Style: symphonic rock, progressive rock, psychedelic rock (clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Electric Light Orchestra, The Grateful Dead, The Beatles, Love, Supertramp, Motorpsycho
Country: Australia
Release date: 13 June 2025

Twenty-seven studio albums in a plethora of genres within thirteen years—and no sign of stopping. That is the modus operandi of King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard. The genre-hopping gimmick and incomprehensible prolificness have netted the Aussie sextet an absolutely massive cult following as their work ethic and (apparently) riotously fun live act have captured the hearts of terminally online music nerds and casuals alike. On the Gizzy Lizzy’s newest record, Phantom Island, the group has attempted something new stylistically yet again: orchestration.

Originally written and recorded alongside 2024’s Gizzard version of boogie rock (Flight b741)—remnants of which remain in the new record—Phantom Island was deemed incomplete by the band, who enlisted Chad Kelly to compose orchestrations to be superimposed atop the original studio tracks. The result is energetic symphonic and progressive pop/rock, similar to Electric Light Orchestra. Blaring brass and uptempo hand drums create a full soundscape at the expense of drowning the listener in its cheesy outdatedness of Phantom Island’s tone (“Deadstick,” “Eternal Return,” “Panpsych”). Vocal harmonies straight out of the late 60s crop up all over the place (“Eternal Return,” “Aerodynamic, “Sea of Doubt”). Unfortunately, when frontman Stu Mackenzie takes sole vocal responsibilities, he has a tendency to slide into a grating, unrefined falsetto (“Deadstick,” “Silent Spirit,” “Grow Wings and Fly”) that feels out of place with the prettier orchestral arrangements on Phantom Island.

Chad Kelly and the Wizardy Lizardys’ arranging skills are at times brilliant. On the opener and title track, “Phantom Island,” a descending piano motif acts as a throughline across the jazzy track; the song culminates in a speedy, jam build-up, raucous yet focused. Tracks like “Lonely Cosmos,” with its acoustic ditty intro and psychedelic jazz conclusion, and “Aerodynamic,” with its excellent blues guitar tone, craft enough of an identity to stand out from the rest of Phantom Island—an album that, yet again, finds King Gizzard mostly playing firmly within their comfort zone.

Despite the different aesthetic surface differentiating any King Wizard & The Lizard Gizzard album from another, KGATLW know exactly who they are. Whether they’re playing with microtonality, thrashy sludge metal, electronic music, or spoken word, The Lizard Wizard & King Gizzard are the exact same under the hood; the group merely steal the aesthetic of a genre without any mind for composition or ethos. Phantom Island is progressive pop, jazzy, and, of course, symphonic, but at its core it’s another psychedelic jam album with the same structure as any of their other gazillion albums The record is utterly lifeless and boring apart from its couple aforementioned highlights. The horns sound forced, the record clearly not written with them in mind, and the songs that bristle with the most instruments are chaotic. Moreover, by the end of Phantom Island, The Lizard Wizards have basically dropped their schtick for the album, sounding outright like the psych rock band they are; I dearly miss the ELOisms of the earlier tracks starting at “Sea of Doubt” (although even those earlier ones often add a sort of ‘let’s-all-hold-hands-and-sing-Kumbaya’ vibe that’s a bit too ingratiating). Orchestral elements still appear in the later tracks, but they seem completely detached from the main compositions, like the afterthought they are. 

Y’know what might have fixed some of the fundamental compositional issues? If the King Lizard spent more than a couple months releasing an album. The ‘chuck every composition into an LP’ approach has yielded winners for the Gizzard Wizard in the past, but their discography has far more stinkers because every album feels like an incomplete exploration of a sound. Is Phantom Island a fun record? Yes. And I know that King Lizard & The Gizzard Wizard will continue to be successful because of that, deservedly one may say. But I can’t help but feel like this opus—like most of their others—is vapid pastiche as far as artistic merit goes.

Recommended tracks: Phantom Island, Lonely Cosmos, Aerodynamic
You may also like: Himmellegeme, Adjy, Kosmodome
Final verdict: 5/10

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

Label: p(doom) – Bandcamp | Official Website

King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard is:
– Ambrose Kenny-Smith – vocals (all tracks), piano (tracks 1, 2, 4–6, 9, 10)
– Michael Cavanagh – drums, percussion (all tracks)
– Cook Craig – bass (tracks 1, 3, 8, 10), Mellotron (tracks 1, 6), organ (tracks 2, 4, 9), vocals (tracks 1, 3, 4, 8, 10)
– Joey Walker – guitar (all tracks), bass (tracks 1, 4, 5), vocals (tracks 2, 4–7, 9, 10)
– Lucas Harwood – bass (tracks 1, 2, 4–7, 9, 10), piano (track 4), vocals (tracks 4, 5)
– Stu Mackenzie – guitar, vocals (all tracks), bass (tracks 1, 3–8), Mellotron (tracks 1–3, 5, 6), organ, piano (track 1)
With additional musicians:
– Sam Joseph – pedal steel (tracks 5, 8, 10)
– Chad Kelly – orchestral arrangements, piano
– Brett Kelly – conductor
– Tim Wilson, Lachlan Davidson, Phil Noy – saxophone
– Patrick McMullin, Daniel Beasy, Shane Hooton – trumpet
– Chris Vizard, James Bowman, Joe O’Callaghan – trombone
– Abbey Edlin – French horn
– Wendy Clarke, Lachlan Davidson – flute
– Natasha Fearnside – clarinet
– Matthew Kneale – bassoon
– Madeleine Jevons, Jos Jonker, Miranda Matheson, Ruby Paskas, Josephine Chung – violin
– Merewyn Bramble, Karen Columbine – viola
– Gemma Kneale, Paul Zabrowarny – cello

The post Review: King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard – Phantom Island appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Hard rock, psychedelic rock (clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Clutch, Mastodon, Green Lung, Acid King
Country: United Kingdom
Release date: 2 May 2025

Somewhere west of the Mississippi and the Great Plains, on a two-lane highway stretching a hundred-mile gap between a remote, small town and an even smaller, more remote town, a red pickup truck and its driver barrel down the road. The sun directly overhead at the start of their journey, they head towards rolling hills covered in nothing but squirrel-tail grass. Our driver feels for the CDs in the sleeve strapped to the sun visor and pulls one at random: Slung’s In Ways. As the truck approaches the first incline, the driver presses play, and Katie Oldham’s acrid roar on “Laughter” sets the album off at a pummeling pace. Responding in kind, the driver mashes the accelerator to get the well-worn pickup over the first hill at a matching rate. That is how In Ways hits at first—with a physical, momentous, low-Slung swagger.

If you asked me where Slung are from, based solely on In Ways, I’d have guessed the southwestern United States—the place I currently call home. The vibes here are thick and dusty in the air, as wide as the open sky ahead, and have me pining for the mountains out my doorstep. In some Ways, this LP is the soundtrack to the lonely drives around the West I took in my late teens and early twenties. I can hear and feel the excitement of going pedal to the metal on some flat, straight stretch of Interstate with nothing and nobody for miles around in the throaty, pentatonic guitar riffs of “Laughter” and “Matador.” Should I drive through the ominous storm on the horizon? I’m “Thinking About It,” and the brooding melodies of “Class A Cherry” fit the mood. The pedal steel guitar in “Nothing Left” has me lost in thought, and creates the perfect ambiance for the setting sun and the quiet world it departs—a reminder to turn on the headlights. No road trip would be complete without a stop at a scenic view to admire the reverent majesty of Mother Earth, and the soft melodies and power chords of “Come Apart” will do just fine for that. With an atmosphere that so vividly evokes memories, sights, and sounds from my region, it’s almost disorienting to find out that Slung are from England, not some dry corner of Utah or New Mexico. Are they trying to mimic Americana? I don’t think so. In Ways feels a step beyond that, as if they’re dreaming it from across an ocean.

Though I can’t discern a lyrical or other thematic through-line on In Ways, its concept does seem to be division. The difference between the former and latter halves of the album is stark, with the front side full of loud, up-tempo, rocking bangers and the back half comprised of quiet, pensive, aching songs of reflection (with one exception in each of those halves). But what makes the shift work—what almost prevents the album from feeling split in two—is the emotional continuity: that sense of movement from outside to inside, from memory to nostalgia, from the road under your tires to the thoughts in your head as you coast with the cruise control and admire the view.

Katie Oldham’s vocals are In Ways’ motor. She doesn’t dominate every track, but when she cuts loose, you can feel a tingle up your spine. Her raw delivery on “Laughter” sets the tone early, with a visceral yell that tears the record open like a crack of thunder. But her most stunning moment comes on a softer (and my favorite) track, “Heavy Duty,” where she holds back for almost the entire song. That restraint makes room for the other elements to do the emotional lifting: a bending guitar melody that makes my soul yearn, a subtly melodic bass line humming beneath the surface, and that pedal steel guitar painting an aural sunset on the soundscape. Then, in the closing moments of the song, Oldham belts the final chorus with a force and vibrato that could echo across valleys, making the hair on my arms stand up straight. Her voice doesn’t just carry the songs; it marks turning points in them. It’s less of a spotlight and more of a flare, briefly lighting up everything around it.

Still, for all its emotional resonance, the back half of In Ways merges indistinctly. Once the record passes the midpoint mile marker, the dynamic range narrows, and the tempos and textures begin to blur as each song becomes less unique than the one before it. The sighing pedal steel from “Heavy Duty” isn’t breathing any differently on “Falling Down” or the title track; nor do the plaintive, slightly distorted power chords from the guitar tell me a different story between “Limassol” and “Nothing Left.” For this reason, the division of the two musical personalities on this LP doesn’t entirely work. If the songs had been sequenced differently, I wonder if I would have even noticed—I certainly wouldn’t have cared. So, even though there’s something to enjoy in all of the tracks, on repeat listens, a few become skippable due to a lack of variety.

And yet, there’s a cumulative power to In Ways’ structure, a gradual letting off the gas and a waxing clarity that gives way to an emotional pull inward. By the time the final notes of “Falling Down” fade out, In Ways has completed a transformative journey. It starts in a storm and ends in the silence after. There may not be a map in the liner notes, no specific concept to decode, but the drive is one I’d be glad to make again. Though I’m not sure exactly where we started, for me, it feels like coming home.

Recommended tracks: Heavy Duty, Collider, Nothing Left
You may also like: Sergeant Thunderhoof, Howling Giant, Calyces, Pryne, Vokonis
Final verdict: 7/10

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

Label: Fat Dracula Records – Official Website

Slung is:
Katie Oldham – vocals
Ali Johnson – guitar
Ravi Martin – drums
Vlad Matveikov – bass

The post Review: Slung – In Ways appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Artwork by: Costin Chioreanu

Style: Progressive metal, avant-garde metal (mixed vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Oranssi Pazuzu, Ved Buens Ende, Enslaved (Monumension in particular), Arcturus
Country: The Netherlands
Release date: 13 March 2025

While in my daily life I tend to be a pretty goofy individual who tends to joke around in situations where one really shouldn’t (I once drew an apple and a pear on my real analysis in higher dimensions exam, said “pronounce: apple, pear respectively,” and proclaimed that they were manifolds—yes, I got full points), when it comes to music I am largely serious: I eyeroll over most of Haken’s and Between the Buried and Me’s whimsical breaks (the one in “Crystallized” might be the single most offensive section of music ever), and even in a genre like power metal which I adore, I tend towards bands who take themselves seriously like Virgin Steele or Angra over gimmick bands like Manowar or Sabaton. I do enjoy the goof sometimes, but it needs to be timed tastefully and the band has to deliver enough musical substance to back it up (Ethmebb my beloved). So, you tell me Cthuluminati, will this Tentacula entangle me in its wonders or will these silly tentacles touch me in places where they really shouldn’t?

Cthuluminati play a strange psychedelic brand of progressive black metal. While this combination of genres is by no means new—groups like Enslaved, Oranssi Pazuzu, and A Forest of Stars are infamous for this—Cthuluminati set out to make their sound as uncomfortable and bewildering as possible, borrowing their aesthetic from horror movie soundtracks while contorting their base prog black sound in a similar way to Ved Buens Ende with odd chord choices and unsettling rhythmic interplay. Their songs whirl and twirl in unexpected directions, relying on rhythmic modulations and ever evolving sound design to put you on the wrong foot. The latter is particularly impressive for how seamlessly black metal, psych rock, stoner, and post-metal guitarwork weave in and out to create a cohesive sound. And to finish things off, the vocal melodies tend not to be melodies as much as they creatively monologue in various shades of distortion, ranging from maybe-musical talking and Tibetan throat singing to raspy warbling and guttural screaming. The resulting sound is one of controlled chaos with dark psychedelia, somewhat as if Enslaved had figured out how to maintain cohesion in their excesses on Monumension. In short, Tentacula is an LSD trip not quite gone wrong but it’s definitely on the edge.

This sense of groundedness plays a large part of what makes Tentacula such a special record. For the most part, Cthuluminati deftly balance normality with their avant-garde tendencies. Opening track “Cthrl” exemplifies this approach, starting with spoken word and spooky synths before erupting in black metal riffage over a driving, almost danceable beat that slowly but surely contorts into disorienting psychedelia until you realize you’ve fully left familiar ground. But as you’re floating on the waves of Cthuluminati’s wicked imagination, they pull you back to the ground with impressive shredding and tom-heavy drumming, only to get weird again near the end with a full on psych rock escapade. “Abysmal Quatrain” similarly balances itself as it gradually builds from the uncanny into an almost normal post-black metal crescendo, and “The Illusion of Control” explores doom metal elements, giving rise to some very heavy, dramatic moments. However, “Squid Pro Quo” (song name of the year btw) does lose its footing at times by meandering for too long in slow, uncomfortable rhythms and creepy synths and vocal work while failing to provide sufficient comfort to the listener to balance it out, thus harming the album’s pacing.

Another way Cthuluminati toe the line between the normal and the avant-garde is in their song structures. The writing feels stream of consciousness at first, but Cthuluminati successfully instill a sense of order in their compositions by borrowing cues from post-metal in how they incorporate tension and release. In that sense, opener “Cthrl” is a bit misleading with how many things it throws at the wall. The following tracks all have a far stronger sense of identity: the slow and unsettling “Squid Pro Quo” borrows from 90s stoner rock redolent of Kyuss, “Abysmal Quatrain” is solidly embedded in post-metal, “The Illusion of Control” leans into cinematic death-doom, and closer “Mantra” is a ritualistic post-metal track recalling The Ocean with bonus throat singing. Not to say any of these tracks are easy—they all still have plenty of rhythmic mind benders and creepy sound design—but at least you know which song you’re listening to. However, like the quirky excesses of “Squid Pro Quo”, Cthuluminati do get lost in the sauce sometimes: the quiet middle section of “Mantra” meanders with too few interesting sonic developments, “The Illusion of Control” overstays its welcome a smidge with an unnecessarily long acoustic outro, and “Squid Pro Quo” isn’t ominous enough to justify its slow tempos. Fortunately, most of these are only minor mishaps in the overall experience.

All things considered, it’s safe to say that Cthuluminati do not rely on any gimmick to distinguish themselves. Tentacula is a bewildering album in all the right ways: clever genre mashups, challenging yet accessible arrangements, creative sound design, and tying it all together with compositions that strike a fantastic balance in being adventurous while remaining more-or-less grounded. Sometimes Cthuluminati do overindulge in their whims, but most of the time they remain on course to throughout whatever nightmare labyrinth they entrap themselves in. Tentacula is another shining example of why progressive black metal is one of the current most exciting genres around, and I recommend fans of curves and angles not native to this plane of existence to pick it up.

Recommended tracks: Cthrl, The Illusion of Control, Mantra
You may also like: Hail Spirit Noir, Schammasch, Murmuüre, A Forest of Stars
Final verdict: 8/10

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

Label: Independent

Cthuluminati is:
– Devi Hisgen (vocals)
– Rami Wohl (guitars)
– Stefan Strausz (bass)
– Seth van de Loo (drums)

The post Review: Cthuluminati – Tentacula appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: progressive rock, jazz fusion, psychedelic rock (clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Vulkan, Thank You Scientist, The Mars Volta
Country: Chile
Release date: 4 March 2025

Ah, the ever-contentious question of what determines a genre. I return often to this video essay by Mike Rugnetta at the (sadly now defunct) PBS Idea Channel, which posits in part that new artistic genres are not always defined by an artist doing anything strictly groundbreaking. Some trend-setters, such as Franz Kafka or the Dark Souls series of video games, instead “create their own precursors,” establishing new genres by recontextualizing artistic elements that had already been used by their peers and predecessors. These subtle revolutionaries bring new perspectives as they pick out existing commonalities that in retrospect could have already described a genre of their own, had anyone cared to see the link. Music, of course, is no exception to this kind of effect; sometimes the most exciting artists aren’t those breaking new ground entirely, but rather those who can combine things you already loved in a way few others have (yet).

Chercán step onto the stage with their self-titled debut album, and while it would be premature to herald the formation of a new genre, their most noteworthy features are found in the recombination of diverse styles—familiar, but not exactly like any individual band. I was first drawn to Chercán by their similarity to Vulkan, a moderately-known but rarely-imitated band fusing aspects of psychedelic and heavy progressive rock (reminiscent of The Mars Volta but far less wacky). Chercán draw their core sound from this same well, leaning slightly away from the heavy prog influences in favor of jazz, and the Chileans’ instrumentation strays into the unconventional with the inclusion of saxophone as a primary contributor. Matías Bahamondes covers the whole range of the woodwind’s capabilities, from calm jazz rock akin to Thank You Scientist in “7 Colores” to experimental wailing at the tail end of “Caen Las Hojas Blancas,” but for the most part the saxophone integrates into the mix as smoothly as a second lead guitar. Guest musicians on string instruments also add extra color to the palette, sometimes subtly blending with the more traditional jazz/rock orchestration, but also stepping into the spotlight from time to time, such as during the interlude “Desolación (En)” and the opening of the balladic followup “Tiempos Paralelos.”

Chercán excel as much at expressing an aggressive, hard-edged mood bordering on metal as they do at producing a softer, instrumental focused, almost symphonic rock sound. Even moreso, it’s impressive how the same musicians and instruments can contribute equally to each facet. Martín Peña’s vocals impart a sense of tension and urgency during more abrasive times like “Caen Las Hojas Blancas” just as much as they add to the expressive beauty of the string-focused “Tiempos Paralelos.” Meanwhile, the duelling saxophone and guitar melodies that adorn each song shift effortlessly into whichever tone is required from moment to moment, alternately pouring out harsh intensity to the full extent of each instrument’s capabilities in the second half of opener “La Culpa” and producing sweet, calming melodic layers in “Kalimba.” I would be remiss to not also mention drummer Rodrigo González Mera, whose fantastic rhythm parts almost rival the melody instruments in their intricacy (most notably in “Relato De Una Obsesión. Parte II: El Orate”). Additional percussion instruments not found on a standard drum kit add a further sense of the otherworldly and sublime throughout both parts of “Relato De Una Obsesión” as well as during the marimba-filled opening of “Kalimba.”

I complain all too often about bands whose unwieldy and repetitive riffs carve virtual ruts into the sound of their music, wearing down the listener’s patience the way anxious pacing wears out the carpet. I have good news, though: Chercán are not one of those bands. Repetitive phrases like the chugging guitar and saxophone rhythms which recur a couple times throughout “Las Mentiras Del Muro” establish a steady groove while mixing up the details, like the shift from low, almost growled vocals to high shrieks after a couple cycles. Most importantly, Chercán have the sense to get out of the way and move on to something else before it becomes too stale, as they do with the energetic instrumental break that closes out “Las Mentiras.” Only two slightly dimmer spots blemish the sheen of this otherwise excellent album. While Chercán’s musical talent and quality never come into question, the tracks “Caen Las Hojas Blancas” and “Las Mentiras Del Muro” partially undercut the musical experience that Chercán otherwise provides. Both focus more heavily on the in-your-face and intense side of the band’s repertoire, and the relative uniformity leads to a less exciting and dynamic experience than the subtlety that Chercán are capable of at their peak, as demonstrated by the opener “La Culpa” which successfully balances both extremes.

Unbound by standards of genre or instrumentation, Chercán revel in the endless recombination of music. Drawing on the eclectic psychedelic and progressive influences of their musical ancestors Vulkan and The Mars Volta, Chercán execute a coup de grâce with the addition of saxophone and strings, elevating their debut to a unique plane of music. Chercán is dynamic, it shows a range of talents, and it’s also just gorgeous. Talented songwriting allows the musicians the space they need to shine, building momentum and avoiding dull repetition with a wealth of musical ideas available to cycle through, but also maintaining a steady pace that never feels like it’s in a rush to continue from one section to the next. Although their individual features inevitably trace back to some other source of inspiration, their creative combination offers a welcome shot of novelty in a year that’s been a little slow to get off the ground.

Recommended tracks: La Culpa, Kalimba, Tiempos Paralelos, Relato De Una Obsesión (both parts), 7 Colores
You may also like: Bend the Future, Seven Impale, Papangu
Final verdict: 8/10

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

Label: Independent

Chercán is:
– Martín Peña (vocals, guitars – “7 Colores”)
– Simón Catalán (bass)
– Roberto Faúndez (guitars)
– Matías Bahamondes (saxophone)
– Rodrigo González Mera (percussion)
With guests:
– Benjamín Ruz (violin)
– Javiera González (viola)
– Ariadna Kordovero (cello)

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

Style: Math rock, psychedelic rock, progressive rock (instrumental, rap on track 7)
Recommended for fans of: Chon, late Elder, Motorpsycho
Country: Canada
Release date: 7 February 2025

One of the coolest things about classic Westerns of old was the quick draw duels. After a heated dispute, Serious Badass no. 1 and Serious Badass no. 2 would stand back to back, and walk ten paces before shooting each other, usually captured with some epic closeup face cams right before they put their manhood into action. A classic element which made these duels so iconic was the small gust of wind that rolled a piece of tumbleweed by, expertly building the tension. Now, Sweden’s climate does not lend itself to this plant, but if you are a Serious Badass in Sweden facing another who insulted your honor, you are in luck because Tumbleweed Dealer are here for all your quickdraw decorum needs.

On latest album Dark Green, Tumbleweed Dealer’s sound is centered around light math rock riffs and drummer Angelo Fata’s diverse array of grooves, spiced up by interjecting that musical base with post-rock strumming, progressive rhythms, psychedelic sound effects, and a wide variety of keyboard and brass instruments mostly done by guest musicians. These elements are molded into a free-flowing jam band type of sound, and Tumbleweed Dealer compose their songs around a central groove which they use as a baseline to fall back on for their experimental tangents, making them very easy to listen to. Every song will throw in a couple of cute and/or quirky ideas that you can latch onto: Tumbleweed Dealer treat us to mellotron, Hammond organ, church organ, trumpet, flugelhorn, 90s video game synths, and a few more unconventional rock instruments and sounds atop their math rock foundation, yielding an at least outwardly diverse album.

Angelo Fata steals the show with his performance behind the kit on Dark Green, displaying both versatility and depth in his rhythms. He constantly intersperses his grooves with creative accents and small fills without ever detracting from the underlying groove, and he transitions cleverly between rhythms through more extensive fills. Seb Painchaud’s guitar work on the other hand is far less interesting: he spends much of his time in quirky strumming patterns that are fun for a while but lack the edge to carry an entire album. It’s not until “Dragged Across the Wetlands” that we get something of higher intensity from him and it makes a huge difference for the track’s memorability. Similarly, “Ghost Dressed in Weeds” with its energetic surf rock and “Body of the Bog” with its heavy machine gun riff immediately stand out from the pack for the guitar’s extra edge. Finally, Jean-Baptiste Joubaud provides similarly quirky sounds on synths when playing lead, often drawing from 90s video game music, and lays down a cosy, psychedelic atmospheric backdrop for the rest of the album. Nothing too crazy but his playing works well enough and provides some nice color to Tumbleweed Dealer’s overall sound.

The aforementioned jam band sensibility that defines Dark Green plays a large part in what makes Tumbleweed Dealer’s sound so accessible, but it’s also their biggest weakness. Rarely do the songs on Dark Green develop into anything more compelling than the base ideas they started with. More often than not they will introduce a cute motif, maybe even a couple of them, bounce around between a few other quirky passages, return to the main riff and end the song in an anticlimactic way. What makes other jam-esque prog bands like Elder and Motorpsycho so compelling is how they build from a simple motif into these larger than life climaxes; Tumbleweed Dealer’s compositions are just tepid in comparison. When they do build up the tension, they fail to provide proper release, yet simultaneously, the often meek guitar work makes the tracks impotent in terms of hooks, so the overall result is something that sits awkwardly between a straightforward and an epic composing style. In that sense, the large cast of guest musicians tends to feel like window dressing, even if performed well. Remarkably enough, the best guest feature is Ceschi Ramos whose rapping on “Ghost Dressed in Weeds” gives some much-needed edge to the music. The small saxophone solo by Zach Strouse on the title track is also phenomenal, as is the Latin part it transitions into afterwards—but then the song just ends without any sense of ceremony, squandering the greater moments that came before.

If you’re all about chill vibes and want something easy to listen to, Dark Green has plenty to offer with all the different keyboard textures and psychedelic sounds thrown at you atop a comfortable math rock base. Otherwise though, Tumbleweed Dealer are neither incisive enough to make the short compositions catchy nor ambitious enough to develop their songs into epic proportions, leaving an album that is varied on the surface, but meek and homogeneous on the inside. As it stands, Serious Badasses in Sweden would do better to forego the Tumbleweed Dealer and stick with regular Swedish dueling decorum.

Recommended tracks: A Plant That Thinks It’s Human, Dragged Across the Wetlands, Ghost Dressed in Weeds
You may also like: delving, Bend the Future, Ferras Arrabi
Final verdict: 5/10

Related links: Bandcamp | Spotify | Facebook

Label: Independent

Tumbleweed Dealer is:
– Seb Painchaud (bass, guitars)
– Angelo Fata (drums, percussion)
– Jean-Baptiste Joubaud (synths, programming)

The post Review: Tumbleweed Dealer – Dark Green appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Doom metal, psychedelic rock, tribal ambient (Clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Om, Lowen, Earth
Country: Belgium
Release date: 10 January 2025

It’s the day after the 31st Akitu festival under the reign of King Nebuchadnezzar II. The image of the full harvest moon is hardly a blur in your mind as you reel from a sikaru-induced hangover, hazily etching a formal complaint about a shiesty copper deal into your stone tablet underneath a date palm. Your friend stumbles over his words to yet again tell you about the funniest joke he heard the other day from a guy in Eshnunna about a dog walking into a tavern. You look up briefly from your tablet to locate the sound of muffled yelling, catching a glimpse of a figure slipping into a narrow alleyway out of the corner of your eye. A guard approaches you, asking if you’ve seen anyone run this way, to which you respond, ‘𒋫 𒀠 𒇷 𒅅 𒈠 𒋫 𒀝 𒁉 𒀀 𒄠’. Perturbed, the guard moves on in his pursuit and you continue etching out your tirade. Welcome to Babylon, crown jewel of Sumer and the setting of Belgian psych rock outfit Wyatt E.’s latest release, Zamāru Ultu Qereb Ziqquratu, Part 1 (Roughly, Songs From the Temple Tower in Akkadian). Wyatt E.’s compositions explore Babylon’s seedy underbelly, chronicling the struggles of its captured peoples. Does Zamāru successfully conjure melodies from Marduk’s¹ towers on high, or am I gonna have to write another stone-tablet tirade to the gods?

With a droning psychedelic rock base, Wyatt E. incorporate heavy doom metal and a hefty chunk of modern Near East tonality into Zamāru’s soundscapes.² Evoking a dire atmosphere is the name of the game: compositions rarely focus on riffs, instead meditating on ominous ideas that build into unfathomably heavy climaxes, evoking the feeling of hostile forces lurking around every corner. Even in its quieter moments, like “The Diviner’s Prayer to the Gods of the Night”, hushed and tense instrumentation pair with the prayer’s urgent prose to prevent the listener from fully basking under the otherwise languid starlight. Second track “About the Culture of Death” is particularly cinematic in its approach, using strings and booming drumwork to lead into tumbling rhythms, evoking wide-pan shots of a bellicose ancient city.

Zamāru is bookended by two mammoth atmospheric tracks, “Qaqqari lā Târi, Part 1”³ and “Ahanu Ersetum” (roughly, “To Another Place on Earth”), with smaller tracks interspersed between. Both pieces start small with amorphous soundscaping and well up into gigantic rock passages, exploding with buzzing guitar drones that overwhelm the listener by sheer force. On Zamāru, however, it’s the small things that count: more concise tracks “Im Lelya” and “The Diviner’s Prayer to the Gods of Night” commit wholly to atmospherics while relying on engaging percussion and melodics to evoke foreboding ancient imagery. Additionally, these tracks feature guest vocalists which help to centralize and focus Wyatt E.’s ideas magnificently. “Im Lelya”⁴ features an ethereal performance by Tomer Damsky over gentle and hypnotic percussion before the track quickly escalates into fuzzy doom riffage, and “The Diviner’s Prayer to the Gods of the Night” gives Lowen’s Nina Saeidi creative room to channel an ancient Babylonian prayer through a modern Iranian lens.⁵ The end result in both cases is stunning, evocative, and appropriately grim.

In comparison to the fabulously composed shorter tracks, the more extended pieces are serviceable but ultimately not mind-blowing—their atmospherics are without a doubt enjoyable; the buildups are logical; and they sit nicely within the album’s setting; but ultimately, they meander for a bit too long and lose focus before reaching their ends. Although both “Qaqqari lā Târi” and “Ahanu Ersetum” have excellent climaxes, in this atmospheric / post-metal style of songwriting, the climax partially depends on a good buildup, and when we’ve arrived at the heights of these tracks, I can’t remember for the life of me how we even got there. I would love to see a more pronounced direction on the more atmospheric tracks in Wyatt E.’s future works, similar to Zamāru’s shorter pieces.

With stunning highs and still good but comparatively middling lows, Zamāru Ultu Qereb Ziqquratu, Part 1 is an effortlessly unique take on droning doom metal and psychedelic rock, infusing a tasty Near East vibe into its hostile soundscapes. Aided by talented guest vocalists, Wyatt E. conjure imagery of an idyllic ancient city with a seedy underbelly. Despite occasional flubs in the execution of longer tracks, Zamāru Ultu Qereb Ziqquratu, Part 1 will without a doubt have you saying ‘𒀸 𒁍 𒊏 𒄠 𒈠’ by its end.

Recommended tracks: The Diviner’s Prayer to the Gods of the Night, Im Lelya, Ahanu Ersetum
You may also like: Sunnata, Zaum, Neptunian Maximalism, Uulliata Digir, The Ruins of Beverast
Final verdict: 7.5/10

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

Label: Heavy Psych Sounds – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Wyatt E. is:
– Gil Chevigné (drums, percussion)
– Jonas Sanders (drums, percussion)
– Stéphane Rondia (guitars, synths, vocals)
– Sébastien von Landau (guitars, bass, synth, vocals)
– Amalija Kokeza (viola)
– Tomer Damsky (session vocals)
– Nina Saeidi (session vocals)

1. Marduk here referring to the patron god of Babylon, not the Swedish black metal band. ︎
2. Interestingly enough, the prevailing musicological theory is that the maqam tonal framework associated with modern Near East music did not originate in Mesopotamia, but was likely inspired by Greek experimentation in tonality. Additionally, the ‘classically western’ heptatonic scale is thought to have have been brought to Europe later from Mesopotamia. ︎
3. This roughly translates to “Descent Into the Otherworld”, based on a Mesopotamian story about the goddess Ishtar traveling to the Underworld. ︎
4. A reference to an ancient Hebrew fable describing four beasts which destroy four separate cities, one of which includes Babylon. ︎
5. I did a deep dive on this in my recent Wardruna review regarding modern music that takes inspiration from historical ideas, so check that out for a further elaboration of my thoughts. ︎

The post Review: Wyatt E. – Zamāru Ultu Qereb Ziqquratu, Part 1 appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: progressive rock, psychedelic rock, stoner rock (clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard, Elder, The Mars Volta, King Crimson
Country: Norway
Release date: 11 October, 2024

It must be a universal experience for metal fans to have their music taste described as “angry” or “sad” or associated with some other emotion that’s typically viewed as negative. I, for one, distinctly remember being asked by a high school crush something along the lines of “Don’t you ever listen to anything happy?” This kind of judgment—and sometimes concern for your mental wellbeing—can be hard to shake, but veterans of the genre know that metal music need not be defined by negativity; rather, the unifying attribute tends to be intense expressiveness. While that commonality admittedly lends itself to anger or sadness or similar, it can also intensify the ability to express a brighter aesthetic. Although Kosmodome are not a metal band, they tap into some of that same passion to support the broad emotional range of their music.

Ad Undas is built on a fundamental contradiction of themes, with the explicit meaning of the lyrics and the implied emotional content of the music each pulling strongly in different directions. According to the band, “Lyrically [the album] delves into personal struggles with self-doubt, the pressures of societal expectations, and the existential battles of modern life. The songs touch on different aspects of the human condition, from the fear of failure and the need for growth to the turmoil of modern living and relentless self-exertion in a chaotic world.” However, while those feelings are explored outright in the text of the lyrics, they don’t seem like an obvious fit for the overall bubbly, energetic tone of the backing music. Despite opening with lyrics like “Why did I have to lose my ability / To feel like I’m good enough? / Here I am full of doubt / With my own negativity pulling me down,” you would be forgiven for drawing an overall positive emotional impression from the opening track “Neophobia” or from equally high-energy outings later in the tracklist like “Dystopia.” In fairness, this tonal contradiction plays well enough into the psychedelic aesthetic, which inherently questions what is real and what is just a product of one’s own mind, but it poses a puzzle for any listener intent on marrying mood and subject.

Psychedelic rock demands less rigid conformity from its constituents than some other subgenres do, and bands like Kosmodome pull together a broad mix of inspirations from their cohort. Early tracks like “Neophobia” and “Obsternasig” bring to mind King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard with their lively jamming energy led by bright, fluffy guitar melodies paired with nasal, slightly pitchy singing. Other moments, like the middle and later parts of “Dystopia,” employ a crunchier, Elder-like mix, with more space reserved for layers of reverb and distorted guitars to build an enveloping atmosphere. Although never fully reaching the point of copying these other artists, the similarities help to corral Kosmodome’s freeform sound into a recognizable shape and focus their diverse energies into memorable moments. Once they grow tired of harping on external influences, Kosmodome bring out their own signature style, settling into steady, rolling grooves full of bass that are hard not to tap your foot to, but such interim moments rarely carry the same force as when channeling other artists.

With all these different styles competing for the spotlight, Ad Undas faces some instability in how strong and compelling different sections are. When using other bands as a template, Kosmodome’s music rolls along with captivating energy and a mysterious mood, but the more original—and thus less structured—interim portions often lose that momentum and stumble. The second track, “Hyperion,” fades into obscurity after a couple of listens primarily due to its lack of these borrowed vibes, despite a strong middle section featuring jaunty jams. In the more extreme case, “Turmoil” throws the quality of the album into turmoil with its bland, overlong instrumental intro leading only to unenthusiastic vocal sections. The closing song “Fatigue” then faces an overwhelming challenge to get the groove back on track and finish strong—a challenge it can’t quite meet. Despite its valiant effort, Ad Undas finishes on a bit of a low note as the depressive energies of the lyrics finally stifle the bold, energetic grooves that otherwise define the album’s high points.

Kosmodome’s lively energy is infectious whether or not it fits the lyrical text at hand. Despite unhappy themes of inadequacy, the overall musical mood is positive, often bouncy, and replete with energetic grooves. The band members make good use of their obvious psychedelic influences, including King Gizz and Elder, but falter somewhat when left to their own devices. With sections of clear inspiration that pay homage to the greats, it’s all the more disappointing when the band’s more original contributions lack distinction and fall prey to the low energy malaise brought forth by the lyrics. Still, Ad Undas leaves a solid impression, driven by those groovy and bright high points, which can’t be fully extinguished by the rest.

Recommended tracks: Neophobia, Obsternasig, Dystopia
You may also like: Himmellegeme, delving, we broke the weather, Mount Hush
Final verdict: 7/10

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

Label: Stickman Records – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Kosmodome is:
– Sturle Sandvik (vocals, guitars)
– Severin Sandvik (vocals, drums)
– Erlend Nord (guitars)
– Ole-Andreas Jensen (bass)

The post Review: Kosmodome – Ad Undas appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: progressive rock, stoner rock, psychedelic rock, krautrock (instrumental)
Recommended for fans of: Elder, Weedpecker, Elephant Tree
Country: Germany
Release date: 23 August, 2024

Such is the burden of the underground reviewer: realistically, I’m never going to get to write a full review of many of my favorite bands, such as Elder, for this blog. Luckily, in this case we have the next best thing. Founded and almost exclusively performed by Elder frontman Nick DiSalvo, delving operates as seemingly a spiritual continuation of his previous side project Gold & Silver, the style being also reminiscent of Elder’s unique 2019 EP The Gold & Silver Sessions. DiSalvo’s first album under the delving moniker, Hirschbrunnen in 2021, offered a glimpse of the ongoing shift in Elder’s sound and style, blending the soft psychedelic rock of The Gold & Silver Sessions with their earlier heavy stoner- and doom-infused metal to arrive at a subtly but noticeably different aesthetic. Reversing that trend towards lighter and more rock-oriented music, All Paths Diverge immediately sounds heavier than its predecessor, with new infusions of metal aesthetics mirroring the heavy psychedelic sounds of Omens or Innate Passage.

The reverberating guitar, keyboard, and percussion mash also characteristic of Elder permeates the bulk of All Paths Diverge, building both soundscape and melody and seamlessly interconnecting the two. Within both outfits, DiSalvo constructs some of the richest musical textures in all of prog—full, but not busy, moving forward with purpose but lingering just enough on each motif to fully develop the idea behind it. The line between melody and rhythm parts blurs until each part serves equally as both, showing delving’s krautrock (or post-rock) influences in how the music is made up of a compilation of intertwining layers rather than a single melody and its supporting parts. And yet, All Paths Diverge never really feels ambient, with only the introductory opening parts of certain tracks like “New Meridian” and “The Ascetic” being sparse enough to qualify. The music stays active, maintaining forward motion while still allowing the atmospheric elements and complex overlapping parts the space they need in order to unfurl to their fullest potential.

All Paths Diverge more heavily features spacey, psychedelic keyboard work than its parent project does—for example the atmospheric backgrounds in “Sentinel”—but as focus shifts more to the fuzzy guitars and echoing cymbal crashes (beginning with “Omnipresence”), the similarity to Elder grows more and more apparent. The chime-like keyboard arpeggios in the background particularly make the latter half of “Chain of Mind” sound exactly like an Elder track that could have fallen off the back of the truck while Innate Passage was being assembled (if not for the fact that it’s not quite ten minutes long, which seems to be their absolute minimum allowed song length at this point). It’s comforting to hear DiSalvo working more in a musical space that seems to interest him this much, and I’ll never turn down more of a good thing, though I was taken aback as I noticed how much—for good or for ill—All Paths Diverge acts as a continuation of Elder itself, especially when Hirschbrunnen (at least at the time) felt like a significant step in a different direction.

Although All Paths Diverge never gets boring, it also doesn’t quite attain the consistent mastery that we’ve seen from Elder over the years. Every track proves its own excellence, but only certain moments put forth the complete brilliance that DiSalvo has already demonstrated in this style while working with Elder. “New Meridian” and “The Ascetic” follow broadly the same structure as each other, providing excellent examples of the contrast between the different moods at work. With a first half featuring atmospheric synth effects to set the mood, both tracks transition abruptly but cleverly at the halfway mark into a much more in-your-face breakdown that carries the rest of the way to its conclusion. It takes two very different talents to bring such contrasting sections to life. The opening half, while pleasant, doesn’t quite live up to the outright excitement that follows. While both parts individually serve their own purposes, the latter section overshadows the former with how much more bold and memorable it is, and without more direct connections to link them, the first part fades quickly from the listener’s memory in spite of its significant contribution to the buildup and payoff of the track as a whole.

Even more so than Hirschbrunnen, All Paths Diverge feels like a slimmed-down Elder project, equally creative and well-constructed but smaller in scope and ambition. Which version you prefer is naturally a question of personal taste above anything else, but delving certainly measures up alongside the other vaunted works of the project’s creator. Nick DiSalvo demonstrates the same creativity and talent here that he has already become known for, with some small personal touches to make this project more his own. While the result lacks some of the consistent greatness that has driven the success of one of my favorite bands, its high moments hit just as hard, making for an album worthy of praise no matter how lofty the standards set by its musical cousin.

Recommended tracks: Omnipresence, Chain of Mind, New Meridian, The Ascetic
You may also like: Gold & Silver, Papir, Son Cesano, Himmellegeme
Final verdict: 8/10

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

Label: Stickman Records (Europe) – Bandcamp | Website | Facebook,
Blues Funeral (US) – Bandcamp | Website | Facebook

delving is:
– Nicholas DiSalvo (written and performed by)
With guests:
– Fabien de Menou (keyboards)
– Michael Risberg (guitar ambiance, “Zodiak”)

The post Review: delving – All Paths Diverge appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Jazz Rock, Jazz Fusion, Prog Rock, Afrobeat (Mostly instrumental, some clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Frank Zappa, Snarky Puppy, Kokoroko
Country: Finland
Release date: 2 August 2024

Finland’s mischievous jazz rock ensemble Utopianisti first impressed me with their second album Utopianisti II—showcasing a defiant eclecticism, the band explored everything from klezmer and opera to 8-bit and tango, as well as an unnecessary compilation track of leftover jams (the appropriately titled “U.L.J.C (The Unnecessary Leftover Jam Compilation)”). On more recent albums, the band, led by Markus Pajakkala, traded their eclecticism for commitment: Brutopianisti consistently played with breakcore, zeuhl, and metal influences, while Tango Solo infused the titular Latin dance influences into their jazz rock style. 

On Reason in Motion, the intrepid Finns suffuse all their trademark jazz rock, psychedelia, and prog wonkery with afrobeat, swelling their numbers with the addition of two percussionists/vocalists: Senegal-born Ismaila Sané and Mauritius-born Gilbert Kuppusami. Djembes and shakers add a refreshing sense of funkiness and vibrance, as does the fact the album was recorded live in studio. “Greenwash” opens Reason in Motion with trippy keys, wild saxes, and a magnificent drum solo trade off between Sané and Kuppusami, their afrobeat injection pushing the band into sounding more like Kokoroko, as well as some of Snarky Puppy’s worldlier tracks.

But Utopianisti’s signature sound remains undiminished, with Anssi Solismaa’s keys and Matti Salo’s guitar work keeping the songs firmly attached to the psychedelic fusion realms of Frank Zappa and Mahavishnu Orchestra. Meanwhile, Utopianisti’s main stock in trade, the horns, are covered by Pajakkala on the baritone and tenor saxophones, Inari Ruonamaa on alto, and Olli ”Trumpenator” Helin on the… well, you can probably guess what he plays. Pajakkala also breaks out the flute on a few tracks—notably “All Whale Panel”— but it’s unfortunately used quite sparingly. Most of Utopianisti’s main motifs are centred around the horns, but it’s when they opt for the lightness of the alto sax, the keys, and the flute that the tracks glide along at their most effortless.

We see that on “Yegaa Nu Betaa” (which is led into by the brief “Yegaa Intro”), Reason in Motion’s best fusion of psychedelic and afrobeat, which emphasises Sané and Kuppusami’s vocals and percussion with synth, horns, and guitar aplenty, showcasing the entire band’s talents. “Kakistocrats”, too, leans hard into the afrobeat with extended drum solos, jaunty rhythms, shouts and chants, a real live feel that’s joyously upbeat, with a moment for every performer to truly shine. That sensibility continues on the ten minute finale “Le Nuit Des Morts-Vivants”, a big ol’ jam track that gives every performer their moment in the limelight (those sax trills, man), the rhythm bops along gently, and the vibes are just off the charts. 

Not every swing works, however, “No Culture, No Soul” turns up the psychedelia with an emphasis on freaky synths and a stripped back rhythm section with languid horn work all at a low tempo, but at over eight minutes long, the unchanging rhythm and perpetual languor outstay their welcome. Indeed, the staticity of the rhythms can be an issue: Utopianisti tend to vibe with a rhythm idea and then jam over it, but sometimes you want them to do more, to progress, with those underlying elements; often they do, but sometimes—usually when it’s a heavy dose of the horns in unison—said rhythms trudge along a bit, feeling all too rigid. Their high points are always when the compositions are at their most loose and flowing. 

Reason in Motion is the most assured of Utopianisti’s albums, a successful melding of afrobeat and jazz rock where the new nuances of the percussions are vital to the vibes—be they laidback or groovy—and the vocal contributions of Sané and Kuppusami add a vibrant immediacy to the work. While some of the zanier eclecticism of their early work is missed—and there can be a lack of progression in places—this is a strong work of jazz fusion; each composition has a solid identity, the afrobeat influence is an absolute blast, and Utopianisti remain a criminally underrated group of deeply talented performers.

Recommended tracks: Kakistocrats, All Whale Panel, Le Nuit Des Morts-Vivants
You may also like: Seven Impale, Cloud People, Karmic Juggernaut, iNFiNiEN
Final verdict: 7.5/10

Related links: Bandcamp | Spotify | Facebook | YouTube

Label: Independent

Utopianisti is:
– Ismaila Sané – Percussion, voice (left channel)
– Gilbert Kuppusami – Percussion, voice (right channel)
– Ville Hatanpää – Drums
– Jaakko Luoma – Bass
– Matti Salo – Guitar
– Anssi Solismaa – Keys
– Olli ”Trumpenator” Helin – Trumpet
– Inari Ruonamaa – Alto sax
– Markus Pajakkala – Baritone and tenor sax, flute, additional synths, percussion and voice

The post Review: Utopianisti – Reason in Motion 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.