s hard to deny the sheer brilliance of Apocalypse Orchestra’s conceit, as their hurdy-gurdy-led epic doom instantly lends itself to the grandest of Medieval fantasy soundscapes. However, safe songwriting along with a touch of instrumental sterility prevents A Plague Upon Thee from fully embodying the dramatic punch it reaches for. Should Apocalypse Orchestra experiment a bit more within the (relatively loose) confines of their instruments and lean fully into the organic imperfections that give them character, they will have a record that not only sounds great on a playlist, but also comes across as a complete package. I wouldn’t say to avoid A Plague Upon Thee like, well, the plague, but it does not get a wholehearted recommendation from me unless you are positively dying for Medieval metal.

Recommended Tracks: Virago, Saint Yersinia, Tempest
You may also like: Caladan Brood, Saor, Capilla Ardiente
Final verdict: 6.5/10

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

Label: Despotz Records – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Apocalypse Orchestra is:
– Erik Larsson (vocals, cittern, guitars, lute, mandola)
– Mikael Lindström (bagpipes, hurdy gurdy, rauschpfeife, nyckelharpa, vocals)
– Rikard jansson (bass, vocals)
– Andreas Skoglund (drums, vocals)
– Jonas Lindh (guitars, vocals)

1. This is a particularly fun play on words: Yersinia is the genus of bacterium that causes Bubonic Plague, named after Alexandre Yersin, the 19th century doctor who discovered it. ︎
2. Apocalypse Orchestra’s bandcamp notes that they utilize ‘theatrical performances, sometimes actors and dancers, fire, and projected animation’ during their live performances. I can only imagine they have an incredible live show, not just because of the visual interest noted above, but because the live setting would really allow the folk instrumentation to shine. ︎

The post Review: Apocalypse Orchestra – A Plague Upon Thee appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Progressive rock, neofolk, ambient (clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Anathema, Heilung, The Pineapple Thief, Lunatic Soul
Country: Sweden
Release date: 31 January 2025

You’re traveling alone along a dark forest path, wrapping your cloak tight as the first raindrops of an impending storm begin to tap softly upon the boughs above. Night has begun to fall, the clouds occluding any semblance of a sunset as the slate-gray sky slowly shifts from light to dark. As if in response to your imminent need for shelter, the glow of a fire beckons from between the trees. Cautiously approaching, you see a strange man in foreign clothing, sitting at a campfire in a shallow cave shielded from the elements. Upon seeing a fellow traveler in need, he invites you in, and while you’re wary of sharing a cave with a stranger, it beats the prospect of staying out in the increasingly harsh elements. While cooking a modest meal upon the fire, the man shares stories and songs from a faraway land, some grandiose and fantastical, some muted and mundane. With every tale, his careworn yet smooth voice begins to meld with the surrounding soundscape of crackling logs and the pounding rain just outside, and the tension from a long day’s travel slowly seeps out of your soul. The journey ahead is long, and many dangers remain, but for a brief moment, there is respite.

Such is the experience of listening to the music of former Tribulation guitarist Jonathan Hultén. While Hultén is no stranger to abrupt genre swings, having overseen his previous band’s transition from straightforward death metal to blackened goth-rock, his decision as a solo artist to abandon metal entirely in favor of hushed, acoustic folk music on 2020’s Chants From Another Place was about as much of a 180-degree turn as he could have possibly made. For his latest effort, Eyes of the Living Night, Hultén aims to diversify his new sound into something more lush, dynamic, and sweeping. Sure, the soft, acoustic Nick Drake-isms of his previous work are still present, particularly in the campfire croon of “Vast Tapestry”, but with the addition of a more colorful sonic palette this time around. You’ve got electric guitars, synths, gnarly organ (“The Dream Was the Cure”), and programmed electronic beats (“Afterlife”), to name a few, and it makes the overall genre of the album rather difficult to pin down. Hultén calls it “ambient dream-grunge”, which seems at first blush like an intentionally absurd mess of self-contradictory terms, yet ends up being as good a term as any to categorize the fuzzed-out, melancholic, ethereal sounds on offer.

Still, with all this experimentation in genre, there is always the risk of straying from the carefully maintained tone of hazy, primeval warmth that wraps around the listener like a warm blanket, tossing it aside in favor of mere shallow gimmicks. Happily, that is decidedly not the case here; every switchup in the soundscape is but a tool in service of establishing the album’s positively immaculate sense of vibe. The closest comparison would be later-era Anathema, who similarly used whatever musical elements made sense in crafting their melodramatic yet ultimately sunny and optimistic brand of soft prog– and while Hultén may approach things with a bit more melancholic, woodsy mystique, he too makes music aiming to unburden the listener’s soul and make it soar. From the grandiose post-rock-adjacent dynamic swells in opener “The Saga And the Storm” to the atmospheric solo piano piece “Through the Fog, Into the Sky”, there’s a sense of sweeping, transportive magic throughout, no matter the scale, as though each song were its own unique yet equally cozy little fey dimension.

How Hultén achieves this is a bit difficult to neatly describe. The melodies are a part of it, to be sure. Like all of the best folk music, a number of the melodies here, such as the gentle yet hypnotizing waltz “Song of Transience”, feel timeless, as if they had thrummed for millennia in the collective subconscious of humanity before Hultén plucked them out of the ether and gave them physical form. The arrangements and production are also warm and full of depth, lending a sense of vitality and fullness throughout. However, the biggest X-factor here is Hultén’s voice. True, he’s not some showy virtuoso (though parts of “The Dream Was the Cure” and “Starbather” show he can belt it out if needed) but rather he sets himself apart through his absolutely stunning use of vocal timbre. Not only does his natural tone have just the right tinge of roughness to add a sense of humanity to an otherwise-angelic croon, but his use of layering and timbral shifts makes his voice blend into the instrumental arrangement in a truly unique way. Take, for instance, the thrumming, vibrant harmonies in “The Dream Was the Cure” that sound reminiscent of the drone tones in bagpipes or hurdy-gurdy. Or maybe the mesmerizing combination of rasp and vibrato that somehow makes a held note in “Riverflame” remind me of the talkbox intro to Snarky Puppy‘s “Sleeper”, of all things.

Any criticisms I can muster towards Eyes of the Living Night are relatively minor, and stem largely from personal taste. I would say that Hultén’s complete avoidance of any outright solos or anything remotely “metal” does slightly dampen the album’s more energetic songs. Some slightly heavier guitars at the climax of “The Saga and the Storm” would have made it hit so much harder, and adding in some kind of extended, progressive instrumental passage to “Starbather” would solidify the ’70s prog throwback vibe the song flirts with but doesn’t quite commit to, while also making it feel like a proper showstopping closer. In addition, the ballads’ melodies do occasionally skew a bit simple and “nursery rhyme” for my liking (“Vast Tapestry” in particular), and “A Path Is Found” is a decent but somewhat inessential interlude where the guitar and violin mostly spin their wheels for a minute.

At the end of the day, though, these are small blemishes upon an absolute stunner of an album. It successfully takes the sounds of Hultén’s previous work through a marked expansion in scale and musical diversity without sacrificing the fragile yet heartfelt coziness that made it special in the first place. Eyes of the Living Night takes that quiet, peaceful inner sanctuary and expands it into its own world, a starlit realm whose shadowed corners hold no dangers, just treasures that the light hasn’t quite reached yet. The night within is, in its own way, a living thing, a dynamic entity whose darkness and dread can be dispelled if one has the determination to press on and the will to switch one’s perspective. It is a challenging journey, yet a rewarding one, and there is no shame in resting for a moment by a nice, warm campfire before pressing on.

Recommended tracks: Afterlife, Riverflame, The Dream Was the Cure, The Ocean’s Arms
You may also like: Tvinna, Silent Skies, Oak
Final verdict: 8/10

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

Label: Kscope – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Jonathan Hultén is:
– Jonathan Hultén (vocals, all instruments except those noted below)

With:
Esben Willems (Drums)
Ida Nilsson (Harmonica on “Dawn”)
Maria Larsson (Violin on “A Path Is Found”)

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