Album art by Jonathan Snead and Ben Hjertmann

Style: Dream pop, math rock, indie folk, experimental (clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Gentle Giant, toe, Sungazer
Country: USA (North Carolina)
Release date: 7 April 2025

As the saying goes, there is a fine line between genius and insanity. To become a visionary in a given field, one needs a combination of obsessive focus and a disconnect from conventional lines of thinking that can easily come across as a bit unhinged, especially to the lay observer. Without years upon years of study, there’s little to distinguish such concepts as, say, statistical Riemannian manifolds or the Lagrangian formulation of physics’ Standard Model from the laborious ramblings of a paranoid schizophrenic’s notebook. Music theory is no exception; sure, the basics of key signatures and chord progressions are simple enough to grasp, but in the deepest depths of the theory iceberg, one can run across bizarre ideas like xenharmonics, Partch lattices, and Klumpenhoewer networks that might as well be the Necronomicon to the uninitiated who attempt to comprehend them.

Enter North Carolina-based composer, luthier, and possible madman Ben Hjertmann, with his newly assembled math/folk/dream-pop project Spiral Garden. A longtime acolyte of Just Intonation and all things microtonal, Hjertmann has hand-built and retooled over a dozen instruments into bespoke, painstakingly intricate tuning ratios for the band’s debut album, weaving together obscure, esoteric aspects of meter and tonality into an awe-inspiringly overengineered musical Kabbalah. The end result? One of the most unique-sounding albums I have ever heard, to the point where putting a pin in its sound is nigh impossible. Roughly speaking, though, I would say that Spiral Garden does to Appalachian folk music what peak-era Gentle Giant did to European baroque and medieval traditions: adding in contemporary rock elements while maintaining a consistent dedication to rhythmic intricacy, compositional left turns, and playing as many different instruments as possible. More modern comparisons could be drawn to toe‘s gentle, spacey take on math rock and the similarly overthought, multilayered visions of Appalachia spun forth by Adjy, but for the most part this album is decidedly its own beast. 

For all its seemingly intimidating complexity, the album makes a clear effort to ease the listener into things, with “Septangle” starting with a soft, clean guitar line in 7/8 time beneath Hjertmann’s gentle tenor. Not exactly bubblegum pop, but certainly accessible enough. Yet, as the tune winds on, with Jonathan Snead’s viol and Emalee Hunnicutt’s bass adding additional layers that form a complex, interweaving mesh of an arrangement, a sense begins to grow that this music isn’t quite of this earth. It isn’t “extraterrestrial”, really—the instrumentation has an organic, lived-in feel and the lyrics are pointedly terrestrial, speaking of the temporal cycles that drive the seasons around us and push humans through stagnation and fleeting pleasures alike. Rather, it feels like watching a late spring sunset from a back porch in an alternate reality, where children read Berenstein Bears novels, Nelson Mandela died in prison, and Western music tonality is based on exact whole-number frequency ratios tuned using the 60Hz hum of old electrical wiring¹. 

The rest of the album winds further into the weeds of unorthodox music theory, calling forth more visions from a series of existences slightly orthogonal to our own with largely successful results. At its best, Spiral Garden communicates a sentimentality that is somewhat askew yet deeply heartfelt, a dreamlike filter over nostalgic summertime memories that tints them with a color you don’t quite have a name for. A clear example is “Heirophony”, which takes its fancy 15/8 meter and exotic 5-limit tuning and turns it into a deliriously beautiful indie folk almost-waltz, striking the very core of my soul in a place I didn’t know existed. A similar beauty thrums through the whisper-soft lullaby of closer “A View from the Trees”, where Hjertmann’s tender vocals and the gentle layering of acoustic and slide guitars are so enrapturing that its 60/16 time and multiple massive modulations go almost unnoticed. And it’s not just the pretty stuff that lands, either. “Shovel” is the song where the band’s Appalachian roots are most apparent, with Hjertmann adding three strings to an actual shovel to form a lead instrument that ends up sounding something like a cross between a banjo and a sitar. Its lyrics of tradition and nature colliding with capitalism feel authentic and lived-in, and it’s just fun to hear this bunch of theory nerds unwind a little with a comparatively direct, rootsy bop.

Unfortunately, it is extremely hard to craft an album this innovative without some experiments going awry, and Spiral Garden are no exception. Sometimes they just go a bit too far, as in “Aurora”, the weirdest track out of an already eccentric bunch. While the intricate hocketing and syllabic interplay between Hjertmann and Hunnicutt’s voices is undeniably impressive, and the distorted rhythm guitar is a nice change of pace, on the whole its overindulgence in polyrhythm makes it come across as a bit of a mess, and its spacey tone and overly abstract lyrics play counter to the band’s strengths. On the opposite side of the coin we have “Beal-Four Island Industrial Park Museum”, a dreamlike instrumental soundscape whose atmospherics are lovely for a while, but end up dragging a tad over its nine-minute runtime. Most unfortunate, though, is “Shadow Key”, whose fascinating concept of two microtonal modes colliding to form a perception of C major is sabotaged by Will Beasley’s snare hits landing with bafflingly off-beat timing, alongside various jarringly dissonant notes sprinkled haphazardly throughout like 100% cacao chocolate chips in a cookie. I’m sure there’s some deep polymetric/microtonal rationale behind all this that I don’t have enough music doctorates to understand, but the fact remains that these sounds, on an instinctive, lizard-brain level, are fundamentally unpleasant in a way that, as other songs on the album prove, they don’t have to be.

And yet, despite all these complaints, I find myself with a deep, abiding affection for Spiral Garden that goes well beyond my awe and respect at the sheer effort and attention to detail that has so clearly been put into its every nook and cranny. It is a captivating, uncompromisingly unique piece of art that, at its best, stuns me in a way no album ever has. Even its stumbles are simply evidence of just how many creative risks have been taken here, how hard Hjertmann and co. have swung for the fences, and I’d take that over Dull Yet Competent Neo-Prog Album #734 any day. This is an album by and for massive nerds, but one with an instinctively accessible, deeply human emotional core, and I eagerly await whatever twisted tesseracts of theory these guys will send listeners spiraling down next time.

Recommended tracks: Septangle, Heirophony, Shovel, A View from the Trees
You may also like: Adjy, Anathallo, Mingjia, foot foot, The Mercury Tree
Final verdict: 7.5/10

Related links: Bandcamp | Spotify | Official Website | Facebook

Spiral Garden is:
– Ben Hjertmann (lead vocals, various handcrafted guitars and keyboards, percussion, sampling)
– Emmalee Hunnicutt (fretless bass, cello, backing and co-lead vocals)
– Graham Thomason (synth, piano, organ, backing vocals)
– Jonathan Snead (viola da gamba, hammered dulcitar, autoharp, slide guitar, backing vocals)
With guests:
– Will Beasley (drums, except where noted)
– Zack Kampf (drums on “Septangle”)
– Daniel Richardson (soprano sax on “Shadow Key”)
– RJ Wuagneux (guitar solo on “Septangle”, additional guitars on “Beal-Four Island Industrial Park Museum”)
– Dave Bullard (drums on “Aurora”)
– Hinton Egerton (theremin on “Aurora” and “Beal-Four Island Industrial Park Museum”)
– Jonathon Sale (tabla on “Paramonde”)
– Lane Claffe (additional guitars on “Beal-Four Island Industrial Park Museum”)

1. Not only does the band “tune to your fridge”, but they have put forward a genuine offer to sell a pitch-shifted copy of the album to any listeners in countries that use 50Hz current instead. These people are committed. ︎

The post Review: Spiral Garden – Spiral Garden 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: progressive rock, post-hardcore, math rock (clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Eidola, Hail The Sun, Protest The Hero, Thrice
Country: Oregon, United States
Release date: 17 January 2025

Sometimes an album’s cover artwork alone is enough to fascinate you before you’ve even heard a note. In this case, what more is there to say than: frog. With cape. The fashionable amphibian dazzled the Progressive Subway writers from the moment he first appeared in our bookmarked albums, and the album which he fronts turns out to be almost as enigmatic as the figure himself. The lyrics throughout Object Unto Earth’s The Grim Village lean towards the abstract in a Rishloo-esque way, steeped in metaphor and built from tantalizing phrases made up of perfectly ordinary words whose slippery deeper meaning slithers away before you can get a grasp. Meanwhile, repeated mentions of frogs, crows, rats, and other beasts maintain a more grounded view of a forest community of intelligent animals.

The Grim Village features a unique guitar tone that defies any single descriptor, straddling the line between crunchy and fuzzy, combining the best parts of hard-edged post-hardcore, hazy psychedelia, and smooth, technical math rock. Individual tracks lean more in one direction or another, such as “On A Pale Horse I Thrive” which sets an aggressive post-hardcore tone early on, “Dreadful Lord of Toads” which maximizes the psychedelic elements, or the heavy post-metal overcast of “Onward With Blinding Speed” that opens the second half. These varied guitar features pair with a sharp vocal delivery reminiscent in part of Eidola, with also an echo of The Dear Hunter’s theatricality, and together these disparate components plot a map of the composer’s eclectic whims and whimsies as he leads the audience on a merry adventure through the woods.

The downside of all these different genre elements is that The Grim Village lacks a clear focal point or emotional center. At times edgy and hostile (“I Said I Wouldn’t but I Did”), at others dreamy and melancholy (“Alas, I Hop Along”), all these moods seem at odds with the overall aesthetic of Redwall-esque anthropomorphic forest creatures. As a further side effect, when certain tracks (like “Dreadful Lord of Toads” or the first half of “Sludge Crumpet”) let up on the forceful forward momentum and bring down the tempo, they tend to get lost in the milieu, not bound to the rest of the album by any obvious concept or even really by musical style. These drifting castaway moments divide the listener’s attention, robbing the more put-together climactic moments of some of their impact as the audience tries to piece together how we got from there to here. On the other hand, the nonconformity leaves room for unique little interludes like “For a Frogful of Dollars,” whose lively Western-film-inspired theme leaves me disappointed on every listen that it wasn’t developed into a complete song; a little more zest before the closing track might have helped carry through the momentum being built in the second half of The Grim Village.

Object Unto Earth founder Jonathan Zajdman offered some background behind the album’s development on their Instagram profile, saying “it became a love letter to being alive and being yourself, and how anything else is untenable and a waste of time.” He elaborated in a later post that the energy and creativity that drove The Grim Village’s creation arose from a nearly fatal car accident which he escaped with minimal injuries, saying that the creative process offered him a valuable form of catharsis after such emotional trauma. If I may read between the lines a little, that seems to also include the kind of existential emotional turmoil that follows a near-death experience. Although the surface-level concept expressed in the music itself has little to do with that fateful crash, the sense of catharsis comes through with full clarity; the final few tracks pull these themes out into full view in their lyrics. “Death is the Test of It” ends with the existential line ‘I died and I might and that’s okay,’ and “Bombina, Bombina!!” continues with its pseudo-chorus ‘Oblivion / You came a little bit too close / Now you’re here I′ve been struck by a fear / That I can′t outrun, outgrow, or face alone.’ These songs show the kind of radical acceptance needed in order to move on from such harrowing events, keeping their serious subject camouflaged by an upbeat and uptempo tone and emphasizing life’s little joys as a means of fending off mortality’s sudden proximity.

The Grim Village presents a peculiar collection of songs, some remarkable and some not so much, laying out their author’s inner thoughts with varying clarity and specificity and reflecting on the value of life’s experiences, even the most mundane ones. Like a woodland peddler, Object Unto Earth offer up an array of trinkets and baubles to catch the eyes of passing market-goers; some are little more than pretty polished river stones, but exotic treasures hide within, hinting at legends of their own. The eclectic styles and fantastical lyrics bring surprises at every turn, most of them exciting, but a few also a bit disappointing as the momentum spins out down a side trail. So come, join this caped croaker on an amble through the arbor, and maybe you can discover some existential dread along the way!

Recommended tracks: On A Pale Horse I Thrive; Onward With Blinding Speed; Death is the Test of It; Bombina, Bombina!!
You may also like: Vower, East of the Wall, Children of Nova, Anemera, Rosetta
Final verdict: 7/10

Related links: Bandcamp | Spotify | Official Website | Instagram

Label: Seven Sided Sounds – Instagram

Object Unto Earth is:
– Jonathan Zajdman (vocals)
– Eric Bloombaum (drums)
– Lucille (guitars)
– Emily Kinsey (bass)

The post Review: Object Unto Earth – The Grim Village appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Progressive Metal, Post-hardcore, Jazz Fusion (Clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Thank You Scientist, The Dillinger Escape Plan, The Mars Volta
Country: Texas, United States
Release date: 14 September 2024

Jazz fusion has a reputation for being slick, cool-as-a-cucumber, and generally uplifting. Take examples like the ultra-clean backdrops of the Local on the 8s segment on the US’s Weather Channel, the slew of Japanese fusion that ranges from Fox Capture Plan’s exhilarating piano pyrotechnics to Shigeru Suzuki’s tranquil Pacific island-inspired new music, or the upbeat nightlife aesthetic conjured by video game music such as the Twilight City theme from Wave Race 64, all of the above exuding optimism and an overall joie de vivre. However, our more studied listeners know that there is a seedy underbelly to fusion, found in places like the “waiting room of hell” jazz utilized on Kayo Dot’s “Vision Adjustment to Another Wavelength” or the manic dissociation on The Mars Volta’s “Cassandra Gemini.” Texas-based Euphonia fall much closer to the latter camp, immediately throwing the listener into a dark swirling abyss in the first few seconds of debut Euphonia: is the album a euphonic experience as advertised despite its unsettling first impressions, or does Euphonia live solely in cacophony?

The best way to describe Euphonia’s style is “weaponized fusion”: similar to The Dillinger Escape Plan before them, Euphonia utilize frenetic jazzy ideas in a metal framework to articulate complex negative emotions, with tracks like “Cacophony” and “Bug On Back” pinballing the listener around jagged and intense passages, other tracks conveying lyrics through creaky vocals about estranged love and self-frustration. However, unlike Dillinger, Euphonia spends much of their time in instrumental pieces with less than half of Euphonia’s tracks featuring vocals, and when they are used, they are rarely if at all harsh, save for a scream at the end of “It’s a Confession” and another near the end of “Decompression Sickness.” Euphonia take time to break outside of their “weaponized fusion” mold as well with quiet math rock pieces (“This Isn’t Just a Prayer”), smooth jazz contemplations (“Springtail”), and lamenting post-hardcore (“Decompression Sickness”).

The imagery conjured by Euphonia is heavily influenced by its pervasive tension and overarching sadness, the sound of waking up intermittently through the night from bad dreams, taking enough time to stare at the moon through your window and recoup your senses before being tossed into the next nightmare. In Euphonia’s beginning moments, “Bug On Back” rattles the listener around frantic drumwork and tense pulsating guitars before tumbling into a featureless void; follow-up “Euphony” teeters back and forth between paranoid saxophone flourishes and glimmers of calmness and peace before the listener is jarred awake on “This Isn’t Just a Prayer,” surrounded by little but a dark bedroom and the sound of your own thoughts. And like a bad dream, the experience morphs around itself in ways that are frightening and difficult to understand, occasionally to Euphonia’s detriment when the more chaotic passages give little to anchor the listener. Faint glimpses of optimism certainly make themselves known, but the oppressive atmosphere ensures these moments are few and far between.

“It’s a Confession,” despite being the shortest track here, ends up being the most engaging: beginning with a brief descent into deconstructed Thank You Scientist-flavored madness, the track quickly coalesces into intense and angular grooves before soaring triumphantly into an Agent Fresco-style reprise of “This Isn’t Just a Prayer,” proving to be the most exciting and climactic moment of Euphonia. The well-defined conclusion helps to give the song a sense of progression despite its nonlinear structure, especially in comparison to many other tracks which are given a bit too much space to play and end up feeling unfocused; the explosive songwriting on “Confession” wholly prevents this. Moreover, the intense instrumentals imply necessity for a more powerful vocal delivery, and as a consequence lines are delivered with more conviction than when delivered in the more breathy vocal style, even topping the track off with a cathartic scream. In less than two minutes, Euphonia manage to speedrun all the high points of their style and deliver the best vocal performance on the album.

Though credit has to be given for the clever interplay of motifs and ideas throughout Euphonia, creating a remarkable sense of cohesion in the piece as a whole despite the chaos, on a moment-to-moment basis, the music can be a little difficult to follow. Even after multiple listens, song structures feel inscrutable and loose at best: there’s never any bad moments by any means, but there’s often very little that ties individual tracks together, a particularly glaring problem on the instrumentals, which aren’t granted the benefit of being grounded by vocals. The biggest exception is instrumental “Springtail,” which slowly evolves its ideas and satisfyingly marinates in its tranquil mood. Moreover, the vocal performance is not exactly my cup of tea: again, there’s nothing bad about the vocal performance, but the two main vocal tracks “This Isn’t Just a Prayer” and “Decompression Sickness” mostly reside in a breathy and too-close-for-comfort vocal style that detracts from the music. I much prefer the full-throated performance on “It’s a Confession,” and would love to see further incorporation of this vocal style in future work over the delicate breathy style on other tracks.

Euphonia are no strangers to irony, as “euphonic” is not the first word I would use to describe their chaotic mix of progressive metal and jazz fusion. It’s clear from the performances on Euphonia that they are having fun with it, too, despite the dread-inducing atmosphere that sits over the album. Unfortunately, the music’s chaotic nature works more against it than it does for it, indulging in labyrinthine song structures that quickly lose the plot, and when the songwriting is more restrained, problems with the vocal performance surface, leaving me in a bit of a bind with Euphonia as a whole. I love the ideas presented here, but Euphonia have a bit of workshopping to do to really perfect their sound.

Recommended Tracks: It’s a Confession, Springtail, Decompression Sickness
You may also like: Poh Hock, Intercepting Pattern, Consider the Source, Exivious
Final verdict: 6.5/10

Related links: Bandcamp | Spotify | Facebook | Instagram

Label: Independent

Euphonia is:¹
– Ezra Rodriguez
– David Alvarez
– Patrick McNally

1. The band is listed out on their bandcamp, but it is not indicated on their websites who performs what. Please reach out if you know more! ︎

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Label: Argonauta Records – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

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

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

Style: Math rock (instrumental)
Recommended for fans of: CHON, Standards, Strawberry Girls, The Aristocrats
Review by: Ian
Country: France
Release date: 22 March 2024

Since time immemorial, some of music’s greatest geniuses have also been some of its goofiest, silliest, and most immature people. From the abundant dirty jokes and canons about licking ass favored by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart all the way to three of the modern era’s most formidable virtuosos forming a group called The Aristocrats and proceeding to write concept albums about ducks featuring track titles like “This Is Not Scrotum”, dumb cringey humor and artistic brilliance have been closer bedfellows than many would like to admit. So when a pair of French weirdos with a silly name dress up as a monkey and a car and write a math-rock album with stop-motion music videos about being friends (or “FRIENDZ” as they put it) with a wombat named Bertrand, your first thought shouldn’t be “Wow, that sounds incredibly stupid, why would I bother?” It should be “Wow, these guys just might be the next Mozart!”

I kid, I kid. But only partly. See, Wombat Supernova is a project that features a familiar figure from previous Subway escapades– one Lulu de la Rosa, musical genius and prog shitposter extraordinaire who turned in a kickass guest solo on my favorite instrumental album of last year. Together with partner in crime Marsouin des Sables (who seems to be quite a multi-talented musician as well given their half-dozen other projects in various genres), they aim to create a “cute, dumb, and fast” sugar rush of a math rock album with a maximalist streak and a scrappy, DIY edge. And, judging from lead single “Bertrand”, they’ve clearly succeeded. From its joyously hyperactive introductory tapping riff to the infectious straight-outta-anime main synth melody to the hilarious anticlimax of its quote-unquote “breakdown”, this is instrumental comedy music done right– full of pisstakes and ADHD-ridden style shifts, yes, but clearly executed by individuals familiar enough with the tropes of instrumental prog to lampoon them. Not always what I’m in the mood for, but surprisingly good stuff for anyone who doesn’t hate fun.

But the thing is, dear reader, Apewoman vs. Turbo does not start with that track. No, it starts with “Cosmic Tabouleh”, a tune that, aside from maybe a brief passage of offbeat dissonance, doesn’t take nearly the same shitpost-heavy approach that “Bertrand” did. Instead, it’s just a nice, sunny, energetic slice of CHON-esque math rock, where clean guitars twirl and shimmer through shifting scales and meters with the grace of leaping dolphins at sunset. It is at this point that I begin to wonder if the silly ha-ha wombat album might just be unironically… good? “Magic Clover Quest”, for its part, isn’t just good, it’s genuinely great– a tight yet labyrinthine math-prog opus that wanders through more gorgeous clean interludes, tension-ridden buildups, and chaotic, noodly solos in the space of only five minutes. I’ve got to praise the drum programming, too; it sounds convincingly real and nails the convoluted time signatures that come part and parcel with math rock, pulling out some really fun, energetic bits of rhythmic interplay with the dueling guitar lines. 

At this point, I think I’ve figured out Wombat Supernova‘s game. They’re a Trojan horse, letting the listener’s guard down with their cute, dumb facade before socking them in the jaw with kickass musicianship. Of course, they throw in a few more goofs here and there– the lengthy “Double Cringe” has a variety of absurd genre shifts from country to jazz to a barrage of out-of-nowhere blast beats, and some melodies on “Eggs” have a distinctly clown-shoes, circusy feel. They are keenly aware, though, that the same comedic approach that’s hilarious for three minutes can be aggravating when stretched out to thirty, and so keep things constantly changing. It’s a balance that they strike remarkably well– when they’re being serious, they never forget to have fun, and when they’re being funny, they never forget to take the craft of their jokes seriously. Still, with “As Our Memories Revolved Around The Love We Lost Long Ago, They Were Standing Still In The Sunset And Never To Be Found Again”, the only joke is its ridiculously long title. It is played 100% straight, a beautiful, uplifting ballad that luxuriates in extended harmonies and more of those sweet, sweet clean guitars. One gets the sense that this track is the comic mask finally slipping– that the duo is finally sharing something genuine without the artifice of quirky irony they had been keeping up all this time. What a great way to end the album.

Except no, that’s not the end. Not really. As it turns out, the pair have one final prank to pull, and it’s called “The Nest”. To answer the question I had while listening to it– namely, “what the actual fuck is this?”– this track consists of thirty seconds of circus music, followed by a minute of dead silence, followed by five minutes of unsettling horror ambience. Now, I have many reactions to this. As a twist ending, it was definitely effective, and I’ll certainly remember the first time I heard it and thought there was some kind of error in the file. As a listening experience, it’s not something I would voluntarily go through again, and I’ll dock the album half a point for its last track not really being, uh… pleasant. But as an artistic statement, it’s fascinating. Over the course of the album, I thought I had Wombat Supernova figured out. I came to take the comedic bits as the pair putting on an act, and the more serious, complex bits as their true artistic selves, with the penultimate track as a neat, tidy bow at the end of the story arc. But this final bit of nonsense puts the lie to that way of thinking; the “serious” compositions were just as much an act as the wacky slide guitars and circus melodies. The division between the “real” and “artificial” self has only ever been a social construct; our real selves are nothing more than a set of acts, serious and silly alike, that we put on every day until one day we find they’re part of us. Or maybe they just did it for shits and giggles, I dunno.

Recommended tracks: Cosmic Tabouleh, Magic Clover Quest, As Our Memories Revolved Around The Love We Lost Long Ago, They Were Standing Still In The Sunset And Never To Be Found Again
You may also like: Invalids, Poly-Math, Feather
Final verdict: 7.5/10

Related links: Bandcamp | Spotify | Facebook | Instagram | RYM page

Label: Independent

Wombat Supernova is:
– Marsouin “Apewoman” des Sables: right guitar, bass, drum programming
– Lulu “Turbo” de la Rosa: left guitar, bass, drum programming, keyboards

The post Review: Wombat Supernova – Apewoman VS Turbo appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: progressive metal, alternative metal, math rock, jazz fusion (clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: And So I Watch You From Afar, Rx Bandits, Via Luna, LITE
Country: France
Release date: 22 January, 2024

Progressive music, I think it’s fair to say, leans towards maximalism. Exceptions aside, the genre constantly demands more—more band members, more virtuosic talent, more instruments all playing at once climbing on top of each other to reach the listener’s ear. Balance is the key, though: while just the right amount of excess and intensity feels rich and decadent, unrestrained maximalist composition inevitably leads to overwhelming, indistinct layers of sound, obscuring the music’s technical excellence behind too many sound waves for two cochleas to process. Siljan, although not entirely maximalist (thanks in part to their math rock influences), have missed that critical balance point, adding questionable vocal contributions on top of already perfectly good jazzy math rock in a way that distracts from and undermines their tightly synchronized backing rhythms.

Let’s start by pondering the opening suite of songs whose titles will make people think you’re smart if you can work them into a sentence (even Google told me “incertitudes” was too fancy for my excerpt and I should pick a different word). The title track begins promisingly enough, with some hefty guitar licks and halfhearted alt-metal vocals; tension builds as more band members pick up their instruments, the volume increases, and backing rhythms become more complex; and then, around the three-minute mark, when all of this development should be reaching its climax, it plateaus instead, and we realize it was all for naught. What appeared to be a slow, deliberate ramp up to this mythical apex, a deliberate build and release of tension, instead was backed by no apparent plan or end goal. It’s all a bit Douglas Adams when you think about it. This structural failing isn’t helped by the integration of the vocal part, which settles vaguely over the other instruments like a fog, not really distinct enough to call direct attention to itself but thick enough to obscure the other elements which could otherwise come through crisp and savory.

This pattern repeats time and time again throughout Solastalgia, much like a math rock song’s habit of latching onto a particular rhythmic theme and copying it end-to-end until the phrase winds itself down (and in this case, the album ends). And in fairness to Siljan, their usage of such self-perpetuating segments represents the highlights of the album. “Incertitudes”, for example, begins with intricately woven rhythms from guitar, keyboards, and percussion, following patterns which at first might not seem to go together, but as they wind around one another, a unified texture coalesces. There’s something haunting about this filigree of guitar and drum parts, a hallmark of math rock which also stands out in the opening moments of “Teatime on Io” and the occasional recurring interludes of “Owls Orchestra,” a brilliantly ornamented backdrop to draw the ear’s attention and lay the groundwork for further development. Unfortunately, by the time the closing track rolls around, it’s past clear that no such development is coming. Even these interwoven backing instrumental parts sound run-of-the-mill and can no longer elicit the same excitement when set against their omnipresent companions of aimless composition and floundering vocals lost amid muddy tracking balance which leaves little separation between the parts.

With questions of musicality out of the way, I want to take a moment to explore the album’s concept and lyrics as well. The album title refers to the concept of “solastalgia, linked to mourning for what is already lost” (according to the album’s bandcamp page), and Siljan have applied this concept of nostalgic mourning to many of the ills of modern society. This leads to what I would consider deeply unsubtle, but still occasionally poignant, lyrics concerning climate change and “eco-anxiety, linked to what may happen or be lost”—an important topic, for sure, and along the way they touch on a wide array of subjects from transhumanism to intergenerational relationships and trauma. Although I don’t wish to be overly harsh on the lyricism of a band writing in English from a non-majority-English-speaking country (a task I could certainly not replicate better in any other language), I’m amused by the gulf of contrast between some of the most- and least-inspired lyrical passages. From “Teatime on Io” we get the lovely, cozy imagery of  “Flying to Jupiter’s moon and coming back to teatime with me,” meanwhile “Hummingbirds” opens with the rather blunt “My heart is so sad / My eyes are so dry.” Tell me how you really feel!

Between the lightly jazz-inspired opening chords of “Tiredness,” the deeply layered sediment of math rock instrumentals, and the superficial vocals, there’s a lot going on throughout Solastalgia. A lot of it is even good! This potpourri is also the album’s greatest weakness, though. Too many parts of the mix (both in the general and technical senses) don’t fit together well or don’t feel effectively planned out to maximize the musical impact. Despite the real talent lurking here (especially in the guitar and percussion work), Solastalgia passes by in a blink and leaves little more than a surface impression of what just occurred. It’s a pity, because I think with a bit more time and effort dedicated to the project, Siljan have the potential to put together something really meaningful, provided they can bring it into sharper focus both musically and thematically.

Recommended tracks: Incertitudes, Teatime on Io, Owls Orchestra
You may also like: East of the Wall, Good NightOwl, Arhios, Sam Birchall
Final verdict: 5/10

Related links: Bandcamp | Spotify | YouTube | Facebook
Label: Independent

Siljan is:
– Jules Pelletier (drums)
– Elodie Jacquens (bass)
– Guillaume Arnaud (guitars, keyboards, vocals)
With guest:
– Alexandre Lezy (guitar solo, “Capitalocene”)

The post Review: Siljan – Solastalgia appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Genres: Progressive Rock, Progressive Pop, Post-rock, Math Rock (clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Yes, The Dear Hunter, Newer Leprous, Quieter VOLA tracks
Country: Pennsylvania, United States
Release date: 1 January 2024

One book I have always loved is The Grapes of Wrath. Through simplistic and salt-of-the-earth prose, John Steinbeck is able to explore a broad depth of emotions and tell a gut-wrenchingly sad story of tragedy and change beyond our control, treating simplicity and depth not as opposites, but as counterparts. From a meta-perspective, the novel highlights an important lesson about art and expression: more complex is not always better, and flowery, convoluted language can often lead to an obscured message.

Though I don’t know him personally, I wouldn’t be surprised if prog multi-instrumentalist and doer-of-many-other-things Daniel Cupps of Good NightOwl believes the same thing when writing his brand of progressive rock with a poppy and atmospheric post-rock twist. You may be thinking, “Dave, isn’t prog the PEAK of convoluted flowery garbage?” and in principle, I would 100% agree with you. Good NightOwl, however, doesn’t write progressive rock with the intent to make your head spin: the progressive elements in his music more serve as a tool for atmosphere and texture than as a tool for showboating.

Simplicity as a songwriting principle is more prominent than ever on Good NightOwl’s latest release, Belief, where Cupps takes an interpersonal approach to ideas about our beliefs, our identities, and how they shape our experiences with others, a very complex set of ideas explored in simple and cozy progressive/post/pop compositions. Belief feels like sitting in a dark cave and watching a display of warm, bright lights shimmer outside, all while doing some deep reflection on who you are as a person. It can be considered a “sister album” to the previously released Capital, which features a similar compositional and lyrical style but focuses instead on the consequences of greed and unfettered capitalism.

On top of the pleasant atmosphere are shimmery vocals that occasionally deliver a touch of drama à la Jon Anderson of Yes. “Children of No Faith,” “Pretend to Know,” and “See the Light” have the best vocal deliveries, adding a dramatic flair and bringing songs to a climax. The lyrics are also a highlight for me: they are presented conversationally and without pretense or obscure symbolism, a great approach that not only makes the album feel more intimate and personal, but makes it easier to parse the otherwise daunting topics presented. The opening verse of “What They’re Hiding”, for example, includes the lyrics, “I found a way to make you change / I might be on to something / You’re set in your ways at this age / Til I tug on your heart strings,” which is a poignant reflection on how, despite the desire to be rational beings, we are driven at our core by our feelings.

While the vocals stand out and are the driving melodic force in the music, the other instruments often take a backseat: occasionally, a guitar solo or even a stray saxophone will introduce itself, but for most of the album, the attention is drawn to the vocal delivery. When there aren’t solos, guitars are typically relegated to arpeggio or rhythmic duties. The drums follow suit, serving mostly as a rhythmic base with few opportunities to really shine. Some exceptions to this are on “Children of No Faith,” which includes some engaging and fun drum work during a saxophone solo, the gorgeous sax solo on “Pretend to Know,” and the occasional moment when the bass is allowed to shine on tracks like “Children of No Faith” and “See the Light”. I wish that there were more opportunities for the instrumentation to shine, as the moments where they do show compositional brilliance.

One issue with the vocal-led approach on Belief, however, is the mixing. The vocals are a bit buried under the rest of the instruments, making it hard to focus on the most interesting parts of the music. Burying the vocals is also at odds with the importance of lyrics, taking what would have been intimate and personal moments in the music and making them feel impersonal. Moreover, there are many moments where the principle of simplicity falters: oftentimes, the compositions are so focused on texture and atmosphere that it becomes unmemorable. The album as a whole is missing the climaxes and dynamics that make post-metal and other texture-focused music so rewarding while also missing the punchiness and directness present on Capital. On the other hand, there are moments where simplicity in songwriting is strayed from without reward: lyrics will try to follow rhythmic patterns that just aren’t designed for them. I don’t want the lyrics to be overcomplicated, but I would like them to intermix well with the rhythms instead of feeling like an opposing force.

As it stands, Belief is missing a few key ingredients and ends up being a decent if slightly unmemorable album. There are the bones of a spectacular album on Belief; it’s just missing a few core pieces that showcase Good NightOwl’s exceptional talent. However, I’m really looking forward to what Good NightOwl will release next, because with a mix that is more congruent with the album’s strengths, more pronounced climaxes, and a slightly punchier delivery, Good NightOwl could produce some truly gorgeous and unique progressive rock.

Recommended tracks: Children of No Faith, Pretend to Know, The Exultant Natural State
You may also like: Mew, MEER, Tone of Voice Orchestra
Final verdict: 6/10

Related links: Bandcamp | Spotify | Facebook | RYM page

Label: Independent

Good NightOwl is:
– Daniel Cupps (everything)

The post Review: Good NightOwl – Belief appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Math Rock, Noise Rock, Experimental Rock (Mixed vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Good Tiger, Closure in Moscow’s first and third albums, The Mars Volta, Eidola
Review by: Christopher
Country: France
Release date: 3 November, 2023

You shouldn’t judge an album by its cover, but that ghost is very appropriate for NORD’s latest ethereal release. With two albums under their belt, this French experimental math rock trio have taken time to craft something rather different on new EP, The Implosion of Everything That Matters. Their sophomore album, The Only Way to Reach the Surface, was an intense work of creative math rock which almost veered into blackgaze territory at times. At twenty-six minutes, follow-up release The Implosion of Everything That Matters forefronts the electronica influences that dominated the shorter, interlude-y tracks on their last album into their noisy rock style. 

On The Only Way to Reach the Surface that experimental math rock accounted for about 75% of their sound, while weird synth experimentation made up the remaining quarter; on The Implosion of Everything That Matters the ratio is flipped; hell, it’s more like 90%. The strange cyclical synth that opens “I. Candles” sets the tone for the record and NORD play with a lot of haunted sounding synth throughout,. “II. Truth Philters” is suffused by bittersweet organ swells, eventually drifting into a bridge that sounds like echoes of some haunted carnival over an infectious drum stomp, something that puts me in mind of Noctourniquet-era The Mars Volta. Meanwhile “III. Incantation” may be the most electronica-driven track on the album, replete with backing ambiences, buzzing synth bass, and some drum and bass inspired percussion.

Throughout The Implosion of Everything That Matters, Florent Gerbault’s anguished falsetto is wracked with emotion—coupled with the organ which often lurks in the background it makes for a rather disconcerting vibe. A guest performance from Yuki on “III. Incantation” provides haunted vocals and the recitation of something in Japanese which I can only imagine will be nihilistic. Though genre-wise this is a much less heavy release, emotionally The Implosions of Everything That Matters is an intense experience, running the gamut from funereal to disturbed.  

Moments of NORD’s former abrasive sound remain here and there. Dissonant synths and harsh vocals open “II. Truth Philters” in 7/4, just to remind you that this is ostensibly gritty math rock. The moments of harsh vocals and more noisy rock are few and far between, reserved for intros and climaxes. As a self-contained experiment it works but I do find myself missing NORD’s maniac older sound. I’ll never fault an artist for daring to evolve, but NORD are almost unrecognisable here and it’s not always for the better. 

While the harsher edges have been sanded down, NORD remain unabashedly experimental. Take “IV. Sexorcism” for example: the track is imbued with a Vangelis-like synthwave sensibility evocative of some dystopian city, bolstered by a synthetic percussion and a thick bass groove. The synths begin to go off-kilter, melting into a more irreverent section, perforated by a wraithlike sax solo overhead. Meanwhile, the elegiac title track has a funeral march-like beat with accompanying trumpet as though NORD are mourning for their own former sound, until segueing into a driving drum and bass groove with arpeggiated synth which builds to the final crescendo.

The Implosion of Everything That Matters is an intriguing evolution towards the uncanny for NORD, an experiment in alienated synths and a somewhat unhinged sense of sadness. It’s a record for a very particular mood which may limit its reach but it nevertheless taps into something deeply felt. I can’t quite get my head around it, but I mean that in a good way, I think. As much as I do wish a little more of their older sound remained in the DNA of this release, NORD remain an incredibly fresh voice in experimental rock who are absolutely worth listening to. 

Recommended tracks: II. Truth Philters, V. The Implosion of Everything That Matters
You may also like: The Mercury Tree, Black Peaks, Telomēre, Maraton
Final verdict: 7/10

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

Label: Klonosphere – Facebook | Official Website

NORD is:
– Florent Gerbault (guitar, vocals)
– Romain Duquesne (bass, samples)
– Thibault Faucher (drums)
– Manuel Dufour (guitar, synth)

The post Review: NORD – The Implosion of Everything That Matters [EP] appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Progressive Metal, Post Metal, Math Rock (Mixed vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Mastodon, Intronaut, Dvne
Review by: Christopher
Country: New Jersey, USA
Release date: 22 September, 2022

Earlier this year I covered the latest release from East of the Wall. Well it turns out their members are a busy bunch, because Equivocator is a project from two of the East of the Wall guys, Matt Lupo and Chris Alfano. Switching into a heavier gear, their self-titled debut EP draws on early Mastodon influences, adds a ton of harsh vocals, and throws the complex compositional arrangements of their parent band into the mix too. 

Opening track, “The Angle,” brings the harsh vocals and a riff straight out of an early Mastodon record before a crescendo of urgent chords and chaotic drumming. Meanwhile, “Axiomatic” builds from its heavy metal start and quasi-shoegazey chorus to a climax of pounding drums and a dissonant, bendy guitar riff.  Equivocator have an immense energy that it’s hard not to get caught up in and their musical choices are familiar yet consistently wrongfoot the listener.

The drumming pulverises, its more pummelling sections reminding me of James Stewart’s superlative blast-beats-but-make-it-heavy-fucking-metal performance on Sermon’s latest album. Indeed, while Equivocator’s style leans on proggy post and sludge metal standards, their composition is truly something to behold, with the song structures flowing logically yet creatively, every instrument carrying equal weighting in each overall song; Lupo and Alfano have been doing this a long time and it shows. The harsh vocals are nicely sludgy, while the clean harmonies have a flavour of DuVall and Cantrell in modern Alice in Chains, particularly on “A Knowing Vulnerability”.

Indeed, closing track “A Known Vulnerability” sees the duo really stretching their legs with Lupo adding some honking saxophone for atmosphere, those striking clean harmonies pushing the track to new heights, and phrases of staccato riffage vying for supremacy against lumbering post metal sections. The melody in the latter half of the song has an Intronaut sense of psychedelia, reprising itself between heavier sections in a way that proves deeply satisfying—sometimes a riff or an idea is just too damn cool, and the way Equivocator play with this one is fantastic. 

“Always leave them wanting more” goes the old showbiz adage, and at just three songs in fifteen minutes, I definitely want more from Equivocator. Blending their established East of the Wall sound with rawer metal influences, Lupo and Alfano lend their own flair to a familiar progressive metal style. I don’t want to be an equivocator (this is where a certain French society of music lovers stands up and leaves) so let me be clear: I really hope these guys continue to spread their compositional wings for a full-length release soon.

Recommended tracks: Just do the whole EP, it’s three tracks long. And go listen to East of the Wall’s new album if you find yourself wanting more.
You may also like: East of the Wall, Black Peaks, Void of Sleep
Final verdict: 7.5/10

Related links: Bandcamp | Spotify | Metal-Archives page

Label: Nefarious Industries – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Equivocator is:
– Chris Alfano (lead vocals)
– Matt Lupo (all instruments, programming, additional vocals)

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