Style: post-rock, modern classical, electronica (instrumental)
Recommended for fans of: Godspeed You! Black Emperor, Explosions in the Sky, Caspian, We Lost the Sea
Review by: Andy
Country: France
Release date: 25 April 2025

Before the end of my first listen of Bruit ≤’s debut album The Machine Is Burning and Now Everyone Knows It Could Happen Again, I knew it was to be my favorite post-rock album of all time. With remarkable orchestration helping to build rollicking, earth-shattering crescendos in each of its four tracks, The Machine Is Burning essentially solved post-rock’s “boring until the peak of the crescendo” problem. Bruit ≤ perfected the art of the crescendo as their greatest forebears had—Explosions in the Sky and Godspeed You! Black Emperor the obvious influences—but the plaintive moments before and after the buildups had the delicate strings, breakbeat influences, and even tasteful spoken word. The Machine Is Burning isn’t a flawless record, and neither is the followup The Age of Ephemerality—I dislike the spoken word snippets in “Data” and find the Orwell quote closing out the album to be a bit cliche… but that’s it. The Age of Ephemerality is two tiny spoken blemishes from being a perfect record.

For Bruit ≤, everything revolves around the crescendo. Tracks start slow—the string quartet of “Technoslavery / Vandalism,” the tape noises and strings of “Ephemeral,” the resplendent horns of “The Intoxication of Power”—and over the course of each track’s runtime, the songs build and build ever upwards like the Babylonians. Unlike the Tower of Babel, Bruit ≤ have succeeded at reaching God. Often the buildups start slow with the band adding layers to a motif they’ve begun. “Data” glides forward underneath Julien Aoufi’s breakbeat drumming performance—soon bubbling synths and strings become the focal point. Then spoken word and rolling guitars join the fray. Soon the simple breakbeat motif is an unstoppable sonic tidal wave.

In any Bruit ≤ track, the quartet reaches the climax with about three to five minutes left, a cathartic explosion of sound: pounding drumming, post-metal-y guitar riffs, wailing trem-picked lead guitar, strings and synths, and, new for The Age of Ephemerality, a full electric guitar ensemble that was recorded in the resonant space of Gesu’s Church. The peak is overwhelming, causing my chest to feel like it’s going to explode out of my body—I often forget to breathe during a Bruit ≤ track. Achieving a more extreme release is surely impossible, I think to myself each time Bruit ≤ reaches the apex of a crescendo, but while the wall of sound can hardly grow, they somehow maintain the roaring intensity for minutes at a time, an impossible display of sonic power and songwriting prowess. The Age of Ephemerality is rapturous, orgasmic, euphoric, and sublime.

The throughline of The Age of Ephemerality is an underlying tension between electronic and acoustic. Theophile Antolinos begins the album with his “tape soundscapes” which quickly give way to lush cello, viola, and violin. The soundscape the quartet creates is often abrasive and industrial, pummeling walls of sound accomplished through digital and electric means. Yet The Age of Ephemerality is an incredibly human record, the heavy parts marred by stellar orchestration and the softer parts heart-wrenching and honeyed (see the intro of “Technoslavery / Vandalism”). Bruit ≤ write music that captures intrinsically sublime human experiences: looking at a great work of art, experiencing isolation in grand natural vistas, the frisson of first listening to a Mahler symphony. My heart, body, soul, and mind are all nourished by The Age of Ephemerality as its unrestrained climaxes strike right between my ribs. 

Bookending the moments of extreme maximalism on The Age of Ephemerality, the moments of simple placidity could be easily overlooked, but that would be a grave error as they hold gravitas that even the Godly climaxes miss: they act as a reminder there is beauty in everyday simplicity, not just the sublime experiences that Bruit ≤ peddle. These moments are a spiritual understanding unveiled throughout the course of the album. At the end of “Technoslavery / Vandalism,” a men’s choir hums a pulchritudinous Gregorian melody; the horns which triumphantly open “The Intoxication of Power” are bold, yes, but the role they play is simple and elegant, a stately start to the album’s emotional and literal finale. Don’t forget the smooth melody that begins the track in favor of the reprised version underneath the pummeling drums and ensemble of guitars—they are equally valuable for Bruit ≤’s songwriting and message. 

The Age of Ephemerality is crystal clear, produced and performed beautifully, yet its an extremely raw album at its heart, an outpouring of emotion and rage. Every note is filled with intentionality, and the work’s unimaginably dramatic peaks and valleys not only match (or supplant) the best of post-rock but of music in general.

Recommended tracks: Progress / Regress, Technoslavery / Vandalism, The Intoxication of Power
You may also like: Galya Bisengalieva, Sunyata, Osvaldo Golijov
Final verdict: 9.5/10

Related links: Bandcamp | Spotify | Facebook | Instagram

Label: Pelagic Records – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Theophile Antolinos: Guitars, banjo, tape soundscape.
Julien Aoufi: Drums.
Luc Blanchot: Cello, programming, synth
Clément Libes: Bass, Baritone guitars, Bass VI, violin, viola, organ, piano, modular synth, programming
With:
Trumpet by Guillaume Horgue
French Horn by Benoît Hui
Trombonne by Igor Ławrynowicz
Bass trombone by Erwan Maureau

The post Review: Bruit ≤ – The Age of Ephemerality appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: modern classical, jazz fusion, progressive rock, folk, new age, minimalism (instrumental)
Recommended for fans of:  Ludovico Einaudi, Tigran Hamasyan, Phillip Glass, the chill space-y songs of the Mario Galaxy soundtrack
Country: Russia/United Kingdom
Release date: 28 February 2025

At the blog, we all have our niches. Claire has started her journey here as the foreign language expert; Zach is the prog death king; say the word “neofolk” and Dave is chomping at the bit. I am the weird avant-garde metal guy, so that I’m also the de facto Iamthemorning coverer is probably a surprise. Despite their dark Victorian lyricism, the chamber prog duo are light and fluttery with Gleb Kolyadin’s piano skills the defining instrumental aspect of the band: he’s easily ranked among the best piano players in prog since Iamthemorning’s 2012 debut. After covering their debut in a Lost in Time piece, as well as Marjana Semkina’s¹ solo work, Chris handed me the reins to cover Kolyadin’s third solo album².

With his distinct levity and minimalist classical-with-jazz fusion style, Mobula isn’t a surprising album from Kolyadin, but he changes things up enough from The Outland to make this record stand apart. Rather than playing with a small handful of lengthier, cohesive tracks as he did in 2023, Kolyadin presents Mobula as a series of musical vignettes—fourteen tracks with only one cresting five minutes. Each one unfurls like a short sci-fi poem, but I struggle to find a throughline: some tracks are proggy and orchestrated (“Parallax,” “Fractured,” “Tempest”) while others are Kolyadin alone playing a hundred year old grand piano (“Crystalline,” “Nebular”). Both styles are successful, but the tracklist bears an underlying tension, detracting from the experience of what on the surface is a peacefully atmospheric record.

Kolyadin flaunts his mastery of space across Mobula. On “Glimmer” he begins with a simple minimalist arpeggio which expands to build the universe out of a chord; the grand piano on “Crystalline” has endless depth, Kolyadin’s thoughtful use of silence and the sustain pedal engrossing; and the tricky buildup of “Tempest” creates an epic, giant sound in a crescendo barely lasting 2:30. Kolyadin’s greatest skill on Mobula is his less-is-more approach. Even when songs become more complicated—whether incorporating fretless bass, new age-y flute, or Evan Carson’s percussion—one can easily trace a lineage of their purpose in the song. Mobula features nothing superfluous, and Kolyadin is a uniquely thoughtful composer in the prog world. 

The production on Mobula is expansive, filling my headphones with its range of sounds. However, in its atmosphere, the production often seems reverberant and detached, particularly when Kolyadin is alone with the keys. Although capturing something beautiful in a deeply nostalgic way³, the sound isolates the piano from the listener instead of creating an intended sense of tranquil loneliness. The production negatively affects both the guitar and the flute, as well, with the former often a bit shrill during its extended notes and the latter often cheapened to sound like a recorder playing new age (particularly noticeable on “Radiant”).

Although Mobula’s format doesn’t work as well as The Outland’s more traditional structuring, another album focused on these shorter tracks from the poloniumcubes (which is a musical diary for Kolyadin containing over five hundred of these short-form pieces) is an intriguing prospect. With a dozen different concepts, Mobula still has fantastic successes across its less traditional album structure. As mentioned before, “Tempest” is a masterclass in short-form crescendo; the mixing of fretless bass and piano on “Parallax” is unusual but delightful; and intricate finger-picked guitar and violin on “Fractured” support that Kolyadin can successfully extrapolate his unique piano style to other instruments. My problem with Mobula boils down to curation more than anything wrong with the individual tracks, although several feel like half-fleshed ideas—which makes sense as this is the releasing of a musical diary. 

Coming from a genre so focused on maximalism, Kolyadin continues his case that a thoughtfully minimalist approach can be as triumphant as the best of the maximalists. Even though I’m not as impressed with Mobula as with his previous works, Gleb Kolyadin is guaranteed to elicit the most beautiful and expansive sounds possible from any piano he lays his deft fingers on.

Recommended tracks: Afterglow, Crystalline, Fractured, Tempest
You may also like: Marjana Semkina, Iamthemorning, Evan Carson, Secludja, John D. Reedy
Final verdict: 6.5/10

Related links: Bandcamp | Spotify | Facebook | Instagram

Label: KScope – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Gleb Kolyadin is:
Gleb Kolyadin – grand piano, keyboards
Evan Carson – percussion
Vlad Avy – electric guitar (1, 4, 7, 13)
Ford Collier – low whistles (2, 5, 7, 12), bansuri (5) and bombarde (12)
Liam McLaughlin – electric guitar (10, 12)
Zoltan Renaldi – bass (1, 2, 4, 5, 7, 9, 12), upright bass (12)
Charlie Cawood – acoustic & classical guitar, glockenspiel, guzheng, zither, electric kalimba, taishogoto, bow guitar (4, 9)
PJ Flynn – bass (3)
Henry Isaac Bristow – violin (9)
Ilya Izmaylov – cello (1)
Mr Konin – electronic rhythms

1. The other half of Iamthemorning ︎
2. As he covered Kolyadin’s previous album The Outland ︎
3. I cannot help but compare the intensity of atmosphere on a track like “Observer” with the feeling of desolation on a lonely planet in Mario Galaxy ︎

The post Review: Gleb Kolyadin – Mobula appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: modern classical, score, prog black metal (instrumental)
Recommended for fans of: Hans Zimmer, Gustav Holst, John Williams, Septicflesh, Einar Solberg
Country: Norway
Release date: 16 February 2024

This is what our blog is all about. We’re the fancy-pants twats to take on a classical disk by one of the most accomplished composers in metal’s fifty-four year history. While Ihsahn, the man behind Ihsahn (who could have guessed), soars well above our typical listener cap and this is a one-off review of a unique album other blogs likely won’t review, releasing an accompanying orchestral version to some of the best progressive black metal of the decade that stands alone is the heart of progressive music, a glorious achievement in the world of prog metal more artists should strive toward and something we here at The Subway strive to promote.
Of course, I should talk about the Ihsahn-cum-metal version briefly: It’s near the zenith of orchestral metal, breathing with a string-laden pulse that’s as much metal-driven classical as it is the opposite. Ihsahn has few peers in this regard—Aquilus, Septicflesh, Lamentari, Xanthochroid, Wilderun, and Haralabos Stafylakis are the only artists in the conversation for their masterful usage of an orchestra in metal. Ihsahn’s storied career—ranging from the teenage years in the early black metal scene as a founding member of the forever-kvlt Emperor to his recent a-ha covers with his brother-in-law and prog-metal-legend-in-his-own-right Einar Solberg—ranges the entire spectrum from rawly produced trem-picking and shrieks to clean pop. Ihsahn is the synthesis and culmination of over thirty years of musical experience, marrying the best of each of his eras and then adding the awe-inspiring orchestration to elevate it above it all. It wouldn’t be an outrageous wager to bet that Ihsahn would be what Emperor grew into had they continued based on their last few albums, but I also think he takes from his post-Emperor experiences to craft this multilayered behemoth of an album.

Now, back to scheduled programming: Ihsahn [Orchestral] could only have been written by the man himself. I could draw comparisons to composers aplenty—particularly in the film world—but the orchestration bubbles and overflows into huge crescendos particularly redolent of the fraught intensity of metal. Moreover, Ihsahn himself says why this album is so successful in “At the Heart of All Things Broken” (metal version) right before the final intensely orchestrated, bombastic, orgasmic climax when he sings, “A seed of the sublime.” Yeah yeah, I salivate over that word to describe metal because of my academic research and theories of metal, but Ihsahn *is* Romantic in every sense of the word, these orchestrations in particular. Listening to “Hubris and the Blue Devils” or “A Taste of the Ambrosia,” I cannot help but imagine myself at the top of a mountain in a sea of fog or experiencing a euphoric opium high. The orchestration provides a sense of majesty and wonder that I’ve never heard quite as explicitly in a composed-for-metal composition, ebbing and flowing with ornamented splendor as horns and strings dance together in euphony. 

I do believe Ihsahn changed the arrangements slightly from the metal disk to fill in some of the space that the electric instruments vacated, but at times Ihsahn [Orchestral] can feel ever-so-slightly hollow as if it does rely on the dynamics with those guitars and drums. However, the compositions still easily stand on their own although an increased presence of the rich, sonorous horns to fill out the lower end of the orchestral side would have completely ameliorated my issues with the album. Finally, the production here is absolutely stunning, capturing an orchestra as organically as a living superorganism of human instrumentation should be recorded—truly phenomenal.
Ihsahn has upped the ante—lowered the bar (if this is limbo, that is)—for progressive metal. The next generation of prog metal composers will have to be “real” composers in addition to their metal passion projects if they want to fill the shoes of the old guard. While recording an album gets easier with each passing year with the advent of new and affordable technologies, the pedigree required to make a lasting impression has risen at a higher rate. With a single bonus disk, Ihsahn has changed the progressive metal landscape—good riffs no longer cut it.

Recommended tracks: A Taste of the Ambrosia, Hubris and the Blue Devils, At the Heart of All Things Broken
You may also like: Haralabos Stafylakis, Xanthochroid, Aquilus, Casey Crescenzo, Lamentari
Final verdict: 8/10

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

Label: Candlelight Records – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Ihsahn is:
– Ihsahn (vocals, guitars, bass, keyboards)

The post Review: Ihsahn – Ihsahn [Orchestral] appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: dark ambient, modern classical, electroacoustic, post rock (instrumental)
Recommended for fans of: Steve Reich, Floating Points, Kali Malone, Krzysztof Penderecki, Murcof
Review by: Andy
Country: Kazakhstan/United Kingdom
Release date: 20 October 2023

Sitting outside in the rain listening to Polygon for the first time, a sudden urge to weep surged over me. Even before I knew the harrowing concept about Soviet nuclear testing in Kazakhstan, I could feel the ecological and cultural distress emanating from the gnarled beats and eerie violin of Galya Bisengalieva. When the twisted voices and choirs reared their heads in the background of “Polygon” and “Balapan” as if they’re pleading for escape, I physically shivered; Polygon is simply indispensable electronica/ambient. 

An extremely accomplished musician at this point, Bisengalieva has collaborated with several of the world’s most notable avant-garde and minimalist composers such as Steve Reich, Terry Riley, and Pauline Oliveros, all of whose work can be heard as key influences on Polygon: I believe that Bisengalieva has surpassed them. The pristine landscapes and poetry of “the Polygon” of the Kazakh steppe ooze through the first two tracks with their ambient tranquility. However, even these calm tracks are still cut through with a striking terror in their very essence. The following track “Polygon” is a clear threnody for these natural and cultural wonders obliterated by the four hundred and sixty-five nuclear tests done in the region. Above the incessant, pulsing electronic beat, Bisengalieva’s violin morphs between chords in a sublime drone, equal parts Bruit ≤’s life-affirming post rock and Penderecki’s terrifying, heart-wrenching lament for Hiroshima. My heart aches with each dissonant tension embedded in the layered violins, change of note, slowly morphing iteration of the beat. “Polygon” is a slowly mutating, breathing reminder of what remains after apocalypse—

“Chagan” shows Bisengalieva flexing more of her impressive compositional skills as a pizzicato violin intro is brilliantly transformed into an electroacoustic beat on the spot. The colossal low-end pulses baptize the listener in sound until the vivid “crying-out” of the violins starting at 2:20—these remind me of Golijov’s masterpiece Azul Concerto more than anything else with their vibrant texture and delicate yet overwhelming layering. Her reprisal of the beginning beat after her haunting violin part is both genius and unexpected. The next track, “Balapan,” sounds like an alien writing a melody with its inhuman harmonizing at the start, and the way she consistently morphs her violin melodies into a beat with cheeky electroacoustics is genuinely absurd. The songwriting is top notch for both the modern classical and electronica worlds. Including percussion for the first time in track six of seven is another bold move that pays in dividends. As such, the disorienting rhythm and subtly catchy main melody of “Balapan” leave me replaying sections over and over to elucidate what’s happening more deeply.

As with most electronica, Polygon needs to be played at too loud a volume for comfort to glean all one can from the album because of a substantial low-end emphasis, so unless you’re using perfect audio or else are willing to risk your hearing, you may not feel the music as much as you could; this is a shame because Bisengalieva has composed music which is simultaneously extremely intellectual, eminently corporeal, and resoundingly emotional. Beyond my desire for a more explicitly loud low-end, Polygon sounds absolutely perfect, nary a tone out of position while completely filling up the space in both channels. Played loudly, you really can feel every vibration ring through your body.

Polygon has left me with tears on my cheeks. I’m extraordinarily impressed by Bisengalieva’s abilities to utilize such a minimal palette—mainly violins and synths—and to wring so many creative ideas from it without leaving her established box. Everything feels cohesive and unified, yet every track is brimming with its own identity by virtue of how she manipulates her tools. The aesthetic vision of Polygon is top notch as is her violin playing. Once or twice a year, I find an album I’d never expect to resonate so much in me to really click, and Polygon makes me want to curl up into a ball and meditate in equal measures.

Recommended tracks: Polygon, Chagan, Balapan
You may also like: Osvaldo Golijov, Bruit ≤, Scarcity, Sabled Sun, Raphael Weinroth-Browne
Final verdict: 9/10

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

Label: One Little Independent Records – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Polygon is:
– Galya Bisengalieva (everything)

The post Review: Galya Bisengalieva – Polygon appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: instrumental prog metal, modern classical (instrumental)
Recommended for fans of: X Japan, Ne Obliviscaris
Review by: Andy
Country: United States-New York
Release date: 15 September 2023

German philosopher Arthur Schopenhauer proclaimed that music is the noblest and highest of the arts: “music is not a representation of Ideas, but rather of the Will itself. Music and the world are expressions of the same metaphysical principle, the Will” (Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy). I implore any philosophically minded listeners to read that whole article, but Schopenhauer, bless his heart, never got to hear what a post-Dream Theater world sounded like. Hyper-intellectual technicality would surely fascinate old Arthur who lived in the time of the Romantics, and Haralabos Stafylakis is here to bridge the gap, the latest in a newly blossoming scene of equal parts classical and prog metal. 

Calibrating Friction deeply fuses the mechanics of both classical chamber orchestration and progressive metal such that the DNA of both is weaved into a quadruple helix. The eponymous opener includes abrupt, eight-string guitar prog metal, but also a clarinet and bassoon playing the main melodic line until Stafylakis abandons the metallic heft for delicate, contrapuntal strings and woodwinds before an increasingly intense, dramatic chamber section–reminiscent of Lorem Ipsum’s baroque screamo ensemble–crescendos through another metal section. Unlike a standard Nightwish clone, the metal here functions as an amplification of the classical rather than the orchestration reinforcing the metal, and the focus on metal’s rhythm and texture helps Stafylakis build dramatic tension that classical instruments alone cannot achieve–and vice versa for the orchestration’s delicacy. This is a chamber classical ensemble with metal timbre as much as–or more than–it is a prog metal album with orchestration.

Utilizing a star-studded guest list–including Raphael Weinroth-Browne (Leprous, Musk Ox) on cello, Javier Reyes on guitar (Mestís, Animals as Leaders), and Fung Chern Hwei on viola and violin (Seven)Suns)–Stafylakis quietly assembled a super team for this project, and each guest performs phenomenally, especially Reyes with his solo on “Flows Obsidian.” Every instrument on Calibrating Friction is mixed perfectly, the superb production far better than most metal albums including a staggering dynamic range that’s apparent listening: Calibrating Friction sounds superb as both the metal and classical sections are organic and full-bodied. Moreover, the collaborative nature of Calibrating Friction accentuates Stafylakis’ substantial writing ability as a JUNO-nominated composer, and the best moments are when several musical geniuses are working together under Stafylakis’ overarching vision. In fact, grabbing even more guests from across the prog world could possibly make another iteration of this project even cooler–I’m imagining a track like “Never the Same River” with Baard’s (Leprous) drumming injecting some crazy fills into the thrumming piano overtones.

“Never the Same River” has Stafylakis demonstrating the extent of his compositional achievements; several writing tricks, like using fighting string parts in the background while letting a single disembodied soloist tie the package together, work quite well for several minutes  at the start of the track, and when the metal bursts above the tasteful strings three minutes into the track, “Never the Same River” is elevated to new heights. The previously mentioned use of the lowest notes on the piano to provide a rumbling yet pretty bass is genius, as well. The album as a whole, though, would benefit from more adventurous songwriting. By that, I mean that Stafylakis often plays into a similar pattern of using the metal as an explosive release of tension while strings and winds alternate in building that conflict back up. Unfortunately, by the third or fourth track, this modulating intensity no longer works as well as it did at first, and this combination of instrumentation should allow for essentially limitless songwriting potential. Stafylakis could include more extended techniques–a stronger djent influence in a section or two, perhaps a bowed piano, or maybe some atypical singing style–or he could even implicate more instrumental variety with deep brass or something to elevate the chamber vibe into a full symphony. 

So while the composition is largely superb, Calibrating Friction feels like the debut it is at melding metal and classical, slightly timid at experimentation within the style and relying on the style itself being experimental enough on its own. But metal and classical should explode more forcefully, really inject a color palette impossible to imagine a few hundred years ago, and while the DNA of this project indicates the future potential, Stafylakis can do more with this style. He is undoubtedly close to something sublime, though, and I reckon with a couple tweaks, he could find that Schopenhauerian Will and achieve the highest form of the highest art. Stafylakis ought to continue in this direction because this style can change the course of prog metal and perhaps even music itself.

Recommended tracks: Calibrating Friction, Flows Obsidian, Never the Same River, Of Beauty / Of Brutality
You may also like: Lorem Ipsum, Gunter Wernö, Scarcity, Aquilus, Nick Vasallo, Casey Crescenzo, John Zorn, Seven)Suns, A.M.E.N. Raphael Weinroth Browne
Final verdict: 8.5/10

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

Label: independent

Haralabos Stafylakis is:
Haralabos [Harry] Stafylakis – guitars and programming
Van Tilburg (Adam Pietrykowski) – guitars and electronics, guitar solos on “Of Beauty / Of Brutality”
Javier Reyes – guitar solos on “Flows Obsidian”
Matt Grou – drums and percussion
Vicky Chow – piano
Fung Chern Hwei – violin and viola
Raphael Weinroth-Browne – cello
Tristan Kasten-Krause – double bass on “Flows Obsidian”
Evan Runyon – double bass on “Of Beauty / Of Brutality”
Tara Helen O’Connor – flute, alto flute, and piccolo
Ken Thomson – clarinet and bass clarinet
Kathryn Brooks – bassoon
Eric Reed – French horn
William Keats Lang – trombone
Toby Kuhn – additional percussion

The post Review: Haralabos [Harry] Stafylakis – Calibrating Friction appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Mathcore, Modernist Classical, Experimental (Instrumental)
Recommended for fans of: The Dillinger Escape Plan, Dmitri Shostakovich quartets, Krzysztof Penderecki, Mica Levi, Apocalyptica I guess but this might give you a nosebleed
Review by: Christopher
Country: New York, USA
Release date: 15 29 September, 2023

“One of Us is the Killer, I’m sure I’ve heard that name before…” You’d be right: it’s the title of The Dillinger Escape Plan’s fifth—and, in my opinion, best—album! Released ten years ago (yes, my bones ache too), this release by the ingenious mathcore legends was one of many tour de forces. Their complex, discordant, jazz-inflected sonic chaos garnered the New Jersey quintet an unlikely following, becoming one of the foremost experimental metal bands of their day. However, one question I’d be willing to bet few fans have ever asked themselves is “what if a string quartet covered Dillinger?” because what sort of insanity would ever compel anyone to ask that?¹ I’m not sure I believe it could work. 

Well, to quote the great band themselves: “fuck you, now try to disbelieve it”. New York-based string quartet Seven)Suns have covered this legendary release by a band whose style—according to their own guitarist, Ben Weinman—sounds like “garbage cans falling down stairs”. Seven)Suns have worked with Dillinger before, notably providing strings on the title track from Dissociation, but that’s accompaniment, not arrangement. To what degree can a string quartet—two violinists, a violist, and a cellist—really capture the mathematical clattering that is The Dillinger Escape Plan? 

In the skillful hands of Seven)Suns, One of Us is the Killer sounds more like modernist classical: think Stravinsky, Penderecki, or Shostakovich (indeed, the comparison I kept coming back to was the second movement of Shostakovich’s String Quartet No.8—the same relationship between dissonance and melody, between harshness and sublimity). In the hands of Seven)Suns, the crowing synth that opens “Understanding Decay” sounds more like the bloodcurdling strings from Psycho’s infamous shower scene. On the original “Prancer”, the climactic ending is the best part, but in Seven)Suns’ interpretation the chaotic swooping of the bridge section becomes the track’s defining moment, a much-needed melodic counterpoint to the atonality of the rest of the song. Meanwhile, their renditions of “Nothing’s Funny” and the title track prioritise the vocal melody as their throughlines, the former shifting into Pendereckian plucked anxiety for the bridge section, the latter’s scratchy rhythm part bestowing an almost folky flavour. 

As a fan, one already knows these songs intimately; to hear them transformed is a compelling and rewarding experience. Of course, without drums and vocals every instrument is being represented by strings and Seven)Suns somehow manage to capture those elements with the violin and the viola often carrying Puciato’s clean vocal melodies, and the cello attack providing a percussive energy. What’s interesting is that my favourites change too: the act of reinterpretation is one of transformation, and so while I sing the praises of “Prancer”, “Crossburner” and “The Threat of Nuclear Weapons” on the original album, I find Seven)Suns’ versions of “Understanding Decay”, “Paranoia Shields”, and “Magic That I Held You Prisoner” the most intriguing, strings having transformed—perhaps even elevated—those tracks. The heaviest sections of Dillinger aren’t as easily replicable as the melodic sections, relying more heavily on dissonance than on distortion; Seven)Suns truly shine on the eerie, clean harmonies. 

The translator Mireille Gansel declared translation “as risk-taking and as continual re-examination, of even a single word”; the same goes for even a single note. Seven)Suns demonstrate that rearrangement is itself an art form, a deconstruction of sound to its constituent parts only to build it up anew after risky reexamination. Dillinger’s original album is an untouchable masterpiece, but Seven)Suns’ alchemical reimagining is a completely different beast, totally familiar and yet irrevocably transformed. In rearranging One of Us is the Killer for strings, something new has been created, a masterwork in a different medium.

1.  A Ben Weinman level of insanity, as a matter of fact. After hearing Seven)Suns’ cover of “43% Burnt”, the Dillinger guitarist contacted the quartet about the anniversary project. Weinman and Seven)Suns violinist Earl Maneein discuss the intricacies of arranging mathcore for strings in this interview. 
   ︎

Recommended tracks: Understanding Decay, Paranoia Shields, Crossburner (or whichever track from this album you’re most excited to hear interpreted by a string quartet)
You may also like: Harry Stafylakis, Raphael Weinroth-Browne, Gleb Kolyadin, Daniel O’Sullivan
Final verdict: 8.5/10 (5/10 to Silent Pendulum Records for putting the wrong release date on Bandcamp)

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

Label: Silent Pendulum Records – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Seven)Suns is:
– Earl Maneein (violin)
– Adda Kridler (violin)
– Fung Chern Hwei (viola)
– Jennifer DeVore (cello)

The post Review: Seven)Suns – One of Us is the Killer appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Avant-garde Black Metal, Drone, Modern Classical (harsh vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Blut Aus Nord, The Ruins of Beverast, Sunn O))
Review by: Andy
Country: United States-NY
Release date: 15 July, 2022

Desolate droning pulses echo outward from the preceding calm before Aveilut; the guitar immediately invokes the haunting airhorn of The Lighthouse’s psychological horror. Drums materialize to provide locomotion as soon as the creeping microtonal guitars–which occasionally meet to form hideously unsettling chords but more often than not counteract all logical sense of melody–begin to stagnate. These blaring melodies at the start of “I” are a nuclear alarm, a presaging omen of imminent, cataclysmic disaster as uncomfortable to listen to as the grief and desolation in Threnody to the Victims of Hiroshima. Just as Blut Aus Nord unraveled chthonic tendrils around listeners’ throats in their suffocating opus Disharmonium: Undreamable Abysses earlier this year, so the unwieldy, indecipherable guitars of Aveilut also strangle unprepared listeners–without the need for conceptual prompting. Soon after the initial musical prophesying of doom, Doug Moore (Pyrrhon), among the best lyricists in metal, unleashes sinister snarls of his blunt poetry, rejecting the permanence of death. These distressing soundscapes and messages do not cease for the first three movements of Aveilut, but the vocals–despite the wickedly pitiless harshes–improbably provide some of the only moments of respite in the ferocious, forward-marching assault of Scarcity’s guitars and drums. 

Scarcity is inescapable. Staccato blast beats and the microtonal tremeloes turn into a bass-led pulse as “I” seamlessly transitions into “II”: the flow is a direct result of Brendon Randall-Myers’ musical pedigree as a composer of experimental modern classical. As an experienced composer, he contributes true classical sensibility and aplomb to metal. The technical crescendos and microtonal progressions contribute to a superstructure as indecipherable as the most inhuman of Moore’s vocals. Aveilut additionally has endless replay value owing to the intense, strident performances that never undermine the high-mindedness of the artform. Appreciating the seamless shifting cycles of microtonality and dramatic overarching progressions is like a game once one–after multiple listens–can disentangle themselves from the grip of the more momentary struggle to comprehend what’s happening. 

Returning to the bass of “II,” Aveilut is the sound of an experienced composer grappling with death–understandable at a primal level but altogether too sophisticated to fully wrap your head around without serious thinking. And this album isn’t merely conveying sadness nor sage acceptance like Dessiderium; this is unbridled anger, especially prominent in movements “II” and “III.” As Randall-Myers battles against these furious, challenging-to-comprehend concepts, the tremelos erupt out of the scorched earth and sizzle dazzilingly until they burn away–leaving room for another to burn anew–such that anytime a sense of complacency with the discordant riffs occurs, he tears the carpet out from under you. If he can’t come to terms with death, you can’t grasp his music easily. The vocals in these movements are the deranged wailing of souls gone, bursting out of cracks in the ground while simultaneously crazed riffs serve to obfuscate and confuse–successfully. Aveilut is a fortress of horror and loss using classical and metal alike to buttress itself from any attempts at understanding its deeper structures. The lyrics, shouted above the increasingly intensifying din, propose: “Bе without fear when your lungs fail to draw air” just as the movement ironically reaches its new zenith of asphyxiating anxiety. This climactic audial onslaught is far too powerful to be a natural disaster–this is anthropogenic destruction; akin to Chernobyl or Nagasaki.  

Constant blasts and blaring guitars continue on in their journey to come to terms with disaster–or perhaps they are the disaster. I’ve never heard something this sophisticated be quite so terrifying: Aveilut is Warforged matured to the compositional level of Schoenberg. “III” leaves the listener to smolder in the gaze of Scarcity, who explode to whole new levels of uncompromisability at the culmination of the movement’s crescendo: Everything turns to noise as the bomb foretold in “I” is actually dropped. And it isn’t detonated once; no, the bomb explodes again and again like Ashenspire setting Grenfell aflame. Thus, “IV” functions as the true fallout. Aveilut devolves–or is incinerated–into a drone as powerful as standing in front of a huge amp. Eventually, explorative guitar lines peek out of the low end along with disgustingly deep vocals, the only remaining survivors–holy god, the vocals at 6:15 are demonic with just the distorted electronica holding up the demented screams. 

“V” brings the black metal back with ungodly levels of counterpoint, the advanced chord progressions a vile reminder of the compositional skill on display. Parts of the movement may well be the harmonic zenith of metal as too many guitars to count all merge and play together for a terrifying moment at 4:55 before all hell breaks loose again into a SkyThala-lite ascending riff. Finally, the lyrics indicate some sort of coming to terms with death, getting over the apparent thanatophobia running through the work; likewise, the music tells a complicated story of that same ending. Every disconcerting piece finds another discordant line to overwhelm the senses with their euphoric polyphonic bliss. The guitars shift and fall away and give birth to new parts over and over, and Randall-Myers/Moore reach a near understanding with the scream: “Sempiternal, perfected forever, your shadow lingers on, on, on.” Afterward, all that remains is an ultimate haunting orchestration. 

Reckoning with existential mortality remains one of the largest hurdles to human life–time has not changed that. I applaud Scarcity for the authentic and heart-wrenching take on the topic; moreover, beyond reminiscence on life-altering experiences and death, Aveilut is one of the most terrifying and sublime metal compositions I’ve heard, marrying the best of multiple challenging music scenes together. While Aveilut may not be able to bring people back to life, the album is a triumphant artistic attempt at reconciling with deep internal unrest. 

Recommended tracks: Aveilut (it flows too well as one track)
You may also like: Pyrrhon, Xenoglyph, Jute Gyte, SkyThala, Warforged
Final verdict: 9/10

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

Label: The Flenser – Bandcamp | Website | Facebook

Scarcity is:
– Brendon Randall-Myers (all instruments)
– Doug Moore (vocals)

The post Missed Album Review: Scarcity – Aveilut appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: instrumental piano, modern classical, post rock, minimalism (instrumental)
Recommended for fans of: Be’Lakor, Philip Glass, Mike Oldfield
Review by: Andy
Country: Australia
Release date: 8 August, 2022

Solo projects help me conclude who contributes what aspects of a sound to my favorite bands. Secludja is a new instrumental piano release by the one and only Steve Merry, pianist for Be’Lakor, unquestionably one of the greatest melodic death metal bands in the world for the past decade and a half. The key aspect to my ears of Be’Lakor’s sound, however, happens not in the death metal side but rather the melodic part, and Stilled proves without a doubt that Steve Merry provides Be’Lakor with many aspects of their unique sound, the sneakily complex chord progressions and rich timbre on Stilled taking me back to the first time I heard Of Breath and Bone or “Paths.” 

Unlike Be’Lakor, who despite being considerably more relaxed than your typical death metal are still death metal, the tracks on this EP are incredibly serene; in fact, this review has been incredibly difficult to write because every time I press play, I fall asleep before the album’s conclusion. The soundscapes are gorgeously evocative, leading to daydreaming and, in turn, real dreaming. Steve Merry mastered minimalism a long time ago, and this EP demonstrates that as short, simple tracks take a single main chord progression and expand on it until the progression is thoroughly explored. Starting with “A Valley Found,” Stilled will appeal to all Be’Lakor fans with familiar, homey chords and ideas, but Secludja is also its own thing, so I’ll treat it as such. 

No meandering songs are to be had here: All ten tracks are short, consisting of one or maybe two ideas each and lasting a few minutes at their longest. However, each movement builds and increases in tension until it reaches its proper conclusion, showcasing Steve’s compositional skills. I am never left wanting any more or any less than Stilled presents. Take “Droplets” for example, a track clocking in at a paltry 2:19. The song presents its downright breathtaking chord change, builds using multiple minimalist classical techniques, returns to a more simple aural display, and then resolves back into nothingness. The songwriting takes some simply otherworldly discipline; while many a solo project feels bloated, Secludja may be so restrained. 

Aside from being great music to snooze to, Stilled has a cinematic quality to it still like John D Reedy’s opus The Great Long Distance. The depth in the production enriches the sound to feel bigger than the music itself–almost like the album truly is a soundtrack. Every piano note pleasantly rings out, a sense of longing effected in me. How could one not get a little nostalgic for a track like “December’s Last”? The song, which features some simple yet well-integrated drumming and electric guitar strums, is an emotional, resonant track that shows Merry isn’t completely one note on this EP, though the sound does become a tad repetitive when I do stay awake throughout. 

Perhaps Stilled isn’t super memorable, but it certainly conjures pensive thoughts, nostalgic ones, and a deeper pervading sense of loss without being “sad” while listening. The album is a gorgeous foray into the world of minimalist piano: I always secretly wanted a full album of this type of thing when I first heard Be’Lakor’s solo piano track “Paths,” and Stilled fulfills my every expectation. Many of Be’Lakor’s sublime atmospheres clearly come straight from the mind of this man, this man who so dreamily tugs at my heart strings. 

Recommended tracks: A Valley Found, December’s Last
You may also like: John D Reedy, Gleb Kolyadin, Raphael Weinroth-Browne
Final verdict: 6/10

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

Secludja is:
– Steve Merry (everything)

The post Review: Secludja – Stilled appeared first on The Progressive Subway.