Style: raw black metal, post-black metal, Son Cubano (mixed vocals, mostly harsh vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Sadness, Buena Vista Social Club, Willie Colón, Violet Cold
Country: Chile
Release date: 11 July 2025

One of my favorite aspects of metal is how well it can syncretize with any other genre¹. In my last couple reviews, I’ve done a bit of stylistic globetrotting for the blog, covering death metal mixed with Andalusian flamenco and heavy metal centered around traditional Byzantine chant. Today’s record of focus, To Escape’s debut I Wish to Escape, presents a new fusion: black metal and Son Cubano (Cuban sound). Interestingly, many Cubans no longer see the traditional form of Son Cubano (a blend of African and Spanish styles) as particularly relevant², as the genre has now assimilated into a broader range of Latin styles—mambo, bolero, salsa, timba, etc—to form the real “Cuban sound” of today. But both traditional Son and its modern derivatives utilize guitar, trumpet, and various forms of African and Latin percussion to form the instrumental basis for the style, and so the conversion to metal isn’t as far fetched as it may seem on the surface; however, converting raw post-black metal into Son is still no small task. Is one man band To Escape able to do that and become the next outstanding and innovative fusion act?

Well, no, and I think I Wish to Escape is entirely a false promise. Beyond too-quiet implementations of Latin percussion—snaps, bells, maracas, shakers, and güiro—mixed into the blast beats, as well as lovely acoustic Spanish guitar intro and outro tracks, nothing feels particularly Cuban about the sounds of the record. In the folk’s stead, we have a melodically focused raw black metal album with an upbeat twist. Relatively happy and nostalgic melodies are what David Sepulveda excels at, and unlike 99.9% of his contemporaries, the bass shares the leads equally with the guitars, the former featuring a shockingly round and full tone against the rawness of the rest of the record. From the outset of “Art of Their Misery,” addictively saccharine melodies with guitar and bass harmonies bleed through the speakers, and you’ll have riffs like the main ones in “Art of Their Misery” and “Desert in My Eyes, in Your Eyes I See” in your head for days…

… because of how repetitive they are. Sure, Sepulveda comes up with addictive leads and genuinely catchy melodies—despite some really unpleasant guitar tones (e.g. at the start of “Those Who Don’t Know”)—but he has a tendency to ride a single riff for ages. You’d expect a self-proclaimed post-black metal band to work with buildups more. I do appreciate when he throws more aggressive trem-picking into the writing to up the ante, as on “Desert in My Eyes, in Your Eyes I See,” but he plays around with slower tempos more often much to my chagrin. How To Escape plays around with form and structure more is in the percussion, where Sepulveda runs through blast beats and Latin dance rhythms with equal ease like a less-refined Caio Lemos of Kaatayra. Unfortunately, this is raw black metal, and the more interesting percussion gets lost in the characteristically fuzzy mix of the style. For example, you can pick out the bells underpinning the latter half of “Art of Their Misery” or the maracas near the start of “Path of Your Destiny.” I Wish to Escape is frustratingly unsuccessful at implementing its own gimmick.

Whether intentional or not, the record can also be a painful listen apart from the brighter leads and bass. Despite all the engaging and challenging drumming, many moments sound like Lars Ulrich on a black metal record (“Desert in My Eyes, in Your Eyes I See,” “Path of Your Destiny”). The guitars can seem drunkenly out of tune during solos (“There Is No End,” “The Infinite Chain.” The latter also has painfully amateur, emo clean vocals). Finally, Sepulveda’s harsh vocals. They’re a love em or hate em deal, on the visceral end of the black metal spectrum with a bit of a screamo quality. They’re certainly emotive—and he gets some entertainingly inhuman frog sounds out in “The Infinite Chain” and “That Unbreakable Chain”—but they don’t work well with the melodic quality of the music. 

I was extremely excited to hear Son Cubano in a black metal record, and now I feel like an unwary fish lured by an angler. My streak of compelling genre mixtures has come to a close. If you’re a huge fan of old Sadness, Trhä, and other rawer post-black bands, To Escape will prove a worthwhile listen with strong hooks and mostly creative drumming, but don’t go into it expecting anything unique.

Recommended tracks: The Beginning of the End, Art of Their Misery, There Is No End
You may also like: Trhä, Life, Kaatayra, Cicada the Burrower, Old Nick
Final verdict: 5/10

Related links: Bandcamp

Label: independent

To Escape is:
– All instrumentation, vocals, and lyrics by David Sepulveda
With guests:
– Additional percussion arrangement and production by Garry Brents

1. I’m still waiting for a tango nuevo + prog metal fusion, but at least we have Rodolfo Mederos’ lovely De Todas Maneras mixing prog rock and tango nuevo in the meantime. But I dare a prog metal fan to listen to Astor Piazzola’s masterpiece Tango: Zero Hour and tell me that mixing it with metal wouldn’t work amazingly. ︎
2. For a legendary piece of a modern take on the traditional sound, Buena Vista Social Club’s 1997 album is essential listening. ︎

The post Review: To Escape – I Wish to Escape appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Progressive metal (mixed vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Dream Theater, Pain of Salvation, Redemption
Country: International
Release date: 11 July 2025

If you’re a band with a certain amount of cache within the scene, you can probably find at least one reviewer who’ll give you a positive blurb. Some of the lowest scoring bands we’ve ever reviewed have garnered 10/10s from a spate of outlets we’ve never heard of and who may or may not accept payment in exchange for positive press (unfortunately, such cynical industries do exist). Now, I’m not accusing Philosophobia of any such thing, but to the brag on their Bandcamp that their self-titled debut was given “numerous… 10 out of 10 reviews,” I can safely say: we weren’t one of them. Our erstwhile colleague Nick was obviously feeling especially mean when he bestowed a dismal 2/10 on the upstart supergroup. A rival review blog, who I won’t name, claim of the band’s sophomore release, “if Dream Theater thought they had 2025’s Progressive honours all-sewn-up with the Parasomina [sic] album, then Philosophobia might just have rained on their parade.” Well, as self-proclaimed haters, we gave Parasomnia a 6.5/10, so this’ll be an interesting one to tease apart.  

Joining the ranks of albums whose art depicts people with unexpected things where their brains should be, The Constant Void sees Philosophobia return with their edgy take on trad prog. Clearly rooted in the trappings of such 90s luminaries as Dream Theater, Pain of Salvation (Kristoffer Gildenlöw was bassist on their debut), and even shades of Symphony X, how can the European group stand apart in a scene clogged with bands getting dubious 10 out of 10s from unknown outlets?

After a scene-setting intro—echoing voices, sirens, doomy synths, a portentous voiceover about death—via the creatively titled “Intro”, we’re treated to a trad prog riff that sounds, much like every riff in the scene for the last twenty years, like a watered down “Panic Attack”. Utilising some harsher barks and gifted with a catchy hook, “King of Fools” may well be the heaviest and most energetic song on The Constant Void. Instrumentally, Philosophobia showcase a nigh problematic knowledge of the expected tropes as well as the talent to play them. Riffs like that of “The Forgotten Part I” struggle for identity, and solos are performed with aplomb but are unlikely to stick in the mind—it all feels somewhat by the numbers, if well-performed. Drummer Alex Landenburg (Kamelot, Mekong Delta) is the record’s most valuable player, his performance dynamic and energetic, cruising through enlivening changes in feel, and magnetic grooves that elevate the more lacklustre sections. 

Tying it all together is vocalist Domenik Papaemmanouil who possesses a rather nice timbre, but too often ends up straining himself beyond his own capabilities, leaning into an overwrought and somewhat pained mode of delivery. Requisite ballad “Will You Remember” showcases the problem elegantly, with Papaemmanouil exercising rather elegant restraint in the verses, only to sound like he’s doing his level best to cultivate laryngeal polyps during the choruses. For the bulk of the record, he tends towards this overwrought, overcompensatory delivery and it’s something of a chore to endure. Every mellower moment is a respite for the listener and, presumably, for Papaemmanouil’s voicebox, too. 

Nevertheless, with all this in mind, Philosophobia aren’t without talent and they attempt a few different ideas on The Constant Void with varying levels of success. “Inside His Room” plays with wide open chords and a fun lead guitar motif. “F 40.8” allows the musicians to let loose in a madcap instrumental piece (and allows us to hear Sebastian Heuckmann’s bass work, which is most audible here and somewhat buried on most other tracks), but the rhythmic bed is rather uninspired, despite Landenburg’s efforts to add variety. Twenty minute epic “The Forgotten Part II” trots out all the prog cliches: a grandiose choral opening, brooding 90s synths, harsh vocal sections, a piano etude, and a lengthy reprise of Part I’s chorus. Some ideas are less successful. “Underneath Grassroots” forgoes percussion entirely, centring Papaemmanouil over gentle guitarwork and a somewhat incongruous synth solo, but the song comes off half-baked. Meanwhile, “The Forgotten Part I” has a gothy chorus repeated ad nauseam broken up only by a somewhat ill-fitting, frenetic solo section. Many of the tonal ideas are hard to parse, such as the triumphal instrumental section that bifurcates the balladeering on “Will You Remember” (amazingly, the mawkish vocal sample manages to be far more endearing than most).

What’s odd about listening to The Constant Void is how Philosophobia manage to demonstrate clear talent and illustrate clear performance issues simultaneously. Take the epic solo on “The Fall”. Guitarist Andreas Ballnus opens with almost Gilmourian emotion slowly amping up the complexity, the rhythm remaining judiciously restrained all the while. The solo falters when an out of tune double-tracked guitar harmony interrupts the flow, followed by a cringe-inducingly uncanny tremolo section¹, after which we segue into a pleasingly Rudessian piano solo which allows keyboardist Tobias Weißgerber to really shine. Sandwiched within an absolute album highlight is a bafflingly amateurish double whammy of jarring audio choices. The artless transition from the piano etude to the heavy riff on “The Forgotten Part II” is another such moment which makes your ears prick up, the lunk, ill-timed abruptness of it proving a jolt to the listener. I’ve focused on the negatives a lot here so I want to reiterate that these guys are really talented performers; their sins boil down to a slightly overcooked vocal performance, a lack of memorability, and the odd mistake. Taken together, that’s a surprisingly marring combination.

When Parasomnia dropped, it became apparent that Dream Theater were cannibalising their own discography for ideas and falling into self-parody in the process, presenting a dull simulacrum of their own zeniths. The Constant Void feels similarly troubled but for very different reasons. Struggling to break free of their influences, to bring inspired riffs and melodies, and still prone to some amateurish errors, it feels like a better album is yearning to break free from this frustratingly unpolished one. Nevertheless, unlike Dream Theater, Philosophobia’s best days are still ahead of them, and a bit of focus and polish could take them the extra distance. None of this is making the next press release, is it?

Recommended tracks: King of Fools, Will You Remember, The Fall
You may also like: Pyramid Theorem, Need, Aeon Zen, Vicinity
Final verdict: 5/10

1. My colleague Cooper, who possesses much more guitar-tech know-how than I, adds that the guitars in the double-tracked section are both panned in the centre rather than one to the right speaker and one to the left. This means that a slight discrepancy in tuning, which you can hear vestiges of prior to the double-tracked section, becomes emphasised by the production choices. Of the tremolo section, he suspects it’s been quantised; that is, digitally altered so the picking is of a completely uniform speed, making it sound uncanny. ︎

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

Label: The Laser’s Edge – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Philosophobia is:
– Domenik Papaemmanouil – Vocals
– Andreas Ballnus – Guitars
– Alex Landenburg – Drums
– Sebastian Heuckmann – Bass
– Tobias Weißgerber – Keys

The post Review: Philosophobia – The Constant Void appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: progressive death metal, melodic death metal (mixed vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Alkaloid, Opeth, Blood Incantation, Persefone
Country: Michigan, United States
Release date: 13 June 2025

You see the over-saturated artwork and read the utterly inane band name. You think to yourself, “Here we go with another over-ambitious sci-fi themed zany djent solo-project.” Oh how wrong you are. The Biscuit Merchant isn’t a djent band but rather a one-man prog death project from Ann Arbor, Michigan, and Tempora marks his tenth full-length release since debuting in 2017. From the name to the spacefaring artwork, there’s an air of tongue-in-cheek ambition, but beneath the surface is a sincere and sprawling attempt at progressive death metal.

Despite being most easily categorized as progressive (and melodic) death metal, the fusion of genres that The Biscuit Merchant utilizes on Tempora feels a lot more like a tour of the metal scene at large. For every head-bang inducing chugger of a riff (“Victorious” and “Tempora”) there’s a galloping, power-metal tinged melody (“Kill Time” and “Amidakuji”) or a wah-laden, classic rock infused solo (“Uncommon Enemies” and “Judgement Day”). The eclectic fusion of genres ends up sounding something like Alkaloid meets Xoth meets Opeth, but the gravitational force holding Tempora’s disparate influences together is its vocal performance. Both clean and harsh, the vocals give each track a catchy edge that goes great lengths in making the album feel cohesive, despite never employing any overtly technical or flashy techniques. Unfortunately, for as much effort as the vocals put towards making the album’s vast scope cohesive, the song structures do the opposite.

The eight tracks that make up Tempora fall into two categories: those that roughly follow a traditional song structure and those that don’t. My issue lies with the latter. Tracks like “Kill Time” and “Celestial Awakening” each make use of a through-composed structure that falls apart in the songs’ back halves. Riffs are thrown at the listener, and not one seems to follow logically from what came before or flow smoothly into what comes after. This style can be done well—look no farther than BTBAM or last year’s critical darling Blood Incantation’s Absolute Elsewhere—but its execution here is too haphazard. The structures of the album’s two longest tracks, “Judgement Day” and “Tempora,” are equally hairy, with the title track finale featuring an entirely unprecedented three-minute surf rock segment that almost made me quit the album entirely. Ideally, a through-composed track has some sort of arc that allows the listener to form expectations about what will come next, and the best bands know when to conform to and when to subvert those expectations. The Biscuit Merchant leans far too heavily on subversion.

Thankfully, when The Biscuit Merchant employs a traditional song structure like on “Victorious” (a shameless rip-off of Opeth’s “Master’s Apprentices”) and “Uncommon Enemies,” The Merchant delivers solid and easily enjoyed bits of progressive death metal. While the instrumental “Amidakuji” goes a bit up its own ass with the number of solos and the intro track “Temporal Delusion” is just an intro track, they too are solid cuts that don’t crumble under unwieldy song structures. Noticeably, these are the four shortest tracks on the album, leaving the vast majority of the record to suffer The Biscuit Merchant’s songwriting woes.

Tempora is certainly an ambitious record, and adventurous metalheads may find individual moments worth dissecting. But for all its energy and genre splicing, Tempora lacks the compositional maturity to tie its parts into a compelling whole. Hopefully, The Biscuit Merchant lets his goods spend a few extra minutes in the oven from here on out.

Recommended tracks: Victorious, Amidakuji, Uncommon Enemies
You may also like: Resuscitate, Xoth, Witch Ripper
Final verdict: 5/10

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

Label: independent

The Biscuit Merchant is:
– Justin Lawnchair (everything)

The post Review: The Biscuit Merchant – Tempora appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: symphonic deathcore (harsh vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Lorna Shore, Synestia, Disembodied Tyrant, Fleshgod Apocalypse
Country: Connecticut, United States
Release date: 27 June 2025

At metal concerts, I’m much more of a “stand in the back next to the sound guy and headbang” guy than a mosher. Call me lame and not a real metalhead¹, but risking bodily injury AND getting a worse quality of sound just isn’t worth it to me; it takes something special to get me in the circle. Shadow of Intent in concert earlier this year kicked so much ass I ran around in the silly circles, even participating in my first wall of death—of course, part of the reason I moshed was because my Subway nemesis Dylan was present at the show, and I couldn’t pass up a free chance to shove him. I’ve been a fan of the (previously) Halo-themed symphonic, sometimes technical, deathcore band since I was just getting into metal (and will still argue that Reclaimer is a top five deathcore album of all time), but I’d cooled on the Connecticut group’s output since 2019’s album Melancholia—not for lack of quality, just a natural evolution of taste. Will Shadow of Intent’s new album, Imperium Delirium, capitalize on nostalgia and the momentum from their concert experience?

Imperium Delirium sure sounds like Shadow of Intent, the band continuing their at-this-point formulaic approach: bombastic fake orchestration, searing guitar solos, inhuman vocals, and, of course, breakdowns galore. And now on their fifth album, Shadow of Intent’s formula is tried, true, and predictable. The opener “Prepare to Die” shows off the full spectrum of the band’s sound with an over-dramatic symphonic intro leading into Ben Duerr’s shotgun gutturals, while drummer Bryce Butler goes ham. After a brief reprieve from the overwhelming wall-of-sound’s epicness, Chris Wiseman sets fire across his frets. The song develops a little more underneath a blazing riff until its ending breakdown. No matter how shreddy and cheesily orchestrated Shadow of Intent get, they never want you to forget that they’re in the neck-snapping business—and damn good at it. Unfortunately, every track (except instrumental “Apocalypse Canvas” which made me audibly exclaim “they have a bassist?!”) unfolds similarly, if not with “slightly varied” song structures—that is, where will the breakdown, chorus, and solo be this time?

As always on a Shadow of Intent album, the synthesized orchestration makes Imperium Delirium engaging and fun, as do the guitar solos and choruses with their cleanly screamed crowd chants. The orchestration gets significantly drowned in the mix because so many layers of instrumentation and metal are happening at once, yet their background presence is enough to make Imperium Delirium feel cinematic, albeit a bit played out at this point. Often, the album’s highlight moments are backed by orchestration, such as on “The Facets of Propaganda.” While incredibly cliche with its stereotypically Middle Eastern melody and instrumentation, the track is wild, playing with centering the orchestration. However, directly clashing with the warm cinematics of the synthesized orchestra is a horribly misplaced electronic keyboard sound that reappears over and over throughout the album, curdling the orchestration like a lemon in milk. For instance, “Flying the Black Flag” uses the keys in its initial breakdown, and in “They Murdered Sleep” they crop up throughout as a cheap sounding nuisance. Conversely, the real piano that Shadow of Intent are prone to use in the rare chill moments is awesome—the band should have stuck with that.

Unlike your average metal elitist², I love a good breakdown, especially seeing how pivotal they are to a deathcore band like Shadow of Intent in a live setting. Ben Duerr is a stellar vocalist with unreal gutturals and vowel enunciation, and he switches between several styles during each breakdown, from Archspire-esque quick-flow vocals to vicious screams and deep barks. Every breakdown in Imperium Delirium seems identical, though, undifferentiated from any other competent deathcore band. atop janky, unpredictable rhythms, and brown-note chugs. If you’ve ever heard a deathcore breakdown, all of the dozen or more on this record will be redundant despite Duerr’s outstanding vocal capabilities and Shadow of Intent’s symphonic schtick. 

Five albums in, and it seems like Shadow of Intent are done evolving. While their formula is undeniably solid, the creative spark of the first two albums ran out of fuel. Imperium Delirium is an entertaining symphonic deathcore album when that’s all the rage with the -core kids right now (looking at you, Lorna Shore), and the record is solid fun. And although it lacks the stunning and fresh ideas of Shadow of Intent’s older records, at least I know the songs on Imperium Delirium will be fun live!

Recommended tracks: The Facets of Propaganda, Apocalypse Canvas, Imperium Delirium
You may also like: Mental Cruelty, A Wake in Providence, Ovid’s Withering
Final verdict: 5/10

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

Label: independent

Shadow of Intent is:
– Ben Duerr (vocals)
– Chris Wiseman – Guitar/Keyboards/Vocals
– Bryce Butler – Drums
– Andrew Monias – Bass/Vocals
With guests:
– Corpsegrinder (vocals, track 7)

1. As the vocalist of Decrepit Birth did to the non-moshers at their concert recently, which is no way to treat paying concert-goers, especially when you play in a low B-tier tech death band who can’t produce an album well. ︎
2. Let it be known I am an elitist, just far above the plebeian average elitist. ︎

The post Review: Shadow of Intent – Imperium Delirium appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Artwork by: Eirini Grammenou

Style: Progressive Metalcore (Mixed vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Erra, Silent Planet, Thornhill (The Dark Pool), Polaris, Currents
Country: Greece
Release date: 30 May 2025

Little time was lost by my colleagues when it came to sniffing out facets of my musical inclinations. Some sides of a stone sparkle brighter than others, after all. As a result of their sleuthing, I’ve been dubbed “the metalcore guy;” a badge some may wear with shame, yet one I proudly present to the world. Works like Sempiternal (Bring Me The Horizon), The Death of Peace of Mind (Bad Omens), and Silent Planet’s entire discography rank amongst some of my favorite albums. There’s something activating about the dichotomy of hefty angst and (often) uplifting choruses, that vein of emotionality which inform the genre. Oh, and the breakdowns, of course. One can’t overlook a great, neck-snapping, back-throwing breakdown. I was thus presented with a recommendation: The Longing Light, debut EP from progressive metalcore newbies Nonlinear. Being the metalcore guy that I am, I accepted.

First things first. Please, oh please for the love of all that is right and good in this world, stop with the instrumental / ambient opening tracks. This is an issue that plagues more than metalcore, an infection of the wider metalsphere, and few are the bands who can properly justify the inclusion. EPs, by their very nature, offer limited listening capacity, and to waste one of those precious slots on such needless aurafarming veers close to criminal. I could overlook it if “Awakening” segued into list mate “Monochrome Chamber,” but it doesn’t. Instead, “Monochrome Chamber” hits reset on The Longing Light’s flow, offering up decidedly Silent Planet-flavored synths alongside a central riff that bends and skips like something out of the pre-Iridescent days. It’s a cool opening for a song, and feels far more natural than “Awakening.”

That said, what surprised me about Nonlinear is their ability to pull from a variety of different styles within the metalcore world. Most notably, The Longing Light features warping Silent Planet riffs and breakdowns (“Monochrome Chamber,” “The Longing Light”), uplifting pop-centered hooks and guitars à la early Polaris (“Reflections”), and the interplay between the roiling harshes and ethereal cleans courtesy of Erra. The record even features a trip hop-inspired instrumental at the midway point that calls to mind Post Human-era Bring Me The Horizon. And while this represents something of an identity crisis for the group, their newness cannot be overlooked. Hewing to influences is natural; metal of all stripes has been cannibalizing and laterally reproducing since pretty much its inception. Whether Nonlinear can shape these elements into something more recognizably their own is something only time can be sure of.

Where difficulties lie ahead, I fear, is less with appropriation of sound and more in the execution. To be clear, none of the performances here are bad, but neither are they activating in that special way great metalcore can be. The harsh vocals, while occasionally spicing things up with a good “blegh!” and a snarl here and there, come across rather one-dimensional and forced in their toughness, while the thinness of the cleans strip them of any real power. Yet, on “Reflections,” both approaches feel empowered by the Polaris-coded aesthetics in ways they struggle to provide on most of The Longing Light’s scant twenty-two minutes. Similarly, the music never really finds the hooks needed to grab the listener. “Reflections” probably comes closest, especially when it transitions from an introspective bridge into an ascendant closing moment as the drums build into a rumbling gallop around heaven-sent vocalization. Oddly enough, “Holding On” finds similar legs to stand on, despite being a short-lived instrumental; the trip hop groove and pulse-y synths forge an easy rhythm and vibe to settle into. “The Longing Light” seeks heartstring territory with its searching cleans, think-space carving breakdown, and writhing guitars, but never quite manages to pull off the sense of emotional authenticity required to succeed.

Nonlinear are trapped in a bit of an odd quandary. On one hand, their ability to incorporate various flavors of metalcore into their sound is admirable. But on the other, the band are perhaps using these sounds as crutches to hold up songwriting which otherwise lacks the necessary kung-fu grip. I’m a firm believer that iteration sits above originality when it comes to artistic pursuits. However, Nonlinear have yet to escape the shadows of their perceived influences and fully step into the light they long for, relying too much on recognizable moments to help them color within the lines of this largely paint-by-numbers sound. At the end of the day, The Longing Light is perfectly fine, but hardly essential. Luckily, Nonlinear have plenty of time to hone their craft. I have faith. After all, Bad Omens transitioned from a Bring Me The Horizon clone to writing The Death of Peace of Mind. Never say never. Keep looking for that light.

Recommended tracks: Reflections, Holding On, The Longing Light
You may also like: Save Your Last Breath, Artemis Rising, Simbulis
Final verdict: 5/10

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

Label: Independent

Nonlinear is:
– Konstantinos Chitas (clean vocals, guitar)
– Nikos Koudounas (bass)
– Alexander Louropoulos (guitar)
– Christos Papakonstantinou (drums)
– George Plaskasovitis (vocals)
With guests:
– Vrodex (feat. on “Holding On”)

The post Review: Nonlinear – The Longing Light appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Progressive rock, progressive metal (mostly clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Haken, prog rock Opeth, Porcupine Tree, Riverside
Country: Norway
Release date: 13 June 2025

What do you know about America’s tenth president, John Tyler? I’m willing to bet the answer is ‘not much.’ Succeeding William Henry Harrison, who died a month after his own inauguration, Tyler’s leadership was mocked for the unorthodox—and, at the time, unprecedented—way he had come to power. Fearful of alienating political allies, he kept his predecessor’s cabinet despite the fact many of them actively disliked him. At the same time, he took stances in such flagrant opposition to his own party’s platform that they tried to impeach him. Generally regarded as an unremarkable president with a few minor achievements to his name, he carries the ignominious honour of being the only president whose death wasn’t officially recognised in Washington (because of his allegiance to the Confederacy). You haven’t heard of him because historical memory rewards the noteworthy, be they good or bad. The John Tylers of history tend to be forgotten. 

Vying for the title of “the John Tyler of prog” comes Norwegian outfit Avkrvst with their sophomore effort Waving at the Sky. Like their peers in Altesia and Moon Machine, Avkrvst’s sound sits somewhere between prog rock-era Opeth and early Haken with splashes of Porcupine Tree and Riverside for good measure, straddling that thin marigold line between prog rock and prog metal. If my memory serves me correctly, we didn’t end up covering their 2022 debut The Approbation because the writer who had opted to review them suddenly left the site. If that sounds like an inauspicious start for Avkrvst in our dank, poorly-lit halls, then I’m afraid all that talk of John Tyler up top isn’t a harbinger of any improvement.

Instrumental opener “Preceding” gives a flavour of things to come: wonky time signatures and staccato riffing plus melodic lead guitar and synth lines backed by whimsical Mellotron. Like so many intro tracks, it adds little to the overall album. At least follow-up “The Trauma” gives us some galloping drums and a tension-building riff to feast on before presenting Waving at the Sky’s predominant issue which, like the band, we’ll avoid for a hot minute. Tracks like “Families are Forever”¹ and “Conflating Memories” offer us some melodic, almost Floydian guitar solos, the latter also featuring a spicy flute cameo, while a couple of synth leads adorn “Waving at the Sky”. “Ghosts of Yesteryear” offers an adrenaline booster of much-needed energy with strong riffing and energetic drumwork. Indeed, the rhythm section in particular excels throughout the record, with the low-tuned, Yes-inspired bass work (credited to both Simon Bergseth and Øystein Aadland) thrumming pleasingly in the mix at all times, and the energetic drumming of Martin Utby being the most obvious plumes in Avkrvst’s cap. 

These better angels of Avkrvst’s nature, however, are the exception rather than the rule. It takes Waving at the Sky five minutes to introduce the vocals, and when they do arrive you can see why the band filibustered with instrumental prevarication. There’s no sugar-coating the fact that Simon Bergseth’s vocal performance is bland². He invariably sticks to safe, tried-and-tested vocal lines, singing whole notes in a barely varying cadence and with a near-total lack of expression. Every note is extended long beyond the point at which any interest could be maintained and he never varies from this mode of delivery. Harsh vocals are used sparingly, which is for the best because they’re always superfluous to the band’s sound; Avkrvst don’t need them, and they hang awkwardly every time. 

“Families are Forever” is by far the worst offender in this vein. In practice, the restrained instrumental work, the low burr of the bass and the nuance of the drumwork, is perfect for this sort of track. But Bergseth’s utterly lifeless vocal melodies, which should be the focal point of this section, instead rob the song of any intrigue. And this happens every time, the band members almost sabotage themselves in trying to match the soporific quality of the vocals. Historically, I haven’t been all that kind to Ross Jennings’ guest appearances (will his turn on the upcoming Scardust change that track record?), and I’m hardly going to start now, but his cliched and rather unremarkable contribution to “The Malevolent” is leaps and bounds ahead of any other vocal performance on this record. Whatever mitochondrial deficit the band were suffering from heretofore briefly abates and the band finally finds some damned energy which certainly helps “The Malevolent” as well as Jennings’ chances to steal the show.

That same energy rears its head a few times and always sees Avkrvst at their most compelling. “Ghosts of Yesteryear” features some sick bass, animated drumming, and big guitar chords all with a flavour of Porcupine Tree’s iconic “Deadwing”. Strong riffing and an ominous lead motif with an almost saxy timbre all make for a standout track—like John Tyler’s annexation of Texas, it’s probably their greatest achievement on the record. Naturally, the vocal-led sections are still a dirge, but the band at least manage to vary the track enough to keep it interesting. Twelve minute closer “Waving at the Sky” possesses a certain portentousness absent from the rest of the record, and the sense of a compositional goal in mind. With a wealth of solos and ominous riffing in its instrumental back half, it’s hardly surprising that it’s one of the better tracks. But the track also features a moderately interesting chorus. That may sound like damning with faint praise—probably because it is—but on a record with vocal performances this expressionless, moderate intrigue is a win. 

Ultimately proving as insipid as its title, Waving at the Sky contains flashes of compositional talent and energy in an album that, for the most part, has a contrarian tendency to be uninteresting in spite of the obvious potential that occasionally rears its head. And yet, I don’t want to sound too harsh; Avkrvst’s main sin is John Tyler-style blandness, not James Buchanan-esque badness. A focus on strengthening and varying vocal melodies in a way that matches the rest of the band’s talents would provide a much-needed shot of energy to the compositions. Then again, why should Avkrvst listen to me? After all, a certain president never listened to his haters³. Can you guess which one?

Recommended tracks: Ghosts of Yesteryear, Conflating Memories
You may also like: Altesia, Moon Machine, Keor, Novena
Final verdict: 5/10

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

Label: InsideOutMusic – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Avkrvst is:
– Simon Bergseth (lead vocalist, guitars, bass guitar)
– Martin Utby (drums, synthesizer)
– Øystein Aadland (bass guitar, keyboards)
– Edvard Seim (guitars)
– Auver Gaaren (keyboards)

1.  You know who might have something to say about this song title? John Tyler! He was both the first president to lose his wife in office and the first to get married in office (to his second wife). Woodrow Wilson would later become the second and only other president to become both widowed and remarried while in office. ︎
2.  Unlike John Tyler, who reportedly had a rather pleasant singing voice and could play many instruments. Given how much everyone seemed to dislike him, we can assume he really must’ve been quite good. ︎
3.  “My own personal popularity can have no influence over me when the dictates of my best judgment and the obligations of an oath require of me a particular course. Under such circumstances, whether I sink or swim on the tide of popular favor is, to me, a matter of inferior consideration.” God, what a bore.  ︎

The post Review: Avkrvst – Waving at the Sky appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: symphonic rock, progressive rock, psychedelic rock (clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Electric Light Orchestra, The Grateful Dead, The Beatles, Love, Supertramp, Motorpsycho
Country: Australia
Release date: 13 June 2025

Twenty-seven studio albums in a plethora of genres within thirteen years—and no sign of stopping. That is the modus operandi of King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard. The genre-hopping gimmick and incomprehensible prolificness have netted the Aussie sextet an absolutely massive cult following as their work ethic and (apparently) riotously fun live act have captured the hearts of terminally online music nerds and casuals alike. On the Gizzy Lizzy’s newest record, Phantom Island, the group has attempted something new stylistically yet again: orchestration.

Originally written and recorded alongside 2024’s Gizzard version of boogie rock (Flight b741)—remnants of which remain in the new record—Phantom Island was deemed incomplete by the band, who enlisted Chad Kelly to compose orchestrations to be superimposed atop the original studio tracks. The result is energetic symphonic and progressive pop/rock, similar to Electric Light Orchestra. Blaring brass and uptempo hand drums create a full soundscape at the expense of drowning the listener in its cheesy outdatedness of Phantom Island’s tone (“Deadstick,” “Eternal Return,” “Panpsych”). Vocal harmonies straight out of the late 60s crop up all over the place (“Eternal Return,” “Aerodynamic, “Sea of Doubt”). Unfortunately, when frontman Stu Mackenzie takes sole vocal responsibilities, he has a tendency to slide into a grating, unrefined falsetto (“Deadstick,” “Silent Spirit,” “Grow Wings and Fly”) that feels out of place with the prettier orchestral arrangements on Phantom Island.

Chad Kelly and the Wizardy Lizardys’ arranging skills are at times brilliant. On the opener and title track, “Phantom Island,” a descending piano motif acts as a throughline across the jazzy track; the song culminates in a speedy, jam build-up, raucous yet focused. Tracks like “Lonely Cosmos,” with its acoustic ditty intro and psychedelic jazz conclusion, and “Aerodynamic,” with its excellent blues guitar tone, craft enough of an identity to stand out from the rest of Phantom Island—an album that, yet again, finds King Gizzard mostly playing firmly within their comfort zone.

Despite the different aesthetic surface differentiating any King Wizard & The Lizard Gizzard album from another, KGATLW know exactly who they are. Whether they’re playing with microtonality, thrashy sludge metal, electronic music, or spoken word, The Lizard Wizard & King Gizzard are the exact same under the hood; the group merely steal the aesthetic of a genre without any mind for composition or ethos. Phantom Island is progressive pop, jazzy, and, of course, symphonic, but at its core it’s another psychedelic jam album with the same structure as any of their other gazillion albums The record is utterly lifeless and boring apart from its couple aforementioned highlights. The horns sound forced, the record clearly not written with them in mind, and the songs that bristle with the most instruments are chaotic. Moreover, by the end of Phantom Island, The Lizard Wizards have basically dropped their schtick for the album, sounding outright like the psych rock band they are; I dearly miss the ELOisms of the earlier tracks starting at “Sea of Doubt” (although even those earlier ones often add a sort of ‘let’s-all-hold-hands-and-sing-Kumbaya’ vibe that’s a bit too ingratiating). Orchestral elements still appear in the later tracks, but they seem completely detached from the main compositions, like the afterthought they are. 

Y’know what might have fixed some of the fundamental compositional issues? If the King Lizard spent more than a couple months releasing an album. The ‘chuck every composition into an LP’ approach has yielded winners for the Gizzard Wizard in the past, but their discography has far more stinkers because every album feels like an incomplete exploration of a sound. Is Phantom Island a fun record? Yes. And I know that King Lizard & The Gizzard Wizard will continue to be successful because of that, deservedly one may say. But I can’t help but feel like this opus—like most of their others—is vapid pastiche as far as artistic merit goes.

Recommended tracks: Phantom Island, Lonely Cosmos, Aerodynamic
You may also like: Himmellegeme, Adjy, Kosmodome
Final verdict: 5/10

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

Label: p(doom) – Bandcamp | Official Website

King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard is:
– Ambrose Kenny-Smith – vocals (all tracks), piano (tracks 1, 2, 4–6, 9, 10)
– Michael Cavanagh – drums, percussion (all tracks)
– Cook Craig – bass (tracks 1, 3, 8, 10), Mellotron (tracks 1, 6), organ (tracks 2, 4, 9), vocals (tracks 1, 3, 4, 8, 10)
– Joey Walker – guitar (all tracks), bass (tracks 1, 4, 5), vocals (tracks 2, 4–7, 9, 10)
– Lucas Harwood – bass (tracks 1, 2, 4–7, 9, 10), piano (track 4), vocals (tracks 4, 5)
– Stu Mackenzie – guitar, vocals (all tracks), bass (tracks 1, 3–8), Mellotron (tracks 1–3, 5, 6), organ, piano (track 1)
With additional musicians:
– Sam Joseph – pedal steel (tracks 5, 8, 10)
– Chad Kelly – orchestral arrangements, piano
– Brett Kelly – conductor
– Tim Wilson, Lachlan Davidson, Phil Noy – saxophone
– Patrick McMullin, Daniel Beasy, Shane Hooton – trumpet
– Chris Vizard, James Bowman, Joe O’Callaghan – trombone
– Abbey Edlin – French horn
– Wendy Clarke, Lachlan Davidson – flute
– Natasha Fearnside – clarinet
– Matthew Kneale – bassoon
– Madeleine Jevons, Jos Jonker, Miranda Matheson, Ruby Paskas, Josephine Chung – violin
– Merewyn Bramble, Karen Columbine – viola
– Gemma Kneale, Paul Zabrowarny – cello

The post Review: King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard – Phantom Island appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

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

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

What does “prog punk” sound like?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Label: Independent

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

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

Style: Atmospheric black metal, dark folk (Mixed vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Agalloch, Pantopticon, Ulver
Country: Italy
Release date: 9 May 2025

While admittedly I am a sucker for head-spinning technicality played with surgical precision, there is a nagging sense of exclusivity to the elite performances of tech death and progressive metal. To play pieces by artists like Archspire or Animals as Leaders requires a level of dedication to solely performance, meaning that expression of ideas in this space is relegated to those with perfect timing or those who obsess over recording details. Many folk-adjacent genres, on the other hand, often revel in a lack of technicality or absolute precision in favor of a more ‘organic’ sound, choosing to instead focus on the intent of the music and let the rhythms breathe more naturally. Heavily inspired by Agalloch, a landmark band in this more folky style of metal, Italian artist Esox aims to tap into this sensibility through the murky and predatory depths of lakes and wetlands. Does the one-man project’s debut release, Watery Grave, engender these primal sentiments, or does it go off the deep end in the name of a chthonic atmosphere?

At the heart of Esox’s sound is the namesake pike, a menacing freshwater predator with ultra-sensitive attunement to the movements of water and a penchant for lying in wait for its next victim among aquatic plants. Melancholia seeps into every moment of Watery Grave, depicting the final thoughts of a man who attempts to end his life by drowning. Tracks are often introduced with plaintive acoustic guitars and soundscaping, whether it be rain beating on a lake or the sound of creaking wood. From its waterlogged base emerges black metal intensity, replete with atmospheric tremolos and blast beats in free-flowing compositions that often culminate in a melodic solo. Pensive folk instrumentation sweeps in to gently carry tracks downstream after an intense prey chase; truthfully, Watery Grave is as much dark folk as it is black metal.

Watery Grave’s most ascendant moments happen when the folk instrumentation is given space to shine. The blast beats in opener “As I Descend Above the Water” are cleverly springboarded into by acoustic guitars and the sounds of rain, and the extended ambient section afterwards is euphorically woeful. Esox effectively captures an aquatic sensibility in the instrumental effects, as if the chords being played are a rippling disturbance on a placid lake. My favorite moment of Watery Grave is the intro to “Livyatan melvillei”¹, which sits in suspicious stillness as an ominous whale call is juxtaposed against the sound of creaking; one can’t shake the thought that something massive is waiting underneath the surface for a moment of inattention or vulnerability to strike. The metal sections, in comparison, range from enjoyable to frustrating. The opener’s black metal aggression works great as a piece of the greater whole, adding a sense of aggression to the placid seascapes and building to a melodic solo in its climax. However, the climactic solos across the black metal sections run into an unignorable problem: they’re just not played in time. The arpeggios on “Esox Lucius” and “As I Descend Below the Water” are in a fearsome rhythmic altercation with the drums as the guitars can simply never agree to the established beat, as if they were recorded completely separately with no checking to see if they work together.

Don’t get me wrong—I absolutely adore Esox’s aqueous sensibilities, and I think that in many instances Watery Grave does a great job of encompassing the listener in murky aquatic atmospheres through ineffably organic performances and unsettling soundscaping. But despite all the record has going for it, the prevalent off-time playing is just too much, almost to the point of being able to predict when it will happen next. My attention during Watery Grave should be directed to the lurking menace camouflaged by underwater flora. Instead, I end up focusing on whether an upcoming guitar arpeggio is going to line up with the drums, trying to make sense of the arrhythmic harsh vocal cadence, or guessing how long it will take the left and right acoustic guitars to sync again. No matter how powerful your atmosphere is, too much rawness and imperfection in the performance is going to create an unintended dissonance that actively fights against the underlying aesthetics. Of course, I don’t want Watery Grave to be an ultra-polished product with metronomic precision, but I at least want to feel some level of rhythmic cohesion in the instrumentation, and these slip-ups happen just often enough that it seriously detracts from my enjoyment.

Attention to detail is brought to many facets of Watery Grave, from compositional prudence to striking underwater ambience, and I wish that same level of attention was given to the performance itself. Esox has the makings for something evocative and brilliant; at this point, it’s just a matter of matching the sky-high ambition with a bit more experience. I’ll be more than happy to dive back into the pike-laden waters for future releases, but Watery Grave is a lake I’ve had my fill of.

Recommended tracks: As I Descend Above the Water, The Unbearable Cry of the Sea, Walden
You may also like: Gallowbraid, Nechochwen, October Falls, Botanist
Final verdict: 5/10

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

Label: Independent

Esox is:
– Esox (everything)

1. Livyatan melvillei is a particularly massive extinct species of sperm whale. The inclusion of saltwater sea life here does throw me for a loop a bit as everything up to this point seems to be focused on freshwater, but it should be pointed out that this is a redux of a previous Esox track, so its aquatic idiosyncrasy is not entirely surprising. ︎

The post Review: Esox – Watery Grave appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Atmospheric black metal, post-metal (Clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Summoning, Alcest, Sylvaine
Country: Norway
Release date: 4 April 2025

If you frequent online progressive metal spaces, you’ve likely seen memes of people deriding ‘slow-burn’ bands or tracks that generally don’t go anywhere. One I see often shows an ascendant silhouette with the caption ‘Tool fans fifteen minutes into the worst song you’ve ever heard’. Regardless of your opinions on Tool, the meme raises a simple-yet-effective point: there is nothing more frustrating than a slow-burn track that never truly ignites. So when I found out that one-man atmoblack project Eldamar had transitioned away from his magical, Tolkien-inspired origins to something more akin to long-form post-metal with the sensibilities of atmoblack, my eyebrow raised. Could Mathias Hemmingby distill his exploratory sound into a focused crescendoing fire on latest release, Astral Journeys, Pt. II: Dissolution, or does the record fizzle out before it can catch flame?

Astral Journeys II is the second half of a four-’Akt’ piece with a focus on the themes of euphoria in the moments before death. Each of Astral Journeys II’s ‘Akts’ are extended post-metal tracks that vacillate between Jeremy Soule-style orchestral atmospherics, jangly 90s alt-rock guitars, and cinematic buildups into atmospheric black metal riffage. Each piece features multiple buildups, starting more narrow in scope with a focus on approaching the buildup and then exploring ideas more freely within the crescendos. While harsh and clean vocalizations are peppered throughout each track, only the first third of “Akt III” features lyrics as a means of establishing Astral Journeys II’s point-of-view.

The prevalent symphonics work the hardest to sell Astral Journeys II’s ideas, used both as a tool for establishing atmosphere and later as a means to augment the more grand and cinematic moments. “Akt III” introduces the record with hazy, dreamy atmospherics and pulsating synthesizers, later swelling in tandem with a tempo increase and transmuting jangly guitar work into a vast technicolor expanse. In a similar fashion, “Akt IV” begins with Soule-style orchestration which later acts as a central focus for its climax, vamping what sounds like the first seven seconds of House of Pain’s “Jump Around” on repeat. Take that how you will.

This extended vamping at the end of “Akt IV” is a microcosm of Astral Journeys II’s flaws. The record undoubtedly features some gorgeous instrumentation and lush soundscaping, even throwing in a series of killer guitar/keyboard melodies to maintain interest across its runtime. At the same time, there is a nagging insistence that tracks must continue well after they reach their peak. Both of these Akts dawdle endlessly and end up massively overstaying their welcome. The “Jump Around” outro of “Akt IV” would be much more palatable if it wasn’t at the end of an overlong and bumbling journey and then repeated for three minutes. Additionally, the gorgeous buildup of “Akt III” and its subsequent cooldown would have made for a much more sensible end than extending the track a further nine minutes. Should Eldamar be interested in continuing this style, dialing back the song lengths just a touch and indulging in the pleasant interplay between orchestration and melody would bring a much stronger focus to the more compelling ideas that make up Astral Journeys II.

In the face of post-metal, it’s easy to decry any criticism of its length as an issue of patience, but Astral Journeys, Pt II: Dissolution is a prime case of a record resting too long on the laurels of a good idea. Its orchestration is undoubtedly lush and gorgeous, intertwining nicely with the keyboards and the more pleasant guitar melodies, but the approach of maintaining a climactic excitement after reaching the natural peak of a piece ends up wearing on the listener more than it keeps them in that initial euphoria. If patience is a virtue, then dawdling is a sin.

Recommended tracks: Akt III
You may also like: Ashlands, Karg, Unreqvited, Skyforest, Lustre
Final verdict: 5/10

Related links: Bandcamp | Spotify | Facebook | Instagram | Metal-Archives
Label: Northern Silence Productions – Bandcamp | Facebook

Eldamar is:
– Mathias Hemmingby (everything)

The post Review: Eldamar – Astral Journeys, Part II: Dissolution appeared first on The Progressive Subway.