Style: Progressive rock (clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Deep Purple, Yes, The Flower Kings, Kansas, Spock’s Beard
Country: Norway
Release date: 16 May 2025

To meaningfully assess a modern progressive rock band, one must first embrace the act of judgment—a process I’ve long since systematized. In the incomprehensibly vast progressive musical landscape of the year 2025, whether they know it or not, all prog rock bands that come across my desk are being judged. While this may sound harsh, it’s more of a complex calculation than it is an exercise in caviling, with all bands landing somewhere on a three-dimensional vector graph in my mind: the X axis measures how technically proficient the band is; the Y axis measures their creativity and originality; and Z is for how seriously they take themselves. While I am not prepared to misappropriate my professional Microsoft Visio license to create a full diagram of how various well-known prog rock acts slot onto the plane, this graph is foundational to my assessment and appreciation of bands in the genre. And there’s certainly an optimal zone when it comes to seriousness: the more unabashedly zany or tongue-in-cheek a band is (think Cheeto’s Magazine), the greater creativity and technical prowess I expect in order for them to establish a foothold in a favourable quadrant. Conversely, many titans of the prog rock scene (Jethro Tull, Transatlantic, etc.) engage in a degree of navel-gazing pretension which cannot, in my eyes, be redeemed, even by their beefy musical chops.

So, do Norway’s Magic Pie land in the sweet spot? One could reasonably assume that the band’s name belies a lack of seriousness. But these seasoned rockers have a deft hand with the ingredients on their latest record Maestro. The goofiness is not mixed in too liberally; rather, the prevailing flavour is a hearty, feel-good seventies-inspired prog in the vein of Flower Kings or Steve Hackett, with dashes of Kansas– or Queen-like vocal harmonization, and a few heavier spikes of Dream Theater dashed in.

Almost all of Magic Pie’s previous albums have featured a long epic track, and Maestro is no exception. Does the rather prolixly-titled opening track, “Opus Imperfectus Pt.1 – The Missing Chord” need to be eighteen minutes long? Certainly not, but Magic Pie are enjoying themselves throughout. The free-flowing, unhurried compositional structure sees the band ramble through a symphonic intro, mellotron-infused retro shine, and amply proportioned, meandering solos. It’s less a circle-jerk and more of a jovial fun time, calling to mind some of the stream of consciousness unwinding of Deep Purple or Dire Straits’ live acts. Maestro‘s fun, catchy verve is perfectly captured in the track’s unhurried, anthemic chorus, which slides into a catchy modulated phrase as the backing vocals build a sort of intoxicating thrall.

But not all of Maestro unfolds with such buoyant charm. As a follow-up to “Opus Imperfectus”, the ballad “By the Smokers Pole” is a down-tempo snooze, and this is where Magic Pie’s pacing issue comes into the foreground. There’s certainly fun to be had in the space between the two-part “Opus” that bookends Maestro, as in the straightforward rockin’ opening of “Somebody Else’s Wannabe” that blooms into a rhythmically fleet-footed proggy jaunt. Dedicating so much space to the opening and closing tracks, however, leaves the five tracks in the middle shuffling to find a place to stand; some more successfully than others. The two-minute “Kiddo…”, for example, has no footing at all, stuck in some no man’s land between an interlude and a full song.

Vocally, Icelander Eirikur Hauksson never really stuns. While he flashes some zany theatricality across the album, calling to mind the gusto of David Bowie or Freddie Mercury, his delivery prevailingly rests in an unremarkable mid-range comfort zone marked by a loose vibrato—capable if a little cut-and-dried, though the plush backing vocals do some work to infuse more flavour. By comparison, the instrumental deliveries are punchier, and easily shoot Magic Pie up my technical proficiency axis: the guitars and keys tumble and cavort around each other, cascading into long, careening solos that weave together everything from bluesy twang to spacey prog-metal shimmer, as the bass and drums knit a tight groove underneath.

Conceptually, I lose Maestro’s lyrical thread somewhere in between the Maestro jumping into the ocean in the first track, and Hauksson opining about the proliferation of social media in “Kiddo…” While “tortured virtuoso struggles to compose his magnum opus” seems like a premise spit straight out of Prog Rock Idea Generator Dot Com¹, and it certainly isn’t scoring the band any gains on my originality/creativity axis, the concept is so light-handed as to be virtually untraceable across the album’s forty-nine minutes. This is just as well with me, albeit probably not in line with Magic Pie’s intention.

Maestro may not push boundaries, nor does it fully transcend the gravitational pull of its own “epic” opening. But with a high technical coefficient and just enough self-awareness to avoid tumbling into the black hole of prog pretension, Magic Pie chart a respectable course through the vector space. For all its uneven pacing and conceptual fuzziness, if you’re looking for a warm, comforting slice of prog rock that’s easy on the palate, Magic Pie’s Maestro is worth digging into.

Recommended tracks: Opus Imperfectus Pt. 1 – The Missing Chord, Somebody Else’s Wannabe
You may also like: Moon Safari, Southern Empire, The Twenty Committee, The Cryptex
Final verdict: 6.5/10

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

Label: Karisma Records – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Magic Pie is:
– Kim Stenberg (guitar)
– Eirikur Hauksson (vocals)
– Erling Henanger (keyboard)
– Lars Petter Holstad (bass)
– Martin Utby (drums)

1. Whether or not this is a real website is left up to your imagination, dear reader ︎

The post Review: Magic Pie – Maestro appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Album photography by Anne-Marie Forker

Style: Progressive rock, neo-prog (clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Airbag, Steven Wilson, David Gilmour, Lunatic Soul
Country: Norway
Release date: 11 April 2025

What makes a musician in an established band turn towards the path of solo artistry? For many, it is the prospect of complete creative control that draws them in—the lure of making something that is yours and yours alone, without having to compromise with those other people that ordinarily make music with you. But what of those who are already their band’s leader and primary songwriter—those who could already write what they want and have their glorified session musicians bandmates follow along with little issue? Well, in that case, it’s often out of a desire to branch out stylistically in ways that might not make sense in terms of their existing group’s oeuvre. Take Steven Wilson for instance. While he was already the undisputed main creative mind behind Porcupine Tree, his various adventures into trip-hop, ’70s prog pastiche, and electronica likely wouldn’t have happened without starting a career under his own name. 

In a possibly similar vein, we now have Bjørn Riis, guitarist and bandleader of Norwegian neo-prog stalwarts Airbag. Less than a year after his main band’s release of The Century of the Self, Riis is putting out a brand new solo release by the name of Fimbulvinter. I’ve been a fan of Airbag and their melancholy, guitar-driven brand of David Gilmour-core ever since I found a YouTube album upload of All Rights Removed over a decade ago, but Riis’ solo career is new to me, despite the fact that he’s apparently been at this since 2014. He’s evidently quite experienced as a solo artist, which seems a positive sign; after four albums, Riis has had plenty of time to solidify a musical identity all his own, purporting to blend the atmospheric, introspective prog that put him on the map with the energetic, hard rock swagger of the bands he grew up with in the early ’80s. Will Fimbulvinter, in its themes of cold, empty isolation, expose new facets of this soulful shredder, or is it just a bag of frozen musical leftovers?

After a quiet, atmospheric intro to ease listeners in, “Gone” ratchets the intensity up significantly, with an insistent, propulsive beat driven by some nicely audible bass. It’s refreshing to hear an artist known for slow-burning, gradual buildups just put his foot on the gas and unleash some good old fashioned rock and roll for a change. As a cherry on top, Riis throws in a killer guitar solo, trading his usual Gilmour-esque weeping tone for a commanding, wah-pedalled wail designed to play out the open windows of a car speeding down the highway. Of course, there’s still a strong dose of that signature melancholic unease, largely present in the lyrics’ vague but deeply insistent themes of wanting to get out, to run away from… something. Riis also is a surprisingly adept vocalist, sounding almost exactly like Airbag frontman Asle Torstrup in places. In fact, almost eerily like him. Hey, wait a minute…

Apologies, readers. I seem to have put on “Machines and Men”, the opener from Airbag‘s A Day at the Beach album, by mistake. And yet, when I put on the actual “Gone”, I find that pretty much all of the prior paragraph still applies. Same driving bass-led beat, similar lyrical themes, very similar wailing guitar solo. To be fair, it’s not complete self-plagiarism: for one thing, the atmospheric intros are different, with “Gone” being preceded by a separate, acoustic intro track (“Illhug”) as opposed to “Machines and Men”, which folds its synthier intro into the track itself. Riis is also a slightly rougher, less polished vocalist than Tostrup, and the lyrics aim for a vibe of disconnection as opposed to paranoia. But the fact remains that the track is, by and large, a retread of territory Riis has already been over. Sure, it’s a good song when taken on its own merits—the energy is infectious, the guitar work gripping, and the melodies nicely emotional. But, the thing is, those aren’t its own merits; they’re the merits of a song released five years ago, and it makes this song’s existence hard to justify.

Alright, let’s not bang on about one track’s self-plagiarism too much. Surely the next song, “Panic Attack”, represents a brand new musical direction for Riis, something we’ve never seen. I hit play, and it’s an eleven-minute slow burn of a track, alternating between soft, echoing passages of understated sadness and big, emotional walls of heavy guitar, which… goddammit, I could be describing a dozen different Airbag songs right now, couldn’t I? Indeed, both it and closer “Fear of Abandonment” feel like B-sides from The Century of the Self, with the latter taking on the “soft ballad that builds into climactic guitar solo” side of the formula as opposed to its more progressively structured counterpart. Again, they’re not bad executions of said formula, with “Fear of Abandonment” in particular serving as a fine example of the sort of soulful Gilmour-isms that Riis can no doubt pull off in his sleep at this point. But they’re not nearly on the level of Airbag classics like “Homesickness” or “Disconnected” either, lacking the oomph of those tracks’ sheer catharsis and suffering somewhat from the absence of Tostrup’s emotive tenor.

When Riis isn’t cribbing from his own work, he’s taking inspiration from the aforementioned Steven Wilson, with mid-album ballad “She” offering a very familiar-feeling mixture of gently strummed guitar and echoing synth pads while the title track is a lengthy instrumental workout reminiscent in places of Wilson’s “Regret #9”. Here, however, there’s a bit more creativity and verve in how Riis incorporates said influence. “She”, though a bit minimalistic and simple in its lyricism, grows into a genuinely lovely, gentle tug on the heartstrings, thanks largely to some brilliantly warm layers of synths in its second half that wrap around its anxious electric guitars like the comforting hug of a loved one and form a welcome respite amidst the album’s otherwise dreary mood. And yes, “Fimbulvinter” is a bit overlong and inexplicably bitcrushes its rhythm guitar track to the point where it sounds ripped from the original Doom soundfont, but it also manages to throw in an entertaining variety of styles in an admirable attempt to fill its nine minutes. From wintry atmospherics to stately synth leads to even some Black Sabbath-style tritones, it manages to be the most unique track here, if nothing else.

And yet, despite all this, I can’t shake how generally inessential Fimbulvinter feels as an album. Not bad, not pointless, not really even boring, just… not something that I’d ever recommend anyone actively seek out unless they’ve already heard Airbag‘s entire discography and simply must have more. It’s got its fair share of musical highlights, and overall serves as a somber yet decidedly pleasant listen with few noticeable flaws. Yet it doesn’t offer much that hasn’t already been offered by Riis’ influences, as well as his own band, in a dozen other albums. For those who love music that trends toward the cold yet wistful, you could certainly do much worse than Fimbulvinter. But unlike a snowflake, this is an album whose shapes have been made many times before.

Recommended tracks: Gone, She, Fear of Abandonment
You may also like: Dim Gray, Jonathan Hultén, Alex Carpani
Final verdict: 6/10

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

Label: Karisma Records – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Bjørn Riis is:
– Bjørn Riis (vocals, guitars, bass, keyboards)

With:
– Henrik Bergan Fossum (drums)
– Arild Brøter (drums)
– Kai Christoffersen (drums)

The post Review: Bjørn Riis – Fimbulvinter appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Progressive rock, progressive pop, art rock, electronica, post-rock (clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Katatonia, Steven Wilson (all), The Pineapple Thief, Gazpacho
Country: Norway
Release date: 25 April 2025

Dust off that box of corpse paint you haven’t touched since Halloween 2022, because woodland-monikered Oak are taking us to the grim forests of Norway. Delivering a blasphemous brand of black metal, the band… no, wait, this doesn’t sound like black metal at all. This is actually a clean, artsy take on progressive rock. And was that an electronica section? This Oak clearly isn’t the typical tree of the frozen north’s dark timberlands. Ah, that’s right, we’ve even covered these guys before. My bad. Put away that corpse paint because there’s no black metal to be found here. Or is there?

The Third Sleep picks up right where Oak’s previous album left off, providing another highly listenable and densely melodic slab of progressive rock. The band’s work rings familiar: melancholic passages drawing clear inspiration from Katatonia and Steven Wilson are scattered throughout, and tinges of the softer sides of Opeth and Ulver can also be heard. But Oak spin their influences into a style unmistakably their own, due in part to how well they weave electronica into a more common, moody prog-rock sound. Vocalist Simen Valldal Johannessen also has a distinct, emotive baritone that colors the music a darker shade. Johannessen takes on piano duties as well, and the instrument plays a significant role as the album’s main melodic driver.

Pensive yet poppy, Oak craft nuanced prog that stays remarkably accessible. Right from the opener, “No Such Place,” Johannessen effortlessly carries a tuneful vocal melody over a 5/4 verse while accenting acoustic strumming with his piano. The song also features a soulful saxophone solo—one of several on the album. A couple of tracks later, “Run Into the Sun” delivers a real earworm: the chorus is infectious, something fit for the radio on its surface. However, a deeper listen reveals an impressive interplay between a guitar lead and piano melody underneath. “London” has a similarly singable chorus, but incorporates some slick rhythmic guitar punches and drumming far more dynamic and complex than a typical pop chorus. The song’s verse is another instance where intricate playing meets listenability, with a wandering fuzzy bassline and synth textures driving behind Johannesen’s crooning. 

Although The Third Sleep leans on conventional song structures, each track has at least one extended instrumental detour, often post-rock in feel. The lead single “Shimmer” is a shining example: after primarily following a verse-chorus pattern for its first half (with some really great percussion, I might add), the track is stripped down to simple bass, drums, and piano. Additional instruments and textures are then layered in patiently before it all swells gently and resolves. It’s a lovely listen, the song’s back half providing over three minutes of mellow instrumental bliss. “Borders” pulls a similar trick in its second half but centers around programmed drums and a somber, lingering synth. “Sensory Overload,” meanwhile, has a noisier and heavier bridge at its midpoint, at times including dissonant distorted keys and cacophonous saxophone. Oak’s ability to combine conventional song structures with these detailed and varied instrumental explorations makes The Third Sleep incredibly listenable and fulfilling enough to revisit. The album’s warm, clear mix helps bring it all together, allowing plenty of space for each instrument—real or programmed—to breathe without the whole package sounding sterile. 

Despite the album’s various textures and clear craftsmanship, though, it lacks exceptionally memorable or compelling passages—no true peaks. The Third Sleep isn’t middling prog, but it’s quite safe for the most part: it’s the kind of release you bring home to meet Mom and Dad; you then settle down, get that spacious two-story house with the yard and white picket fence, grow old, and retire comfortably. It’s a good life, not necessarily boring, but without major excitement. That’s The Third Sleep. An exception to this suburban dream (or nightmare) of a metaphor does come with “Sensory Overload,” ending the album—much to my surprise—with a minute or so of something bordering on straight-up black metal (better bring that corpse paint back out!). The section is complete with double bass drumming, a riff not far from a blackened tremolo, and demonic growls. And although I appreciate the section’s unexpectedness, it’s more memorable for its surprising nature than execution—it’s a fun touch, but not much more.

Even if The Third Sleep doesn’t have any moments as astounding as I’d expect from a band so capable, I can repeat exactly what we said about Oak’s last album: “There’s still a hell of a lot here to enjoy.” The Third Sleep is engaging in its variety and detail, gorgeously produced, well-performed, and accessible enough to bring home to your parents—just don’t let them catch you donning your corpse paint for that final passage.

Recommended tracks: London, Run Into the Sun, Shimmer
You may also like: Jonathan Hulten, Bruce Soord and Jonas Renkse’s Wisdom of Crowds, Playgrounded, Haven of Echoes
Final verdict: 7/10

Related links: Bandcamp | Spotify | Facebook | Instagram

Karisma Records: Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Oak is:
– Simen Valldal Johannessen (vocals, piano, keyboard)
– Sigbjørn Reiakvam (drums, percussion, programming, keys, guitars)
– Øystein Sootholtet (guitars and bass)

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

Style: Progressive rock, art rock (clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Bent Knee, The Dear Hunter, pop Leprous, Hjaltalín, Kalandra
Country: Norway
Release date: 23 August 2024

Certain bands take The Progressive Subway by storm. We’d all be front row at a Subterranean Masquerade concert, a chorus of “Rain fears no fire / just as the tide fears no shore” can be heard throughout the Subway offices whenever Tanagra are mentioned, and Meer have managed to unite the disparate tastes of our writers, from the prog death nerd (Zach) to the trad prog devotee (Sam), from the most pretentious guy you’ve ever met (Andy) to our resident gay forest goblin (Dave)¹. The Norwegian self-described alternative pop orchestra’s second album Playing House scratched all of us just right, and we were all understandably hyped when Wheels Within Wheels was announced. 

Meer’s style hinges upon sibling vocalists Johanne and Knut Kippersund Nesdal who trade lead duties, duet, and back one another, against the backdrop of a progressive rock band with an emphasis on grandiose piano and strings. With eight members, there’s a lot going on, but the orchestral ethos orders the arrangements with an emphasis on flow and layering over the somewhat stereotypical prog tendency towards masturbation. Meer are also possessed of an impressive narrative energy, propelling the tracks forward with intimate and emotive lyrics that form a tapestry of sonic melodrama.  

“Chain of Changes” opens the album in style, invoking a little of Meer’s nordic neighbours First Aid Kit, but cycling through a range of sections—including a Dream Theater-esque keyboard lick and some intricate strings at the song’s close—the band soon show that they’re taking their composition to a proggier place, amping up the complexity without sacrificing any of their catchy pop sensibility. These proggier interspersions suffuse the album subtly, reaching their peak on the nine-minute closing track “This is the End” which plays with a 7/4 rhythm in its midsection, and delivers a rather moving eulogy to Playing House. Meanwhile, the main riff of plaintive lead single “Golden Circle” alternates between a bar of 4/4 and a bar of 6/4. These complexities are never used for the sake of it but are seamlessly interwoven into the overall composition. For example, “Take Me to the River” weaves the siblings’ vocal harmonies in and out seamlessly, ultimately leading to a joyous instrumental section where the guitar flows like the water of memory as the strings and piano evoke the childhood nostalgia to which the lyrics allude; narrative drive and evocative emotion are always at the forefront of everything Meer do. 

As much as I loved Playing House, I was never so keen on the softer tracks on that album, many of which were led by Knut. Songs like “Across the Ocean”, “All at Sea”, and “Child” had their charm but Knut’s breathy vocal performance was simply less compelling to me. So imagine my surprise when “Behave” had me bangin’ my cage; the power in Knut’s voice has come on immensely and he belts out that glorious chorus like his life depends on it. He’s come into his own as the perfect foil to Johanne—the way that the two siblings complement one another with alternate backing and duets, too, is much matured. And, fortunately, the focus on progression means that the softer tracks often build to wonderful crescendos and never feel undercooked—the only track that feels like a holdover in its relative meekness is “Mother”.

The production is capacious with the vocals up front and a circle of instruments behind, all lovingly cared for, with a slightly live in studio feel—there’s a rawness to it that feels a little dangerous. You feel like someone could hit a wrong note; they never do, but they could. It’s a bold production choice which highlights the best of the band. The only issue that comes with this is that sometimes Johanne is overwhelming; her belting voice is the band’s greatest asset, but on some tracks—”Come to Light”, “To What End”, “This is the End”—the yelling gets overwhelming, and with such forward vocal production, it’s a bit like being in the recording booth with Mel Blanc, the walls shaking as he roars, “I AM A WABBIT!”.

There’s some intertextuality here, too: the main motif of “To What End” seems to echo that of “Honey” but pitched down and slower. Lyrically, as well, there are recurrent themes that all come to a head in the finale which weaves Wheels Within Wheels into the world of Playing House: “pick up the pieces of the house we could not save.” I love that sort of self-referential character, that sense that your art is a little world you’ve built that has a continuity of its own. I’m sure there are other little reprises that I’ve missed, but it speaks to the delightful sense of thoughtful complexity that the band put into their work. 

Meer have evolved, progressed, and blossomed into an astounding force in the progressive scene, equalling the high hopes I had for their future. Complexity and catchiness blend effortlessly, the blemishes can’t diminish the whole, and, in its totality, Wheels Within Wheels stands as one of the most consummate works of artistic progressive rock of the year, certainly—if not of the 2020s so far.

1. This is how Dave describes himself, believe it or not. ︎

Recommended tracks: Chains of Changes, Behave, Take Me to the River, Something in the Water, This is the End
You may also like: Iamthemorning, Marjana Semkina, i Häxa
Final verdict: 8.5/10

Related links: Bandcamp | Spotify | Facebook | Instagram

Label: Karisma Records – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Meer is:
– Johanne-Margrethe Kippersund Nesdal – Lead vocals and backing vocals
– Knut Kippersund Nesdal – Lead vocals, backing vocals and keyboards
– Eivind Strømstad – Electric and acoustic guitars, electric baritone guitar, additional keyboards, programming and backing vocals
– Åsa Ree – Violin and backing vocals
– Ingvild Nordstoga Sandvik – Viola and backing vocals
– Ole Gjøstøl – Acoustic grand piano, keyboards, programming, electric organ, church organ and backing vocals
– Morten Strypet – Electric bass and backing vocals
– Mats Fjeld Lillehaug – Drums, percussion and backing vocals

The post Review: Meer – Wheels Within Wheels appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: progressive rock, art rock, folk (clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Genesis, Yes, Jethro Tull, King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard
Country: Norway
Release date: 23 February, 2024

Many things come in groups of three: beats of a joke, acts of a story, and of course things in this list. The Songs & Tales of Airoea is no exception, with Book III finally rounding out the triple concept album whose saga began last September and continued in December. This marks the end of The Chronicles of Father Robin’s lengthy debut opus, and finally I can look back over the trilogy with the full benefit of perspective. Where did the series succeed? What could have been improved? Although I have found elements to enjoy in my time with Father Robin, I find the former question far more present in my mind; TCOFR features clearly talented musicians, but no matter how many times they succeed at displaying that talent, they continue to struggle with the challenges of composition and putting on their best face for longer than a song or two at a time.

For better or for worse, Book III begins with by far its strongest track, and maybe the best of the series entirely. “Magical Chronicle” represents exactly what I want from this kind of art rock outing—it’s light and energetic, not afraid to be clever and complex with its eclectic turns in style and instrumentation, but also musically rich and entertaining. Come for the entrancing flute opening, stay for the (possibly synthesized) somber pipe organ towards the end. The track’s creative foundation carves out space for the band’s multi-part vocals to come out in full form with deep harmonies and full-throated tones, a demonstration of the band’s full capability to paint a vivid and enticing musical scene. Truly, I would have given so many things to have even a single album that sounded entirely like this; it keeps true to TCOFR’s signature style and creative vision, it’s fun and fulfilling to listen to, and with the added context from this momentary culmination of the artists’ talents, the project as a whole feels so much more successful and worthwhile.

Although the rest of the album can unfortunately only go downhill from there, it’s not a total washout. Continuing with “Skyslumber,” a spacier track, the style becomes much more reminiscent of Book II than the album opener was. With that comparison, though, I would also say that “Skyslumber” takes on that whimsical, meandering style in a more enjoyable way than any of the tracks on the prior album did. Between this, the lovely choral feature on the following track “Cloudship,” and the Yes-esque instrumental breakdown throughout the second half of  “Empress of the Sun,” Book III impresses with its clearer vision and with a far more intricate and successful delivery thereof. Not all of that intricacy satisfies equally—there are any number of things I would rather do during the almost-spoken-word interlude around the four-minute mark of “Cloudship”—but in the sense of overall cohesion, this album surpasses Book II by far.

And yet, all good (or passable) things must come to an end. “Lost in the Palace Gardens” winds up just as lost (pun absolutely intended) in its own meandering composition as the worst offenders of Book II did. I find myself most reminded of bluegrass music in the song’s opening minutes, and while I appreciate the cultural efforts of a Norwegian band to approximate such a quintessentially American style, their plucky mandolin melodies just don’t measure up to what I’d expect from this branch of folk music—or indeed what I now know they are capable of, thanks to the opening track. Whether that’s what they intended to mimic or not, it’s hard to shake the comparison. Although the similarities fade in the latter half, starting on such a shortfall leaves the full experience feeling shaky and unfocused, and the listener gets plenty of time to ponder their impressions during the remainder of the song’s eight-minute bulk.

So finally, we reach the end of this journey. It’s been a real mixed bag, with plenty to praise but also plenty to criticize. The Songs & Tales of Airoea, across its now-considerable full runtime, struggles to maintain consistency of both style and quality. In part, this (or at least the part pertaining to style) is clearly intended, as The Chronicles of Father Robin offer a whole variety of musical talents and have wisely made efforts to put as many of those on display as they can. On the flip side, without sufficient care and consistency in composing their songs and the progression of musicality across each album (and the trilogy as a whole), these eclectic styles also often come across as unfocused and sloppy. With such a pitfall looming over the whole production, it’s difficult to give high praise to the Airoea trilogy, but at least it stands out for its uniqueness and flashes of genuine creativity.

Recommended tracks: Magical Chronicle, Cloudship, Empress of the Sun
You may also like: The Gardening Club, Albion, Wobbler, Jordsjø, Tusmørke, Pattern-Seeking Animals
Final verdict: 6/10

Related links: Bandcamp | Spotify | Official Website | YouTube | Facebook | Instagram
Label: Karisma Records – Bandcamp | Website | Facebook

The Chronicles of Father Robin is:
– Andreas Wettergreen Strømman Prestmo (vocals, guitars, keyboards, synths, percussion)
– Jon André Nilsen (bass, backing vocals)
– Henrik Harmer (percussion, synths, backing vocals)
– Regin Meyer (flute, keyboards)
– Thomas Hagen Kaldhol (guitars, mandolin)
– Aleksandra Morozova (backing vocals)
– Kristoffer Momrak (flute, synths)
– Håkon Oftung (keyboards, synths)
– Martin Nordrum Kneppen (percussion)
With guest:
– Lars Fredrik Frøislie (keyboards, synths)

The post Review: The Chronicles of Father Robin – The Songs & Tales of Airoea – Book III appeared first on The Progressive Subway.