Style: Progressive metal (mixed vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Fates Warning, Symphony X, Opeth
Country: Israel
Release date: 25 July 2025

One of my favorite obscure albums to recommend to people is Orpheus Blade’s debut Wolf’s Cry. Its cinematic songwriting, dark atmosphere, grandiose production values, excellent guitarwork, and a charismatic female/male vocal duet from Adi Bitran and guest singer Henning Basse (Metalium, Legions of the Night) made for a uniquely compelling experience. Ever since I discovered the album, I’ve been eagerly waiting for a follow-up and have regularly harassed a friend of mine who knows the band personally about album no. 2’s status. For years, all he relayed to me was that “IT’S COMING, I SWEAR!”¹ despite absolute radio silence from their social media accounts. This continued until one day Christopher thoughtlessly said on my lunch break “oh btw Sam there’s a new Orpheus Blade out—you should probably review that.” DAMMIT SHACHAR WHY DIDN’T YOU SAY ANYTHING?! THEY ANNOUNCED THIS WEEKS AGO!

Orpheus Blade has undergone quite a transformation since Wolf’s Cry. The only original remaining member is Adi Bitran, who took up about half the vocal duties before. It’s especially a shame to have lost Henning Basse as the dude/dudette vocal duet was one of Wolf’s Cry’s main selling points—I didn’t even realize he was only a guest singer until researching for Obsessed in Red. Gal Ben Haim’s phenomenal guitarwork is also no more; he has been replaced by Yaron Gilad (ex-Tillian) and Danny Aram. Safe to say, the new cast has some very big shoes to fill. 

…they do not. As much as I hate to say it, Obsessed in Red is a step down in nearly every single facet from Wolf’s Cry. Let’s start with the production. Simply put, Obsessed in Red sounds like a demo: weak guitar tones, muffled drums, vocals being unnaturally forward, poor mastering, and just a general lack of any modern polish or sheen make the record sound unpleasantly amateurish and a slog to listen to before any thought is given to the music itself. If you told me that Obsessed in Red came out in 2010, I would have believed you, and even then I still would have called the production mediocre at best. Jacob Hansen, who mixed and mastered Wolf’s Cry, is nowhere to be seen, but it’s clear that he wasn’t adequately replaced and the result is unacceptable for this day and age. 

Still, as a reviewer I cannot let myself be shackled to a bad first impression based on production difficulties. Unfortunately, the songwriting doesn’t rescue Obsessed in Red. The dark cinematic style that made Wolf’s Cry so compelling has been replaced by a much more standard prog/power-ish metal base with some death metal and gothic elements sprinkled on top for garnish. What spark the record has generally comes from these darker components—gnarly tremolo picked riffs (“Unattained”), polyrhythmic double kick drum beats (“Anywhere But Here”, “Unattained”), melancholic guitar leads (“Those Who Cannot Speak”), and impressively monstrous harsh vocals throughout—but they are consistently undermined by the atrocious production and otherwise middling songwriting. The big issue is that the band’s foundational prog/power sound barely inspires. Whether it’s the bland heavy metal main riff from “Of Tales and Terrors”, the middling harmonies in “Anywhere but Here”, or the well-performed but structurally entirely predictable shredding of “My Red Obsessions”, when central components fail, the entire structure crumbles. 

Another central songwriting component that’s lacking is Bitran’s clean vocals, which seem to have deteriorated from Wolf’s Cry. Part of this might be due to the mix, which often makes her sound thin, but on a deeper level her delivery is just a bit meek. The vocal lines themselves are mostly fine and she hits every note cleanly, but she struggles to project her voice with the force and add the necessary grit for a metal band, leading to some particularly bad moments like the chorus of opener “My Arms for Those Wings” (speaking of bad first impressions), or the verses in “Of Tales and Terror”; Henning Basse’s contribution is sorely missed here. She’s much better when she’s not required to project as much, allowing her to showcase a breathy crooning style which works especially well in the softer sections (e.g. the opening of “Nicanor”). Still, her crooning over the band’s relatively straightforward style is a Wolf’s far cry from the debut, where the dark cinematic atmosphere gave her an ideal backdrop to shine. The one unambiguously positive development for the vocals, however, is with the harshes, which have improved in both presence and ferocity. Overall, it makes for a performance that’s competent but rarely commanding—serviceable in the softer or harsher extremes, but disappointingly middling everywhere in between.

If anything, Obsessed in Red feels phoned in, like the band had enough of sitting on this material for so long and said “fuck it, let’s just release the thing.” The uninspired way the album closes out feels emblematic of that—after “Nicanor” culminates in an underwhelming finale, “At Her Feet” concludes the record with nothing but Bitran crooning over a synth backdrop that receives little to no development. The production is equally careless, and technical skill and a few moments of inspiration cannot save the largely lifeless songwriting. It pains me to say, but next to nothing of the vigor and creativity that made Wolf’s Cry so compelling has survived this past decade. My disappointment is immeasurable and my day is ruined.

Recommended tracks: Unattained, Those Who Cannot Speak
You may also like: The Anchoret, Hunted, Terra Odium, Novembre
Final verdict: 4/10

1. Our WhatsApp communication is in all caps—don’t ask me why. ︎

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

Label: Independent

Orpheus Blade is:
– Adi Bitran (vocals)
– Yaron Gilad (guitars)
– Danny Aram (guitars)
– Ido Gal (bass)
– Stivie Salman (bass)
– Nitzan Ravhon (drums)
With guests:
– Davidavi Dolev (backig vocals)

The post Review: Orpheus Blade – Obsessed in Red appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Artwork by: Anja Curhalek

Style: Progressive Metal (Mixed vocals, mostly clean)
Recommended for fans of: Riverside, Porcupine Tree, Haken, Dream Theater, Mastodon
Country: United Kingdom
Release date: 27 June 2025

We live in times of great extremes. I know, I know—what a bold and challenging statement. “Thank you for enlightening us, o’ hallowed reviewer,” I hear you say, “Don’t you have a Sleep Token record to be glazing?” Yes, I do. But first, I have to craft an in for this review. Extremes: they are everywhere, pushed by immoral politicians and greedy draconian billionaires alike. One can’t scroll five seconds on YouTube without being assaulted by clear evidence of the matter; everywhere, reaction channels gobble up the latest controversy, news, trends, horror, et cetera, reducing often complex scenarios to grift-minded notions of black and white. Nuance, like the dodo, has flung itself mightily from the cliffs of reason, choosing extinction over the existential nightmare Humanity has hatched for itself. Yet, for all my lamenting nuance’s ignoble end at the hands of hot-takers and corpo-grifters, there is an undeniable “red tape” surrounding it. And when the world is on fire and no one’s listening, sometimes there just isn’t time for artful conversation. When things are desperate, you can’t necessarily risk the message going over peoples’ heads.

Sometimes, you just gotta spell it out, like colorful alphabet magnets arranged upon the refrigerator door of our collective ignorance.

Enter UK multi-instrumentalist Grace Hayhurst. After six years of singles and EPs under the eponymous Grace Hayhurst, The World Is Dying represents her debut full-length, a near-hour’s worth of progressive rock / metal replete with introspective and adventurous guitar alike pattering across sonorous beds of classical piano and swirling synth keys that add flavors of 80s Rush and Symphony X’s neoclassical era. Energetic kitwork by long-time contributor Robin Johnson (Kyros) rounds out Hayhurst’s sound. For the first time in her budding career, Hayhurst brings her voice to the table as well, offering a straightforward indictment as she runs through a venerable Litany of Disasters and Failings on “The World is Dying,” before proclaiming “the world is dying and it’s our fault.” Prog has its muscles, of course, a capacity to tap into somber subject material. Yet often bands will lean into the poetic, the suggestive, when it comes to lyrics, seeking a safe artistic middle ground rather than go right to the throat of the matter. Grace Hayhurst has chosen the path of least resistance on The World Is Dying—but presentation matters much as the message does, maybe more so when dealing with music. Does she get the point across with verve? Or is she stuck screaming into a void?

Let’s start with the good: the music. Hayhurst acquits herself with general aplomb across the entirety of The World Is Dying, showcasing a fine ear for rhythm, melody, and composition. Her guitar shifts from crunchy, driving riffs, searching, Nick Johnston-esque lines, and bouncy prog grooves with nary a sweat. Keys create a fertile bed of mood and atmosphere, often tapping into the album’s darkest and most playful moments alike. The bass, while more suppressed in the mix than I’d like, nonetheless rolls about with purpose when presenting itself, possessed of a warm, buoyant tone that, in cooperation with the resonant piano skirmishes and Johnson’s lively percussions, gives The World Is Dying a jazzy flair and infectious kineticism that had me drawing sonic leylines to fellow UK progsters, Exploring Birdsong. Tracks ebb and flow smoothly across ideas and transitions; take “Our Forest, The Earth,” for example, moving from moody buildup of tribal drums and desolate guitar / bass, before a warbling synth line winds like a fuse before detonating into a jaunty rundown of prog-rock fun, including a soft detour into Tool and Gunship-flavored territory along the bridge as the opening motif returns, only to unfurl in new directions.

However, not everything in The World Is Dying pulls through unscathed. While almost every track offers measures of classical beauty and modern prog-madness, some additions struggle to manifest in winsome ways. While “Revolution’s” transition into baroque doom is pretty cool, as are the initial Sadness-coded black metal rasps accompanying the shift, the rasps take on a cartoonish, almost Donald Duck-vibe that completely jettisoned me from the otherwise good time I was having. And, sadly, that extends to the vocals as a whole. There’s a theatricality to Hayhurst’s breathy falsetto that, like Geddy Lee’s alien screeching on early Rush releases, has the potential to align with the music’s bombastic aims. Unlike Lee, however, Hayhurst’s singing lacks power, range, and finesse, often coming across like a karaoke performance. When used purely for vocalization, her approach works decently enough at bolstering atmosphere (as on parts of “And It’s Our Fault,” “Take Off,” or “Armistice”). But there’s no working around that her voice stands as The World Is Dying’s weakest link, disruptive to the otherwise pleasant instrumentation. Clarity also becomes an issue: whether the vocals’ placement in the mix, her style, or both, lyrics are often hard to parse—an issue when messaging is such a concern.

Attempting vocals overall after focusing largely on instrumental-only material showcases a measure of resolve on the part of Hayhurst that should be commended; clearly, she felt this material would benefit from lyrics, and I’m inclined to agree. However, while repeat listens have afforded me the time to hear how her singing fits into the overall architecture of the songs, first-time listeners run the risk of being shunted clear out of the experience. This is a shame, because Hayhurst certainly has an ear for how vocals can be slotted into her music, with the chops to compose and execute solid, fun prog tunes—and pace them, too. Despite nearly striking the hour’s toll, The World Is Dying avoids listener fatigue by virtue of every track (sans the pointless “Prologue,” “Armistice,” and closer “Absent Futures”) being chock-full of sonic evolutions and exuberant performances. If the vocal problem can be solved (perhaps by passing that particular set of reins to an outside source, as with the drumming), then I think a future release would have the legs needed to make a stand. Of course, she could also return to her instrumental roots, instead. However, Hayhurst has proven to have the mettle necessary to learn and grow to meet her artistic aspirations; this is simply another hurdle for her to clear. So, the world may be dying, and yeah, it’s our fault, but life is hardly over.

Recommended tracks: The World is Dying, Our Forest, The Earth, Revolution
You may also like: Exploring Birdsong, Temic, Althea, Haven of Echoes
Final verdict: 4/10

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

Label: Independent

Grace Hayhurst is:
– Grace Hayhurst (guitars, bass, keyboards, piano, vocals)
With guests:
– Robin Johnson (drums)

The post Review: Grace Hayhurst – The World Is Dying appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Progressive metal, jazz fusion (Instrumental)
Recommended for fans of: Atheist, Cynic, The Omnific
Country: International
Release date: 30 May 2025

The fretless bass is an indispensable tool for tech deathers and fusioners alike. With its otherworldly and smooth timbre, the instrument adds a distinctly heady flavor to any piece. I personally can’t get enough of it, and neither can bassists Steve DiGiorgio (Death, Autopsy, Control Denied, among many others) and Jeroen Paul Thesseling (Obscura, Pestilence) of Quadvium, an instrumental progressive metal group based on the conceit of, “What if fretless bass but more?” On their debut, Tetradōm, DiGiorgio and Thesseling duel and weave around technical fusion passages, but are two Quads better than one?

Tetradōm finds a firm base in 90s technical death metal (Cynic, Atheist) and modern fusion prog (Exivious, Gordian Knot, The Omnific), grafting together twisted branches of instrumental aggression with smooth and jazzy chord choices in a signature double-bass (not that kind) sound. Many tracks are labyrinthine in nature, wildly transitioning from idea to idea at the drop of a hat. To glue this collage together, Quadvium bookend songs by reprising an introductory idea or reincorporating passages from earlier in a track. The fretless basses often sit at the compositional center, sometimes swirling around each other in a jousting frenzy (“Náströnd”), at other times coalescing in ethereal harmonies (“Eidolon”). The texture and sound of the bass is explored all throughout Tetradōm, often evoking in the quieter moments imagery of still, placid water gently rippling against a cosmic sea backdrop.

And like water off an astral duck’s back, Tetradōm’s ideas roll off my consciousness the moment they pass through my tetra-dome. Most tracks begin cohesively enough, then descend into chaos: pieces like “Moksha”, “Ghardus”, and “Nästrónd” introduce a melody that builds in intensity only to follow them up with a bevy of sudden, jarring transitions into unrelated ideas. As a consequence, any momentum that may have been established is halted and the revisited passages feel like separate tracks that were spliced and rearranged into a single piece. I enjoy many of the ideas that Quadvium try, particularly the jagged tech deathy fusion that opens “Apophis” and its subsequent piano break, or the tranquil floating bass of opener “Moksha”. But for the ideas to have impact, they need to offer context for a grander moment or lead to a central theme; a collage of cool moments that are bookended by a motif does not a successful song make. The production doesn’t do these pieces any favors either. The louder parts of “Moksha”, for example, are difficult to listen to as every instrument feels crunched into oblivion, none given space to breathe or any sense of prominence in the mix.

Tetradōm’s most successful songwriting appears on “Ghardus” and “Eidolon”. The former begins with a lopsided fusion drum solo that rolls into a foreboding atmosphere complete with creeping guitars and ominous, thrumming bass. This establishing idea gradually evolves across the track’s runtime, coming to a semi-climax with a pleasant guitar solo and a surprising piano break. “Ghardus” still gives the slightest nagging feeling of meandering but at least lays down a solid compositional foundation for Quadvium to explore their double-bass (still not that kind) frenzy. “Eidolon” features a breathtaking and otherworldly bass tone, swirling tides of purple ebbing and flowing in intensity to staccato rhythms and intermittent soloing. The songwriting is not quite as strong as “Ghardus”, but manages to explore its established ideas well and even includes a subtle nod to opener “Moksha” to bookend the record.

The premise of Tetradōm had me giddy with excitement, but its execution swiftly yanked me out of my suspension of disbelief. The briefest lapses in my attention left me wondering how the hell we got here, and even when listening with a laser focus, the songwriting approach is a largely inscrutable as tracks fly from idea to idea. However, it may be more helpful to see Tetradōm as a sketchbook that prototypes the possibilities of this playing style. With a bit of songwriting finesse and a continued lean into the strengths of the fretless bass, one can only hope that future Quadvium releases are a two-for-one deal worth investing in.

Recommended tracks: Eidolon, Ghardus, Apophis
You may also like: Coevality, Gordian Knot, Vipassi, Panzerballett, Barend Tromp, Exivious, Planet X
Final verdict: 4/10

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

Label: Agonia Records – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Quadvium is:
– Steve DiGiorgio (bass)
– Jeroen Paul Thesseling (bass)
– Yuma van Eekelen (drums)
– Eve (guitars)

The post Review: Quadvium – Tetradōm appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: jazz fusion (instrumental)
Recommended for fans of: Dave Brubeck, Tony Levin, later era Cynic, The Omnific
Country: Netherlands
Release date: 6 June 2025

Just like any prog metal fan worth their salt knows Dream Theater’s Metropolis Pt. 2: Scenes from a Memory, Dave Brubeck Quartet’s Time Out is an essential jazz recording—heck, it’s the first jazz album to sell a million copies. Yet despite the fame, Time Out was still theoretically revolutionary, its experimentation with varied time signatures permanently altering the face of jazz. The odd segmentation of the 9/8 time signature of “Blue Rondo a la Turk” and the now classic 5/4 swing of “Take Five” may sound commonplace today, but in the 50s? Wild stuff. Dutch guitarist, bassist, and sitarist Barend Tromp¹ takes a page out of Brubeck’s 60+ year old book, his new album Odd Time Concepts revolving around, well, odd meters, strange time signatures, and wonky rhythms. 

Time Out’s greatest strength is that you would never know it’s in “unusual” (for the era) time signatures; at the record’s core is whimsical jazz explorations that still sound undated, full of masterful songwriting. On the other hand, Odd Time Concepts goes awry at that central tenet of writing good songs, with Tromp and his guests opting for fashion over form, resulting in a record more gimmicky than musically worthwhile.

As the record is so focused on time signatures, the rhythm section is the main draw, with the bass taking on the majority of the leads (fretless and fretted) and emphasis is placed on the drumming parts, including a feature from King Crimson alum Pat Mastelotto. The resulting sound on Odd Time Concepts mixes the blubbery bass of The Omnific, the mind-warping instrumental interplay of Planet X, and the aimless songwriting of Panzerballett and Quadvium. Tromp is a killer bassist technically, that much is clear. After a dreamy, breathy (read: flatulent) fretless intro to “Sitharsis,” a driving riff by the fretted takes over, nice and thumpy. His slapping on “Heavy Slap” isn’t nearly as funky as I’d have expected, disappointingly lethargic; the expansive, subaudible tone isn’t a favorite either, sounding too rounded without enough grit on the lower end. Moreover, while the bass riffs themselves are varied—as are the ways they interact with the keyboards, synths, and guitars—by tracks like “Thirteen” (in 13/8) in the back half of the album, the up-and-down, punchy playing of Tromp is predictable. 

Although focusing more on messing around with time signature than on interesting melodies, the guitar playing shows flashes of songwriting competence that the rest of the album lacks. The playing on “Chromatron (Parts 1-3)” has the melody decay throughout the short track, and “Thirteen” has a killer fusion solo reminiscent of Planet X or Exivious. The rhythm in “Pandrah Ka Yantra” is annoyingly distracting, but Tromp’s guitar playing matches his sitar in an intriguing pattern.

Speaking of the sitar, non-Western instrumentation is a recurrent theme across Odd Time Concepts, which works surprisingly well for the record—but is frustratingly underutilized, leading it to come across as yet another gimmick. “Sitharsis” and “Pandrah Ka Yantra” both have banging sitar parts, interwoven well within the jazz. Sticking within South Asia, “Heavy Slap” has a random tabla, although that isn’t employed as naturally as the sitar. Finally, moving a bit to the East, and “Gamelan Sepuluh” features a strong Gamelan melodic theme, a decidedly successful exploration into the sound. However, their inclusion makes Odd Time Concepts all the more frustrating as the record abandons its good ideas and sticks with the worse ones. For instance, the synths which populate many tracks either sound like they’re from a Halloween soundtrack (“Madhuvanti”) or are full of reverb. For some reason, though, Barend Tromp has his mind absolutely set on implementing dub² throughout the album, more than the sitar even. That experiment, unlike his South (-east) Asian explorations, doesn’t work well, the electronic effects at odds with the more traditional, human-centric jazz fusion. 

Odd Time Concepts sticks with lame gimmicks while leaving its best ideas out in the sun to be forgotten; the record is ostensibly rhythmically focused, yet its highlights are in the guitar and sitar leads. Barend Tromp and his troupe are talented jazz musicians, but they need to step back and look at the masters like Dave Brubeck to escape the shadow of the gimmick. Odd Time Concepts alone do not make an album.

Recommended tracks: Sitharsis, Chromatron (Parts 1-3), Pandrah Ka Yantra
You may also like: Panzerballett, Coevality, Soften the Glare, Planet X, Quadvium
Final verdict: 4/10

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

Label: independent

Barend Tromp is:
– Barend Tromp – fretted and fretless basses, fretted and fretless guitars, sitar and synths
With guests:
– Trey Gunn – Warr guitar solo on 5
– Pat Mastelotto – drums on 8
– Ron van Stratum – drums on 2 & 10
– Nathan van de Wouw – drums on 1 & 6
– Eugene Vugts – drums on 4

1. Yes, we all read it as Barron Trump first at the blog and were surprised he played jazz. This is NOT Barron Trump, though, rest assured. ︎
2. For context, dub is typically an instrumental form of reggae focused on studio effects like reverb and delay. ︎

The post Review: Barend Tromp – Odd Time Concepts appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: experimental rock, noise rock, post-rock, post-punk, avant-folk (mixed vocals, spoken word)
Recommended for fans of: Sprain, Swans, A Silver Mount Zion, Slint, Maruja, Talk Talk
Country: California, United States
Release date: 1 May 2025

Stitched together out of thousands of hours of studio recordings, Talk Talk’s 1988 painstakingly crafted masterpiece, Spirit of Eden, was a landmark album for post-rock. The band sat in a blacked out room equipped with an oil projector and strobe light twelve hours a day for several months, listening to the same six tracks on repeat; session musicians would jam for hours on end only for Talk Talk to use mere seconds of the result; and the group recorded with a twenty-five person choir only to decide “nah, this ain’t it.” Spirit of Eden is a mosaic, and the tiles are treasures plundered from endless hours of tapes. That the project came together as seamlessly as it did is remarkable—one could not listen to Spirit of Eden for the first time and discern that it was sutured together note by note.

To create their debut record Motherfucker, I Am Both: “Amen” and “Hallelujah”…, Shearling—born out of the recently defunct noisy post-rock band Sprain—have similarly sewn together segments from hundreds of hours of largely improvisational recordings. The result is a single, monolithic (Motherfucker is a single sixty-two minute track) slab of noisy post-rock, avant-folk, and obnoxious British post-punk.

Motherfucker is cinematic in scope, driven by the lyrics which cover a bifurcated narrative—one side about Idaho; the other, Eden. Prosaic yet poetry, the wordsmithing is intriguing with the two stories weaving in and out of each other in a stream-of-consciousness rambling. Occasionally, the poetry touches on brilliant. Highlights include: “And the spots on our Appaloosa¹ hide / Might be mistaken for constellations at night / By obligated stars and half-imagined lines / Splattered intentionally there against the night sky” and the vulgar honesty of “I know I’m naked / Eve’s cunt obscured now / By the branch of a huckleberry bush / Adam’s cock now / So tightly sheathed by a palm frond / Before the mirror I too place a hand over / My little Appaloosa / Tucked silently away in his little stable.” The storyline reads as an allegory for queer shame from growing up in Idaho—the Appaloosa taking on an apotheosized and subverted role². The intricate symbolism is maddeningly dense, however, and some of the literary devices are implemented on the amateurish side, albeit fitting the crazed descent into madness of the storytelling.

The bard of this chaotic story, Alexander Kent, provides an impassioned vocal performance that will make or break the album for many. His first vocal entry after the first 4:00 of instrumental noodling, dissonance, and feedback is an incredibly unpleasant moan. From there, he ranges from dramatic spoken word to the rambled shouting of a madman, from operatic croons to gruff, almost-growled barks and wailing moans. His voice drips with pain—maybe some malice—from years of shame and stigma, and the screams can be cathartic (the intermittent large climaxes are the prime examples), but for an unfortunate portion of the time, Kent’s atonal shouts and vocal deliveries are grating, horrific for listening; he needs to save the aggressive shouts for the crescendos lest they ruin their gravitas… which they certainly do. The godawful singing fits the vulgarity and verisimilitude of the lyrics, but Kent should focus on a more subtle delivery when the music calls for it. 

The music on Motherfucker traverses a diverse range of influences. The record is spliced together from a mix of phone-recorded demos, jams, live recordings, and traditional studio sessions, Shearling carefully attempted to put together the recordings into a cohesive sonic epic à la Talk Talk… emphasis on attempted, though. The songwriting of Motherfucker transcends stream-of-consciousness into the nonsensical. Climaxes materialize out of nowhere; Pharoah Sanders-esque saxophone parts or home-made Gamelan bells are equally as likely to be played by Shearling; ethereal industrial styles reminiscent of Lingua Ignota make their appearances in between the abrasive noise rock; and non-Western drumming styles may transition into glitchy electronic beats. Nary a consideration is made for transitions, either. Even the final five minutes after the final epic climax—the clear high point of the album is from 38-46 minutes as the bass pulsations lead into increasingly potent doses of screaming and crushing instrumentals—feel like they have little thought put into how they fit into the flow, with flatulent, deflated horns and some final random screams closing out the track. Shearling ensure the listener never knows what’s coming next.

Producing an album sewn from several different recording methods proves difficult for Shearling, too. Unlike Spirit of Eden which feels impossible to know was blended together as it was, Motherfucker’s collage never coalesces completely. Whatever instrumental section currently backs the vocals is unduly emphasized in the mix, and the clash of dynamics and styles renders Motherfucker a disappointingly and disjointedly assembled album. Shearling achieved an opus as haywired as it is intense, yet they get lost in the sauce doing so, the songwriting too scatterbrained for its own good. 

Many post-rock albums have suffered from over-ambition in the past forty years, and Motherfucker suffers for it, too; yet, Shearling have certainly achieved something admirable here—granted, over-long, insane, and extremely challenging (and frankly painful). To improve on the deep compositional flaws, Shearling ought to look back to Spirit of Eden. Finally, that Motherfucker is part one of a massive two-part epic must be mentioned. Clearly, Shearling are overflowing with ideas—hundreds of hours of them—so I hope they manage to restrain themselves without losing the ambitious charm so central to their identity.

Recommended tracks: it’s a one track album…
You may also like: Cime, Natural Snow Buildings, Ken Mode, Sumac & Moor Mother
Final verdict: 4/10

Related links: Bandcamp | Spotify | Facebook | Instagram

Label: independent

Shearling is:
Alexander Kent: Vocals, Engineering, Production, Cover Art Design, Guitar, Synthesizer, Trombone, Samples, Hammered Dulcimer, Banjo, Harmonium, Accordion, Singing Saw, Percussion, Taishogoto, Organ, Glockenspiel, Mellotron, Mandolin, Autoharp, Piano, Bells
Sylvie Simmons: Guitar, Synthesizer, Organ, Hi-C Programming, Samples
With guests:
Wes Nelson: Bass, Upright Bass
Andrew “Hayes” Chanover: Drums
Rachel Kennedy: Vocals
Mate Tulipan: Tenor Saxophone, Trombone
Ian Thompson: Alto Saxophone

1. The state horse of Idaho with a splotchy hindquarters resembling a Dalmatian. ︎
2. I mean, check out that album cover. In the context of this being a queer narrative, it is certainly striking. ︎

The post Review: Shearling – Motherfucker, I Am Both: “Amen” and “Hallelujah”… appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Artwork by: Mohammed Khoirul Anam

Style: Deathgrind, Grindcore, Technical Death Metal, Progressive Death Metal (Harsh vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Cattle Decapitation, The Red Chord, The Number Twelve Looks Like You
Country: Finland
Release date: 20 April 2025

The first time I heard saxophone in metal was “The Silent Life”, off Rivers of Nihil’s masterwork album, Where Owls Know My Name (2018), and needless to say I was hooked on those sultry tones and how they fed deliciously into the song’s thunderous grandiosity. Since then, I’ve heard it more and more, utilized by diverse acts like Operation Mindcrime, The Anchoret, The Faceless, White Ward, and Sleep Token, each time popping up like a reward; a tasty treat for my musical palate. But, I am admittedly, on occasion, a gluttonous being, not always well-known for regulating my sweet-tooth. I want saxophone to be more than a gimmicky addition, but it often feels like a dream, one never to be realized.

Color me shocked when I discovered dreams can come true in the form of Blastanus, a DIY deathgrind/epicsaxgrind act hailing from Finland. They dropped two loads in the late aughts / early 2010s (Odd and Collapse) then promptly vanished to a changing room before returning a decade later to squat out a single “Agathusia” and full-length Beyond in 2022. Now in 2025, the ass-blasting trio of Antti Oksanen (vocals, guitars, bass), Henri Fredriksson (drums), and Kari Vakiparta (vocals) have returned freshly-britched and with longtime session brasskicker Jussi Hurskainen (saxophone) in tow for another toilet-terrorizer in Land of the Weak, Home of the Slave. Can these Finnish flatulators convince me of the saxiness of their particular brand? Or will I need to break out the Febreze?

I’m not one to normally pledge to the cause of grindcore, though I do find its compact stylings and breakneck insanity an occasional source of catharsis when the sadboi-core just ain’t cutting it. There’s an artistry to crafting bite-sized vectors of songcraft from which genuine listening value can be excised. The genre also lends itself to heightened levels of emotion (usually aggression, angst, pain, etc.), with acts like Closet Witch unloading dark matter heaps of suffering in a minute or less, leading to a hyper-injection of feelings that my instant-gratification lizard brain sometimes craves. Blastanus are certainly poised to scratch that scaly itch. On the (w)hole, Land of the Weak, Home of the Slave rips through its thirty-five minute runtime with all the jarring lethality of a post-McChicken bathroom break after clearing the obligatory mid-paced sampler platter that is opener “Inauguration”—a roller-coaster climb before the cheek-clenching freefall into the corkscrew riffage, machine-gun drumming, shredding roars and porcine squeals, and decadent saxophone to follow.

Oh, the saxophone. I wasn’t prepared for just how entrenched Mr. Hurskainen is on the album: he appears on twelve of the fifteen tracks, and in various configurations: Smooth n’ sexy (“Mephitic,” “Drones”), moody and accentual (“Bloodlines,” “Justice System,” “Janedoe”), and as a Weapon of Jazz Destruction (“Cencorship” [sic]). The way he weaves and saunters around the general chaos of his bandmates’ sonic slaughter is, quite honestly, impressive and a genuine highlight of the record. It’s nice to hear the instrument included in a full capacity rather than clinched to a particular moment or style, to be shaken down for its prog-points and then discarded.

Sadly, the rest of Blastanus’ ripping and tearing feels rote and unfortunately forgettable when stacked against the brass. Most of Land of the Weak, Home of the Slave whips through one ear and out the other; few things in its thirty-five minutes generate the staying power necessary to achieve the kind of earworm constipation I seek from music. There’s an entertainment factor here, for sure, but the realization I came to as I spun the record again and again was this: Hurskainen is the not-so-secret saxy sauce. Take him out of the mix and what remains is admittedly fun, but mostly forgettable technical deathgrind. The guitars rip like a renegade chainsaw. Fredriksson’s drumming would make The Flash quake. There are inspired moments where Blastanus clench up on the aural chaos to drop some interesting nuggets: a power metal-flavored solo on “Class Warfare,” the neo-noir bass-and-saxophone chill of “Drones,” “Justice System’s” knuckle-dragging slam, or the weirdly epic ten-minute closer “Don’t Vote,” which serves as a sort of super-cut of what the album offers across its more bite-sized morsels. But despite all the flavoring, there’s little that holds me beyond the simple dopamine hit that ridiculously brutal music can provide—not even Oksanen’s railing against our corrupt governments and generally trash society. His vocals are fun and fit the style, but lack the kind of soul-flensing evocations a’la Mollie Piatetsky (Closet Witch) capable of transporting me to states of emotional extremes. Also, why is “Jane Doe” so loud? It hits like a jump scare, feeling at odds with how the preceding tracks had been mixed.

While discussing Blastanus with my fellow Subway riders, a colleague referred to the inclusion of saxophone as a “dumb gimmick.” I didn’t necessarily agree, but repeat exposure has revealed a kernel of truth here: The biggest reason to recommend Land of the Weak, Home of the Slave is the novelty of Hurskainen’s saxophone. Without him, there’s little staying power in Blastanus’ latest gas. That’s a shame, too, because I love how fully they’ve incorporated the saxophone into the totality of the album. However, by making the sax less of a feature it’s oddly become something of a bug, breaking the album by revealing the relative banality of what surrounds it. If brutal noise and sultry tones is your jam, then you’ll probably have fun with Land of the Weak, Home of the Slave. I sure did. Like SpongeBob ripping his pants, though, there’s only so many times you can do something before the schtick starts to get old and it’s time to look elsewhere for entertainment.

Recommended tracks: Bloodlines, Drones, Justice System, Don’t Vote
You may also like: Closet Witch, Nightmare Unit, Infiltration, Replicant, Brain Stem
Final verdict: 4/10

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

Label: Independent

Blastanus is:
– Antti Oksanen (bass, vocals, guitars, songwriting, lyrics)
– Henri Fredriksson (drums)
– Kari Vakiparta (vocals)
– Jussi Hurskainen (saxophone)

The post Review: Blastanus – Land of the Weak, Home of the Slave appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Album art by Alex Tillbrook

Style: Alternative metal, alt-pop, djent (mixed vocals)
Recommended for fans of: bruh it’s Sleep Token; VOLA meets Hozier plus, er, like, Imagine Dragons?
Country: United Kingdom
Release date: 9 May 2025

Today, in a special double review, Ian and Christopher take on the latest release by the biggest and perhaps most controversial band in the genre. Even in Arcadia, there are people arguing about Sleep Token!

Review by: Ian

I believe it was Sir Isaac Newton who said that “every sudden wave of hype produces an equal and opposite backlash”, and perhaps no other band today exemplifies that definitely real adage quite like Sleep Token. It’s strange to look back on the days of their initial rise, how this weird djent/R&B band from London with a Ghost-esque masking gimmick and an unusually skilled drummer exploded out of seemingly nowhere in early 2023 with a set of increasingly buzzed-about singles, culminating in the release of their blockbuster third album, Take Me Back To Eden. The countervailing surge of hatred was equally sudden, though in hindsight, not surprising. Heralded (though by no means solely initiated) by Anthony Fantano’s withering 2/10 panning of the album, they rapidly became the very definition of “uncool”¹, with many eagerly seizing upon Sleep Token‘s often unapologetically poppy songwriting and straightforward djent riffs as evidence of them being “not metal”²—a fake, pop band that you’d have to be some terminal poseur / Imagine Dragons fan / big dumb mouthbreathing coworker NPC to enjoy. 

And look, I’m not gonna sit here and tell you those criticisms were entirely baseless. TMBTE‘s attempts at straightforward pop music were indeed plasticky and unconvincing, burying Vessel’s otherwise interesting vocal timbre under suffocating layers of Autotune. And sure, much of the guitarwork felt far too basic to be sitting alongside II’s intricate, fluid drumming. But somehow… I still really liked it, dammit! For all its flaws, the album was a genuine evolution of the Sleep Token sound, an ambitious, widescreen expansion into more adventurous song structuring and genre switches with some seriously powerful, emotionally resonant melodic hooks. It’s not exactly topping my Album of the Year list, but there are people who act like this band is soulless nothing slop with zero redeeming qualities, and… I feel like we didn’t hear the same album.

But where does this leave us now? Well, Sleep Token sure as hell aren’t upstarts anymore. They’re one of the biggest bands in modern rock, possibly the biggest to come up this decade, with a massive, frighteningly devoted legion of fans and a nearly-as-vocal coalition of detractors. Thus, it was inevitable that their follow-up album, Even In Arcadia, would have massive expectations set upon it, for good and ill alike. And in terms of meeting those expectations, seven-plus minute opener “Look to Windward” is one hell of an initial salvo. Starting off with a slow burn of atmospheric, almost chiptune-esque synths beneath Vessel’s trademark croon before a barrage of pummeling guitars abruptly takes over, it comes across as a full-on showcase of every established part of the band’s sound. It’s got intricate drumming, simple yet gargantuan-sounding riffs, rattling trap percussion, and a vocal performance that ranges from smooth, cocky R&B verses to delicate, harmonized falsettos to withering, blackened screams—as if to say “We’re still Sleep Token and we can still do Sleep Token things, and do them damn well.” While it’s unlikely to convert any skeptics, it’s one of the best executions of their usual sound yet, and a reassuring reminder that their core competencies are still very much in place.

With the formula firmly re-established in the space of a single song, it’s time to sprinkle in some surprises, and that’s where subsequent song (and lead single) “Emergence” comes in. Its verses are some of the most rhythmically interesting stuff they’ve put out possibly ever, with II’s percussion sinuously twisting around some already rather syncopated vocal lines in a deliciously off-kilter clash, constantly teasing at downbeats that don’t quite arrive until the beautifully melodic choruses show up to dissipate the tension. Combine that with the gorgeous, delightfully surprising saxophone coda³ provided by Bilmuri‘s Gabi Rose, and you have yet more evidence that Sleep Token are still a decidedly progressive band despite their mainstream appeal. They’re prog in the same way that bands like Bent Knee are prog, not by having the wackiest time signatures or the weedliest solos, but by blending pop stylings with pieces of disparate genres to create a bold, adventurous sound full of stylistic and compositional left turns that defies easy categorization or comparison.

And it’s a damn good thing we’ve got that evidence, too, since unfortunately, Even In Arcadia‘s midsection gives plenty of signs that the prog gatekeepers may kinda have a point. While it’s all very competent, with some dutifully pleasant melodies and titanic, IMAX-ready chugs as per usual, much of tracks 3-8 feels like Sleep Token by the numbers, with precious few of the surprises that made previous songs like “The Summoning” so special. Tracks like “Dangerous” and “Provider” capably ratchet up the musical intensity from synthy atmosphere to elastic trap beats to stadium-filling guitar, but do little else with their musical structure, coming off a tad forgettable. The title track tries its best to be the type of achingly vulnerable piano ballad that they’ve done so well in the past, but is sabotaged by suffocating layers of movie-trailer overproduction, with only Vessel’s desperate, gritty final line managing enough emotional heft to strike a genuine chord through all the sludge. Most egregious is “Past Self”, a decent-yet-straightforward R&B snoozefest whose only surprise is that there are no surprises—no riffs, no genre mixing, just a synth arpeggio that could be coming out of a kid’s toy replica of a Legend of Zelda fairy fountain. Sure, there are bright spots—”Caramel” is a lyrically wrenching look at what it’s like to be on the receiving end of a ravenously parasocial fanbase, elevated by II’s drumming at its absolute crispest—but even that is undercut by “Provider” being a blatant wink and nudge toward the most fanatical, BookTok-horny elements of said parasocial fanbase just two songs later.

Thankfully, the last two tracks do a fair deal to right the ship. “Gethsemane” easily ranks up there with Sleep Token‘s absolute best tracks, spinning its soft, emotionally resonant falsetto intro into a shockingly intricate, mathy Midwest emo guitar riff, a long-awaited step up in complexity to stand side by side with the band’s drumming. Add in a chorus that reprises “Euclid”, quite possibly the most powerful, indelible chorus the band have ever written, and you’ve got me wondering where the hell this energy was for the past few tracks. Maybe it’s my inner sappy theater kid, but these melodramatic hooks still hit me straight in the heart no matter how overblown others may find them, and closer “Infinite Baths” keeps that streak going with aplomb. Its deliciously weepy, harmonized slow build into its gargantuan chorus is the sort of shit I eat right up, and the Pink Floyd reference in its atmospheric bridge was a fun touch. I’m a bit more mixed on its heavy closing section; though a final dose of aggression is certainly welcome in an album that is, on the whole, softer than its predecessor, it also feels like it’s spinning its wheels a tad, fading out without giving a proper conclusion.

“I know these chords are boring, but I can’t always be killing the game,” sings Vessel in “Damocles”, an apropos quote from a wildly inconsistent album in which, more than ever, the band’s aura of cult-like mysticism comes off as a thinly veiled metaphor for one decidedly mortal man’s insecurities and broken relationships. Sleep Token feel increasingly caught between contradictory impulses—the drive to innovate and push their sound forward versus the pressure to push out more of the same stuff that made them popular in the first place, the need to appease their suddenly massive fanbase versus the fear of said fans getting a little too into their music, the divine and spiritual versus the human body’s base desires… the acid versus the alkaline, one might say. The public, too, has been utterly polarized; as before, the fans of this band are going to hear an entirely different album than the haters. Yet, this time, I can hear both albums in equal measure, the innovative, heartfelt brilliance heard by the faithful existing alongside the dull, focus-grouped glurge that reaches the ears of the apostates. Perhaps this is a tightrope that Vessel and co. can continue to walk well enough, but as someone who was largely on the believers’ side beforehand, this represents a troubling shift. If it all looks like heaven but feels like hell… maybe you’re just in purgatory.

Ian’s final verdict: 6.5/10

Review by: Christopher

Metal has always suffered from a streak of elitism, bearded gatekeepers daring to pronounce upon what’s metal and what’s not, and the genre has always picked out enemies to pile upon. Avenged Sevenfold were roundly mocked for their hard rock sensibilities and emo aesthetic, virtually all of nu-metal was the subject of derision both deserved and unwarranted, and if you trust the people at Metal-Archives.com—and you shouldn’t—even prog stalwarts Between the Buried and Me are apparently not metal. The latest band to be stood in the corner and made to face the wall for their vnkvlt ways are Sleep Token, the bemasked UK group fronted by the anonymous Vessel, who claims to be the Earthly representative for an ancient deity called Sleep. The band’s amalgamation of djenting riffs, Hozier-grade sadboi pop, and libidinous RnB gloss has been met with cult-like fervour and impassioned denunciation in equal measure. Whether Sleep Token are or aren’t a) metal, b) progressive or c) good is—just like their deranged lore and Instagram posts that always begin with “Hark!” “Behold”—a matter of debate to be resolved by people who don’t wash. The band’s actual function within the musical ecosystem is a simple and time-tested one: plausible deniability for the alternative kids to claim they don’t like mainstream music while listening to something clearly deeply inspired by mainstream music and so popular in and of itself that it is, in fact, mainstream. 

Now, the blend of djent, mournful pop and hip-hop that Sleep Token peddle has, admittedly, never quite worked for me—I’m the dissenting voice in this double review, after all⁴—but on fourth album Even in Arcadia, the band have clearly lost their lustre. This Place Will Become Your Tomb was a solid work of alternative metal with a pop sheen, and the marriage of the two styles was fully consummated, carried with a poise similar to that of Denmark’s VOLA. Arcadia’s relationship with metal, however, is that of a checked-out divorced father visiting his kids every other weekend: he turns up, eventually, smelling strongly of whisky and he’s really phoning it in on this whole fatherhood thing. An unfortunately large percentage of Arcadia is Vessel’s self-pitying croons over generic RnB beats and enigmatically banal synths. When the band remember they have to include riffs in order to keep the charade alive, they’re dreadfully shoehorned. 

After a pretty successful opening number, “Emergence” settles into the banality which will come to plague Arcadia—even in Arcadia they have banality! Ancient deity Sleep has caught up with the noughties hip-hop scene, and he’s decided that his human conduit on Earth should communicate thusly. “Emergence” still has some Riffs and is a bit more compositionally finessed than the real duds in the latter half, but the, ahem, emergence of phat beats and Vessel’s generic RnB flow telegraph Arcadia’s imminent problems. Oh, and there’s a saxophone solo which appears with all the grace of a guest contribution that makes you go “oh, and there’s a saxophone solo”, possessed of a rather thin, midi-ish tone which did make me wonder if a saxophonist actually played on the record—it’s Gabi Rose and she does, and does so well, it’s the way that sax solo is mixed which I find strange to the ear (the violin solo on the title track, however, has no such credit and, therefore, may be synthesised). “Past Self” and “Caramel” lean into the type of quintessentially white hip-hop that’s plagued pop from the Backstreet Boys through Justin Timberlake all the way to post-Post Malone. The greater sin of “Caramel” is that it veers, without justification, into a heavier section with backing screams that seem completely out of place. And this happens over and over on Arcadia: Sleep Token are happy to practically stop a song so they can wedge in a requisite metal section. The riffs are no longer executed with the enthusiasm of the previous records, and there’s little energy expended to ensure the heavier and lighter elements blend smoothly. 

The more pop-centric tracks on older records still had heft: “Mine” built post-rock fashion from its jaunty synth motif into a thickly-riffed climax; the chant of “The Love You Want” was eventually accompanied in its final chorus by Car Bomb-esque wonky djent; and “Granite” allowed a thrumming eight string low-end to counter its otherwise typical poppiness. Frequently, the “heavy parts” on Arcadia’s offerings tend toward the strumming of thicc but generic bass lines in the chorus—at least on “Damocles”, Vessel has the self-awareness to admit “I know these chords are boring.” On “Gethsemane”, Sleep Token remember they were meant to record guitar parts, leading to Intervals-esque noodling that is at least engaging but feels a touch out of place. Still, this track tries out some ideas beyond the usual formula, be it Vessel’s frequent and rather refreshing utilisation of falsetto, or a bit of rhythmic start-stop in the choruses, and some better integrated djenting—even if all that is for naught when he ends up going back to the dull ol’ mid-tempo RnB. The problem is that while it wouldn’t be prudent or relevant to speculate as to Vessel’s race, his hip-hop credentials are akin to the average white middle manager’s. His flow, such as it is, barely varies, watering down every song it touches to one uninteresting idea. 

Refrains, meanwhile, are hammered home with desperate repetition, as if the band know that there are no true hooks here. How many times can you listen to a man repeat “So go ahead and wrap your arms around me, arms around me, arms around me” before you stick a butter knife in an electrical socket? Ignore my frazzled, smoking hair. Vessel’s rhyme scheme is steeped in a hip-hop flow but delivered like a sad giant workshopping his first ever diss track. Also, I don’t understand (and certainly don’t care to dig into) the lyrical themes. Supposedly, the band is centred around this eldritch terror called Sleep and is speaking His gospel, but most of Sleep Token’s lyrics are universal-yet-neutered paeans to a litany of situationships. Either Sleep Token is a failed sex cult run by a man lacking the raw sexual charisma of the late L. Ron Hubbard or Vessel is writing fanfic for his own “I’m being topped by an eldritch god”⁵ stories. Neither prospect is appealing.  

Now, those of you rooting for the prosecution in this double review will be baying for blood. But I can’t deny that Even in Arcadia has a handful of compelling moments: the tense build into the metal drop on opening number “Look to Windward” is skilfully done, even if the middle third of the track turns into a fifth-rate OneRepublic⁶ mimic. “Emergence” might not be inspired but it feels more like “classic” Sleep Token and has a sense of composition lacking elsewhere. Closing track “Infinite Baths”, despite the silly title, is the clear standout—indeed, Sleep Token have form for bookending their albums strongly. The build around halfway through the track sees string swells leading into a succession of actually thought-through djent riffs which are, again, compelling in a way that so much of Arcadia isn’t. Sleep Token understand tension and release. It’s one of their great strengths, and yet this album is almost devoid of it. 

With a little metal for the sake of keeping up appearances, Even in Arcadia leans harder into a sort of noughties hip-hop vibe that’s as purposeless as it is irritating. Vessel sings another round of curiously sexless erotic laments that are sure to keep his fans doxxing him, but the shtick is getting tired, and Sleep Token sound spent. The group’s cult-like fandom won’t notice the misstep, but this is a curiously uninspired outing for a band who, whether you consider them metal or not, are undeniably the biggest artist in the modern scene. Are Sleep Token metal? Who cares. The question you should be asking is “Am I getting old?” and you’re not gonna like the answer. 

Christopher’s final verdict: 4/10

Recommended tracks: Look to Windward, Emergence, Gethsemane, Infinite Baths
You may also like: Sermon, Rendezvous Point, Intrascendence

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

Label: RCA Records – Facebook | Official Website

Sleep Token is:
– Vessel (vocals, keyboards, guitars)
– II (drums)
With guests:
– Gabi Rose (saxophone on “Emergence”)

1. This very site is no exception, as is readily evidenced by the review accompanying mine. Enjoying these guys’ music is, shall we say, a… minority opinion around here. ︎
2. As someone who strongly views genre as something artists do rather than something they are, this whole debate perplexes me. I will simply say that Sleep Token are unambiguously a band that does metal, sometimes, and whether they spend a sufficiently large percentage of their runtime doing it to “be” metal will be left as an exercise for the people who actually give a shit. ︎
3. My fellow writer Andy called this part “cliche”, a take I would expect from someone who listens to car alarms and shrimp noises in his free time. ︎
4. Oh, you thought Ian’s 6.5 was mean? Just you wait. ︎
5.  Vessel might top or they might take it in turns. Let it never be said that this blog isn’t sex positive. ︎
6.  Remember OneRepublic? They released that one album, Dreaming Out Loud, in 2007. The most successful single was “Apologize” which Timbaland remixed. “Stop and Stare” was good, too. Then they disappeared and never made music again, or so I assumed until researching for this review which led me to the baffling discovery that they have 53 million Spotify monthly listeners and released their sixth album last year. Who the fuck is listening to OneRepublic in 2025?! ︎

The post Double Review: Sleep Token – Even in Arcadia appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

No artist credited

Style¹: Avant-prog, art pop, neo-psychedelia (clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Cardiacs, Gentle Giant, Mr. Bungle, Frank Zappa
Country: United Kingdom
Release date: April Fools, 2025

Excuse my language, but what the fuck is this? Prog rock might have gotten stale with all the competent yet unimaginative 70s worship groups out there², but some bands take the concept of innovation to levels where you start wondering whether they even set out to create an enjoyable experience in the first place. In such a tradition do we find vaguely Cardiacs-adjacent³ British avant-prog ensemble Lost Crowns. Ensemble groups in prog aren’t exactly new—Meer has seen great underground success as of late—but Lost Crowns are a wholly different breed, and their latest offering The Heart Is in the Body is—ironically—possibly one of the purest intellectual constructs in music I’ve heard to date. Let’s dissect this bad boy, shall we?

How many different things can you play at once while keeping a coherent arrangement? If Lost Crowns are to be believed, the answer to that question is yes. Vocal harmonies, ever-shifting polyrhythmic drumming, percussive and melodic guitar lines, keyboards in sync with only the kick drum on the lower end while in counterpoint with the rhythm guitar on the higher end, wind instruments playing atonal melodies, often all at the same time define much of The Heart Is in the Body. If you get dizzy reading that, deciphering all the madness while listening is bound to make your brain explode. Lost Crowns bring nearly every Western European instrument under the sun into this album as well: saxophone, clarinet, bassoon, harmonium, flute, violin, bagpipe, dulcimer, and a whole lot more you can read in the credits below. These instruments are brought together in a crystal clear, cosy mix with just enough reverb to evoke a chamber feeling, meaning not a single note is Lost in Crown’s quest to overstimulate the listener.

“Try not to think, you need to feel the music!” my mom would often say while I was growing up, but jeez, Lost Crowns do not go for any easily recognizable feeling either. With how choppy and angular not just the rhythm section but also the vocal melodies and lead instruments are, listening to The Heart Is in the Body becomes rather akin to a solfège exercise than an emotional journey of any kind. “The Same Without”, for example, starts with a melancholic, serene atmosphere consisting of nothing but vocals, harmonium, and some strings. Chaos erupts when guitars, drums, and keyboard come in, and so little of the opening mood remains that we might as well have been in a different song. After that, only the chorus (?) provides some sense of recognizable catharsis; everything else is an overly well-designed labyrinth. Even though Lost Crowns usually maintain a sense of narrative in their songs, they also pull out the rug from under you at any given time with rhythmic switch-ups and unpleasant atonal melodies. It’s hard to care about where a song will go next if it switches things up fifteen times in the time it takes to form that thought. All the variety in instrumentation and layering cannot save The Heart Is in the Body from the monotony of its chaos. 

The two major exceptions to the maximalist style on The Heart Is in the Body are “O Alexander” and closing epic “A Sailor and His True Love”, which are overwhelmingly atmospheric tracks. The former is a disorienting psychedelic piece while the latter ventures into folk territory, somewhat bringing Comus to mind in its estranging yet somehow cosy mix of genres. Both tracks lose themselves to off-kilter indulgence at points, but on the whole stand out for their relatively simple arrangements. Merely allowing some breathing room for the instruments instead of cramming in a dozen at once does wonders for the emotional connection that was lacking otherwise. These songs still aren’t easy to follow by any means, but considering how hard the rest of the album is to listen to, they are a blessing. 

Safe to say, The Heart Is in the Body is an utterly bewildering album. At its best, you’ll find some of the most interesting, challenging music you’ll hear all year; at its worst, you’ll also find some of the most interesting, challenging music you’ll hear all year, but this time in a bewildering manner with a level of chaos that makes Between the Buried and Me seem tame in comparison. For the majority of the album’s duration, I fell in the latter camp; however, I do expect that our analytically inclined readers will have a field day with this album’s intense attention to detail and frighteningly complex narrative structure. Do proceed with caution, however, because The Heart Is in the Body is not for the faint of heart, nor the faint of body.

Recommended tracks: She Didn’t Want Me, A Sailor and His True Love
You may also like: Good NightOwl, Comus, Stars in Battledress, Eunuchs, Cime
Final verdict: 4/10

1. Alternatively, according to my colleague Tim: Canterbury prog on crack. ︎
2.  We’re actually severely lacking in classic prog rock specialists on our staff so if you’re into that and like to write about music, please consider applying! ︎
3.  Main man Richard Larcombe and his brother James were in Stars and Battledress who have played shows with Cardiacs. James also mixed The Garage Concerts. ︎

Related links: Bandcamp | Spotify | Facebook | Instagram | Rate Your Music

Label: Independent

Lost Crowns is:
– Nicola Baigent (clarinet, bass clarinet, saxophone, recorder, flute)
– Charlie Cawood (bass guitar, double bass, handbells, sitar)
– Sharron Fortnam (vocals)
– Keepsie (drums, handbells)
– Richard Larcombe (lead vocal, guitar, harmonium, harp, tin whistle, violin, cello, concertina, English border bagpipe, dulcimer)
– Rhodri Marsden (piano, keyboards, bassoon, saw, recorder, tremelo guitar, percussion, theremin, vocals)
– Josh Perl (keyboards, vocals)

With guests:
– Mark Cawthra (vocals on 2, 5 and 6)
– Susannah Henry (vocals on 3)
– James Larcombe (hurdy gurdy on 8)
– Sarah Nash (vocals on 3 and 7)

The post Review: Lost Crowns – The Heart Is in the Body appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Djent, progressive metal (harsh vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Meshuggah, Volumes, Dvne
Country: Sweden
Release date: 11 April 2025

On the whole, djent groups often struggle to stand apart from each other. The staccato riffs and polyrhythmic gymnastics of Meshuggah—pioneering as they are—were destined to influence and be imitated by countless metal musicians. Sometimes I’m still in awe that, over twenty-five years later, so many newer artists in the genre are still chasing the sound of Nothing and even Chaosphere. We reached critical mass on these homages and imitations long ago, making it that much harder for each successive newcomer to stand out in a meaningful way.

At the same time, the barriers to recording and distributing music have shrunk, making it easier for upstarts to set up their spot here at the djent flea market. Truth be told, I find myself wandering this bazaar most Fridays. And as I browsed the usual shouting stalls today, I happened upon Limbo’s humble stand. On display: their debut full-length Elicit. After one last glance across the vendors to see if anything else caught my eye, I decided to give this LP a spin.

At the end of my first listen, I struggled to remember anything about Elicit. I suppose that’s not automatically a bad sign—there’s nothing egregious enough to, ahem, elicit a strong reaction (Hello? Is this thing on?). Of course, the other side of that coin is that I’m not ruminating on any riff, pensive about any vocal passage, nor brimming to go check out that one breakdown again. Off-kilter rhythms in the bass drums, followed in lock-step by the guitars tuned down to the floor itself, with the crash cymbal counting a steady one, two, three, four just aren’t all that remarkable and memorable anymore. I guess Limbo is an oddly appropriate band name.

After spinning the album a few times now, I’ve come to appreciate one song in particular: “Emerald.” Its guitar parts feature some melodic, jogging runs that occasionally burst out of the low string insanity, while airy synths give a touch of atmosphere to the whole track. Original? No—but still effective, and much more so than the distracting synths scattered across other songs. The vocals on “Emerald” are serviceable enough in isolation: raspy growls that lean a little deathcore, though fairly one-note, much like they are throughout Elicit. The sledgehammer guitar riffs throughout this release, particularly in “Phantasmalian” and “Olēka,” are undeniably heavy, but they don’t break any new ground, not even in relation to each other. Every track, from the opener “Myriad” to the closing title track, runs at the same tempo, the same volume, and at the same brute intensity—with an ambient intro or outro sprinkled here and there.

Consequently, Elicit suffers from what I was tempted to call a distinct lack of variety. But really, the lack of variety here isn’t all that distinct; it’s the same homogeneity that plagues this flavor of progressive metal of late. Djent has kind of set itself up for this. When the ethos is “all rhythm, no melody,” you’re basically sprinting headfirst into a creative brick wall. Combine that with the fact that a lot of djent bands seem to write for gym playlist fodder—punchy, heavy, and gone before you know it—and we’re sitting in a veritable variety desert.

Ultimately, I fall on the negative side for Elicit even though there’s nothing outright offensive to my musical taste here—which, paradoxically, might be exactly the problem. In general, I’m much more likely to enjoy (or at least remember) an album that tries something that’s a little off the beaten path, even if the experiment doesn’t work. That’s why I get so much enjoyment out of djent-adjacent groups like Animals As Leaders, VOLA¹, or Periphery. All of those groups are nominally Meshuggah worship to some degree, but djent is only one weapon in their respective arsenals. I hope Elicit isn’t all that Limbo has to offer, as I’m always down to give some low-tuned heaviness a shot. But this LP is in, not good company, but certainly numerous company: the countless djent albums I’ve listened to and completely forgotten.

Recommended tracks: “Emerald”
You may also like: Múr, Mhorai, Vestigial, Monoscream
Final verdict: 4/10

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

Label: Self-release

Limbo is:
Marcus Douglas Johansson – Guitars
Julius Dellås – Guitars
Philip Elias – Bass
Daniel Håkansson – Vocals
Dennis Sandberg Nilsson – Drums

1. The Subway’s resident VOLA megafan Dave pointed out to me that VOLA drummer Adam Janzi actually guests on “A Thousand Windows.” “If he can’t save a djent song, no one can.” ︎

The post Review: Limbo – Elicit appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Art by Shad Mouais

Style: Progressive death metal, technical death metal (mixed vocals))
Recommended for fans of: Obscura, Alkaloid, Black Dahlia Murder, Gorod
Country: France
Release date: 4 April, 2025

Watching real life character development before your eyes is always interesting. Artists rarely show their true forms right out of the gate; whatever insanely ambitious project they may have brewing might just not match their current level of talent. It takes years, maybe decades of honing that craft to see a vision like that through. The early works of George R.R Martin don’t even hold a candle to how efficiently his epic A Song of Ice and Fire series is written, nor do the pre-Dickinson Iron Maiden albums have anything on their legendary mid-80s discography run. Gorguts didn’t create their dissodeath empire in a day, and even the mighty Archspire shot out of the gate with a misstep.

Fractal Universe didn’t quite get the memo, and released Engram of Decline, which is to this day, a masterclass in tech-death riffing and song structure. Sure, it’s a bit bloated, and the vocals weren’t quite there yet, but it’s a record full of face-melting riffs, jazzy solos, and just the right amount of sax. The prog influences, breakneck tempo changes, and spacy ambiance cemented Fractal Universe as a band who quickly rose to power in the tech-death pantheon. Then, they dipped further into prog and further away from tech, and any worry I had of them losing identity quickly faded with releases two and three. Rhizomes of Insanity and The Impassable Horizon are somehow even better releases than the debut, showing a band who’ve matured far faster than most. Surely, on the Great Filters, fortune favors this band over the massive amount of tech-death bloat we’ve experienced in recent years?

The Great Filters starts strongly enough, with a signature spidery riff pattern before quickly changing to the clean vocals we’ve come to know and love on their last two releases. But, something’s off—almost immediately. Vince Wilquin’s cleans sound a touch whiny here, and continue to sound that way for the rest of the album. The powerful rasps and delicate, Morean-like (Alkaloid, Noneuclid) vocal patterns have been completely eschewed in favor of something nasal, and they’re not at all pleasant to listen to. The growls are secondary on the whole record, added beforehand to make the soaring, clean chorus on every song feel like it has some semblance of dynamics. There’s a blandness to this record that hasn’t been found on any of the band’s prior releases, complete with the same spacey clean guitar that needs to be used during the clean verses. Every song follows nearly the exact same formula, feeling like better pieces of other Fractal Universe songs shoved where they don’t belong. 

Even the production sounds off, not in the typical, plastic-y way that tech-death normally does. The Great Filters tip-toes between sounding clinically clean and overwhelmingly compressed, with both the softer and heavier sections being lifeless and hollow as a result. There’s an oomph to The Impassable Horizon’s glassy, grunting, audible bass and incredible guitar tones, all while remaining crystal clear in the dynamics. The drums are mixed horribly here, with a nearly inaudible snare and nonexistent kicks meekly driving most of the songs. Not to mention the overuse of sax, which is the only instrument that seems to be mixed correctly. Vince Wilquin’s skills are nothing to scoff at, but having it showcased in almost every song for the sake of padding ruins the gimmick as early as ‘Causality’s Grip,’ and by the time the sax appears on ‘Specific Obsolescence’, I was rolling my eyes and experiencing what can only be described as aural pain from the oppressively generic solo that followed.

‘The Equation of Abundance’ sees the band dip into an almost ballad-like territory, and it reaffirms that The Great Filters’ songwriting is all over the place. Gone are the face-melting riffs and solos, instead replaced with generic, odd-timed chugs. Each song has the standard, massive chorus where the vocals are belted out and the chords are huge, but just like the rest of the record, they feel more like ticks off a playbook than the band actually experimenting with their songwriting chops. There isn’t an ounce of memorability on this record, yet I can still sing the amazing chorus of ‘Flashes of Potentialities’ from Rhizomes, because that record didn’t write the same song nine times.

I can’t be the slightest bit forgiving, because this isn’t some no-name band. This is a band that is near and dear to my heart, and I’ve just watched them miss the pool and dive headfirst into concrete. As I write this, the outro of ‘A New Cycle’ plays, offering a reprisal of the intro chugs and lead-line. Instead of feeling that my soul has ascended and my palette sated, I can only feel that I’ve looked upon something empty. This serves as a shining example of playing to a formula, and forgetting what made the band so outlandish and unusual in the first place. Instead of progressing, everything here is regressing, back to the very antithesis of what a genre like progressive death metal is all about. I guess regression is a type of character development too, right? 

Recommended tracks: The Void Above
You may also like: Carnosus, Synaptic, Retromorphosis
Final verdict: 4/10

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

Label: M-Theory Audio – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Fractal Universe is:
– Vince Wilquin (vocals, guitar, saxiphone)
– Valentin Pelletier (bass)
– Clement Denys (drums)

– Yohan Dully (guitar)

The post Review: Fractal Universe – The Great Filters appeared first on The Progressive Subway.