Style: avant-garde metal, progressive metal, chamber music, progressive rock, Romanticism (clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Rush, Mertz, Liturgy
Country: California, United States
Release date: 1 August 2025

What makes metal metal? Indubitably, it’s some blend of attitude, riffs, lyrical themes, instrumentation, and “heaviness” (that last one is to say, you know it when you hear it). Until 2020, I would have thrown in distortion to the list of essential characteristics, but Kaatayra’s Só Quem Viu o Relâmpago à sua Direita Sabe, currently still my album of the decade, changed that as a fully acoustic yet recognizably black metal album. New avant-garde metal band Rintrah push my conceptions of metal even further, abandoning even the harsh vocals of Só Quem. That’s right, The Torrid Clime is classical acoustic guitar, drumming, and reedy, belted clean vocals. So what makes Rintrah metal? 

Their unabashed veneration for the Romantics. I mean, ask anybody; Romantic poetry is hella metal. But seriously, since metal’s earliest days, its practitioners have been neoromantics, intentionally or not. The genre’s acolytes are obsessed with individuality and freedom of expression, an idealization of the past and the exotic (through incorporations of folk music, for example¹), and, above all, a singular desire to attain the sublime. Metal mainstays—crushing heaviness, screamed and growled vocals, blast beats, crazy displays of guitar wizardry, singing of gore and nihilism—all act to make you, the listener, feel small compared to the display of sonic power. As eminent Romantic philosopher Edmund Burke said: “Whatever is in any sort terrible, or is conversant about terrible objects, or operates in a manner analogous to terror, is a source of the sublime; that is, it is productive of the strongest emotion which the mind is capable of feeling.”² Like Romanticism, metal is, at its heart, a rebellion: against the shackles of a boring life, from the very start in the industrial hellscape of Manchester. It’s designed to make you feel something profound, with heaviness as its modus operandi.

Simply put, metal is obviously Romantic, and Rintrah fully embodies the philosophy more explicitly than any other band I’ve ever heard, so those dulcet acoustic guitars and blast beats are more than enough to be metal to the philosophical core. Rintrah’s Romantic aesthetic is, in a word, audacious. Adorning the album cover of The Torrid Clime’s is the 1818 painting Wanderer above the Sea of Fog by Caspar David Friedrich, a work which is literally first on Wikipedia if you search “Romantic art.” The lyrics across Rintrah’s debut record are pulled from various Romantic poets—William Blake, Percy Shelley, Emily Dickinson, Lord Byron, Charles Baudelaire, and Charlotte Smith.³ There is even a Mertz piece, “Nocturne, Op. 4, No. 2,” on the record fitted in as a mid-album interlude. 

So yeah, The Torrid Clime is pretty damn metal, although musically it’s a far cry from what I’d expect. There are no grandiose orchestrations here à la Mahler, Mendelssohn, or Dvorak. Classical guitarist Justin Collins manages to make his instrument sound like a harp, while Arsenio Santos on bass (Howling Sycamore) gives The Torrid Clime a Rush-like rhythmic edge. The vocals provided by Otrebor (Botanist) and William DuPlain (ex-Botanist) are also Rush-y, powerful, nasal-y tenors; like Geddy Lee, I could see Otrebor and DuPlain’s vocals being a sticking point for listeners. Yet their delivery of the various poems is admirable, with drama, bombast, and spot-on cadence. It’s quite the bardic performance, in fact, and one could easily imagine one of the vocalists with the charmingly strummed guitar lines traveling city to city performing their poetry.⁴ The guitar tones are succulent with plenty of technical embellishment, keeping the music quite harmonically complex. During the faster moments, like those in “Ozymandias” and “On the Giddy Brink,” I even hear strong hints of Kaatayra with the rhythmic intricacy of the guitar parts—not to mention the wonky rhythms of tracks like “The Chariot.” The compositions are also full of masterful transitions which perfectly underscore thematic shifts in the text, such as the transition between the main riff and the softer, richer one in “Fearful Symmetry.” 

For much of The Torrid Clime, the frantic blast beats are in wonderful juxtaposition with the calmer classical guitar and breathily belted vocals, but at times Otrebor’s drumming becomes completely detached from the plot as Collin’s guitar and Santos’ bass fall out of rhythmic contact with him—the vocalists are off doing their own thing in the stratosphere most of the time, regardless. Rintrah’s unique combination of sounds works in its favor until their delicate synergy becomes unraveled. Thankfully, for most of the tracks on The Torrid Clime, Rintrah stay in their lane, letting those euphonious guitar lines, thumping bass, unique vocals, and blast beats all interact with surprising cohesion. The tracks that change up Rintrah’s characteristic sound are also strong points on the record: instrumental “Nocturne, Op. 4, No. 2,” blast-less slow track “Mutability,” and a cappella finale “Into an Echo.” Even within the band’s focused sound, one can never know what to expect. 

The Torrid Clime is a unique album driven by guitars that sound like harps and charismatic vocalists who could travel town to town in some idyllic reimagining of the past. Fraught with gentle tension and unruly percussion, The Torrid Clime doesn’t induce the sublime as obviously as in lots of metal but rather in a wholly unexpected way; as I kept returning to the album, it revealed itself to me in the dramatic performance of the lyrics, in the percussive transitions between riffs, and in the complex, expansive chords. Rintrah is an intriguing project, undoubtedly not for every metalhead, but for those with an open mind and an appreciation for the philosophical, the sublime awaits.

Recommended tracks: Fearful Symmetry, On the Giddy Brink, In Tempests, Into an Echo
You may also like: Botanist, Forêt Endormie, Howling Sycamore, Kaatayra
Final verdict: 8/10

Related links: Bandcamp

Label: Fiadh Productions – Bandcamp | Facebook

Rintrah is:
– Justin Collins – guitar
– Otrebor – drums, backing and lead vocals
– William Duplain – lead and backing vocals
– Arsenio Santos – bass

1. The Romantics’ glorification of the past, promotion of shared heritage, and emphasis on extreme emotion all contributed greatly to the rise of nationalism. This is also how I believe NSBM became such a problem in the black metal world. Metal’s full embrace of the Romantics’ philosophy comes with its negatives, too. ︎
2.  From A Philosophical Enquiry into the Origin of Our Ideas of the Sublime and Beautiful. ︎
3. Rintrah don’t even quote some of my favorite basic-bitch Romantic poets like Colerdige, Wordsworth, and Keats. Definitely look into all of these Romantic poets, though! ︎
4. The bard is a common Romantic motif in their exaltation of the past. ︎

The post Review: Rintrah – The Torrid Clime appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Avant-garde, experimental, progressive metal, world music (mixed vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Igorrr, Wardruna, Eolya, Forndom
Country: Iceland
Release date: 14 July 2025

When you’re in the reviewing game long enough, it feels like you’ve seen it all. We’re within days of my third anniversary writing for The Progressive Subway, and 2025 feels like a wasteland. The blog is depressed by the lack of good new releases, the usual summer lull is hitting harder than ever, and I’m sifting through everything that’s available to review without enthusiasm. Insipid trad prog? No thanks. Uninspired prog rock? Not on your life. Middling djent debut? God, please smite me down. Sometimes you just feel that new releases no longer inspire you the way they did when you were a wide-eyed young reviewer with enthusiasm and hopes and dreams. If I employed a compass to point me to the interesting new releases, where would it take me?

Perhaps to Spaniard at large in the land of the ice and snow, Mario Infantes, formerly of baroque metal group Cult of Lilith, who has returned with a second solo effort, Bitácora (from the Spanish for binnacle: the casing for a ship’s compass). Exploring a range of moods and genres, Infantes melds a wealth of folk traditions with metal and symphonic influences, exploiting an ensemble of instruments from various countries in the process. The resulting concoction bears resemblances to his alma mater group, as well as the work of Igorrr, but utilises a rather different sonic palette. Singing in both Spanish and English (and quite possibly in other languages), Infantes leads the project as a multi-voiced, multilingual, multi-instrumentalist. He has a natural, operatic tendency, from Einar Solbergian high falsetto to resounding tenor, utilising Igorrr-esque harshes, layered choral harmonies, throat-singing (or close to it), and some more performative voice acting—moments of laughing, spoken word, even something akin to rap.

The instrumental bed, meanwhile, is a deft blend of metal instrumentation and folk instruments from around the world. Handpan features heavily, forming a raindrop dressing for the contemplation of ballad “Streams” and the Balkan lament “Notre Prison”, while a dissonant chiming gamelan underpins “Xhadhamtje”. At various other junctures, we hear from duduk (an Armenian double-reeded woodwind), bansuri (Indian bamboo flute), oud (Middle Eastern lute), zurna (double-reeded woodwind)¹, and doubtless more that my untrained ear failed to pick out. When the riffs come, they often have a rather loose structure, allowing Infantes to use them as an emphatic texture rather than as a restrictive rhythm that hampers the madness of his sonic science, perhaps best heard on “Cianuro”, where the riffs constantly morph, rarely repeating a measure. The resulting concoction is international yet seamless; while a particular section might sound Indonesian or Spanish or Eastern European, the totality seems borderless, the creation of a citizen of nothing smaller than the world itself. 

“Xhadhamtje” is probably the most avant-garde swing on the album with Infantes’ throaty keening and a palimpsest of sinister whispers and nightmare sounds ala Ecophony Rinne, giving way to an enormous operatic crescendo with help from shrieking guest vocalist, Stirga, and an eruption into metal riffs, all underpinned by a nightmarish windchime motif. “Muharib Alqifaar” opens with zurna, Phrygian wails and mysterious oud picking, before exploding into heavier and heavier riffs, and while the coda of Spanish rap feels tacked on, it’s mostly a very successful journey through Bitácora’s various modes. Closing epic, “Cianuro”, operates similarly: a nine-minute distillation of Infantes’ various idiosyncrasies, from balladic crooning sections to upsurges of manic metal. In these heavier moments, the guitar tone and prominence of the bass in the mix, as well as some of the operatic tendencies and manic harshes, have more than a whiff of Igorrr about them, but Infantes owns his sound for himself.

Indeed, it’s in his restraint that this is most apparent: “Sírenu” largely consists of Infantes and an oud with strings before its orchestral crescendo and a gorgeous guest performance from Sunna Friðjónsdóttir. “Away” relies heavily on handpan, much like “Streams” before it, growing inexorably toward a cathartically rhythmic, ritualistic chant. “Streams” is probably the most accessible track on the album, the swelling strings in its chorus proving genuinely stirring. Infantes excels at giving each track a distinct personality of its own, and intersperses the more experimental and heavy sojourns with calming palate cleansers; the softer moments are, perhaps, the album highlight, their meditativeness and sublimity proving a soothing palliative. 

As Bitácora closes with its conclusive coda of lo-fi flamenco and scatting, it’s hard not to feel like you’ve just returned from some astrally projected existential journey and come to at the corner table of a Spanish bar; after such a unique sonic adventure, it feels necessary to sit contemplatively for a minute or two. Certainly, Infantes is a remarkable musician and composer. And while the avant-garde scene can be demanding, and not every swing here lands, far more hit the mark than in the average work of this genre. Far too often, experimental composers throw everything at the wall to see what sticks, leaving listeners with an all too disjointed affair. But Bitácora manages that rare thing: an evocative, flowing listen with peaks and valleys, genuine emotion, and moments like a sonic punch in the face. A much-needed reminder that there are always innovative artists plugging away at their craft, and it’s nice when the compass leads you straight to them. 

Recommended tracks: Streams, Sírenu, Cianuro
You may also like: Maud the Moth, Evan Carson, Elend, Ivar Bjørnson & Einar Selvik
Final verdict: 8/10

Related links: Bandcamp | Spotify | Instagram

Label: Lost Future Records – Bandcamp | Official Website

Mario Infantes is:
– Mario Infantes (vocals)

With guests:
– Hrafnkell Örn Guðjónsson (Drums)
– Yara Polana (acoustic guitar)
– Gísli Gunnarsson (additional orchestration)
– Ásgeir Ásgeirsson (Oud)
– Sunna Friðjónsdóttir (additional vocals)
– Živa Ivadóttir (additional vocals)
– Simon Thorolfsson, (guitar on Obsidian I)
– Samúel Örn Böðvarsson (Bass)
– Daniel Þór Hannesson (guitars)
– Sebas Bautista (additional guitars)
– Tayebeh jourbonyan (additional vocals)
– Erik Qvick (additional percussion)

1. Infantes’ Instagram page has lots of great little videos where he demonstrates these instruments and talks a bit about them. ︎

The post Review: Mario Infantes – Bitácora appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Jazz pop, alternative hip-hop (clean vocals, rap)
Recommended for fans of: Thank You Scientist, daoud
Country: United States (NJ)
Release date: 13 June 2025

Being trapped here in the vast below-ground network of the Progressive Subway has its perks. Sure, sometimes there are rats, slime, and tyrannic brow-beatings to write our album reviews faster¹, but there’s also the priceless opportunity to exchange and deepen my love of the underground music scene by sharing recommendations with my fellow authors. When my colleague Dylan told me to check out Glass Garden a few months ago, their experimental jazz pop sound quickly sold me on the band’s debut album. With several current and former members of Thank You Scientist² on the band’s core and guest roster, the two bands are unmistakably part of the same family tree. 

However, you’ll notice one key difference about four seconds into the opening track of Desperate Little Messages, the band’s second album: namely, the rapping. Though many instrumental snippets on this album would fit right in on a TYS track, there’s far too much originality and eclecticism on display here to make “Thank You Scientist plus rap” a worthy comparison. Glass Garden’s sound is more restrained, and the absence of guitar in the main lineup³ or any real heaviness means that we’re miles away from any pesky debates about whether this is metal. Into this negative space, a rich instrumental array blooms luxuriantly into the forefront. Piano-leaning keyboard tones occasionally skew electronic, and bass, violin, and brass root a danceable groove. The two vocalists—one singer, one rapper—gambol over, under, and around the instrumentations, never quite overlapping one another.

The resulting energy is sprightly and spunky, but frontman John Kadian’s lyrics and vocal delivery don’t carry the same gravitas that I’d expect from a heavier proggy band like TYS or Coheed and Cambria. Rather, Kadian’s singing is youthful, guileless. “Crown of the Seafaring” and “Lighthouse” are prime examples: even as the lyrics are sometimes oblique and non-literal, it feels like Kadian could be sending us a late-night voice memo, talking through some loss or win or just trying to pin down the shape of a feeling before it slips away. While his vocals could benefit from more power at some points, the overall effect is charming. 

And of course, there’s the rapping. Idris Hoffman’s style is rhythmic and wordy but still casual and conversational, as it strays close to spoken word poetry. Some of the literality of a rapper like Aesop Rock is present, not exactly breaking the fourth wall but lightly knocking against it with a twinkle in the eye. In the midst of a flurry of f-bombs on “Making Space”, Hoffman lampshades the barrage by throwing in the words “expletive expletive expletive”. On tracks like “Kind Hand”, the instrumentals pull back to and allow the rap verses to expand and resonate, while elsewhere, Hoffman fades behind the instrumental cacophony. In the outro of “Wax & Wane”, the feeling of flooding overwhelm is more prominent than any individual lyric. Both vocalists tread a careful line that keeps their capricious whimsy from turning into a cudgel of zaniness. Some moments playfully colour outside the lines, as with the glitching distortion on Hoffman’s voice in “Will-of-Whispers” that evokes clipping.’s Dead Channel Sky, or Kadian’s delivery of his own hazy rap verse in “Wax & Wane”. But crucially, it’s never wacky enough to diminish the emotional sincerity. 

Not to be outdone by the dual vocalists, Glass Garden’s rhythm section round out the band’s core lineup with nuanced, apposite deliveries. Cody McCorry’s bass is deliciously prominent throughout the mix, capturing a sprightly yet effortless energy: those bass lines hustle underneath the action on tracks like “Wax & Wane”. Rather than destabilizing the rhythmic foundation, though, they pair elegantly with Faye Fadem’s drumming, which is comparatively understated where it needs to be while still seizing a few chances to dazzle (“Lighthouse”).

As on Glass Garden’s debut self-titled album, Desperate Little Messages also features a host of guest musicians. This includes a brass section of trumpet, sax, and trombone, whose luscious arrangements help to nudge the jazz dial up a couple notches. But in a key evolution from 2021’s Glass Garden, all the instruments are integrated seamlessly. Occasionally, this coalescence strays towards sameness; the final stretch of the album’s closer “Lighthouse”, in particular, feel more like a gentle fade than a final statement. On the whole the cohesion works, thanks to a lack of interludes or abrupt transitions. Ultimately, the direction is clear, and the ride is smooth. 

In “Sleepy, Hollow”, Idris Hoffman tells us: “I’m currently being wowed by how I got from here to there to here to where I want to be”. For their part, Glass Garden is exactly where I want them to be, as Desperate Little Messages is at once vulnerable and self-assured, with performances that are as musically tight as they are emotionally open. If Glass Garden can continue to iterate on their fresh, surprising sound, I’ll be on the platform waiting to embark on whatever journey they have in store for us next.

Recommended tracks: Making Space, Sleepy, Hollow, Will-of-Whispers
You may also like: The Psycodelics, Hard Maybe
Final verdict: 8/10

Related links: Spotify | Instagram

Label: independent

Glass Garden is:
– John Kadian (vocals, keyboard)
– Idris Hoffman (vocals)
– Faye Fadem (drums)
– Cody McCorry (bass)
With guests:
– Joey Gullace (trumpet)
– Patrick Higgins (saxophone)
– Ian Gray (trombone)
– Ben Karas (violin)
– Jacob Lawson (violin)
– Jenn Fantaccione (viola, cello)
– Angel Marcloid (guitar)

1. Just kidding! (blinks twice) ︎
2. One of my favourite bands, full stop. ︎
3. Angel Marcloid is credited as a guest on guitar. ︎

The post Review: Glass Garden – Desperate Little Messages appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Progressive metal (clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Dream Theater, Haken, Circus Maximus, Threshold, Voyager
Country: Finland
Release date: 16 May 2025

I know this will come as a shock to readers of a website dedicated to the progressive music underground, but I hate modern mainstream pop. Pick a facet of a song in the genre—melody, rhythm, tempo, etcetera—and it has all largely homogenized into a single mold flattened to a I-V-vi-IV chord progression¹ at 100 BPM with a bass drop targeting TikTok virality. I’m not so elitist as to call all pop music shallow or worthless, but when accessibility comes first, anything musically interesting to me usually comes last. With that in mind, I’m often at a loss for words to explain why I love progressive metal that has a semblance of pop sensibility. Some of my favorite modern artists—like Protest the Hero or Periphery—have a knack for throwing in a poppy hook at just the right moment to recontextualize a phrase or an entire song.

On that note, Joviac’s Autofiction, Pt. 1 – Shards appears to have tossed its hat into the ring. Taking plenty of influence from progressive powerhouses like Dream Theater and Haken, these Finns blend those inspirations with a flair for prog popification that’s undeniably catchy. So catchy, in fact, that I thought I might end up writing them off as cliché…until I saw their Bandcamp page include “addictive hooks and even clichés” in their mission statement. Turns out they got there first—and honestly, I can’t hate on the sincerity. Shards’ third track “B.O.M.B.” perfectly illustrates this embrace of hooks and tropes. In one of the transitional sections of the song, the lyrics deliver repeated, stacked rhymes that feel like they have no meaning: “Containing it, maintaining it, restraining it. I’m torn apart by gravity, calamity, depravity. It’s off the chart, and I can’t explain or give a name for this pain. I’m losing my aim. So I have to keep—” repeating the phrase. It’s corny and cringey, but ear-wormy as hell nonetheless.

Such moments don’t mean that the progressive metal that makes up the core of Shards is taking a backseat, though. The album opens with two instrumental tracks. The first, “Level 1,” wouldn’t sound out of place on Six Degrees of Inner Turbulence, with its flowing yet staccato rhythm, power chord groove, and organ-like keyboard accompaniment. Comparatively, the soft and airy textures of “Haven” stand starkly against the preceding song, but the piece serves as more of an extended intro to the aforementioned “B.O.M.B.” Later in the album, another instrumental track (“Level 7”) provides a delightfully heavy start, transitioning into an infectious guitar riff while a punctuated synth tip-toes over the top that will have you rewinding the track before it even has a chance to finish.

By contrast, what follows “Level 7” is a purely vocal track which all the choir kids should love. “Open Eyes and Mind” beautifully adds an additional voice and builds more accord each time the song’s singular phrase repeats. Which leads me to vocalist/guitarist Viljami Jupiter Wenttola: I can’t say that his voice has the most striking or distinct timbre, and on the lower end he struggles to get into the baritone range that some moments of songs demand. But, as “Open Eyes and Mind” and tracks like “Canvas” illustrate, his sense of melody and harmony is so spot-on that those aforementioned foibles hardly merit a mention. Wenttola’s vocal lines are the primary bait on Joviac’s hook, and I’m biting every time.

If you only listen to one song off of Shards to see if it’s for you, I’d consider “Shine” the album’s exemplar. The snappy riffs, sing-along vocals, and addictive keyboard motifs all take turns calling for your attention, and while the song is relatively straightforward in terms of structure, the off-beat main melody and tastefully shredding guitar solos carry the progressive credentials into this pop concoction. “Canvas,” on the other hand, eschews pretty much all prog sensibilities to create a radio-rock, quasi-ballad single straight out of the ‘80s—and I’m a total sucker for it. Elsewhere, Joviac don’t shy away from the more progressive elements of their sound and songwriting, and songs like “Burn” and “Once” illustrate all of it—longer compositions, unconventional structures, and even a tasteful amount of djenty downtuned rhythm to give the songs a distinctly modern flair.

The Dream Theater worship that Shards puts on display should reel in any fans of the prog metal standard-bearers (you can’t see it but I’m raising my hand right now). Many clean tones mirror the glassy sound of Images and Words, while several of the the low-tuned, overdriven guitars have a distinctly Train of Thought liquid smoothness to them. Varied and distinct keyboard sounds, and a bass that does more than just provide the bottom end also contribute to this vibe. And—not to put too fine a point on the comparison—the closing notes that ring out in “Burn” are a descending melody that will sound familiar to anybody who put “Metropolis” (the song or album) in heavy rotation at some point in their life. About the only thing that The Pull Me Understudies don’t infuse from the masters at any point is the percussion. By and large, the drumming is quite reserved on Shards compared to most progressive metal, making sparing use of flashy fills or heavy double bass precision. The drums are mostly content to maintain the tempo, keep things moving, and let the other instruments do the showing off.

Make no mistake, though, the influence from The Progfessors doesn’t define Joviac’s sound on Shards. Their blend of progressive metal and catchy refrains grows on me with every spin, and that medley becomes more its own thing with each and every listen. Autofiction, Pt. 1 – Shards doesn’t just flirt with accessibility—it weaponizes it. While I still have a distaste for modern pop, Joviac might make me stop saying that out loud if they keep twisting it into something this dense and nerdy. I’m already eagerly awaiting Autofiction, Pt. 2.

Recommended tracks: Shine, Level 7, Once, B.O.M.B.
You may also like: Moron Police, Maraton, Lost in Thought, Virtual Symmetry
Final verdict: 8/10

Related Links: Bandcamp | Facebook | Instagram | Website | Metal-Archives

Label: Independent

Joviac is:
Viljami Jupiter Wenttola – Vocals, Guitar
Antti Varjanne – Bass
Johannes Leipälä – Guitar

1. This video is still as relevant as ever. Things have only homogenized further since. ︎

The post Review: Joviac – Autofiction, Pt. 1 – Shards appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

No cover artist credited

Style: progressive rock, indie rock (clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Coheed and Cambria, Closure in Moscow, The Reign of Kindo, Bear Ghost
Country: Washington, USA
Release date: 6 June 2025

There are few bands out there doing it quite like The Dear Hunter. Ever since that fateful day in the mid-2000s when Casey Crescenzo left his post-hardcore band behind in order to tell the tragic tale of a young man who journeyed too far from the riverside, they’ve been quite possibly the gold standard in crafting intricate, multi-album conceptual prog sagas¹. And yet, for all their sprawling, ambitious tales of pimps-turned-priests and dystopian ringed cities, TDH have also had plenty of opportunities to demonstrate their song-crafting fundamentals outside the confines of conceptuality, from the more straightforward indie rock of Migrant to the partially fan-sourced experimentations of All Is as All Shall Be. While the band’s latest EP continues in this vein, both it and its companion documentary offer a glimpse into another, heretofore underappreciated facet of the band: namely, that these guys are a very silly bunch of dorks.

For those unfamiliar, the “documentary” of the band’s 2023 North American tour only pretends to be a documentary for roughly its first fifteen minutes. From there, it morphs into a bizarre, surrealist horror-comedy about the band hiring an eccentric writer named Gleeb (basically Borat if he were a bearded homeless guy that yelled at seagulls) to chronicle the tour, and all of the strange goings-on that follow. In short, it absolutely does not take itself seriously, and looking at the titles of the five new tunes spawned forth from its soundtrack, including “Shlammin’ Salmon” and “Burritokyo”, one would logically consider that the North American EP would be a similarly absurd bit of goofing off, an inessential throwaway recorded on a whim to tide fans over while waiting for their next proper opus, Sunya. And while that’s not entirely false, such blithe dismissal forgets that The Dear Hunter are still just a damn talented rock band at their core, and they make better music goofing off than most bands do when they’re trying their hardest.

In terms of genre, the North American EP is fairly consistent with the band’s recent projects, mixing the spacey “future funk” synths and snappy rhythms of Antimai with the looser, more psychedelic rock vibes of Casey’s solo work as Honorary Astronaut. It’s still a decidedly singular sound, but nothing too strange given the sizable spectrum of style that TDH have covered over the course of their career. The arrangements are as lush and gorgeously maximalist as ever, with Rob Parr and Max Tousseau joining Casey in adding in layer after layer of guitars, keyboards, and backing vocals that show the continued influence of Queen and Pet Sounds-era Beach Boys². This fullness of sound elevates the otherwise straightforward (albeit kickass) rock and roll of “Four Amigos” with walls of organ and tight vocal harmonies and enables floaty, spacey closer “Burritokyo” to fully envelop the listener like a warm tortilla. A cosmic tortilla, made of, uh… stardust. And dreams.

Beneath all of that signature flash, of course, the fundamentals of the band’s songcraft are as strong as ever, delivering eminently memorable melodic moments one after the other while the rhythm section of the two Nicks (Sollecito and Crescenzo on bass and drums, respectively) pulls the music inexorably forward with a technical tightness that never slips into self-indulgence³. This especially shows on the more ambitious, Antimai-esque tracks, namely “Classic Wrock” and album highlight “Shlammin’ Salmon”. The former dances through intricate rhythms and switchups, including an excellent prechorus that recalls “Ring 6- LoTown” from the last album, on its way to a powerhouse conclusion that shows Casey’s signature tenor rasp in fine form. The latter, meanwhile, is an absolute masterclass in developing melodic and dynamic peaks and valleys over a single, rock-solid groove – that is, until said groove drops out from under the listener in its final minute, shifting into an absolute banger half-time finale laden with massive big-band horns, killer guitar work, and enough raw swagger to make me want to dance around my room despite still not being quite sure what its time signature is in spots.

So far as flaws go, there really isn’t much here I can point to as actively disappointing. I suppose “Magic Beans” gets the EP off to a somewhat shaky start with its weird vocoder-and-synth intro, and though the song proper is a solidly psychedelic tune with great guitar work and some shockingly beefy low notes from Casey, it’s probably the least strong of the five. I’d also say that, while the lyrics (particularly “Four Amigos”) are as lexically dense and packed with alliteration and consonance as ever, I find myself missing that certain clarity of conceptual concreteness that comes from Casey creating something that’s, well, conceptual. Without a storyline or setting, a lot of the words on here come off as fuzzy gestures toward vague vibe and metaphor – not surprising given that most of these songs were designed to also feature as instrumental soundtrack pieces, but it does mean that nothing here hits with the emotional force of, say, “Black Sandy Beaches” or “Light” off the Acts. 

Is the North American EP a must-listen entry into The Dear Hunter‘s discography capable of standing alongside the masterpieces of their existing catalog? Of course not, and it’s not trying to be. What it’s trying to be is a fun little collection of five enjoyable songs for fans of the band to rock out to, and in that regard, it succeeds admirably. I wouldn’t recommend it as anyone’s jumping-in point to start with the band’s music in earnest, but being inessential is a far cry from being low in quality. Casey has called this EP “a group of songs that exist in a pretty narrow context that we decided to share”, a straightforward snapshot of where the band was at rather than any statement about where they’re headed, and based on that I eagerly anticipate Sunya absolutely blindsiding us all. Let’s just hope they don’t give ten euro to any more suspicious-looking bearded fellows in the meantime.

Recommended tracks: Shlammin’ Salmon, Burritokyo
You may also like: Meer, Dim Gray, The Circle of Wonders, Good NightOwl
Final verdict: 8/10

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

Label: Cave and Canary Goods – Bandcamp | Official Website

The Dear Hunter is:
– Casey Crescenzo (lead vocals, guitars, keyboards)
– Rob Parr (guitars, keyboards, backing vocals)
– Max Tousseau (guitars, keyboards, backing vocals)
– Nick Sollecito (bass)
– Nick Crescenzo (drums, percussion)

1. One could argue that Ayreon and eventual tour partners Coheed and Cambria did the multi-album opus thing beforehand, but neither has come close to the density of leitmotif nor the narrative clarity that The Acts display. Nobody’s ever needed to wait for a graphic novel to release in order to make heads or tails of a TDH album’s plot, just saying. ︎
2. RIP Brian Wilson ︎
3. Big Nick does not get a drum solo on this EP. Tragic, I know. ︎

The post Review: The Dear Hunter – North American EP appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: progressive death metal, doom metal (harsh vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Blood Incantation, Tomb Mold, Esoteric
Country: New York, United States
Release date: 30 May 2025

When I was fourteen—ready to start high school baseball and with aspirations of playing beyond—I totaled my shoulder: my growth plate separated and fractured (colloquially known as Little League shoulder), and I had recurrent biceps tendinitis during recovery. Years of physical therapy didn’t fully fix it, so my baseball career was over just as it was going to truly begin. Seven years ago, while recording Weeping Sore’s debut False Confession, guitarist and vocalist Doug Moore seriously injured his shoulder, leaving him unable to play guitar. Many of his frustrations and pains are easy for me to empathize with, but some of what Moore was feeling I can only imagine. Planning on going to law school after his graduation from an Ivy league, Moore veered paths to become a full time death metal vocalist and guitarist (for Pyrrhon, Seputus, recently Scarcity). Famously a tenuous, financially risky career, pursuing music couldn’t have been an easy choice for Moore. Thus, by losing out on a fundamental asset to his livelihood and passion—the ability to play guitar—Moore’s late nights of shoulder pain must have been filled with potential regrets along with the typical pesky discouragements of recovery. 

Born of six years of work and bestowed with a fitting title, The Convalescence Agonies is Moore’s triumphant yet deliberate return to guitar playing and a sonic diary of his recovery of sorts, written during the excruciating reunion with his guitar. Doom-y riffs lurch forward in tumultuous, lumpy strides, utilizing both shimmering, bright tones (“Empty Vessel Hymn”) and tasteful amplifier feedback (“Pleading for the Scythe”) in equal measure for that sweet juxtaposition between heartaching beauty and pain. Despite the extended time away from his instrument, Moore’s guitar playing would have you believe it’s an extension of his body on The Convalescence Agonies. The mixing and mastering from Chris Grigg and Greg Chandler capture the earthiness of Moore’s guitar tones while the lead guitars absolutely sing when they appear—there is a guitar lead in “Sprawl in the City of Sorrow” that somehow feels as vibrant as a trumpet during the best climax on the album, and the main riff of “Empty Vessel Hymn” is a gilded swing with the most succulent guitar tone on a doom metal record since Worm’s half of the Starpath split. I even hear hints of Schuldiner in Moore’s playing on The Convalescence Agonies.

Delivered through a mix of septic, cavernous gurgles and acerbically vitriolic shrieks, Moore’s imagery in the record’s lyrics—long one of his strongest attributes as a musician and band leader—details chronic pain, as well as the physical and mental transformations that go along with it. Fading in and out of metaphor and bitter dysphemism, Moore gets his point across clearly yet artfully. Together with Steve Schwegler’s drumming, the vocals on The Convalescence Agonies ground the record and help the record effortlessly transition between doom metal to death metal. Swirling and blasty drums and piercing highs announce the arrival of death metal sections like clockwork, with cascading pounding on the drums and vocals from the nadir of Moore’s extensive range heralding the decadently heavy doom metal. 

With a dramatic flair, Weeping Sores incorporate Annie Blythe’s cello into several tracks, adding luxurious texture to the songs. The epic title track features my favorite moment on the record as Blythe imposes herself atop a blackened storm of tremolos, the effect similar to Ne Obliviscaris sans clean vocals. In addition to Blythe’s contributions, Brendon Randall-Myers (Scarcity) guests on nearly every track as a keyboard player for Weeping Sores; his spooky tones contribute to a haunting atmosphere reminiscent of Bedsore’s Dreaming the Strife for Love in their retro progginess. Randall-Myers’ playing is understated, relegated to the background, but it’s essential to The Convalescence Agonies’ atmosphere and mood—he’s sorely missed on “Sprawl in the City of Love,” the lone track without his feature. In fact, the weakest aspect of The Convalescence Agonies is when Weeping Sores plays into unembellished death/doom for extended periods of time. The proggy gothiness from the keys, cellos, and lead solos clandestinely makes itself an indispensable quality for the record.

The Convalescence Agonies is a record of passion. The suffering that inspired it and persisted throughout the writing and recording process is embedded in the album’s DNA. The songs are dark and moody. Yet, an air of triumph overrides the negativity by the LP’s end with the title track’s bombastic symphonic black metal midsection and climax before slinking back down into moody keyboards. Moore pours his heart into this record as he perseveres through chronic pain, and even without regaining full use of his shoulder yet, he has crafted an instant death/doom classic.

Recommended tracks: Empty Vessel Hymn, Sprawl in the City of Sorrow, The Convalescence Agonies
You may also like: Pyrrhon, Dream Unending & Worm, Civerous, Kayo Dot, Seputus, Bedsore, Felgrave, Scarcity
Final verdict: 8/10

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

Label: I, Voidhanger Records – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Weeping Sores is:
– Doug Moore – guitar, bass, vocals
– Steve Schwegler – drums
With guests:
– Annie Blythe – cello (tracks 1, 3, 5)
– Brendon Randall-Myers – keyboards (tracks 1, 2, 4, 5)
– Lev Sloujitel – prepared banjo (track 2)
– Pete Lloyd – additional guitars (track 3)

The post Review: Weeping Sores – The Convalescence Agonies appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Post-hardcore, post-metal (Mixed vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Rolo Tomassi, Converge, Terminal Sleep
Country: France
Release date: 25 April 2025

Our inner emotional worlds are an unwieldy, convoluted place: feelings never come standalone and can’t be neatly filed away, as they end up bleeding into facets of our lives both conscious and unconscious. So why should we expect that managing these emotions is a clean and regimented process? Sometimes, the best course of action when dealing with messy and intense feelings is an equally messy and intense approach. For French band Point Mort, this manifests through testaments to fury and exhaustion on latest record, Le Point de Non-Retour (The Point of No Return). Will we reach cathartic relief by its end, or will indulging in these grievances take us past the point of no return?

Intro “ॐ Ajar” transmutes Le Point de Non-Retour’s opening moments from bubbling inner tension into righteous fury by juxtaposing buzzing electronic percussion against sass-tinged cleans and distorted harsh screams. Vocalist Sam Pillay proclaims, ‘I LOST MY MIND’ on following track “An Ungrateful Wreck of Our Ghost Bodies,” and blast beats annihilate any semblance of restraint; out of Point Mort’s primordial sludge of rage emerges a stream-of-consciousness rarefaction of frustration and anger. Le Point de Non-Retour is a blender of post-hardcore intensity, post-metal contemplations, and straightforward hardcore punk assaults. Chunks of its constituent forms can be found in the suspension, but the product as a whole is one of its own, uniquely integrating elements of sludgy neocrust, black metal blast beats and tremolos, and slippery, undulating electronics that urge the listener to sway in tandem. On very rare occasions, tracks will reprise an idea or utilize a chorus, but song structures generally follow the inner train of thought that manifests when processing complex and extreme emotions.

Each track brings an ineffable sense of excitement and intrigue while retaining vulnerability in rage-room songwriting. “An Ungrateful Wreck of Our Ghost Bodies” is an act in three parts, beginning in excessive neocrust chaos with head-smashing percussion and rumbling rhythms. After a smooth and ethereal quieter section, the intensity returns in full—but in a more refined and straightforward form, creating a sense of drama and progression through a willingness to sharpen focus in the track’s final hours. The bite-sized “Skinned Teeth” brings a sense of vigor through the use of double-kick drums and fast-paced stuttering drum patterns, adhering to an unstoppable kinetic force across its short runtime. In contrast, the cinematics of “The Bent Neck Lady” emerge through a comparatively slower burn, beginning with heavily reverbed vocals and a slowly building drum pattern under smooth, swirling percussion. By the halfway mark, the listener is pulled in by a riptide of sludgy grooves from guitarists Aurélien Sauzereau and Olivier Millot, and near its end, a volcanic intensity is broached in repeated throat-tearing screams.

Le Point de Non-Retour’s sense of pathos is centralized in the vocal performance. Pillay showcases several styles, injecting melodrama through clean vocals, acerbic and acidic harshes, and occasionally veering into sass territory with a pouty and irreverent half-sung, half-spoken affect. Pillay’s harshes in particular are stunningly powerful, her eviscerating shrieks projected into an endless chasm of grief and consternation. Most striking is the performance that concludes “The Bent Neck Lady”; overtop wailing tremolos and blast beats, Pillay lets out the most pained and haunting howls of the record over and over, the anguish and frustration too much for words. The sass vocals work well in their subtle incorporation on the verses of the title track, adding a playful spin that almost evokes SOPHIE’s “Faceshopping”. A majority of the time, though, the squealy and sneering delivery ranges from listenable to tolerable, adding little more than texture to the music. I’d frankly prefer if they were either incorporated more regularly into the compositions or taken out to create a more cohesive mood instead of only being used intermittently.

Through chaos comes clarity—sometimes, the easiest way to organize ourselves is to malleate and rearrange the internals, letting things explode and seeing where they land before bringing the pieces back together. Point Mort’s Le Point de Non-Retour goes through a similar process of deconstruction, destruction, and creation, breaking down the fundamentals of hardcore punk, post-rock, and post-black metal, and congealing them into an unstoppable wall of visceral intensity. While the end product may not be rid of its inherent rage, the record most certainly alchemizes it effectively, embodying a much-needed catharsis by its conclusion.

Recommended tracks: An Ungrateful Wreck of Our Ghost Bodies, The Bent Neck Lady, Le Point de Non-Retour
You may also like: Gospel, Habak, Volatile Ways, American Nightmare, Tocka, Hoplites
Final verdict: 8/10

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

Label: Almost Famous – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Point Mort is:
– Olivier Millot (guitars)
– Sam Pillay (vocals)
– Damien Hubert (bass)
– Simon Belot (drums)
– Aurélien Sauzereau (guitars)

The post Review: Point Mort – Le Point de Non-Retour appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Dissonant death metal, technical death metal (harsh vocals)
For fans of: Artificial Brain, Ulcerate, Gorguts
Country: California, United States
Release date: 21 March 2025

Dearest Chairman Christopher,

It has once again come to my attention that the Subway’s Division of Psychological Warfare has received its quarterly budget of six pesos. This, as I’m sure you are well aware, is down from last quarter’s nine pesos. You speak of misappropriation of research funds, yet I distinctly recall the commissioning of a statue of Garm in our new headquarters. Which we still have not found.. Furthermore, I find your incessant demand to “not continue research on IQ-dropping dissonant death metal” to be more than insulting. As such, I will be handing this in as a response to the research on 4/4-time signatures and major scales, a treatise on a hive-mind entity called Burning Palace and its byproduct known as Effigy. Please see the tape enclosed and listen to its contents as you read this letter. I give this to you not as a gift, but in hopes that you hate it so much, I can be free of this prison known as The Progressive Subway, and my talents in IQ-dropping phenomena can be appreciated elsewhere.

My co-researcher Andy promptly gave this to me after your vile letter of demands, and mumbled something about how “the British hate dissonant chords”. I must be honest, I don’t know what he says most of the time. After the incident last week, he merely sits and stares at the wall, occasionally making cooing sounds when he hears a nice riff. Fortunately, for both him and me, the most recent transmission on our docket had plenty. Its name: Elegy, and rest assured, you will hate this.

Allow me to explain this phenomenon to your soft, malleable brain. Burning Palace occupies the space of their aural brethren, Artificial Brain, with dashes of influence from the transmitters known as Sunless. This aural oddity has effected our test subjects in similar ways to the mighty Replicant, sending our unwilling participants into a blind, frenzied rage upon listening. Chairman, you do not understand the freedom that comes with hearing a riff like the one that starts ‘Birthing Uncertainty’. The absolute bliss of unlocking that primal state of man is something you and your “pop sensibilities” could never understand. You hear screeching guitar, gurgling and banging drums, but what I hear in this opening song is a knack for song structure.

Burning Palace are akin to Ulcerate in that structure and atmosphere triumph over all in dissodeath. Too often do these bands find themselves tangled in a web of their own minor intervals and tritones, forgetting that sometimes, a headbanging riff solves all. ‘Transversing the Black Arc’ gave our test subjects seven straight minutes of headbanging, arpeggiated riffing and blackened, foggy atmosphere. At approximately four-and-a-half minutes, one test subject burst into flames from the song’s title drop and the godly riff that’s underneath it. The transmission’s blackened atmosphere is on full display here, recalling barren technological hellscapes not unlike what the intern Justin’s office looked like after his first day. Despite the more cerebral nature of the seven-minute opus, Burning Palace proceed with ‘Suspended in Emptiness’ which rid our subjects’ brains of any wrinkles they may have had left. What starts as a jaunty bass riff becomes a rampaging, blast-beat laden verse that evolves into lead work that I’d dare to call catchy and melodic.

There is little fat nor filler to be found on Elegy, with the transmission being a tight forty-four minutes long. The only flaw I can possibly find is the sheer primal aggression of our subjects began to wane at the closing title-track, which may either be from exhaustion or recovery from the four-hit combo prior. ‘Sunken Veil’ is sure to leave you convulsing and bleeding from the eyes with its sprawling, heavy chugs and bass-tapping, so perhaps ‘Elegy’ is there as a means to attempt to recover one’s sanity at the end of this transmission. If you’ve made it that far and not lost your mind, dear Chairman, then perhaps you are stronger than I perceived.

Consider this my letter of emancipation from your clutches and “genre diversity”. You will rue the day you asked me to research anything but the most brutal music possible, and I hope this is a lesson to you and your kin. The Progressive Subway has made itself an arch-nemesis in my name, one who understands the inner complexities of transmission such as Burning Palace. You must understand, though you may hate this immensely, I find it to be a mark of what happens when your IQ drops low enough. You sit and talk of “no more metal”, but I then ask you, what would your world look like without chugs or screams? Think on it, Chairman.

Your slave and enemy,

Head Researcher Zacharius

Recommended tracks: Traversing the Black Arc, Suspended in Emptiness, Awakening Extinction (Eternal Eclipse), Sunken Veil
You may also like: Afterbirth, Wormhole, Replicant, Anachronism
Final verdict: 8/10

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

Label: Violence in the Veins – Bandcamp | Facebook

Burning Palace is:
– Chris Derico (bass)
– James Royston (drums)
– Josh Kerston (guitars, vocals)
– Ian Andrew (guitars, vocals, keyboards)

The post Review: Burning Palace – Elegy appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: heavy progressive rock, post-rock (clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Riverside, Lunatic Soul, Porcupine Tree, Airbag
Country: Poland
Release date: 13 April 2025

Sensory experiences hold tremendous power to recall memories from our past. Every spring, the first time I catch the scent of early blooming flowers in the warming air through an open window, I’m transported back to middle school and all the time I spent playing Final Fantasy X on a tiny CRT TV in the basement with the door left open for fresh air. Similarly, certain albums—and even whole styles of music—remain permanently associated with the state my life was in when I first heard them. Riverside’s music continually calls me back to my time in late high school, discovering as much Dream Theater-adjacent music as I could through free streaming on Pandora; so strong is the connection that any similarly melancholy heavy progressive rock puts me in much the same mood. Enter SubLunar, another Polish band with an equivalent penchant for sadness, putting forth their sophomore album, A Random Moment of Stillness, for our consideration.

It feels reductive to focus too closely on comparisons between distinct artists, but it’s actively difficult to discuss SubLunar without mentioning Riverside as well. At times, singer Łukasz Dumara sounds so similar to Mariusz Duda (Riverside, Lunatic Soul) that, on my first listen, I had to double-check SubLunar’s lineup to make sure Duda hadn’t secretly started up another side project. Beyond the vocal tone and delivery, the overall style and instrumentation throughout A Random Moment of Stillness is incredibly reminiscent of Riverside’s Memories in My Head era in particular.

Featuring strong bass and soft guitars, but with a lighter presence of keyboards, SubLunar have taken the dark, moody syrup that flavored Riverside albums of old (yes, I know, Memories was “only” released fourteen-ish years ago) and freshly mixed it for an updated interpretation. Although some barbed, distorted edges remain, A Random Moment shies away from neighboring prog metal influences while at the same time developing a cozy infusion of post-rock to further mellow out the atmosphere. SubLunar’s soft ensemble settles the listener into a gentle melancholy mood, perhaps depressed at the cruel emptiness of the world around them, but at least comforted and feeling just a little less alone since they have this beautiful music to appreciate in their solitude.

Supporting the musical mood, A Random Moment of Stillness presents a textual theme centering around contrast and self-contradiction as well as an existential sense of impermanence. Paradoxical phrases pepper the lyrics, expressing a fundamental impossibility in reconciling life’s pains and pleasures. Other sections create a split perspective, describing two slightly different points of view with successive lines that build tension in their opposition. “Falling Upwards” lays the groundwork with its oxymoronic title while clashing lyrical phrases like “We are the ones to stay / We are the ones to go” and “Apart / As a whole” build a sense of unstable reality where no single truth can be established. More than mere contradiction, though, A Random Moment of Stillness establishes a feeling of ephemerality, that our lifetimes and daily lives flash by with little lasting impact. The cleverly-anagrammed closing track “A Sun Blur” laments “Yesterday’s just a flame / A waterdrop in the morning rain” and later “Another day, another scratch / On the surface of the earth.” Whatever self-importance we may assign ourselves, the scope of time we occupy remains tiny and brief compared to the vast planet that surrounds and sustains us. And yet, this needn’t be a message of despair, as the closing stanza offers some small comfort: “All the moments, all the whiles / All the fingerprints of mine / It just couldn’t be / It couldn’t be / More alive.” As limited as our human experience may be, all the worth and beauty we need can be found within it.

If I have one complaint about A Random Moment of Stillness, it’s the lack of stylistic variety. Although every track is equally stirring and mysterious, they also all feel cut from the exact same cloth, like someone listened to Riverside’s “Living in the Past” and decided there should be a whole album of just that. While I understand the temptation, the uniformity is a key limitation of this otherwise strong album. Similar rhythms, tempos, and moods carry throughout the album, preserving the stillness for perhaps too long a moment. SubLunar’s performance flies by in a well-paced and enjoyable forty-three minutes thanks to the legitimately great talent behind it, but after hearing such mastery of one particular style, the listener is left wishing for a broader range.

Of course, it would be unfair not to mention the personal flair that SubLunar display, cutting through the repetition with marbled streaks of individuality. For example, the strong instrumental post-rock influence that takes over at the halfway mark of “Unmanned” sounds totally unlike the rest, setting the focus on a frantic, lonely drum part with gently rising and falling waves of pitch distortion, joined briefly by soft piano notes before finishing on a bright, piercing guitar solo. Łukasz Dumara sets a somber tone with his expression of the carefully crafted lyrics, but SubLunar’s unique character shows best during the lengthy instrumental bridge featured in almost every track. For example, “Attract / Deter” just before the three-minute mark—as Dumara’s heartfelt vocals fade into the backdrop, reverberating guitars echo his closing words “We aren’t made of stone,” reinforcing the message as the abandoned space fills with deepening ambient sounds and increasing rhythmic complexity.

The adjectives “calming” and “depressing” might not be common partners, but A Random Moment of Stillness proves to be a rare exception as it finds affinity in opposing concepts. Prog rock and post-rock vibes combine with thoughtful, poetic lyrics to produce a soothing yet emotional experience. Although comparisons to Riverside are inevitable, SubLunar retain a character of their own, enhancing the atmosphere with ambient and post-rock elements. The result, although backed by clear talent  in the performances, features noticeable uniformity in the rhythm and tone of each track and could be improved by greater variation across the album. Even so, SubLunar’s consistency provides a rare comfort, with gentle vocals pouring out deeply existential lyrics as accompanying guitars complete the dark yet soothing listening experience. What better way to contemplate life’s inherently contradictory and fleeting nature?

Recommended tracks: Unmanned, Falling Upwards, Attract / Deter, A Sun Blur
You may also like: Derev, Sisare, Inhalo, Hillward
Final verdict: 8/10

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

Label: Independent

SubLunar is:
– Łukasz Dumara (vocals)
– Michał Jabłoński (guitars)
– Marcin Pęczkowski (guitars)
– Jacek Książek (bass)
– Łukasz Wszołek (drums)

The post Review: SubLunar – A Random Moment of Stillness appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: atmospheric black metal, progressive black metal (mixed vocals, mostly harsh vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Wolves in the Throne Room, Panopticon, Kaatayra, Mare Cognitum
Country: Brazil
Release date: 9 May 2025

An artist’s first few albums can only be compared against the greater canon. For an artist like Vauruvã’s Caio Lemos (Kaatayra, Bríi, et al.) who has twenty albums under his belt, though, evaluating a new album against his own oeuvre is the natural thing to do. Further, his style is entirely peerless (after his first two more straightforward atmoblack releases), a signature sound permeating any genre he’s attempted—from his trance-infused black metal (Bríi) and dungeon synth (Bakt) to darkwave (Rasha) and a return to atmoblack (Vestígio). So how does Mar de Deriva stack up against Caio Lemos’ extensive discography?

At first, Vauruvã was an improvisatory project from Lemos with vocalist Bruno Augusto Ribeiro, melding traditional black metal with the Caio Lemos Touch— since metal and improvisation rarely go together, it’s certainly an interesting experiment. However, the first two albums under Vauruvã were among the bottom of Lemos’ releases in quality, slightly underwhelming due to their emphasis on pure black metal. Mar de Deriva drops the improv aspect of prior Vauruvã albums and instead approaches the average sound of all Lemos projects. I hear touches of Kaatayra, Bríi, and especially Vestígio here. The loss of Vauruvã’s distinct identity among Lemos’ various projects is a tad disappointing—I’d love to see how far improvisation could be pushed in black metal—but Mar de Deriva is all the better for it, easily Vauruvã’s strongest album to date.

Structured as a triptych, much like his 2023 album Vestígios, Mar de Deriva glides between ideas seamlessly whilst growing in intensity from movement to movement. The three tracks flow together as if a part of one larger epic, although they all follow an identical, predictable structure: a slow, folky start building into ripping black metal riffs, concluded by an eerily calm resolution. Mar de Deriva’s ebbs and flows are natural, and listening to the release is like drifting through a surreal dream—even the harsh vocals and distorted guitars merely add a hazy layer atop the free-flowing hallucination. 

Mar de Deriva has moments with the most ominous gravitas of Lemos’ career thus far, such as in the beginning of the album’s closer “As Selvas Vermelhas No Planeta dos Eminentes,” which is backboned by dramatic percussion and darkly cinematic synths. But contrasted with the obscured darkness are moments of extreme levity, full of illusive ethereality. After the initial riff-centered section to start “Os Caçadores,” for instance, the track pauses before erupting in a barrage of blast beats and harsh vocals over a tranquil synth motif. The ending of that track is almost uncanny with its subdued beauty, full of atmospheric synth, clean vocalizations, arpeggiated acoustic guitars, and bird chirping—how can music sound so peaceful and comforting yet strangely detached? Lemos blessedly utilizes his acoustic guitar playing at several points in the project, too, with the highlight coming in the final few minutes of “As Selvas Vermelhas No Planeta dos Eminentes”; the section is reminiscent of his magnum opus Só Quem Viu o Relâmpago à Sua Direita Sabe with its trem-picked arpeggios acting in harmony with the energetic rhythm. 

While Mar de Deriva features many of Lemos’ greatest individual riffs, his playing on opener “Legado” comes across as slightly sloppy; it doesn’t detract from the liminal dreaminess of the track, but the tighter guitar performance on the next two tracks is stronger. Lemos uses every trick from his extensive discography, but he underutilizes some of my favorites on Mar de Derica, particularly his ever-improving clean vocals. His lulling incantations are a soothing counter to his shrieky harshes and complement his synth tones.

Minor quibbles aside, Caio Lemos has delivered. Mar de Deriva is a wonderful record, its atmosphere utterly sublime. Vauruvã mixes stormy black metal sections with rays of sunlight bursting through the clouds, and the listener floats along in the dreams Lemos creates. So, although this record isn’t quite a crowning gem for Lemos at this stage in his career, its diaphanous beauty through searing riffs successfully combines some of the best traits across his body of work to an indisputably excellent result. There is no other artist like Caio Lemos—no artist who drops masterpieces seemingly at will. This is yet another.

Recommended tracks: Os Caçadores, As Selvas Vermelhas No Planeta dos Eminentes
You may also like: Bríi, Negura Bunget, Vestígio, Salqiu
Final verdict: 8/10

Related links: Bandcamp | Instagram | Metal-Archives

Label: independent

Vauruvã is:
– Caio Lemos (instruments)
– Bruno Augusto Ribeiro (vocals)

The post Review: Vauruvã – Mar de Deriva appeared first on The Progressive Subway.