No artist credited

Style: Doom Metal, Progressive Metal (Clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Ghost Brigade, Sunride, In The Woods…, Lunatic Soul
Country: Finland
Release date: 23 May 2025

One of the best pieces of advice I’ve picked up in my years as a critical assessor for fiction manuscripts¹ is that a work should be reviewed for what it is or tries to be, rather than what you want it to be. For example, when my dad first watched The Mummy (1999), he hated it because he expected a horror film. Once he accepted the movie for what it was trying to be—an action-horror comedy—he ended up enjoying it. This is a philosophy I’ve tried to carry over in my various creative engagements, whether that’s with movies, music, or video games, and one I’d like to think I’ve been fairly successful with in my critiques. However, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have expectations of my own when I saw that former members of Ghost Brigade had formed a new band.

For those unaware, Ghost Brigade were a much-beloved Finnish melodic death/doom band who released four albums between 2009-2014, then promptly went on hiatus before permanently disbanding in 2020. Their third LP, Until Fear No Longer Defines Us, remains my one and only experience with them—a muscular brew of gloomy doom and deliberate melodeath—but it was potent enough that seeing the name “Ghost Brigade” associated with this new venture was sufficient to stoke interest in me. Thus we arrive at Ceresian Valot and their debut Uumen—Finnish for “depths.” Let’s go spelunking, shall we?

Within moments of hearing opener “Ajattomuus / Rajattomuus,” wisps of Until Fear No Longer Defines Us’ doleful menace haunt the grounds on which Ceresian Valot tread, mostly in the mournful extended guitar lines, methodical yet flourishing drumwork, and the atmosphere of thoughtful melancholia that settles over the track like a hazy graveyard mist. As we wind into a soft electronic backbeat and clean vocals (sung entirely in Finnish, across the album), however, Ceresian Valot begin to reveal their layers. Uumen eschews melodeath entirely in favor of a folkier, more ambient approach defined by gentle looping guitars, often sharing space with the light fluttering of electronic percussion. The acoustic drums provide much of the album’s punch, partially due to their placement in the mix, securing the album’s mid-tempo thrum alongside the bigger riffs. Notes of Lunatic Soul texture the synth work (“Taivaankatsoja,” “Uumen”), standing in as a quick vector for the album’s light Gothic haze.

When the guitars take a more central and metallic role (“Pohjavirtauksia,” “Karavaaniseralji,” sections of “Ajattomuus / Rajattomuus”), Uumen shows its teeth, establishing a strong sense of groove and rhythm, practically lassoing one’s neck and forcing it into a lurching bang. The electronic elements also feel the most empowered here, laying themselves out as a velvet drape upon which the guitars can carve out fresh shapes of measured aggression and doleful melodies. Alternatively, cuts like “Uumen” and “Hyoky” present something of a musical dead-end; anemic electro-beats and thin cleans operating as interludes to Uumen’s more impassioned (and lengthy) pieces. Their inclusion might feel more inspired were the album keen to draw on harsher elements. With more aggression flowing in the mix, this would create a palatable necessity for such ambient detours. Stacked against the comparatively lighter—and dronier—touches of Uumen’s chosen aesthetic, however, I’m not entirely sold on their inclusion.

That said, as mentioned, it’s important to try and take things at the value by which they wish to sell themselves. Ceresian Valot are not Ghost Brigade, nor are they particularly interested in being so. Yes, there are notes of that former band lurking around, but I believe this says more about the associated members’ style and internalized approaches than any active effort to resuscitate their previous sonic adventures. Uumen, according to the band, stands as “dynamic and multidimensional with a broad range of sound and vision [including] alternative, rock, progressive, and various genres of metal.” Which brings me to a different issue, connected entirely to Uumen’s ambitions. In book reviewing, I’ve learned that the more “awards” a book touts in its marketing copy, the higher chance the content will be poor. Likewise, I’ve learned to read band promos with a similar level of wariness. Thankfully, Uumen is hardly a bad album—in fact, I’ve found it rather pleasant to listen to, its vibes decidedly relaxing despite (or perhaps because of) their melancholic intentions. I just think the band’s aims have outpaced the album’s reach, is all. Uumen is a doom metal album, feathered with touches of folk and echoes of electronica to help secure its progressive tagging. Pick any of the non-interlude tracks off the album, and you’ll have experienced all the strata of Uumen. Moody, driving riffs; mournful guitar lines; dreamscape electronics; punchy, methodical drums; all wrapped around clean vocals that never really move the needle off of “gentle.”

And you know what? I’m fine with that. Do I wish Uumen were more of what made Until Fear No Longer Defines Us so special to me? Sure, absolutely. I miss the interplay between Ghost Brigade’s deep, melodramatic cleans and monstrous growls. The way the heavy melodeath riffs and thundering kitwork instilled a sense of urgency and danger—and just pure Gothic epicness—to everything. Ceresian Valot seek a more introspective route. And while the decision to root the lyrics in Finnish might harm my ability to read into the accuracy of that approach, I respect that the band wanted to try something different from what (most of) them had created before. Uumen may not be a perfect album—it’s a tad one-dimensional, the vocals are underwhelming, and the programmed bits struggle to justify themselves in meaningful ways—but I can’t sit here and act like I didn’t glean enjoyment from what it wanted to be. What it was: forty-four minutes of chilled-out Gothic doom.

Recommended tracks: Taivaankatsoja, Karavaaniseralji, Valojuovat, Pohjavirtauksia
You may also like: Church of the Sea, Error Theory, Year of the Cobra, Hermyth
Final verdict: 6/10

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

Label: Prophecy Productions – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Ceresian Valot is:
– Ville Angervuori (bass)
– Wille Naukkarinen (guitar, programming)
– Panu Perkiömäki (vocals)
– Veli-Matti Suihkonen (drums, percussion)
– Joni Vanhanen (keyboards, vocals, programming)
– Tapio Vartiainen (guitar)

1.  A fancy way to say “book reviewer” ︎

The post Review: Ceresian Valot – Uumen appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Artwork by: George Gkousetis for Semitone Labs

Style: Doomgaze, Gothic Metal, Industrial Rock (Clean Vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Boris, Villagers of Ioannina City, early Lucifer, Trees of Eternity
Country: Greece
Release date: 11 April 2025

Of all the elements, none seem to me as foreboding as water. The ocean, specifically; an abyssal plain mired in secrecy, capable of projecting statements of serenity and violent obliteration alike. Despite our best efforts at taming this monolith of nature, we remain unsuccessful. We’ve corrupted it, yes, but make no mistake: the waters will one day rise and eventually devour us in our hubris, rendering the supposedly immutable strength of our technological and “civilized” world nothing more than a fanciful reef of concrete, steel, and glass. Bleak, I know, but such is the measure of Greek doomgaze trio Church of the Sea.

Two years removed from debut Odalisque, the young Athenian cohort have plumbed the halls of their barnacled worship-house to deliver a conceptual, revisionist take on Eve, reimagining Christianity’s First Lady¹ as a rebel rather than sinner. Vocalist Irene leads this somber congregation as she doles out sirenic croons atop waves of Vangelis’ sundering guitar, and a crush depth of apocalyptic darkwave summoned by the archdiocese of atmosphere, Alex (synths/samples). The mood across Eva, like the sea, is dark and roiling and yawning; as all good doom should be. There is no coast on the horizon upon which this journey shall terminate. Eva demands you either float upon its waves or be pulled under and obliterated.

Sonically, Church of the Sea succeed in generating an undertow of effectively gloomy tracks, in no small part to the gnarled electronic beats and ever-constant churn of synthetic drones, hums and eldritch wails. Some people may scoff at a metal band using electronic drums in lieu of a proper set of skins, but I will dissent and applaud the choice. Alex knows how to establish and support the mood, carving a gorgeous melancholia from his synths and beatmakers. I was reminded often of another percussively electronic band, Luminous Vault, who likewise justified their decision on Animate the Emptiness (2019) by threading the vibe and texture of the electronics into the very DNA of the music. Oftentimes, Vangelis’ guitar forms a symbiosis with its synthetic counterparts, giving Eva a holistic quality it may otherwise have lacked (see Morbid Angel’s Illud Divinum Insanus for examples of how this could’ve gone very wrong). And Irene delivers a suitably doom-y performance reminiscent of Messa’s Sara Bianchin and Tribunal’s Soren Mourne, haunting and resonant.

And yet, despite Eva’s siren charms and beautifully realized texture, I found myself fighting to stay afloat as I bobbed along. This is not an “active” album—by that, I mean do not expect any uptempo rollicking. Eva wishes to soak into you, a calculating tendril curling up from unconquerable depths to twist and turn inside your mind. Which is well and good, except my consciousness is often far afield of any such infiltration, having been coaxed into periods of forgetfulness by a tracklist which struggles to differentiate its constituent parts in riveting enough ways. Once you hear “The Siren’s Choice,” you’ve heard everything Church of the Sea have on offer here. That’s not to say tracks lift riffs or motifs from each other, just that there are no real surprises on the album, no big highlights to create a sense of journey—especially problematic if one considers Eva’s narrative aims. Even if we overlook such peckish concerns, escaping the languid vortex is difficult, to the point where track names became little more than suggestions of progress as opposed to buoys by which to orient myself on this voyage of proposed rebellion.

Church of the Sea have proven a difficult denomination to pledge myself to. Their sermons are bewitching, for a time, but too quickly they begin to mirror my (admittedly limited) experience in our own terrestrial churches.² The solemn grandeur begins to fade away and my mind wanders, seeking stimuli of a more engaging design. I welcome others to sit at Eva’s pews; just try not to judge if you see me zoning out in the back, or slipping away to see what the crabs are up to.

Recommended tracks: Garden of Eden, Churchyard, Widow
You may also like: Bank Myna, The Silent Era, Drownship, Noctambulist, Kollaps/e
Final verdict: 6/10

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

Label: These Hands Melt Records – Bandcamp | Instagram | Official Website

Church of the Sea is:
– Irene (vocals)
– Vangelis (guitars)
– Alex (synths/samples)

1. Unless you count Lilith, but she gets even less love than Eve ︎
2. It’s mostly been for funerals, but even the “livelier” times have been full of humdrum ︎

The post Review: Church of the Sea – Eva appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Gothic metal, progressive metal (mixed vocals)
FFO: Green Carnation, Ulver, Borknagar, Amorphis
Country: Norway
Release date: 11 April 2025

In the Woods… have been in those woods for such a long time, you’d be forgiven for thinking that they may have gotten lost out there. Various incarnations of this Norwegian gothic metal outfit have come and gone since their formation in 1991. Born of the same womb as the great Green Carnation¹, the two bifurcated sometime after their birth (I’m pretty sure that’s not how biology works, but cut me some slack; I’m not that kind of woman in STEM), with members going their separate ways as two distinct projects. Each band went on to develop coherent but distinct sounds, both foundational to the development of gothic metal in Norway. After numerous personnel changes, genre shifts, a fourteen year hiatus, and seven albums, In the Woods… on Otra are not the same band that they used to be, neither in membership—only drummer Anders Kobro remains from the original lineup—nor sound. 

These days, In the Woods… offer up a somewhat mellower iteration on their blackened doom-metal roots, and bear comparison with a host of other bands: there’s a fair bit of Green Carnation-ish melodicism and emotional poignancy even in the instrumental deliveries; some Borknagar-ian blackened explosivity; and warmly inviting poppy Ulver-esque tones. Though I may be running out of suffixes to adject-ify band names, In the Woods… are far from running out of inspiration, with cohesive songwriting that draws freshness from their various influences without needing to reinvent the wheel.

While opening track “The Things You Shouldn’t Know” establishes the playbook for Otra, sprawling over eight minutes with cavernous, melancholy riffing and a deft display of vocalist Bernt Fjellestad’s versatility, it’s the following track “A Misrepresentation of I” where these elements start to synergize to their full potential. With an uptick in tempo, shades of Amorphis peek through, and the vocal harmonies in the pre-chorus at 3:40 are delectable. My one quibble with the track—and I apologize if you are one of those who normally ignore lyrics and I’m now ruining this for you, but misery loves company—is that nobody noticed the missing syllable in the word “misrepresentation”, either while writing, or the six times that Fjellestad repeats it during the song.

Mispronunciations aside, Fjellestad’s vocal performance is dynamic and versatile. His growls roil with a bubbling bog-monster potency evocative of Amorphis’ Tomi Joutsen (see the punchy, syncopated growls at 2:10 in “The Crimson Crown”), while he slides effortlessly across a honeyed clean vocal range, especially satisfying in the upper register (2:16 in “Come Ye Sinners”). Best of all, the balance and interplay of these elements seems to be fine-tuned from 2022’s Diversum; here, harsh and melodic passages interweave mostly seamlessly, with the exception of “The Kiss and the Lie”, which struggles with a more jarring vicissitude. 

Indeed, Otra is the band’s second album with their current lineup, and this comparative stability bears fruit across the board: the whole instrumental package is smooth. One might expect a heavy, crushing sound from dual guitarists André Sletteberg and Bernt Sørensen. But they instead inhabit a more chambered and timeless sonic space, a hall of mirrors echoing with riffs that ripple and reflect rather than pummeling, evoking more rock than metal with a light hand on the distortion. They also have a bit of a penchant for power chords; whether sweeping under the scorching growls in “The Kiss and the Lie” or more subtly in “The Crimson Crown”, these harshen the edges and lend a sense of foreboding to the musical landscape.

To my ears, the style of songwriting that In the Woods… have cultivated since their reunion is one with a high floor and a relatively low ceiling. That’s not to say that Otra doesn’t have its flowing peaks, but more so that the band takes only calculated risks, making for music that’s easy to like and somewhat harder to love. Fans of original In the Woods… may miss their truly avant-garde bent, but modest variations on the playbook like the delicate pop-Ulver stylings in the intro of “Let Me Sing” or the rock ‘n’ roll groove of “Come Ye Sinners” variegate the palette without colouring too far outside the lines.

Otra’s sepia-soaked cover depicts the river in Norway for which the album is named. The scene is melancholy, vivid despite the lack of colour, and timeless; all qualities that permeate the album’s forty-six minutes. Thirty-four years after first setting out, In the Woods… may never fully return to where they began, but somewhere out in those perennial woods, they’ve learned how to dwell in the introspective melancholia of the spaces between then and now.

Recommended tracks: A Misrepresentation of I, Let Me Sing, Come Ye Sinners

You may also like: Novembre, Throes of Dawn, Octoploid, Barren Earth

Final verdict: 7/10

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

Label: Prophecy Productions – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

In the Woods… is:

– Bernt Fjellestad (vocals)
– Anders Kobro (drums, percussion)
– André Sletteberg (guitar)
– Bernt Sørensen (guitar)
– Nils Olav Drivdal (bass)

1.  Whom I have also had the privilege of reviewing for this website ︎

The post Review: In the Woods… – Otra appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Progressive metal, gothic metal, doom metal
FFO: Katatonia, Pain of Salvation, Anathema, In the Woods…
Country: Norway
Release date: November 2001

Iconic albums can be great for many reasons. They may take us on fantastical journeys, dazzle with virtuosic musicianship, or give voice to feelings we thought nobody else had ever felt. And as metal fans, like most humans, we tend to get excited about things we love, which is why words like “seminal”, “gem”, “masterpiece”, and “underrated” get thrown around like they’re a dime a dozen in the musical discourse. So naturally, I’m going to use all those words in today’s post about Green Carnation.

As an ardent live music fan, I keep a spreadsheet tracking over 300 live metal performances I’ve attended with an obsessive degree of detail. For others, scrolling through this sheet might be a source of some concern regarding my mental state (and the health of my eardrums). But for me, it’s a window into countless reminiscences of fond live music memories. Amongst these, one of the greatest to date took place at ProgPower USA in 2016 where I witnessed Green Carnation performing the entirety of their 2001 album, the sixty-minute one-track wonder Light of Day, Day of Darkness. Though the show took place almost ten years ago¹, the solemn appreciation that I cemented for LoDDoD has remained to this day.

Veterans of the Norwegian progressive metal scene, Green Carnation have drifted across various subgenres since their formation in Kristiansand in 1990: death metal, death-doom, acoustic, hard rock. Light of Day, Day of Darkness sees the band charting a course that touches on elements of progressive, gothic, and doom metal. From the opening bars, the album is brooding and melancholy; otherworldly synths, whispers, and guitars are overlaid with the sound of a baby’s cries. Though there are miles to go and many themes to explore over the next hour, there are no real shifts in style or full stops in the momentum; the direction is set, and the first-rate lineup of Green Carnation members and guests will be our guides.

While he does not hold compositional or lyrical credits for LoDDoD, Kjetil Nordhus’s lead vocal performance nonetheless resonates with dimensions of anger, tenderness, grief, and wonder across LoDDod’s sixty minutes. And he strikes a rare balance, weaving into the instrumental tapestry seamlessly with a poignance that doesn’t demand to be the centre of attention. Indeed, the ensemble of performances from Green Carnation tends toward understatement: there are chugging, down-tempo guitar riffs aplenty, mid-range vocal lines, subtle keyboard touches. This makes the rare extravagant moments like the sprawling, mournful guitar solo at 42:10 feel all the more earned and laden with gut-wrenching emotion. As well, Anders Kobro’s drumming plays a role not necessarily typical of bands in the gothic death/doom sphere. It’s catalytic, insistent; it drives the other instruments forward when they long to linger pensively on a certain theme.

Some of the power in Light of Day, Day of Darkness as an epic lies in the fact that it is not mounted on the shoulders of any grand, fanciful concepts. We aren’t jettisoning humanity off a dying planet into space, or trying to avoid our own death after experiencing mysterious premonitions (with much love to Seventh Wonder, Haken, et al.). Rather, the album is grounded in a realm both soberingly realistic and tragic: it explores founding Green Carnation member and guitarist Tchort’s feelings about the death of his young daughter and the birth of his son. The lyrical path trodden across the album’s sixty minutes passes through peaks and valleys—the wonder and joy of one child’s arrival, soured by the guilt and sadness of remembering the other.

A notable detour from LoDDoD’s main route happens around 33:10, where we seem to fall into the dream conceived by the narrator. Smokey saxophone undulates, parallel to but seemingly a world apart from Synne Larsen’s (ex-In the Woods…) ethereal, mostly wordless vocal performance. In the course of my research (ie., reading Reddit threads) for this post, I was shocked to see so many comments besmirching this section of the song, calling it filler or out of place. For my money, the passage is artfully executed and the inescapable melancholy on display here seems to bubble up to the surface from the same fathomless depths explored throughout the course of Light of Day, Day of Darkness. As we prepare to surface from this polarizing dreamlike detour, a tentative conversation between guitar and saxophone pulls us back to the waking world. Neither one wanting to shake us awake, the two trade gingerly back and forth for a few measures before another chugging riff finally rends the stillness. And this is the elegance of the album and Tchort’s vision: with as many as 600 samples and sixty tracks in the mix, LoDDoD could easily be too much. But the elements are intertwined with such scrupulous attention that whether it’s a guitar solo or a sitar interlude (51:30), each thought flows smoothly into the next.

Nearly twenty-four years after its release, Light of Day, Day of Darkness is a treasure trove of masterfully crafted and emotionally resonant progressive metal. Insouciant attributions of the accolades “gem”, “masterpiece”, and “seminal” aside, Green Carnation are unshakeable from their position on the Mount Rushmore of underrated Norwegian prog bands. (See also: Conception, Pagan’s Mind, and Circus Maximus.) Equally as exciting to me as the opportunity to revisit this wonderful album is the fact that the band is still making music: with rumblings of a new album on the horizon, and a return to ProgPower USA this year, I can only hope that there are many more captivating musical journeys for new and old fans alike to venture on with Green Carnation.

Recommended tracks: Perhaps a controversial pick, but I’ll go with “Light of Day, Day of Darkness”

You may also like: Throes of Dawn, October Falls, Subterranean Masquerade, Communic

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

Label: Prophecy Productions – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Green Carnation was:
– Terje “Tchort” Vik Schei: acoustic guitar, electric guitar
– Bjørn Harstad: lead guitar, slide guitar, ebow
– Stein Roger Sordal: bass
– Anders Kobro: drums
– Kjetil Nordhus: vocals

1. Am I Getting Old? ︎

The post Lost in Time: Green Carnation – Light of Day, Day of Darkness appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Progressive metal, alternative metal (mixed vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Oceans of Slumber, Deftones, OK Goodnight, Votum
Country: Australia
Release date: 28 February 2025

Thanatophobia, the fear of death, can be a grand driver for human endeavour, or it can paralyse with terror. Perhaps it depends on how abstract that fear is: in insulated Western nations there are few imminent threats to one’s life. The inhabitants of Australia, on the other hand, have to contend with an island where every native species is actively trying to kill them. Whether it’s the venomous brown recluse or the snakes of both land and sea, ropey-muscled kangaroos, or even just a koala giving you chlamydia, everyone in Australia must be acutely aware that they might die at any moment. And perhaps that’s what drives the excellence of their prog scene. Few countries can boast a roster of great progressive metal legends like Karnivool, Caligula’s Horse, and Ne Obliviscaris, smaller, well-loved acts such as Lucid Planet, Closure in Moscow, and Voyager, and a burgeoning underground teeming with great acts like Dyssidia, Aquilus and Convulsing.

Standing out in such a scene is a tall order, so how do Perth foursome Primrose Path fare? Debut album Ruminations is rooted in a progressive take on alternative metal and gothic influences. Frontwoman Lindsay Rose has a stunning voice, her virtuosic delivery recalling the likes of Cammie Gilbert (Oceans of Slumber), and she modulates wonderfully between belting performances and softer timbres, occasionally even throwing some growls into the mix. The guitar tone meanwhile is awash in a quintessentially gothic chorus effect which lends Primrose Path a late nineties/early aughts gloss without ever sounding dated or derivative; the ultimate effect is a deft melding of modern and retro metal styles.

Compositionally, Primrose Path tend to settle on a particular rhythmic conceit—the djenty thrumming march of “Irrelevance”, the languid gazey vibe of “Unrepent”, the noodly lead guitar motifs that sachet through “Obstruct”—and roll with it, which confers a strong sense of identity to each track. Often, the songs build around their chosen rhythm to a particular standout section: “Propensity” dissolves into eerie vocals over sharp ambience leading to a heavy breakdown and angular guitar solo, and “Unrepent” features a guitar solo that has an almost muffled tone, as though being held back by Rose’s backing melodies. “Obstruct” showcases Primrose Path at their best, with a mid-section that sees Rose go positively operatic wrapped in a gorgeous guitar motif, the track bookended by a more biting riff and sense of dread. Nevertheless, the focus on song identity with usually only one moment that stands out also speaks to a lack of ambition, leading to few truly surprising moments. Ruminations does exactly what you want an album of this variety to do, but it rarely ruminates on anything unexpected.   

For the most part, Ruminations is rooted in a lighter metal sound, resisting the siren call of djent, although the main riff of “Irrelevance” is built around a thrumming chug which, while a cool conceit, somewhat overstays its welcome. “Shifted” is perhaps the most successfully heavy song with eerie choral arrangements backing Rose’s vituperative growls. These two heavier tracks, however, also highlight the main production problem on Ruminations, which is that in the heaviest sections the production becomes brickwalled, diverting from the impact that these objectively cool moments should have. It’s a small but noticeable issue on an album that, for the most part, is a real pleasure to listen to, especially with gothic wash that suffuses the guitar tone at every turn. 

Not wanting to fall into a cave of venomous quokkas (I’ve never been to Australia) has certainly inspired Primrose Path; to cultivate your own musical niche is one of the harder challenges for any artist, and to have it worked out on your debut full-length is an achievement in itself. While Ruminations sees Primrose Path playing it a little safe at times and needs a little more production polish, it’s nevertheless hard to deny that, overall, the particularly Australian fear of death, of every animal outside your house being able to kill you has worked its magic yet again. Beware the deadly wombat, and keep making sick tunes.

Recommended tracks: Obstruct, Unrepent, Propensity
You may also like: Recommended tracks: Obstruct, Unrepent, Propensity
You may also like: Crimson Veil, Madder Mortem, No Terror in the Bang
Final verdict: 7/10

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

Label: Independent

Primrose Path is:
– Lindsay Rose (lead vocals, backing vocals)
– Brenton Lush (guitars, synth, keys)
– Scott Henry (bass guitar, backing vocals, synth)
– Ashley Doodkorte (drums)

With:
– Taz Gallant ( rhythm guitar on Obstruct, Unrepent, HEX)
– Herb Bennetts (drums on Irrelevance)

The post Review: Primrose Path – Ruminations appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Gothic metal, industrial metal, alternative metal (clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Lacuna Coil, Epica, Megara, Ankor
Country: France
Release date: 10 January 2025

I find the French metal scene is much like the Italian metal scene in that the bands who are interested in exporting culture by singing in their native tongue seem few and far between. Imagine that even the biggest French metal band in the world, when playing on the biggest stage in the world, in their native country, singing a metal version of a traditional folk song, couldn’t help but throw an English verse into it.¹ I just had to fucking roll my eyes and laugh. What an achievement for Anglophone metal, I guess. So when I find a band that sings in their native tongue, I’m immediately more interested in listening to that than I would be in listening to another similar band who sings in English, and today that brings me to Parisians ELYOSE and their newest album Évidence. A tasty blend of djenty riffs, industrial synths, and gothic atmosphere, neatly packaged with a glossy and tight production, there’s enough earworms here to keep you happily humming along even if your only experience with the French language is the sizing at Starbucks. 

Évidence has a very defined and crisp sound that is in contrast to the more loosely cinematic or theatrical feel of the symphonic and gothic metal style. Guitarist Anthony Chognard opts instead for sharp, aggressive djent riffing in the vein of Australian progressive pop metal outfit Voyager or even Mick Gordon‘s DOOM soundtracks but never straying too far from the gothic/industrial influence: in this way I’m reminded of later Lacuna Coil releases more than something like Nightwish. Chognard is also in charge of drums, and they sound massive and play well with the stop-start guitar work, often coming through in double-kick bursts and keeping the energy up, even adding a blast-beat section in “Immuable” punctuated by a staccato vocal that sounded really sinister.

ELYOSE really shines in their use of synths on Évidence to add texture, sometimes creating ambiance with soft pads (“Abnégation”) and at other times playing complex arpeggiated leads as an intensifier before a heavy intro (“Ascension Tracée”). The synths are a good way of differentiating sections and creating a sense of movement within a track, and when that filter opens up you know some shit’s about to go down. The symphonic and electronic sounds sit well in the mix and do well not to overpower the vocals of singer Justine Daaé, who sits comfortably in her expansive range, varying from haunting and powerful high notes to a more alternative/nu-metal-inspired almost-rap cadence (“Mission Lunaire”, “Tentatives Échouées”). 

The use of decidedly pop elements across Évidence lend it a more accessible sound: the song structures are generally on the more conventional side and the durations don’t drag out too long; the djent influence in the riffing generally lacks complexity; the aforementioned alternative metal vocal style is very pop-coded, and ELYOSE favors electronic or metalcore breakdowns with the spotlight on the vocals rather than guitar solos. That’s all a little cliché but it works well enough within the broader idea. ELYOSE aren’t trying to reinvent the wheel or break new ground here, and I find myself often drawing comparisons with their 2023 release Déviante. While I applaud them for sticking to a formula that works, I wonder if maybe they could’ve been a bit more adventurous with their soundscapes and arrangements. 

Évidence is a fun, uncomplicated, 40-ish minute romp, with lots of hooky electronic parts, rhythmic groove, and a penchant for getting vocal melodies stuck in your head. And I want to extend praise for the mostly-French track listing that adds a certain je ne sais quoi to the experience. It’s always a pleasure to hear a band put out a release in their native language even if it narrows the market a little bit—and to the naysayers who may complain about not understanding the lyrics, I posit that they seldom lodge the same complaints against extreme metal outfits with harsh vocals. ELYOSE are obviously skilled at what they do, but I’d love to see them expand on it a little with the next release.

Recommended tracks: “Tentatives échouées”, “Prête au combat”, “Théogyne 2.0”
You may also like: Manigance, Vilivant, Lisa Dal Bello
Final verdict: 6/10

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

Label: Independent

ELYOSE is:
– Justine Daaé (vocals, keyboards, programming)
– Anthony Chognard (guitars, bass, drums)

1. Gojira – Mea Culpa (Ah! Ça ira!) ︎

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Probably done by Syrkander.

Style: Progressive metal, symphonic metal, death metal, gothic metal (mixed vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Persefone, MIDI instruments, Peter Steele-esque vocals
Country: Chile
Release date: 10 January, 2025

Unreal Engine 5 did to game development what Bandcamp did to the indie music scene. No longer did you as a budding young artist need to secure funding and a space to develop your craft. You could just do it from your bedroom. Like a game created in UE5, you too can now create a polished sounding record with programmed drums and MIDI instruments. I mean, just look at most bedroom djent bands that release a few songs every few months. Insane amounts of polish and sound quality, but you look a little too long, and you get the same problem with games developed in UE5: they’ve all got a similar feel, a similar graphical art style, or in the case of music in the prog sphere, uniform identity. 

Syrkander, surprisingly enough, is a bedroom project that’s not a djent or terrible atmoblack band. Instead, the one-man Chilean act opts for a heavily symphonic style à la Dessiderium, with all the chugs of a Gojira-clone and an attempt at the grandeur of Aquilus. All of these prior bands are successful at finding identity and a unique sound, there’s none of that to be found here.  I hear a lot of prog-death staples on this album (i.e. mixed vocals, trem-picked riffs), but all of it lacks any serious substance whatsoever. The very glue that holds this behemoth of an album together is the fact that it just refuses to stop its over EIGHTY-MINUTE pulverization of my eardrums.

In the very wise words of me, you create something original when all your influences become so compounded on top of eachother that simultaneously all and nothing of them remain of them in your work. I hear some classic power metal DNA in Syrkander’s inbred formula here, as exemplified by ‘Salvame’, in which our band leader does his best Dan “The Man” Swanö impression over a one-note chuggy-chuggy riff. I also hear a bit of Persefone’s rhythmic fuckery and (attempts at) flourishes, but this remains the chief complaint I take with Via Internam: a complete lack of cohesion whatsoever. Syrkander doesn’t do much in the riff department, with much of it becoming layered mush underneath the deluge of leads and symphonic cushioning. Whenever Syrkander can, he will make sections go on for far longer than need be for padding’s sake, with opener ‘Become Darkness’ flaunting one riff for all three-and-a-quarter minutes of its overlong runtime.

Syrkander’s ambition mix with his identity crisis is also apparent in his vocal styles. While I commend the effort of having both cleans and harshes on a one-man album, Edge of Sanity this is not. ‘Feverish’ sees him trying a low-register, Type-O Negative-esque croon that just sounds like he’s drunk and slurring his words. However, this doesn’t really make a return anywhere on the album, instead opting for his Dan Swanö impression for most of the album. In fact, I’m not even sure he sounds like the Witherscape frontman so much as he sounds like a mid-2000s alt metal vocalist trying to sing a ballad. An alt metal influence might explain the simple riffing, but again, I can’t tell what sparked this man’s neurons together in the first place even after I’ve listened. While some symphonic parts are cool, such as the choir on ‘Furia Divinia’, none of it feels earned. There are no big builds and even bigger releases on Via Internam, just eighty-minutes of songs floating in a pool of their own gelatinous mass.

I have barely mentioned the symphonic aspect of Syrkander, because it may as well not be there. Nearly every song begins and ends with some kind of string or synth, and none of it is used interestingly. The Chilean can’t decide if he wants it to be used in the background for atmosphere, like Emperor’s classic In the Nightside Eclipse or to have it be front and center like most modern symphonic bands. On ‘Dhet Khom Uhsal’, its absence is sorely missed with the one time Syrkander wants to create a semi-interesting riff, which would go perfectly with a few string flutters. This is, of course, before he repeats said section too many times.

Like my UE5 game analogy, Syrkander is something that was made with likely good intentions and no way of reaching them. This is ambitious for a one-man band to accomplish, but not everyone can be Alex Haddad (Dessiderium). Instead, Via Internam is a shoddily put together mess of symphonic flourishes and riffs that are so bare bones he may as well have opted to make an album without guitar entirely. I can only give Syrkander credit for trying, but he has a long way to go before attempting another epic of this standing. If it were up to me, I think he should start from ground zero. Figure out what went wrong here so as not to pull a Culak. Also, lose the spoken word and evil laughs: they’re not helping your cause here.

Recommended tracks: Furia Divinia, Dhet Khom Uhsal, Nemsis
You may also like: Culak, Ben Baruk, Aeternam, Aquilus
Final verdict: 3/10

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

Label: Independent

Syrkander is:
– Syrkander (probably everything?)

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Style: Alternative metal, prog metal (mixed vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Ok Goodnight, Jinjer, Destiny Potato, Suldusk
Country: UK
Release date: 20 September 2024

I’ve said it before, but I’ve become the defacto reviewer for a lot of the UK prog scene, recently covering a bunch of young groups from the burgeoning alt metal scene, including Giant Walker, El Moono and Vower, all of whom follow in the footsteps of great bands like Black Peaks, Palm Reader and Arcane Roots. But is that all the UK has to offer?¹ Fortunately, no. I’d heard a couple of singles from a new group, Crimson Veil, who seemed to offer something darker, tinged with thickly layered gothic melodrama. Intrigued? I sure as hell was.

On debut album Hex, Crimson Veil carve out a unique little niche for themselves, playing with vast cinematic atmospheres, thick layers of guitar, bass and electric cello, electronic pulses, and vocals that range from explosive harshes to gossamer soft cleans to belting laments to gothic choral sections. Indeed, vocalist Mishkin Fitzgerald is the standout and her vocals lead the compositions: on “Illuminate” she modulates to a wholly different timbre for a verse², while a couple of tracks, most notably “Opulence”, play with layered choral sections. String embellishments and occasional cello solos contributed by Hana Piranha add an Apocalyptica-esque flavour, though notes of the heavier sound of groups like Destiny Potato and Jinjer are more dominant, as well as the softer almost folky flavours of Dreadnought and Suldusk which leak in. Crimson Veil resist easy comparison but the dichotomy of their sound might be best captured by Ok Goodnight. 

Atmospheric compositions with a rhythmic emphasis are the name of Crimson Veil’s game, with the titular opener seeing drummer Anna Mylee making the changes from 5/4 to 6/4 seamless, the track ending in a disconcerting climax with Fitzgerald growling away and Piranha’s ominous cello thrumming purposefully. There are plenty of other great moments: “Shift” features an especially thick riff where doubled up guitar, cello and bass all reinforce one another, and later in the song the strings seem to throw a little referential nod to John Murphy’s iconic “In the House – In a Heartbeat”³. Meanwhile, a brief guitar solo on “Flinch”, one of few on the record, makes a disproportionate impact for its novelty, and its more chaotic and longer sibling on twelve-minute closer “Task” is one of guitarist Garry Mitchell’s best moments. Crimson Veil also play with more ethereal qualities, such as the atmospheric build-up on “Awake” which recalls the eerie post-metal of Dreadnought. 

However, there’s one major fault to address on Hex: the production. It’s apparent at almost all times, even in the most stripped back drum hits, but it becomes a particular issue as the band pile on layers, with the crescendos and climaxes distorting and blending into sludge; a significant disadvantage for a band who like to play with overdistorted and glitchy effects—it’s hard to contrast such moments when your baseline production sound is like Death Magnetic⁴. One can hear the ghosts of other textures and nuances within the mix that are being completely washed out, and it’s genuinely aggrieving to endure. Piranha is done the dirtiest by the sonic blizzard, the subtler nuances of her cello work lost in the fray. For a band who describe themselves as—and legitimately are—cinematic, this is a glaring issue, and while such missteps can be forgiven on a debut, it’s something that desperately needs addressing. 

Related but slightly separate is the guitar tone: Mitchell’s riffs and solos consistently fall within the interesting to impressive range but he’s afflicted with a terribly lifeless guitar tone which verges on the midi distortion on Guitar Pro 5—on “Awake” there’s a break which Mitchell fills with a lick that sounds like it came out of a Nokia 3310. Where Piranha is buried by the mix, the effect on Mitchell is more akin to having him stand there in his boxers; a strange wall of fuzziness muddies the layers of guitar while making what you can hear sound somewhat naked. I don’t want it to sound like I’m picking on Mitchell because I don’t think he’s to blame; rather he’s been done a dreadful disservice by the production, just as Piranha has, not to mention Mylee’s drums—the cymbals are the canary in the coal mine of bad compression. Listening to Hex is a bit like hearing a bunch of talented musicians orbiting a central void—bits of guitar, bass, drums, and cello fly around the outside only to be swallowed by the production black hole. It’s genuinely disheartening, so let me be clear: Crimson Veil are four very talented performers who desperately need to go elsewhere for their mixing and mastering.

With cinematic scale, a great sense of compositional flow, and gothic saturation, Hex is an extremely impressive record boasting a well-defined core sound and a glut of highlights, all of which are unforgivably let down by a deeply frustrating production job that renders so much of it oddly inert. Every time I lose myself in the genuinely impressive compositions, my ear tunes back into that awful mix and I’m left wondering what might have been. With any luck, Crimson Veil will return with another great album soon, this time with the polish they so sorely deserve. 

Recommended tracks: Opulence, Shift, Hex
You may also like: Dreadnought, No Terror in the Bang
Final verdict: 6.5/10

1.  No. We’ve also had great releases from Azure, Kyros, and i Häxa (sort of, 3/4s of that one is out; don’t ask) this year. ︎
2.  I trawled to find out if this is a guest singer but could find no such person credited, it seems that Fitzgerald is just that good. ︎
3.  You know it from the 28 Days Later soundtrack or from all the noughties movie trailers that subsequently nicked it. ︎
4. Fuck you, Rick Rubin.
   ︎

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

Label: Reigning Phoenix Music – Facebook | Official Website

Crimson Veil is:
– Mishkin Fitzgerald (vocals)
– Garry Mitchell (guitars)
– Hana Piranha (strings)
– Anna Mylee (drums)

The post Review: Crimson Veil – Hex appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Genres: progressive metal, melodic death metal (mixed vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Katatonia, Opeth, In the Woods, Green Carnation, Evergrey
Country: Italy
Release date: 15 March 2024

I love unambitious prog metal, let me explain.

Typically, this genre is known for its maximalism: a desire to flaunt technical and compositional chops in order to realize a musical ideal. Some bands go all in on the technicality, other bands throw the kitchen sink at the songwriting board, and others will try to push compositional boundaries as they forgo traditional songwriting as much as possible. For me, this is a bit much. I love all these elements, but only in moderation. Give me an emotive singer, melodic lead play, some good hooks, and I’m all set. I want to be able to follow each song development on foot, or at most, on bicycle. When too many things are happening at once, I get overwhelmed and zone out mentally. This is why I love Vanden Plas and Enslaved but am only lukewarm on Haken and Ne Obliviscaris, and also why I deem Emperor of Sand to be Mastodon’s best album. Indeed, it is these streamlined, less “ambitious” prog bands that I love the most.

The Moor is an Italian “dark” progressive metal band fitting right in with this scene. No song is longer than six minutes, the structures are relatively safe, and though adventurous, the music moves at only a cycling pace. The band has been around for quite some time, but given that they have taken six years between each release, I wouldn’t blame you if they never caught your attention. Nevertheless, we can celebrate the present moment and dissect their third and latest album Ombra. 

Ombra starts with a grandiose, Hans Zimmer style orchestral intro track, which according to some of my co-writers might even be a medley. Usually I don’t care much for intro tracks like this, but this one is epic. Getting into the meat of the album, “The Overlord Disease” is a wonderful dark melodic song with heavy, vaguely Deliverance era Opethian riffs that cycle between death, black, and doom metal leanings, and vocals that alternate between ghastly harshes and a soothing tenor clean voice. Its chorus melody is instantly catchy, and the guitar solo in the bridge is phenomenal too. “Illuminate” is another heater, this time giving more spotlight to the drumming and lets the gothic influences shine through, and the title track brings back the Zimmer orchestra and combines it with some clearly Blackwater Park-inspired arrangements for the most epic song yet. It is also the only track sung in Italian on the album. 

The album’s middle section though is where things start to drag a little. “This River Spoke” is still amazing with a banger ritualistic chorus and one of the most intense harsh vocal sections of the album, but “Lifetime Damage” is a plodding song where I found only the harsh vocal parts impactful, and “Our Tides” barely covers new ground. Indeed, the melancholic-vocals-over-chunky-riffs shtick gets a little tiring over the course of the album. Each individual song is well constructed, but you can only chonk in midtempo and croon melodramatically for so long before it loses its flavor. A melodic ballad or two, or another epic like the title track would have done wonders for the album’s pacing. Some eye-catching parts remain—see the acoustic section in “Passage” and its following guitar solo, the bouncy riffs underneath the harsh vocal parts in “Thirst,” or just “Withered” in general—but by and large The Moor’s creativity was spent on the first half of Ombra. 

The production of Ombra ties into these issues. Sometimes the band will use electronic elements or synths to lead in a track, but when the guitars come in they fade to the background, undercutting what could have been a source of diversity. Similarly, the clean vocals can also have a hard time topping the instrumental violence, which is not a great mark for such a vocally driven band. Balance issues aside though, Ombra sounds terrific. The heavy riffs are heavy, the guitar tone during the solos is to die for, the drums sound punchy, and the harsh vocals are completely enveloping when they appear. On the whole, a lot more good than bad, but with some kinks to iron out still.

For the most part, Ombra is impressive. The Moor show a real aptitude for compact songwriting and largely nailed a professional production. I have added roughly half of these songs to my “unambitious prog” playlist because the moments this band clicks into gear I find special. However, a lack of maximalism does not excuse a lack of tonal diversity and midtempo abuse, so as a whole, I don’t know how much I’ll revisit this album. Hopefully, they won’t take another six years before album four, because if they can fix the variety issues, I can see something truly amazing emerge.

Recommended tracks: The Overlord Disease, Ombra, This River Speaks
You may also like: Sermon, Novembre, Vintersorg, Athemon
Final verdict: 7/10

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

Label: Inertial Music – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

The Moor is:
– Enrico “Ukka” Longhin (vocals, guitars, synths)
– Davide Carraro (lead guitars)
– Massimo “KKTZ” Cocchetto (bass)
– Edo Sala (drums)

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Genres: Melodic Death Metal, Progressive Metal, Doom Metal (Mixed vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Insomnium, Swallow the Sun, Omnium Gatherum, Draconian
Country: New York, USA
Release date: 8 March 2024

History ended in the nineties, at least according to Francis Fukuyama; living proof, if it were still needed, that world-leading experts are very often extraordinarily stupid. The progressive metal scene knew better. Here, the nineties were a time of true beginning: Porcupine Tree, Pain of Salvation, and Opeth made their first tentative steps, established bands like Death, Fates Warning and Shadow Gallery reigned supreme, and two little bands called Tool and Dream Theater were about to define the scene for decades to come. 

Grey Skies Fallen can back me up: they’d have seen it happen, having joined the scene in the late nineties, and continued working for over twenty-five years now. Will the sixth album from these melodic death doomsters, Molded by Broken Hands, have us all wondering why they’re not mentioned in the same breath as the aforementioned genre luminaries, or showcase exactly why they’re not in that pantheon? 

For the first few tracks, Grey Skies Fallen truly impress, opening with the grandiosity of “A Twisted Place in Time” which features a sublime acoustic intro that pushes into thick harshes atop a lumbering melodeath riff, synth and strings tickling the edges, before segueing into tension-building tremolo, and a portentously doomy outro riff which continuously slows to its eventual halt. This trend continues with the reverb-heavy lead guitar duel and solo that open the title track, Habeeb delivering both venomous harshes and agonised belting cleans. “No Place for Sorrow” delivers a notably rapid tremolo riff for a real sense of pace amid the chugging doom, while “I Can Hear Your Voice” provides a lofty refrain and a continuously evolving guitar motif. Molded by Broken Hands offers a fine buffet of doomy melodeath.

Echoes of past sounds dwell within, a certain nineties throwback feel at times—and, of course, Grey Skies Fallen formed in 1997—exemplified by the goth flavour of the reverb-laden clean guitars, and Rick Habeeb’s immense, anguished baritone; the opening of “No Place For Sorrow” is probably the best example. The synths too, contributed by Colin Marston (who handles production, too) have a very nineties flavour, as does the mix and master by the defining voice of nineties death metal himself, Mr. Dan Swanö. All this confers a nostalgic sensibility to the already melancholic melodeath; a veteran band reaching back to their formative influences and applying them to the present scene with aplomb.  

Still, something held me back, and it took a while for me to work out what it was. The sedate doominess of the oft-repeated riffs wears a little thin after a while. Molded by Broken Hands has two modes: trudging doom and mid-tempo melodeath—“Cracks in Time” (surprisingly it was the lead single, and don’t get me started on the AI video; artists should not willingly usher in the death of other art forms [EDIT: Grey Skies Fallen’s ex-keyboardist Craig Rossi, who made the video, got in touch to say that the video actually features “tons of after effects and some stock footage that I pay $30 a month for. It’s not all AI, and those artists got paid for the fx and footage I downloaded”. As much as I dislike AI art, I retract what I said above, it sounds like Rossi was as responsible as possible about his use of AI, and that’s the best any of us can do]) and “Save Us” in particular lack the relative dynamism of the earlier tracks, although the latter resolves with a wonderful belting lament from Habeeb.

Nevertheless, by the fourth track, you’ve heard most of what Molded by Broken Hands has to offer. Grey Skies Fallen are great performers and composers, but I think sometimes having been on the scene for such a long time can leave bands stuck in particular patterns of writing. Final track “Knowing That You’re There” offers the most progressive approach to composition, with a very nice clean guitar break (which are mostly reserved for intros over the rest of the album), an incredible all-clean vocal performance from Habeeb, with a plaintive string-accompanied chorus; that this finale should stick out against its predecessors underlines the issue.

Despite having to quickly rein in the hopes I had for more exploratory prog death/doom in the manner of Wills Dissolve, for instance, Grey Skies Fallen nevertheless prove to be masters of their sound and tight performers, if leaning a little towards homogeneity at times, and I remain somewhat baffled that such a clearly talented band remain relatively unknown. That’s a historic crime, and so I beseech thee, depressed melodeath fans of the world: heed my call! You’ll like this one. 

Recommended tracks: Molded by Broken Hands, No Place For Sorrow, Knowing That You’re There 
You may also like: Eternal Storm, Wills Dissolve, Descend, Barren Earth
Final verdict: 7/10

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

Label: Profound Lore Records – Bandcamp | Facebook

Grey Skies Fallen is:
– Rick Habeeb (vocals, guitars)
– Joe D’Angelo (guitars)
– Sal Gregory (drums)
– Tom Anderer (bass)

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