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 Gal Ben Haim’s phenomenal guitarwork is also no more; he has been replaced by Yaron Gilad (ex-Tillian) and Danny Aram.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.

Style: Progressive rock, symphonic rock (instrumental)
Recommended for fans of: King Crimson, Camel, Vangelis, Anekdoten, Focus
Country: Norway
Release date: 25 July 2025

In the kingdom of the rock band, the throne usually belongs to the singer, who commands attention while the instruments orbit like loyal courtiers. There may be a guitarist lurking like a scheming vizier, angling to one day seize control, or a keyboardist playing the role of the staunch and trusty chancellor—perhaps the favourite of the court, even if the crown rests elsewhere. But in instrumental bands, the throne sits conspicuously empty. Some groups fill the vacancy by crowning another instrument as monarch. Others leave the court in disarray, offering tracks that feel like singer-less karaoke, shapeless without a clear voice from the throne.

But there is a secret third option: on their debut album The Book of Hours, Norwegian band Agropelter opts for a little throne room reno, removing the seat of power entirely in favour of a round table. Gathered around it are flute, organ, mellotron, guitar, fretless bass, piano, and more; each takes turns steering the conversation and weaving lush, indulgent harmonies. The resulting sound draws heavily on the pizzazz of 70s and 80s prog rock while peppering in jazz, classical, cinematic hues, and even a dash of AOR. It’s a lively musical dialogue, rather than a single ruling figure holding court.

Evoking everything from Rachmaninoff to King Crimson to the Old-School RuneScape soundtrack within a single track, one could easily imagine Agropelter’s multi-instrumental milieu feeling cramped or scatterbrained. However, The Book of Hours unfolds with unhurried assurance. Those who prefer their music structured will find no catchily-packaged verse-chorus deals here; the album flows more like a stream of consciousness, a winding road meandering towards something that always stays just past the vanishing point. Most of the time, this works: I wouldn’t bat an eye if you told me that the solo five minutes into “The Book of Hours Pt I” was lifted from a Rachmaninoff or Beethoven piano concerto, as its long phrases lope elegantly in arcing forms, but the final tumble down the keyboard’s low end to the waiting mellotron feels effortless and natural, too. However, not all twists in the road are as deftly navigated. Take, for instance, the bass solo that bubbles up from the murky bottom of the dense soundscape in “Burial Mound”. Though sharply executed and poignantly eerie, it trails off without a true resolution. And the same goes for album opener “The Flute of Peril”—Agropelter hasn’t yet mastered the art of gracefully laying a track to rest once the journey has run its course.

The Book of Hours opens with an atmospheric fricassée of cawing crows, thunder, and rain that occasionally reappears between tracks. Though the colourfully varied instrumental tapestry often delights with unexpected timbres poking out of the thrumming inter-track ambiance, there are fewer surprises when it comes to the melody. That is to say, Agropelter is content to resolve phrases and harmonies in ways that you might anticipate—pretty and satisfying rather than challenging, dissonant, or unsettled. For example, the cinematic major-key theme that closes “The Book of Hours Pt I”:¹ harmonically, its path is somewhat telegraphed, but the effect is less that of a predictable cliché, and more of a puzzle piece sliding neatly into place.

Whether it’s the sultry, jazz-tinged piano in “The Book of Hours Pt II” or the shimmering AOR glint of the keys and guitar that open “Levitator”, Agropelter’s stylistic flourishes never feel out of place. Instead, though the dominant accents are the brio of vintage prog rock and the elegant grandeur of Romantic Classical music, each voice still finds its place at the round table. Agropelter may have never crowned a ruler, but The Book of Hours proves that a court can thrive without one. Together, the album’s numerous influences and instruments coalesce into a debut that surprises and charms at nearly every turn.

Recommended tracks: Burial Mound, The Book of Hours Pt I, The Book of Hours Pt III
You may also like: Øresund Space Collective, Agusa, Änglagård, King Garcia
Final verdict: 7.5/10

Related links: Bandcamp | Official Website | Instagram

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

Agropelter is:
– Kay Olsen (guitars, bass, church organ, keyboard)
– Jonas Reingold (fretless bass)
– Mattias Olson (percussion, synths)
– Andreas Sjøen (drums)
With guests:
– Jordi Castella (grand piano)
– Eli Mine (harpsichord)
– Norlene M (cello)
– Aileen Antu (double bass)
– Luis Vilca (alto flute)
– Hannah Danets (flute)
– Zhivago (bassoon)
– Edgar Asmar (duduk)

1. This and a few passages in “The Book of Hours Pt III” call to mind Mark Knopfler’s soundtrack work. ︎

The post Review: Agropelter – The Book of Hours appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Black metal, atmospheric black metal, folk (harsh vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Winterfylleth, Grima, Havukruunu, Panopticon, Abigail Williams
Country: New York, United States
Release date: 8 August 2025

Native American and Norse peoples share a few historical parallels in how they were confronted, overrun, and transformed by Christian evangelization. Norse paganism was gradually outlawed in favor of Christianity in the high middle ages, while colonization of and expansion within the New World saw many Native American peoples and practices eradicated via law, violence, and disease. Many surviving texts and oral traditions from these cultures were subsequently preserved (and thus perverted) through Christian reinterpretation and narrative.¹ In both histories conversion to Christianity was, to put it lightly, highly encouraged. The treatment and transformation of these two ocean-separated populations isn’t a mirror image, but their history certainly rhymes.

In its developing stages, a large part of Scandinavian black metal identity was rooted in rebelling against that historical inertia and embracing the old ways²—continuing to shape the genre to this day. All that to say: I can see how the sights, sounds, and lyrics of black metal might have a certain appeal to somebody of Native American descent. Though he’s not the first to infuse an indigenous influence with extreme metal, Jon Krieger’s Blackbraid is certainly my favorite. Blackbraid I was an instant darling and my favorite release of 2022; the Native American inspiration, artwork, and dour yet melodious atmosphere in the music hit all the right spots for me. Blackbraid II (2023) was even better, expanding on and refining the ideas from its predecessor and cementing Krieger as more than just a one-off.

Blackbraid III has now descended upon us, with no shortage of the fire and frost of its elder brethren. As before, riffs arrive in a variety of guises: tremolo-picked blizzards punctuated by brash high chords, power-chord progressions that chant beneath soaring lead lines, and even a few chugs on the low end for good measure. The unceasing wintry gale of the harmonious guitars in “Tears of the Dawn” will blanket you in aural snow, and the hollow production style of the album only adds to that chilling effect. “God of Black Blood” trudges with slow, face-crumpling heaviness (and has the album’s standout guitar solo). My favorite track, though, is “And He Became the Burning Stars.” It opens with a triplet-driven 6/8 riff whose rhythm is an oar cutting through turbulent waters. Surrounding this riff are dissonant yet melodic chords that crash into it, feeling both alien to the riff but perfectly at home in the album’s broader sound. But, the real magic of the song comes in its melodic and soft bridge that transitions into the latter half of the piece, which completely transforms the song into something as beautiful and pensive as the opening was aggressive. You’ll remain exhilarated and moved across its ten minute runtime.

The music here is so consistently captivating that the greatest criticism I can level at Blackbraid III is its overly rigid structure. The opening tracks set a template that the rest of the album rarely strays from: a soft, acoustic opener (“Dusk (Eulogy)”) followed by a full-throttle black metal scorcher (“Wardrums at Dawn on the Day of My Death”). This pattern is almost ever-present, deviating only after “Wardrums…” and again at the very end, with a fantastic cover of Lord Belial’s “Fleshbound.” One particular interlude track, “The Earth Is Weeping,” is overly repetitive, three times as lengthy as it should be, and should have been attached to its predecessor as an outro. Others, though, justify their place—like “Traversing the Forest of Eternal Dusk,” which weaves flowing guitar melodies, Native American flute, and what sounds like genuine field recordings of a living forest into something transportive. Such interludes are the quiet nighttime fires that keep you alive amidst the icy gusts of the black metal blizzard about you.

Krieger’s knack for creating evocative song titles continues to be in full effect³ on Blackbraid III. With names like “And He Became the Burning Stars” or “Wardrums at Dawn on the Day of My Death,” the part of me that longs for lore and some form of spiritual communion with nature swells just reading them. The lyrics are no slouch either: “The dust of my spirit / Shall flow forth at twilight / A sacred sepulchre in frost / An offering of flesh to the moss” (from “The Dying Breath of a Sacred Stag”). Adding to the effect is the top-notch vocal delivery and production on III. While not being able to understand a harsh vocalist’s specific words almost never detracts from a song for me, intelligible rasps and gutturals can only elevate the material—and nary a scathing shriek passed through my ears that I couldn’t understand on first listen.

I came into Blackbraid III with expectations that were miles high, and in that sense I might be slightly disappointed. Across its fifty-three minutes, the shifts between fury and calm create a cycle of tension and release that mirrors the ebb and flow of the natural landscapes that the album evokes. Thus, the music clings to the tonal and structural palette of its magical predecessors—perhaps to a fault. The consistency that Blackbraid has displayed across three releases is both a blessing and a curse. I tend to be most interested in trying out new flavors from an established artist, and Blackbraid III doesn’t exactly try any different recipes in the cookbook. Yet its strong songwriting, deep integration of the creator’s folklore, and solid production values go a long way to turn a “more of the same” release into something that I’ll keep spinning over the years.

Recommended tracks: And He Became the Burning Stars, Traversing the Forest of Eternal Dusk, The Dying Breath of a Sacred Stag, Like Wind Through the Reeds Making Waves Like Water
You may also like: Saor, Walg, Valdrin, Pan Amerikan Native Front
Final verdict: 7.5/10

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

Label: Independent

Blackbraid is:
– Jon S. Krieger, also known as Sgah’gahsowáh (vocals, guitars, bass)
With guests:
– Neil Schneider (drums)

1. I myself grew up in an American-born Christian tradition that bastardizes the history of Native Americans. ︎
2. And I mean the old “old ways,” not the South/Central Europe circa 1939 “old ways.” ︎
3. “Barefoot Ghost Dance on Bloodsoaked Soil,” “Warm Wind Whispering Softly Through Hemlock at Dusk” (Blackbraid I), “A Song of Death on the Winds of Dawn,” and “Twilight Hymn of Ancient Blood” (Blackbraid II) being some favorites from previous albums. ︎

The post Review: Blackbraid – Blackbraid III appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Progressive death metal (mixed vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Meshuggah, Rivers of Nihil, Entheos, Tesseract
Country: United States
Release date: 14 August 2025

“We all rip off Meshuggah!” Or so Devin Townsend famously said in his 2014 track, “Planet of the Apes.” Comedic exaggeration? Slightly. But Meshuggah’s influence and the proliferation of djent have defined a solid chunk of the metal released after the mid-aughts. Our boy Justin dove deeper into the style’s evolution in his review of Atlan Blue by Antediluvian Projekt—a middling djent album released earlier this year—but suffice it to say that numerous artists have added a couple of strings to their guitars and embraced those chunky, polyrhythmic grooves. And though in recent times many bands have adopted djent and its features as a weapon in their sonic arsenals rather than as a core part of their identity, the style remains prominent. Hell, even the latest Muse single, “Unraveling,” includes a gratuitous djent passage.

This brings us to progressive death metallers Kallias and their latest release, Digital Plague. The album’s story—one of humanity’s unhealthy digital obsession, technological overreach, and the ongoing pattern of creation and destruction—is given life by, you guessed it: big, heavy, djent riffs. As the band put it, “Think if Meshuggah scored Blade Runner.” Eight-string guitars in hand, Kallias ravage their way through the tracks with the intensity of a helicopter blade. But, while Meshuggah might be their most apparent influence, the band wield djent as one tool in their prog-death toolkit—technical chops, cinematic orchestrations and synths, odd time signatures, and diverse vocals all coalesce in a fresh and shockingly accessible release.

Kallias’s strength lies in the balance they strike between heavy chugs, progressive flair, and hooky passages, and nowhere is this more apparent than in standout track “Null Space.” Within the first two minutes, we’re treated to a massive, choppy verse, textural synths, proggy riffing, and an earworm of a chorus that reminds, frankly, of a ballsier TesseracT. Still, the track sounds cogent and compelling. Similar can be said about the infectious opening cut “Destructive Apathy.” Frontwoman and guitarist Nicole Papastavrou backs up her fiery playing with ferocious growls—across all Digital Plague, she’s a force. Meanwhile, in addition to his consistently outstanding instrumental performance, bassist Chris Marrone delivers a diverse array of clean vocals that provide something to grab onto amidst the mayhem. 

Digital Plague’s tracks don’t stray far from one another, each offering some combination of dramatic intensity and complementary melodicism. But to help keep the album from turning stale, Kallias introduce new elements throughout. The title track, for instance, builds tension with staccato, bowed strings, and later features a soft, almost Opethian bridge. “Pyrrhic Victory” distinguishes itself with chant-like clean vocals that further Digital Plague’s narrative, eventually giving way to a big, rolling outro accompanied by cinematic synths. “Exogíini Kyriarchía” leans most heavily into djent, and “Shadow Entity” is more brooding and ends with a guitar solo that stands as an album highlight. Each track provides something engaging to catch the ear, while tight and often technical musicianship is consistent across the release. The rhythm section, in particular, is ridiculously active, forming a solid backbone while still delivering blazing flourishes throughout. 

Yet, despite the band’s instrumental prowess and constant sprinkling of new ideas, Digital Plague feels a tad formulaic. Each song runs about four and a half to six minutes and has a similar atmosphere and feel. The compositions are dynamic within individual songs, but show less variety across the tracklist—they all hit the same spot, even if striking from slightly different angles. Fortunately, the formula works, and Digital Plague is a blast. But because of this, the album has a high floor and a relatively low ceiling. Venturing into a few new sonic territories and taking some bigger compositional risks could have elevated the release that extra bit.

All in all, Digital Plague nods at Kallias’s influences while holding its own identity. Plenty of riffs will make your face wrinkle and your head jolt, but you’ll also find about a half dozen infectious choruses to sing along to. And although the album could contain more diversity from song to song, its cinematic nature keeps it engaging, the tracks stand strongly on their own, and the performances are ferocious. Basic Meshuggah worship this is not. We’ve sure come a long way since HevyDevy’s proclamation.

Recommended tracks: Destructive Apathy, Null Space, Shadow Entity
You may also like: Soreption, Aversed, Subterranean Lava Dragon, Daedric
Final verdict: 7/10

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

Label: Independent

Kallias is:
– Nicole Papastavrou (guitars, vocals)
– Chris Marrone (bass, vocals)
– Justin Gogan (drums)
– Erik Ryde (guitars)
With guests:
– Chaney Crabb of Entheos (vocals, “Destructive Apathy”)
– Ian Waye of Soreption (guitars)

The post Review: Kallias – Digital Plague appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Doom metal, post-metal, drone, neofolk (Mixed vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Conan, The Ocean, Neurosis, Om, Bell Witch, Lingua Ignota
Country: Canada
Release date: 8 August 2025

From a natural history perspective, the Earth has a remarkably tumultuous past. Starting its life in a barrage of cataclysmic impacts in the early solar system, the relative calm we experience today is uncharacteristic for our mercurial blue marble. Even going back just a few million years, the natural world was brutal, predatory, and unforgiving, a perfect landscape for metal’s monstrous riffs and dire atmospheres. Born from the primordial soup of Canadian doom metallers Völur and experimental electronic artist Cares, collaboration Breathless Spirit exhumes grayed fossils of old, uncovering dismal and violent pasts through experimental metal and folk music. The record is the latest in a series of collaborations from Völur known as “die Sprachen der Vögel”, or “The Language of Birds”; do Völur and Cares take off in glorious flight or does the language of Breathless Spirit fall on deaf ears?

Instrumental “Hearth” opens Breathless Spirit with the sound of flowing water, violins dirgefully rowing atop its currents as they repeat a thrumming motif. Völur and Cares take a loose approach to album flow, meandering along sinuous streams that traverse through lands of neofolk, drone, doom metal, and post-metal. This is not to say that they are lackadaisical or unfocused in their songwriting—each piece exudes an intentionality and plays a greater role in the record’s compositional narrative. Dynamics play a central role in song progression, as pieces are wont to begin slowly and subtly in the name of a monstrous climax (“Hearth”, “Windborne Sorcery II”, “On Drangey”) or begin raucously before petering out gently (“Breathless Spirit”).

Breathless Spirit embodies a certain nocturnal quality: the journey is one of de-emphasized riffs and subdued melodies in favor of hazy atmospherics, where silhouettes of the timberline stand out against a twilight sky but the details beneath are scant. Folkier sections invoke Impressionistic strings whose forms are gently tugged through gradual and minimal evolutions. Pieces like “Windborne Sorcery I”, “Hearth”, and “On Draney” are particularly delicate and intimate, tapping into a despondent sorrow that searches in vain for the words to articulate its internal world. The most stunning of these passages is the calmer second half of “Breathless Spirit”, where the harmonious vocals of Laura C. Bates and Lucas Gadke engage in plaintive dialogue with Bates’ expressive violin work; underneath, Cares’ keyboards add texture and color through subtle staccato jazz chords. Swirling winds then portend a powerful climax at the hands of Justin Ruppel’s kinetic drumming and Gadke’s psychedelic bass work in one of Breathless Spirit’s more ascendant moments.

The heavier tracks take a more chaotic and abrasive approach to Impressionism. A repetitive and chromatic riff etches out a jagged bed for Bates’ untethered banshee wails in the closing moments of “Windborne Sorcery II”, and watery tremolos reach a terrifying crest atop crushingly heavy drumwork in the first part of “Breathless Spirit”. The deluge of sludgy riffs reaches a head around the two-minute mark, where they pull back for a muted drum solo that builds into an eldritch vortex of intensity before the dam bursts and the track breaks down into placid folk instrumentals. Though these heavier moments engender an intense atmosphere, they are relatively impersonal compared to the calmer tracks, carrying an emotional detachment that makes them challenging to engage with fully. Try as I may, I can’t see the shrieking climax of “Windborne Sorcery II” as anything but well-done if unmoving, and the most compelling segment of closer “Death in Solitude” is when its stark tension finally begins to break thanks to subdued drum work and ominous clean vocals. A touch of melody in these sections would go a long way: “Breathless Spirit” is the most engaging of these heavier tracks as its riffage forsakes chromatic meandering for a more well-defined melodic identity. Additionally, the track doesn’t stay in its more intense form for too long, transitioning at just the right time into softer ideas.

Gripes with individual sections aside, Breathless Spirit is untouchable from an album flow perspective. There is a magic in the way that Völur and Cares effortlessly evoke compositional narrative as if Breathless Spirit’s disparate pieces were meant to be together. The earthen melodies of “Windborne Sorcery I” act as a perfect springboard into the apocalyptic doom of “Windborne Sorcery II”, whose chaos moves effortlessly into the oceanic heaviness of “Breathless Spirit”, ending on an appropriately calm note for “On Draney” to gently morph around droning violins. By hinting at future sections through subtle style shifts that retain the identity of their respective tracks, Breathless Spirit forges an inexorable bond between ideas that oscillate in intensity, style, and atmosphere.

Breathless Spirit coalesces a unique artistic vision through its experimental approach to metal. The nocturnal, primordial nature of its compositions lends the record to plaintive contemplation in its quieter moments and uproarious chaos in its heavier sections, even if these heavier sections often miss a bit of expressiveness. Still, the overall package is impossible to deny thanks to an alchemic magnetism between the band members and among Breathless Spirit’s disparate genres.

Recommended tracks: Breathless Spirit, Windborne Sorcery I, Hearth
You may also like: Wyatt E., Alora Crucible, The Ruins of Beverast, Sumac, Aerial Ruin
Final verdict: 7.5/10

Related links (Völur): Bandcamp | Facebook | Instagram | Metal-Archives
Related links (Cares): Bandcamp | Facebook | Instagram

Label: Batke Records

Völur is:
– Laura C. Bates (strings, vocals, percussion)
– Lucas Gadke (bass, keyboards, woodwinds, vocals)
– Justin Ruppel (drums, percussion)
Cares is:
– James Beardmore (keyboards)

The post Review: Völur, Cares – Breathless Spirit appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Related links: Bandcamp

Label: Fiadh Productions – Bandcamp | Facebook

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

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

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

Style: Progressive Deathcore, Technical Death Metal (Harsh Vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Fallujah, Rivers of Nihil, Black Crown Initiate, An Abstract Illusion, The Contortionist (early)
Country: USA (Nebraska)
Release date: 25 July 2025

Ben’s Raincoat is a legendary item that prevents one debuff and instead grants a temporary barrier for ten percent of maximum heal-oh shit, wrong review. Ahem. 

Named after an item from indie rogue-like game Risk of Rain 2 (great game by the way), Ben’s Raincoat is an American progressive death metal/deathcore band who describe themselves as a “Rogue-Like band with permadeath”. Well, that’s not a very helpful description, but suffice to say, Ben’s Raincoat obviously has a passion for gaming and music, so they’re alright dudes in my book. Radiant Cliffs is the debut EP from the five-piece tech death startup, and right off the bat, some comparisons are readily apparent. 

Perhaps the simplest way to sum up Ben’s Raincoat’s style is by saying that it sounds like half of the band’s favorite Fallujah album is Empyrean—abundant with modern technical rhythm guitar work and atmospheric lead guitar/synth textures—and the other half’s favorite is Leper Colony, with its crushing breakdowns and a more chug oriented approach to riffing. Radiant Cliffs’s riffing style consists mainly of arpeggiated melodic structures, and is often accompanied by soaring leads, blast beats, and double bass, forging ahead until they are inevitably interrupted by some form of deathcore breakdown. “Plunder” acts as a compelling thesis for such an approach: a swelling synth intro blooms into the main theme of the song—a 16th note tremolo that outlines the central chord progression—which returns later in expanded form for the chorus. I enjoy how each chorus is composed of straight 16th notes while every other part of “Plunder” has more of a cantering triplet feel, giving the song an engaging and satisfying structure. Ben’s Raincoat’s riffs are at their best when they focus on outlining and enhancing a song’s structure and melodic progression, or when straying further into galloping metalcore territory (“Material Possessions”, “Chorus of Flies”), and “Plunder” has both sides in spades. 

As with many a debut EP though, there are questionable exploratory moments that sound like Ben’s Raincoat didn’t quite know how to flesh out an idea, or otherwise fit certain parts together cohesively. Riffs will sometimes stray into odd deathcore-infused djent territory that feels at odds with the rest of a song’s structure. Take the intro riff to “Material Possessions” as an example: a stilted 16th note pattern jumps over awkward intervals that compose a melody which sounds more akin to an early 2010’s solo bedroom djent project than a modern tech death group. One of my favorite riffs of the EP follows immediately afterward—a shimmering downward cascade of 16th note groupings of three—giving a slight whiplash effect to a high point due to the somewhat clumsy pacing. Similarly, “Ignition” opens with an out of place hardcore riff bereft of any form of lead guitar or synth texture, leaving the track sounding like an unfinished soundscape in the context of the rest of Radiant Cliffs when the obvious intent was to be a firestarting thrasher.. Deathcore breakdowns occur on nearly every track, ranging from climactic (“Chorus of Flies”) to derivative Lorna Shore ripoffs (“Horticulture”), another symptom of the inexperience and inconsistency common on debut releases.

Besides Fallujah’s dreamy riff-laden atmosphere and Lorna Shore’s formulaic breakdowns, the other main point of reference to be found on Radiant Cliffs comes—somewhat surprisingly—in the form of vocalist Dominik English’s uncanny resemblance at times to Cattle Decapitation’s Travis Ryan. English has a massive range which he fully utilizes, and is able to pull off the same form of half-distorted “goblin” singing that Ryan is so well known for. At times, the vocal performance verges on the stereotype of deathcore vocal olympics, but English has a great sense of pacing, injecting his performance with plenty of layering and variety in an intelligent and natural manner, fully justifying his utilization of the tropes. While such a performance goes hand in hand with the core tech death and deathcore conceit of Ben’s Raincoat, it also has the unfortunate side effect of further illuminating the neophytic qualities of Radiant Cliffs. 

Fear not though, Ben’s Raincoat. You were raised in the crucible of rogue-like gaming. Sure, there are plenty of weak moments to go along with the strong, but the strong has great potential to be refined into something unique and compelling. You have the opportunity to take everything you’ve learned from your debut EP and do even better on your next playthrou-errr, release. There are a number of small details that shine through the tropes—such as the spectral piano over the chugging riff in “Chorus of Flies”, or the nostril inhale before the track’s climactic final breakdown—that blow the winds favorably in your direction. All that’s left is to continue working, exploring, and respawning until you’ve perfected your build. Something something meta progression.

Recommended tracks: Plunder, Material Possessions, Chorus of Flies
You may also like: Abiotic, Krosis, Ovid’s Withering, Serein
Final verdict: 5.5/10

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

Label: Independent

Ben’s Raincoat is:
– Jared LeGier (Bass)
-Geddy Johnson (Drums)
-Jace Krajicek (Lead Guitars)
-Nick Jordan (Rhythm Guitars)
-Dominik English (Vocals)

The post Review: Ben’s Raincoat – Radiant Cliffs appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Artwork by: Jess Allanic

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Label: Mascot Records – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

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

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

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

Style:  progressive black metal, electronica, industrial metal, symphonic metal (harsh vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Mechina, Thy Catafalque, Sigh
Country: France
Release date: 1 August 2025

I love when an artist has a philosophical vision that the music matches. The man behind Creatvre, Raphaël Fournier, knows exactly what he wants Toujours Humain (Always Human) to represent: a deep tension between being human and being part of the fast-approaching technological future. In I, Voidhanger’s Bandcamp blurb for the record, Fournier drops some absolutely fire explanations like “It [Toujours Humain] echoes the cries of those no longer heard, fragments of tweets turned into prayers” and “It’s an allegory of self-erasure for individuals, as programmed by those who set the agenda… The shame of still being biological.” A bit pretentious? Absolutely. But the description is undoubtedly poetic, and Toujours Humain definitely walks the walk.

As a writer at a blog of luddites, I am naturally drawn far more to the side of Creatvre that looks toward the past and not the imminent technocratic future. The project’s 2020 record, Ex Cathedra, is brilliant Baroque-inspired black metal with flute and real strings; in 2025, the Baroque aspect of Creatvre’s sound is wrapped into synthwave à la Keygen Church, the only remnants of non-electronic instruments being sax and trumpet in tracks like “R+X,” “Diffimation,” and “Shaïna.” Toujours Humain successfully distorts their classical compositional style rooted in human tradition into an industrial, synthesized album that sounds like it could be from the future.

Synths and synthesized choirs, off-kilter electronic beats, and industrial metal barking harshes lay down the foundation for Toujours Humain and its view of technology. Atop that base, Creatvre creatively branches out in a couple ways: the aforementioned Baroque influence in impressive counterpoint (“Hope Inc.”, “Chant des Limbes”), dancey industrial beats under trem picking (“Plus Humain”), vocoder (“Plus Humain”) and dynamic synthwave (“Toujours en Bas,” “Diffamation”). Fournier also explores several compositional assets that don’t work in his favor, like the constant industrial sections focused on rhythm much more than melody, the latter of which is Creatvre’s strong suit. Some tracks rely too much on those industrial cliches, too, leading them to be completely forgettable on the tracklist (“R+X” aside from its trumpet part, “810-M4SS”). Fournier’s vocals are also one-note, staying entirely within a small span of mid-range harsh growls, with an odd whispered quality from multilayering, that feel out of place compared to the often exploratory and dynamic music on Toujours Humain. 

Exacerbating the middling industrial metal sections is a loud, fittingly over-produced sound. The strong guitar leads on “Syntropie” and “Chant des Limbes” get buried in a dozen different synth tones, which bleep, bloop, arpeggio, and provide a fat bottom end to the sound. No room is left for breathing in the mix—not that our cyborg counterparts will need air—in favor of a full, epic sound. The choral moments are the only ones that benefit from the loud mix, as they achieve a bombastic score-like quality, similar to Neurotech. The rare moments where fewer elements are moving around the sonic space in parallel are clearly where Creatvre excels; for instance, at 1:12 in “Hope Inc.”, Fournier isolates the main lead guitar with a single synth line to go into the Baroque-infused main melody in the “chorus” of sorts. The track also has a much more energetic swing than much of the rest of the album, mostly avoiding the industrial slog. 

Fournier gets his point across on Toujours Humain that man and machine are on an imminent collision course with his blend of old and new, but I hope that he rediscovers his more human composition because my still-unchipped brain prefers the symphonic black metal of Ex Cathedra over the industrial synthiness of Toujours Humain. Or, perhaps, I’m just too slow at evolving to fit the new technology and will be left behind as an embarrassing remnant of what our species was, fleshy and reliant on oxygen.

Recommended tracks: Hope Inc., Chant des Limbes, Diffamation
You may also like: Grey Aura, Neurotech, Keygen Church, Les Chants du Hasard
Final verdict: 6/10

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

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

Creatvre is:
– Raphaël Fournier (voice, guitars, bass, synths, drums, trombones, trumpet, saxophone)
With guests:
– Ombre Ecarlate (additional composition)
– Cédric Sebastian (additional vocals on tracks 6-7)

The post Review: Creatvre – Toujours Humain appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Artwork by: Marald van Haasteren

Style: Doom Metal, Alternative Metal (Clean Vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Alice in Chains, Baroness, Pallbearer
Country: New York, United States
Release date: 27 June 2025

This may upset some people, but I thought Alice In Chains’ mid-Aughts reformation yielded some of the band’s coolest work. Perhaps not anything remotely as eternal as “Man in the Box,” “Rooster,” or “Would?,” but the shift from dark, moody grunge to dark, moody, doom-inspired grooves and atmosphere on Black Gives Way to Blue (2009) and The Devil Put Dinosaurs Here (2013) was fucking sick. Furthermore, they helped propel me towards bands like Pallbearer and other purveyors of riff-forward heavy rock. Disappointingly, the William DuVall-era of Alice in Chains has seen little activity since 2018’s Rainier Fog. Luckily, Blood Vulture has swooped in to partake of Jerry Cantrell and the boys’ lunch.

Circling the skylines of New York, the titular Blood Vulture reveals itself as one Jordan Olds, host of YouTube talk show Two Minutes to Late Night and, apparently, omni-gifted musician. From the girthsome, riff-forward doom guitars, modern metalcore-flavored synthesizers, roiling bass, down to the eerie Jerry Cantrell-esque crooning and bellowing, Olds executes nearly every aspect of debut album Die Close. One-man projects are nothing new in the world of metal (black metal, especially, seems laden with bedroom conjurers). While undertaking such a project is, I think, deserving of some measure of applause out the gate, there runs the risk that such high-minded ambitions may outstrip the capacity of the practitioner. For every Midnight Odyssey, a thousand more Oksennus¹ (Oksenni?) exist, filling the void with noise. Olds, to his credit, appears to have sidestepped some of this auteur-minded hubris by stacking a sizable guest roster at his back. But is this enough to give Blood Vulture’s debut the wings needed to soar? Or is the folly of man destined to curse Die Close with Icarian luck?

I’ll not beat around the wing—er, bush: This album kicks ass. From the opening guitar line and creeping vocal motifs of “Die Close: Overture” (finally, an intro that warrants its existence!) to the last resplendent harmonies of “Die Close: Finale,” Blood Vulture spends forty-five minutes delivering delectable platters of slow-rolling, tectonic alternative metal skewed toward a darkly Gothic ethos about a vampire living out the last of his immortal days long after the death of Humanity. Thick yet nimble riffs drill through post-apocalyptic landscapes of thunderous drums and growling bass tones, synths glittering like snatches of starlight piercing smog-choked skies. Olds’ voice is rich and thrumming with a decadent power worthy of his centuries-old protagonist. Alongside the obvious Cantrell-canting, there’re nuggets of John Baizely (Baroness) lingering in his harmonies (“Die Close: Interlude”), and even flashes of Sumerlands’ Phil Swanson in the way his voice melds with the production, culminating in a mosaic of winsome sonic idents.

Musically, Die Close haunts the liminal space between the morbid emotionality of Alice in Chains and the heaving riff-roil and production-blasting of modern doom mavericks Pallbearer. Olds buries the listener in bone-churning, groove-laden guitars, like the plaintive howls of Mankind’s vengeful ghost echoing across this blasted necropolis called Earth. Moe Watson’s drumming is equally committed, pounding and bludgeoning whatever life remains, heavy as the footsteps of our doomed vampiric wayfarer—yet capable of breaking into bursts of potent energy when required (“An Embrace In The Flood,” “A Dream About Starving To Death,” “Grey Mourning”), striking out with stampeding double bass and frenzied ride cymbal strikes like a sudden onset of PTSD. Doom metal can sometimes wander into realms of navel gazing, keen to drill away at a riff or motif endlessly to the point where the proverbial horse is beyond beaten. Blood Vulture soars over this pitfall thanks to considerate track lengths and song structures designed around forward momentum. Guest contributions from the likes of Kristin Hayter (Reverend Kristin Michael Hayter, ex-Lingua Ignota), Brian Fair (Shadows Fall, Overcast, Hell Night, Downpour), and Jade Puget (AFI, Blaqk Audio, XTRMST) fit into Die Close’s architecture flawlessly, adding to the album’s layers of dark, tragic beauty. (Hayter on “Entwined” creates an absolute standout of a track, in particular, her gospel-like vocals the perfect partner to Olds’ resonant cleans.) Even the interludes, of which there are three, secure worthy positions thanks to how they return to and build upon what becomes the album’s central motif, with “Die Close: Finale” closing the story with the kind of sorrowful bombast worthy of a suffering immortal.

Another feather in Blood Vulture’s plumage is a far simpler (on paper), yet no less important matter—one that has oft-wounded many an ambitious band and, generally (for me), marred the very reputation of the vaunted concept album. Olds has managed to strike a fine balance between his narrative goals and musical musts. He never forgets that Die Close is an album. Not a book. Not a movie. An album, whose mission first and foremost must be to enrapture the listener with its sonic wiles. Lyrics, and storytelling by proxy, are necessary components to this configuration, but when Aristotelian directives override bardic needs with three-act fancies, there’s little to be salvaged from the experience. Barring the “Die Close” trifecta of interludes, any of Die Close’s seven proper tracks can stand strong in a playlist shuffle without blunting momentum or capsizing the story, as the narratives are nestled snugly within the ebb and flow of their parent songs.

Since Sleep Token dropped Even In Arcadia back in May, I have been wondering if there would be anything in 2025 to come along and grab me in any similar way. I’ve listened to more than a few fun records, but most have been missing some measure of that special sauce required to saturate my taste. Blood Vulture doesn’t entirely reach the same level of addictive listening—few things will, at least until Silent Planet drops a new album—but this has been the first record post-EIA that I’ve sat back and gone, “I don’t really have anything negative to say.” Maybe the production could be a little clearer at times—the bass tends to get lost amidst the ruckus, an affliction all too common within metal—but this is some of the grooviest, coolest stuff I’ve listened to all year. Olds (and his collaborators) must certainly be commended for dropping such a confident piece of work. I don’t know who in 2025 may be waiting for new Alice in Chains, but if you’re out there, fret not: Blood Vulture is here to fill the void, and then some.

Recommended tracks: A Dream About Starving To Death, Grey Mourning, Entwined, Die Close: Finale
You may also like: A Pale Horse Named Death, Hangman’s Choir
Final verdict: 8.5/10

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

Label: Pure Noise Records – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Blood Vulture is:
– Jordan Olds (vocals, guitars, bass, synthesizers)
With guests:
– Jade Puget (additional guitars on “Grey Mourning”)
– Kristin Hayter (additional vocals on “Entwined” and “Die Close: Finale”)
– Brian Fair (additional vocals on “Burn For It”)
– Moe Watson (drums)
– Gina Gleason (additional guitars on “Die Close: Interlude”, additional vocals on “Die Close: Finale”)
– Emily Lee (additional vocals on “Die Close: Finale”)
– Steve Brodsky (additional vocals on “Die Close: Finale”)
– Kayleigh Goldsworthy (violin on “Entwined,” “Die Close: Interlude,” and “Abomination”)

1. See Andy’s review of Auringolla Ei Ole Käsiä for details. ︎

The post Review: Blood Vulture – Die Close appeared first on The Progressive Subway.