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: Black metal, atmospheric black metal, post-black metal (harsh vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Emperor, The Black Dahlia Murder, Carach Angren
Country: Washington, United States
Release date: 18 July 2025

This year has seen no shortage of post-black metal releases. So many, in fact, that I’m overwhelmed with pings from Andy to check out this or that release in one of my favorite genres. I can’t keep up. But, as I let my Release Radar play the other day at my real job¹, a vaguely post-black track piqued my interest. I opened my Spotify window to see a track called “No Less Than Death” by… Abigail Williams? Damn. Truth be told, they are a band that fell off my radar ages ago for whatever reason. I remember them having a vaguely symphonic black metal sound—with a metalcore oomph. What I was listening to at that moment, however, reminded me of Numenorean more than anything: moody, resonant, and full of rich vocal harmonies before the raspy black metal vocals took hold. Strange to open up a review of an album by talking about the closer, but it’s how I was introduced to A Void Within Existence. Would the rest of the LP sink its teeth into me in a similar fashion?

To find out, I hit rewind. The first thing to grab my attention as A Void Within Existence opened was the bass work of John Porada. “Life, Disconnected” starts the LP off with a slow, dissonant crawl in which the bass is almost front-and-center. I love a black metal album where you not only feel the bass, but hear it audibly in the mix as well. “Nonexistence” commences in similar fashion, but opting for sadness over angry dissonance. The track wanders through a murky melancholy, and ends with a guitar solo full of breathing bends that twist your insides in David Gilmour fashion. My only gripe here is that it ends too soon, leaving you wanting more. But honestly, that might be my only real complaint about any of these songs: I just want more. And when a seven, eight, or nine minute track ends and feels like it flew by in half the time, is that even a complaint? Or just a sign something special is happening?

Though many tracks are emotive—and boy howdy, take your pick among despair, grief, wonder, or almost any other plaintive feeling—the beating heart within this …Existence is a tech-laden strain of black metal that is as varied as it is heavy. Much of that impact is owed to the drumwork of Mike Heller. You may know him from his contributions to about a million different projects and bands, including Fear Factory and Malignancy, but most notably for a handful of us at the Subway from his recent work in Changeling. He is credited here as a session musician, which makes me pity the poor soul that Abigail Williams find to play these blistering, hyper-technical drum parts on tour. “Void Within,” a furious and scraping black metal odyssey, showcases Heller’s prowess. His brute intensity and technical precision are cranked to eleven throughout the track. Lightning-fast double-bass, relentless blast beats, varied use of every cymbal at his disposal, and a flurry of whimsical fills on all of the toms come together in a performance that is both dazzling and tasteful—never showy for its own sake, but always exactly what the song demands (and then some).

A Void Within Existence would be a strong black metal release even if it were made up solely of songs like the aforementioned “Void Within,” or another glass-eating black metal track like “Still Nights.” But the veteran musicians that currently comprise Abigail Williams turn …Existence into something much more ambitious. You’ll know exactly what I mean when you listen to the whole of “Talk To Your Sleep,” which starts with the stankiest of down-tuned riffs. If I ever get a job hammering railroad spikes, this is the track I’m listening to for my rhythm and pace. What takes “Talk To Your Sleep” to another level, though, is the melodic bridge it eases into halfway through its runtime. It’s one of those elevating moments on A Void Within Existence that confirms you’re listening to songwriting that’s as emotionally intelligent as it is heavy.

From the fleeting strings and drifting keys that haunt its margins, to the earthquaking heaviness at its core, that emotional intelligence is woven into the compositional choices that comprise A Void Within Existence. Abigail Williams don’t simply stack riffs or pile on atmosphere for the hell of it. Rather, a keen sense of pacing and a dollop of emotive contrast provide the hooks that have kept me spinning this album repeatedly. Just when you think you’ve mapped the territory, the ground shifts beneath you—come for the nihility, stay for the empathy.

Take “Embrace the Chasm,” for instance. The song opens with a familiar black metal snarl—solid stuff, I think to myself. But almost on cue, as if Ken Sorceron (the everpresent frontman of Abbie Dubs) had heard my thoughts, the track pivots. Suddenly, gloomy arpeggios drift in, shadowed by echoing piano, pulling the song into a more introspective space. “We’re not aiming for ‘solid,’ here,” he seems to say—and the song isn’t done shapeshifting yet. In its final third, the track unfurls into something strangely serene, and almost hopeful. The melodies lift upward, carrying you into something both heavy and soothing. A black metal lullaby, drifting towards peace. In that shift from fury to beauty I feel the nuance that has kept me tethered to this genre: a rage giving way to release.

If you told me that Abigail Williams were going to drop one of my favorite releases of the year (and the cover art is taking my top spot in that regard), I would have been surprised. Not because I ever held any dislike for the band, but because I hadn’t thought about them in so long. They’d quietly drifted out of rotation. But A Void Within Existence has pulled me right back in. The album is moody, technical, surprising, and—like my favorite extreme metal releases—bridges brutality with beauty in a way all its own. Consider this my belated apology for ever letting them slip off my radar, and a nudge to make sure they don’t fall off yours.

Recommended tracks: No Less Than Death, Embrace the Chasm, Talk to Your Sleep, Void Within
You may also like: Valdrin, Illyria, …And Oceans
Final verdict: 8.5/10

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

Label: Agonia Records – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Abigail Williams is:
– John Porada (bass)
– Ken Sorceron (vocals, guitars)
– Vance Valenzuela (guitars)
With guests:
– Mike Heller (drums)

1. This will probably come as a shock to our readers, but working solely at The Progressive Subway wouldn’t pay the bills. Or even a bill. ︎

The post Review: Abigail Williams – A Void Within Existence appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Artwork by: Benjamin König

Style: Atmospheric Black Metal, Doom Metal, Psychedelic Folk (Mixed vocals, mostly clean)
Recommended for fans of: Alcest, Myrkur, Opeth, Panopticon, Primordial, Ulver
Country: Finland
Release date: 13 June 2025

A fun fact about me: I love a fun ghost / skeleton / creepy homie on some cover art. The crimson bone-buddy getting his bask on fronting The Last Ten Seconds of Life’s Soulless Hymns, Revocation’s spoopy tomb gracing Deathless, The Tritonus SkeleBell dominating Hooded Menace’s sixth LP; each one factored heavily into my listening interest. For as much as the music has the final say, never, ever underestimate the power of an attention-grabbing album cover. Maybe it matters less these days with the popularity of auto-shuffles and (probably AI-generated) playlists, but for me, careening towards middle-age and still fond of making record store hauls, artwork is the first thing I experience before ever considering “play.” And the best artwork often tells us something about what we’re getting into, a sort of visual preview of the aural secrets about to be uncovered.

So, when Nocturne—the seventh release by Finnish atmoblack doomsters Hexvessel—was recommended to me, I took one look at the ghosty fellow casting the ol’ “spectral sprinkle” over that sleepy, snow-capped hamlet isolated amidst a moody charcoal expanse and knew I had to give the album my time. Unfamiliar with Hexvessel and their oeuvre but with all my folk / black metal radars going off, I was eager to see if Nocturne’s musical offerings proved as winsome as the endearingly dreary (endrearing?) artwork. Or would this zesty spectre leave me dusted with disappointment? Grab your soul salt shakers, and let’s have a taste, shall we?

What struck me almost immediately upon firing up Nocturne (aside from the frustratingly ubiquitous practice of pointless openers in metal—titled “Opening,” no less) was how interrelated the music and artwork feel. Songs roll over the horizon like ghostly clouds, sketched in rainy-day hazes of fuzzed guitars, sprinkling in delicately-plucked folk acoustics amidst the ebb and flow of roiling black metal tremolos and hail-storm blast beats. Glimmers of death-and-roll cut through the gray on tracks like “Inward Landscapes,” adding spurts of energy to the haunting, often funereal backdrop of wailing guitars, doleful bells, and ritual-esque timbre of vocalists Mat Kvohst McNerney and Saara Nevalainen. Baleful synths carve out images of forlorn worship houses from the formless charcoal landscape (“A Dark and Graceful Wilderness”), wherein one could imagine frightened villagers huddling, seeking some measure of safety as this leering spectre drifts, steadfast and resolute, across their homes—I’m reminded of Count Orlok’s shadow falling upon Wisborg in Robert Eggers’ Gothic masterwork, Nosferatu (2024). Supplying terror not through red-teethed violence, but rather via sheer enveloping presence.

There is a mournful, otherworldly quality to Nocturne’s atmospheric blackened folk, especially in softer cuts like “Concealed Descent,” where morose acoustic guitar and violin take center stage alongside McNerney’s wistful cleans. The paganic dirge of “Unworld,” with its lurching, Brave Murder Day-era Katatonia opening riff, chanted vocalizations, and smoky heft, constructs notions of grandeur in decay; this small storied town, perhaps built upon the bones of ancient edifices, sundered by slicing winds of black metal aggression amidst the deliberate marching of funeral doom aesthetics. By the time closer “Phoebus” blows through, there’s nothing left, our spectral harbinger having folded man’s scaffolding back into the architecture of the (other)natural world. In many ways, I’m brought to the doorstep of Panopticon’s folk / black metal crossroads, except replace twangy americana with the dreamy plucking that seems to signify Finnish folk,¹ then toss in some slow and dolorous doom vibes for added flavor. Hexvessel have set out with a particular sonic palette and aesthetic in mind, and they do nothing to disturb it across Nocturne’s near-hour of play.

Which brings us to perhaps my only true gripe about Nocturne: like Spectral Bae closing in to sprinkle the town with his damnedruff, Hexvessel’s assemblage of fuzzy, doomed-out atmoblack tunes have a tendency to drift across the consciousness. Multiple times, I lost track of where I was in the album, lulled by a particular folky moment or vibed-out bridge before being shocked back into awareness by one of McNerney’s intermittent harsh cries or an equally intermittent energetic drum run. Sometimes, I found myself halfway across the album; other times, still wrapped in the ashen folds of a longer thread (“Sapphire Zephyrs,” “Inward Landscapes,” “Mother Destroyer”). This makes the album something of an “easy” listen, a record to throw on and just chill out to, despite the large swaths of razoring guitars and blasting snares. Lacking measures of more “conventional” structures, this is hardly an album to inspire sing-alongs, or even headbanging. There are no real central riffs, no sense of verse-chorus-verse dynamics for a listener to grab on to. This lends Nocturne an organic quality, affording a pleasantness to the experience—a dream-like effect—even if I’m often left struggling to remember where I was in the aftermath. More mood-setting than neck-snapping.

Fans of groups like Enisum, or fellow Prophecy partners Ceresian Valot will certainly find much to enjoy about Nocturne. Hexvessel thrum with the kind of naturalism that tends to lurk, perhaps overlooked, in black metal; everyone remembers the church burnings, the edginess, but this genre has been more than religion-bashing, murder, and hate crimes across its many storied decades. Nocturne, with its gloomy moods and pagan, almost druidic nature vibes, represents one of my favorite breeds of black metal. More about the journey than any singular sonic destination, Hexvessel’s latest may struggle to maintain my full attention at times, but there’s something to be said for the kind of album you can just… float away on. A fine dusting, indeed.

Recommended tracks: Unworld, Phoebus, A Dark and Graceful Wilderness
You may also like: Blood Ceremony, Ceresian Valot, Enisum, Nechochwen, Wolvennest
Final verdict: 7/10

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

Label: Prophecy Productions – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Hexvessel is:
– Mat Kvohst McNerney (vocals, guitars, songwriting)
– Kimmo Helén (piano, keyboards, strings, guitars)
– Jukka Rämänen (drums, percussion)
– Ville Hakonen (bass)
With guests:
– Aleksi Kiiskilä (lead guitars)
– Saara Nevalainen (female vocals)
– Yusaf Vicotnik Parvez (lead vocals, “Unworld”)
– Juho Vanhanen (backing vocals, “Phoebus”)

1.  Assuming Finnish folk sounds like the kind Finnish metal bands employ. ︎

The post Review: Hexvessel – Nocturne appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Atmospheric black metal, dark folk (Mixed vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Agalloch, Pantopticon, Ulver
Country: Italy
Release date: 9 May 2025

While admittedly I am a sucker for head-spinning technicality played with surgical precision, there is a nagging sense of exclusivity to the elite performances of tech death and progressive metal. To play pieces by artists like Archspire or Animals as Leaders requires a level of dedication to solely performance, meaning that expression of ideas in this space is relegated to those with perfect timing or those who obsess over recording details. Many folk-adjacent genres, on the other hand, often revel in a lack of technicality or absolute precision in favor of a more ‘organic’ sound, choosing to instead focus on the intent of the music and let the rhythms breathe more naturally. Heavily inspired by Agalloch, a landmark band in this more folky style of metal, Italian artist Esox aims to tap into this sensibility through the murky and predatory depths of lakes and wetlands. Does the one-man project’s debut release, Watery Grave, engender these primal sentiments, or does it go off the deep end in the name of a chthonic atmosphere?

At the heart of Esox’s sound is the namesake pike, a menacing freshwater predator with ultra-sensitive attunement to the movements of water and a penchant for lying in wait for its next victim among aquatic plants. Melancholia seeps into every moment of Watery Grave, depicting the final thoughts of a man who attempts to end his life by drowning. Tracks are often introduced with plaintive acoustic guitars and soundscaping, whether it be rain beating on a lake or the sound of creaking wood. From its waterlogged base emerges black metal intensity, replete with atmospheric tremolos and blast beats in free-flowing compositions that often culminate in a melodic solo. Pensive folk instrumentation sweeps in to gently carry tracks downstream after an intense prey chase; truthfully, Watery Grave is as much dark folk as it is black metal.

Watery Grave’s most ascendant moments happen when the folk instrumentation is given space to shine. The blast beats in opener “As I Descend Above the Water” are cleverly springboarded into by acoustic guitars and the sounds of rain, and the extended ambient section afterwards is euphorically woeful. Esox effectively captures an aquatic sensibility in the instrumental effects, as if the chords being played are a rippling disturbance on a placid lake. My favorite moment of Watery Grave is the intro to “Livyatan melvillei”¹, which sits in suspicious stillness as an ominous whale call is juxtaposed against the sound of creaking; one can’t shake the thought that something massive is waiting underneath the surface for a moment of inattention or vulnerability to strike. The metal sections, in comparison, range from enjoyable to frustrating. The opener’s black metal aggression works great as a piece of the greater whole, adding a sense of aggression to the placid seascapes and building to a melodic solo in its climax. However, the climactic solos across the black metal sections run into an unignorable problem: they’re just not played in time. The arpeggios on “Esox Lucius” and “As I Descend Below the Water” are in a fearsome rhythmic altercation with the drums as the guitars can simply never agree to the established beat, as if they were recorded completely separately with no checking to see if they work together.

Don’t get me wrong—I absolutely adore Esox’s aqueous sensibilities, and I think that in many instances Watery Grave does a great job of encompassing the listener in murky aquatic atmospheres through ineffably organic performances and unsettling soundscaping. But despite all the record has going for it, the prevalent off-time playing is just too much, almost to the point of being able to predict when it will happen next. My attention during Watery Grave should be directed to the lurking menace camouflaged by underwater flora. Instead, I end up focusing on whether an upcoming guitar arpeggio is going to line up with the drums, trying to make sense of the arrhythmic harsh vocal cadence, or guessing how long it will take the left and right acoustic guitars to sync again. No matter how powerful your atmosphere is, too much rawness and imperfection in the performance is going to create an unintended dissonance that actively fights against the underlying aesthetics. Of course, I don’t want Watery Grave to be an ultra-polished product with metronomic precision, but I at least want to feel some level of rhythmic cohesion in the instrumentation, and these slip-ups happen just often enough that it seriously detracts from my enjoyment.

Attention to detail is brought to many facets of Watery Grave, from compositional prudence to striking underwater ambience, and I wish that same level of attention was given to the performance itself. Esox has the makings for something evocative and brilliant; at this point, it’s just a matter of matching the sky-high ambition with a bit more experience. I’ll be more than happy to dive back into the pike-laden waters for future releases, but Watery Grave is a lake I’ve had my fill of.

Recommended tracks: As I Descend Above the Water, The Unbearable Cry of the Sea, Walden
You may also like: Gallowbraid, Nechochwen, October Falls, Botanist
Final verdict: 5/10

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

Label: Independent

Esox is:
– Esox (everything)

1. Livyatan melvillei is a particularly massive extinct species of sperm whale. The inclusion of saltwater sea life here does throw me for a loop a bit as everything up to this point seems to be focused on freshwater, but it should be pointed out that this is a redux of a previous Esox track, so its aquatic idiosyncrasy is not entirely surprising. ︎

The post Review: Esox – Watery Grave appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Atmospheric black metal, post-metal (Clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Summoning, Alcest, Sylvaine
Country: Norway
Release date: 4 April 2025

If you frequent online progressive metal spaces, you’ve likely seen memes of people deriding ‘slow-burn’ bands or tracks that generally don’t go anywhere. One I see often shows an ascendant silhouette with the caption ‘Tool fans fifteen minutes into the worst song you’ve ever heard’. Regardless of your opinions on Tool, the meme raises a simple-yet-effective point: there is nothing more frustrating than a slow-burn track that never truly ignites. So when I found out that one-man atmoblack project Eldamar had transitioned away from his magical, Tolkien-inspired origins to something more akin to long-form post-metal with the sensibilities of atmoblack, my eyebrow raised. Could Mathias Hemmingby distill his exploratory sound into a focused crescendoing fire on latest release, Astral Journeys, Pt. II: Dissolution, or does the record fizzle out before it can catch flame?

Astral Journeys II is the second half of a four-’Akt’ piece with a focus on the themes of euphoria in the moments before death. Each of Astral Journeys II’s ‘Akts’ are extended post-metal tracks that vacillate between Jeremy Soule-style orchestral atmospherics, jangly 90s alt-rock guitars, and cinematic buildups into atmospheric black metal riffage. Each piece features multiple buildups, starting more narrow in scope with a focus on approaching the buildup and then exploring ideas more freely within the crescendos. While harsh and clean vocalizations are peppered throughout each track, only the first third of “Akt III” features lyrics as a means of establishing Astral Journeys II’s point-of-view.

The prevalent symphonics work the hardest to sell Astral Journeys II’s ideas, used both as a tool for establishing atmosphere and later as a means to augment the more grand and cinematic moments. “Akt III” introduces the record with hazy, dreamy atmospherics and pulsating synthesizers, later swelling in tandem with a tempo increase and transmuting jangly guitar work into a vast technicolor expanse. In a similar fashion, “Akt IV” begins with Soule-style orchestration which later acts as a central focus for its climax, vamping what sounds like the first seven seconds of House of Pain’s “Jump Around” on repeat. Take that how you will.

This extended vamping at the end of “Akt IV” is a microcosm of Astral Journeys II’s flaws. The record undoubtedly features some gorgeous instrumentation and lush soundscaping, even throwing in a series of killer guitar/keyboard melodies to maintain interest across its runtime. At the same time, there is a nagging insistence that tracks must continue well after they reach their peak. Both of these Akts dawdle endlessly and end up massively overstaying their welcome. The “Jump Around” outro of “Akt IV” would be much more palatable if it wasn’t at the end of an overlong and bumbling journey and then repeated for three minutes. Additionally, the gorgeous buildup of “Akt III” and its subsequent cooldown would have made for a much more sensible end than extending the track a further nine minutes. Should Eldamar be interested in continuing this style, dialing back the song lengths just a touch and indulging in the pleasant interplay between orchestration and melody would bring a much stronger focus to the more compelling ideas that make up Astral Journeys II.

In the face of post-metal, it’s easy to decry any criticism of its length as an issue of patience, but Astral Journeys, Pt II: Dissolution is a prime case of a record resting too long on the laurels of a good idea. Its orchestration is undoubtedly lush and gorgeous, intertwining nicely with the keyboards and the more pleasant guitar melodies, but the approach of maintaining a climactic excitement after reaching the natural peak of a piece ends up wearing on the listener more than it keeps them in that initial euphoria. If patience is a virtue, then dawdling is a sin.

Recommended tracks: Akt III
You may also like: Ashlands, Karg, Unreqvited, Skyforest, Lustre
Final verdict: 5/10

Related links: Bandcamp | Spotify | Facebook | Instagram | Metal-Archives
Label: Northern Silence Productions – Bandcamp | Facebook

Eldamar is:
– Mathias Hemmingby (everything)

The post Review: Eldamar – Astral Journeys, Part II: Dissolution appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: atmospheric black metal, progressive black metal (mixed vocals, mostly harsh vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Wolves in the Throne Room, Panopticon, Kaatayra, Mare Cognitum
Country: Brazil
Release date: 9 May 2025

An artist’s first few albums can only be compared against the greater canon. For an artist like Vauruvã’s Caio Lemos (Kaatayra, Bríi, et al.) who has twenty albums under his belt, though, evaluating a new album against his own oeuvre is the natural thing to do. Further, his style is entirely peerless (after his first two more straightforward atmoblack releases), a signature sound permeating any genre he’s attempted—from his trance-infused black metal (Bríi) and dungeon synth (Bakt) to darkwave (Rasha) and a return to atmoblack (Vestígio). So how does Mar de Deriva stack up against Caio Lemos’ extensive discography?

At first, Vauruvã was an improvisatory project from Lemos with vocalist Bruno Augusto Ribeiro, melding traditional black metal with the Caio Lemos Touch— since metal and improvisation rarely go together, it’s certainly an interesting experiment. However, the first two albums under Vauruvã were among the bottom of Lemos’ releases in quality, slightly underwhelming due to their emphasis on pure black metal. Mar de Deriva drops the improv aspect of prior Vauruvã albums and instead approaches the average sound of all Lemos projects. I hear touches of Kaatayra, Bríi, and especially Vestígio here. The loss of Vauruvã’s distinct identity among Lemos’ various projects is a tad disappointing—I’d love to see how far improvisation could be pushed in black metal—but Mar de Deriva is all the better for it, easily Vauruvã’s strongest album to date.

Structured as a triptych, much like his 2023 album Vestígios, Mar de Deriva glides between ideas seamlessly whilst growing in intensity from movement to movement. The three tracks flow together as if a part of one larger epic, although they all follow an identical, predictable structure: a slow, folky start building into ripping black metal riffs, concluded by an eerily calm resolution. Mar de Deriva’s ebbs and flows are natural, and listening to the release is like drifting through a surreal dream—even the harsh vocals and distorted guitars merely add a hazy layer atop the free-flowing hallucination. 

Mar de Deriva has moments with the most ominous gravitas of Lemos’ career thus far, such as in the beginning of the album’s closer “As Selvas Vermelhas No Planeta dos Eminentes,” which is backboned by dramatic percussion and darkly cinematic synths. But contrasted with the obscured darkness are moments of extreme levity, full of illusive ethereality. After the initial riff-centered section to start “Os Caçadores,” for instance, the track pauses before erupting in a barrage of blast beats and harsh vocals over a tranquil synth motif. The ending of that track is almost uncanny with its subdued beauty, full of atmospheric synth, clean vocalizations, arpeggiated acoustic guitars, and bird chirping—how can music sound so peaceful and comforting yet strangely detached? Lemos blessedly utilizes his acoustic guitar playing at several points in the project, too, with the highlight coming in the final few minutes of “As Selvas Vermelhas No Planeta dos Eminentes”; the section is reminiscent of his magnum opus Só Quem Viu o Relâmpago à Sua Direita Sabe with its trem-picked arpeggios acting in harmony with the energetic rhythm. 

While Mar de Deriva features many of Lemos’ greatest individual riffs, his playing on opener “Legado” comes across as slightly sloppy; it doesn’t detract from the liminal dreaminess of the track, but the tighter guitar performance on the next two tracks is stronger. Lemos uses every trick from his extensive discography, but he underutilizes some of my favorites on Mar de Derica, particularly his ever-improving clean vocals. His lulling incantations are a soothing counter to his shrieky harshes and complement his synth tones.

Minor quibbles aside, Caio Lemos has delivered. Mar de Deriva is a wonderful record, its atmosphere utterly sublime. Vauruvã mixes stormy black metal sections with rays of sunlight bursting through the clouds, and the listener floats along in the dreams Lemos creates. So, although this record isn’t quite a crowning gem for Lemos at this stage in his career, its diaphanous beauty through searing riffs successfully combines some of the best traits across his body of work to an indisputably excellent result. There is no other artist like Caio Lemos—no artist who drops masterpieces seemingly at will. This is yet another.

Recommended tracks: Os Caçadores, As Selvas Vermelhas No Planeta dos Eminentes
You may also like: Bríi, Negura Bunget, Vestígio, Salqiu
Final verdict: 8/10

Related links: Bandcamp | Instagram | Metal-Archives

Label: independent

Vauruvã is:
– Caio Lemos (instruments)
– Bruno Augusto Ribeiro (vocals)

The post Review: Vauruvã – Mar de Deriva appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: post-metal, progressive death metal, atmospheric black metal (harsh vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Immolation, Cult of Luna, Moonsorrow, Mare Cognitum
Country: Canada
Release date: 2 May 2025

I’ve always found it hilarious when veteran bands release their umpteenth studio album and hype it up as the work they’re most proud of yet, proclaiming that everybody will love it. I’m sure they know they’ve been phoning it in for several albums, and their label obligates them to say that (looking at you Dream Theater and Neal Morse). But maybe they really are just blind to having lost their spark. Not every record is a highlight of your career 15+ albums in, and it’s laughable to state that’s the case. A Flock Named Murder are only on their sophomore album, but in their promotional material, they make even stronger claims than the old legends: they are both “the inner sanctum of the self as a pyre” and “the infinite silence of god,” at the same time a “a eulogy burning away the very idea of worship” and “a rumination on humanity and those we’ve lost”… among several other bold assertions. Is Incendiary Sanctum worthy of the poetic bravado accompanying it, or do their claims top the absurdity of Dream Theater calling Parasomnia an inspired record?

The Canadians A Flock Named Murder occupy a liminal space between several styles of extreme metal, melding post-, prog, death, and black metal across the lengthy journey of four sweeping epics—each clocking in over the thirteen-minute mark. That alone is an ambitious tracklist for a fledgling band, ambition a trait which A Flock Named Murder have in spades. However, just as few bands can be both the infinite silence of god and the inner sanctum of the self as pyre, only a select few can pull off four gargantuan tracks on one record. Sadly, A Flock Named Murder accomplish neither.

A whole lot of wasted space makes its way onto Incendiary Sanctum, causing an already lengthy album a slog to push through. Starting with campfire sounds and three minutes of pleasant guitar noises, it’s clear from the start that the journey will be a lengthy one, but sometimes the best musical storytelling needs a dramatic beginning. Meanwhile, tracks “The Eulogy Fields” and “Pierced Flesh Catharsis” end with a minute of reverb. Other sections in the midst of tracks slow down to a doomy crawl, letting the distinctive glisten of post-metal guitars lead the way, but these moments are too slow and awkwardly placed, being forced into the middle of a track and dismantling the momentum A Flock Named Murder had gained during the black and death metal sections. Regrettably, while all the instruments sound tight, the production is rather loud, leading to a loss of any dynamic respite from the heavier sections, even when calmed down to a buildup. 

When not sluggishly pushing through post- build ups or reverb-laden conclusions, A Flock Named Murder often shine bright, particularly with their fiery, Mare Cognitum-inspired bursts of tremolo picking. Guitarist Ryan Mueller performs solid death metal riffs, further cementing that Incendiary Sanctum should have remained at a faster speed. And the highlights of the album are consistently Mueller’s solos—particularly those in “Garden of Embers” and “To Drown in Obsidian Tides.” The former reprises a main melody from earlier in the track, contributing to a sense of thoughtfulness to the songwriting that large swaths of the album don’t have due to some disorderly transitions between disparate styles. A Flock Named Murder tried their damndest to tie everything together and just put too much weight on the bar. 

As is the case with many young bands, in trying to defy easy categorization with their mix of styles, A Flock Named Murder sacrificed Incendiary Sanctum’s sense of cohesion. With focused songwriting and an emphasis on their strong atmospheric black metal and guitar parts, a follow-up could drastically improve upon these foundations. And I do think shifting their ambitions from being “a rumination on humanity and those we’ve lost” to “writing a good album” would be beneficial.

Recommended tracks: To Drown in Obsidian Tides
You may also like: Inter Arma, Mizmor, Black Lava, Felgrave
Final verdict: 5/10

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

Label: Hypaethral Records – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

A Flock Named Murder is:
Ryan Mueller – Guitars, Voice
Mike Wandy – Bass, Voice
Cam Mueller – Drums, Lyrics

The post Review: A Flock Named Murder – Incendiary Sanctum appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: Atmospheric black metal, dungeon synth, neofolk (Mixed vocals, mostly harsh)
Recommended for fans of: Summoning, Moonsorrow, Apocalypse Orchestra, Runescape music
Country: France
Release date: 21 March 2025

As I sit in stop-and-go nightmare rush hour traffic for the third time this week, I can’t help but think of the I Think You Should Leave with Tim Robinson sketch about the Darmine Doggy Door. At one point, Robinson looks directly at the camera and demands to know, ‘What the fuck is this world? What have they done to us? WHAT DID THEY DO TO US?‘ Of course, this is meant to be taken humorously in the context of a guy losing his mind over a pig in a Richard Nixon mask, but there is an undeniable truth to his sleep-deprivation-induced outburst. That one moment from Robinson’s sketch resonates so deeply due to the hostile architecture that comprises our modern world in both physical and cultural aspects. Frankly, I need to get the hell away from it sometimes, and there’s no better time to get involved in some escapism than an overlong drive home that does nothing but waste my and everyone else’s time, money, and energy. French black metallers Cercle du Chêne aim to hit that escapism sweet spot on debut Récits d’Automne et de Chasse (Stories of Autumn and the Hunt), a mix of dungeon synth and black metal depicting a group of wild beasts who convene under a tree to recount folk stories. Will you get lost in the tales they spin?

It’s a bit difficult to pin down whether Récits d’Automne et de Chasse is more of a black metal record or a medieval dungeon synth record—the two styles sit almost entirely in lockstep throughout its runtime, with Runescape-style MIDI tracks establishing a melodic and thematic framework while atmoblack guitars follow suit to cultivate tension and release. Récits luxuriates in a lackadaisical vibe, taking time to develop its ideas and gently approach climaxes with triumphant horns and Moonsorrow-flavored chants. This is less out of disinterest for the compositions and more out of an unshakeable desire to ‘stop and smell the roses’, allowing its myriad journeys to unfold at their own pace.

What works most in Récits‘ favor is its ineffable charm. Black metal is typically borne out of ugliness, anger, and aggression, and Cercle du Chêne are happy to subvert these principles entirely in the name of grand atmospheres and a ‘woodland fantasy creature’ aesthetic. The fervent tremolos and triumphant horns of “Le Trésor dans l’Onde Noire” (Treasure in the Black Wave) conjure imagery of a mouse in medieval warrior garb setting off on an adventure to conquer an evil king terrorizing their village and discover a legendary treasure in the process; dramatic organs and dirging guitar chords on “Dans le Crystal du Givre” (In the Frost Crystal) see a goose monk exploring an icy cavern only to find an enchanted crystal at its heart; and excited strings intertwine with woodwinds, harsh vocals, and group chants on “La Croix Entre les Bois” (The Cross between the Woods) as a party of travellers cautiously explore an unfamiliar and foreboding woodland. Though tracks like “Dans le Crystal du Givre” and “Un Duel de Rois” (A Duel of Kings) may come across a bit rough around the edges and plod along for a bit too much time in their middle sections, the MIDI synths that weave through Récits are just so god damn adorable that I can’t help but smile when I listen.

While the dungeon synth moments hit almost without fail, their impact would be significantly lessened without the presence of black metal adding some much-needed heft and tension. The buildup in the center section of “La Croix Entre les Bois”, for example, wouldn’t hit nearly as hard without the harsh vocal performance and powerful guitar layering. Additionally, the black metal satisfyingly takes center stage in the middle of “Aux Jours de Chasse” (In the Days of the Hunt), as an ominous synth break explodes into double-time blast beats and furious tremolos. While most of Récits is infectiously pleasant, this moment is particularly ugly and intense, wavering between aggressive instrumentation and delicate synth breakdowns into one of the record’s most grand conclusions. Though, as much as I adore the dungeon synth base, I do wish the black metal was let off the reins a bit at times, either exploring counterpoint ideas against the non-metal instrumentation to add complexity and texture or to simply switch up the pace a little. In its current state, the quality of the black metal ranges from serviceable to excellent, and in most cases, this is a function of how much the black metal is allowed to divert.

The slight lack of variety in Récits d’Automne et de Chasse’s metal moments gives me a tinge of concern in the back of my mind for how far this style can be explored, but these are concerns unfitting for an orphaned woodland grouse who just discovered they come from a line of renowned magicians. Récits is a debut brimming with charm that has me smiling through some of the most obnoxious and wasteful of human constructs. With a touch of polish and some more freely exploring black metal, the forest canopy is the limit; I am giddily excited for what’s to come next from Cercle du Chêne. Pick up a copy of Redwall and let’s forget that any of that ‘real life’ garbage exists for a little while.

Recommended tracks: La Croix Entre les Bois, Le Trésor dan l’Onde Noire, Aux Jours de Chasse, Sur les Toits d’une Tour
You may also like: Caladan Brood, Ashlands, Bakt, the works of Brian Jacques
Final verdict: 7.5/10

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

Label: Antiq Records – Bandcamp | Facebook | Official Website

Cercle du Chêne is:
– La Griesche (vocals)
– Hyver (synths, guitars)
– Frère Loup (guitar)

The post Review: Cercle du Chêne – Récits d’Automne et de Chasse appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: atmospheric black metal, post-black metal (harsh vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Altar of Plagues, Blut Aus Nord, Wolves in the Throne Room
Country: France
Release date: 24 January 2025

Sometimes, you find an album with a concept you connect to deeply through music’s unmatched ability to convey a shared, familiar human experience. Other times, you find Kadath. 

Atmospheric black metallers The Great Old Ones’ latest LP journeys the listener through a soundscape influenced by H.P. Lovecraft’s novella The Dream-Quest of Unknown Kadath, a work about which I know nothing. My knowledge of Lovecraft’s universe is limited to the sporadic bits and pieces I’ve picked up subconsciously from the numerous other bands that draw upon his lore. So far, all I’ve put together is that there’s a giant, cosmic squid-like creature, or maybe several. But, no matter the inspiration or one’s familiarity with it, an hour-long record leaning heavily on the atmosphere it creates can be a captivating experience—or, perhaps more likely, it can be a tedious slog. Unsure of its literary underpinnings but excited nevertheless, I dive in to find out which way Kadath sways.¹

With an apparent urge to let you know the album’s title right away, the vocalist screams ‘Kadath!’ not fifteen seconds into the opening track, and a grim, guitar-driven surge follows. Evident immediately is the production, which, almost paradoxically, is thick and full while also being spacious, with plenty of room for each instrument to breathe. The result balances the spectral and the material: the sound’s smooth outer edges glisten evocatively and its heavy center pulses palpably. While the band’s more dissonant contemporaries (especially Blut Aus Nord) might look to suffocate the listener within the nightmares they create, The Great Old Ones leave space open to wander amongst Kadath’s horrors. Either approach, of course, can be done successfully, and the rich, darkened expanse created as soon as the needle drops bodes well for the rest of the album.

A striking atmosphere and production mean little if not filled with strong compositions, and on this Kadath also delivers. More than anything, the record is a glowing testament to the power of plain ol’ riffing: if you want to nod along to melodic mid-pacers, check “The Mouth of Madness”; if you’d rather risk damaging your neck, “Those from Ulthar” provides some heft; go ahead and bounce around to the groovy triplets and folkier flourishes found throughout “Me, the Dreamer”; or you could roll with the blackened tremolos in “Under the Sign of Koth”—the choice is yours. A lot of riffs can be stuffed into an hour of music, and The Great Old Ones make sure that each of theirs hits. Better still, melodic and atmospheric leads are often placed gracefully on top of the riffs below, further accentuating the album’s ‘spectral yet material’ aura. Another point for ‘captivating experience.’

Kadath isn’t just about the guitars: the drumming showcases rhythmic variety that keeps the compositions fresh while also offering plenty of its own character, and an active and audible bass slithers its way across all the tracks. If you check in on the rhythm section at any point in the album, one member (or both) is bound to be doing something interesting; neither spends much time simply going through the motions. Meanwhile, the vocalist’s coarse howls ring out in a style befitting (I imagine) of Lovecraftian horror, but the performance could be more dynamic—the vocals remain monotone for the most part, providing emphasis by dragging out certain words or syllables rather than by changing in tone or emotion. 

Any journey through the album would be incomplete without stopping to mention its figurative centerpiece: the penultimate track “Leng,” a fifteen-minute instrumental behemoth. For me, a ‘fifteen-minute instrumental behemoth’ would typically tip an album decidedly toward ‘tedious slog,’ but The Great Old Ones’ talent for crafting engaging compositions makes the track anything but tedious. “Leng” puts on display all the band has to offer: it’s simultaneously Kadath’s most pummeling, delicate, atmospheric, rhythmically dynamic, and instrumentally accomplished track—seriously, go listen for yourself. The last instrumental epic I remember truly enjoying was “Plateau of the Ages” from Agalloch’s The Serpent & The Sphere, released more than a decade ago. “Leng” is even better. 

If you couldn’t tell, I quite enjoy the sonic landscape that Kadath creates, but I wish the journey through it were a little shorter. Despite the dynamic instrumentation and compositions, I sometimes find myself drifting—possibly because Kadath’s overarching feel, while crafted excellently, doesn’t expand far beyond what you get in the album’s first few minutes. Although I’d prefer the album trimmed to fifty minutes, I wouldn’t want to be the one holding the shears. No passages immediately come to mind as superfluous, and each track has an identity distinct enough to warrant its inclusion. 

On the whole, Kadath leans resoundingly toward ‘captivating’ rather than ‘tedious.’ It’s an atmospheric success with a compositional and instrumental prowess strong enough to keep the journey compelling. Even without any knowledge of the Lovecraftian world from which the album spawned, I’ll gladly (and ignorantly²) return to Kadath for another trip.

Recommended tracks: Leng; Me, the Dreamer
You may also like: Thy Darkened Shade, Inter Arma, Sulphur Aeon
Final verdict: 7.5/10

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

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

The Great Old Ones is:
– Benjamin Guerry (guitars, vocals)
– Aurélien Edouard (guitars)
– Alexandre Rouleau (guitars)
– Gregory Vouillat (bass)
– Julian Deana (drums)

1. After strong urging from many of my peers—including but not limited to: Andy, Justin, Cooper, and Zach—I promise to check out some Lovecraft. ︎
2. Well, maybe not always ‘ignorantly’ in light of the promise above. ︎

The post Review: The Great Old Ones – Kadath appeared first on The Progressive Subway.

Style: folk black metal, progressive black metal (mixed vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Panopticon, Agalloch, Primordial, Wolves in the Throne Room
Country: United Kingdom
Release date: 7 February 2025

Romanticism breeds nationalism. The Romantic focus on emotion, individualism, and mysticism directly fomented a sense of collective cultural heritage to form the basis of the nation as we know it. I have long argued that black metal is a form of modern Romanticism (although that take is certainly not unique to me), and, thus, it is clearer why folk music and black metal have such a synergistic fusion. Black metal’s philosophy centers around individualism, yes, but also around pride for one’s cultural and national identity: if you look at any but the most remote corners of the globe, there will be a black metal band, and the odds are if they aren’t mediocre second-wave worship, they somehow inject their local music traditions into their sound. Black metal functions as a template for folk music of any kind to be amplified, indiscriminate and accessible. If we turn to Scotland, the nation’s traditions cry of bagpipes and of whistles, and on Andy Marshall’s sixth album over a decade into his career as Saor, the sounds of the Scots mix with stunning atmospheric black metal to become the Caledonian black metal band. 

Each track on Amidst the Ruins is a meandering journey, covering Lowlands and Highlands, isles and farmland. Apart from the folk piece “The Sylvan Embrace,” the songs all top the 11:30 mark, and they fly by despite their length. Saor’s had a consistent formula for songwriting that’s worked since 2013, and he hasn’t changed it much this time—if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. Three of the four black metal tracks begin with a similar deluge of tremeloes and blast beats, exploding in vibrant sylvan shades of green. Underpinning the triumphant black metal and the oft Celtic guitar melodies is resonant bass and, this time around, a full string trio of violin, viola, and cello. The metallic core of Amidst the Ruins is epic and melodic, but the true magic happens in the perennial shifts from tumbling black metal to Caledonian folk music—or similarly when the guitar trades off from the lead melody, allowing the tin whistle, low whistle, or Uilleann pipes to conduct the song. Those moments constitute the hallmark of Saor’s sound, and all four tracks are chock full of them.

Lyrically, Amidst the Ruins is a tale of hope, of rising from the ashes and rebuilding. Performed through a mix of standard melodic black metal rasps—I think a good touchstone is Malo Civelli of Cân Bardd—with powerfully belted clean, often dueted, choruses, the message of Amidst the Ruins is powerful, and the music’s swelling climaxes and fatherland aesthetics complement the defiance in the face of ruin. Saor aren’t afraid to get pensive, though, and the extended neofolk track “The Sylvan Embrace” is heartfelt and much moodier than the surrounding metal’s saccharine chord progressions and sweet sweet melodies. Featuring whispered vocals, cello, and gentle acoustic guitars that scream “Agalloch!,” the song is essential to Amidst the Ruins, and I almost wish it were up one more spot in the tracklist to bisect the album since the four black metal tracks all play to a similar mood.  

While the pastoral epics like bookending tracks “Amidst the Ruins” and “Rebirth” are thoughtfully composed, stunning, and easy to listen to, I have to mention that the Caledonian aesthetic isn’t as fundamental to the sound as it is to the band’s identity. Rather than incorporating traditional Scottish melodies and technique into the composition itself, it’s superimposed onto a folk black metal blueprint (a damn good one, at least). If I changed the whistles and pipes to bluegrass, I’d have middle-era Panopticon; to dungeon-synthy keys and flutes I’d get Summoning; and to a more simple, sparse woodsiness, I’d have a great Cascadian black metal band. Andy Marshall is an excellent composer and neither gimmicky nor derivative, but I long for a deeper Scottish-ness to the music: Amidst the Ruins is top-shelf atmospheric black metal with entertaining folk inclusions, but for a band positioning itself as so steeped in tradition, I’d like to see that as a more integral part of the sound from the very beginning of the process.

At this point, Saor are a folk black metal institution, and you know each new album will be quality stuff, the winding, progressive tracks easy to get swept away in. Although not the most ground-breaking release in his catalog, Saor’s sixth album is magnificent and foreboding. Amidst the Ruins is so wonderfully evocative with its musical storytelling even the English will find something to love here.

Recommended tracks: Amidst the Ruins, The Sylvan Embrace, Rebirth
You may also like: Gallowbraid, Cân Bardd, Thrawsunblat, Fellwarden
Final verdict: 7.5/10

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

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

Saor is:
Andy Marshall (everything)
Ella Zlotos – Female Vocals, Tin Whistles, Low Whistles, Uilleann Pipes
Carlos Vivas – Drums
Jo Quail – Cello & FX on “The Sylvan Embrace”
Àngela Moya Serrat – Violin on “Amidst the Ruins”, “Echoes of the Ancient Land” & “Rebirth”
Miguel Izquierdo – Viola on “Amidst the Ruins”, “Echoes of the Ancient Land” & “Rebirth”
Samuel C. Ledesma – Cello on “Amidst the Ruins”, “Echoes of the Ancient Land” & “Rebirth”

The post Review: Saor – Amidst the Ruins appeared first on The Progressive Subway.