Artwork by: Jess Allanic

Style: Metalcore, Alternative Metal, Progressive Metal (Mixed Vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Poppy, Rolo Tomassi, Lake Malice, Wargasm, Holy Wars, As Everything Unfolds
Country: United Kingdom
Release date: 11 July 2025

Back in 2012, the Marvel Cinematic Universe changed the game and shook the industry with the release of The Avengers, a years-in-the-making blockbuster that brought all their disparate heroes together on the silver screen in a historic first. An approximate $1.5 billion later, and suddenly everyone else wanted a money-making universe of their own. DC Studios fast-tracked an Extended Universe; Fox brought back Bryan Singer for 2014’s X-Men: Days of Future Past, which saw OG trilogy stars reprise their roles alongside the new blood. Universal, the original maestros of the crossover universe, jumped back into the game with the Dark Universe, an especially ill-fated attempt that perfectly illustrated the folly of such heedless trend chasing. Hell, even Daniel Craig’s Bond tried with a series of interconnected films. Nowadays, the very mention of a connected universe is enough to elicit a solid groan from people who enjoy actual films over slop. This shit is exhausting. I have a job; I shouldn’t have to do more work to watch a movie. So, when I read the words “Welcome to the Calva Louise Universe” on UK metallers Calva Louise’s Bandcamp, you best believe my groan was mighty.

A three-piece with their own Avengers-esque story—that of unlikely compatriots drawn from disparate corners of the world for an ultimate purpose—Calva Louise is the collaborative brainchild of Venezuelan Jessica Allanic (vocals, guitars), Frenchman Alizo Taho (bass), and New Zealander Ben Parker (drums). Their albums tell a sci-fi story conceived by Allanic when she was younger, following a woman named Louise who discovers a mirror world beyond our own, populated by “Doubles.” Edge of the Abyss is their fourth LP, and my first experience with the band. With a sonic cuisine bringing together razor-edged metalcore, sci-fi electronica, art rock, and a charismatic frontwoman in Allanic, Calva Louise has the sort of core ingredients known to hook my tastes. But, can a first-timer like me survive such a plunge into the cinematic abyss, sans homework? Or do I need to spool up a subscription to Calva Louise+ for further education?

Put down the credit card and unroll those eyes: Edge of the Abyss is not only a stand-alone experience, but an exceptional one at that. While I’m certain there’s connective threads to prior albums linking all of this grand dimension-traversing narrative together, one may safely leave that at the feet of the Calva Louise lorekeepers. Packaged here are eleven tracks and forty minutes of absolutely gonzo, balls-to-the-wall progressive metalcore shot through a multiversal portal of Latin American rhythms, dance-hall-club thumpers, and an uncorked vocal performance to rival Poppy’s most schismatic aural shenanigans. Allanic goes full Bruce Banner / Hulk, delivering saccharine-inflected, almost playfully psychotic cleans reminiscent of bubblegoth-era Kerli before jumping into the purple pants to unleash an arsenal of razored screeches and some surprisingly thunderous lows. Like Poppy, Allanic changes styles at the drop of a dime, made all the more impressive when she switches fluidly from English to Spanish across the majority of Edge of the Abyss. There’s some real psycho-mania energy on display, as if Allanic’s performance comes from a mind ruptured by secrets not meant for mortals. Whether swaying into a sing-along verse (“Barely a Response”) or spitting out vocals like broken teeth (“WTF”), Allanic lands every stroke of her deranged performance with serious aplomb. Her guitar work impressively matches the lunacy via a skronky mathcore-esque freneticism.

If Allanic is the Tony Stark of this outfit, Parker and Taho are Captain America and Thor. Parker provides an especially fluid performance on drums, conducting the album’s rhythmic aims like a meth-addicted octopus as he rolls, blasts, and rides across the kit. He’s thick and punchy in the mix, standing toe-to-toe with Allanic’s churning guitar, knowing when to let a simple beat ride and when to start rolling bones under his double-bass. Taho’s bass playing gets lost in the shuffle on the album’s louder moments (one of the only metal sins Edge of the Abyss commits), but his tones are warm and resonant when audible, thrumming like a steady current to power the madness. Meanwhile, guest contributor Mazare steps in with Hawkeye-level assists, backboning and accenting the record with a slew of dancey beats and skittering keys that add to Edge of the Abyss’s eclectic—and unfettered—fun. The Latin American flavors are integrated well into this glitchy, chaotic stew, feeling authentic and purposeful rather than tacked on for “prog points.”

Metalcore has a tendency to get staid and repetitive, following a very tight structure emphasizing (if not entirely built around) breakdowns and uplifting, cleanly-delivered choruses. A good time, but whole albums can be hard sells for those not entirely beholden to the genre’s whims. On the opposite side, bands like The Dillinger Escape Plan or the aforementioned Poppy can be difficult commitments for me due to the mania that drives their sounds. I can get down with unhinged vocals and whiplash time signatures, but an entire album’s worth runs the risk of grating on my nerves. There’s a novelty factor at play, too, the threat of a “gimmick” overriding the listening experience. A band has to have something more guiding them; strong songwriting, variety, solid pacing… any and all of these go miles towards taking the parlor trick of “we can play 350 bpm” and transmogrifying it into an album you actually want to sit with.

Calva Louise might have easily fallen into this pit of wacky novelty, and I fully expected them to, on first listen. Yet they defied my odds with Edge of the Abyss. Every song has a life all its own, refusing to repeat ideas or fall into genre tropes (no wasteful intro tracks here!). Perhaps this sounds silly, but there’s a scrappiness that translates through the music, a DIY ethos which, despite the modern production, empowers the band’s efforts. Calva Louise sound hungry on Edge of the Abyss, like a tenacious creature throwing everything it has at survival. I’m reminded of early efforts by acts like Slipknot and Mudvayne—not sonically, but spiritually. A vitriolic commitment to artistic vision, in defiance of outcome, is something I’ve long admired. That Calva Louise is four albums deep and able to conjure this kind of energy is delightful.

Like when I sat down recently to watch Marvel’s Thunderbolts*,¹ I stepped into Edge of the Abyss stuck somewhere between frayed hope and pre-loaded disappointment. So far, 2025 hasn’t been the best year for new metal releases; barring a handful of standouts, most of what I’ve heard has sat well within the “okay” to “decent” territory—and much like Marvel’s output of the last decade, I was starting to get a little numb to it all. Luckily for me, hope won the day on both accounts.² Calva Louise was far more than I expected, an energetic, multicultural detonation of influences with an origin story befitting a Stan Lee “Excelsior!” Full of twisting genre shifts, infectious melodies, and one of my favorite vocal performances of the year, Edge of the Abyss is a precipice I wholly recommend pitching oneself into.

Recommended tracks: Tunnel Vision, WTF, Aimless, Lo Que Vale, El Umbral, Hate In Me
You may also like: Knife Bride, The Defect, Reliqa, Bex
Final verdict: 9/10

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

Label: Mascot Records – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Calva Louise is:
– Jess Allanic (guitars, vocals)
– Ben Parker (drums)
– Alizon Taho (bass)
With guests:
– Mazare (electronics)

1. Yes, the asterisk is part of the title. If you know, you know. ︎
2.  Thunderbolts* was refreshingly good. ︎

The post Review: Calva Louise – Edge of the Abyss appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Atmospheric sludge metal, avant-garde metal, poetry (Spoken word, harsh vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Isis, Neurosis, Chat Pile, Thou, Mizmor
Country: Canada / Maryland, United States
Release date: 25 April 2025

‘We didn’t demand more from a democracy of monsters.’

The grimy post-apocalyptic imagery conjured by post-rock and avant-garde artists like Godspeed You! Black Emperor and Ashenspire are sharp critiques of the hostile world crafted by modern society. Canadian sludge metallers Sumac explored similar themes and soundscapes on their 2024 opus, The Healer, but with a balmy twist: Aaron Turner and co. find beauty and catharsis among the aftermath, exploring healing as a non-linear process in a series of cacophonous, improvised sludge metal pieces. On their latest release, The Film, Sumac join forces with industrial hip-hop artist Moor Mother, crunching the scope of The Healer’s pieces down to relatively bite-sized movements and giving them structure through spoken word. How does The Film play out?

The atonal warbling of Sumac’s guitars adorn the crooked canvas of “Scene 1”. Seas of crumbling gray buildings stretch beyond the horizon, and the mind desperately claws for tonality and rhythm among the scraping dissonance of Aaron Turner’s guitarwork. Figures and forms almost coalesce in the coarse and mangled chords; by design, they’re just a bit too out of reach to fully form into a cogent shape. The listener is left to sit in anxious ambiguity as a consequence. Then, a voice materializes from the rubble, a rudder to a vessel with no form. First distorted, then yanked into clarity, it calls out:

‘I want my breath back.’

Throughout “Scene 1”, Moor Mother sneers in the face of an invasive hegemony through spoken word poetry, unearthing a siren call against the Colonialist tendrils that push into the scree’s every crevice. We’re told over and over that the kudzu has died, but she insists that anyone with a keen eye can see how its roots continue to spread and how its vines choke out the grove’s most vulnerable.

‘That’s why we don’t believe. We don’t believe. We don’t believe. We. Don’t. Believe. WE—DON’T—BELIEVE.’

Among the swirling cataclysm laid down by Sumac, Moor Mother exudes both a razor-sharp focus in spoken-word verses and an assertive bluntness in her punctuated litany. By way of hypnagogic paranoia in “Scene 2: The Run”, war-torn landscapes in “Scene 5: Breathing Fire”, and frustrated inner conflict in “Camera”, Moor Mother anchors The Film, cleverly intertwining her poetry with amorphous and wailing instrumentation. Calls of ‘So long they’ve been hating, waiting, debating how to keep you enslaved / Better lose your mind, lose your mind, lose your mind, lose your mind / Run away, better lose your mind / Hurt off, dust off, hate off, change off, devil off / Better run and lose your mind’ on “Scene 4” exemplify The Film’s percussive lambasts, branding themselves onto the surface of your mind with each repetition and leaving behind no ambiguity in her snarling conviction.

Though some moments come across a bit referential for my tastes (e.g., a reference to the Whip and Nae Nae on “Scene 3”, and a callout to Blue’s Clues on “Scene 5: Breathing Fire”), Moor Mother’s approach is overwhelmingly effective as a whole. The sentiments on “Camera”, for example, are masterfully executed, cleaved in two as tension is forged between opposing forces. On one hand, her lyricism portrays a strong desire to be cognizant of injustices and engage in activism against them; on the other, a pang to ‘stick one’s head in the sand’ emerges, as the deluge of nightmares constantly surfaced is simply too much for a single person to bear. The effect is heightened when Moor Mother’s voice takes on an unearthly form, malleated into a down-pitched, ominous panopticon:

‘Let the camera do the talking. Don’t look away. Don’t look away. Don’t. Look. Away. Let the camera do the talking. Get away, get away, get away, get away, get away, get away.’

Moments of clarity and conventional song structure occasionally bubble to The Film’s surface. “The Truth is Out There” utilizes consonance and pleasant textures, acting as a small palate cleanser before The Film’s mammoth closer. Even in its more melodic passages, though, Sumac opt to use oblique, eccentric chord choices to keep the listener from getting too comfortable in their sense of levity. “Scene 3” features a relatively standard post-metal song structure, slowly building into a massive apex and crushing the listener under pounding drumwork and frantic reiteration of ‘In the way of our dreams…’ by its end.

“Scene 2: The Run”, in contrast, teeters between the more constructed and the more nebulous: the thrumming, pulsating bass across its runtime acts as an oscillating searchlight, keeping its sparse soundscape grounded. Led by Moor Mother’s poetry, one has a brief window to dive between concrete crags and reach shelter between the rumbling flashes. Intensity ebbs and flows, exploring dissonant tremolos and weighty dirges but each time returning to the searchlight’s bassy thrum. The track’s closing moments unveil a climax of explosive drum grooves, hypnotic, swirling guitar chords, and ghoulish howls. The crumbled remains coalesce into a tumbling, horrific golem, shattering off pieces of itself as it thrashes about.

‘Memories. Looping. Dead. Sky is. Falling. Falling. Blood. Red. Blood. Blood. Red. Blood.’

“Scene 5: Breathing Fire” is a consummation of The Film’s elements, a Chekhov’s Arsenal of ideas and techniques introduced earlier in its runtime. Anchored by Moor Mother’s poetry, the track melts and morphs between stillness and intensity, smoothness and texture, consonance and dissonance; its introductory moments beget premonition of something more chaotic, more violent, and more powerful than anything encountered up to this point.

‘War breath always breathes—fire. Time’s in neglect, and I’ll see you on the other side. I’ll see you on the other side.’

The instrumentals bear a laserlike focus: whereas before the rhythms lumbered in dissonant chaos, they now punch the back of your head with militaristic precision.

‘I need a moment. I need a moment. Sorting through snakes and serpents. I need an omen.’

The patterns aren’t quite discernible at first glance, using basic rhythmic building blocks in spectacularly odd meter. Tension builds around drums that congeal through kinetic cymbal splashes.

‘We’re in the boxing rings and fighting for our lives. Fighting for our lives. FIGHTING. FOR. OUR. LIVES.’

An instrumental bomb drops. Sumac settle in to a bulldozing groove while Moor Mother summons an apocalyptic fury, snarling overtop magnitude ten forces.

‘I PRAY THE TIDES GO. I PRAY THE TIDES GO. I PRAY THE TIDES GO THE WAY OF THE WOLVES. THE WAY OF THE WOLVES. AND OUT COME THE WOLVES. AND OUT COME THE WOLVES. TAKE WARNING. TAKE WARNING. TAKE CAUTION, TAKE. OFF. RUNNING. TAKE OFF RUNNING. TAKE OFF RUNNING. TAKE—OFF—’

The gravity of the instrumentals outmatches their stability, and “Scene 5” begins to deconstruct. A familiar chaos creeps back in as guitars melt into buzzing warbles and the frantic jingling of chimes fill every inch of negative space. A wailing, trembling guitar solo attempts to push back against the bubbling waves of bass, but the exertion of the two is too much, and the entire piece collapses. Little is left other than guitar scrapes, squeaks, and cresting cymbal washes.

‘Basic instructions before leaving Earth. Basic instructions before leaving Earth…’

For the first time during The Film, an unabashedly tranquil space is broached. Guitars amble around plaintive chords, and drums gently lilt along. The final stretch of “Scene 5” exudes catharsis, releasing a tension that’s been building since the record’s first moments and giving the listener space to rest and reflect.

‘I. Want. My. Change. But what do we return to? But what do we return to? What do we return to?’

In The Film’s calm aftermath, only pebbles and ash remain; in this dust is the space for something new to grow. The Film is at the same time heartbreakingly concrete and nightmarishly surrealist, juxtaposing dissonant sludgy improvisation against a spellbinding voice that confidently leads the traveler through a forsaken barrens. Despite a spate of horrific injustices and efforts from every corner to oppress, intimidate, and silence marginalized groups, we must continue to strike away at what makes us human, and at the same time fight to make the world something more than a place not designed for us.

Recommended tracks: Scene 5: Breathing Fire, Camera, Scene 2: The Run
You may also like: BÅKÜ, Ashenspire, Five the Hierophant, Lathe
Final verdict: 9/10

Related links (Sumac): Bandcamp | Spotify | Facebook | Instagram | Metal-Archives
Related links (Moor Mother): Bandcamp | Spotify | Facebook | Instagram

Label – Thrill Jockey Records: Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Sumac is:
– Aaron Turner (guitars, vocals)
– Nick Yacyshyn (drums, percussion, synths)
– Brian Cook (bass)
Moor Mother is:
– Camae Ayewa (vocals, synths)
With guests:
– Candice Hoyes (vocals, track 3)
– Kyle Kidd (vocals, track 4)
– Sovei (vocals, track 5)

The post Review: Sumac, Moor Mother – The Film appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Artwork by Nick Steinhardt

Style: blackgaze (mixed vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Lantlôs, Møl, Sadness, Harakiri for the Sky
Country: US-CA
Release date: 28 March 2025

Whether you’re a black-metal purist, a blackgaze-hipster, or simply a fan of innovation in music, you’ve probably run into the story of Deafheaven at some point—the story of how they released an album with a pink cover filled to the brim with pretty melodies while also being undoubtedly rooted in black metal. I am, of course, talking about their 2013 album Sunbather, a black metal opus flavored with indie rock and screamo inspiration that also spawned some of the most toxic arguments in every music forum of the time. Just have a look at the reviews for the album on Metallum and you’ll find no middle point between 0s and 100s. Some took this new idea with open arms and celebrated it to no end, while more purist fans of the genre flat out rejected it as not kvlt, an embarrassment to metal. 

Where did I lie in this whole mess? Well, I got into metal in 2017, so I showed up to this war like Troy Barnes arriving with pizzas into a burning apartment. The comment warfare in random Loudwire videos addressing Sunbather certainly made me curious, and I approached it with an open mind. Not to my surprise, the purists were wrong, and I experienced one of the coolest releases of the decade whilst not paying attention in biology class. Deafheaven really knew how to deliver chaos with a hopeful tone. The lyrics were interesting, the structure of the album was impeccable, and every song left you feeling like you had just experienced an epic journey where you found hope in the darkest of times. Despite exploring territories both gritty and dreamy in subsequent works, Deafheaven never seemed to reach the level of critical acclaim born from that one pomegranate pink album. Not until this year, at least, as Deafheaven’s latest release, Lonely People with Power, has generated an equally fervent discourse in the music sphere. Bear with me as I try to explain why this LP has put our blackgaze buddies back on top of the music critic websites.

For starters, the sound of Lonely People with Power is… harsh. Even the heaviest tracks on previous LPs don’t compare to ‘’Doberman’’ or ‘’Magnolia’’; these songs have minimal blackgaze undertones and are simple black-metal bangers through and through. Everything is spot on here, be it the creative and energetic drum compositions from Daniel Tracy, providing a big sense of urgency and franticness, or Kerry Mckoy’s intricate guitar work that always manages to keep things interesting with a mixture of furious tremolo picking and agonizingly relentless melodies. Even when the lighter, dreamier moments of previous albums come, they usually function as huge climaxes after minutes of unrelenting tension. 

The entirety of Lonely People with Power feels like a short film of sorts, and these climaxes have a near-cinematic feel of experiencing a turning point in the story that keeps you on your toes, awaiting the next twist that is about to arise. Further exhibiting this cinematic vibe, Lonely People flows seamlessly whilst also utilizing breaks, silences or interludes before any larger shifts in sound. The ‘’Incidental’’ tracks all but confirm a three-act structure with how well they set up introduction, confrontation, and resolution. A particular highlight is “Incidental II”, in which a quiet, somber interlude is interrupted by a barrage of industrial sounds, expressing a sense of distress within the album’s story. This major tension setter effectively prepares the listener for the strongest point of the album—the tracks ‘’Revelator’’ and ‘’Body Behaviour’’. The former has a riff that will stick in your brain upon first listen and nag you until you hit replay, along with a melody that expresses panic and distress, which follows along the lyrics of self-loathing and irreparable ego and builds upon the previous track’s distressing atmosphere. On the other hand, ‘’Body Behaviour’’ leans as close as ever to their sound from Ordinary Corrupt Human Love, particularly its chorus that fuses dream pop and black metal. 

All the while, George Clarke delivers the best vocals of his career. Whether taking the lead or acting as a rhythmic addition to the chaos, each lyric is delivered with passion and anger, further raising the album’s already unbelievable intensity. Take, for example, the track “Amethyst”, where two minutes of spoken word build up allow for him to make a huge, dramatic entrance. Clarke sounds like an anguished man who’s desperate to stay alive, and the lyrics match, putting you in the shoes of a salvaged being who will not stop searching for a “glow”. Following its title, the album portrays people whose hunger for power consumes them to the point of being unable to form meaningful relationships or find a higher purpose in life. These people then try to find meaning and connect with others through morally dubious means—the exemplary “Body Behaviour” for instance explores two powerful men attempting to bond over the sexualization of women.

The only flaw I can pinpoint is that the album takes a bit to get going, with the first fifteen minutes or so missing the highlights of later tracks. But this slower start lends an even bigger punch to Lonely People’s middle and ending parts, making what follows all the more impactful. The whole album functions as one big blackgaze track in that sense, with the first half building unrelenting tension and the second finally releasing it all in incredible catharsis. And boy is it a payoff, for its second half is perfection. The penultimate track ‘’Winona’’ brings the listener an extreme amount of catharsis with what is arguably the album’s best climax. The track’s build-up thrives in its simplicity, scaling things back mid-song to a beautiful acoustic guitar melody before exploding with distortion and tremolo picking, unleashing a barrage of emotions while re-working that same melody. The climax itself is vintage Deafheaven—major-key melodies with black metal shrieks that make you feel like gravity no longer exists and you can finally float away into heaven. And if that wasn’t enough, closing track ‘’The Marvelous Orange Tree’’ delivers a slower, yet equally epic and heavenly atmosphere with dream-pop vocals and a blackened but mellowed out sound.

Twelve years ago, Deafheaven caused a rampage in the metal community with the controversial Sunbather. After the dust settled, a general consensus formed: Sunbather is a modern classic. And yet, Deafheaven refused to recycle their formula, opting to always offer something new with their releases. The fruits of innovation grew for over a decade and brought us yet another masterpiece in Lonely People With Power.

Recommended tracks: Revelator, Winona
You may also like: Skagos, Together to the Stars, Asunojokei, Constellatia, Violet Cold
Final verdict: 9/10

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

Label: Roadrunner Records – Facebook

Deafheaven is:
– George Clarke (vocals)
– Kerry McCoy (guitars)
– Chris Johnson (bass)
– Daniel Tracy (drums)
– Shiv Mehra (guitars, keyboards)

The post Review: Deafheaven – Lonely People with Power appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Logo and illustration by Jack Sabbat, Ornaments by Joos Melander

Style: Heavy Metal, Black Metal, Progressive Metal (mixed vocals, mostly clean)
Recommended for fans of: Hammers of Misfortune, Negative Plane, Malokarpatan
Country: Denmark
Release date: 28 February, 2025

Have you ever thought to yourself: “Man, swords sure are cool. I just wish they came in a larger variety of shapes and sizes”. If so, why do you talk like that? Also, the year is 2025, and I think I may have an answer to your prayers.

Enter Copenhagen based quintet Scimitar, whose debut album Scimitarium I features an illustration I think you may be veeeery interested in. Oh, they also play music I guess… And it is quite good! Extremely good in fact. Scimitar plays an arcane form of heavy metal with a serious black metal bent not entirely unlike Negative Plane and their ilk. Winding guitar riffs weave through a swarming drum performance as Shaam Larein’s unique lilting vocal performance glides like an apparition over it all. The lead guitar often takes on the role of conveying the primary melody while the vocals support it with their own secondary melody; it is not quite contrapuntal, but the result is faintly similar. The formula on display on Scimitarium I instantly caught my attention, shining like the glint of sharpened steel that comprises the blade of a certain shape of sword.

Scimitarium I opens with its title track, starting with a dissonant riff that is deceptively catchy and works as a great tag to set expectations and the mood for the entire album. The track ends as this riff simultaneously implodes in on itself and explodes into “Aconitum”, wasting no time to flex Scimitar’s sharp structuring and songwriting skills. Long-winded serpentine riff phrases create space for plenty of variation and smart use of harmonic interplay during repeated sections. Each and every idea is taken to its logical conclusion, then taken there again down a different contextual path within the song. The result is that Scimitar can rely on only a few of their strongest ideas, streamlining the listening experience without losing the esoteric nature at the heart of their sound. “Aconitum” is perhaps the strongest and most straightforward example of this; the chorus has a great lead guitar melody that can be superimposed over the entire rest of the track, fitting in perfectly the entire time, and showcasing just how deeply Scimitar understands their strengths and the skill with which they are able to utilize them.

Besides general songwriting prowess, Shaam Larein’s vocal performance is the primary highlight of Scimitarium I for my tastes; she’s great at crafting arcane melodies that are equal parts catchy and esoteric, able to get stuck in your head without taking away from the occult atmosphere. Larein often uses her voice more texturally than as a vehicle for delivering melody, but very rarely does she flip fully into screaming. Particularly effective is how she regularly switches into her falsetto at the end of phrases, giving her performance a feeling of spectral uneasiness. Even while Larein is singing, her syllable placement and the pacing of her phrases are more in line with a harsh vocal performance, further bridging the gap and muddying the waters between Scimitar’s sharp black metal edge and heavy metal spirit. 

Those who are familiar with Slægt’s particular mix of black and heavy metal will mostly know what to expect from the instrumental side of Scimitar’s performance, given that the two groups share three members between them. For those who aren’t, Slægt play a heavy metal infused form of melodic black metal with plenty of goth tendencies in the vein of Tribulation. While Slægt is mainly concerned with exploring the black metal side of these guys’ particular sound, Scimitar ventures further into heavy metal territory, infusing the performance with a scrappy DIY aesthetic. There are still plenty of the black metal performance techniques, but they are used in the context of and in service to a heavy metal conceit. The bass guitar heavily utilizes chromaticism and relies on leading tones that anchor the ripping melodic black metal based guitar riffing. The drumming is very busy, constantly filling space with fills and short blasts, but never distracting from the rest of the performances. This is not to say that Scimitar never fully unsheathes their black metal side—they do so quite a few times, and always to great effect. Take “Red Ruins” for example: around 1:20 there is a chilling ghostly vocal harmony that leads into Scimitarium I’s first fully mask off black metal section. Harsh vocals accompany a vicious tremolo attack, followed by a harmonically disorienting arpeggiated riff that winds around itself like a whirling drain. Scimitar’s sound is malleable and can be stretched into so many different directions, from black and heavy metal to goth and pop (“Hungry Hallucinations”), but always retains its core sound and never diverges from the almighty riff. 

Scimitar has stumbled upon a nearly perfect blend of sound for my tastes, a paradoxical fog which repels direct comparison through an inviting familiarity. Each performance is grippingly authentic, each riff thrillingly engaging, and each moment ridiculously addictive. We’re only about a third of the way through 2025, and Scimitarium I is already a strong contender for ending up as my favorite album of the year, and it is not particularly close either. Even in an early year full of strong underground releases, Scimitar cuts through the chaff, sharpening its uniquely shaped edge with a calculated efficiency. Perhaps those warriors from Hammerfell were onto something after all.

Recommended tracks: Aconitum, Hungry Hallucinations, Ophidia
You may also like: Slægt, Molten Chains, Funereal Presence, Predatory Light, Ponte del Diavolo
Final verdict: 9/10

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

Label: Crypt of the Wizard – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Scimitar is:
– Shaam Larein (vocals)
-Johan L. Ekstrand (unknown)
-Anders M. Jorgensen (unknown)
-Olle Bergholz (unknown)
-Adam CCsquele (unknown)

The post Review: Scimitar – Scimitarium I appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Art by Adam Burke

Style: Progressive death metal, progressive black metal (mixed vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Opeth, Ne Obliviscaris, Insomnium, Disillusion, Kardashev, Wintersun, Wilderun
Country: Arizona, United States
Release date: 14 March 2025

“Hope is a stupid concept” – Andy, 2025

Dune, by Frank Herbert, is in my humble opinion, the greatest book ever written. A story of a young boy turned chosen one messiah is played so painfully realistic that Herbert then had to write a whole sequel book for those who missed the arguably blatant point. Hope is dangerous, and do not put blind faith in those who sell it to you. It’s what makes Denis Villeneuve’s adaptation all the more perfect, complete with people who, again, clearly missed the point. In an age of unparalleled growth for all forms of media, the art of catharsis has been lost in the doldrums of “content”. Dune puts characters through the wringer, and by the end, Paul Atreides is not the character you started with, having lost all that made him human in the pursuit of revenge. Paul, like the audience, wants catharsis.

Dune is not a happy story, and like all good science fiction, serves as a warning. It should make you upset, despite an incredibly satisfying endpoint. Dessiderium—and by extension, its one-man member Alex Haddad—is no stranger to the concept of catharsis, being as familiar as he is with literary devices. The one man project, despite the usual symphonic/prog-death flair, has become an outlet for Haddad to write music set to poetry and poetry set to huge riffs. Sounding as pretentious as I am, Dessiderium tends to be a lot more literary than other bands of the same nature. This material is a reflection of Haddad’s ten-year journey, with a lot of it written far prior to masterpieces Shadow Burn and Aria. Hence why I’m going to be treating Keys to the Palace as a third part in his (possibly unintentional) thematic trilogy.

The aforementioned two, the latter of which became my AOTY in 2021, are bleak albums. The former is conceptually about flirting with suicide and seemingly unimaginable despair, while Aria is the story of a man who retreats into his dreams to escape the real world. While Aria ends on the protagonist’s self-reflection of all he has become, his implied mental state seems to be less than functional. Haddad has been candid that these albums were inspired by life events, and Keys to the Palace is now a reflection of how he sees the world in his current state. I think this context, and listening to the past two albums, not only enhances the experience of listening to Keys but is essential to grasping the full concept.

The word I’d use to describe this album is frolic, which is just as odd as it sounds for an album in the prog-death subgenre. Aria was incredibly unique with its use of the major scale riffing to conceptually convey fleeting happiness, but almost all of Keys is in major. From the first chugging notes of ‘In the Midst of May’, and even between Haddad’s vicious growls, there’s a conceptual optimism to the record that hasn’t been found on Dessiderium prior. Speaking of Haddad’s vocals, his cleans are much more forward this time around, having been purposefully drenched in reverb and murk on the last albums. He projects his triumphant cleans with the album’s first bit of explosive, sing-songy nature after its first blast beat. I’ll be completely honest and say some of the changes outright baffled me upon first listen. The black metal sections that made Shadow Burn and Aria special are all but eschewed, as well as the distinctly Opethian songwriting. Instead, Keys sounds distinctly like Yes as much as it does Wintersun in the way it flourishes, with every song firing at all cylinders and never stopping to take a breather.

This makes Keys an overwhelming first, second, and thirteenth listen. The atmospheric tricks and undeniably perfect pacing of Aria are what made the album special to me, but little did I know Keys is very intentional with its nature. The album, at its core, is about childhood whimsy. Alex Haddad, now a big adult with big adult responsibilities, reminisces on the times when the world seemed a little less scary. He—in this case, the narrator—meets his adult self, who shows him a vision of the future. The very last line of the album, “What have you done to me?”, is the child narrator responding in abject horror at the world he’s been shown. Keys to the Palace is not as overly joyous and frolicking as it first appears—it’s still a Dessiderium album, after all. However, Alex Haddad has had a cathartic moment, scattering dissonance within major scale riffing, symbolizing his union of fond childhood memories with facing his future head-on. Even the very first notes of the album are a dissonant cacophony of MIDI instruments, hinting of the messaging to come.

‘Pollen for the Bees’, quite possibly my favorite Dessiderium song to date, is an exemplary showing of Haddad’s sprawling songwriting. Instrumentally, it’s the heaviest and most grandiose on Keys, while also showcasing the perfect blending of black metal a la blog favorite, Hands of Despair. ‘Pollen for the Bees’ is a perfect midpoint following two songs that showcase Haddad at some of his most complex and challenging riffing, and a great example of dissonance in the major scale that’s all over the album. After practically breaking through the sound barrier with relentless drumming and riffs, ‘A Dream That Wants Me Dead’ is a welcome slower piece, as the narrative begins to reach its thematic climax. It and ‘Magenta’ serve as a calm before the storm, with the narrator desperately trying desperately to keep his childhood innocence intact. The latter only begins to ramp up towards the end, with an infectious lyrical refrain and trem-picked riff sending out the song in style. 

The sixteen minute epic title track is where this album should collapse under its own weight. Beginning with a slow, ascending and descending guitar backed by MIDI strings, the song evokes a similar feel to Aria’s ‘White Morning in a World She Knows’, appearing to start and stop at a moment’s notice, expertly building atmosphere over the lyricless first four minutes. The sing-song section nine minutes in should seem silly, yet it’s executed incredibly. Alex Haddad knows ending on an epic is a gamble, especially after such a long album, and ensures that each section is as memorable as it is unique. The shredding guitar solo that comes two minutes after should seem over-indulgent, but it’s done with grace and never overstays its welcome. The section that dominates the last three minutes sounds like an overly happy ‘One-Winged Angel’ homage, and I couldn’t think of anything better to end on, especially with regard to the final bit of juxtaposing lyricism. 

Keys to the Palace serves as a warning not to get lost in thoughts of hope and better times. It is the story of a boy shown the future and trying his very hardest to fight against what is to come, only to eventually succumb to the perils of adulthood, as we all do. While the narrator does not end up becoming a genocidal emperor, nor a man who is too far gone in his own dream world, we can only conclude that the experience will have a permanent effect on him. He’s forced to experience his own cathartic moment, realizing that he will grow up one day and become an imperfect adult. Haddad doesn’t ask the listener to stay in their own world, but to experience their own catharsis through discomfort. This is a different beast than Aria, and despite the same creator, they set out to do very different things and succeed. Keys to the Palace has cemented Haddad not just as someone who knows the Opeth formula, but as someone who has created his own. He looked back in time, to material written nearly ten years ago, and finally found the place for an overdue emotional release. His mind didn’t stay put, and he was confident enough that one day, this would find its place within his own expression. If the Key to his catharsis was looking backwards in time, and warning against such things in the album itself, then I hope he keeps looking to the horizon. 

Recommended tracks: Dover Hendrix, Pollen for the Bees, Keys to the Palace, Magenta
You may also like: An Abstract Illusion, Orgone, Hands of Despair, Epiphanie, Cormorant
Final verdict: 9/10

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

Label: Willowtip Records – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Dessiderium is:
– Alex Haddad (Guitar, bass, vocals, strings, MIDI)
– Brody Smith (drum programming)

The post Review: Dessiderium – Keys to the Palace appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: screamo, chamber music (mixed vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Beethoven, La Dispute, In Fear and Faith, Astor Piazzolla
Country: France
Release date: 14 February 2025

Sometimes an album sinks its teeth into you and latches on in a completely unexpected way. At just thirteen minutes and three tracks, Même Quand ta Main Quittera la Mienne sank its jaws into my flesh as unexpectedly as a sweet golden retriever randomly taking on the temperament of an XL bully. I loved, and still regularly spin, Vivre Encore from the French quartet, but French screamo—even with gorgeous chamber instrumentation—had to be a fluke. There is no way a band with French screamo vocals could triumph on back-to-back releases, right?

Triumph Lorem Ipsum have. That I’d love the chamber instrumentation is a given, so let’s tranquilize the massive pink elephant in the room before discussing the composition further: the vocals are screamo. In French. And I can’t get enough of them. Maxime Foulon absolutely nails the full capacity for emotion in the human voice with his performance—singing about the heartbreaks and successes of parenthood. Even without understanding the language, Foulon’s eviscerating screams, aggressive barks, and wailing cleans evoke raw emotion in a primal way. While his vocals on “Tes Yeux Clos” are still impressive, the performative highlights are found on the back half of the EP. On “Et le Mal,” Foulon follows the rhythmic elegance of the drumming while utilizing the most of his emo-y cleans; accordingly, he takes the melodic lead from one of the instruments for the only time on the album by toning his voice down from the acerbic harshes. Finale “Tes Jours sans Moi” uses his voice to match the instrumental buildup, starting with hushed spoken word and only growing in drama and bombast until he lets out an anguished scream.

The instrumentation is simply divine Baroque-inspired chamber music. In contrast with the harshness of the vocals, the piano, violins, piano, drums, and acoustic guitars are playful in intricate counterpoint, but their defining aspect is a singular intensity I’ve heard in pitifully few albums ever—all of which I consider among the best of all time. Like Ad Nauseam’s Nihil Quam Vacuitas Ordinatum Est or Astor Piazzolla’s Tango: Zero Hour, the instrumentation on Même Quand ta Main Quittera la Mienne is at once extremely dense moment-to-moment but also in possession of an unstoppable sense of forward propulsion. The arpeggiated finger-picked guitar and pizzicato violin often herald the unrelenting momentum, and at other times the violin and piano’s fight for the main melody command the pace, starting within the first minute of “Tes Yeux Clos.” Lorem Ipsum also utilize changing tempos and dynamics to their advantage, as in the violent acoustic trem picking to start “Et le Mal,” the spiraling violin at the end of the same track, or the beginning section of “Tes Jours sans Moi” with its “Moonlight Sonata”-esque pace. 

As if Lorem Ipsum’s godly performances weren’t enough to solidify the EP as the release to beat this year, their songwriting is absurdly awesome, redolent of Ne Obliviscaris but in condensed form. For instance, “Tes Yeux Clos” begins alike “And Plague Flowers the Kaleidoscope” with its dynamic acoustics; soon after the first instrumental swell and scream, Alexander Foulon’s violin sweeps in with the melody, his style classical but raw like Tim Charles; and the final buildup of the song around 4:00 is simply sublime, leading into a crowd chant just like in “Libera.” Even the choice of chamber instrumentation equals to Ne Obliviscaris when they drop to just a string quartet in “Misericorde Pt. 1.” This is not to say Même Quand ta Main Quittera la Mienne sounds like NeO, per se (or at all), but merely to compliment them that their songwriting has truly ascended the mortal plane into that of the gods. Spending a paragraph comparing Lorem Ipsum to a band with which they have almost nothing alike is a stretch, but I struggle to get across how profoundly my taste this record is—how godly the compositions are—without comparison.

Why oh why must the EP be only thirteen minutes long? I need more, and while I love Vivre Encore, it simply doesn’t show the same maturity Lorem Ipsum display here. At even a prim thirty minutes of this quality, I’d be tempted to slap a 10/10 on Même Quand ta Main Quittera la Mienne, but as is, the EP is simply—and a tad frustratingly—not enough. Turning from so-beautiful-it-hurts to painfully raw in an instant, Même Quand ta Main Quittera la Mienne has snared me, the release truly unique and Andy. Of course, Baroque screamo hasn’t really been done before Lorem Ipsum as far as I’m aware, but never have I fallen so in love with a short EP or heard traces of so many other albums I love in a package like this. Même Quand ta Main Quittera la Mienne is at once transcendent of and blind to genre.

Recommended tracks: all three
You may also like: Ad Nauseam, Musk Ox, So Hideous
Final verdict: 9/10

Related links: Bandcamp | Official Website | Facebook | Instagram

Label: independent

Lorem Ipsum is:
Maxime Foulon • Piano / Vocals 

Arthur Deshaumes • Guitar 

Alexandre Foulon • Violin 

Bastien Gournay • Drums

The post Review: Lorem Ipsum – Même Quand ta Main Quittera la Mienne appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Prog Rock/Metal (clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Rush, Kamelot, Genesis, Avantasia, 90s Savatage
Review by: Matt
Country: Germany
Release date: 28 February 2025

“Strike while the iron is hot,” they say. It’s with that phrase in mind that we approach Shells, the surprising successor to 2008’s North. These late comebacks tend to be letdowns, with an ineffable sense of inspiration lost along the way. Luckily, Everon have always existed in their own little pocket of time, so even though we were still using flip phones the last time we heard from them, Shells has lost none of the band’s old lustre.

It’s probably safe to assume that most of our readers are unfamiliar with Everon, so to summarize the band: they are the brainchild of Oliver Philipps (vocals, guitar, keyboard,) whose work you may have heard without even knowing it. He has produced a number of European symphonic bands such as Delain and Serenity, and is known in the industry as someone you turn to when you need orchestral parts done. It is no surprise, then, that Shells leans symphonic, with top-notch bombastic arrangements and prominent piano equal to the guitars. Everon have always been difficult to categorize; they’re heavier than prog rock, yet lacking the ego of metal; they’re not technical, but one suspects they could be if they felt like it; and their lyrics are unusually straightforward and disarming. One of their albums will usually contain several different kinds of songs, from metal or metal-adjacent tracks to ballads ranging from the sappy to the sublime. Like late Savatage or X Japan, listeners must accept that they have no particular interest in Rockin’, but whatever they attempt is usually of impeccable quality. Everon is a band devoid of image or artifice; the project is nothing more or less than whatever Philipps felt like writing, and the only common thread is that he knows damn well how to write a song.

That being said, Shells is overall the heaviest Everon album, with a slight tendency towards their gothic side. There are songs that sound like Rush, late Kamelot, Devin Townsend‘s pop era, and even one of their Billy Joel-esque songs that were always my least favorite (sorry.) Listeners will be dazzled by a smorgasbord of sounds, like the odd-meter chugging of “Guilty as Charged,” the poppy-yet-refined “Travels,” or the Celtic folk stylings of “Pinocchio’s Nose.” There is a depressing/joyous dichotomy at play throughout the album, though even the major-key stuff is wistful. Each song packs an emotional punch, from the heroic first notes of “No Embrace” to the unexpectedly upbeat “Until We Meet Again,” which is a tribute to drummer Christian Moos who died suddenly before Shells could be completed. The album may have been already musically written, but this was such a surprising and touching way to do a tribute song. I got choked up multiple times during the album, honestly. I’m sure nostalgia plays a role, but also the presence of greatness. Philipps has a way of making things real, while other bands are putting on an act.

Of special note is the remix/semi-rerecording of “Flesh,” the longest and most epic song in Everon‘s history. This is the closest they ever came to being an outright Symphony X or Dream Theater-style prog metal band, with long instrumental excursions and multiple movements that pay off in a glorious grand finale. Rarely did the band ever go this big or dramatic, but it’s one of their finest moments. I would place “Flesh” right alongside those other bands’ best works, and I was worried about how a remake would turn out, but this version does have its advantages. The VST orchestra is modernized; the mix is of course much more robust; and the lead guitars have been replaced entirely with better performances. The original song has certain details I’ve become attached to that didn’t make it into the new one, but I think listeners will be fine with either version as their first. As an experiment, listen to the 2002 song after this one, and let us know what you think.

While Shells is in some ways a time capsule, it doesn’t sound old-fashioned or dated. The mix is a big improvement, and they did hilariously take the seven-string pill in a couple of spots, claiming the hotly contested trophy for “least likely seven-string band.” Notably, though, none of it comes off as trying to sound different from before, nor trying to recapture the past… Someone simply turned the machine back on after a generation, and this is what came out. You can like the result or not, but what you’re hearing is the real deal. An honest, fantastic album.

Recommended tracks: No Embrace, Travels, Pinocchio’s Nose, Guilty as Charged
You may also like: Anubis Gate, Southern Empire, Acolyte, Hemina, Teramaze, Ostura
Final verdict: 9/10

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

Label: Mascot Records – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Everon is:
– Oliver Philipps – Vocals, Guitar, Keyboard
– Ulli Hoever – Guitar
– Schymy – Bass
– Christian “Moschus” Moos – Drums
– Jason Gianni – Drums (tracks 8, 10, 11)

The post Review: Everon – Shells appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Melodic death metal, symphonic metal, progressive metal (mixed vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Septicflesh, Orphaned Land, Fleshgod Apocalypse, Haggard
Review by: Francesco
Country: England, UK
Release date: 1 September 2024

Immaterial Eden is the debut release from Melehan, a solo project of UK-native Charles Phillip Withall. An incredibly ambitious first offering, Immaterial Eden blends influences from symphonic metal and melodic death metal with intricate musicianship and engaging compositional structure to create an immense sound. From ecclesiastical choirs and lonesome trombone, to reverberant timpani and haunting, rich piano, this album takes you on a journey through massive soundscapes. Glue it all together with tight riffing and furious drumming, and you have one of the most interesting releases of the year.

Withall’s musicianship can in no way be overstated. He is credited as performing everything on the album, and he competently navigates his way around glockenspiels, synthesizers, strings, horns, drums; you get the idea. The man’s some type of savant—like Rain Man, but for metal songwriting. Immaterial Eden has so many standout moments in its forty-seven minute runtime I can hardly remember them all – but some of my favourites are the trance synth lead in “The Cost of Being Alive” (an element which is sadly never reintroduced), the Italian canto in “The Dark Prince”, and the melancholy solo horn section in “The Giants’ Gaze, Pt. I”. 

The album flows from straight-forward melodic death metal sections, to flamenco-inspired classical guitar passages, to more symphonic metal crescendos and codas without ever breaking a stride – I’m reminded a lot of an Orphaned Land or Septicflesh with more of a western classical sensibility, maybe similar to but not as frenetic as Fleshgod Apocalypse. The compositions are riveting, and the symphony instruments add a layer of complexity and sound amazing – no terrible MIDI patches detected here. And the horns are played so well that one struggles to tell if it’s an expression controller or the real thing. I also commend the lyricism, which for the most part is thought-provoking and esoteric. Thematically very introspective, Immaterial Eden touches on despair and apathy in the human condition with rather cryptic prose, but sometimes delves into the more mythological or even theological, as in the Latin responsory “O vos omnes” quoted in “The Dark Prince”. 

Still, no great album is without fault. One of the qualms I had with Immaterial Eden was with the inclusion of an overabundance of melodrama when sometimes the clean vocals are allowed to take precedence. The clean singing (which reminds me somewhat of Borknagar and ex-Dimmu Borgir vocalist ICS Vortex¹) might be the weakest part of this album as some of the harmonies are pitchy to the point of being wildly discordant², and I wonder if for all his merit Withall wouldn’t benefit from someone else taking over the clean vocal duties. On a similar note, the intro to “The Cathedral in the Sand” breaks the flow of what is overall a very strongly paced album with solo reverberant piano and lamenting vocals singing about haunted cemeteries of the mind and shrivelled leaves… Maybe it’s just me who doesn’t like emotional ballads in his death metal, but I always found myself skipping to the heavy part. And then there’s the inaudible bass playing. Not to say that this is an album where the bass is meant to shine, but it does become kind of a trope at this point. 

In spite of that, Immaterial Eden is a super impressive one-man endeavour, and I think I would struggle to find other solo projects of this caliber. The blending of genres is expertly accomplished in a way that seems almost effortless. I would love to know if our man Withall has a background in music because this is such an impeccably well put-together work that juggles so many moving parts it’s like a circus act. This album runs better than my city’s transit system, voted Best Transit System in North America in 2017³. A worthwhile listen for any lover of progressive metal and melodic death or symphonic metal. 

Recommended tracks: “The Cost of Being Alive”, “The Dark Prince”, “The Giants Gaze, Pt. II”
You may also like: Godiva, Sakis Tollis, Mencea
Final verdict: 9/10

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

Label: Independent / Unsigned

band in question is:
– Charles Phillip Withall (everything)

1. Can’t stand him ︎
2. See the 1:51 mark of “The Product of the Masterflesh” ︎
3. Which was a complete farce but this IS a great album ︎

The post Missed Album Review: Melehan – Immaterial Eden appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Progressive rock, synth-pop (clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Frost*, poppy Devin Townsend, early Haken, ‘80s Rush and Yes
Country: United Kingdom
Release date: 22 November 2024

If you missed Kyros’ fourth album Mannequin when it was released earlier this year, the first thing you should do is read my review of it, stick it on, and then continue reading. Go on, it’s okay, you won’t miss anything, I’ll just be reading this old copy of Playboy I found in a bush. 

… [Subvocalising]: What’s with all these naked women? Where’s Norman Mailer’s column?… 

Oh, you’re back, I didn’t realise! [throws the magazine out of a window] Where were we? The British group have cultivated a niche of their own, an unexpectedly brilliant blend of 80s synth pop and new wave with the neo-progressive rock of bands like Frost*. Their latest ‘mini-EP’, Fear & Love, an addendum to Mannequin, is a svelte package of two new songs, poppy banger “Fear & Love” and the more sprawling ten minute epic “Duchess Desire”, with an instrumental version of each in tow. 

“Fear & Love”¹ somehow manages to contain the glitz and groove of Duran Duran with noodly bass riffs and charming 80s synth chimes, and yet playing with some insanely thicc riffs, guitarist Joey Frevola and bassist Charlie Cawood positively djenting VOLA-style at times. The composition is an exercise in controlled chaos, random little guitar and synth licks interspersing themselves judiciously, a lively kaleidoscope of sounds, but without becoming busy. Some of its more chaotic moments recall “The End in Mind” from Mannequin, and both tracks, in the annals of Kyrosian history, throwback to the complexity of the Four of Fear EP. Are Kyros EPs destined to be the place where they explore their more metal inclinations, or is this a new paradigm for the band going forward?

“Duchess Desire” reprises a variety of motifs from Mannequin and perhaps beyond: both the lyrics of “Esoterica” and the vocal melodies, finds themselves transformed, remixed and renewed culminating in an epic lead guitar lick, and I’m sure there’s a subtle nod to “Liminal Space” in there. The sweeping scope of the track, continually building and evolving, recalls the lengthier tracks found on Celexa Dreams, and it sojourns through calmer moments, quiet lead guitar licks, and bombastic hooks; eventually the track explodes into frenetic shred and an enormous brassy-synth propulsed crescendo. 

Every aspect of Kyros is sounding refreshed and renewed; Mannequin remains one of the year’s best releases, but Fear & Love take things a step further, the production in particular possessing a little more lustre as Shelby’s already skilled mixing continues to improve; this particular benefits the vocals which sit a touch more organically in the composition here, and the low end which has a little more weight than it did on tracks like “The End in Mind” and “Have Hope”. Kyros’ continued evolution has been fascinating to watch. Go back to “Cloudburst” and you’re hardly listening to amateur hour, but the band keep going from strength to strength; Celexa Dreams smuggled a New Order sensibility into prog rock, while Mannequin felt like the energy of Frost* and Haken applied to the groove of 80s new wave.

The instrumental versions of the two tracks speak for themselves, but I confess to having become a little more enamoured of such bonuses recently. Disillusion released an instrumental version of their monstrous 2022 album Ayam this month and it was fascinating to be able to hear the little flourishes that become buried beneath the vocals. The same applies to Fear & Love; Kyros like to layer their mix with a lot of elements in a Townsendian fashion, and all the bells and whistles you notice here and there are more obvious sans vocals, testament to the intricacy of the compositions. And if that wasn’t enough, you can also do your own abysmal karaoke version over the instrumentals and who doesn’t want that²?

As a coda to Mannequin, Fear & Love showcases the band at their very best, and as a transitional step between albums it’s an exciting snippet of things to come. The star of Kyros, this unique entry into the annals of prog, just keeps rising thanks to a persistence of vision, to always keeping in motion, and to having hope. 

Recommended tracks: There’s two of them, pick one, then listen to the other
You may also like: Joey Frevola, Cheeto’s Magazine, Azure, Moron Police
Final verdict: same as Mannequin as I basically consider this an addendum to it. Yeah, now you wish you’d read the review I hyperlinked at the beginning, don’t you?!

1.  Am I crazy or can you sort of hear “Driving in My Car” by Madness in the intro riff? Replace it all with car horns and door slams and I swear to god they’d be similar. ︎
2. Me. I’m the one who doesn’t want that. Please send your abysmal karaoke versions to Kyros and not me. ︎

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

Label: Independent

Kyros is:
– Shelby Logan Warne (keys and vocals)
– Joey Frevola (guitars)
– Charlie Cawood (bass)
– Robin Johnson (drums/percussion)

With:
– Peter Episcopo (backing vocals)
– Canyo Hearmichael (saxophone)

The post Review: Kyros – Fear & Love appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: progressive death metal (mixed vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Opeth, Amorphis, In Mourning, Ne Obliviscaris, Insomnium
Country: Denmark
Release date: 25 October 2024

I claimed Iotunn’s second album to review because I pretend to be a sophisticate with nuanced taste, but I have to admit that I’m a bit more sophomoric than that when it comes to progressive death metal. I like when singer man is melodramatic and double bass goes blast blast blast and solos go weedly. Full disclosure: I’m a bit of a Iotunn fanboy, and my rhapsodic review will reflect that. Iotunn is tailor made for my taste, and their cosmic blend of Opeth, Amorphis, and Insomnium (Winter’s Gate in particular) is breathtaking every time I spin Kinship. 2021’s Access All Worlds was one of the most impressive progressive metal debuts in recent memory, and it’s safe to say Kinship exceeds my hype for a follow up. 

Anybody with a finger on the underground scene’s pulse knows the Faroese vocal juggernaut Jón Aldará (Barren Earth, Hamferð). His belts are bombastic and over-the-top dramatic, and his heavenly softer singing (on full display at the start of opening epic “Kinship Elegiac” or “I Feel the Night”) could lull a restless baby to sleep. Despite the standard progressive metal-length tracks and extended instrumental solo sections, Kinship always returns to an Aldará chorus, striking spoken word section (“Twilight”), or Akerfeldtian growl. He’s a golden talent, and Iotunn flaunt him. Even with a wicked instrumental contingent, the standout moments are nearly all choruses, an obvious rarity in death-tinged metal, but the hook of “Earth to Sky” hasn’t left my brain in a week.

I don’t mean to diminish the remarkable talents of the rest of the band, particularly brother guitar duo Jesper and Jens Nicolai Gräs. Their leads are as blazingly triumphant as Aldará’s, and their atmosphere building is in the upper echelon of metal bands. At 4:00 into lead single “Mistland,” for example, the two segue the chorus into an epic lead melody before blazing up a scale with heavy metal swagger—the solo in “The Coming End” is another stellar one. As for atmosphere building, the two often trading off with one brother playing spacious open chords, the other skating his way through tremolos or other little ornamentations. “Kinship Elegiac” has a Floydian edge near the end, and the transition to the slick prog rock influence is frisson-inducing. Similarly, closer “The Anguished Ethereal” takes a bit longer to get started than it needs to, but once it does its blackened edge makes it a fascinating closer and the most sinister work the band has done to date. 

As I mentioned, Iotunn utilizes a longform songwriting style that just screams “Opethian prog!” yet they don’t forget lovely choruses or motifs, never drift aimlessly through their cosmic creations. Whereas my biggest criticism for Access All Worlds was that some songs didn’t earn their extended lengths, every song but “The Anguished Ethereal” and the pretty-but-with-little-substance ballad “Iridescent Way” DEMANDS its length on Kinship—the album earns its hour plus runtime. However, as on Access All Worlds, Kinship can come across as formulaic. Every song but “Iridescent Way” is a consistent mix of the blast beat-laden almost-power-metal choruses, the chiller Insomnium-esque death metal sections, and the rad solos. I never grow tired of them personally since every single time I have an eargasm and leave my body, but the repetition bears a mention. The easiest fix I can think of is to avoid the slower-paced 4/4 march in every track; Bjørn Wind Andersen is a talented drummer, whose fills and blast beats are impeccable, so surely he can play around in more interesting rhythms. Variation in time signatures may make Iotunn’s third album flawless.  

It was exceedingly difficult to write this review because every sentence I wanted to write some onomatopoeia for a moaning sound. While I can step back and be a little critical, I truly adore everything about Kinship. In a year where few albums have truly wowed me, Iotunn saved the day, providing me with an absolutely awesome soundtrack for the final two months of 2024. Kinship is prog death at its finest, simply sublime.

Recommended tracks: Kinship Elegiac, Mistland, Twilight, Earth to Sky
You may also like: Barren Earth, Hamferð, Sunless Dawn, In Vain, Descend, Wilderun
Final verdict: 9/10

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

Label: Metal Blade Records – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Iotunn is:
– Jón Aldará (vocals)
– Jesper Gräs (guitars)
– Jens Nicolai Gräs (guitars)
– Bjørn Wind Andersen (drums)
– Eskil Rask (bass)

The post Review: Iotunn – Kinship appeared first on The Progressive Subway.