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: 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: Drone, ambient, post-rock (Mixed vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Sumac, Sunn O))), Swans
Country: Connecticut, United States
Release date: 1 August 2025

A ghost yearns for escape from the house in which they died, contemplating the weeds that grow over their grave; a man sees the reflection of a familiar yet contorted face in place of his own in a bathroom mirror, slowly eroding his sanity; at the end of a hopelessly long corridor, blasphemous rituals force prophecy out of the mouth of a severed head. Stories of haunting tie a past that cannot be ignored to the present, occupying spaces both physical and mental. Kayo Dot‘s latest record, Every Rock, Every Half-Truth Under Reason, lives wholly in this haunted world, casting incorporeal shadows on doorways through amorphous, experimental post-rock and shrill, brittle drone. Can Kayo Dot exorcise the ghosts of their past, or will the specter of half-truths loom forever?

Reuniting the lineup from Kayo Dot‘s 2003 debut Choirs of the Eye, flashes of the group’s past manifest in elements of Every Rock. The spoken word passages that adorn “Oracle by Severed Head” and lengthy ambient piece “Automatic Writing” recall the poetry present in many of Choirs‘ pieces. The freeform post-rock from the debut is let even further off the reins as “Oracle by Severed Head” and “Blind Creature of Slime” contort notions of song structure and rhythm into something even more obscure and unrecognizable. What is noticeably new, though, is the presence of sonoristic drone pieces, sitting in high-pitched and microtonal chords for lengthy periods accompanied by hoarse harsh vocals. Lyrically, Every Rock is teeming with the paranormal, crafting imagery around desecrated bodies (“Oracle by Severed Head”), a paranoid decay of wellbeing (“Closet Door in the Room Where She Died”), and entities bubbling with indiscriminate hatred (“Blind Creature of Slime”).

The signature compositional style of Every Rock is one of sheer intractability: well-defined beginnings and endings seldom appear across its extended pieces, and tracks are labyrinthine in structure. Opener “Mental Shed” immediately introduces harsh vocals and gleaming organs with no fanfare, suddenly transporting the listener into a painfully bright liminal space that stretches endlessly in all directions. The only musical footholds are clambering percussion and faint, ephemeral woodwinds. “Closet Door in the Room Where She Died” embodies a similar form, being led along by shrill keyboards, menacing strings and woodwinds, and wailing shrieks from Jason Byron; occasionally, a ghastly choir vocalizes in response to the maniacal ramblings of the narrator. From this Lynchian compositional approach arises an ineffable discomfort and occasional terror as the scant elements that engender a sense of familiarity either quickly fade away in wisps of smoke or melt into something unrecognizable.

Every Rock‘s post-rock tracks are similarly esoteric, albeit with an execution based on heavy use of free-time rhythms and asynchronous accents. “Oracle By Severed Head” gently introduces jangly guitars, splashing drums, and placid woodwinds which ebb and flow around Toby Driver’s diaphanous vocals. Everything plays in the same oscillating rubato but on wildly different accents, as if the constituent parts are a stewing suspension where each component is magnetically repelled from the other. Near its end, strings congeal each element into a towering behemoth as the track builds into a massive climax. “Blind Creature of Slime”, on the other hand, is compositionally stubborn, sporadically iterating on a single guitar phrase underneath a forceful and powerful vocal performance. The track begins on its highest note, wrapping its tendrils around the listener’s consciousness and forcing them to face the narrator’s blinding hatred, but spins its wheels for a touch too long. There is an intentionality in its repetitious unease, but by the end, I’m broken out of the suspension of disbelief needed to buy in to “Blind Creature” fully.

Working in tandem with the subtle evolution in Every Rock‘s tracks is the overall album pacing. Many of the record’s most stunning moments are born from the contrast and transition between drone and post-rock. The transition from “Mental Shed” to “Oracle by Severed Head” feels all the more cathartic and dreamy due to the intense release from the former’s shrill synthesizers into the latter’s hazy and relaxed instrumentation. The petering out of “Automatic Writing” makes the explosive introduction of “Blind Creature of Slime” even more intense. Additionally, the break in the piercing organs in the final third of “Closet Door in the Room Where She Died” creates a stark and powerful silence after they etch into the listener’s consciousness for ten-plus minutes. The longest track, “Automatic Writing”, is comparatively weaker when looking at the other drone tracks. In concept, the piece is compositionally brilliant, slowly coalescing its constituent parts from a blurry fuzz into wistful ambient passages with longing poetry, delicate soundscaping, and ascendant group vocals; I just wish it reached homeostasis more quickly. Its mammoth introductory segment evolves at a glacial pace—even Driver’s vocals are rendered textural as notes are held out for remarkably long intervals. Were “Automatic Writing” edited down, it would likely have the same emotional impact as the aforementioned tracks, but stands as a bit too meandering to fully earn its runtime as-is.

Every Rock, Every Half-Truth Under Reason is a brilliant, though occasionally flawed, marriage of the relatable and the surreal. Ultimately, the record chooses not to exorcise its ghosts, but instead invokes them, asking the listener to share the space and embrace the discomfort of that which is unknowable and irresolute. By cleverly subverting ideals of song structure, rhythm, and tonality, Every Rock fully embodies the liminal spaces inhabited by that which haunts us.

Recommended tracks: Oracle by Severed Head, Closet Door in the Room Where She Died
You may also like: Khanate, Alora Crucible, The Overmold, Natural Snow Buildings
Final verdict: 7.5/10

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

Label: Prophecy Productions – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Kayo Dot is:
– Toby Driver (vocals, guitar, bass, keyboards, organs, clarinet, flute, drums)
– Greg Massi (guitars)
– Matthew Serra (guitars)
– Sam Gutterman (drums, vibraphone, percussion)
– Terran Olson (clarinet, saxophone, flute)
– David Bodie (percussion)
With guests:
– Jason Byron (vocals, track 3)

The post Review: Kayo Dot – Every Rock, Every Half-Truth Under Reason appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Progressive rock, symphonic prog (Clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Gong, Steve Hillage, Rush, Motorpsycho
Country: Tennessee, United States
Release date: 4 July 2025

Very few works are as satisfying to come across as an overly ambitious yet brilliant opus. Azure’s Fym, Dissona’s Paleopneumatic, and Native Construct’s Quiet World are journeys across fantastical landscapes and across genres, dedicating themselves to a persistent theatrical grandeur; their lofty goals are overwhelmingly successful, and a slight lack of polish lends these records a timeless charm and a much-needed sense of humanity. Enter Pishogue, a genre-transcending duo featuring Georgia’s Finnian Boyson as Bælor’Throndoth and Tennessee’s Spife as, uh, Spife. Pishogue’s self-titled LP explored menacing and hypnotic Berlin school synths as a framework for an expansive story involving the collapsed continent of The Eldslunds, a setting rife with advanced technology, magical corruption, and prophecy. The duo’s latest release, The Tree at the End of Time, wholly recontextualizes the synths of Pishogue into a symphonic prog framework, detailing a pivotal moment in The Eldslunds’ history involving the transfer of knowledge and subsequent ascension of a Pishogue introduced in the debut. Like the titular character, do Pishogue transcend their expectations or do they collapse under the weight of their ambition?

Comprised of two expansive twenty-minute pieces, The Tree at the End of Time explores myriad textures as the movements weave in and out of free-form keyboard soundscapes and psychedelic, high-energy progressive rock jams. Dissonance is used as an accentuating feature, both in the synths (14:10 on “The Ascension of Metatron”) and in the guitars (4:30 on “The Tree”). In The Eldslunds, improvisation is the name of the game: each track moves about within a loose structure, focused more on the natural evolution of a song than on careful placement of motifs as Spife and Bælor’Throndoth play ideas off of each other. The record exudes 70s sensibilities, particularly in the fuzzy and warm production, the instrumental timbre, and in Spife’s vocal performance. Atop all this is an intricate story involving a Pishogue discovering a tree that imbues them with aeons of knowledge, cementing them as an avatar for the old gods.

Throughout both synthesized soundscapes and distorted progressive rock, the free and relaxed nature of improvisation is fully embodied across The Tree at the End of Time. Ideas introduced by Spife are allowed to stew for a few bars before Bælor’Throndoth introduces additional layers, and vice versa. Most notable is the accelerando drum buildup near the end of “The Tree”. Bælor’Throndoth smartly waits for Spife’s drum solo to culminate before releasing the tension with bright synth pads and swirling organ melodies, only to then build those into an utterly explosive finale alongside a cacophony of percussion. Additionally, the ferocious and kinetic jam at 4:20 on “The Tree” features keyboards that slowly creep in, allowing the listener to settle into the groove before being twisted into a frenetic and whining synth/guitar dance. Pishogue’s synergy is palpable across the record, as their performances show a prudence necessary to keep the loose song structures stable and cohesive. However, that doesn’t mean they restrain themselves entirely, as plenty of chaos is allowed to bleed in across both pieces in tandem with the more intense story beats. A frightening and volcanic section erupts around 12:40 of “The Ascension of Metatron”, where wailing guitars and stuttering drums are buried under harsh organ stabs, reflecting the inability of the Pishogue’s mind to comprehend the weight of The Tree’s gifted knowledge.

Whereas most prog prides itself on crystal-clear, almost clinical precision and cleanliness, Pishogue revel in an organic and raw feel that lends itself magnificently to The Tree at the End of Time’s improvisational nature. For example, the organ melody that introduces a Rush-flavored drum pattern on “The Ascension of Metatron” begins just a bit earlier than the drums, and the two fall out of lockstep for a couple of bars near the end of the first verse when briefly switching to an off-beat, but the section as a whole is so energetic and fun that the brief blemishes do little to mar the enjoyment. Where it becomes a bit more challenging to appreciate The Tree at the End of Time’s looseness is when these moments go on for too long: the organ solo at 4:50 on “Ascension” falls out of line with the drums a bit too persistently and ends up pulling me out of the experience for a moment. The track quickly pulls itself back together, though, with biting drum-bass interplay leading into a delicate and ethereal folk section. Additionally, many of the vocal performances are a little too raw and wild, particularly across “Ascension” during the blown-out and overwhelming vocals around 14:25 and the pitchy delivery in the track’s first verse. These are likely meant to represent the more fractured moments of the Pishogue’s sanity, but they are just a bit too grating in delivery; if anywhere could use some polish, it would be these sections.

Despite the occasionally eldritch soundscapes, free-form song structure, and use of dissonance, much of The Tree at the End of Time is ineffably cozy thanks to its unapologetic 70s sensibilities. The aforementioned folk section of “Ascension”, for example, features soft harmonized vocals, gently picked guitars, and wistfully delicate synth melodies not unlike the contemporary folk of the time; a playful flute dances around the section as well. Around 9:10 on “The Tree”, a fuzzy guitar melody evokes the feeling of entering an enchanted forest before leading into a triumphant solo. The more intense sections of the record often sit right alongside these more serene and bright sections, showcasing an effective compositional balance and evoking a dynamic narrative arc with logical flow.

The Tree at the End of Time shows a skillful collaboration between two artists, embracing the organic and sometimes messy nature of improvisation among monolithic symphonic prog pieces. Though a few sections could benefit from a bit of extra polish, particularly in the vocal delivery and in the rhythmic execution, much of the record effectively glides along its stream of consciousness and tells a dynamic high fantasy story.

Recommended tracks: The Tree
You may also like: Moving Gelatine Plates, We Broke The Weather, Karmic Juggernaut, David Bedford, Egg
Final verdict: 7.5/10

Related links: Bandcamp | Instagram

Label: Independent

Pishogue is:
– Spife (drums, guitar, bass, keyboards, violin, vocals)
– Bælor’Throndoth (bass, keyboards)

The post Review: Pishogue – The Tree at the End of Time appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: progressive death metal (harsh vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Ne Obliviscaris, Black Crown Initiate, Opeth
Country: United Kingdom
Release date: 4 July 2025

Progressive metal is a genre that thrives off pushing its own boundaries, each band trying to outdo their peers be it through instrumental prowess, philosophical depth, or sheer originality. As such, progressive metal is a genre defined by its high water mark albums: releases where an artist breaks free from the faceless crowd around them and manages to rise head and shoulders above, often inspiring a legion of copycats in their wake. In the wider prog scene, albums like Dream Theater’s Images and Words, Tool’s Ænima, and Meshuggah’s Nothing are such examples, but if one narrows their focus to progressive death metal, two bands come starkly into view: Opeth and Ne Obliviscaris.

While the bands’ respective sounds differ in some fundamental ways, their fusions of the unabashed viscerality of death metal with an insistence that the sub-genre could be something beautiful have made them the forerunners of modern progressive death metal. In the horde of imitators that now ape their every move, it can be hard to find music worth listening to over its muses, but perhaps it’s the struggle that makes it all the more pleasing when you find something worth sharing. Enter Erebor with Infinitus Somnium.

Eschewing the much more technical stylings of Inherent Malevolence, their debut release, Infinitus Somnium, or an infinite dream in Latin, sees Erebor honing their skills in longform composition. Made up of a single three-part track that comprises its entire forty-three minute runtime, this album is an exercise in tension and release. Across it, one is equally likely to hear a reverb-laden clean guitar ringing out in saccharine sadness as they are to hear a blistering solo or torrential blast beat. In fact, the tracks are more akin to post-metal in structure, with their meticulous buildups and decidedly epic climaxes, albeit with a clearly prog death texture. In my first listens, I struggled to work my way through a few of the more intense transitions, but as I became more familiar with the album, they went down easier and I now enjoy basically every moment.

The majority of the enjoyment I gleaned from Infinitus Somnium came from subtle ease and sway of tension between the guitar and drum parts to create spectacle. Take for instance, the rapid fire riffage and ensuing hailstorm of blast beats that begins the first heavy section of “The Endeavor.” The guitars alter their accent patterns to emphasize different parts of the drumbeat as the entire riff evolves into increasingly epic versions of itself, speaking to both the band’s compositional chops and their commitment to grandeur. And it’s that same commitment that makes dozens of moments across the album so engaging. From the actually hilarious drum fill that kicks “The Tower” into gear to the delightfully melodic and tastefully shreddy solos scattered across Infinitus Somnium, there is hardly a time while listening that I’m not smiling in the joy of prog death done well.

With its extended compositions and panoramic soundscapes, Infinitus Somnium demands comparisons to Ne Obliviscaris. The drumming across the album is wrought with the double bass heavy stylings of Dan Presland, and moments like the blooming chords around the middle of “The Endeavor” or the monumental climax of “The Apotheosis” sound as though Erebor’s guitarists may have a tape recorder hidden somewhere in NeO’s practice room. Erebor are clearly big fans of the death metallers from down under, and they wear their influences on their sleeve. 

Still, when you pit yourself up against one of the greats, you aren’t getting out of it scot-free. In a stat by stat comparison to NeO, Erebor holds its own except for in one category: the bass. Don’t get me wrong, Infinitus Somnium has plenty of bass sound—in fact, the mix in general is quite good—but the bass parts are just not that exciting. They weave their way through the drum and guitar parts like a corn snake through a field… and that’s all it does. On an album where every other instrument is free to explore the peaks of its potential, I expected one or two standout bass moments and never found them. Speaking of expectations, another element that Erebor lacks in respect to most other progressive death metal bands of this style is clean vocals, and their absence is noticeable. Many of the extended clean guitar sections throughout the album sound as though they were written around a lead melody, but nothing ever appears. There are a few intimate solos, and violin rears its head for a few seconds in “The Tower,” but the issue remains apparent as chords ring out and the drums chill out for a few seconds to support something that just never happens. Cleans very well may not be in the cards for Erebor, but they need to find something to fill the gaps in the softer moments. Bass perhaps? Thankfully, the harshes are totally serviceable and just varied enough to keep the sections where they are employed engaging.

Coming from a band that just switched from technical to progressive death metal and employing the ever risky album structure of one long song, Infinitus Somnium is an album that surprised me with how much I enjoyed it. While it doesn’t reach the same euphoric highs of the bands it imitates, it gets damn close, and I find myself wanting more in this long-form compositional style from Erebor. Who knows? With Xen out of band, any subsequent Erebor album may be the next best thing in the absence of Ne Obliviscaris.

Recommended tracks: The whole thing. It’s one long song.
You may also like: An Abstract Illusion, Serein, Tomarum, Citadel, Iapetus
Final verdict: 7.5/10

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

Label: independent

Erebor is:
– Will Unwin (bass)
– Tom Unwin (drums)
– Mia Bennet (guitars)
– Jordan Giles (guitars, vocals)
– Valentine Rodriguez (vocals)

The post Review: Erebor – Infinitus Somnium appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Progressive metal, post-hardcore (Mixed vocals)
Recommended for fans of: The Contortionist, Circa Survive, Voyager, Ions
Country: Georgia, United States
Release date: 18 July 2025

[An up-front disclaimer: Effuse’s vocalist, Chris Deese, is a fellow writer here at the Subway and also manages some of our social media. Though avoiding bias is impossible in this situation, this review reflects my honest take on On Others free of external forces or pressures.¹]

An inexorable bond exists between a piece of art and the world that surrounds it. Artistic expression is virtually impossible in a void, as the lived experience and ideals of the artist inevitably bleed into the design of a work. How, then, does an artist relate and react to the influence of the outside world? Atlanta, Georgia’s Effuse investigates this topic on latest EP, On Others. Do they successfully navigate the waters of artistic expression, or does the “Augury” foresee bad tidings for the quintet?

Adorned with touches of post-metal and post-hardcore, On Others explores an airy and cinematic take on progressive metal by way of Clairvoyant (The Contortionist). Tension-and-release comprises the central songwriting approach, encouraging ideas and moods to smoothly flow across its runtime. The use of a bright-yet-gloomy tonality in the guitarwork imbues a sense of drama and a wistful vocal style helps anchor songs melodically and inject the occasional earworm. Each track features punctuated grooves that dance around swirling polyrhythms and weightless tremolos; many of the EP’s grander moments evoke the feeling of being swept into the air or being submerged under giant crashing waves.

On Others’ greatest compositional strength lies in its monolithic structure. Every piece establishes its own identity through an internal ebb and flow while contributing to the EP’s greater ideas. Effortless transitions further heighten this sense of interconnectedness: every track either matches or builds on the momentum of the previous, whether it be the exhilarating switchup between chunky grooves on “Observer” and “Augury” or the grand synthesizers and fading guitars of “Orbweaver” descending into the gently picked melodies of “Two Cathedrals”. The bridge of each track provides additional contrast as Effuse explore more intense and abrasive textures through harsh vocals and frenetic drumming. Closer “Two Cathedrals” proves to be the most experimental in its stuttering and antsy climax, but never quite settles into its grooves, interrupting the track’s momentum and diminishing its grandiosity in the process.

Atop the hefty grooves, vocalist Chris Deese adds a vivid melancholic flair by tapping into the melodic sensibilities of post-hardcore, particularly that of Circa Survive’s Anthony Green. The performance on opener “Observer”, for example, is in-your-face and dramatic as Deese leans into a forceful delivery, throwing his voice around with momentum and even a bit of grit. On the other hand, much of “Augury” is plaintive and delicate, showcasing restraint and waiting until the bridge to let loose and explore staccato rhythms. Deese’s clean vocals are undeniably expressive and powerful, and his harshes are crystal clear in their enunciation, but they don’t quite match the expressiveness and bite of the cleans. As a consequence, the harsh vocal sections tend to come across as more functional in purpose, save for “Augury”, which manages to capture attention through compelling rhythms and effective interplay between the vocals and drums. Ironically, the harsh vocals shine the most when they are used as an accent to the cleans or when the two are harmonized. This is done to great effect during the closing moments of “Orbweaver”, where the cleans and harshes engage in a lockstep dance before the harshes drop out for an expansive conclusion.

The sense of melancholy embodied by the vocal performance extends to the EP’s lyrical themes. Focusing on the relationship between artist and audience, On Others is a reflection on the interpretation of art and the artist’s reaction to external forces. “Observer” discusses a breach of boundaries at the hands of an audience who may read into a piece too deeply or project their own worldview onto it, taking their read as gospel and engaging in the ‘death of the author’ as the piece’s original intent is masked. This theme is explored further on “Augury”, where the narrator betrays his frustration at this side of the audience: Deese opines that ‘The way we read the air’ is ‘Almost comical’ and refers to the audience’s interpretations as an ‘unbearable weight that holds me down’. The track later suggests that it may not even matter if a personal touch is missing from the art as people will fill in the blanks with their misunderstandings regardless, considering that ‘They won’t see / They won’t know / If I remove myself’.² 

Though the lyrics are a bit esoteric at times—I struggle with the metaphors on “Orbweaver” and “Two Cathedrals” and their place in the overall theme—there is a strong sense of cohesion through the reintroduction and repurposing of ideas. Repeated references are made to ‘painted skies’, representing the myriad approaches to artistic interpretation both intended and unintended by the artist. Additionally, the EP features many nods to the suggestion of ‘removing one’s self’ from the artistic creation process in an attempt to distance the artist’s works from their own ego and transcend potential outside influences.

Through cinematic and airy pieces, On Others weaves together groovy progressive metal and somber melodies into a panoramic and free-flowing musical experience. In both its imperfections and its lyricism, On Others effectively showcases the limitations of art as a means to convey ideas due to external influences and the internal world of the artist. This is of course not expressed as a motivation to stray from artistic pursuits, but as a way to cherish and celebrate the weird and wonderful evolution of ideas from the mind of the artist to the mind of the audience. Regardless of intention or interpretation, there is no better joy than to sing your melancholia out loud or to immerse yourself in grand, sweeping atmospheres.

Recommended tracks: Observer, Augury, Orbweaver
You may also like: Lattermath, Valis Ablaze, Hologram Earth, Inhalo
Final verdict: 7.5/10

Related links: Bandcamp | Spotify | Facebook | Instagram

Label: Independent

Effuse is:
– Chris Deese (vocals, keyboards)
– Taylor Kuter (guitars)
– Kane Lewis (guitars)
– Christopher Kingsbury (bass)
– Bob Stocking (drums)

1. That’s a cheeky bit of foreshadowing for you. Also, hi Chris! ︎
2. I’d be remiss to not mention the sheer irony in presenting my interpretation of Effuse’s work here and the funny feeling of critiquing and interpreting a piece of art that is in many ways about the interpretation and critique of art. ︎

The post Review: Effuse – On Others appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: technical death metal, progressive death metal, flamenco nuevo (mixed vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Beyond Creation, Allegaeon, Gorod, Ne Obliviscaris, Camarón de la Isla, Paco de Lucia, Nile
Country: France
Release date: 11 July 2025

The Romani gitanos in Andalusia were onto something ascendant with their flamenco music. Incorporating aspects from a plethora of musical traditions for their guitar playing and vocals—North Indian, Arabic and North African, Spanish, and Sephardic—the aggressive style of finger-picked acoustic guitars is practically synonymous with Spanish music. Flamenco is extremely distinct, too, with its own canonical melodies (heavily characterized by descending notes), modes, and rhythms, along with microtonal portamento and improvisation courtesy of the singer. Since flamenco is such a rigid system, folding metal into the mix is certainly a difficult task, although an incredibly intriguing one. Since 2010, France’s Impureza have wanted to be the face of the blend, and now on their third album, Alcázares, they continue making a strong case that they are.

Spanish guitar playing and flamenco have made their way into the technical death metal scene before with icons like First Fragment and Allegaeon, but both of them isolate the style from their core metal sound. On paper, (more on that later) Impureza bring the flamenco front and center. Largely taking their metal sound from modern fretless luminaries Beyond Creation, Impureza rely on frantically blasting drums, racing guitar lines, raspy harshes, and, of course, the voluptuous fretless bass. From there, the wild Frenchmen add on their distinct mix of conquistadorial, belted clean vocals, acoustic flamenco guitar lines, and Latin percussion. When it all comes together, the sound is glorious. Prime examples of Impureza firing on all cylinders come after the fully acoustic intro track bedecked with flourishes of Latin percussion and lush strings—such as during first song, “Bajo las Tizonas de Toledo,” which brings the Andalusian elements into the picture around the halfway point, weaving them in and out of the muscly riffs. “Castigos Eclesiástico” starts at a less furious tech pace but opens with the acoustic guitars in tandem with the death metal riffs; the closer “Santa Inquisición” has the most consistent mix of the disparate styles; and “Pestilencia” even brings some trumpet into the mix for another layer of Hispanic flair. 

“Bajo las Tizonas de Toledo” and “Reconquistar” both have a dramatic grand pause after a long tech death section, from which they turn into purely acoustic guitars with fretless bass and cleans. Impureza clearly know what they’re doing on the flamenco front, both as performers and writers, so it’s extremely frustrating that the band doesn’t integrate the acoustic guitars for the majority of the riffs. Impureza need to lean even harder into the flamenco death metal gimmick; yes, they’ve gone further with it than their peers, but they haven’t explored the style nearly as much as they could. 

Although nowhere near as satisfying as the acoustic flamenco sections, the style of playing seeps into the electric riffs, so not all is lost. Impureza’s riffs gallop in tight, marching staccatos, the melodies descending in furious bouts of Nile-esque guitar flurries; additionally, the riffs are in flamenco’s distinctive altered Phrygian mode. Most of the time when I have problems with a gimmick in progressive metal, I dislike that the artist is a “genre tourist” and don’t know the scene they’re imitating well enough to compose anything more than the basic stereotypes. But Impureza are masters of flamenco, and their problem is that they could push the envelope even further. The baroque ornamentation on their chuggy riffs and the wild chromatic solos are more proof that both the metal and flamenco influences are solid, so I just wish they’d use the acoustic more during the metal bits. 

In the eight long years since Impureza’s last album, flamenco metal really hasn’t progressed much (except for First Fragment’s 10/10 Gloire Éternelle), so I pray that Alcázares begins an invigoration for the style. Even though this record hasn’t fully lived up to Impureza’s lofty potential, the sick flamenco parts and killer riffs should keep me satisfied until the next release of the rare fusion.

Recommended tracks: Covadonga, Castigos Eclesiásticos, Santa Inquisición
You may also like: First Fragment, Equipoise, Augury, Kalaveraztekah, Triana, Curanderos, Ash of Necrossus, Ade
Final Verdict: 7.5/10

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

Label: Season of Mist – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Impureza is:
– Esteban Martín – All Vocals
– Lionel Cano Muñoz – Rhythm, Lead & Spanish Guitars
– Florian Saillard – Fretless Bass
– Guilhem Auge – Drums
With guests:
– Xavier Hamon – Percussion
– Louis Viallet – Orchestration

The post Review: Impureza – Alcázares appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: progressive metal (instrumental)
Recommended for fans of: Liquid Tension Experiment, Syncatto, Plini, Intervals, David Maxim Micic
Country: Tennessee, United States
Release date: 27 June 2025

As the extremely on point EP title tells you, Arch Echo are embarking on a journey of releasing three EPs of three songs each, and this is the first of them. While I’d prefer an album of nine tracks, this concept does lend itself to splitting up the review, so I’m covering Catalyst, but you’ll get two other author’s opinions on the next installments of 3X3. Forged from Berklee College of Music’s progressive (metal) division—other notable alums include Dream Theater, Native Construct, Bent Knee, Sound Struggle, and Ok Goodnight—the Nashville-based quintet have endless instrumental capabilities and have been in the instrumental prog metal spotlight for the better part of a decade now. Does Catalyst act as the impetus for a new and exciting era for Arch Echo? 

Catalyst is nothing new for the band, but they reinforce their position as one of the instrumental powerhouses in progressive metal. Adam Rafowitz and Adam Bentley coax the most succulent and bright tones out of their guitars, with lead melodies expressive enough to completely replace a singer without it feeling like Arch Echo are missing something. The two guitarists write extremely hooky riffs like Syncatto; for instance, the lead ‘chorus’ on “Catalyst” is effortlessly technical yet smooth because of Rafowitz’s trademark legato providing excellent contrast atop Bentley’s tight, djent rhythms. The two guitarists also let shreddy solos rip, drawing from metal’s virtuosic lineage and mixing that with slick jazz technique à la Plini. All three tracks have highlight solos, but the techniques used around 1:45 in “Sprout Tower” are novel in their discography and stick out as particularly rad in context—it sounds like he uses a whammy pedal blending up an octave with the original sound, with the octave coming in and out from the whammy.

Of course, Arch Echo excels with the synergistic interplay between the dual guitarists and Joey Izzo’s keyboards. Izzo is omnipresent, either giving the songs a lush background with a variety of keys and synths or soloing in unison with one of the guitarists in a glorious display of the capabilities of human fingers. Deciding the color palette of each track, Izzo uses a wide variety of tones, ranging from delightful and decadent in the tastiest solos (“Catalyst,” “”MAGIC!”) to a-little-too-retro (“Sprout Tower” intro). At 2:45 in “MAGIC!,” he transitions to arpeggiating with a more traditional piano on top of a groovy, hip-dipping djent riff, and I adore the tasteful juxtaposition from the gentler timbre of the piano. 

Behind the kit, Richie Martinez is surely one of the most energetic drummers in metal, a master at making complex rhythms with jazzy intonations incredibly groovy. With Martinez always perfectly in sync with the main melodies, it’s easy to tell that this is Arch Echo’s first release with full group in-person writing in years. While he never gets a chance to take the spotlight as much as the other instruments, his brief drum fill to open the album and playful lead with Izzo near the end of “MAGIC!” demonstrate what a pivotal role Martinez plays. 

That bassist Joe Calderone is so left out of the mix is a huge surprise considering two-fifths of the band have music production degrees from Berklee. But when he gets a chance to shine, he runs away with it: on “Catalyst” he performs a lovely bass solo in the bridge, and he duets briefly with Martinez during “MAGIC!” as if he were a jazz upright bassist. Beyond Calderone being pushed out of the songs a bit too much, Arch Echo’s tour with VOLA corrupted them with a more djent-focused sound. I’ve pointed out places it worked, but just as often it doesn’t, particularly throughout “Sprout Tower.” The track is painfully slow by Arch Echo standards, leaving even Martinez unable to inject it with much energy for the most part. I always appreciate a change of pace, but the melodies are more djentrified with more emphasis on the low end of the guitarists’ range. 

Arch Echo are Arch Echo, though, and I don’t think they could write a bad song if they tried. At their nadir, they play relatively standard djent in a song which still had a highlight guitar solo. “Catalyst” and “MAGIC!” are both infectious pieces with energy, bombast, virtuosity, and memorability. As an EP, the release obviously feels short, but knowing we’ve got the remainder of 3X3 coming, I’m excited to hear more great tunes from one of the best prog bands of the last decade. Catalyst is a solid start.

Recommended tracks: Catalyst, MAGIC!
You may also like: Sound Struggle, Coevality, Soften the Glare, Poh Hock, Lux Terminus, Sam Mooradian
Final verdict: 7.5/10

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

Label: independent

Arch Echo is:
Keyboards: Joey Izzo
Guitar: Adam Rafowitz
Guitar: Adam Bentley
Bass: Joe Calderone
Drums: Richie Martinez

The post Review: Arch Echo – 3X3: Catalyst appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Free folk, drone (Clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Le Mystère des Voix Bulgares, Natural Snow Buildings, Anna Von Hausswolff, Wardruna (Skald)
Country: Ukraine
Release date: 30 May 2025

One of the most lamentably forgotten arts is giving attention to ‘boring’ things. A certain magic can emerge from focusing on an otherwise unremarkable space that gently invites instead of demands your attention. I recently glimpsed this magic while sitting by a pond with a friend—at first glance, it was a fairly still swath of lily pads accented by longleaf pines in the background. However, after staring into the mud for long enough, the mind becomes acclimated to the space and the pond suddenly bursts with life unseen. Damselflies skitter from pad to pad and myriad groups of frogs croak a call-and-response while the water ripples with activity below, tiny specks of detail that are missed by a cursory glance at the vista. Often, the depths of minimal music are reflected similarly, as the subtle changes in quiet and still pieces suddenly feel intense and stark once one is accustomed to their space. Such is the experience with Гільдеґарда (Hildegard), a collaboration between Ukrainian artists Heinali and Andriana-Yaroslava Saienko which extends the emotions from a split-second reaction to traumatic wartime events into lengthy compositions. What sort of life emerges in their subtle, buzzing mix of drone and free folk?

Comprised of two twenty-minute pieces¹, Гільдеґарда is strikingly skeletal in design: the only instruments used are Heinali’s synthesizers and the vocal work of Saienko. Heinali’s previous work is dedicated to modern recontextualizations of Medieval musical tradition, and Гільдеґарда is no exception. The synthesizers at times possess a flute-like timbre, and intrigue is added to each track through Saienko’s performance of pieces by Hildegard von Bingen, a medieval polymath and composer. Saienko polymerizes the modern-ancient performance through Gregorian chants and Ukrainian musical tradition, often slipping into open voice and adorning the slowly-performed pieces with plentiful ornamentation.

The spartan instrumentals immediately draw attention to Saienko’s performance. Hildegard’s compositions are known for challenging performers through huge interval jumps, but Saienko makes the performance seem effortless as she glides from note to note. She particularly shines when utilizing open voice, adding a stunningly rich and contemplative color to the Gregorian chants through ornamentation. Heinali’s synthesizers lay the groundwork for a meditative state; Saienko’s vocals lift the music to ascension. The core of each piece is the droning keyboards that begin imperceptibly and are rendered inescapable by the end. On “O Ignis Spiritus”, gentle and quiet synthesizers replicate a subdued flute, pulsing in tandem with the rapturous vocal performance. Across the track’s runtime, the synths lose their woodwind sensibility and take on a crunchier feel. By the halfway mark, Saienko’s performance reaches a head with the intensifying thrumming; her sudden howling fades away to an extensive keyboard solo that itself gets swallowed in the inevitable wall of sound. Гільдеґарда’s pieces are monolithic glaciers, growing and evolving at an imperceptible clip, with enough force to scar the surface of the Earth as they move steadfast across the horizon.

“O Tu Suavissima Virga” utilizes a similar structure to “Spiritus” but with an even more understated and subdued approach. The electronics are almost inaudible whirring pulses that stubbornly maintain their stead while approaching an impending crescendo. Saienko’s performance is hushed and diaphanous, taking on a delicate affect for an overwhelming majority of the track. The impact when she finally pushes her voice is powerful, but the journey requires considerable patience as most of the track’s twenty minutes sit in a singular compositional space. Additional stillness is invoked by the piece’s monochromatic nature: the electronics maintain an unwavering hum and the vocals use little to no ornamentation until a full twelve minutes in, and even then, Saienko’s projecting melodicism is ephemeral at best. Her voice, like everything else, is swallowed whole by the synthesizers shortly after. “Virga” pushes the limits of Гільдеґарда’s subtlety, coming together as a powerful whole but spinning its wheels a bit too long in places. The comparatively short collaboration between Heinali and Saienko, “Zelenaia Dubrovonka”, exemplifies that a similarly powerful effect can be incited in a more concise runtime.

Song duration aside, there is a sobering stillness that is engendered by Гільдеґарда. The two pieces were inspired by the split-second reaction to a missile striking nearby Heinali’s studio in Kyiv. In contrast to cacophonous and maximalist music, which has potential to fill the gaps in our minds and bludgeon any sense of inner exploration, the stripped-down and minimal approach of Гільдеґарда is a mirror held up to the listener. Through its ample room for contemplation, “Spiritus” and “Virga” conspire to necessitate a summoning of one’s inner turmoil. Despite my desire for a more compact runtime, extending these pieces is a necessity to give room for safe exploration of the emotional space the record embodies.

Гільдеґарда is a record of few movements and incremental development, all done with great purpose—its minimalism exists for the listener to fill in the negative space themselves and open up their mind for emotional exploration and healing. The record exists not to coddle but to give a gentle-yet-assertive courage to confront stresses head-on through its patient evolution and rich, ascendant vocal performance. Gaze into the mud of Гільдеґарда—you may be surprised what life you’ll find.

Recommended tracks: O Ignis Spiritus
You may also like: CHVE, Pelt, De Mannen Broeders, 58918012, Širom
Final verdict: 7.5/10

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

Label: Unsound – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Heinali is:
– Oleh Shpudeiko (keyboards, electronics)
In collaboration with:
– Andriana-Yaroslava Saienko (vocals)

1. Heinali and Saienko penned a third (and considerably shorter) track as part of their collaboration, “Zelenaia Dubrovonka”, but this isn’t considered part of Гільдеґарда. ︎

The post Review: Heinali, Andriana-Yaroslava Saienko – Гільдеґарда (Hildegard) appeared first on The Progressive Subway.