Style: Progressive metal, post-hardcore (Mixed vocals)
Recommended for fans of: The Contortionist, Circa Survive, Voyager, Ions
Country: Georgia, United States
Release date: 18 July 2025

[An up-front disclaimer: Effuse’s vocalist, Chris Deese, is a fellow writer here at the Subway and also manages some of our social media. Though avoiding bias is impossible in this situation, this review reflects my honest take on On Others free of external forces or pressures.¹]

An inexorable bond exists between a piece of art and the world that surrounds it. Artistic expression is virtually impossible in a void, as the lived experience and ideals of the artist inevitably bleed into the design of a work. How, then, does an artist relate and react to the influence of the outside world? Atlanta, Georgia’s Effuse investigates this topic on latest EP, On Others. Do they successfully navigate the waters of artistic expression, or does the “Augury” foresee bad tidings for the quintet?

Adorned with touches of post-metal and post-hardcore, On Others explores an airy and cinematic take on progressive metal by way of Clairvoyant (The Contortionist). Tension-and-release comprises the central songwriting approach, encouraging ideas and moods to smoothly flow across its runtime. The use of a bright-yet-gloomy tonality in the guitarwork imbues a sense of drama and a wistful vocal style helps anchor songs melodically and inject the occasional earworm. Each track features punctuated grooves that dance around swirling polyrhythms and weightless tremolos; many of the EP’s grander moments evoke the feeling of being swept into the air or being submerged under giant crashing waves.

On Others’ greatest compositional strength lies in its monolithic structure. Every piece establishes its own identity through an internal ebb and flow while contributing to the EP’s greater ideas. Effortless transitions further heighten this sense of interconnectedness: every track either matches or builds on the momentum of the previous, whether it be the exhilarating switchup between chunky grooves on “Observer” and “Augury” or the grand synthesizers and fading guitars of “Orbweaver” descending into the gently picked melodies of “Two Cathedrals”. The bridge of each track provides additional contrast as Effuse explore more intense and abrasive textures through harsh vocals and frenetic drumming. Closer “Two Cathedrals” proves to be the most experimental in its stuttering and antsy climax, but never quite settles into its grooves, interrupting the track’s momentum and diminishing its grandiosity in the process.

Atop the hefty grooves, vocalist Chris Deese adds a vivid melancholic flair by tapping into the melodic sensibilities of post-hardcore, particularly that of Circa Survive’s Anthony Green. The performance on opener “Observer”, for example, is in-your-face and dramatic as Deese leans into a forceful delivery, throwing his voice around with momentum and even a bit of grit. On the other hand, much of “Augury” is plaintive and delicate, showcasing restraint and waiting until the bridge to let loose and explore staccato rhythms. Deese’s clean vocals are undeniably expressive and powerful, and his harshes are crystal clear in their enunciation, but they don’t quite match the expressiveness and bite of the cleans. As a consequence, the harsh vocal sections tend to come across as more functional in purpose, save for “Augury”, which manages to capture attention through compelling rhythms and effective interplay between the vocals and drums. Ironically, the harsh vocals shine the most when they are used as an accent to the cleans or when the two are harmonized. This is done to great effect during the closing moments of “Orbweaver”, where the cleans and harshes engage in a lockstep dance before the harshes drop out for an expansive conclusion.

The sense of melancholy embodied by the vocal performance extends to the EP’s lyrical themes. Focusing on the relationship between artist and audience, On Others is a reflection on the interpretation of art and the artist’s reaction to external forces. “Observer” discusses a breach of boundaries at the hands of an audience who may read into a piece too deeply or project their own worldview onto it, taking their read as gospel and engaging in the ‘death of the author’ as the piece’s original intent is masked. This theme is explored further on “Augury”, where the narrator betrays his frustration at this side of the audience: Deese opines that ‘The way we read the air’ is ‘Almost comical’ and refers to the audience’s interpretations as an ‘unbearable weight that holds me down’. The track later suggests that it may not even matter if a personal touch is missing from the art as people will fill in the blanks with their misunderstandings regardless, considering that ‘They won’t see / They won’t know / If I remove myself’.² 

Though the lyrics are a bit esoteric at times—I struggle with the metaphors on “Orbweaver” and “Two Cathedrals” and their place in the overall theme—there is a strong sense of cohesion through the reintroduction and repurposing of ideas. Repeated references are made to ‘painted skies’, representing the myriad approaches to artistic interpretation both intended and unintended by the artist. Additionally, the EP features many nods to the suggestion of ‘removing one’s self’ from the artistic creation process in an attempt to distance the artist’s works from their own ego and transcend potential outside influences.

Through cinematic and airy pieces, On Others weaves together groovy progressive metal and somber melodies into a panoramic and free-flowing musical experience. In both its imperfections and its lyricism, On Others effectively showcases the limitations of art as a means to convey ideas due to external influences and the internal world of the artist. This is of course not expressed as a motivation to stray from artistic pursuits, but as a way to cherish and celebrate the weird and wonderful evolution of ideas from the mind of the artist to the mind of the audience. Regardless of intention or interpretation, there is no better joy than to sing your melancholia out loud or to immerse yourself in grand, sweeping atmospheres.

Recommended tracks: Observer, Augury, Orbweaver
You may also like: Lattermath, Valis Ablaze, Hologram Earth, Inhalo
Final verdict: 7.5/10

Related links: Bandcamp | Spotify | Facebook | Instagram

Label: Independent

Effuse is:
– Chris Deese (vocals, keyboards)
– Taylor Kuter (guitars)
– Kane Lewis (guitars)
– Christopher Kingsbury (bass)
– Bob Stocking (drums)

1. That’s a cheeky bit of foreshadowing for you. Also, hi Chris! ︎
2. I’d be remiss to not mention the sheer irony in presenting my interpretation of Effuse’s work here and the funny feeling of critiquing and interpreting a piece of art that is in many ways about the interpretation and critique of art. ︎

The post Review: Effuse – On Others appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: progressive black metal, symphonic black metal (mixed vocals, mostly harsh)
Recommended for fans of: Ihsahn, Arcturus, Fleshgod Apocalypse, Dimmu Borgir, Septicflesh
Country: Georgia
Release date: 16 May 2025

The Progressive Subway isn’t just for local transit; our tracks are laid across the globe. You can hop aboard and ride to lands of Brazilian atmoblack, Norwegian prog rock, Canadian post-metal, Romanian blackgaze, Mexican tech death, or Greek gothic/industrial—and that’s just picking some reviews randomly from our site’s front page while I write this. In fact, as I look now, our ten most recent reviews cover bands from ten different countries. Progressive music is wonderfully global, and we’ve happily traveled to most corners of the world to cover it. 

But there’s still fresh ground to chart, and today the Subway has stopped somewhere new: Georgia. Not the U.S. state—we found ourselves there earlier this year, covering Tómarúm’s extraordinary release. Rather, we’re straddling Eastern Europe and West Asia in the country of Georgia, here to check out progressive black metal act Im Nebel. In their latest album, Hypocrisis, the band liberally blend symphonic elements into ten short, blackened tracks with plenty of progressive flair. It’s just the sort of thing the Subway was built to seek out. Let’s see whether the trip out east was worth the trek.

Despite its cold, dystopian cover art, Hypocrisis immediately strikes as theatrical. Its symphonic embellishments and dramatic clean vocals reflect a Baroque influence that brings a king’s halls to my mind, and across the album there’s a dark but quirky atmosphere—think Arcturus’s La Masquerade Infernale. Plainly put, the music is fun. This probably isn’t what Im Nebel were going for, seeing as the band describe Hypocrisis as “a bleak yet thought-provoking journey through the contradictions of modern existence … [that] explores the duality of human nature, inner darkness, deceptive truths, and the fragile boundary between the spiritual and the physical.” Somber stuff. Nevertheless, the twisted piano and staccato orchestral touches opening the album in “Prolog” set a stage that promises to be more playful than dire, and the rest of the album plays along. 

Standout track “Life” best shows off Im Nebel’s strengths: relatively straightforward but catchy riffs that leave plenty of room for symphonic elements to shine, a well-balanced use of harsh vocals and theatrical singing, and a compositional structure that’s not complicated but holds enough room for variety and surprises to keep things interesting. The track’s singable chorus is particularly infectious, with emphatic piano complemented by choppy guitar. In a similar vein, “Inside Out” also features simple but memorable interplay between the piano and guitars, as well as a melodic guitar solo that leads into a heavy outro with a mix of orchestral accents. Despite being the album’s longest cut, “Inside Out” falls just short of the five-minute mark. As with most of the tracks, it’s packed to the brim with ideas and would benefit from a slightly longer composition, giving the ideas space to repeat and evolve. But the short runtimes undeniably make the songs more accessible. And whether it’s the dark, music-box-like intro of “Corridors of Insanity,” the lovely acoustic guitars that fill “When Day Comes After Night,” or the riff salad that forms the center of “Smiling Faces,” Im Nebel keep Hypocrisis varied and entertaining. 

As enjoyable as the album is, however, its production isn’t convincing. The symphonic elements sound far from authentic or robust, and the core instruments all lack just a bit of punch. Unfortunately, this gives Hypocrisis an amateurish feel that undermines some truly interesting musical ideas. The band also seem to struggle with transitions. The introductory “Prolog” moves abruptly into “Where Horizon Starts” without any semblance of connection between the tracks. Similarly, “When Day Comes After Night” has an acoustic outro that clearly sets up the next song, but alas, the following track begins with a completely new idea, jolting the listener. Hypocrisis’s fumbled transitions aren’t just between songs, but also within them—”Corridors of Insanity,” as one example, builds enticingly through a prolonged intro, then right when it’s about to open up, a jarringly unfitting riff kills the momentum. All in all, Hypocrisis sounds more like a collection of ideas than a cohesive album. 

Yet, even with its flaws, Hypocrisis remains an engaging listen. Its quirky atmosphere, compositional diversity, and catchy, standout moments make it feel refreshingly distinct among progressive black metal releases—and on balance, these positives outweigh the album’s shortcomings in production and cohesion. Although Hypocrisis won’t have us staying in Georgia for too long, it was enough to make the Subway’s first trip out here worthwhile.

Recommended tracks: Life, Smiling Faces, Inside Out
You may also like: Lamentari, Belnejoum, Shade Empire
Final verdict: 6/10

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

Label: Octopus Rising (an Argonauta Records trademark) – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Im Nebel is:
– Grigol Lobjanidze (guitars)
– Nick Rukhadze (drums)
– Alexandre Gurchumelia (bass, vocals)
– Michael Lenz (guitars, vocals)

The post Review: Im Nebel – Hypocrisis appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

No album artist credited

Style: Blackened doom metal, progressive metal, sludge metal (mixed vocals, mostly harsh)
Recommended for fans of: Acid Bath, Crowbar, Mastodon
Country: Georgia, United States
Release date: 22 May 2025

Ah, the epic. Perhaps one of the most iconic facets of progressive music, alongside odd time signatures, genre experimentation, and being huge fucking nerds. Yet prog is not the only genre known for such indulgences – far off in the swampy, bong-clouded realms of doom metal, its own acolytes have long been toiling away on leaden, album-length opuses that make the likes of “Supper’s Ready” or “Octavarium” seem downright breezy by comparison. Despite both genres sharing a predilection for track lengths well past the double-digit minute count, though, their approaches are often diametrically opposed. While prog epics are often crafted in an effort to transport listeners on a journey through the wildly varying ups and downs of a suite’s many movements, doom epics are glacial and ponderous, aiming to smother listeners in a consistent atmosphere of musical and, often, emotional heaviness. 

But what if an artist made an effort to unite these two seemingly incompatible approaches? Could it be possible to craft an epic that incorporates both the gargantuan, lumbering tread of doom and the kaleidoscopic variety of prog in one complete whole? Bravely leaping into this challenge is Nambil Mas, a project helmed by a single Nambil Mastermind known as Sam Libman, with a ninety-minute, four-track slab of interestingly titled progressive sludge metal over a decade in the making. While some of the genre tags and Libman’s Atlanta roots may lead one to expect some simple Nambil Mastodon worship, the sound here leans slower, heavier, and more experimental, blending viscous, dense doom with the odd meter riffs and synthy atmospheric passages of prog, plus a shot of blackened, shrieking extremity for good measure. It’s an impressive feat of ambition for one largely unknown fellow; we shall see if he has crafted a Nambil Masterpiece, or if Nambil Más is more like Nambil Menos.

Alright, let’s rip the bandage off: while Welcome to the Nambil Masquerade certainly wins points for effort, much of the music on offer across this gargantuan sonic tetraptych is a painfully unpleasant slog to wade through. One problem, immediately obvious on the opening title track, is that the production and guitar tones frequently cross the line from “endearingly lo-fi” to “agonizingly amateurish”. The abrasive walls of distortion overpower the undermixed drums and often bizarrely distant-sounding vocals to create an effect that is nothing short of migraine-inducing, which wouldn’t be that huge of an issue except, let me remind you, every song is over twenty minutes long. Sure, there are softer, less grating sections on occasion to give hapless listeners a break, but it doesn’t change the fact that minute after minute of those goddamn guitars jackhammering my eardrums is enough to have me reaching for the ibuprofen and giving a Nambil Massage to my poor, aching temples.

This leads us, naturally, to the other main issue with this album: namely that Libman never met an idea he didn’t want to extend well past its sell-by date. To put it bluntly, each track (well, most of them at least) consists of roughly eight minutes’ worth of musical ideas stretched across twenty in much the same way a medieval prisoner is stretched upon the rack, riffs beaten so hard into the ground that nothing but a smoldering crater remains. Now, some might say, “Hey, that’s not fair – this is (partially) a doom metal record, after all. Isn’t repetition and slow pacing part of building an immersive atmosphere?” And to that I reply: doom’s slow burns only work if the atmosphere they’re building is worth a damn. From the fuzzed-out, Sabbath-esque jams of Dopesmoker to the weeping, funereal melodies of Mirror Reaper, doom’s most well-regarded epics all paint an immersive sonic landscape that listeners can genuinely get lost in: a far cry from the insufferably basic “throw a bunch of distortion on a guitar and play slow” approach that Nambil Mas so often resorts to. Thus this attempted Nambil Mashup of subgenres leaves us with a set of tracks that are too clunky and repetitive to work as proper prog epics, but too texturally dull and obnoxious-sounding to muster the impact of good doom metal – the worst of both worlds.

It’s a shame, too, because when Libman exercises his more progressive instincts, there are plenty of moments that, while a bit undercooked, show genuine promise. The aforementioned title track’s back half offers an off-kilter vintage Sabbath/Zeppelin style passage that could be a fun little diversion if its clean vocals weren’t so strangely quiet, and the following psychedelic synth section is one of the few long, repetitive parts of the album that actually manages a somewhat pleasant atmosphere. Closer “The Nambil Masochist” offers some genuinely energetic, mosh-worthy riffs in spots, and the high, wailing vocals at the end are almost impressive enough in their range to distract from the painful, cringy edge of its lyrics¹. “Nambil Masturbation” is somehow the strongest of the four, softening the unpleasant guitar tone with layers of orchestral synths while crafting a surprisingly stirring sympho-black climax that made me wonder if, just maybe, I’ve treated this album a bit too harshly.

Then “Nambil Mastication” comes on, and I realize that, if anything, I haven’t been harsh enough. Remember how I said only most of the tracks had about eight minutes’ worth of musical ideas? That was because this pathetic excuse for an epic has far, far less. Picture, if you will, the bummiest dude at the local Guitar Center, high on weed and low on talent, trying out a distortion pedal. He strums a few basic chords before letting the sound hang for an uncomfortable length of time, possibly mustering a “Duuuude” or two as he stares into space, before playing a couple more and repeating the process. Now imagine this going on for nine fucking minutes straight, and you have the intro to this abysmal, godforsaken waste of runtime². No percussion, no structure, no texture beyond the shittiest bargain-bin distortion imaginable for nine of the precious, finite minutes I have left upon this Earth. And somehow the next four minutes are even worse! At least the stoned Guitar Center guy played fucking notes – this is just vaguely gurgly, deeply unpleasant noise with the occasional bit of guitar feedback whining above it. The mediocre death-doom of the track’s final third almost comes as a relief by comparison, though it’s still not up to the already-shaky standards of the other three.

“I’ll drag myself through miles of shit and mud”, screams Libman on the aforementioned track, perhaps unwittingly creating a perfect metaphor for the experience of sitting through much of Welcome to the Nambil Masquerade. Though there certainly are tiny flashes of gold, or maybe pyrite, to be found amidst this fecal torrent – some solid odd meter riffs here, an inventive bit of atmosphere there – I sure as hell don’t feel in the mood to stick my pan back into that malodorous slurry and start sifting through it all again anytime soon. What a Nambil Mess.

Recommended tracks: Nambil Masturbation, really none of them but that one’s the least bad
You may also like: Sumac, Simulacra, fuck it I don’t care anymore get me out of here get me out
Final verdict: 2.5/10

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

Nambil Mas is:
– Sam Libman (everything)

1.  From that song: “So for this night, I take, this knife  / stick it in, ‘til I break skin / I’ll, starve myself. I’ll… fuck myself!” Truly a poet. ︎
2. Perhaps the most unpleasant experience I’ve ever had from a highly-rated album on this site was Sumac‘s The Healer, an album opening with ten-plus minutes of utterly pointless, structureless instrumental dicking around while some dude gives halfhearted growls from the next room over. This shit makes Sumac sound good. ︎

The post Review: Nambil Mas – Welcome to the Nambil Masquerade appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Neo-Prog, Prog Punk (clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: ELP, Ben Folds Five, Rush
Country: Georgia, United States
Release date: 2 May 2025

Philosophically speaking, “progressive rock” and “punk” are two genres of music almost diametrically opposed to each other. The former is characterized by compositional complexity, virtuosic musicianship, and highfalutin, fantastical lyrical themes. The latter by raw energy, with fast, short songs; urgent, often politically-charged lyrics; and performers who typically spend more time crowdsurfing than practicing their instruments. So when I picked up A Shout Into the Void, the latest album by Atlanta, Georgia’s Great Wide Nothing, I was intrigued by their self-applied “prog punk” label.

What does “prog punk” sound like?

It depends who you ask. Many consider Cardiacs to be the quintessential prog punk act—their 1996 album Sing to God seamlessly grafts the frantic energy of punk rock onto the baroque arrangements of classic prog. In the early-to-mid 2000s, The Mars Volta released a slew of extremely dense, instrumentally virtuosic albums, heavily inspired by hardcore and post-hardcore punk. They and their ilk in the progressive post-hardcore scene could also fall under a “prog punk” umbrella. Still others label post-punk bands like Talking Heads as prog punk: inspired by punk, but breaking the boundaries of the genre in myriad ways.

Great Wide Nothing would be more accurately labeled “neo-prog”—the prog-offshoot genre from the 1980s which chopped the song lengths down and opted for harder-hitting, more radio-friendly tunes, instead of the ten-to-twenty minute keyboard epics of a decade prior. Fans of 80s Rush, in particular, might appreciate parts of A Shout Into The Void. The synth-heavy, bass-forward tracks on this album share some DNA in common with albums like Grace Under Pressure and Power Windows.

The opening track, “Utopia”, gives a tantalising introduction to what Great Wide Nothing are capable of, particularly in the outro: gentle keys abruptly stop, making way for sticky synths, with weighty bass and pounding drums pushing through like electric mixer paddles into cake batter. The bass tone here is on point (and Geddy-reminiscent). The rhythm section cleanly breaks into a chorus of airy keys, repeated again and again, like a call to battle, cultivating a serious, driving energy. The same can be said of “One Thousand Eyes”, where locked-in drums, crisp bass, and competent synth work propel the song into a catchy walking riff that wouldn’t be out of place on a classic prog record by any of the greats. These songs have an infectious forward momentum, they’re mixed well, and the production reflects a meticulous attention to detail.

But lyrically, A Shout Into the Void is no Grace Under Pressure. It instead comes across as overly sincere—a bit too on-the-nose. On “Utopia”, the band eschew cynicism and yearn for a brighter future: “what the fuck is the point … If it’s not for the sake of the common defense against death and decay? … It’s only a question of willingness.” “The Parting of Ways” is a letter to a loved one who has, psychologically (politically?), moved so far away from the narrator that they feel there is no other option but to cut ties. “Shout Into the Void”, the album’s final track, cries, “I don’t think I’ll live to change the world, or maybe even make a difference”, singing for the sake of it, even if it’s all for naught. This earnest naïveté, combined with a cliché here or there, makes the whole album feel sophomoric.

That amateurish clumsiness comes across in the vocals, as well as the lyrics. Phrases are sometimes cut short when they could have been held a tick longer. Vowels are not as round as they should be. Overwhelmingly, though, the main issue is a lack of emphasis, of singing from the diaphragm. This makes the vocals feel weak; the vocalist, uncommitted. Entering with a “what the fuck is the point?” on the first track, I knew I would have reservations about this album—I’ve been in bands where the instrumentalists, the arrangement, and the production were all on point, but the vocals were lacking oomph. It can make listening to a record unenjoyable—cringey, even. In many ways, A Shout Into The Void reminds me of my younger self, in a band with a good amount of talent, but uncomfortably amateurish vocals. I know what it’s like to sit in a recording studio and listen to someone with little technique and even less confidence sing-shout into a microphone. And what it’s like to be that person. It’s not fun. The self-applied “prog punk” label feels like a preemptive defense against critics who would otherwise focus on those vocals. Punk does not demand classically-trained vocalists, sure, but Great Wide Nothing sound otherwise punk in very few ways (their songs are a bit fast and they say “fuck” a few times).

A Shout Into the Void is a disappointment. Instrumentally, it is competent if not impressive. Its tracks are packed full of catchy riffs and melodies. The production and mixing are entirely unblemished. It has such potential to be a fast, loud, modern prog rock record, but it’s held back by vocals which are frankly quite difficult to listen to. Great Wide Nothing, I beg you, don’t make the same mistake I did. Find a singer and rebrand, before it’s too late.

Recommended tracks: One Thousand Eyes
You may also like: Cardiacs, Paradigm Blue, Kick the Giant
Final verdict: 5/10

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

Label: Independent

Great Wide Nothing is:
– Daniel Graham – bass, vocals, lyrics
– Dylan Porper – keyboards, vocals
– Jeff Matthews – drums, vocals

The post Review: Great Wide Nothing – A Shout Into the Void appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Metalcore, mathcore (mixed vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Dillinger Escape Plan, Every Time I Die, Johnny Booth
Country: Georgia, United States
Release date: 16 May 2025

As a genre, mathcore often sounds like bands are throwing everything they’ve got at the wall just to see what sticks: syncopation, polymeters, dissonance, shit; take your pick. When bands don’t wield these components with careful aim, it leaves the wall a garish mosaic of incoherently smeared elements and dangling concepts. That said, when mathcore’s done well, and its rhythmic rebelliousness and explosive cacophony are anchored in abiding, ardent homage to its punk-rock parentage, the result is less a splatter of unchecked aggression and more a display of challenging, charged artistry. The Callous Daoboys’ previous offerings, however, have struck me as a bit too much shit-on-the-wall. Drawing on unmistakable influences from mathcore titans like Dillinger Escape Plan and Botch, the Daoboys stacked even more elements on top of genre staples like fluctuating rhythms, prevailingly harsh vocals, and intemperate aggression, adding in more synths than is typical of the genre, highly segmented compositions, and a dose of nu-metal. The resulting auditory fracas landed a little too frenetically for my ears. Back with their third full-length album, I Don’t Want to See You In Heaven, the question becomes: has the chaos crystallized?

I Don’t Want to See You In Heaven’s spoken word introduction frames the album as a cultural relic discovered three hundred years in the future and provides a sort of mission statement for the themes to be explored within. The narrator lists “heartbreak, anguish, frustration, infidelity, lust, addiction, divorce, and suffering”, before frontman Carson Pace’s screams burst open the first real track, “Schizophrenia Legacy”. Gangly guitar riffs hulk and lurch across the track’s shifting metres, setting a raucous pace for the album that roils at an urgently adrenalized boil.

This rawly emotional bombardment is punishing until it’s rewarding; overwhelming until it coheres; unrelenting until, six tracks in, it relents. The lush instrumental opening of “Lemon” provides some respite, but it’s no ballad, with insistently rhythmic guitar and almost jungly synths that call to mind The White Lotus’ subtly unsettling soundtrack. “Lemon” slides imperceptibly into the similarly understated “Body Horror for Birds”. These two tracks’ impact may be diminished by stacking them back-to-back in the midst of the album’s shrieking onslaught, but this brief respite in calmer waters is rich in reward: some of the more melodically lavish moments here, particularly from the synths and violin, are terrific. 

Pace describes I Don’t Want to See You in Heaven as a kind of personal artifact of his twenties, a “snapshot of 24-27”, and the Daoboys abide by this visceral personalness steadfastly. For all its boundary-pushing and shapeshifting, I Don’t Want to See You In Heaven rings with a familiar kind of MTV-coded emo/punk nostalgia. Listening to tracks like “Distracted by the Mona Lisa”, I could be standing on a stretch of sun-baked asphalt outside an early-aughts strip mall, showing a CD of this album to my friends as we pass by the video rental shop. 

The vocal performance takes centre stage, saturated with harrowed angst that is authentic if also at times lyrically corny¹. Trying to divorce the emotional resonance from Pace’s technical delivery would be foolish: his screams and rock-solid emo-tinted clean vocals throb with each of the emotions from the album’s opening mission statement in turn. The supporting musical cast wields everything from funky bass lines and spider-like scrabbling guitars to wrenchingly poignant violin and silky-smooth saxophone with skill, sometimes all within a few minutes. My one real gripe is that Amber Christman’s periodic violin interludes seem to be underserved by the album’s composition; if you’re going to have a violinist on force as a full-fledged member of your band, you should let them contribute more than just ornamental fringe. 

At fifty-seven minutes, I Don’t Want to See You in Heaven starts to stretch at the seams. For instance, nearly three minutes of rippling wordless vocal effects and delicate instrumentals could be cut from the start of closer “Country Song in Reverse” at no loss. But I wonder if the poise and patience that somewhat bloats the album’s runtime is part of what makes it work for me. While disparity and incongruity could be considered hallmarks of mathcore as a genre, they’re wielded more skillfully here than on the Callous Daoboys’ previous outings: transitions are less abrupt, and different ideas are given time to develop, instead being chucked at the wall one after another.

In pulling their chaos into a more deliberate shape, The Callous Daoboys have made something that sticks. The balance between emotional volatility and compositional control is what sets this fiercely personal yet tightly executed record apart from their earlier work.  I Don’t Want to See You in Heaven channels that timeless, angst-ridden need for catharsis through a funnel of technical precision and ambition, and the result is sure to leave a mark, whether you want it to or not.

Recommended tracks: Two-Headed Trout, Lemon, III. Country Song in Reverse
You may also like: The Number Twelve Looks Like You, Candiria, Benthos
Final verdict: 7.5/10

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

Label: MNRK Heavy – Facebook | Official Website

The Callous Daoboys is:
Jackie Buckalew – Bass, backing vocals
Maddie Caffrey – Guitars
Amber Christman – Violin
Matthew Hague – Drums, backing vocals
Daniel Hodsdon – Guitars, backing vocals
Carson Pace – Lead vocals, synthesizers

With guests:
Rich Castillo – Saxophone 
Justin Young – Narration
Jake Howard – Additional production 
Adam Easterling – Guest vocals
Tyler Syphertt – Additional vocals
Ryan Hunter — Guest vocals
Dawson Beck – Backing vocals
Allan Romero – Trumpets, trombones, and saxophone
Andrew Spann – Guest vocals

1. “You should know by now that it’s not cool to wear metalcore t-shirts around your family / It doesn’t make you interesting at all” is a little on the nose, no? ︎

The post Review: The Callous Daoboys – I Don’t Want to See You in Heaven appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Progressive death metal, progressive black metal (mixed vocals, mostly harsh)
Recommended for fans of: Ne Obliviscaris, An Abstract Illusion, Fallujah, Wilderun
Country: Georgia, United States
Release date: 04 April 2025

My knowledge of art history is limited, as is my understanding of visual art, but I’ll go to a few museums a year to get my required dose of culture and keep the illusion of sophistication alive. Even if I don’t fully appreciate the paintings, there’s one type that always leaves me awestruck: the big-ass painting. The canvas that occupies an entire wall. The painting so epic in scope it draws in ignorant tourists like me through sheer magnitude, even though none of us can offer more than, “Wow, that thing’s huge. Pretty colors, too.”

There’s a certain brand of modern progressive death metal that’s tantamount to the big-ass painting. Bands like Ne Obliviscaris, An Abstract Illusion, and Wilderun are putting out albums so ambitious, epic, and grand that, whether they resonate or not, their enormity alone should knock the listener into a state of awe. Fortunately, I’m better at comprehending music than visual art, and many of these epics sit among my favorite modern works—they strike me the same way the immense paintings are probably intended to. Apparently plotting to join this distinguished group of artists, Atlanta-based Tómarúm have grabbed a vastly oversized canvas and painted it with their sophomore LP, Beyond Obsidian Euphoria. I won’t bury the lede: this work makes a worthy case for inclusion in the hallowed halls of big-ass prog death.

Holding nearly seventy minutes of dense, nuanced compositions, Beyond Obsidian Euphoria is an intimidating chunk of music. But Tómarúm provide plenty of hooks and lighter instrumental passages that serve as aural footholds, allowing the listener to regroup along the journey—and what a journey it is. After about a minute of airy synth swells and a delicate motif sitting on top, the album’s opener bursts forth with frenetic drums and bass accompanied by soaring guitar leads before transitioning into an intricate, techy verse. Emblematic of the album as a whole, the ten-minute track wanders through mind-bending riffs and off-kilter rhythms, melodic refrains, a bass-driven bridge with acoustic guitar and synth accents, and harmonious guitar solos. With each band member holding a vocal credit in the album notes, a mixture of throaty howls, low growls, stoic cleans, and melodic singing tells the album’s tale: one of striving to rise from the depths of despair, seeking transcendence and triumph.

The despair-to-triumph concept underlying Beyond Obsidian Euphoria is ever-present in the album’s atmosphere, which oscillates through all shades of dark and light, enhanced by ubiquitous synth touches and diverse vocals widely covering the tonal and emotional spectrums. The most consistent feature is meandering guitar leads that ring gloomy yet hopeful—bittersweet melodies floating over blasting drums and dexterous bass. It’s impossible not to compare the feel to that of Fallujah, who have mastered the art of using gliding guitars and turbulent rhythms to build impactful soundscapes. Perfectly complementing Beyond Obsidian Euphoria’s atmosphere is its earthy and organic production, applying just enough polish for each instrument to stand out while avoiding the plastic, sonic sheen that coats many modern albums.  

Beyond Obsidian Euphoria is most impressive in its holistic execution of a wildly ambitious vision, but plenty of distinct moments stand out. For one, the way the immaculate, whimsical instrumental “Introspection III” carries right into the cataclysmic opening moments of “Shallow Ecstasy”—like black storm clouds sweeping in to fill previously gossamer skies. Or the bass solo in “Blood Mirage” followed by a contrabass solo in the next track, “Halcyon Memory: Dreamscapes Across the Blue.” And even having gone numb to guitar solos over the years, my brain locked right onto those strewn throughout “Shed this Erroneous Skin.” Perhaps the album’s high point, Tómarúm throw everything they have at you in the fourteen-minute penultimate track, “The Final Pursuit of Light”: from rolling, blackened riffs to tasteful dissonance, drumming that exhibits inhuman endurance, and an abundance of bass guitar flourishes. Meanwhile, Opethian influence shines through the track’s middle section with Åkerfeldt-esque growls over punchy minor chords, dark and soulful guitar leads, and groovy, atmospheric bridges built on top of clean guitars in Ghost Reveries style. The song is a grab bag of captivating ideas performed ridiculously well. And if all this weren’t enough, the relatively short closing track brings back the album’s opening motif, tidily putting a bow on this behemoth.

We couldn’t expect an album this massive to be without some cracks, and fortunately Beyond Obsidian Euphoria’s are few. Although the vocal barrage, evidently coming from all five members, keeps the sprawling tracks fresh, no performance is particularly noteworthy. The differing harsh vocals are average for the most part, and, if being generous, the cleans are at best serviceable in context—they’re welcome for the variety they add but aren’t always in key or tonally compelling. The opener’s monotone chorus and the awkward cleans in “Shallow Ecstasy” are a couple of spots where the vocals dip from neutral to negative. Moreover, as with nearly any album of this length, some of it begins to blur together. “Halcyon Memory” and “Silver, Ashen Tears,” while enjoyable on their own, don’t quite distinguish themselves as much as the other tracks. Then again, if Beyond Obsidian Euphoria were trimmed to a more concise length, it just wouldn’t hold the same grandeur. And, considering how extraordinary most of the album is, its few issues are mere drops in the metaphorical ocean.

All in all, Tómarúm have done it: their latest big-ass painting deserves to be displayed in the halls of modern progressive death metal. Maybe Beyond Obsidian Euphoria won’t be the main exhibit, but wherever it’s hung, it’s every bit worthy of the spot. Tómarúm envisioned an album frighteningly large in scope and shaped it into an intricate, immersive, and rewarding work. As excited as I am to see how the band fills their next sonic canvas, there’s certainly no hurry—after spending several hours with this one, I’m still uncovering new layers to appreciate.

Recommended tracks: Shed This Erroneous Skin, The Final Pursuit of Light
You may also like: Orgone, Disillusion, Iapetus, Dessiderium, Amiensus, Virvum
Final verdict: 8/10

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

Label: Prosthetic Records – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Tómarúm is:
– Kyle Walburn (Guitar, Vocals, Programming)
– Brandon Iacovella (Guitar, Vocals, Programming, Contrabass, Narration)
– Matthew Longerbeam (Guitar, Vocals)
– Michael Sanders (Bass, Vocals)
– Chris Stropoli (Drums, Vocals, Programming, Sound Design)

The post Review: Tómarúm – Beyond Obsidian Euphoria appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: progressive rock, rock opera, progressive metal, power metal (clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Neal Morse, Avantasia, Ayreon, Dream Theater
Country: United States-GA
Release date: 28 June 2024

This review is going to hurt me to write. A disastrous Christian prog rock/metal opera supergroup headed by Marc Centanni on guitars and… Gary Wehrkamp of Shadow Gallery, one of my all time favorite prog metal bands. I won’t be coy: As Heaven’s Metal Magazine puts it, “This is Christian metal’s Les Miserables,” presumably because it’ll make you cut all your hair off and beg for a bloody revolution, or perhaps because it’s as bad as Russell Crowe’s singing¹. From one of the worst stories I’ve heard in a prog concept album—and that’s no easy feat—to the insipid Neal Morse and Ayreon worship musically, even Wehrkamp’s composition and performance come nowhere close to the salvation everybody involved so desperately seeks. 

The central focus of a concept album is its story, and it’s clear from one quick look at The Crucible’s story that lyricist Centanni has never heard of subtlety in his life, taking cues from The Astonishing’s infamously blunt character names and stale narrative structure. Jude, the Antichrist figure in charge of the giant biotech corporation ichor (the blood of the gods), creates an Edenic city called Babylon for his master-race of tech-infused humans, directly censoring other belief systems. Centanni was so damn close to being self-aware, too, penning the line, “There’s no reasoning for religious creed / Let’s end the cause of all war / We can bring them peace.” Eventually, Jude is chosen to be the god-emperor of the Earth when he saves mankind from… super-meteors? How this biotech mogul stopped super-meteors is anybody’s guess, but the Revelation parallels with the Antichrist aren’t veiled. Centanni, classically self-victimizing the Christians in the modern world, creates a “Christian holocaust” as sung throughout the chorus of the titular “The Crucible.” Jude’s cybernetic assassin “The Messenger” is sent against the Christians who have rallied under the Pope in a genocide against Christianity. Had Centanni read the Bible, he would have known that the prevailing reading of Scripture has the Rapture preceding the tribulation and rise of the Antichrist, so all the true Christians would have, y’know, been rapt. There’s also some side plot with Princess Relena, heir to the exiled Italian royal family since World War II, and she does something (well it feels more like nothing) in the story, but given that this is significantly worse in plot and execution than the goddamn Left Behind series, I won’t get into the story mess any deeper. However, I must mention that the album transitions from a mediocre sci-fi story to aggressive evangelism around the halfway point, shifting tactlessly to preaching the wonders of Christ when it has little to do with the story at hand. The cast of vocalists on The Crucible moan and spaff about Jesus on the second half of the album more than your average Neal Morse album does in its entirety, and that’s no easy feat. I’ve heard Mormons talk about Joseph Smith less than Harpazo sing about Jesus in “Change of Heart Pt. 2.”

That song title’s stupid pretentiousness seems like an obvious segue into discussing how stereotypically prog [derogatory] The Crucible is with its songs all endlessly long, full of instrumental sections that wouldn’t stand out from your average Dream Theater clone, and an uninspired vocal cast that would have been written off over twenty years ago as a poor Ayreon or Avantasia wanna-be. There are occasionally interesting a cappella moments (“Ichor” and “The Book of Life”), yet those feel redundant having heard any of Neal Morse’s seemingly infinite catalog. On the instrumental side, Wehrkamp spent fifteen odd years as one of the best composers in progressive metal throughout the 90s and 00s, but his creative juices have heart-breakingly seem to have run out with Amaran’s Plight’s 2007 album forewarning the cataclysm of Harpazo. The songwriting follows a basic traditional progressive metal pattern of bombastic sections, slow sections (which sound like Ayreon’s 010001 [or whatever numbers, I can’t be arsed to look them up because Harpazo has worn out my enthusiasm for prog] because of the “*oooooh* technology scary and bad” theme), epic choruses, extended solos, you name it; however, there is little finesse or care in the transitions between these sections, and the songs all feel painfully drawn out. The real tribulation of the Christians is sitting through seventy-one minutes of this, with six songs topping eight minutes in addition to a couple filler tracks (“Legion Program,” “We Are Weak”). 

I’ve closely followed Wehrkamp’s career as an incredibly accomplished multi-instrumentalist, and his work on The Crucible displays an uncharacteristic lack of emotion with his production, guitars, bass, piano, and drums all rather tepid. The solos lack any depth or resonance, the open chord choruses feel bland and repetitive after the very first in opener “Ichor,” and there are no songwriting tricks to change up the formulaic progressive metal-ness. This is simply uninspired on every front. Several singers have decent performances, particularly DC Cooper (Royal Hunt) as lead character The Messenger, but even for his great performance we have an equally weighted negative from Lee Lemperl as Princess Relena Umberto. For someone who loves Jesus Christ so much, you’d expect her to sing with more passion, yet her performance is monotone with a lack of vibrato, one or two note melodies, and a frustratingly soft tone. Just as her character could be cut from the story with no substantial change, so could her performance. 

The Crucible is technically sound enough to not be ranked among the worst progressive metal albums I’ve heard no matter how annoyingly awful the concept and boring instrumentals are. All the instruments and (most of) the vocal performances never miss a beat, and Wehrkamp’s production is warm and tight—the singers are mixed especially well. “Two Witnesses” is my favorite track for the glimpses of Shadow Gallery-isms in its melodies and writing, though those glory days are clearly long past. Yet just three songs later is a prog interlude so grating as to be among my least favorite of all time: “We Are Weak.” With a lullaby singing “Jesus loves me this I know / For the Bible tells me so / Little ones to him belong / They are weak… but he is strong.” In addition to the corny, disgustingly saccharine but slightly creepy lullaby, Wehrkamp tries a totally disjoint-from-the-first-part orchestrated section that is ok though not his best work, a common theme of The Crucible, and then the track ends with an attempt at an epic finale, but the belting of DC Cooper doesn’t work in the lullaby melody, and the track comes crashing down in its attempts at resplendency. 

I have never wanted to love an album more and hated it this much. I loveShadow Gallery and have been known to dig a good rock opera on occasion even if they’re a bit cheesy for my current taste, but Harpazo have elevated bad prog and its classic counterpart cheese/cringe to a whole new realm. On first appearance it’s shiny and slick, but the inner flaws almost immediately reveal themselves under a magnifying glass—really just the naked eye. The experience of listening to and writing about this album was its own crucible of sorts: listener beware.

Recommended tracks: Two Witnesses
You may also like: Neal Morse Band, Shadow Gallery, Aggressively Proselytizing, Enzo and the Glory Ensemble, Teramaze, Royal Hunt, Amaran’s Plight, Ben Baruk
Final verdict: 3/10

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

Label: Rockshots Record Label – Facebook | Official Website

Harpazo is:
– Gary Wehrkamp (vocals, guitars, piano, drums, bass)
– DC Cooper (vocals)
– Lee Lemperle (vocals)
– Jennifer Eckhart (vocals)
– Rey Parra (vocals)
– Christian Liljegren (vocals)
– Les Carlson (vocals)
– Michael Drive (vocals)
– Niklas Kahl (drums)
– Mark Zonder (drums)
– Mark Centanni (guitars, drums, keys)
– Stephanie Morykin (violins)
– Gary Bredbenner (trombones)
– etc

1. Joke credits to Chris because I sure as hell haven’t endured Les Mis. ︎

The post Review: Harpazo – The Crucible appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: prog death metal, technical death metal (mixed vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Cynic, Atheist, Beyond Creation, Blood Incantation
Review by: Andy
Country: United States-GA
Release date: 28 April, 2023

I am fully bought into metal’s powers to allow for access into a state of sublime transcendence: I have written dozens of pages of academic literature on the topic (some coming to the blog soon…), and I have deduced that it’s the reason metal speaks to me. Lunar Chamber also clearly believe that metal can access some form of enlightenment, and they peer to the East for the wisdom to find it. In this meditative quest to reach enlightenment, Lunar Chamber fascinatingly mix new age with pummeling technical death metal, following in the footsteps of groups like Cynic, Astral Tomb, and Tómarúm. So will you follow the band to sit under the Bodhi tree, follow in the footsteps of Buddha, and achieve enlightenment?  

In “Intro (Shamballic Vibrations),” the Eastern melodies effortlessly transform into a startlingly heavy tremolo riff where my ear immediately latches onto the haunting fretless bass underneath the surface chaos. Simultaneously fascinating and perplexing, the performances of Lunar Chamber ingeniously integrate synths, eerie background trem riffs, and subtle spoken word behind a wall of turbulent death metal–yet even with volcanically gurgling vocals, the band most often sounds impeccably serene–probably because of that synth backdrop. More puzzling still are the guitar solos of Timeworm Nexus and They, Who May Not Be Perceived, solos which gloriously dazzle above the filthiest fretless licks you’ve heard this year. The instrumental proficiency comes as no surprise looking at the band’s pedigree, including stints in Proliferation, Tómarúm, and The Ritual Aura. Lunar Chamber even snagged Ne Obliviscaris’ new phenomenally talented human metronome Kevin Paradis to provide whatever the antonym of an asystolic pulse is. Across the whole album, Lunar Chamber have no qualms demonstrating their absurd talent, too, but the solo section near the end of “Spirit Body and the Seeing Self” really shows off what the band can do as the guitars diminish into an honest-to-god fretless bass solo with the phattest tone I’ve heard all year–even including playing like Hugo Doyon-Karout’s in Metasphæra that I driveled on about or the filthy tone of Lunar Chamber’s label-mates VoidCeremony.  

While the first two full tracks are predominantly scorching proggy tech death, they have tons of little meditative, Cynic-esque ornamentations. In this case, the little clean bits are well-integrated compositionally–even when just brief sojourns into the spiritual realm–because of how superbly clean the production is. Beginning with a goal to learn about enlightenment, these brief windows into a more meditative, plaintive mood are understandable glimpses into a more spiritual future. As the album progresses and the listener gets closer to transcendence, the metal backs away further culminating with the epic finale, deserving of its name “III. Crystalline Blessed Light Flows… From Violet Mountains into Lunar Chambers,” that becomes a dreamy soundscape of fretless bass and ethereal synths as gorgeous as Dream Unending’s landmark doom album last year. That finale, too, bursts into furious tremolos after a few minutes, but the chanting clean vocals near the end lull you back to a state of heightened awareness and elevated spirituality. The insane, stream-of-consciousness flow of the song intensifies the track above its contemporaries and genuinely feels sublime. Each time I’ve heard the phenomenal solos or gorgeous and calm fretless in “III. Crystalline Blessed Light Flows… From Violet Mountains into Lunar Chambers” while reviewing, I’ve felt awestruck at the songwriting and vibe of the music. 

Like all the best EPs, I wish this were a full length because everything about Shambhallic Vibrations is so damn majestic. The ebbs and flows of the writing, the pacing, the performances… this is the most impressive debut EP we’ve gotten in a long time, and I can’t wait for more. Take me to that higher plane of existence, Lunar Chamber! 

Recommended tracks: Spirit Body and the Seeing Self, III. Crystalline Blessed Light Flows… From Violet Mountains into Lunar Chambers
You may also like: Tómarúm, Astral Tomb, Virvum, Aethereus, Dream Unending, VoidCeremony, Proliferation, The Ritual Aura, Dessiderium
Final verdict: 8.5/10

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

Label: 20 Buck Spin – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Lunar Chamber is:
– Timeworm Nexus (guitars, vocals)
– They, Who May Not Be Perceived (guitars, vocals)
– Æther Lotus (fretless bass)
– Kevin Paradis (drums)

The post Review: Lunar Chamber – Shambhallic Vibrations appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Progressive metal, djent (mixed vocals)
Recommended for fans of: (late) Voyager, The Contortionist, VOLA
Country: Georgia, United States
Release date: 20 December, 2019

[EDITOR’S NOTE: This review was originally published in the December 2019 issue of The Progressive Subway.]

The timing of this review is funny. I am reviewing one of our own reviewer’s (Chris) bands the same month he joined. Lucky for me the album is a solid one. Contextual Noise is a shorter EP, but don’t let that fool you, there is some good stuff on here. 

Right away I noticed the production was on point, and being able to go directly to the source I learned that Jamie King mastered the album. The second thing I noticed was there is a bit of a combination of heavy riffing and ambient synths. The album starts off atmospheric and heavy with “Overgrowth”, and reminded me a bit of Voyager. The next track “Kill Castle” was one I was instantly drawn to, but after listening to the album a few times, it really grew on me. The track very much takes you on a journey. There are killer riffs, tasty dissonance, cool callbacks, and catchy melodies. If you only check out one song from this album, make sure it’s this one. The last individual track I’ll highlight is “The Silent Push.” There are some huge riffs on this one as well as some lush synths. Like “Kill Castle” it also takes you on a journey. 

At a high level, there isn’t a weak performance on the album. Drums, vocals, and guitar are all on point. The bass is pushed a little down in the mix for my liking, but hey that’s just a preference thing. The only really negative I can find on the album is there were a few times where the melodies were a bit similar between a couple songs. It wasn’t a big problem in my opinion, but on a shorter EP, it did stick out a bit more. Overall, Contextual Noise was a short but sweet EP. Give this album a spin if you like bands like Voyager, The Contortionist, or VOLA; I don’t see how you wouldn’t enjoy this. 

Recommended tracks: Kill Castle, The Silent Push
You may also like: Ihlo
Final verdict: 8/10

Related links: Bandcamp | Spotify | Facebook | Instagram

Label: Independent

Effuse is:
– Chris Deese: (vocals, drums, guitars, synth)
– Jarrod Blanton: (guitars)
– Greg Hendler (bass, guitars)

The post Review: Effuse – Contextual Noise appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: djent, progressive metal (mixed vocals)
Recommended for fans of: TesseracT, The Contortionist
Review by: Chris
Country: Georgia, United States
Release date: 28 June 2019

[EDITOR’S NOTE: This review was originally published in the 2nd Missed Albums 2019 issue of The Progressive Subway.]

As a quick disclosure, I live in the same city as these guys, have played shows with them and like them as people/buds. That said, as a musician I want and expect people I know and are friends with to review/talk about music I make honestly, and I give the same way I take.

With that out of the way, let’s dive into Hollowform. Spirit Healer are a 5 piece progressive metal outfit hailing from Atlanta, GA that released Hollowform as their debut release/LP. In a pretty ballsy and ambitious move, they decided to make that first release a very fleshed out concept album, which I recommend looking through on their website which is linked above.

Musically, Hollowform opens with a real nice synth soundscape to set the stage before dropping you into Meshuggah-esque syncopated chugs. Based on the guitar timbre and drumming one expects a Jens Kidman esque vocal to come in but instead you are greeted with a mid timbre voice which floats above the djenty guitars, giving flavors of a TesseracT esque dichotomy in tones. Throughout this album you will find much of this, with the guitars and drums playing with syncopation feels and rhythms while synths and other guitars paint backing melodies to compliment the soaring vocals. 

Hollowform does many things well. For one, it sounds stellar. The production is great though maybe a bit sterile or clean for some people’s taste, but it’s a decision that makes sense for this record based on the genre space it sits in. The sense of atmosphere and continuity in this album are a definite high spot, which very much contribute to the “world building” aspect I feel often gets neglected in these concept album attempts by newer bands. As a drummer, the drums on this album are fun to follow for the interesting “play in the space” the feels have on a few of the songs. There are some great riffs in this record, to the point I found myself wishing there was a little more riff and a bit less djent at times. The vocals sound great and have some real high moments and really great harmony choices that help pad out the records soundstage.

A few critiques I have are that I feel some of the real heavy and rhythmic parts especially the extreme djenty moments feel a bit forced or tacked on, but it could be my personal tastes coming through. I tend to like subtle rhythms tricks instead of obvious strange pattern type pieces, so for me the moments where the album sits on a groove with a strange tick feel much more exciting than the moments it feels like the atmosphere drops and the strange chug rhythms come through. I feel Hollowform also suffers slightly from the slightly samey feel the record has tempo-range and feel wise. It seems definitely done to elicit the atmosphere (which I admire!) but I think for some listeners it could be a bit tough to wade through on a first listen; I know even for me sometimes I get that feeling (this is similar to Language by The Contortionist, another album with great atmosphere and feel but can drag for some listeners feel and tempo wise). I would even say that while there are some moments where they throw a few curveballs, I’m not sure anything here surprised me after the first couple songs, instead having varying highs and lows of what was already coming. To me this kinda gave a feeling of playing it safe a bit where I would love to see more experimentation. Lastly, while there are some super great vocal melodies on these tracks, there are some spots where I didn’t really find myself entirely engaged with the vocals and kinda preferred what was going on beneath them.

Overall, I really, really love this album. It is with that idea in mind that I think this is where my score kinda stakes my place as a tough grader around these parts. Hollowform really is a treat but I think some listeners will have trouble clicking with it; those that it does click with will be so glad it did. If I had to give a personal one sentence review of Spirit Healer as a band, I would say they are what I wish TesseracT was. I think these guys have really put together something great here but I know there is room to grow and really finish fleshing out their sound and niche to further differentiate themselves from the djent noise in the genre right now.

Recommended tracks: Incredible Views, A Memory of the Ritual, Zero at the Bone
You may also like: Stellar Circuits, Ihlo, Clement Belio
Final verdict: 8.5/10

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

Label: Independent

Spirit Healer is:
– JT O’Neill (vocals)
– Shane Driscoll (guitars, backing vocals)
– Stephen Backus (guitars)
– Evan Driscoll (bass)
– Taylor Ryan (drums)

The post Missed Album Review: Spirit Healer – Hollowform appeared first on The Progressive Subway.