Style: Death metal, progressive metal (mixed vocals, mostly harsh)
Recommended for fans of: Blood Incantation, Death, Morbid Angel
Country: Massachusetts, United States
Release date: 18 April 2025

Although the old school death metal revival has been going on for years, what’s with the recent spotlight? Offering a modern take on a classic sound, OSDM-steeped releases from proggier bands like Tomb Mold and Horrendous have seen huge underground acclaim. And Blood Incantation launched out of the underground altogether last year, with Absolute Elsewhere appearing indiscriminately on just about every year-end list. Backed primarily by Millennials and Gen Zers with no connection to the original acts, nostalgia doesn’t explain the recent explosion—it’s not the same force that sends our parents in droves to community amphitheaters to watch mediocre tribute bands play the same few classic rock songs. Maybe the renewed interest is a reaction against what some see as an increasingly sterile progressive music scene. That is, a counter to surgically precise, rigidly technical, overproduced music that’s lost its soul (hey, I like that kind of music). It could be a desire to recapture and build upon the blatantly badass sonic aesthetic of late ‘80s and early ‘90s death metal—style is circular after all, and what goes out of fashion often returns.

Whatever the cause, the momentum behind this scene continues to build, and another band has joined the fray. With their debut LP Ego Dissolution, Massachusetts-based Ancient Death announce their arrival in a concise thirty-five-minute statement. Drawing clear inspiration from Blood Incantation, as well as the stalwarts of the early Florida death metal scene, these newcomers offer OSDM with a psychedelic bend and a slight progressive tinge. With OSDM in vogue among the metal underground, will the band join the new crop of old-school elite?

Ego Dissolution could easily be mistaken for a late ‘80s release. The production, although warm and clear, isn’t sanded down and coated in lacquer—its surface is rough enough to let the album’s big riffs scrape the ears. Meanwhile, much of the instrumentation runs through the OSDM playbook. Most tracks have some combination of frenzied, technical-but-not-”tech” riffing; heavy, mid-paced segments overlaid with early Schuldiner-esque vocals; and ripping guitar solos, but not in the virtuosic, guitar-nerd type of way. Drummer Derek Malone Moniz isn’t afraid to slow things down and compliment blasting with groovy kick-drum patterns, and an active bass guitar growls beneath it all. “Breaking the Barriers of Hope” and “Unspoken Oath” are the record’s most straightforward ass-kickers, each offering a clinic in effective death metal execution. 

Ancient Death’s psychedelic and progressive elements appear mostly through slower passages that incorporate grainy synths, mellow guitars, and, on occasion, ethereal cleans provided by bass guitarist Jasmine Alexander. Rather than take us on full Tangerine Dream or Floydian detours, à la Blood Incantation’s latest album, these passages are shorter and integrated more naturally into the tracks. The effect is tremendous, adding dimension to the music and making the streamlined death metal sections hit even harder. The atmospheric bridge in the middle of the ripping title track makes the track feel massive and complete; and the first half of “Breathe – Transcend” is simply spellbinding, a chilled-out swirl of restrained guitars, locked-in rhythms, and cavernous growls complimented by Alexander’s celestial singing. For a full dose of psychedelic atmosphere, instrumental track “Journey to the Inner Soul” appears to be Ancient Death’s trippier, less technical response to Death’s famed “Cosmic Sea.” Each time the band ventures beyond the core death metal sound, they do so tastefully, the passages never sounding forced or out of place.  

To be sure, Ego Dissolution isn’t particularly inventive. Ancient Death take no issue in putting their influences out there for all to see. The album strives by reining these influences in and spinning them into a diverse, coherent set of tracks with no weak points. By the same token, there’s nothing that takes the album over the top: Ego Dissolution doesn’t quite have the innovation or depth to be monumental, and it doesn’t need to. Of course, I’d love to see Ancient Death push their sound further and carve out more of an identity in future releases—they certainly have the requisite talent and innate feel for songwriting—but as far as debuts go, it’s remarkably complete. 

Ultimately, Ego Dissolution is a resounding success. Ancient Death package an abundance of influences, along with some character of their own, into a cohesive work that’s as musically compelling as it is plainly fun. Front to back, the album is rock solid and its short runtime flies by, urging you to go right back to the start for another run. Just one album in, Ancient Death already sit notably among the new school of old school.

Recommended tracks: Ego Dissolution, Breaking the Barriers of Hope, Unspoken Oath, Breathe – Transcend (Into the Glowing Streams of Forever)
You may also like: Tomb Mold, Horrendous, Undeath, Barn, Bedsore
Final verdict: 7.5/10

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

Label: Profound Lore Records – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Ancient Death is:
– Jasmine Alexander (bass and vocals)
– Ray Brouwer (guitars)
– Jerry Witunsky (guitars and vocals)
– Derek Malone Moniz (drums)

The post Review: Ancient Death – Ego Dissolution appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Melodic death metal, progressive death metal (mixed vocals, mostly harsh)
Recommended for fans of: Allegaeon, Entheos, At the Gates, In Flames
Country: Massachusetts, United States
Release date: 21 March 2025

Standing out in the crowded sea of melodic death metal bands isn’t easy. Now and then, a relative newcomer emerges with something fresh, whether it’s Eternal Storm with their epic A Giant Bound to Fall or Countless Skies’ engaging Glow—but making waves is the exception, not the rule. The genre has become especially saturated in the United States, full of new releases of passable quality and with precious few gems.

With their sophomore LP Erasure of Color, Boston-based Aversed look to buck this trend, offering up a wicked slab of melodeath after several years of songwriting and a change in vocalist. Fronted by the versatile Sarah Hartman, and backed by serious instrumental talent, the band unleash a work that, while not a concept album, is connected by a gloomy soundscape and lyrical themes of heartbreak—whether platonic, romantic, or more existential. In short, Aversed put a lot of ambition behind Erasure of Color, and it’s apparent from the first few minutes. But does this album provide something that separates it from the endless tide of middling melodeath releases?

Erasure of Color is Gothenburg-tinged melodeath at its core, but it borrows elements from plenty of other death metal styles. Opener “To Cover Up The Sky” comes in with techy riffing and frenetic drumming, reminiscent of Obscura, and “Lucid Decapitation” sprinkles in dissonance throughout, sounding not unlike Ulcerate-lite at times. Both tracks stand out precisely because of these infusions—the stylistic inspirations are woven into Aversed’s brand of heavy, groove-laden melodic death metal without sounding contrived. “Solitary,” perhaps Erasure’s most ambitious track, displays the band’s progressive tendencies, fitting a big, winding composition into a mere five and a half minutes. And, though not always fluidly, the title track hits you with dissonance, an orchestral bridge, blackened riffing, and a gothic atmosphere, particularly in its chorus. It seems Aversed want to make sure you’re anything but bored, dynamically shifting which style lies atop the underlying melodic death metal. 

To varying degrees of success, Erasure of Color also offers tracks more typical of its genre. The appropriately titled “Burn” is, indeed, a fiery one, bringing plenty of energy along with immense bass grooves and an infectious chorus. “Cross to Bear,” on the other hand, sounds quite generic and places a big emphasis on its chorus at the expense of its other parts—the transition to the blast beats backing the chorus could be smoother, and the rest more memorable. And unfortunately, the album’s closer “Departures” wades into formulaic metalcore territory and spends too long across that border. Erasure of Color is mostly a success, but it suffers from imbalances in quality across its tracks, and the numerous ideas within each track aren’t always arranged cohesively.

Whatever the track, though, Hartman’s vocals fill it charismatically. She has three main deliveries in her quiver: low growls, higher-pitched screams, and lovely cleans. Although the growls and screams aren’t especially noteworthy, Hartman’s full performance is greater than the sum of its parts—the way she cycles between deliveries and uses them to paint the music with different shades is central to the album’s sonic identity. The chorus of “Solitary,” in addition to having some of the slickest guitar work on the album, best exemplifies this, as she fits in each of the three deliveries with impeccable timing and full emotional force. But Aversed aren’t just a platform for Hartman: sitting on the techier side of melodeath, the rest of the band turns in a tight performance, full of dexterous chops and plenty of instrumental flair. 

Erasure of Color is an undeniably impressive listen despite some compositional shortcomings. Although Aversed have room to develop and tighten up their songwriting, they’ve avoided music’s biggest sin, and one that’s all too common in their genre—being boring. The band might not reinvent the wheel, yet they don’t sound derivative, and Erasure of Color maintains a dynamic energy while providing enough style and complexity to reward repeated listens. Time will tell whether the album makes more than ephemeral ripples in the genre’s vast sea, but Aversed certainly have the creativity and talent to go on to make waves.

Recommended tracks: To Cover Up The Sky, Lucid Decapitation, Solitary, Burn
You may also like: Vintersea, Dawn of Ouroboros, Eternal Storm, Greylotus
Final verdict: 6.5/10

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

Label: M-Theory Audio – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Aversed is:
– Martin Epstein (bass)
– Sungwoo Jeong (guitars, vocals)
– Alden Marchand (guitars)
– Jeff Saltzman (drums)
– Sarah Hartman (vocals)

The post Review: Aversed – Erasure of Color appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Art by Mark Richards of Heavy Hand Illustrations

Style: Progressive Death Metal, Technical Death Metal, Deathcore (mixed vocals, but mostly harsh)
Recommended for fans of: Alluvial, Slugdge, Job for a Cowboy
Country: United States – Massachusetts
Release date: 07 February 2025

As with many of my compatriots here at The Progressive Subway, before I ever wrote reviews or managed aspects of the blog, I was a reader and digester of the original monthly “Reports from the Underground.” One of my favorite finds from that time was Pathogenic’s 2019 eponymous LP. A force of prog death at its best, Pathogenic was verifiably insane, with wall to wall riffs and every manner of harsh vocals you could imagine juxtaposed with sections of soaring leads and melodic composition. After a hiatus, Pathogenic have returned with a slightly tweaked lineup (everyone has returned except the drummer) with Crowned in Corpses. Does this new era compare with what was before, or have Pathogenic been discrowned?

From the opening moment of Crowned, a definite shift in sound can already be felt. Pathogenic’s guitars always had somewhat of a snarl in their tone, even more than is the usual for most low string bands, but Crowned turns that up several notches while simultaneously tightening the sound in a tech-y manner. “Mass Grave Memory” establishes its rhythmic conceit in the very beginning, returning to it multiple times throughout with varying drum flavors and treatments behind it. A minute into its runtime comes the first real hit of Pathogenic’s melodic side, albeit buried behind the harsh vocals and churning guitars so as to be something of a seasoning than anything else. “The New Rot” proceeds similarly, continuing the tech inspired sound but giving the first real taste of their lead lines, layered and large.

The changes in sound from Pathogenic became more apparent as Crowned progressed. Some of the compositional swagger and crazy branches I had liked in Pathogenic are gone, replaced with the tech death tightness and repeating themes mentioned earlier. This isn’t to say the new focus isn’t enjoyable, but it just feels like ground often tread in the genre, losing the sense of uniqueness it had before. Some glimpses of the past have remained, though: the end of “The New Rot” seems to begin a swing towards this sound, with the acoustic section building into another large lead section. Sure enough, when “Dead but Not at Rest” comes in, I feel like I’ve really been dropped into more like what I would have expected as the successor to Pathogenic, with a more prog death esque riff structure and the return of some of Jake Burns’ more eccentric harsh vocal choices.

“Exiled from the Abyss” continues the descent into the -core and prog death aspect of their sound, building from juxtaposed chugs and high note hits into full deathcore territory filth at the end. “Fragments” is by far the closest song to the Pathogenic of old, focusing more on atmospheric builds and the return of the clean vocals, even featuring an extended electronic and synth focused outro. However, “Crowned in Corpses” slams back in right after to return us to the tech, monotone type feel. It’s a bit of whiplash in the album’s pacing, to be given a flavor of a “new” sound, divert our attention into a sampling of a natural progression from before, and then drop again into a streamlined tech oriented sound without warning. Don’t misunderstand me, there’s no change in tonalities or presentation per se, it’s just that the compositional nature of the album seems to take a tangent to different areas and back without much warning. The final bit of whiplash comes from the last song, “Silicone Regime”, which features an actual slight guitar tone change and makes you feel almost as if you’ve been dropped into a Wes Hauch production, or something that would slot neatly into one of his albums with Alluvial.

With all honesty, I found myself most enjoying those moments and songs that felt more like a progression from 2019-era Pathogenic than the songs that felt like a neutering of what made them so interesting in the first place. This album does rip, there’s no question about it: Crowned in Corpses is full of great riffs and all the technical talent you’d expect from any band bearing a banner of “technical” that isn’t completely delusional. This album is punishing and crushing with heaviness and grit from end to end. The disappointment for me came from the change in composition, the loss of the tone shift sucker punches, the loss of the Between the Buried and Me quality of ‘anything goes’, the stripping away of the melodic clean sections, and the streamlining of the sound to something that undoubtedly works, but has also undoubtedly been tread before. If you’d like a crushing prog-death album with technical prowess, no doubt this is it. But if I’m looking for the energy and excitement of Pathogenic, I’ll still be listening to the 2019 version.

Recommended tracks: Exiled from the Abyss, Fragments, Crowned in Corpses
You may also like: Replacire
Final verdict: 6/10

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

Label: Skepsis Recordings – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

band in question is:
– Jake Burns (vocals)
– Chris Gardino (guitars)
– Justin Licht (guitars)
– Dan Leahy (bass)
– Tyler Montaquila (drums)

The post Review: Pathogenic – Crowned in Corpses appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Album art by Michelle Carter

Style: progressive rock, post-hardcore, power pop (clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Thank You Scientist, Coheed and Cambria, Closure in Moscow, Rush
Country: United States (Rhode Island/Massachusetts)
Release date: 01 March 2024

The year, 2011. The place, Montclair, New Jersey. Thank You Scientist have just released The Perils of Time Travel, a fascinating debut EP that blended equal parts jazzy, sax-forward virtuosity and emotive, infectious power-pop melodies. We know that, in our timeline, the band would lean towards their jazz fusion influences more and more over the course of their career, with increasingly intricate instrumentals and songwriting that, while still melodic, grew more complex and less poppy with each album. But what if the timeline split? What if an alternate version of TYS instead kept their keyboardist, fired their horns, moved up the coast, and focused in on their natural knack for seamlessly folding tight, virtuosic musicianship into catchy, vaguely emo-tinged choruses? Well, “what if” no longer, because this alternate reality has crashed back into our own, in the form of the new self-titled from New England-based prog/pop/math/emo ensemble Professor Caffeine & the Insecurities.

At some point, I recall reading in a certain other blog about the “Rush quotient”, which is the degree to which a band balances memorable hooks and songcraft with interesting, progressive musical ideas, and Professor Caffeine scores so damn high on that metric they nearly break the curve. From the very start, opener “Brockton Panda” makes its intentions clear. A wall of feedback and power chords crashes into frontman Dan Smith’s keening tenor in an incredibly memorable cold open, with the band pulling out a few trickier, more syncopated riffs midway through to keep things interesting. But the real meat of the album is yet to come; while Smith’s voice continues to soar its way through one impossibly catchy, borderline saccharine chorus after another, to the point where I still hum bits of “Wolf Fang Fist!” or “Astronaut” to myself at random moments, there’s an ever-present undercurrent of wonderfully intricate musicianship that adds a delightful layer of spice. Nearly every song is chock-full of tricky little arpeggiated sonic delights shoved into every gap in its structure, like chocolate chips into a cookie. Sometimes it’s subtle, like Derek Tanch’s crazed piano runs embedded somewhat low in the mix on “The Spinz” or the surprisingly complex jazz harmonies that form the backbone of the sunny-sounding “Dope Shades”. Other times, it’s significantly more obvious, such as the explosive bursts of crunchy riffs and flurries of synth in “That’s a Chunky” or the absurdly noodly, yet somehow fitting, guitar leads from Anthony Puliafico that suffuse the choruses of “Make Like a Tree (And Leave)”.¹ Every time listeners may, for even a second, be led astray by the band’s considerable power-pop prowess into forgetting that this is indeed a prog act, they’re struck with another intricate unison run, abrupt tempo shift, or even a full-on five minute instrumental workout in the form of the complex yet tight “Oat Roper”. 

Still, that isn’t the only balancing act that Professor Caffeine pulls off with aplomb here; in addition to hooks versus complexity, this album also walks a tonal razor’s edge between light and darkness. Skeptical readers may have read some of the admittedly rather silly song titles above, alongside the somewhat quirky band name, and written them off as just a goofy comedy band. Rest assured, that is decidedly not the case here. Lyrically, many of the songs deal with rather depressing subject matter, such as life-threatening health issues (“The Spinz”) and a loved one’s opioid addiction (“Make Like a Tree (and Leave)”). A fair few definitely feel like they’re touching upon either a very rough breakup or the otherwise sudden absence of someone who was once close (“Brockton Panda”, “Dope Shades”, “Astronaut”, “That’s a Chunky”), and the resulting emotional devastation that leads to an inability to move on or open up. Thus, the frivolous, jokey titles and poppy, sing-along melodies feel more like a way to keep some distance, a bit of levity in an attempt to laugh off the ghosts that haunt the deepest corners of one’s psyche. The only exception is “Wolf Fang Fist!”, a light-hearted (if overdramatic) ode to a game of fetch with a dog, but here, too, there is contrast, with towering, gnarly odd-time riffs, abrupt blasts of dissonance, and out-of-nowhere Latin rhythms making that game of fetch sound like a battle for the fate of the universe. This constant game of tonal push and pull means that, when the music and lyrics fully align in purpose, it feels special. Take the soaringly melancholy ode to isolation “Astronaut”, whose immense final chorus fades into a lighters-in-the-air a cappella singalong with a pair of intertwining melodies. Or the way “Make Like A Tree” crashes out from its frenetic instrumental crescendo into a gorgeously soft piano-led bridge, growing to a set of increasingly anguished choruses as the speaker’s drug-addicted loved one is cut loose to meet their final fate.

Still, given the album’s unapologetic lean into both the bitter and the sweet, there are inevitably a couple sour notes as well. For example, ending “Brockton Panda” with a bunch of children screaming “WAKE UP EVERYBODY! IT’S TIME TO START THE RECORD!”, while an effective way to let us know that it is, indeed, time to start the record, comes off a bit obnoxious nonetheless. And though I, as an enjoyer of classic Rush and Coheed, am fine with frontmen who sound like they walked into the studio huffing a can or two of helium, some of Smith’s absolute highest notes do end up feeling a bit abrasive tonally. My biggest issue, though, comes with “Unreal Big Fish”, a relatively simple acoustic ditty at the album’s midpoint. While its “la-di-di-da” chorus is certainly catchy enough, and one could argue the album needed a “pure pop” song to balance out the outright prog of “Oat Roper”, it all feels a tad dull and hollow without the wild instrumental twists and proggy noodling that added so much flavor to the rest of the album. Lyrically, too, it feels out of place; it’s a takedown of a superficial, narcissistic individual whose namechecking of their “Instagram-perfect” image kinda feels like Steven Wilson singing about being “tired of Facebook”. Amidst all the other songs that expertly balance lighthearted fun with deep-seated melancholy, this manages neither, merely coming off as petty and a bit smug.

Take that one song out, though, and this is a near-perfect gem of a debut, one that blindsided me when I first stumbled across it in my Spotify recs midway through the year and hasn’t left rotation since. It’s fitting for an album this overstuffed with goodness that I still feel like there are bits I haven’t managed to praise yet- like Smith’s killer bass parts, many of which are intricate enough it’s a wonder he can sing and play them live, or the darkly beautiful closing ballad “Mr. Sleep”, or the production, or, or… But suffice it to say, Professor Caffeine have thoroughly impressed me here, and any fan of music that is unashamedly poppy yet still complex and powerfully emotional owes it to themselves to check it out as well. Whatever the Professor’s next creation may be, I anticipate it bringing many sleepless nights.

Recommended tracks: Wolf Fang Fist!, Astronaut, That’s a Chunky, Make Like a Tree (and Leave)
You may also like: Moron Police, Kyros, Elephant Planet, We broke the weather
Final verdict: 8/10

Related links: Bandcamp | Spotify | Facebook | Instagram

Professor Caffeine & the Insecurities is:
– Dan Smith (vocals, bass)
– Anthony Puliafico (guitars)
– Jay Driscoll (guitars)
– Derek Tanch (keyboards)
– Ken Dellot (drums)

1. Real original title, guys. ︎

The post Missed Album Review: Professor Caffeine & the Insecurities – Professor Caffeine & the Insecurities appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Album art by Scott Siskind

Style: art rock, progressive rock (clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Radiohead, Steven Wilson, The Dear Hunter, Björk
Country: USA (Massachusetts)
Release date: 30 August 2024

By all rights, I shouldn’t be writing this review. This is for two reasons—one, we currently only cover bands with a sufficiently small Spotify monthly listener count here at the Subway, and a band with Bent Knee‘s discography and level of esteem in the prog scene should, in any just world, be well above that threshold. Two, though, is that I’m somewhat surprised that this album exists at all. When last we heard from Bent Knee, they were reeling from the departure of longtime members Ben Levin and Jessica Kion, major creative forces within the band that would prove impossible to replace. Not only that, but they had just come off of releasing Frosting, a creatively-confused mess of an album whose experimentations in hyperpop yielded… mixed results at best. And yet, despite the odds against them, the band soldiered on as a four-piece: rearranging old music, picking up new instruments, and roaring back with a brand-new opus that grapples with the anxieties and coping mechanisms that come with life’s irreversible changes.

With the new, stripped-down version of Bent Knee, their sound has evolved to perhaps its most accessible iteration yet. Don’t get me wrong—they’re still as intriguingly uncategorizable as ever with their mix of In Rainbows-esque electronic art rock, propulsive funk-adjacent grooves, layered symphonic strings, and soft, vulnerable balladry. But the abrasive, experimental edges that characterized much of their previous work are decidedly less evident here; there are no unhinged vocal wails, no walls of noise or imposing dissonances. Still, their more offbeat sensibilities haven’t been abandoned so much as mixed smoothly and unobtrusively into their sound, like a shot of harsh vodka blended seamlessly into a delicious cocktail. Courtney Swain may not screech all the way up to the absolute peaks of her vocal range anymore, but her signature agility is still ever-present, and when she does go for the high notes, like in proper opener “Forest”, they radiate clarity, intentionality, and raw power. The instrumentals follow, with ideas like the dissonant quirky riff to “Illiterate” being folded into taut, elastic grooves and the more abstract bits of sound design being relegated to brief, palate-cleansing interludes like “Comet” or the instrumental bookends “Enter” and “Exit”. They’ve put the songs first here, and it pays off in dividends.

Part of what makes Twenty Pills so accessible is that, perhaps more than any other Bent Knee album thus far, it has bops. Sure, they’re no strangers to playfulness (as anyone who’s attended one of their live shows can attest), but seldom has their music exuded as much sass and energy as some of the tracks on here. I’ve already mentioned “Illiterate”, but it’s probably the clearest demonstration of how much fun the band is having, with its snappy alternating short-long phrases punctuated by bass slides and tight percussion from the ever-reliable Gavin Wallace-Ailsworth. There’s also “I Like It”, which ratchets up from burbling, understated synths to a riotous, sensual jam overloaded with strings, or the absolutely genius switchup in tempo midway through “DLWTSB”. My personal favorite, though, is “Never Coming Home”, with an excellent bassline that pops out of the mix and makes it absurdly danceable, to the point where my head involuntarily bobs along to the beat every time it comes on. Lyrically, it feels like the heart of the album’s themes, with the motif of “never coming home” appearing in multiple other songs, each time finding a different emotional facet of the notion that things will never be quite the way they were. Combine that with its earworm of a hook and the intricate sonic layers beneath the surface that seem to reveal new facets with every listen, and it’s safe to say we’ve got one of the best songs of the year.

Still, at their core, beneath all the fun and quirky vibes, perhaps Bent Knee‘s greatest strength has always been taking the listener’s heart and ripping it straight out of their goddamn chest. That too is on full display here—Twenty Pills is, I would argue, the band’s most powerfully heartwrenching work since their 2014 masterpiece Shiny Eyed Babies. But said emotionality takes on a wholly different flavor here; while Shiny Eyed Babies was a barely restrained scream into the void from behind gritted teeth, this time around the sadness feels more mature and tempered—the melancholy, teary-eyed sigh of a grown adult looking back on what could have been and what can no longer be. Take “Big Bagel Manifesto”, a hauntingly gorgeous triumph of sonic engineering and dynamic buildup that says more with its lyric-adjacent nonsense than words ever could. Or “Drowning”, six and a half minutes of pure heartache distilled into a delirious, weightless waltz with some of the most striking lyrics on the record. “Lawnmower”, meanwhile, starts as a hushed, Phoebe Bridgers-influenced ode to tranquil country life, but it becomes apparent that said tranquility is an attempt to rebuild from a deeply painful loss as noisy guitars crash their way in, with Swain belting out how she’s “never moving on”. Even the more energetic tunes have a deep vein of melancholy running through them, their vibrant grooves coming off as coping mechanisms to stave off feelings of emptiness, whether that takes the form of sex, TV, or aimless nighttime drives.

Of course, this album isn’t quite perfect. While the goofy mid-album country tune “Cowboy” has grown on me slightly with its uncanny production that makes it sound like said cowboy is being sucked into some eldritch void, it still feels like a pointless throwaway piece that accidentally made it off the cutting room floor. The pacing, too, begins to flag towards the back half of the album; while “Drowning” and “Lawnmower” are both gorgeous ballads on an individual level, placing them back to back makes for ten straight minutes of lower-energy music that only ends with the latter’s loud outro, and it starts to feel like a bit of a drag. Putting another uptempo track between the two would have done a great deal to keep the album flowing more smoothly. 

Regardless of these nitpicks, it’s hard to see Twenty Pills Without Water as anything less than a brilliant comeback, and one of the best albums in Bent Knee‘s discography. In (non-outro) closer “DLWTSB” (short for “Detroit Lions Win the Super Bowl”), the lyrics reflect on being a fan of a losing sports team, sticking with them through their worst moments and hoping against hope that today will be the day they’ll turn things around, even though logically you know it probably won’t. In its own way, it sends a message of hope—the good things in life may be impermanent, but so too are our low points. Things may not get better today, or even tomorrow, but this too shall someday pass, and for now, all you can do is cheer your heart out. Eventually, that team will snap its losing streak, the pain of losing a loved one will fade, and an embattled four-piece art rock band will, it turns out, roar back with something truly special. The greatest narrative, indeed.

Recommended tracks: Illiterate, Big Bagel Manifesto, Never Coming Home, Drowning
You may also like: Meer, Ophelia Sullivan, i Häxa, Marjana Semkina
Final verdict: 8.5/10

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

Label: Take This to Heart Records – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Bent Knee is:
– Courtney Swain (lead vocals, keyboards, bass)
– Chris Baum (violin, guitars, backing vocals)
– Vince Welch (guitars, bass, synth, production)
– Gavin Wallace-Ailsworth (drums, vocals and acoustic guitar on “Cowboy”)

The post Missed Album Review: Bent Knee – Twenty Pills Without Water appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Avant-garde Metal, Experimental Rock, Progressive Metal, Post-metal (Mixed vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Oranssi Pazuzu, black midi, King Crimson
Review by: Dave
Country: Connecticut, United States
Release date: 30 August 2013

As alluded to in my Alora Crucible review, I have a complicated relationship with Kayo Dot’s music. I have great respect for Toby Driver and his visionary avant-garde compositions, but Kayo Dot makes many musical choices that are fundamentally opposed to my taste, utilizing tools that conjure an inexplicable discomfort, with releases like Moss Grew on the Swords and Plowshares Alike’s eldritch chord choices and surreal dissonance making me dissociate from abject unease on first listen. Today, however, I would like to extend an olive branch to Toby Driver and Kayo Dot’s fans by exploring the appeal of one of his longest, most acclaimed, and most inscrutable pieces: Hubardo. This is the album I am most familiar with, being recommended “And He Built Him a Boat” in 2014 and subsequently slamming my head into a wall trying to understand Hubardo as a whole, failing spectacularly with each listen. But the days of slamming my head against a wall are over: today, we’re going to dissect this ninety-eight-minute piece and garner an understanding of what makes it so beloved by its fans. Let’s grow together, and discover once and for all how Hubardo became a landmark in avant-garde metal.

So what does such a supposedly weird and inscrutable album sound like? Across its mammoth runtime, one can expect to hear avant-garde metal of all kinds: soundscapes carved out of drums and bass, blisteringly intense walls of sound at the hands of shrieking guitars, saxophones, and drums, and smooth, gentle orchestration that delicately interplays synthesizers and strings, among other styles. What brings all of these disparate elements together, however, is the underlying story, a testament to the mutual love between the outcast and the bizarre. Hubardo begins on a stormy evening in a secluded forest village where a mysterious stone called the Eye of Leviathan falls from the sky. Upon the Eye’s discovery, the townspeople are repulsed and disgusted by it, save for a young, lonely poet, who is enchanted by the Eye and is compelled to steal it away, becoming manically obsessed with its properties. Fixated on the idea that there is a seed inside the stone, he plants and cultivates it, waking up the next day to an enormous roaring river in its stead. He then builds a boat to follow the river to its end, leading him into the sky and up to a gate which he cannot pass. The poet wastes away in front of the gate, and another Eye falls to Earth once more to repeat the cycle.

From its beginning moments, Hubardo establishes its themes of unease and the severe psychological effects of incomprehensible events. Opener “The Black Stone” betrays discomfort as guttural harsh vocals are dotted by sparse rushing drum beats, frantic trembling bass, and myriad eerie squeals; beautiful strings emerge briefly through these uncomfortable elements. The deconstructed atmospherics wax and wane for six minutes before coalescing into something with more standard musical structure, upon which a dour and tense atmosphere mounts as the track morphs into a climactic mix of post-rock and black metal. Things seldom get more optimistic from there, as the story writhes and contorts like the storm that bore the Eye of Leviathan around ideas of terrifying spectacle and enchantment. The beginning half of “Crown-In-the-Muck” is serene and tranquil but the latter half holds a mirror to the townspeoples’ hatred of this terrifying stone; following track “Thief” lives exclusively in psychedelic paranoia as reality warps around pedal guitars and chaotic saxophones, accented by maddened screams and clean vocals expressing visions of unknowable beauty; and “Vision Adjustment to Another Wavelength” burns your senses with its sudden and abstract terror as the protagonist becomes more and more drawn to his stolen jewel before collapsing into what can only be described as the smooth jazz played in the waiting room of Hell.

However, not all of Hubardo is a pummeling assault of the senses at the hands of mind-warping objects. Halfway through the album, two glorious palate cleansers are introduced: “The First Matter (Saturn in the Guise of Sadness)” is a chilled-out contemplation in the style of Pink Floyd, gentle drums leading warbly synthesizers across a still pond reflecting gentle moonlight before picking up a touch of speed in the final stretches; follow-up “The Second Operation (Lunar Water)” is likely the most gorgeous track of the album, our attention redirected to blooming flowers and silvery nighttime tranquility as delicate piano and strings dance around each other gingerly. Don’t be misled, though, there is still an eerie undertone to these pieces, primarily in Driver’s vocal delivery and the use of strange chord choices in backing vocals, but the two tracks deliver in tandem a necessary and overall pleasant respite from the intensity bubbling underneath before having our skulls smashed in by “Floodgate,” one of Hubardo’s most panicked and severe moments.

Other tracks escape Driver’s characteristic eldritch soundscapes and deliver grand and cinematic moments, such as the towering post-metal piece “And He Built Him a Boat,” which showcases some of Driver’s most triumphant vocal lines overtop of hypnotic drum patterns and spacious guitarwork bookended by walls of sound. Heavenly closer “The Wait of the World” is a satisfying end to this reality-shattering journey, beginning with smooth saxophone exploration that gets bent and twisted by buzzing guitars and frantic percussion before settling into soft reverberating vocals pitted against tense drumwork, building and flagging in intensity until Hubardo’s sudden crumbling end. These grander moments juxtaposed with raw intensity and placid contemplations betray the narrative depth on display and emulate what are very real reactions to such a bizarre and otherworldly turn of events, starting with the dour storm from which the Eye of Leviathan came to the manic desire and abject panic caused by the Eye to the catharsis and peace brought upon by the poet’s contented resolution, therein lying the genius of Hubardo: its story manages to balance the real and the surreal in a way that is logical and understandable.

I don’t know if I’ll ever truly and unconditionally love Hubardo, but it is an album that I have marveled at for a decade now, equally disgusted by and curious about its reality-warping sheen, desperate to understand it at its core. That alone should signal Hubardo’s merit as an artistic piece, as it makes me eager to see the artist’s point of view and forces me to examine my values as a music listener. Regardless of my personal relationship with Kayo Dot’s music, Hubardo is a masterwork in suspenseful quasi-horror storytelling, with narratively consonant musical movements delivered in a spectacularly paced package. Despite its goal to unsettle and intrigue, it never wholly overwhelms the listener, and even features many moments that are undeniably glorious and triumphant, along with others that are a soothing balm among the madness. If you’ve got a spare two hours to just get weird with an album, then pick up Hubardo and enjoy one of Toby Driver’s most bizarre, intense, and ultimately human pieces.

Recommended Tracks: And He Built Him a Boat, Zlida Caosgi, The Second Operation (Lunar Water)
You may also like: maudlin of the Well, Ved Buens Ende….., Virus

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

Label: Ice Level Music – Bandcamp | Facebook

Kayo Dot is:
– Toby Driver (vocals, bass, keyboards)
– Keith Abrams (drums)
– Ron Varod (guitars)
– Daniel Means (saxophone, clarinet)
– Terran Olson (woodwinds, keyboards)
– Tim Byrnes (brass)
– Mia Matsumiya (violin)

The post Lost In Time: Kayo Dot – Hubardo appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Neofolk, Tribal Ambient, Neoclassical New Age (Clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Jeremy Soule, Nature and Organisation, literally any of Toby Driver’s projects
Review by: Dave
Country: Connecticut, United States
Release date: 8 August 2024

What do you get when you take a Toby Driver project, strip away the metallic viscera of Kayo Dot, deconstruct the moody Radiohead-meets-post-hardcore sensibilities of Maudlin of the Well, and forego the horrifying imagery of solo work like In the L…L…Library Loft? The end result is Alora Crucible, a Toby Driver project focused less on outwardly intense expression and dedicated to exploring softer orchestral ideas. Debut Thymiamatascension combined new-age sensibilities with touches of post-rock, coming across as the soundtrack to arcane alchemical experimentation akin to tracks like “The Second Operation (Lunar Water)” from Kayo Dot’s Hubardo. Follow-up release Oak Lace Apparition teases the listener with imagery of oaken specters and album art of a looming spherical creature among a gray forest. Does Alora Crucible’s latest exist in a similarly tranquil space as previous output or has the project adopted Driver’s familiar taste for the uncanny?

Oak Lace Apparition eschews the post-rock elements of Thymiamatascension and focuses instead on textured orchestral new-age soundscapes and hypnotic tribal ambient vignettes, manifesting as raw animist neofolk seeking to explore mystical otherworlds nested in the most secluded corners of the forest, featuring the lush impressionist meandering found in Jeremy Soule-style soundtracks combined with the focus on strings present in Musk Ox’s output. An effervescent natural beauty is present across Oak Lace Apparition, accompanied by hints of dissonance created by exceedingly bright chord choices underlying much of the string orchestration. A veritable spectrum of greens are used to paint forest imagery contrasted by stark shadows on “Amongst Ewdendrift a Corridor,” established with a hypnotic plucked motif that is occasionally accented by sharp string instrumentation that is almost overwhelming in its lusciousness; opener “Through the mist, a peak of icy water; where can I find you, pelagian bird?,” gently rocks back and forth between dynamic extremes as moments of woodland serenity are bookended by moments of trees thrashing in unison as unnaturally powerful gusts push over the forest like fingers brushing over high pile carpet; and “Cenote Vacío” sees the listener hunched over a placid river as sparse instrumentation creates a gentle, pillowy backdrop to spoken word poetry.

At times, the oversaturated imagery can be almost too much to take in. Closer “I Destination” is a sixteen-minute piece carried by the discordant wail of bright violins, ebbing and flowing from foreground to background as other motifs and voices overlap in melodious cacophony for brief moments before being swallowed up by the original violin motif, an experience akin to a warm embrace of light beaming from an impossibly beautiful eldritch god, terrifying in its splendor. The gentle chanting of “I destination…” augments this terror further, signaling to the listener that following this light will lead to the end, but the end of what exactly is hard to say: all that is revealed at the end of this piece is a metallic-yet-organic chirping sound that fizzles out, bringing the experience to a cathartic albeit unsettling close as whatever was beckoning to you has finally met you face-to-face.

Therein lies my biggest hurdle when listening to Oak Lace Apparition, and many other Toby Driver projects: it tends to veer too far into these worldly-yet-otherworldly soundscapes, leaving the listener to meander hopelessly around unsettling instrumentation. A core element that draws me so intensely to  dark/neofolk is its ability to foster a deep connection to the natural world, and when Oak Lace Apparition paints the forest as so beautiful that the beauty turns into hostility, the listen becomes uncomfortable and the connection to nature is ruptured, in the process dragging out these unenjoyable ideas over tracks that are, save for one, eight minutes or longer. This is not to detract from the genuinely serene moments, however, as tracks that feature just a touch of dissonance like “Amongst Ewdendrift a Corridor,” “Spindle’s Whorl,” and “Unseen Ending in the Grass Above” are at their core touching and gorgeous, showing a tasteful balance between that which is grounded in reality and that which is unknowable.

Like many Toby Driver projects, I have a complicated relationship with Oak Lace Apparition: I find many moments to be beautiful, too beautiful even, to the point of making my skin crawl. There is a familiar and worldly musical base that is undeniably lush and texturally rich, and at the same time, the entire package is laced in quasi-eldritch dissonance, the end result a hyper-vivid simulacrum of reality that is fundamentally altered from its source material, and that, frankly, freaks me the hell out. If that is an experience that intrigues you, then I urge you to give Oak Lace Apparition a listen, but if you are less comfortable with experiences that feel like your understanding of reality is being pushed, then look to more standard folk output like Ulver‘s Kveldssanger or Musk Ox‘s Woodfall.

Recommended tracks: Amidst Ewdendrift a Corridor, Cenote Vacío, Unseen Ending in the Grass Above, Spindle’s Whorl
You may also like: Geinoh Yamashigurumi, Stephan Micus, Musk Ox
Final verdict: 7/10

Related links: Bandcamp | Spotify | Facebook | RateYourMusic page

Label: House of Mythology – Official Site | Bandcamp | Facebook

Alora Crucible is:
– Toby Driver (vocals, hammered dulcimer)
– Timba Harris (violin)
– Cristina Pérez (piano, synthesizer)

The post Review: Alora Crucible – Oak Lace Apparition appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Art Rock, Indie Rock, Avant-Garde (clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: The Dear Hunter, The Mars Volta, Thank You Scientist, Radiohead, Joanna Newsom
Country: Massachusetts, USA
Release date: 11 November 2014

Berklee College of Music; Boston, Massachusetts; 2009. Singer and pianist Courtney Swain meets guitarist Ben Levin and the two decide to collaborate, mashing their names together—Ben-tney—to form Bent Knee. Quickly swelling to a sextet, this coterie of music nerds, quietly collaborating on their idiosyncratic compositions amid the jazz prodigies and virtuoso players surely couldn’t have anticipated how strangely large their impact would one day be on the progressive music scene. 

Describing Bent Knee is a challenge; they’re not a prog band per se, though they’ve been welcomed with open arms by the prog community, touring with Leprous, Haken, Thank You Scientist, and even The Dillinger Escape Plan. Vocalist and keyboardist Courtney Swain’s unique timbre has shades of Joanna Newsom but with about a million kilojoules more force, and one can’t help but link the strange time signatures, pianocentric compositions, replete with strings and ambience, to In Rainbows-era Radiohead, too. And yet Bent Knee send the heaviness and strangeness off the charts, touching upon a sound akin to artists such as King Crimson, Björk, and Queens of the Stone Age, yet stemming from a melange of influences from pop, avant-garde, classical, improv, musical theatre, prog, and much more.

After their DIY debut self-titled work three years earlier, Shiny Eyed Babies was a defiant announcement of Bent Knee’s arrival. After the deceptively whimsical piano ditty that comprises the introductory title track comes the ominous stomp of ecologically-minded excoriation “Way Too Long”, apocalyptically climaxing with nightmarish organ, Courtney becoming a sonic maelstrom, Gavin Wallace-Ailsworth absolutely mullering the drumkit while Ben and Jess Kion’s angular riffs cut beneath. I don’t know that Bent Knee have ever written anything as heavy since (“Lovemenot” from You Know What They Mean comes closest). 

“Way Too Long” certainly sets the tone. Shiny Eyed Babies is boldly off-kilter, and even the more straightforward tracks swerve into moments of metallic heaviness and experimental weirdness. “Dry” resolves itself into a noisy crescendo of grating piano, sax and synthetic distortions (as does “Skin”), Courtney literally screaming the chorus over the top. Chris Baum teases with his slowly intensifying, folk-tinged violin work on “Sunshine” which ultimately explodes into a screeching refrain of the old-time folk standard “You Are My Sunshine”, ending mid-refrain to physically wrench the light away from the listener. “Being Human” plays with consonance and dissonance, almost tearing beyond breaking point as Courtney repeatedly intones “I imagine your dead body” with increasing fanaticism before the song manages to get over its dissociative episode. The genius of Bent Knee is that they’re well-versed in the minutiae of songwriting to chip away at those familiar conventions in real time. Just as the original run of Twin Peaks was almost a soap opera except for the frequent moments of hysterical cosmic horror inflected weirdness, so Bent Knee are almost an accessible rock band except everything they do pushes at boundaries—the tinkering of Berklee alums at their most mischievous. 

That’s not to say there isn’t lightness to be found here, as in the more orchestral atmospheres of “I’m Still Here” accented by Jessica’s mellifluous backing vocals, the picaresque, electronica-tinged verses of “Dead Horse” (contrasted, of course, by deeply emotive lyrics) or the bouncier tone of “Skin” (which resolves into an ominous horn groove). Bent Knee are dynamics royalty—”Sunshine” alone is proof positive of that, the gradual increase in intensity and volume contributing to the emotional force of the climax—and they sojourn from moments of sublimity and vulnerability (such as the “Center of attention…” refrain on “In God We Trust”) to outrageous raucousness ala “Way Too Long”. Vince Welch, who handles production and mixing, as well as synthesisers, is a large part of that, mixing the many elements of the band in a way that lovingly cares for every texture—god knows I’ve listened to many an album where bass or violin were pushed back so far in the mix as to be irrelevant, but here they’re indelible components within a capacious musical tapestry. 

Shiny Eyed Babies celebrates its tenth anniversary a little later this year, and Bent Knee have come a long way since. Courtney has remained a relentlessly prolific artist, juggling collaborations (notably with Car Bomb and Haken) and a solo career, and—somewhat improbably—rearranged a Philip Glass piece for the TV show Bob’s Burgers. Gavin works on many of the other members’ side projects as well as teaching drums and guitar on the side, while Vince similarly teaches mixing and production whilst undertaking such duties for his bandmates and others solo projects. Ben is a workhorse, too, with a dizzying amount of solo work to his name, and contributing to a number of other projects including Einar Solberg’s and Richard Henshall’s solo albums (the latter of which Jess and Chris also appeared on). Jess dabbles in the visual arts alongside her solo music project Justice Cow, and Chris has contributed strings and orchestration to a number of excellent albums, including Leprous’ latest efforts and the new Ihsahn album. Bent Knee’s trojan influence is insidiously brilliant, their zany academic brilliance making itself known in the most unexpected of places. They aren’t and never have been a capital-P prog band, but this well-synchronised agglomeration of trained musicians have struck upon gold again and again, and that speaks to a progressive sensibility that catches the ear of listeners and fellow musicians alike who can feel the intuition and expertise in every note. 

I discovered Bent Knee when 2017’s Land Animal dropped and that remained my favourite of their works for some time, but Shiny Eyed Babies snuck up on me, its rawness, sincerity, and uncompromising eccentricity always pulling me back in. But Bent Knee have dared to evolve with every release, exploring a more noise rock style on You Know What They Mean, dabbling in hyperpop on Frosting, and going indie on Say So. Not every evolution will satisfy every fan, but their consistent experimentation shows that their talent is matched only by their ambition. That’s the key to their success, an inimitable voice in the progressive field, and though Jess and Ben have since left, I have total faith that Courtney, Chris, Gavin and Vince will have much more to show us later this year when their seventh album, Twenty Pills Without Water, releases. You can’t keep ‘em down.

Recommended tracks: Way Too Long, Sunshine, Battle Creek, Skin, Being Human
You may also like: Meer, Ophelia Sullivan, i Häxa, Marjana Semkina

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

Label: Shiny Eyed Babies was independently released.

Bent Knee is:
– Courtney Swain (vocals, keyboards)
– Ben Levin (guitars)
– Jessica Kion (bass, vocals)
– Chris Baum (violin)
– Gavin Wallace-Ailsworth (drums)
– Vince Welch (production, sound design)

The post Lost in Time: Bent Knee – Shiny Eyed Babies appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style:  Prog Rock, Psychedelic Rock, Math Rock, Jazz Fusion, “Garage Prog” (clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: The Mars Volta, Thank You Scientist, Closure in Moscow, Mr. Bungle
Country: United States – MA
Release date: 14 June 2024

In today’s streaming era, many have contended that genre is “dead”, but I wouldn’t quite agree. Just because artists and listeners alike are less pressured into certain boxes doesn’t mean that the sonic palettes of genre aren’t still there to draw from. If painters can mix their pigments, that doesn’t make color “dead”, now does it? And now, here to craft their own unique blend of musical hues, we have Boston’s own we broke the weather. Claiming influences ranging from jazz fusion to psych rock and doom metal, they have given their style the intriguing, almost self-contradictory moniker of “garage prog”. It’s an interesting label, combining the rough-and-ready, unpretentious connotations of garage rock with the heady, intricate, and often quite pretentious realm of prog. But how do they make it all work out?

For the most part, the answer is “Quite well, actually”. While the approach taken on Restart Game is indeed quite diverse—it’s got complex mathy touches, headbanging, hooky choruses, spacey interludes, and not one but two saxophones—they shift between different elements adeptly, making sure that they’re not throwing too much into the mix at once. Over the course of the album’s svelte sub-40 minute runtime, the band pull off numerous outright bangers, each of which offers its own set of twists and turns. From the way the sunny, uptempo riffs of “Lake St. George” shift into a more unsettled, tempestuous mood and back again to the way closer “Cycles” builds from a calm, reserved groove to a ferocious freakout of a solo section, there’s a surfeit of inspired ideas on display here. The most resounding success, though, comes with lead single “Marionette”, which busts down the gate with a sax riff that can only be described as “skronky” before storming through a set of hard-charging, organ-driven verses into one of the most energetic and undeniably catchy choruses I’ve heard all year. Combine that with the killer contrast and buildup from the acoustic guitar-led bridge, and it’s a shining example of what we broke the weather sound like when they fire on all cylinders.

As it turns out, the “garage” in “garage prog” manifests itself in a sort of looseness in the band’s playing, a willingness to exchange a bit of the sheen of clockwork perfection favored by some other prog bands for more of a gritty, immediate, “live” feel. While this approach does have its drawbacks, it does make the more upbeat tracks hit with an infectious energy that makes me think these guys would be great to see in person. Of course, the “prog” element is still here in full force, with odd meters and virtuosic solo work aplenty, but the scrappy, garage-y nature of it all keeps things from feeling too self-indulgent. In fact, the performances are rock solid across the board, though I have to give special mention to Kev DiTroia’s lead guitar, which manages to capture both the tons-of-notes complexity of prog and a more primal, rock-out energy in a way reminiscent of Rush‘s own Alex Lifeson. Vocal duties are shared among three members, and though drummer Andy Clark has the most distinct tone, lending his reedy, Jon Anderson-esque tenor to “Lake St. George”, cofounders and co-saxophonists Nick Cusworth and Scott Wood put in some nice vocal work as well. And of course, Cusworth and Wood also provide ample layers of excellently played woodwinds, which lend a jazzy, Thank You Scientist-type feel to the album and often trade solos with DiTroia’s guitar.

Still, I mentioned there were drawbacks to the whole “garage” approach, and chief among them is the fact that, while the looser vibe works great for crafting powerful, hard-charging prog rock jams, it tends to be a bit hit-or-miss when it comes to the spacier, more out-there side of we broke the weather‘s sound. This dichotomy is particularly apparent in the nearly nine-minute opener “Vestige”, which starts off promisingly with a commanding “whoa-oh-oh” from Cusworth over layers of guitars, evolving through intricate sax-and-mallet-percussion melody lines and slower, melancholic verses. But it all goes a bit sour during the song’s midsection, when the band attempt a layering buildup from a single isolated synth line. They’re evidently trying for a sort of Gentle Giant-style interlocking polyrhythm of instruments and voices, but the problem is the parts are just sort of slapped on with little in the way of rhyme or reason. Heavy guitar chords and dissonant vocal parts enter and exit out of nowhere as if the band accidentally recorded some parts with the wrong tape speed, and the end result is something of a train wreck. And then, as if to remind us that these guys are actually talented, the song ends with Steve Muscari grinding out a punchy, kickass fuzz bass riff as DiTroia unleashes a wonderfully shreddy solo over the top. A jarring contrast, to say the least. 

Of course, this isn’t to say that the slow parts are all inferior—”Sevenseas” is a nicely foreboding slow burn with a strong payoff—but on the whole the album could have done with a bit more polish, and the cracks are more noticeable when things slow down. It shows in the little things, like how some of the individual parts don’t quite have their beats synced with one another (most notably in “Heavens Were a Bell”). It shows in the odd production misfire of having Clark’s drums sound anemic and undermixed, neutering his otherwise-strong performances and making the many dynamic contrasts throughout the album not land as hard as they could have. There’s also the poorly-considered “Aromatic Decay”, a languid, strummed guitar instrumental with a few unsettling synth bits thrown in that, at over three minutes, is too long to be a simple interlude, yet it doesn’t have enough drive or melodic variety to stand on its own as an instrumental track. It comes off as filler, which isn’t a good sign for an album with seven songs and a 39-minute runtime.

Despite these complaints, though, I quite liked my time with Restart Game. It’s a generally well-played album in a style I enjoy, from a band with an original sound and a clear abundance of talent and passion; an album whose alternating vibes of creeping dread and triumphant defiance effectively match the lyrical subject matter of dealing with the anxiety, uncertainty, and general psychic trauma inflicted upon us by Covid, climate change, et cetera. But this emotionality and talent hasn’t been refined quite as well as it could have, and it’s disappointing to see a group with the potential to make something incredible stumble at the finish line to make something that’s just good. These guys are still early in their career as a band, though, and the title of the album offers a certain degree of hope. They’ve cleared the game well enough already, but if they restart, I have faith that they can go for the high score.

Recommended tracks: Lake St. George, Marionette, Sevenseas, Cycles
You may also like: Karmic Juggernaut, Eunuchs
Final verdict: 7/10

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

Label: Argonauta Records – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

we broke the weather is:
– Andy Clark (drums, vocals, percussion)
– Kev DiTroia (guitars, percussion, synthesizers)
– Nick Cusworth (keys, synthesizers, vocals, tenor sax, flute)
– Scott Wood (guitars, vocals, alto sax, percussion)
– Steve Muscari (bass, guitar, synthesizers)

The post Review: We broke the weather – Restart Game appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: technical death metal (mostly harsh vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Vale of Pnath, Archspire, Revocation, Black Crown Initiate
Country: United States-MA
Release date: 21 June 2024

Flashback to March 2017: I was finishing up middle school and Dream Theater’s biggest fan, scanning metal blogs for other things with similar amounts of technical mastery—“most technical metal song” and “best metal guitar solos” were regulars in my Google search history. That’s how I was introduced to Replacire’s “Spider Song.” Note, this was mere months after finding Opeth and still before I more than tolerated harsh vocals¹, yet the guitar solo at 3:00 (and edgy but cool lyrics during the clean vocal sections) was enough to sell me on the track, and a love for tech death was born. Pushing through the harsh vocals on “Spider Song” was a key step in my metal journey as unconventional as a first tech death song as it is. Seven years later and my taste is well-honed, having heard hundreds of tech death albums as well as just about every major metal album ever, and Replacire are following up Do Not Deviate. I have a fond nostalgia for that album, so does The Center That Cannot Hold stand up by its own merit?

For older fans of the band, Replacire still have the same rhythmic, knotty technicality, feverish drums and intricate guitars. As soon as the album begins, Replacire sound like a mix of Vale of Pnath, Archspire, and Revocation with an endless supply of hyperspeed chugs meeting Poh Hock’s (Native Construct) ungodly guitar leads—and even if you’re surprised that Poh Hock plays in this style, you surely aren’t surprised at how insane the skills he flexes are. New in studio for the band, James Dorton (Black Crown Initiate, The Faceless) fits the band like a glove, his powerful harshes spanning the full vocal range, testing the limits of the human pharynx. Also pushing corporeal limits is Joey Ferretti on the drums, who provides the foundation of Replacire’s sound; uncompromisingly groovy in any time signature, Ferretti scurries around the kit endlessly and impossibly fast with as much energy as I’ve ever heard. It sounds as if he’s about to hit a hole right through his drums so hard does he bang them, yet he never sacrifices disgustingly tight precision, especially with his footwork.

Completely straight edge tech death this is not. Although Replacire never stray far from technical death metal, they incorporate enough tangential influences as to remain consistently engaging, be it the Revocation-y thrash riffs of “Living Hell,” the unhinged guitar effects and mathcore of “The Helix Unravels,” the ending breakdowns (“Living Hell,” “A Fine Manipulation,” “Hoard the Trauma Like Wealth”), or the particularly notable morose singing. The album is an uncomfortably dense forty-four minutes—Replacire should have gone for the Archspire “less is more” album-length effect—but despite the lack of breathing room, The Center That Cannot Hold is thoughtfully varied throughout. I do wish some influences were more prominent, mostly that Poh Hock got the opportunity to more frequently solo and riff melodically rather than rhythmically, but the drum-forward aural attack of Replacire is addicting.

Mixed and mastered by the masterful hand of Jens Bogren, The Center That Cannot Hold sounds burly compared to Replacire’s previous efforts, and minutiae reveals itself slowly over multiple listens like an Archspire record. The production is imperfect—to capture a recording like this is to force an octopus into a jar, and the drums are a little loud despite their phenomenal tone—but Bogren’s done Replacire’s vision justice. I can really sink my teeth into every meaty riff and feel the juices run down my body. The album has too many strong riffs to possibly name, but a couple highlights are 1:53 in “The Helix Unravels” and 2:30 into “Bloody-Tongued and Screaming.” They’re frantic and violent just like the rest of The Center That Cannot Hold, but they feel particularly emblematic of the band’s many strengths. 

Sure, The Center That Cannot Hold is an exhausting listen, but it takes Replacire’s previous output and bolsters it in every way: the riffs, production, drumming, and vocals are simply better, nostalgia be damned. These guys are the real deal of tech, so while it’s certainly a bit of a random first tech band considering Necrophagist exists, I feel validated that their quality holds up seven years later.

Recommended tracks: The Helix Unravels, Drag Yourself Along the Earth, Hoard the Trauma Like Wealth, Uncontrolled and Unfulfilled
You may also like: Aronious, Deviant Process, Cognizance 
Final verdict: 8/10

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

Label: Season of Mist – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Replacire is:
Eric Alper – Guitars
Kee Poh Hock – Guitars
Zak Baskin – Bass
Joey Ferretti – Drums
James Dorton – Vocals

1. In fact, I found their effect in “Spider Song” so unnecessarily comedic as to be absurd, and I probably listened to it so much to spite my poor mother, and while I’m sure she knew, I hadn’t admitted it until now. ︎

The post Review: Replacire – The Center That Cannot Hold appeared first on The Progressive Subway.