Style: Progressive Deathcore, Technical Death Metal (Harsh Vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Fallujah, Rivers of Nihil, Black Crown Initiate, An Abstract Illusion, The Contortionist (early)
Country: USA (Nebraska)
Release date: 25 July 2025

Ben’s Raincoat is a legendary item that prevents one debuff and instead grants a temporary barrier for ten percent of maximum heal-oh shit, wrong review. Ahem. 

Named after an item from indie rogue-like game Risk of Rain 2 (great game by the way), Ben’s Raincoat is an American progressive death metal/deathcore band who describe themselves as a “Rogue-Like band with permadeath”. Well, that’s not a very helpful description, but suffice to say, Ben’s Raincoat obviously has a passion for gaming and music, so they’re alright dudes in my book. Radiant Cliffs is the debut EP from the five-piece tech death startup, and right off the bat, some comparisons are readily apparent. 

Perhaps the simplest way to sum up Ben’s Raincoat’s style is by saying that it sounds like half of the band’s favorite Fallujah album is Empyrean—abundant with modern technical rhythm guitar work and atmospheric lead guitar/synth textures—and the other half’s favorite is Leper Colony, with its crushing breakdowns and a more chug oriented approach to riffing. Radiant Cliffs’s riffing style consists mainly of arpeggiated melodic structures, and is often accompanied by soaring leads, blast beats, and double bass, forging ahead until they are inevitably interrupted by some form of deathcore breakdown. “Plunder” acts as a compelling thesis for such an approach: a swelling synth intro blooms into the main theme of the song—a 16th note tremolo that outlines the central chord progression—which returns later in expanded form for the chorus. I enjoy how each chorus is composed of straight 16th notes while every other part of “Plunder” has more of a cantering triplet feel, giving the song an engaging and satisfying structure. Ben’s Raincoat’s riffs are at their best when they focus on outlining and enhancing a song’s structure and melodic progression, or when straying further into galloping metalcore territory (“Material Possessions”, “Chorus of Flies”), and “Plunder” has both sides in spades. 

As with many a debut EP though, there are questionable exploratory moments that sound like Ben’s Raincoat didn’t quite know how to flesh out an idea, or otherwise fit certain parts together cohesively. Riffs will sometimes stray into odd deathcore-infused djent territory that feels at odds with the rest of a song’s structure. Take the intro riff to “Material Possessions” as an example: a stilted 16th note pattern jumps over awkward intervals that compose a melody which sounds more akin to an early 2010’s solo bedroom djent project than a modern tech death group. One of my favorite riffs of the EP follows immediately afterward—a shimmering downward cascade of 16th note groupings of three—giving a slight whiplash effect to a high point due to the somewhat clumsy pacing. Similarly, “Ignition” opens with an out of place hardcore riff bereft of any form of lead guitar or synth texture, leaving the track sounding like an unfinished soundscape in the context of the rest of Radiant Cliffs when the obvious intent was to be a firestarting thrasher.. Deathcore breakdowns occur on nearly every track, ranging from climactic (“Chorus of Flies”) to derivative Lorna Shore ripoffs (“Horticulture”), another symptom of the inexperience and inconsistency common on debut releases.

Besides Fallujah’s dreamy riff-laden atmosphere and Lorna Shore’s formulaic breakdowns, the other main point of reference to be found on Radiant Cliffs comes—somewhat surprisingly—in the form of vocalist Dominik English’s uncanny resemblance at times to Cattle Decapitation’s Travis Ryan. English has a massive range which he fully utilizes, and is able to pull off the same form of half-distorted “goblin” singing that Ryan is so well known for. At times, the vocal performance verges on the stereotype of deathcore vocal olympics, but English has a great sense of pacing, injecting his performance with plenty of layering and variety in an intelligent and natural manner, fully justifying his utilization of the tropes. While such a performance goes hand in hand with the core tech death and deathcore conceit of Ben’s Raincoat, it also has the unfortunate side effect of further illuminating the neophytic qualities of Radiant Cliffs. 

Fear not though, Ben’s Raincoat. You were raised in the crucible of rogue-like gaming. Sure, there are plenty of weak moments to go along with the strong, but the strong has great potential to be refined into something unique and compelling. You have the opportunity to take everything you’ve learned from your debut EP and do even better on your next playthrou-errr, release. There are a number of small details that shine through the tropes—such as the spectral piano over the chugging riff in “Chorus of Flies”, or the nostril inhale before the track’s climactic final breakdown—that blow the winds favorably in your direction. All that’s left is to continue working, exploring, and respawning until you’ve perfected your build. Something something meta progression.

Recommended tracks: Plunder, Material Possessions, Chorus of Flies
You may also like: Abiotic, Krosis, Ovid’s Withering, Serein
Final verdict: 5.5/10

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

Label: Independent

Ben’s Raincoat is:
– Jared LeGier (Bass)
-Geddy Johnson (Drums)
-Jace Krajicek (Lead Guitars)
-Nick Jordan (Rhythm Guitars)
-Dominik English (Vocals)

The post Review: Ben’s Raincoat – Radiant Cliffs appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Artwork by Chris Williams

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Album art by Roi Mercado

Style: Progressive Metal, Djent (Instrumental)
Recommended for fans of: TesseracT, Cloudkicker, The Helix Nebula
Country: United States, Ohio
Release date: 13 May 2025

Djent is a genre (or is it?) that has infiltrated its way into a myriad of neighboring styles within the progressive metal scene, slowly seeping through the cracks in its foundation. What essentially started as Meshuggah worship has undergone a slow and somewhat painful metamorphosis, transcending beyond a simple palm muted, syncopated guitar technique into an expansive musical language all its own. The journey to this point has been rife with failed experimentation, alchemical genre-mixing, and a steadily evolving intervallic language that seems to have come to its logical conclusion in the form of “thall”—another style about which to argue genre legitimacy. The bulk of djent’s growth took place from around 2006 through the mid 2010’s, with bands like Textures, SikTh, TesseracT, Periphery, Uneven Structure, and Vildhjarta all putting their own spin on the core techniques that constitute its sound and superimposing said techniques onto a variety of unique soundscapes, showcasing the style’s versatility, and solidifying its genre status proper.

There were many a branching path that djent explored during its adolescence, some more niche than others, and some seemingly forgotten to the annals of syncopated time. The Bulb demos are perhaps the best representative of a particular niche of one of the genre’s earliest investigative forays: atmosphere-focused instrumental djent. Bulb’s demos are somewhat paradoxical in the sense that, at the time, they were massively popular, single-handedly inspiring a swathe of bedroom guitarists toward their instrumental explorations; at the same time, they were nearly instantly rendered redundant by these same newly empowered musicians as they realized that what they were playing was basically just Meshuggah with more tonality. The end result was a shockingly frantic evolution of sound. Widek, Nemertines, Returning We Hear the Larks, Walking Across Jupiter, Polarization, Cloudkicker, Their Dogs Were Astronauts, Cold Night for Alligators, Sithu Aye, and many other projects like these have been all but forgotten, mere grains of sand in a desert of chugs, yet their influence on djent’s trajectory cannot be denied.

Antediluvian Projekt, solo project of John Heckathorn, nestles within this assemblage of atmosphere-driven instrumental djent, and if I had been told that Atlan Blue was some obscure demo from 2011, I wouldn’t have given it much of a second thought. Atlan Blue shares the inquisitive, probing nature of adolescent djent, haphazardly smashing djent guitar techniques into a bedrock of jazz fusion and drenching atmosphere, and utilizing a jazz noir-esque trumpet as its main gimmick. Antediluvian Projekt, like so many of its genre peers past, brews its influences together to wildly varying degrees of success; there are moments of inspired, meaningful realization, yet so much of Atlan Blue leaves me scratching my head in confusion at its choices. 

After a meandering intro track, “Atlan Blue” starts strong with a bass and piano groove that constantly oscillates between a bar of 5/4 and a bar of 9/8, a roiling sea for the djent guitars to swim within. Clean guitar solos weave between the bass, piano, and distorted guitar groove; trumpet is ever present in the background; and electronic elements further add to the melting pot of texture, resulting in an interestingly varied sonic landscape. “What Does Truth Fear” follows, and is similarly effective in its textural language, switching between a beefy low-tuned guitar rhythm reminiscent of recent Vildhjarta, and a more understated groove that could have been lifted straight from any TesseracT album. Again, trumpet and electronic production elements add depth to the sound, and the revolving structure of the songwriting manages to maintain the listener’s attention while keeping in step with the focus on atmosphere. 

Unfortunately, the remainder of Atlan Blue does not live up to its decent first impressions. “P0W3R” recycles the exact same riffs from “What Does Truth Fear”, slightly changing the trumpet lines and adding an electronic drum beat as an intro that I’m pretty sure is the exact same rhythm as one of the riffs, just played significantly faster. The result is an odd interlude track that could have just been tacked onto the previous song as a climax, but is instead a forced detour into unnecessary bloat. Instead of regaining his footing after the stumble, Heckathorn doubles down with “T3MP0R4L 0SCILLAT0R”, the longest track on the album, and also the one where the least happens. The listener is treated to over seven minutes of meandering shoegaze—still with the ever-present trumpet—and any semblance of momentum that Atlan Blue may have had up to this point is unceremoniously squandered. 

The remaining few tracks are further explorations of the sound initially presented on “Atlan Blue” and “What Does Truth Fear,” though I am hard pressed to even care enough to reach this point of Atlan Blue after a few listens. On the occasions that I do, I am rewarded not so much with an interesting textural melting pot, but more with a clouded beaker of unfocused distillation. Heckathorn’s trumpet playing is competent, and he has the chops to pull off the gimmick of trumpet djent, but the melodies played often have seemingly nothing to do with the rest of the music, and this problem is especially exacerbated on the back half of Atlan Blue. The trumpet is simultaneously the main selling point and seemingly an afterthought in the songwriting, leading to a bizarre feeling of fundamental discontinuity. What remaining actual guitar riffs there are become shadows of their former selves, falling prey to the insidious curse of hackneyed djent stereotypes. The slightly above average drum performance is perhaps Atlan Blue’s biggest saving grace, though it is not nearly enough to fortify the whole structure from falling in on itself by the album’s end. 

Antediluvian Projekt does indeed fit snugly within the old order of atmospheric instrumental djent: quirks, inspirations, and shortcomings all. Atlan Blue reads as a billet-doux to a long-lost lover, one whose familiar memory still lingers in everyday modern scenery, providing comfort and pain in equal measure. Through rose colored glasses, Atlan Blue can be a temporary succor for those plagued by the nostalgic longing for the perceived golden age of djent. With slightly more focus, though, the illusion shatters, and we are left with a stinging reminder of why, perhaps, so many bands become forgotten in the polyrhythmic ebb and flow of time.

Recommended tracks: Atlan Blue, What Does Truth Fear?, BR3AKAWAY
You may also like: Returning We Hear the Larks, Walking Across Jupiter, Bulb, Mouse on the Keys
Final verdict: 5.5/10

Related links: Bandcamp | Spotify | Instagram

Antediluvian Projekt is:
– John Heckathorn (Everything)

The post Review: Antediluvian Projekt – Atlan Blue appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Painting by Ferdinand Knab
Logo by Ghorn
Layout by Foudre Noire

Style: Hellenic Black Metal, Melodic Black Metal, Heavy Metal (harsh vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Rotting Christ, Necromantia, Varathron
Release date: 17 April 2025

Over the past decade or so, Phil Tougas has become a household name within the broader underground metal scene, lending his myriad of talents to groups across a broad spectrum of styles. Chthe’ilist proved Tougas’ songwriting aptitude; Atramentus and Worm proved his ability to summon compelling atmosphere; and First Fragment launched him handily into the pantheon of extreme shredders. One would think having your nimble fingers stuck in so many pots would scarcely leave time for excursions, yet here we are. Tougas’ latest labor of love appears in the form of Zeicrydeus, in which our multifaceted shredder combines all of his previously mentioned talents with a detour into the realm of Hellenic black metal, though with a few trademark Tougas Twists.

Zeicrydeus is a solo project, with Tougas handling the manifold duties of four string lead bass, vocals, multi-timbral synthesizer, six string guitars, timpani, and drum programming. There are session live drums credited to Chakral (Ascended Dead, VoidCeremony), though I’m not exactly certain where they begin and the programmed drums end. Regardless, La Grande Heresie is a bold (and brash) statement of Tougas’ love for the Hellenic black metal scene, drawing direct inspiration from early Rotting Christ, Necromantia, and Varathron, and infusing this sound with a roaring heavy metal spirit. “Ten Thousand Spears Atop The Bleeding Mountains” fittingly kicks things off with a lyrical homage to Running Wild’s Under Jolly Roger, barreling into an instantly recognizable triumphant Tougas riff and showcasing our first Tougas Twist: a metric shitload of pinch harmonics intertwined right in the middle of fearsome finger acrobatics. Once the high-octane display has run its course, we are introduced to the secondary style that comprises La Grande Heresie: swaggering Manowar-esque USPM riff-craft. The combination of melody driven black metal and scrappy DIY heavy metal aesthetic works wonderfully as a foundational sound whereby Tougas springboards his idiosyncratic stylings.

The second Tougas Twist is the dramatic Summoning-esque atmosphere that is woven into the core of La Grande Heresie. The earlier mentioned multi-timbral synthesizer is put to near constant use, enveloping the sound in an occult haze. Tougas’ melodic phrases coil around themselves, slightly overstaying their welcome on occasion, though theatrical timpani hits help the experience along by accentuating the rhythmic flow like landmarks for the wandering melophile. Rattling chains and the sharpening of blades can be heard periodically accompanying particularly dramatic moments, as if Tougas is quite literally leading a triumphant charge into battle, warhorn replaced by shredding bass solo. Tougas’ vocal performance is similarly arcane, leaning mostly towards a midrange black metal snarl, but occasionally branching out into grunts, yells, and an odd purring technique that is as menacing as it is captivating. The esoteric atmosphere is constantly at odds with the modern technique of Tougas’ playing, one constantly overtaking the other, mirroring the rise and fall of empires. 

As if the varied instrumentation, intense performances, and devouring atmosphere wasn’t already enough to set Zeicrydeus apart, the biggest and best Tougas Twist has been saved for last: formally titled bass solos. La Grande Heresie is unique in that it features bass solos in the stead of guitar solos, and even more unique in that these solos are quite literally christened. From “THE FOUR PRONGED SERPENT PHALANX” featured on “Ten Thousand Spears Atop The Bleeding Mountains” to “HÉRÉSIE TOTALE” and “LA FLAMME DES REBELLES” from “Sous L’Ombre Éternelle Des Vestiges D’Heghemnon”, Tougas’ dedication to crafting a dramatic and entertaining experience seeps all the way into meta territory. Lyrically, the storytelling expands on lore already told in other Tougas projects (Chthe’ilist, Atramentus), adding even further to the meta narrative. La Grande Heresie benefits greatly from Tougas’ imaginative presentation and immense bass talent, though an argument could be made that the everpresent dexterousness becomes slightly masturbatory after a while. The final climax of penultimate track “Godsteel (Blood of the Sun)” allows itself one final indulgence, breaking La Grande Heresie’s own rule and reveling in an epic three-part dueling guitar and bass solo, titled “AIR” and “WATER”, “FIRE” and “ICE”, and “EARTH” and “SKY”. Truly, Tougas’ vision and conceit pays off in satisfying conclusion during this battle, and the listener is left with only howling winds and the reflective melody of the self-titled closing interlude with which to climb down from La Grande Heresie’s peak.

I’ll be the first to admit that Hellenic black metal is a style that has not historically resonated with my own personal tastes outside of a couple of heavy hitters (Macabre Omen, Varathron), so it is always a welcome surprise when an album comes along to challenge my bias. Compositionally, La Grande Heresie is a personally authentic take on the connection between the heavy metal and Hellenic black metal scenes, and while each Tougas Twist is an emotive addition to these styles, they can also become slightly distracting, never quite allowing the listener to fully immerse themselves within the archaic spirit of either genre. Even after a dozen or so listens, I’m still not sure whether I enjoy La Grande Heresie as a Hellenic black metal album proper or, rather, as just another Tougas offering. Nevertheless, Zeicrydeus certainly succeeds in setting itself apart within a long-standing scene, and Tougas’ brash (and bold) flair solidifies La Grande Heresie as a memorable standout of 2025.

Recommended tracks: Ten Thousand Spears Atop The Bleeding Mountains, Godsteel (Blood of the Third Son)
You may also like: First Fragment, Malokarpatan, Chthe’ilist, Thy Darkened Shade
Final verdict: 7.5/10

Related links: Bandcamp | Metal-Archives

Label: Productions TSO – The Stygian Oath – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Zeicrydeus is:
– Phillipe Tougas (vocals, multi-timbral synthesizer, four string lead bass, six string guitars, timpani, drum programming)
With guests:
– Chakral – Live session drums

The post Review: Zeicrydeus – La Grande Heresie appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Cover art by Courtney Trowbridge
Logo design by Garret Ross

Style: Thrash Metal, Progressive Metal (harsh vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Trivium, Orbit Culture, Sylosis
Country: USA (California)
Release date: 25 April 2025

Modern thrash metal is always hit or miss, and for good reason; the genre has been around nearly as long as metal itself has existed as a broader style of music. One could (and many do!) argue that all of the good ideas have already been taken, and that anything released after some arbitrary point in the 90’s is derivative slop. This does not stop bands from trying their hand at the style though, often introducing outside influence in an attempt to spice things up. Wisdom & Fools are one such group, a California based progressive thrash metal duo who describes Prophecy on their bandcamp page as “36 minutes of breathtaking modern thrash.” Well, I quite like many a modern progressive thrash metal album, and my respiratory rhythm has been far too stable for far too long if you ask me. Maybe a debut by some young blood in the scene is just what I need in lieu of an asthma flare up. Can Prophecy match the thrilling exhilaration of a particularly intense coughing fit? The short answer is no. The long answer is contained within Prophecy’s 36 minutes of undercooked thrash metal writing.

Within the first minute and a half of its runtime, Prophecy already comes across as disjointed and half-baked. Starting with the aptly named “Escaping Eden,” titled—I assume—after the track making whatever I was doing just before hitting play seem like paradise in comparison. A mid tempo 16th note tremolo awkwardly kicks things off, stumbling towards one of the most boring thrash riffs I’ve heard in a long while, and culminating in what I think is supposed to be a chorus but could also just be a bad metalcore breakdown. On a cursory listen, the fumbled songwriting may be redeemed somewhat by the proficient and at times even impressive performances, but they fail to bring any real staying power.

Wisdom & Fools’ guitar and vocal duties are handled by Philip Vargas, who is equally competent at both, and whose riffs are often mirrored by bandmate John Ramirez’s bass rumblings. The two have good chemistry, though the lack of a live drummer ends up dragging both of them down. Vargas’ vocal performance sounds like a mix between Ihsahn and New American Gospel-era Randy Blythe (Lamb of God); it’s a surprisingly versatile timbre, but the performance ends up being disappointingly monotone as Vargas never seems to take full advantage of his range. Both members seem to have handled production duties, and they’ve done a decent job at it, though it is quite loud and similarly exacerbated by the programmed drums. 

As “Escaping Eden” plods along, revealing Wisdom & Fools’ performative quirks, it also betrays their so-called “progressive” take on thrash metal, which boils down to phrases having extra beats tacked on at the end. Sure, it works the first few times, but eventually you come to expect it, and the “progressive” elements become stale and predictable. “Children of Disgrace” is somehow even more lacking in the songwriting department. Stilted thrash riffs trudge ahead and culminate in another chorus that misses the mark, except the chorus here is much worse; the intro riff comes back, but boringly simplified for some reason, and the band completely drops out at the apex of the phrase, killing all momentum only for the vocalist to rasp out the title of the song as if it were made by a 2000s hip-hop producer. “The Devil in a House of God” continues the trend of questionable choruses, this time with a riff that is lifted straight out of Celtic Frost’s “Into the Crypts of Rays,” which just confuses me more than anything. The ending of the song, though, is the first moment on Prophecy that made my ears perk up, because Wisdom & Fools stops playing riffs for a moment and focuses on an ostinato melody in the lead guitar with descending power chords providing a nice harmonic context. It turns out Wisdom & Fools actually have a knack for simple yet effective melodic development, and moments like this pop up periodically over the rest of Prophecy’s runtime, though they are not quite enough to salvage the banal thrash writing they accompany. 

The title track has the most potential as a thrash metal song proper, housing some of the better actual riffs on Prophecy, but is once again dragged down by the programmed drums. Prophecy’s drum parts are stilted and awkward, settling into beats that are impossible to get used to despite their repetition. One gets the sense that these drum parts were not written by a drummer, and most of the problems with Prophecy could be dampened or straight up solved by just getting a live drummer and a bit more of an intimate production. The back half of Prophecy is thankfully better than the front, but this is because Wisdom & Fools seem to forget that they are supposed to be a thrash metal band, and start writing metalcore songs that just kind of flirt with thrash metal techniques. Really, Prophecy sounds like a metalcore outfit who set out with the intention to write a raging thrash metal record, but ran out of steam halfway through and resorted back to writing metalcore. “Divinity” through “Perpetuals” is a decent run of songs when compared to the rest of the lot, and proves that Wisdom & Fools strengths lie in their melodic sensibilities, not awkward thrash riffs. Unfortunately, this streak doesn’t last, and Prophecy ends leaving a sour taste in my mouth with the unnecessary, derivative, and aptly named “Husk”. 

At the end of the day, Wisdom & Fools lack the bite that is required of this style of music, and even the occasional inspired lead guitar line isn’t enough to save them. The thrash riffs are mediocre, and the programmed drums drag the entire experience down even further. As it stands, Prophecy is an underdeveloped debut with lots of room to grow, though I’m worried that, in this case, dredging through the mud in search of pearls may not be a worthwhile endeavor. 

Recommended tracks: Prophecy, Divinity, Thorns
You may also like: Death Mex, Arsena, Venus
Final verdict: 3.5/10

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

Label: Okända Öden Records – Bandcamp

Wisdom & Fools is:
– John Ramirez – Bass, Production
– Philip Vargas – Guitars, Vocals, Production

The post Review: Wisdom & Fools – Prophecy appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Logo and illustration by Jack Sabbat, Ornaments by Joos Melander

Style: Heavy Metal, Black Metal, Progressive Metal (mixed vocals, mostly clean)
Recommended for fans of: Hammers of Misfortune, Negative Plane, Malokarpatan
Country: Denmark
Release date: 28 February, 2025

Have you ever thought to yourself: “Man, swords sure are cool. I just wish they came in a larger variety of shapes and sizes”. If so, why do you talk like that? Also, the year is 2025, and I think I may have an answer to your prayers.

Enter Copenhagen based quintet Scimitar, whose debut album Scimitarium I features an illustration I think you may be veeeery interested in. Oh, they also play music I guess… And it is quite good! Extremely good in fact. Scimitar plays an arcane form of heavy metal with a serious black metal bent not entirely unlike Negative Plane and their ilk. Winding guitar riffs weave through a swarming drum performance as Shaam Larein’s unique lilting vocal performance glides like an apparition over it all. The lead guitar often takes on the role of conveying the primary melody while the vocals support it with their own secondary melody; it is not quite contrapuntal, but the result is faintly similar. The formula on display on Scimitarium I instantly caught my attention, shining like the glint of sharpened steel that comprises the blade of a certain shape of sword.

Scimitarium I opens with its title track, starting with a dissonant riff that is deceptively catchy and works as a great tag to set expectations and the mood for the entire album. The track ends as this riff simultaneously implodes in on itself and explodes into “Aconitum”, wasting no time to flex Scimitar’s sharp structuring and songwriting skills. Long-winded serpentine riff phrases create space for plenty of variation and smart use of harmonic interplay during repeated sections. Each and every idea is taken to its logical conclusion, then taken there again down a different contextual path within the song. The result is that Scimitar can rely on only a few of their strongest ideas, streamlining the listening experience without losing the esoteric nature at the heart of their sound. “Aconitum” is perhaps the strongest and most straightforward example of this; the chorus has a great lead guitar melody that can be superimposed over the entire rest of the track, fitting in perfectly the entire time, and showcasing just how deeply Scimitar understands their strengths and the skill with which they are able to utilize them.

Besides general songwriting prowess, Shaam Larein’s vocal performance is the primary highlight of Scimitarium I for my tastes; she’s great at crafting arcane melodies that are equal parts catchy and esoteric, able to get stuck in your head without taking away from the occult atmosphere. Larein often uses her voice more texturally than as a vehicle for delivering melody, but very rarely does she flip fully into screaming. Particularly effective is how she regularly switches into her falsetto at the end of phrases, giving her performance a feeling of spectral uneasiness. Even while Larein is singing, her syllable placement and the pacing of her phrases are more in line with a harsh vocal performance, further bridging the gap and muddying the waters between Scimitar’s sharp black metal edge and heavy metal spirit. 

Those who are familiar with Slægt’s particular mix of black and heavy metal will mostly know what to expect from the instrumental side of Scimitar’s performance, given that the two groups share three members between them. For those who aren’t, Slægt play a heavy metal infused form of melodic black metal with plenty of goth tendencies in the vein of Tribulation. While Slægt is mainly concerned with exploring the black metal side of these guys’ particular sound, Scimitar ventures further into heavy metal territory, infusing the performance with a scrappy DIY aesthetic. There are still plenty of the black metal performance techniques, but they are used in the context of and in service to a heavy metal conceit. The bass guitar heavily utilizes chromaticism and relies on leading tones that anchor the ripping melodic black metal based guitar riffing. The drumming is very busy, constantly filling space with fills and short blasts, but never distracting from the rest of the performances. This is not to say that Scimitar never fully unsheathes their black metal side—they do so quite a few times, and always to great effect. Take “Red Ruins” for example: around 1:20 there is a chilling ghostly vocal harmony that leads into Scimitarium I’s first fully mask off black metal section. Harsh vocals accompany a vicious tremolo attack, followed by a harmonically disorienting arpeggiated riff that winds around itself like a whirling drain. Scimitar’s sound is malleable and can be stretched into so many different directions, from black and heavy metal to goth and pop (“Hungry Hallucinations”), but always retains its core sound and never diverges from the almighty riff. 

Scimitar has stumbled upon a nearly perfect blend of sound for my tastes, a paradoxical fog which repels direct comparison through an inviting familiarity. Each performance is grippingly authentic, each riff thrillingly engaging, and each moment ridiculously addictive. We’re only about a third of the way through 2025, and Scimitarium I is already a strong contender for ending up as my favorite album of the year, and it is not particularly close either. Even in an early year full of strong underground releases, Scimitar cuts through the chaff, sharpening its uniquely shaped edge with a calculated efficiency. Perhaps those warriors from Hammerfell were onto something after all.

Recommended tracks: Aconitum, Hungry Hallucinations, Ophidia
You may also like: Slægt, Molten Chains, Funereal Presence, Predatory Light, Ponte del Diavolo
Final verdict: 9/10

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

Label: Crypt of the Wizard – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Scimitar is:
– Shaam Larein (vocals)
-Johan L. Ekstrand (unknown)
-Anders M. Jorgensen (unknown)
-Olle Bergholz (unknown)
-Adam CCsquele (unknown)

The post Review: Scimitar – Scimitarium I appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Artwork by Derek Setzer

Style: doom metal, drone, experimental (clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Krallice, Sunn O))), Earth
Country: United States
Release date: 28 March 2025

Hey, are you a big fuckin’ weirdo? Yeah, me too.

Did you enjoy Krallice‘s 2017 release Go Be Forgotten? Me too.

Because you’re a big fuckin’ weirdo, did you get stuck on “Outro” and wish that there was an entire album that sounded like it? Well first of all, if you answered yes to this question please reach out to me because boy that is an extremely niche group we both belong to. Second of all, I have some great news for you!

The Overmold is an experimental doom/drone duo featuring Mick Barr (Krallice) and Tim Wyskida (Khanate), who have come together under the I, Voidhanger banner to present their collaborative efforts to big fuckin’ weirdos like you and me. Barr’s unique, ambiguous harmonic guitar stylings are at the forefront of the sound on The Overmold, and are perfectly complemented by Wyskinda’s freeform drum performance, which propels the compositions forward and breathes life into them. The compositions themselves range from sprawling labyrinthian soundscapes to more structured evocative vignettes, but the interplay between Barr and Wyskinda is always the focal point from which these structures take shape. While the compositional prowess on display is nothing to sneer at, The Overmold is distinctive in its reliance on performance and technique to effectively extract every last drop of meaning from its songs. 

The bulk of The Overmold is comprised of “The Overmold” (written by The Overmold, in case you forgot), a semi-improvisational, thirty-five-minute foray into sinister, tension-building atmosphere. Barr’s guitar playing is akin to a lighthouse lamp cutting through thick fog, utilizing repeated motifs around which bass and vocal harmonies dance in and out. Wyskinda’s drumming is strikingly delicate; even his kick drum is barely audible at times. Freeform fills and agile cymbal work builds and releases tension, adding motion to an otherwise glacial pace. Monotone choral/whispered vocals subtly weave in and out of the background, adding emotional depth without distracting from the main performances, equally pacifying and paralyzing. All of these performance techniques on their own already build a compelling, uneasy ambience, but there is an acute attention to the small details that pushes “The Overmold” from good to great. 

Barr and Wyskida are frighteningly in sync and are able to pull off a massive range of dynamics that are not often heard in metal or metal-adjacent music, at least to the extent explored on The Overmold. Deeply intimate moments build into explosive crescendos and die back down again like an undulating vista of rolling hills. Even more rare is the gratuitous use of rubato; phrases swell in and out, trailing off in ritardandos that catch back up at the start of the next phrase. During more structured moments the dynamics or tempo remain constantly in flux, as if we were not listening to a piece of music but to a massive living, breathing organism. Even the song structure adheres to this conceit, with the most brazen moments of movement and overwhelming climaxes appearing in the middle of the track. Equal attention is given to both the music and the empty space that surrounds it, resulting in an extremely intimate experience. 

The production from Colin Marston perfectly captures all of the intricacies held within “The Overmold”. Every tiny detail of the performances are given space to breathe, and it is a joy to be able to hear the reverberations of a kick drum or the overtones of a held note so regularly. There is even a subtle use of panning that only revealed itself to me around my third listen. Marston’s attention to detail rivals that of the compositions themselves, and both in conjunction result in a truly special listening experience. 

The remaining three tracks are shorter, more structured explorations of The Overmold’s sound. “Songs of the Beyonder” starts with a sixteenth note hi-hat against a triplet eighth note strumming riff that is instantly engaging. The main motif is astoundingly pretty and very reminiscent of Krallice, and I love how it comes back at the end with added harmonies and a more bravado performance. “Buildings of Skin” starts out continuing the prettiness, but becomes much more harmonically antagonistic as the song goes on, ending in a jarringly dissonant sung interval. “Withering Other” acts as a sort of palate cleanser and is the most harmonically vague of the three shorter tracks, a “dark unfocused fog of clarity”, and the perfect way to ruminate on the sheer weight of The Overmold’s experience.

Over the course of the past week or two, The Overmold has turned into an experience that I look forward to engaging with every night. I am constantly finding small details that I had missed in previous listening sessions, and the atmosphere is an addictive ambrosia that is a perfect way to wind down at the end of a long day. A good pair of headphones and an hour or so of time to spend really focusing is practically demanded of the listener, but quickly becomes completely justified. The result is that The Overmold has become my favorite listening experience of the year so far, and is a record that I will be habitually returning to for a long while.

Recommended tracks: The Overmold
You may also like: Khanate, Ocrilim, Blind Idiot God
Final verdict: 8.5/10

Related links: Bandcamp

Label: I, Voidhanger Records – Bandcamp | Facebook

The Overmold is:
– Mick Barr (guitars, bass, vocals)
– Tim Wyskida (drumset, percussion)

The post Review: The Overmold – The Overmold appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

No artist credited

Style: Metalcore, Groove Metal, Progressive Metal (Mixed Vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Gojira, Fit for an Autopsy, Machine Head
Country: France
Release date: 7 March 2025

“Bro, what if we like, wrote a progressive metal album about like, space and science and shit? And like, what if we called it like, Andromeda?” 

“Broooooo…”

Conversations like this one are how I like to imagine the conceit behind Andromeda was brought forth unto this meager plane of existence. A group of friends smoking pot in some nondescript basement, listening to the classics and daydreaming of adding to the legacy of the music they are so enamored with. Enter French progressive metallers March of Scylla, who play a moderately paced form of quasi-progressive metalcore with plenty of groove metal thrown in. I say quasi-progressive because while there are certainly hints and shades of stylistic choices that are reminiscent of progressive metal, I would be hard pressed to claim this record for the genre proper. Most of the music on Andromeda consists of chugs, gallops, and other metalcore platitudes accompanied by a somewhat pitchy mixed vocal performance, but there is a spark of potential to be read in between the lines.

Album opener “Ulysses’ Lies” starts with a relatively engaging chug riff that reminds me of something Fit for an Autopsy would do, but the track quickly devolves into a verse full of questionable harmonies that culminates in a merely passable chorus. The intro riff repeats again and again now acting as a bridge, and the songwriting just goes in circles for five minutes until the song is over. The experience is very formulaic, and the end result is that Andromeda’s first impression is that of a neutered version of various influences attempting to be more than the sum of their parts. For the forty five-plus minutes that follow, this same feeling of middling half-effort persists to mind-numbing effect. From the Fit for an Autopsy-esque riffs mentioned earlier to chorus melodies that sound like demo versions of No Consequence songs; the dreary post metal atmosphere reminiscent of Hypno5e; and even a healthy dose of groove metal influence taken from Gojira. All of these influences sound good together on paper, but leave something to be desired when put into practice on Andromeda.

Not helping the feeling of tediousness is the production job. A disproportionate amount of attention is given to making the rhythm guitars “heavy” or “beefy” that just ends up drowning out other intricacies of the instrumentation. Similarly, the drums are VERY LOUD and the cymbals in particular are distractingly quantized at points (“Death Experience”). Entire orchestral scores that could have added depth and texture to the soundscape go by completely unnoticed unless you strain your ear to hear them. The only attempt at dynamics is on “To Cassiopeia”: an interlude track that could have been left out altogether without affecting the pacing of the album at all.

Hope is not completely lost for March of Scylla, however; interesting songwriting moments do pop their head up here and there, but I’ve noticed that they are mostly during the interstitial parts of songs. Smart use of leading tones and engaging harmonics during transitions make my ears perk up; but that the main grooves and choruses often don’t often live up to the hype is a shame. The choruses are the lesser offender, though, I enjoy the vocalist’s timbre and—while the pitch can be shaky—his performance is a generally positive aspect of the experience for me. The second half of Andromeda picks up the pace a bit as well with marginally faster song tempos and even some sporadic blast beats thrown in for good measure. Despite all of these silver linings, Andromeda still overstays its welcome with a bloated run time of over fifty minutes.

Regardless of all of the criticisms I have levied here, some underlying potential still lurks underneath the surface of Andromeda. The songwriting is gestural and over-reliant on hackneyed “progressive” metalcore tropes, but a prospective throughline that could be teased out and forged into a unique sound is there. A substantial amount of work would be required, but March of Scylla do have a chance to transcend their influences and justify the over-explored sounds of Andromeda on future releases. Just stay away from Nibiru please.

Recommended tracks: Ulysses’ Lies, Storm Dancer, Achilles’ Choice
You may also like: No Consequence, Hypno5e, Grorr
Final verdict: 4/10

Related links: Bandcamp | Spotify | Facebook | Instagram

Label: Klonosphere Records – Facebook | Official Website

March of Scylla is:
– Christofer Fraisier (guitars)
– Gilles Masson (drums)
– Robert Desbiendras (bass)
– Florian Vasseur (vocals)

The post Review: March of Scylla – Andromeda appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

No artist credited

Style: Black Metal, Dissonant Black Metal, Progressive Metal (Harsh vocals with cleans on the last track)
Recommended for fans of: Krallice, Thantifaxath, Celeste
Country: New York, United States
Release date: 15 October 2013

The early 2010s were a volatile and explosive time for black metal, full of experimentation and change. A decade earlier, bands like Blut Aus Nord, Abigor, and Dødheimsgard were planting the seeds of an uglier, more abrasive twist on the genre; not long after that, Deathspell Omega would blow the scene wide open with their infamous trilogy. Since then, countless groups have tried their hands at the style of dissonant black metal laid down by these titans of the genre to wildly varying success. Many bands have come and gone, lost to the wind, with Castevet counted among them—though not for lack of quality. 

Castevet were a modest three-piece outfit consisting of Andrew Hock on guitar and vocal duty, Ian Jacyszyn on the drums, as well as sharing Krallice member Nicholas McMaster on bass. The style of music played by these three certainly follows in the footsteps of the aforementioned titans but takes a subtler approach to the oddities and complexities that are so prevalent in the genre. Krallice is, fittingly, the main point of reference to be heard on Obsian, though with a shimmering, prettier take on their sound, even dabbling in softer ambient pieces like on the title track. Obsian is an album full of technical marvel wrapped up in a vague, melancholic atmosphere; an ever-unfurling organism that refuses to be fully defined.

“The Tower” introduces the primary style found on Obsian: harmonically and rhythmically dense black metal. Instantly recognizable and distinctly memorable is the psychedelic fuzz of the bass tone of McMaster, who spends nearly as much time providing countermelody and even lead melody as he does laying down a foundational groove. The production—courtesy of other Krallice mainstay Colin Marston—is warm and just hazy enough for the instruments to shine while also providing context for the atmosphere created by their performances. Herein lies one piece of the puzzle that makes the sound on Obsian so unique: the performances create just as much of the atmosphere as the production job does. From the jarring chords at 2:20 in “Cavernous” that seem to spill out of the aether, to the assertive bass line that drops down to the tonic during the intro/chorus riff on “The Curve,” Castevet make full use of the context provided to them through the stellar production job. 

As Obsian continues, it patiently reveals more of its unique strengths, most notably an acumen for intricate songwriting. Castevet are less overtly dissonant than their peers, instead choosing to utilize smart composition and performance techniques to achieve the same effect. The guitar and bass will often play similar arpeggios that are just slightly off from one another, giving an organic off-kilter feel. Unique chord voicings and smart chord inversions are littered throughout Obsian’s runtime that, when paired with its stilted rhythms, give the experience a sense of constantly folding in on itself—like an auditory set of penrose steps. More specifically, Castevet have a knack for finding strong melodic lines and recontextualizing them through harmonic interplay, giving the listener an opportunity to approach the same sections of songs from different angles during repeat listens; look no further than opening track “The Tower” or the back half of “The Curve” for examples of this.

Another piece of Obsian’s puzzle is its bold rhythmic flair, especially when coupled with some of the more idiosyncratic instrumentation choices and drum kit orchestration. Castevet weave in and out of time signatures, extend and cut phrases short, and play with subdivisions, always in a way that is still conducive to just sitting back and instinctively nodding your head. “As Fathomed By Beggars and Victims” is perhaps the best example of this rhythmic quirk: a pervasive 9 against 4 polyrhythm being played on the hi-hat gives the song an unsteady gait, and even the foundational groove shifts depending on how you listen to it, with 3/4 and 4/4 time each being equally valid ways of counting. When put together, the result is a sonic illusion that is not unlike a desert mirage, shifting from afar but coming into clarity when given more attention. This same song is also a good example of Jacyszyn’s clever kit orchestration. The drums drive the song forward, giving the relatively stationary guitar performance much more bite than it would have on its own. Jacyszyn is able to fill in droughts of movement from the rest of the band with precisely tuned toms and flowing fills, and the drum performance can largely be listened to as melodically as the guitars. 

What really ties everything together for Obsian, though, are the subtle details that Castevet incorporates into every aspect of the experience. Acoustic guitars accentuate riffs at opportune times (“Cavernous”) that, while not quite folky, make the performance feel more human and easier to attach to emotionally. Castevet knows when to vamp on a good idea (ending of “The Curve”) but always have some sort of subtle variation to keep it interesting, allowing the atmosphere to consume the listener while keeping the music engaging. Phrases often start with familiar riff structures and harmonic voicings, only to devolve into swirling, gestural approximations of these forms in the second half of the same phrase. A question is being posed: what exactly are the most important aspects of these beloved techniques and tropes? What makes them tick? Castevet probes for answers with a delicate touch, achieving and even exceeding the same standard set by classics of the genre, doing more with less.

Just when you think that Castevet have shown all they have to offer, they pull one final trick out of their sleeve with “The Seat of Severance”, starting with one of the most straightforward riffs yet and marking the only time that clean vocals make an appearance. The choice to forgo harsh vocals completely is a brave one in music as harmonically vague as this, and proves that the music on Obsian is not reliant on familiar textures and cliches; instead, rock solid composition is what carries the sound and makes it a standout experience. While Obsian is certainly dense and full of anxiety, it is not quite as dreary or oppressive as its peers, merely introspective. The run time is short, inviting necessary repeat listens while also justifying its experimentation and occasional ambiance. My single critique of Obsian is that I wish there were two or three more songs to flesh out the experience, though this is just because I can’t get enough of the sound crafted on this forgotten relic. As it stands, the listener is left with the same feeling of finishing an exceptional book or television series, where you sit there in silence for ten minutes thinking… What now?

Well… you hit play again.

Recommended tracks: The Tower, The Curve, As Fathomed by Beggars and Victims
You may also like: Scarcity, Flourishing, Yellow Eyes

Related links: Bandcamp | Spotify | Metal-Archives page

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

Castevet is:
– Andrew Hock (guitars, vocals)
– Ian Jacyszyn (drums)
– Nicholas McMaster (bass)

The post Lost in Time: Castevet – Obsian appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Artwork by Luciana Lupe Vasconcelos

Style: Avant-Garde Black Metal (Harsh)
Recommended for fans of: Blut Aus Nord, Imperial Triumphant, Oranssi Pazuzu
Country: United States-AZ
Release date: 28 February 2025

Babe wake up, the new project from Cerulean mastermind Stephen Knapp just dropped! Er well, rather, it might be better not to let this one anywhere near your sleep schedule. The self-titled debut from Sleep Paralysis is a terrifying gripper of an album that is simultaneously bombastically thrilling and deeply insidious. Aptly named, Sleep Paralysis is a concept album designed to explore the themes of sleep paralysis and anxiety and does a damn good job of inducing anxiety of its own. Swirling, cacophonous guitar playing pushes forward at a frenzied pace, leaving the listener scarcely a moment to catch their breath. Strange perversions of familiar songwriting tropes from a multitude of styles inflicts a reeling confusion. 

The opener “Last Drop of Sunlight” sounds like what listening to a Chopin etude in the Backrooms might feel like, setting the tone by immediately introducing one of the mainstays of this record: programmed piano. Programmed instruments are always a gamble on whether they end up working or not, but there is a manic attention to detail that sets this particular use case apart. The music here sounds feasibly playable by a real person, the dynamics are believable, but the most impressive aspect is the artificial use of a sostenuto pedal. The way the bass notes continue to slightly ring underneath the rest of the performance is convincingly authentic, though it may just be a happy coincidence of certain production choices. At times during later tracks, subtlety is thrown to the wind and the piano is just another tool adding to the hysteria, but this just reinforces the notion that these details are intentional. “Last Drop of Sunlight” ends with some Debussy-esque arpeggios that lead into “Sleep Paralysis”, introducing a second programmed instrument: the drums. These are handled with much less subtlety, but end up working in Sleep Paralysis’ favor, adding to the frantic surrealism.

As Sleep Paralysis continues playing out its runtime it only ramps up this feeling of phantasmagoria as if—get this—you were experiencing sleep paralysis. The bold experimentation on this album pays off practically every time; the songs throw curveball after curveball, and that Sleep Paralysis never becomes grating or fatiguing is a testament to the quality of the songwriting, especially considering how maximalist the experience is. Lead single “Helplessness” sounds like Fleshgod Apocalypse took too much acid, started playing a song, and then just kind of forgot what they were doing and started vamping on the intro idea. I love how this piece makes you lose track of the time feel through the constantly rising melodic pattern, making a sort of DIY shepard tone for the vocals to swirl within. 

“Sleep Paralysis” wears its influences with pride: gross (in a good way) Imperial Triumphant-esque quarter note guitar chords punch under the main riff idea, exploding with a jarring energy that feels like a rabid animal scratching against a wall. “You Can Never Run Fast Enough” has a weirdly jaunty intro that turns into a swing feel, eventually leading to a skittering piano solo with the drums just fucking blasting behind it; “Stress” is like a fucked up Joplin ragtime; and “Fever Dream II – Paranoia” sounds like the soundtrack to a cursed Nintendo game cartridge taken straight out of a bad creepypasta. The familiarity littered through all of these tracks is mangled and twisted into an alien amalgamation of what we expect these things to sound like, as if you were listening to them in an alternative mirrored world. 

Also helping along the violated feeling of familiarity is Knapp’s vocal performance, utilizing black metal vocal techniques, guttural yells, gasps and plenty of ominous whispering. Lyrics like the “HRAHHH” ten seconds into “Sleep Paralysis” or “they’re coming for you” in “Fever Dream II – Paranoia” are incredibly effective, but in general the lyrics are a bit on the nose. Subtle swelling choirs permeate the background now and again, adding a cinematic touch in the vein of a horror movie soundtrack. There is a general dreamy (read: nightmare-y) atmosphere that envelops the entire experience; notes that are held out for too long begin dripping, and are those whispers in the background or am I just hearing things? Even the interludes and more chill parts keep up a certain pace or use other compositional techniques to accelerate your heartbeat. The magic here is that all of these delicate textural choices are at war with a frantic pace and searing intensity, a dialectical force tearing open a rift out of which a delirious fever haze pours. 

Sleep Paralysis even weaves a sense of humor throughout the record—like the cartoonish glissando about a minute into “Sleep Paralysis”—but the humor does not detract from the derangement, instead feeling more like the reaction of a broken psyche trying to cope with sleep deprived hallucinations. A couple of particularly egregious sound clips on the last track threaten to push the sense of humor into the realm of eye-rolling campiness, but they’re right at the end of the record so they don’t do much to hinder the albums flow or replayability. 

“Nostalgia” works well as a climax to Sleep Paralysis, being the longest song on the record and dipping into nearly every oddity that has been on display during the previous forty minutes. Really, there are a lot of climaxes on this album, but none of them are cathartic; they just continue to build up the anxiety through smart songwriting decisions rather than relieve any of it. Sleep Paralysis leaves the listener a crumpled, sweating ball of uneasiness, shoving back the bubbling thoughts of Stockholm Syndrome as you hit play on the first track once again.

Recommended tracks: Sleep Paralysis, Fever Dream, Helplessness
You may also like: Fleshvessel, Inhumankind, Maybe That’s Why Humans Drink the Darkness That is Coffee?
Final verdict: 8/10

Related links: Bandcamp

Label: I, Voidhanger – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Sleep Paralysis is:
– Stephen Knapp (All Instruments, Piano and Drum Programming)
With Guest:
– Lorenzo Kemp (Solo on “Nostalgia”)

The post Review: Sleep Paralysis – Sleep Paralysis appeared first on The Progressive Subway.