Artwork by: Benjamin König

Style: Atmospheric Black Metal, Doom Metal, Psychedelic Folk (Mixed vocals, mostly clean)
Recommended for fans of: Alcest, Myrkur, Opeth, Panopticon, Primordial, Ulver
Country: Finland
Release date: 13 June 2025

A fun fact about me: I love a fun ghost / skeleton / creepy homie on some cover art. The crimson bone-buddy getting his bask on fronting The Last Ten Seconds of Life’s Soulless Hymns, Revocation’s spoopy tomb gracing Deathless, The Tritonus SkeleBell dominating Hooded Menace’s sixth LP; each one factored heavily into my listening interest. For as much as the music has the final say, never, ever underestimate the power of an attention-grabbing album cover. Maybe it matters less these days with the popularity of auto-shuffles and (probably AI-generated) playlists, but for me, careening towards middle-age and still fond of making record store hauls, artwork is the first thing I experience before ever considering “play.” And the best artwork often tells us something about what we’re getting into, a sort of visual preview of the aural secrets about to be uncovered.

So, when Nocturne—the seventh release by Finnish atmoblack doomsters Hexvessel—was recommended to me, I took one look at the ghosty fellow casting the ol’ “spectral sprinkle” over that sleepy, snow-capped hamlet isolated amidst a moody charcoal expanse and knew I had to give the album my time. Unfamiliar with Hexvessel and their oeuvre but with all my folk / black metal radars going off, I was eager to see if Nocturne’s musical offerings proved as winsome as the endearingly dreary (endrearing?) artwork. Or would this zesty spectre leave me dusted with disappointment? Grab your soul salt shakers, and let’s have a taste, shall we?

What struck me almost immediately upon firing up Nocturne (aside from the frustratingly ubiquitous practice of pointless openers in metal—titled “Opening,” no less) was how interrelated the music and artwork feel. Songs roll over the horizon like ghostly clouds, sketched in rainy-day hazes of fuzzed guitars, sprinkling in delicately-plucked folk acoustics amidst the ebb and flow of roiling black metal tremolos and hail-storm blast beats. Glimmers of death-and-roll cut through the gray on tracks like “Inward Landscapes,” adding spurts of energy to the haunting, often funereal backdrop of wailing guitars, doleful bells, and ritual-esque timbre of vocalists Mat Kvohst McNerney and Saara Nevalainen. Baleful synths carve out images of forlorn worship houses from the formless charcoal landscape (“A Dark and Graceful Wilderness”), wherein one could imagine frightened villagers huddling, seeking some measure of safety as this leering spectre drifts, steadfast and resolute, across their homes—I’m reminded of Count Orlok’s shadow falling upon Wisborg in Robert Eggers’ Gothic masterwork, Nosferatu (2024). Supplying terror not through red-teethed violence, but rather via sheer enveloping presence.

There is a mournful, otherworldly quality to Nocturne’s atmospheric blackened folk, especially in softer cuts like “Concealed Descent,” where morose acoustic guitar and violin take center stage alongside McNerney’s wistful cleans. The paganic dirge of “Unworld,” with its lurching, Brave Murder Day-era Katatonia opening riff, chanted vocalizations, and smoky heft, constructs notions of grandeur in decay; this small storied town, perhaps built upon the bones of ancient edifices, sundered by slicing winds of black metal aggression amidst the deliberate marching of funeral doom aesthetics. By the time closer “Phoebus” blows through, there’s nothing left, our spectral harbinger having folded man’s scaffolding back into the architecture of the (other)natural world. In many ways, I’m brought to the doorstep of Panopticon’s folk / black metal crossroads, except replace twangy americana with the dreamy plucking that seems to signify Finnish folk,¹ then toss in some slow and dolorous doom vibes for added flavor. Hexvessel have set out with a particular sonic palette and aesthetic in mind, and they do nothing to disturb it across Nocturne’s near-hour of play.

Which brings us to perhaps my only true gripe about Nocturne: like Spectral Bae closing in to sprinkle the town with his damnedruff, Hexvessel’s assemblage of fuzzy, doomed-out atmoblack tunes have a tendency to drift across the consciousness. Multiple times, I lost track of where I was in the album, lulled by a particular folky moment or vibed-out bridge before being shocked back into awareness by one of McNerney’s intermittent harsh cries or an equally intermittent energetic drum run. Sometimes, I found myself halfway across the album; other times, still wrapped in the ashen folds of a longer thread (“Sapphire Zephyrs,” “Inward Landscapes,” “Mother Destroyer”). This makes the album something of an “easy” listen, a record to throw on and just chill out to, despite the large swaths of razoring guitars and blasting snares. Lacking measures of more “conventional” structures, this is hardly an album to inspire sing-alongs, or even headbanging. There are no real central riffs, no sense of verse-chorus-verse dynamics for a listener to grab on to. This lends Nocturne an organic quality, affording a pleasantness to the experience—a dream-like effect—even if I’m often left struggling to remember where I was in the aftermath. More mood-setting than neck-snapping.

Fans of groups like Enisum, or fellow Prophecy partners Ceresian Valot will certainly find much to enjoy about Nocturne. Hexvessel thrum with the kind of naturalism that tends to lurk, perhaps overlooked, in black metal; everyone remembers the church burnings, the edginess, but this genre has been more than religion-bashing, murder, and hate crimes across its many storied decades. Nocturne, with its gloomy moods and pagan, almost druidic nature vibes, represents one of my favorite breeds of black metal. More about the journey than any singular sonic destination, Hexvessel’s latest may struggle to maintain my full attention at times, but there’s something to be said for the kind of album you can just… float away on. A fine dusting, indeed.

Recommended tracks: Unworld, Phoebus, A Dark and Graceful Wilderness
You may also like: Blood Ceremony, Ceresian Valot, Enisum, Nechochwen, Wolvennest
Final verdict: 7/10

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

Label: Prophecy Productions – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Hexvessel is:
– Mat Kvohst McNerney (vocals, guitars, songwriting)
– Kimmo Helén (piano, keyboards, strings, guitars)
– Jukka Rämänen (drums, percussion)
– Ville Hakonen (bass)
With guests:
– Aleksi Kiiskilä (lead guitars)
– Saara Nevalainen (female vocals)
– Yusaf Vicotnik Parvez (lead vocals, “Unworld”)
– Juho Vanhanen (backing vocals, “Phoebus”)

1.  Assuming Finnish folk sounds like the kind Finnish metal bands employ. ︎

The post Review: Hexvessel – Nocturne appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…..

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

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

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

Related links: Bandcamp | Spotify | Instagram

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

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

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

Style: post-rock, dream pop, MPB, shoegaze, psychedelia (mixed vocals, mostly clean)
Recommended for fans of: Parannoul, Turqoisedeath, Os Mutantes, Mestre Ambrósio, Celeste OST
Country: Brazil
Release date: 5 May 2025

Isaac Newton predicted that the Rapture would happen around 2060. That the end is nearing seems like a given with the state of the world these days, so Newton’s timeline comes across as delayed if anything. Some virulent super-bacteria or virus could take us out (probably something bioengineered); we’ve got a demented, wholeheartedly evil person in possession of the nuclear football (and multiple major-scale global conflicts going on, as well); but perhaps most likely is the imminent climate catastrophe. I won’t beat a dead horse too much—we’re all intimately aware of the dire situation in 2025—but corporate greed and ever-increasing industrialization are unceasing, and we’re about to pass the event horizon of its damage. This crisis is displacing millions of global citizens every year, myself included as of earlier this year, and its impact will only worsen. I think going out by an asteroid dino-style would be easier, or maybe with false vacuum decay, but we as a species have got to make the best of the situation at hand.

Lua, the woman behind Brazilian shoegaze act Sonhos Tomam Conta, has started a new project Antropoceno, and Natureza Morta is driven by a pseudo-manifesto of hers, a tirade against the evils of climate change inspired by indigenous authors such as Davi Kopenawa Yanomami and Ailton Krenak. Lua’s thesis, as given on Bandcamp, is that “Postponing this apocalypse necessarily involves rejecting the exceptionalism that seeks to conceive humanity as an organism separate from the body of the Earth.” She asserts that we ought not to forget our pre-industrial origins and look toward tools and methods of the past to slow the disaster; Natureza Morta is a loud call to action.

Antropoceno matches the concept to the music, with Natureza Morta incorporating pre-industrial folk music styles (samba, choro) into psychedelia and shoegaze, representative of the distorted corruption of modernity. The result? An impeccable vibe. The record blossoms out of bird chirping and strummed acoustic guitars, while the remainder of Antropoceno’s sound is formed by layering Brazilian percussion, psychedelic trem-picking of a non-distorted electric guitar, and bubbling, sugary synths. All together, Natureza Morta is like floating on a cloud in a dream, utterly serene, and the record flows freely, too, drifting from idea to idea—song to song—effortlessly. On “35ºC de Bulbo Úmido,” Antropoceno dives deep into psychedelia with exquisite choro mixed in for a sweltering effect, as if you’re melting while listening to the short piece while the crisis (and album) march on unrepentantly. Other tracks, like “222 Dias de Calor Extremo,” use longer, post-rock songwriting, letting Lua’s masterful synths guide the listener through tropical soundscapes.

The ethereality of Antropoceno’s base sound often veers into a more violent approach; as the natural world is destroyed by the increasingly hot temperature, hails of blast beats, distorted guitars, and harsh vocals colonize the alluring folky psychedelia. Inspired by fellow Brazilian legend Caio Lemos (Kaatayra, Bríi, Vauruvã), Antropoceno mixes Brazilian rhythms and acoustic guitars atop the blast beats to stunning effect, such as on the tracks “Queda do Céu” and “Natureza Morta.” Moreover, Caio Lemos is a guest feature on the track “Debaixo da Terra,” his vocals adding a tasteful, folk edge to the track. In addition to Kaatayra, Antropoceno manages to get a Parannoul feature on “The Waves,” with the South Korean shoegaze legend also providing his distinct vocals to the track.

As the tracks bleed into each other, they slowly lose their identities, all succumbing to the vibe that Antropoceno curates. I could listen to the dreamy Brazilian psychedelia all day, but Natureza Morta slowly drifts its way into pleasant background music over its runtime. The record’s bigger problem is Lua’s vocals, which are more on the shoegaze side of things—that is to say, unrefined. The clean lulls are distractingly amateur compared to the gorgeous instrumentation; thankfully, much of the album plays around with extended instrumental sections. These issues should be easy to iron out on subsequent releases and are hardly a damning problem on a project debut. 

Antropoceno presents Natureza Morta to combat an issue she sees as crucial. With a blend of Kataayra-inspired folk and Parannoul-esque shoegaze, the music matches the message; more importantly, Antropoceno’s music is extremely high quality. I’ll still be silently cheering for the easy out of false vacuum decay, but Antropoceno’s calling for us to consider a return to animist principles in the modern world hits home. Come listen to Natureza Morta for the awesome psychedelia, and leave with a renewed sense of urgency.

Recommended tracks: 35ºC de Bulbo Úmido, The Waves, Debaixo da Terra
You may also like: Kaatayra, Rasha, Sonhos Tomam Conta, Samlrc
Final verdict: 7.5/10

Related links: Bandcamp | Spotify | Instagram

Label: independent

Antropoceno is:
– Lua (everything)
With guests:
– Kaatayra (vocals)
– Parannoul (vocals)

The post Review: Antropoceno – Natureza Morta appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: progressive metal, doom metal, dark ambient (mixed vocals, mostly clean)
Recommended for fans of: Windhand, Chelsea Wolfe, Pijn, Latitudes
Country: Italy
Release date: 11 April 2025

Artistic development always comes at a cost. Individuality and consistency produce inherent tension, demanding that artists find compromise between their unique form of expression and the ability to communicate ideas in a resonant way. The Spin strikes a poised balance between forward progress and steady improvement, not so much an evolution reaching into new territory nor a recapitulation of tired, overly familiar themes as it is a recombination of existing traits developed throughout their prior discography. Underappreciated for far too long, the inventive Italian prog-doom metal outfit Messa have trod the boundary between underground and mainstream, jumping in popularity each time they released a new album or were featured in a roundup article somewhere, but never quite able to maintain that critical mass of fandom long-term. Perhaps they can finally spin ‘round their fortunes and build the audience they deserve.

Messa use their cauldron of influences to brew an otherworldly stew from ingredients including jazz, bluesy hard rock, dark ambient, and bleak doom metal. Longtime prog metal fans have probably already started imagining what this unholy concoction might sound like as if it’s the most normal thing in the world, but I encourage you to take a moment to consider the care required to create it. That they can throw together these alchemical components while maintaining such a high degree of cohesion is absolutely a testament to the musicians’ talents. The Spin pays off almost a decade of refining Messa’s signature blend, now distilled down to a potent spirit of sorrowful ambiance. Messa’s performance isn’t flashy with pretension or extravagance, instead opting for sharp, clean music saturated with emotional sediment drawn from doom metal’s benthic depths. The runtime also supports these shifting priorities—a shorter outing at a mere forty-ish minutes allows for a tighter focus on expressing the central driving anguish at the heart of the album.

Messa have undergone an interesting progression throughout their last few albums as they dial in on which facets of their music to showcase most. Where Feast for Water chose emotional expression as its first priority, Close settled into a more subdued but precise delivery. The Spin combines a bit of both approaches, presenting an immaculate, ethereal atmosphere that inherits the uncertain quietude of Feast while retaining some of Close’s assertive intensity. With all their varied influences, it’s a hefty task to balance the sparser sounds drawn from the ambient space with the thicker sections of blues/doom heartache, but Messa are equal to it. Despite the contrasts, both aspects contribute towards a common core of undefinable passion.

It’s hard to find an adjective more suited to Messa’s music than “haunting.” Every element, from Sara Bianchin’s voice lurking in the dark corners to the reverberating cymbal crashes, conspires to lure unsuspecting listeners close with soft sweetness before leaping into belted sections laden with devastating emotion. Beyond raw vocal power, though, The Spin develops its most compelling textures through the collaboration between Bianchin and the rest of the band. Moments like the choruses in “The Dress” perfectly marry the unique emotionality of the human voice with the inhuman intensity that amplified instruments provide. After an extended instrumental section featuring dueling solos from guitar and muted trumpet, the closing chorus reprise tears open the heavens with its towering display of emotion from both Bianchin and the accompanying guitars.

In contrast, The Spin’s verse sections prove to be its weakest point, often feeling like a means of getting from one point to another. Almost every track shares the same loose structure, usually with a pair of verse-chorus repetitions, an instrumental bridge, and one final chorus to close things out. The noteworthy moments arrive most consistently during those instrumental sections, as well as in individual flourishes and features—and let’s be clear, these are some stellar flourishes. That said, the verses in between feel like a return to the atmospheric but disappointing filler from Feast for Water (like “She Knows”). The Spin adds several layers of polish in both production and composition which help smooth over the listening experience compared to Messa’s earlier days, but it’s not enough to completely eliminate the underlying imperfections that still undercut their songwriting at times. Even with all of the band’s artistic progress uplifting The Spin, the empty verses of “At Races,” “Fire on the Roof,” and “Reveal” remain unfortunate detractors from an otherwise divine experience.

Sometimes, the price of consistency is character; other times, the price of progress is consistency. With their last two albums, Messa have now paid the price in both directions, first ramping up their consistency for a steadier and gentler outing in Close, then trading some of that consistency to hone their distinctive sound to its finest edge yet. While not every track on The Spin displays Messa’s full emotional range, the precision and quality of their musicianship are unquestionable, a testament to their effort and growth as artists. Furthermore, the highlights are truly stunning, enhancing vibrant performances with keen, experienced presentation. While the resulting album has its low points as well, Messa’s overall refinement of their sound and their display of stunning songwriting marks a turning point in their careers.

Recommended tracks: Void Meridian, Immolation, The Dress, Thicker Blood
You may also like: Dreadnought, Maud the Moth, healthyliving, SubRosa (the doom metal one from Utah)
Final verdict: 8/10

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

Label: Metal Blade Records – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Messa is:
– Sara Bianchin (vocals)
– Marco Zanin (bass, synthesizers)
– Alberto Piccolo (guitars, synthesizers, piano)
– Rocco Toaldo (drums, vocals)

The post Review: Messa – The Spin appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Progressive metal, post-metal (mixed vocals, mostly clean)
Recommended for fans of: Early Leprous, The Ocean, Mogwai
Country: Netherlands
Release date: 4 April 2025

A handful of phrasings and a trail of misattributions surround one extraordinarily metal writing concept: you have to be willing to kill your darlings. Those beautiful sentences you’ve crafted, in perfect prose, that end up adding no value to your piece? Kill them. That concept you fleshed out in a rigorously detailed paragraph, only to realize it doesn’t serve the narrative? Drop the axe. The unnecessary, dramatic list of examples when a simple explanation would have done? You gotta ki… wait!

Whether literary or musical, we have a hard time doing away with our creative expressions, even if they no longer serve a purpose once given context. Imagine being a young band, having spent years putting your ideas into music, piecing components together into songs, and rehearsing them till they become part of your being. As you all progress as songwriters and musicians, and finally begin forming an album, could you do away with those precious ideas that don’t quite fit anymore? Do you kill your darlings, or look desperately for a way to keep them?

Well, you know where I’m going with this: let’s turn to We Are Solitude, the debut album of progressive post-metallers Inner Cabala. Although I don’t have a way into their collective psyche, Inner Cabala appear to have a hard time letting go. We Are Solitude is an eclectic mix of tracks sounding of slightly subdued, modern progressive metal and relatively light post-metal—like the less boisterous child of Bilateral-era Leprous and The Ocean. Except, the child is having a bit of trouble growing up and finding its personality. 

Amidst this search for itself, We Are Solitude is most effective at its simplest. In a concise four minutes, standout track “Feathers” flows cogently from a catchy, winding intro riff to a punchy verse, and then into an energetic chorus. After a couple of repetitions, a seamless bridge leads naturally to a massive breakdown that ends the track. Bravo! This streamlined approach works well for Inner Cabala, who have a strong knack for melody and riff writing. “Hollow” follows a similar pattern, featuring a two-part chorus that, in addition to being a total earworm, is written excellently—the perfect mix of pop sensibilities and progressive instrumentation. But the track’s momentum is stopped dead by an acoustic bridge slapped right in the center without warning. The bridge isn’t especially interesting, and it doesn’t serve a broader compositional purpose; as with many passages, it sounds like something the band just couldn’t quite bring themselves to scrap. 

Although the tracks are dynamic, they often fail to build tension that leads to a cathartic payoff or steadily intensify an idea until a tidal wave of sound has formed—staples of well executed post-metal. Typically, a disconnected soft part is followed by a disconnected heavy or fast part, giving a gas-brake feel rather than a smooth oscillation among peaks and valleys. “Of Time Rejoiced” is the worst offender, full of interesting ideas welded haphazardly into a track that jerks the listener around with passages that may as well be from different songs entirely. To be sure, We Are Solitude does hold flashes of brilliance. In the last minute and a half of “Semblance,” a layered, emotional refrain is accentuated by a somber but infectious guitar melody, showcasing the best of Inner Cabala’s post- aspects. And the entire second half of the closer “Mediocrity Divides II” is a proggy trip through big, sludgy riffs that ultimately resolve with a nod to the album’s opening track, bringing We Are Solitude full circle. But both of these tracks suffer from upfront bloat—the former spending far too long plodding toward its resolution, and the latter having acoustic portions that bring it to a standstill rather than lead toward the climactic ending.

With its numerous stripped-back, softer passages, We Are Solitude leans heavily on the vocal performance to fill open space and provide emotional lift. However, perhaps to mask some limitations in ability, a fuzz covers the vocals through the entire album, eschewing a natural feel and instead providing a compressed, processed one. This incessant vocal effect grows tedious quickly, and the album’s heartfelt sections suffer the most, as a slightly distorted rasp covers movements where an organic voice is sorely needed. “Crippled Reality,” primarily a ballad that feels disconnected from the rest of the album to begin with, is a particularly tough listen for this reason, but every track would benefit greatly from more natural vocals. 

Ultimately, We Are Solitude rings of a band clutching their nascent ideas too tightly, forcing the ideas together rather than evaluating whether each still has a place. Fortunately, many of the ideas are quite good, and Inner Cabala clearly have an ear for melody and the ability to write engaging, interesting prog—the album is enjoyable enough, even if its best moments are hamstrung by a lack of organization, too many lesser passages, and ineffective vocals. The foundation of a strong album is here, and Inner Cabala appear capable of delivering something that holds its own among their more mature progressive metal peers. So, please, kill those darlings next time and you might be left with something special.

Recommended tracks: Feathers, Hollow, Mediocrity Divides II
You may also like: Kingcrow, Rendezvous Point, Hippotraktor
Final verdict: 5/10

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

Label: Independent

Inner Cabala is:
– Pim Limburg (vocals)
– Alexandru Daniel Taun (guitars)
– Razvan “Sid” Poinaru (bass)
– Carlo Belloni (drums)
– Alessandro Zanchetta (guitars)

The post Review: Inner Cabala – We Are Solitude appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Progressive metal, heavy metal, thrash metal (mixed vocals, mostly clean)
Recommended for fans of: Megadeth, Metallica, Testament, Haken, Between the Buried and Me
Country: United Kingdom
Release date: 14 March 2025

When prog metal nerds gather and chat about music, an inevitable topic is how each got into the genre. Two particular paths seem to be the most common: from the prog rock side, beginning with Rush, Pink Floyd, Yes, et al. (thank your parents for that); or from the metal side, beginning with Maiden, Priest, Metallica, Megadeth, and all the usual suspects. Dream Theater tend to be the point at which the two paths intersect—and, these days, perhaps Haken too. 

My path to progressive metal follows the latter group. At age twelve, Rust in Peace and The Number of the Beast pulled me away from mainstream alternative rock and set me on the course that eventually led here, writing about obscure prog albums that a relative few will ever hear. I have a tremendous amount of reverence for the metal classics, and twenty-one years later there’s still a big spot in my rotation for the old school. So, I was more than a little excited when Charlie Griffiths, guitarist of Haken fame, announced that his sophomore solo album, Gods of Pangaea, would be a love letter to the classic metal bands responsible for my plunge into heavier music.  

Let’s get a bit of housekeeping out of the way—Griffiths’ first solo album, Tiktaalika, was released under the moniker Charlie Griffiths. This time, Gods of Pangaea is released under the moniker Tiktaalika. (Thanks, Charlie, for choosing the most confusing possible way to release this one.) Tiktaalika, the album, featured a roster of vocalists who traded duties depending on the track. If Haken plays progressive metal, Griffiths’ solo debut was progressive metal—heavier, but not eschewing progressive songwriting or moving away completely from Haken’s wackiness.¹ Now, Griffiths has stripped things back another layer with Gods of Pangaea, releasing an album that pays tribute to late ‘80s and early ‘90s metal and the art of the riff. The vocals are again split among a few powerhouses, most of whom also appeared on the debut:

• Daniël de Jongh (Textures): “Tyrannicide,” “Gods of Pangaea,” “Give up the Ghost”
• Rody Walker (Protest the Hero): “Fault Lines”
• Tommy Rogers (Between the Buried and Me): “Lost Continent”
• Vladimir Lalić (Organised Chaos, David Maxim Micic): “Mesozoic Mantras”
• Vladimir Lalić and Neil Purdy (Luna’s Call): “The Forbidden Zone”

On bass is Conner Green (Haken), and Darby Todd (currently touring with Devin Townsend) is behind the kit. On paper, this all adds up to a dream album for me. But in practice, could this all-star roster capture the magic of heavy metal’s golden era?

Gods of Pangaea may be influenced by a dozen metal bands, ranging from Metallica to Mercyful Fate, but Megadeth are the most noticeable—the riffing is tight, sharp, and often more technical than you’d expect from the old school. Opener “Tyrannicide” has a verse that bites and a ripping instrumental bridge and solo, channeling the energy and instrumental prowess that catapulted Megadeth into the Big Four. Indeed, the track’s intro might well have come directly from Rust in Peace. The choruses in “Fault Lines” and the title track, meanwhile, bring the more melodic parts of Countdown to Extinction to mind. Slowing things down slightly, “The Forbidden Zone” leans further into groove with its chugging verse and stomping chorus, and opts for a modern feel as Lalić trades his cleans with Purdy’s harshes. Although a common, overtly “metal” thread connects the songs, they’re all different in feel, helped along by the rotating vocal cast. And each track has at least a few components that any fan of traditional metal will have fun attributing back to one of the classic bands.

In his respective tracks, Daniël de Jongh’s versatile vocals extend from Mustaine-esque cleans to ballsier harshes. Lalić’s vocals, on the other hand, have a power-metal feel, with an expressive tone and operatic flourishes that sit pleasantly on top of both the heavier riffs in “The Forbidden Zone” and the melodic, proggier ones in “Mesozoic Mantras.” Really harkening back to the early days of metal, Lalić’s twenty-second wail at the end of the latter track is something to behold. Rody Walker may turn in the most enjoyable performance of all with “Fault Lines,” adding his own melodic take on thrashy vocals resembling those of Joey Belladonna (Anthrax) and then capping off the track with some climactic, throaty yelling. And, of course, Tommy Rogers sounds as good as we’ve come to expect, his trademark vocals putting an exclamation point on closing track “Lost Continent.” Gods of Pangaea does have some vocal stumbling points: most obvious is the repetitive, mundane chorus of “Give up the Ghost” that cements it as the album’s weakest track, and a close second is the verse of “The Forbidden Zone” that plods vocally and lyrically without much inspiration.² But on the whole, Griffiths’ roster of vocalists keeps the album fresh and dynamic without losing a cohesive flow from track to track. 

Despite Gods of Pangaea being a tribute to the classic metal sound, Griffiths couldn’t help but indulge his progressive background—Tiktaalika are a bunch of prog musicians, after all. “Mesozoic Mantras” begins with a winding two minutes of primarily acoustic guitars, some complex drum chops and rhythmic variance, a bit of play with the meter, and even short, soft vocal accents in the Haken style—reminiscent of “Earthlings” or any Haken track in that vein. “Lost Continent” loses the classic metal plot completely and is straight-up modern progressive metal, sounding quite a lot like Between the Buried and Me, and not just because Tommy Rogers is providing the vocals. As one of the album’s best tracks, I can’t complain. Less successfully, the title track spans nearly nine minutes due to a collection of middle passages that wander longer than they hold interest. In general, all the songs are a little more complicated in structure, and the riffs and drumming are a little more technical, than you’d get from late ‘80s and early ‘90s metal. The progressive elements peppered—or at times dumped—into the album are well done, and the result is an album for prog metal fans who appreciate the old school more than one for classic metal fans who appreciate prog.

Paying tribute to the past is tough work: it requires capturing a resonant aura of authenticity while also injecting enough originality to avoid the label “rip off.” And, transparently, describing why something does or doesn’t feel authentic is also tough and often overly subjective. Nevertheless, to me, Gods of Pangaea succeeds in the “originality” part of the balance but not in its authenticity—even despite its sick, Ed Repka-inspired cover art.³ Griffiths’ ideas are carried out and connected with surgical precision. The riffs throw a barrage of notes at you, and the drums seem to follow each one until a spotless transition takes you into the next section. The album lacks those huge, sustained chords that give so many classic tracks character (pick any prime-era Metallica song); there’s very little of the simple drumming and totally stripped-back rhythms that let riffs and vocals shine and provide older metal its loose, flowing feel (think Anthrax’s Among the Living); and the album’s pristine production is devoid of the old school grit crucial to the era’s aesthetic. These things are hardly criticisms of a prog album. In fact, they’re things prog albums actively seek to avoid. But having approached Gods of Pangaea with its context in mind, I felt some slight disappointment in terms of authenticity—and then I remembered that, whatever his intent, Griffiths still delivered a solid record.

Ultimately, Gods of Pangaea is modern progressive metal that gives a nod to the classics. The album has no shortage of strong riffs, catchy choruses, or impressive performances—vocally and from each instrumentalist. The tracks are dynamic enough to remain engaging, and the energy stays high throughout. Maybe Gods of Pangaea doesn’t capture the magic of heavy metal’s golden era—it doesn’t bring me back to high school, blasting Screaming for Vengeance while driving my beat-up pickup truck through the hills of Los Angeles—but we can still chalk it up as another win for Griffiths.

Recommended tracks: Tyrannicide, Fault Lines, Lost Continent
You may also like: Paradox, Crimson Glory, and Wolf (Swe) if you’re a fan of this album’s classic influences
Final verdict: 7/10

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

Label: Inside Out Music – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Tiktaalika is:
– Charlie Griffiths (guitars)
– Darby Todd (drums)
– Conner Green (bass)

1. Here at The Subway, Tiktaalika garnered a double review, scoring a rare 9/10 in both. I didn’t quite share the same level of enthusiasm, but I’ll say it was undeniably a very strong album. ︎
2. “I am Triassic, I’m Jurassic. Always adapting and counterattacking. I am voracious, I am Cretaceous…” doesn’t quite do it for me. But hey, repetitive choruses and bumbling verses are practically staples of classic metal. ︎
3. The album artwork, done by Dan Goldsworthy, is directly inspired by Ed Repka—the artist responsible for the covers of Death’s early work, Peace Sells, Rust in Peace, and so many other iconic albums of the era. Goldsworthy and Griffiths share a love for Repka’s work, and they felt his style captured what Gods of Pangaea aimed to be. ︎

The post Review: Tiktaalika – Gods of Pangaea appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Album art by Dan Schaub

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Label: Blue Swan – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

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

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

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: Experimental Rock, Art Rock, Noise Rock (mostly clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Dead Kennedys, Modest Mouse
Country: Colorado, United States
Release date: 10 January 2025

One of my favourite pastimes when I was younger was drawing. I enjoyed the act of creation, of forcefully extracting something from the infinite comfort of non-existence. But I was also a perfectionist; I hated the thought of painting the “wrong” colour or penning a line of ink in the “wrong” place. So, I developed a sketchy, fuzzy kind of art style, usually using pencil, which meant that I never had to commit to an idea; I could always change my mind later, or blame the messiness on the art style itself. There is a vulnerability in being public, in being clear and precise and unapologetic. Hiding in the safety of the messy, uncommitted corner, I could always anaemically defend against any criticism of my work with a “well it’s just a sketch, anyway”.

TULPA‘s latest release, Plum Pinball, feels like it comes from a very similar place: one of defensiveness, of wanting to create but in a non-committal way—of fear. The title track, “Plum Pinball”, even hints at this masturbatory false bravado: “shut up and listen, I’m plum pinballing” says ‘I am important, shut up and listen to this art I created to pleasure myself and myself only (unless you like it and want to join in, as well)’. Two hands are better than one.

This is the case for many experimental albums: the would-be artist wants to create music but (a) does not know how to play an instrument, (b) does not know how to sing, (c) cannot construct songs, (d) cannot write lyrics… take your pick. TULPA can do some of these things, some better than others, but none of them extremely well. They struggle to create music in the same way a snake struggles to shed its skin—they instinctively know that they can do it, but it is a time-consuming, labour-intensive, uncomfortable process.

On first listen, Plum Pinball is about as enjoyable as a root canal. On “True Crimes”, the shrieking distorted guitar, the nasally scream-singing, and the perfectly milquetoast rhythm section make you regret the sin of having ears. The lyrics on “Part-Time Mortician” read as though someone trained an AI chatbot on edgy YouTube comments written by preteens underneath Jordan Peterson videos: “And my friends could all choke, and my family could choke / On their smoke, and I’d laugh ’cause I know that it’s what they deserve. / (D.A.R.E.) / (Soft eugenics).” I’d suggest taking a chill pill, but this band already seem overmedicated.

On the other hand, if you’ve got a masochistic side and listen to this album a few times, it grows on you, like a particularly aggressive melanoma. There are some redeemable aspects: the vocalist has a distinctive timbre and significant power considering just how high of a register they sing in—for example, on “The New Black Something Something”. “Mission Tripperz” is about as close as this album gets to indie rock and would be well-received by fans of Modest Mouse. Despite its edgelord lyrics, “Part-Time Mortician” has catchy vocal melodies, an infectious momentum, and is one of the few tracks on the album that feels truly “fleshed out”, filling in empty spaces with synths and double-tracked guitars.

Is Plum Pinball groundbreaking? Not particularly. Is it catchy? Only when it isn’t actively repellent. Is it something I would listen to again? Almost certainly not. But would I listen to the next TULPA album? Absolutely. Art is meant to make you feel something, not necessarily something good, but something: it may intrigue or repulse you, but it should never bore you. Plum Pinball needs further distillation to its essential elements, more sincerity, and less intentionally sarcastic edginess in its lyrical themes in order to be a great album. TULPA need to allow themselves to be vulnerable.

Recommended tracks: Part-Time Mortician, Mission Tripperz
You may also like: DE()T, Bomb, Nunchukka Superfly
Final verdict: 4/10

Related links: Bandcamp | Spotify | Instagram

Label: independent

TULPA is:
– Jacob Gustafson (everything)

The post Review: TULPA – Plum Pinball appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Sludge Metal, Post-Hardcore, Alt Metal (mostly clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: The Ocean, AFI, Mastodon
Country: Washington D.C., United States / Croatia
Release date: 16 August 2024

“Hello and welcome to The Progressive Subway!” a voice bellows from the sky.

 – “Ah! What? Who are you? What’s going on?”

“You’ll be listening to Wings Denied for your test review.”

 – “Test review? What?”

“Croatian band. You’ll need these.” A pair of waders materializes in mid-air in front of me, then falls, the rubber slapping onto the ground. “For the sludge.”

Fearing for my own safety, I do what is asked of me, don my new outfit, and drop a needle onto digital vinyl (I open Spotify) to listen to Wings Denied‘s sophomore release, Just the Basics.

…

Solidly sludge metal, this new album showcases a modest range of moods and styles. On Just the Basics, Wings Denied lean heavily on their pop sensibilities, only occasionally experimenting with meter, instrumentation, and song structure. The band wear their influences on their sleeves, but seem to have difficulty merging those ideas into a coherent theme. This album is more of a chain composed of links of different kinds of metal than an alloy formed by successfully melding those ideas together.

Opener “Plastic Tears” introduces most of the sonic themes heard throughout Just the Basics: clean, soaring vocals; sludgy, churning bass; twisty, shifting rhythms; and intricate, walking riffs. As with most of the following songs, this one unfortunately also seems to suffer an over-reliance on the chorus (repeated perhaps one too many times) and a missing middle, balancing – sometimes precariously – between sludgy lows and piercing solos, without much solid ground in the middle of that harmonic range.

The second track, “Black Legend”, is such a contrast from the first that it almost sounds like a different band. While “Plastic Tears” shows strong sludge / classic doom metal influence, the uptempo “Black Legend” is much more punk, with its snare-and-cymbal drumming, verse-chorus pop structure, and bass which has been mixed all the way back so that it’s hardly audible under the guitars. The first guitar solo of the album appears here, as well, at 2:25, and while nothing jaw-dropping, it serves the song well and doesn’t overstay its welcome.

Abrupt stops in a handful of tracks on the album occasionally kill the momentum, often without leading into a satisfying drop or breakdown, which might make those short, sharp shocks worthwhile. “Lost in It All”, for example, features some of my favourite musical ideas on Just the Basics. It’s such a departure from the first three tracks: jazzy, airy, sultry. Like Christmas chocolates that have melted a bit from sitting too close to the fireplace, it oozes and flows in a supremely satisfying way. But a break at 0:42, followed by a pop-rock metal chorus, drops the listener in a bucket of ice water. The second verse brings back that oozing chocolate sound, but it’s hard to enjoy it the second time around. (“Fool me once…”) This track, like “Plastic Tears”, could do with a bit more development (maybe an extended verse, or a second bridge), rather than relying on the chorus to pad the runtime.

The next track, “Lifebroker”, is the only non-single off of this album with more than 1000 listens on Spotify, and for good reason: it’s a banger. “Lifebroker” enters on a churning, steam engine of a riff. An abrupt break starts the verse, which causes the song to lose a bit of the momentum it had at the outset, but it manages to recover and maintain that energy moving forward. The climbing bridge around 2:45 is one of the best riffs on this album by far, and wouldn’t be out of place on something by Mastodon. This song has a good energy, and I think is pretty representative of this band’s general sound.

The rhythms on “Saudade” make this Just the Basics’ stand-out track: the section beginning at 2:05 sounds to be in 12/8, but the guitars bob and weave around the rhythm section here, making it difficult to count on first listen. There is another abrupt break at 2:24 into a much quieter section, where twinkly guitars and vocals are soon joined by sparse drums, followed by strings and bass. 3:27 brings in a somber refrain (“we’re very sorry for your loss, he was a brave man”), which builds in intensity and sincerity until the mood is abruptly shattered not once, but twice. “Saudade” is “an emotional state of melancholic or profoundly nostalgic longing for a beloved yet absent someone or something”. Perhaps the abrupt changes of mood—from raging and chaotic; to disbelief, repeating the words delivered to the bereaved over and over; and back to anger—are meant to represent the tug-of-war between anger, denial, and depression, which those who have grieved for a loved one know well. “Saudade” is one of the strongest efforts on this album, by far.

Just the Basics is a solid effort: a mostly-sludge, mostly-metal album that leans heavily on pop song structure, punctuated by moments of impressive songwriting, both in terms of mood and melody. Wings Denied clearly have a wealth of great ideas, but these are diamonds in the rough; they need a talented producer to refine and polish them. I’m looking forward to moving past the basics.

…

P.S. Does anyone need a pair of waders?

Recommended tracks: Saudade, Mr. Nice Guy, Black Legend
You may also like: Exist Immortal, Aliases, Mycelia
Final verdict: 6/10

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

Label: Independent

Wings Denied is:
– Luka Kerecin (vocals)
– Zach Dresher (guitars, synths)
– Wes Good (bass)
– Alec Kossoff (drums, glockenspiel, backing vocals)

The post Missed Album Review: Wings Denied – Just the Basics appeared first on The Progressive Subway.