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.

Album art by Matt Harvey

Style: Post-rock, post-metal (instrumental)
Recommended for fans of: Godspeed You! Black Emperor, This Will Destroy You, Explosions in the Sky
Country: Australia
Release date: 4 July 2025

Post-rock is a genre whose appeal has always seemed to me to be obvious on paper, but elusive in practice. In theory, a genre built upon methodical, building soundscapes that layer textures upon textures until they crest in a wave of emotional catharsis would be an easy sell for someone with my generally high tolerance for long-form musical endeavors and weakness for big, climactic crescendos. Yet in practice, so many bands in the genre end up feeling like they’re lost in an aimless, hookless limbo, slowly and dutifully turning the volume knob up and down enough to serve as decent-enough background music but never managing to feel like their glacial compositions are truly saying anything. The instrumental nature of much of the genre also can prove challenging – without the facile aid of lyrics to tell audiences what a song is getting at, artists are left to paint a far more abstract picture, a hazy melange of soundscapes that needs a great deal of compositional finesse and intentionality to truly convey anything meaningful. 

Of course, there are other ways to shortcut this issue – a band could, say, utilize spoken word audio samples as a means of grounding their compositions as the soundtrack to true stories of harrowing loss and sacrifice. And indeed, after the tragic passing of frontman Chris Torpy, Sydney post-rock ensemble We Lost the Sea took this very approach for their pivot into instrumental music on 2015’s Departure Songs, a bleak yet fiercely hopeful record that would be swiftly enshrined as one of the most essential albums in the genre. Yet such a potent hook only works once, and after follow-up concept album Triumph & Disaster was met with rather less rapturous reception, it became clear that returning to that level of gut-punching catharsis would be easier said than done. And now, after nearly six years, We Lost the Sea have finally returned with A Single Flower, another massive opus that largely sheds its predecessors’ explicit narratives in favor of a more abstract theme of beauty amidst tragedy. Has this lengthy development period produced another classic of the genre, or is this flower destined to wilt away like so many others?

To be honest, it took a few spins of this album for me to be sure of the answer. Don’t get me wrong, the level of sheer skill and craftsmanship on display here is obvious from the very first listen. From the way opener “If They Had Hearts” gradually develops its simple motif from a sparse, floaty guitar into a roaring post-metal tempest to the insistent, heartbeat-to-cacophony build of “Everything Here Is Black and Blinding”, it’s clear that We Lost the Sea know their way around the sacred art of the post-rock crescendo. The soundscapes here have also been crafted with incredible care and precision – every dynamic peak is led by a titanic trio of guitars (plus keyboard) loaded to high heaven with an arsenal of effects pedals, every valley built from minimalistic, echoey clean picking and layers of soft, sun-dappled synths. New drummer Alasdair Belling is particularly integral in driving the music forward, his precise, heart-thumping rhythmic pulse evolving expertly into intricate, kit-smashing beatdowns that spice up every climax without losing their impeccable pocket. But plenty of albums can be skillfully constructed, can pull off big dynamics and intricate arrangements with competence and professionalism, and still fail to fully land. What is that extra factor, that ineffable je ne sais quoi, that made my reaction to A Single Flower evolve from “Huh, this is some pretty well executed post-rock” to “Holy shit, why is this music making my hands quiver and my breath catch in my chest?”

Well, if I could easily put it in words, that je wouldn’t be very ne sais quoi, now would it? The old saying about music criticism being like “dancing about architecture” holds particularly true with music this abstract. But if I were to put a finger on it, I would have to say that it’s the expertly considered pacing and composition that put it over the edge. These pieces develop and evolve their central motifs with a sense of intentionality and motion that few other post-rock acts can match. Sometimes it’s just one big crescendo (“If They Had Hearts”), but more often these tracks, particularly epics like “Bloom (Murmurations at First Light)” and “Blood Will Have Blood”, justify their sprawling lengths via expert dynamic push and pull, recontextualizing soft, vulnerable melodies into cinematic, overwhelmingly emotional counterpoint. Every new musical layer and bit of tension stacks onto the track like a stone until what was once soft and feather-light becomes a nigh-unbearable pressure upon the listener’s spirit, yet like a modern-day Giles Corey, I simply keep asking for more weight. Then, when the pressure abruptly releases, there’s a sense of deep relief, of finally being able to breathe again, that invites the listener to look at the moments of simplicity and calm between life’s many moments of tension in a new light. 

This is ordinarily where I’d list my gripes with the album, but honestly there aren’t enough to fill a full paragraph. I suppose the production could be polarizing to some; while its fuzzy, bass-forward sound is excellent at conveying the compositions’ darker and more oppressive moments, fans of the twinklier side of things will find themselves wishing for a less muddy mix with more clarity in its highs. And I’ve seen some mixed opinions on the brief “jig” section on “Blood Will Have Blood”, but I honestly think it’s great – its major key and shuffle rhythm radiate a sense of defiant positivity, of looking one’s demons in the eye and dancing them away. 

My biggest issue with A Single Flower, then, has nothing to do with its quality, but how long it took me to appreciate it. Simply put, this is not the most immediately accessible album in the world. It’s an album that requires a certain headspace and level of immersion to truly get lost in as opposed to simply floating by in the background, and with its hefty 70-minute runtime, recommending that you not only listen through something this sizable but give it multiple spins if it doesn’t land is one hell of an order. Is “The Gloaming” a heartwrenchingly gorgeous, cinematic interlude whose string arrangements call forth grief and determination in equal measure, or is it a mere throwaway, a decent-but-cliched soft passage taken straight from the “Make People Sad” course in Film Score 101? Is “Blood Will Have Blood” a fantastic, sweeping epic whose sense of dynamic push and pull makes its 28 minutes fly by, or is it simply too damn long and in need of a major trim? Obviously I agree with the former proposition in both these hypothetical questions now, but the more lukewarm side was in charge during my first listen, and it might be for anyone I point towards this album as well.

Don’t get me wrong, I consider A Single Flower to be an excellent work, a harrowing yet resolutely optimistic album laden with melodies that feel as though they’re blooming and decaying all at once. Yet, if just one flower blooms in a sea of desolation, its stark beauty will go unnoticed by anyone simply scanning the horizon. But if one focuses in on the barren wastelands, if one looks closely enough at the banal darkness surrounding our existences, there’s often quietly resolute spots of beauty, solitary flowers of light pushing through the darkness. All you need to do is keep searching for it.

Recommended tracks: A Dance With Death, Bloom (Murmurations at First Light), Blood Will Have Blood
You may also like: Bruit ≤, Deriva, Fall of Leviathan
Final verdict: 8.5/10

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

Label: Bird’s Robe Records – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

We Lost the Sea is:
– Mark Owen (guitars, piano)
– Matt Harvey (guitars, noise)
– Carl Whitbread (guitars)
– Matthew Kelly (piano, synth, rhodes)
– Kieran Elliott (bass)
– Alasdair Belling (drums)
With guests:
– Sophie Trudeau (strings on “The Gloaming”)

The post Review: We Lost the Sea – A Single Flower 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: Progressive metal, jazz fusion (Instrumental)
Recommended for fans of: Atheist, Cynic, The Omnific
Country: International
Release date: 30 May 2025

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Label: Agonia Records – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Label: independent

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

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

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

Style: Neofolk, dark folk (Clean vocals, mostly instrumental)
Recommended for fans of: Vàli, Ulver (Kveldssanger), Empyrium, Agalloch (The White EP), Nest
Country: West Virginia, United States
Release date: 9 May 2025

The book Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer is a revelation, outlining in no uncertain terms a synthesis of scientific and Native Animist thought into a singular holistic worldview. In her book, she recounts and analyzes Eastern Woodland mythos through stories from several tribes, including the Potawatomi and Haudenosaunee peoples. At their cultural nexus lies gratitude, an ethos that one reciprocates the gifts of nature through stewardship, mutual care, and the creation of art. Neofolk-turned-black-metal project Nechochwen aims to embody this gratitude on latest record spelewithiipi through a series of vignettes dedicated to the river and region of the same name¹. How does Nechochwen express their gratitude for the land that shaped them?

A carefree, pastoral air encompasses spelewithiipi’s compositions, led by guitars and occasionally embellished by flutes, hand drums, and field recordings. Many pieces encompass the dark folk spirit of Ulver’s Kveldssanger through their motif-drenched guitar work while others lean into an americana edge with twangy sliding notes, rambling melodic expositions, and playing inspired by banjo techniques. “Precipice of Stone” even tends to a Tenhi songwriting style with gloomy psychedelic soundscaping and dirging drumwork from Pohonasin; the tonality and open voice of Nechochwen’s cathartic vocalizations in the latter half lends the piece a distinct Eastern Woodland touch.

The central ethos of spelewithiipi is presented on opener “lenawe’owiin”, meaning ‘Native American way of being’². Nechochwen weaves a web of ideas shaped by personal, interpersonal, and cultural knowledge, reflecting on dreams and visions (“lenawe’owiin”, “Precipice of Stone”), locations that inspire thought on past and future (“spelewithiipi”, “mthothwathiipi”, “Great Meadows Vista”), and figures steeped in intrigue (“othaškwa’alowethi behme”, “Nemacolin’s Path”). “tpwiiwe”, or ‘one who brings truth’, is a glyph commonly inscribed on prayer sticks to give thanks to any number of beings and spirits; the track itself is intended as a sort of tpwiiwe whose symbolism is left up to the listener. The experience is particularly striking, inspiring a series of internal struggles and resolutions while reflecting on how gratitude manifests in my life. spelewithiipi’s presentation as a whole inspires an easygoing stream-of-consciousness, sauntering unhurriedly between concepts while staying tethered to its central tenets like stories told around a campfire with friends.

spelewithiipi’s pieces go through similarly relaxed trajectories, morphing internally within sections and starting anew once an idea has reached its end. Many tracks end up surprisingly oblique in their structure despite the simplicity of the compositions, requiring some patience and effort to get a hold of their fuzzy sensibilities. “spelewithiipi”, for example, dreamily captures glimpses of a single location, gently exploring its river banks before moving on to a scene from another time. “tpwiiwe” and “mthothwathiipi” guide the listener in similar form through a subtle and suggestive evolution of balmy picked acoustics. The approach begins to fall apart a bit, however, on closing tracks “Nemacolin’s Path” and “Primordial Passage”. The former embodies the spirit of Chief Nemacolin, renowned for his remarkable skills as a guide and navigator through forest landscapes; the latter internalizes the mix of excitement and wistfulness that comes with leaving your homeland and being the first to explore a new place. Both gently reprise melodies from their opening sections, but the pieces meander a bit too liberally, missing ideas that give a sense of direction.

Thematically, this nonchalant approach is relaxing and soothing, but it bears additional challenges when looking at spelewithiipi’s songwriting narrative. Plenty of variation is offered in length and structure: some tracks are internally complete, and some are more nebulous. Overall, though, there is an underlying sense of heterogeneity that prevents the pieces from coalescing as wholly as the ideas behind them. The drumwork on “lenawe’owiin”, for example, feels like it’s building to something more intense that never comes, giving a sense of incompleteness when the record suddenly moves on to another idea. Additionally, “othaškwa’alowethi behme” is a mysterious and somewhat foreboding interlude with nice soundscaping, but it feels a bit jarring in its placement after “tpwiiwe”, one of spelewithiipi’s more tranquil and delicate moments.

In trying to ford spelewithiipi’s forests, I realize I simply don’t have the same navigational acuity as Nemacolin. Swelling with beauty, metaphor, and gratitude, the record vividly explores a multi-faceted relationship with land, culture, and self, but without the context behind the pieces, the compositions can sometimes struggle to bear the weight of their meaning. Regardless, spelewithiipi offers ample food for thought under its delicate structure and free-flowing approach, inspiring a closer examination of the land that surrounds us and our relationship to it.

Recommended tracks: tpwiiwe, mthothwathiipi, Precipice of Stone
You may also like: Ulvesang, October Falls, Liljevars Brann, Wÿntër Ärvń, Sangre de Muérdago
Final verdict: 6/10

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

Label: Nordvis Produktion – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Nechochwen is:
– Nechochwen (guitars, flute, hand drums, vocals)
– Pohonasin (bass, drums)

1. Spelewithiipi is the Shawnee name for the Ohio River, but specifically the area surrounding Ohio and West Virginia. ︎
2. The language is not specified, but the blurb related to this track on Nechochwen’s Bandcamp calls out the loyalhanna hotewe, implying the word likely comes from that group. ︎

The post Review: Nechochwen – spelewithiipi appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: progressive metal, djent (instrumental)
Recommended for fans of: Artificial Language, Animals as Leaders, I Built the Sky, Intervals, Polyphia
Country: California, United States
Release date: 30 May 2025

Trends come and go, such is the way of life. For the electric guitar virtuoso, the popular style of the time has shifted in several distinct eras over the past sixty years. Emulating the human voice with expressive phrasing, bends, and vibrato like the blues greats (Hendrick, Beck, Clapton) turned into shred (Van Halen into Becker, Malmsteen, Friedman). These days, the rage is Polyphia-inspired “internet shred” in which the modern virtuoso shoves every complicated guitar technique they can into each “riff” (Henson, Nito, Abasi). Just as we collectively roll our eyes at Yngwie-style shred today, the current style has grown cliche—style above substance.

That’s why Syncatto’s—solo project of Artificial Language’s guitarist Charlie Robbins—2021 record A Place to Breathe was a revelation. Robbins certainly used his fair share of flamboyant technical wankery, but each technique served the song as Robbins contorted earworm melodies in uniquely brilliant ways, particularly with his Latin influences and the incredible guest contributions. A Place to Breathe is easily one of the top instrumental progressive metal albums ever. Since that record, Syncatto has released an EP and an LP, both rock solid releases continuing in the general direction of A Place to Breathe, although neither quite recapturing the brilliance. Does Memento continue Robbins’ streak of breaking ground in the modern virtuoso scene?

Firstly, Syncatto largely drops the Latin influences in favor of a Middle Eastern flair on Memento. The Phrygian riffs Robbins plays, like on “Hollow” and “Mother of God,” are genuinely inspired, particularly when he goes Middle Eastern djent. The highlight of the album is on the latter half of “Change of Wind”; the track randomly transitions to a new age flute, but what seems like a misguided attempt at quirkiness quickly turns into the coolest djent passage I’ve heard in years, mixing Animals as Leaders’ thumping and Syncatto’s melodic touch to create a heavy contrast for the flute. Each time Robbins drops the bottom out of a track, I’m stunned that he’s able to innovate the stale djent sound—“Codex,” specifically, reverts to Robbins’ Latin mode, and he performs a breakdown using palm-muted acoustic guitar. He’s still got moments of innovative, flashy brilliance.

On the other hand, at least half of the tracks are little more than boring, wanky Polyphia rip-offs. Syncatto excessively slides, taps, and alternate picks in dwiddly, contorted “riffs” which, while still using his superb sense of melody, grow extremely tiresome as they don’t build good songs. Each nugget is made for the YouTube short or Instagram reel or TikTok tiktok, but they don’t string together with any sense of cohesion. None of the eleven short songs on Memento feel fully fleshed out, and rather sound more like a collection of fun djenty breakdowns and noodly, brain-melting guitar parts. The worst offender is “Ritual”: the track has what sounds quite literally like an NF beat and your basic Polyphia-inspired guitar parts on top of it, but I guess that’s what the kids consider “hip” these days. 

On Memento, Robbins continues his trajectory toward instru-stardom. The LP has objectively stunning virtuoso musicianship, his signature handle on crafting succulent, catchy melodies, and even a masterful approach to djent involving more melodic craziness in the palm-muted riffs than purely rhythmic. Yet the trendy style of onanism preferred by Gen-Z right now has ensnared another fantastic guitarist, and Memento—for its many strengths—also has several of Robbins’ weakest tracks ever. Lay off the Reels, my friends.

Recommended tracks: Change of Wind, Hollow, Codex
You may also like: Widek, Pomegranate Tiger, Lux Terminus, Sam Mooradian
Final verdict: 6/10

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

Label: independent

Syncatto is:
– Charlie Robbins (everything)

The post Review: Syncatto – Memento appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Related links: Bandcamp | Spotify | Facebook | Instagram

Label: Pelagic Records – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

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

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

Style: progressive metal, jazz fusion (instrumental, mostly instrumental)
Recommended for fans of: Jacob Collier, Liquid Tension Experiment, Animals as Leaders, Car Bomb, Meshuggah
Country: Germany
Release date: 25 April 2025

Why cover a song? Be it artistic appreciation, a business decision to gain exposure, or out of obligation to the tradition, the cover track is a mainstay for many artists, yet one often relegated to being an album’s bonus track. Bringing cover tracks to the forefront of an album, however, is risky; that comes with the pressure of living up to several of your musical and creative idols. Panzerballett try it—do they match the originals? 

German jazz fusion/prog metal group Panzerballett cover plenty of legendary songs from progressive metal and classical music alike on Übercode Œuvre, putting their signature twist (a whole lot of rhythmic and melodic absurdity) on classics like Meshuggah’s “Bleed,” Beethoven’s “Ode to Joy,” Planet X’s “Alien Hip Hop,” and Vivaldi’s “Summer.” That is to say, the songs—some of which are already extremely difficult pieces—become unfathomably complicated to the non-music theorizer. I’m sure the guys in Panzerballett would talk about their music in the same way Jacob Collier talks about his, but in a German accent instead of Collier’s whimsical British one—twattishly pretentious while blissfully unaware that theoretical mastery doesn’t translate to being good.

As I see it, there is one main way to critically assess a cover: how does this add to the song’s canon? Panzerballett’s takes on the classics are certainly novel (barring the Planet X one), but they screw up what makes the original songs successful and are, accordingly, entirely terrible. No metal artist needs to cover Vivaldi, it’s been done ad nauseam (sorry, Angel, that includes you, too). One cannot possibly pull off two covers of “Ode to Joy” because they will always be a waste of time; why on God’s green earth would I listen to a prog metal version of one of the most celebrated pieces of music of all time that defeats its elegant simplicity by making it polyphonic, polyrhythmic masturbation? Other choices, such as the “Alien Hip Hop” cover, are even more baffling. Panzerballett take what is undeniably one of the most rhythmically and harmonically complicated progressive metal songs ever and try to make it more challenging to play. At what point does art become an exercise in onanism? That moment is long gone in Panzerballett’s rearview mirror. And I’m afraid the Planet X cover is the clear highlight of Übercode Œuvre because the original song was already good and they don’t change it all that much—a pointless recreation but not bad.

The covers of “Bleed” and “Ode to Joy” (both versions) are among the worst progressive metal tracks I’ve ever heard from capable musicians, a pair of blazing guitar solos from Rafael Trujillo (ex-Obscura, Obsidious) in “Bleed” aside. The Meshuggah cover utilizes annoying horns to create a melody that simply wasn’t in the original song, while the rhythm section plays something in a time signature I couldn’t dream of figuring out—the result sounds as if it were recorded drunkenly despite the instrumental wizardry. Moreover, Panzerballett add atmospheric guitar parts in dissonant chords, ringing out like out of tune bells above the din, heralding the end of good music. Again, I’m sure the harmonic polyphony is genius technically, but it’s more masturabatory than even Jordan Ruddess at his worst.

“What could adding in the motif from William Tell’s ‘Overture’ possibly add to ‘Bleed’?” one might ask. And they’d be justified because it’s eclecticism for eclecticism’s sake. “Ode to Joy (Vocal)” starts promisingly with a warped vision for the track, Andromeda Anarchia’s (Folterkammer, La Suspendida) vocals operatic and eerie, but the track almost instantly devolves into Guantanamo Bay-level torture. While assuredly not actually out of tune and out of time, it sure sounds like it. Between the added phone hold-music jazz, drum solos, and “poorly harmonized,” warbling sopranos, I cannot think of a worse way to sodomize one of the most celebrated pieces of music in history—and that’s before Panzerballett start djenting all over the place.

The original compositions on Übercode Œuvre (yes, it’s not completely a cover album) are ok, fairly run of the mill for this style of fusion prog metal. “Seven Steps to Hell” and “Andromeda” are easily identified strong moments on the album: convoluted and with irritating saxophone and djent parts, but stronger than their surroundings nonetheless. The Ballett are a better ensemble as jazz composers than metal ones (despite the obvious metal pedigree). Their style doesn’t translate to djent and distortion well.
We all like some wank in the prog metal world. I can throw down to freaky microtonality, and I think cover tracks can be fun. But I cannot think of a worse attempt at any of those three things at once than Übercode Œuvre, an offensively terrible listening experience so far up its own ass Jacob Collier might blush.

Recommended tracks: Seven Steps To Hell, Alien Hip Hop, Andromeda
You may also like: La Suspendida, Sarmat, Ckraft, Planet X, Exivious
Final verdict: 2/10

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

Label: independent

Panzerballett is:
Jan Zehrfeld: guitars, vocals
With:
Virgil Donati: drums
Marco Minnemann: drums
Morgan Ågren: drums
Anika Nilles: drums
Florian Fennes: sax
Anton Davidyants: bass
Jen Majura: guitars
Andromeda Anarchia: vocals
Rafael Trujillo: guitars
Sebastian Lanser: drums
Joe Doblhofer: guitar
Chris Clark: vocals
Conny Kreitmeier: vocals
(taken from ProgArchives, I cannot find an official declaration of lineup)

The post Review: Panzerballett – Übercode Œuvre appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Album art by Roi Mercado

Style: Progressive Metal, Djent (Instrumental)
Recommended for fans of: TesseracT, Cloudkicker, The Helix Nebula
Country: United States, Ohio
Release date: 13 May 2025

Djent is a genre (or is it?) that has infiltrated its way into a myriad of neighboring styles within the progressive metal scene, slowly seeping through the cracks in its foundation. What essentially started as Meshuggah worship has undergone a slow and somewhat painful metamorphosis, transcending beyond a simple palm muted, syncopated guitar technique into an expansive musical language all its own. The journey to this point has been rife with failed experimentation, alchemical genre-mixing, and a steadily evolving intervallic language that seems to have come to its logical conclusion in the form of “thall”—another style about which to argue genre legitimacy. The bulk of djent’s growth took place from around 2006 through the mid 2010’s, with bands like Textures, SikTh, TesseracT, Periphery, Uneven Structure, and Vildhjarta all putting their own spin on the core techniques that constitute its sound and superimposing said techniques onto a variety of unique soundscapes, showcasing the style’s versatility, and solidifying its genre status proper.

There were many a branching path that djent explored during its adolescence, some more niche than others, and some seemingly forgotten to the annals of syncopated time. The Bulb demos are perhaps the best representative of a particular niche of one of the genre’s earliest investigative forays: atmosphere-focused instrumental djent. Bulb’s demos are somewhat paradoxical in the sense that, at the time, they were massively popular, single-handedly inspiring a swathe of bedroom guitarists toward their instrumental explorations; at the same time, they were nearly instantly rendered redundant by these same newly empowered musicians as they realized that what they were playing was basically just Meshuggah with more tonality. The end result was a shockingly frantic evolution of sound. Widek, Nemertines, Returning We Hear the Larks, Walking Across Jupiter, Polarization, Cloudkicker, Their Dogs Were Astronauts, Cold Night for Alligators, Sithu Aye, and many other projects like these have been all but forgotten, mere grains of sand in a desert of chugs, yet their influence on djent’s trajectory cannot be denied.

Antediluvian Projekt, solo project of John Heckathorn, nestles within this assemblage of atmosphere-driven instrumental djent, and if I had been told that Atlan Blue was some obscure demo from 2011, I wouldn’t have given it much of a second thought. Atlan Blue shares the inquisitive, probing nature of adolescent djent, haphazardly smashing djent guitar techniques into a bedrock of jazz fusion and drenching atmosphere, and utilizing a jazz noir-esque trumpet as its main gimmick. Antediluvian Projekt, like so many of its genre peers past, brews its influences together to wildly varying degrees of success; there are moments of inspired, meaningful realization, yet so much of Atlan Blue leaves me scratching my head in confusion at its choices. 

After a meandering intro track, “Atlan Blue” starts strong with a bass and piano groove that constantly oscillates between a bar of 5/4 and a bar of 9/8, a roiling sea for the djent guitars to swim within. Clean guitar solos weave between the bass, piano, and distorted guitar groove; trumpet is ever present in the background; and electronic elements further add to the melting pot of texture, resulting in an interestingly varied sonic landscape. “What Does Truth Fear” follows, and is similarly effective in its textural language, switching between a beefy low-tuned guitar rhythm reminiscent of recent Vildhjarta, and a more understated groove that could have been lifted straight from any TesseracT album. Again, trumpet and electronic production elements add depth to the sound, and the revolving structure of the songwriting manages to maintain the listener’s attention while keeping in step with the focus on atmosphere. 

Unfortunately, the remainder of Atlan Blue does not live up to its decent first impressions. “P0W3R” recycles the exact same riffs from “What Does Truth Fear”, slightly changing the trumpet lines and adding an electronic drum beat as an intro that I’m pretty sure is the exact same rhythm as one of the riffs, just played significantly faster. The result is an odd interlude track that could have just been tacked onto the previous song as a climax, but is instead a forced detour into unnecessary bloat. Instead of regaining his footing after the stumble, Heckathorn doubles down with “T3MP0R4L 0SCILLAT0R”, the longest track on the album, and also the one where the least happens. The listener is treated to over seven minutes of meandering shoegaze—still with the ever-present trumpet—and any semblance of momentum that Atlan Blue may have had up to this point is unceremoniously squandered. 

The remaining few tracks are further explorations of the sound initially presented on “Atlan Blue” and “What Does Truth Fear,” though I am hard pressed to even care enough to reach this point of Atlan Blue after a few listens. On the occasions that I do, I am rewarded not so much with an interesting textural melting pot, but more with a clouded beaker of unfocused distillation. Heckathorn’s trumpet playing is competent, and he has the chops to pull off the gimmick of trumpet djent, but the melodies played often have seemingly nothing to do with the rest of the music, and this problem is especially exacerbated on the back half of Atlan Blue. The trumpet is simultaneously the main selling point and seemingly an afterthought in the songwriting, leading to a bizarre feeling of fundamental discontinuity. What remaining actual guitar riffs there are become shadows of their former selves, falling prey to the insidious curse of hackneyed djent stereotypes. The slightly above average drum performance is perhaps Atlan Blue’s biggest saving grace, though it is not nearly enough to fortify the whole structure from falling in on itself by the album’s end. 

Antediluvian Projekt does indeed fit snugly within the old order of atmospheric instrumental djent: quirks, inspirations, and shortcomings all. Atlan Blue reads as a billet-doux to a long-lost lover, one whose familiar memory still lingers in everyday modern scenery, providing comfort and pain in equal measure. Through rose colored glasses, Atlan Blue can be a temporary succor for those plagued by the nostalgic longing for the perceived golden age of djent. With slightly more focus, though, the illusion shatters, and we are left with a stinging reminder of why, perhaps, so many bands become forgotten in the polyrhythmic ebb and flow of time.

Recommended tracks: Atlan Blue, What Does Truth Fear?, BR3AKAWAY
You may also like: Returning We Hear the Larks, Walking Across Jupiter, Bulb, Mouse on the Keys
Final verdict: 5.5/10

Related links: Bandcamp | Spotify | Instagram

Antediluvian Projekt is:
– John Heckathorn (Everything)

The post Review: Antediluvian Projekt – Atlan Blue appeared first on The Progressive Subway.