SUBSOUNDS

Another new discovery, this time from Brazil, band of brothers who have come up with a rather exquisite album. What makes this album particularly beguiling is the fact that there are only five monster tracks, ranging from 23 minutes to 12 and a half. The two brothers is question are actually father and son Gabriel D'Incao (keyboards, synths) and paternal guitarist Pedro D'Incao adding a solid rhythm section (it's always percussive in Brazil) of bassist Fernando Lima and Humberto Zigler on drums. The vocal department consists of Roger Lopes and Kim Chandler on backing vocals. The band explores the distances between silence and sound, diving deeply into the subconscious with organic soundscapes verging on ambient, in essence travelling to the extremes in search of some new definition of progressive music. Needless to state, these musicians do not need to be rushed or forced to hit one between the eyes, believing that anticipation is the greatest form of pleasure.

"Cyclical Night" is the shortest track here, yet it unfolds like a serene staircase that perhaps leads to heaven or maybe even hell, it depends how upside down one may feel. Venturing out from the gate in overtly natural surroundings, the build-up finally arrives at a confluence of intervening sonorities that reek of classic prog rock, such as the harsh guitar slashes, relayed by pounding bass and drum activity, strident synthesizer revolutions and Roger's grave intonations, that can even verge on rage. As the mood settles, Pedro peels of a glittering lead guitar solo, all shimmer and shine, a solitary light glowing in the obscurity, a beacon of a hope that leads one back to the starting point, a comfort of roads already travelled. Gabriel, in fine harmony with his bro, attacks the synth with another simmering solo, just in case. The dense breathing-like atmospherics also waver between hope and dread on "Digital Coma", an apocalyptic digression that is unafraid of tackling the modern-day psychosis of being hooked online, self-bombarded with endless and often useless data, that ultimately hides the fact that the algorithms are spying on you. All it takes is a click, a password and your soul has been sold. Thank you Lucifer.com, Mephistoles.org and Satan.net! The initial industrial foray is hugely experimental, neurotic if not outright chaotic, a soundtrack for a dysfunctional machine that wants to 'put you in a coma with some dirty love' (as Zappa once famously said). Halfway through, pleasant music appears, as if in counterpoint to all the previous confusion, a despondent voice skirting over the serene arrangements, fighting off the apathy and searching for salvation. Like a mechanical version of a welcome to the machine that yearns for some melodic harmony, the piece dives headfirst into sheer beauty, expressed with bombastic exultation and natural rebellion. The sizzling pace gets ratcheted up with some brutal background swells of raging noise, thunderous bass and drum detonations exploding with impunity, as the electronic keyboard undertow suggests some kind of bravery and fight. The finale is sumptuous both emotionally and sonically, this is Modern prog at its finest, daring to span noise and harmony with focused attention, as backing vocalist Kim Chandler does some spirited wailing as if awakening from what seemed like eternal torpor.

The epic nearly 24 minutes of "Violeta's Dream" constitutes the core of this masterwork, an exercise in undisputable restraint, not shying from overt sonic innovation, firm in its inherent originality, and even daring to boldly travel beyond the mundane. As rest meets calm and as peace encounters sleep, eventually the reverie has taken hold, the magic can begin. As biological as experimental music can be, the sounds seek both entrance and embalm, creating that comfort bubble in which only inspiration can be found. Pedro settles into a guitar phrasing that finally attains its goal, exploding into an apotheosis of sound, evocative of early King Crimson, with mellotrons ablaze in rapturous bliss, Roger offering a forlorn voice, and Kim a moody counterpoint. Whatever digital coma you may have been jailed in, freedom now clearly has taken over, free at last to wander the drawers of the mind, where long buried memories, furtive glances, and urgent musical notes await the hungry heart. Gabriel rips off a synth solo that just slays all the inner dragons. Flute patches astound, gentle drum fills rebound, and the whole arrangement steadfastly yearns for a new passage to a promised land. Meeting unexpected resistance, the greying riffs become dark with envious fury, a developing mind storm that can often lead to a gruesome nightmare. It grows into a heavy tempest eventually, making the Bible Black starless. The glaring void reverts to eventual confusion and then silence, back to the beginning and another day at the office. Spectacularly ballsy.

Echoing piano gracefully adorns the redolent "Blue", an alternate method yet same goal: to entrance, charm and subdue any negative after thought that may linger in one's psyche. The bass guitar gathers in the musicians for a hugging huddle, pondering the next move, offering up an almost alternative 80s sound with the deadpan voice and just when you have this pegged, a wild synth rages into the forefront, the bass louder and nastier, like a serpent ready to bite. Definitely the most 'accessible' track here, its azure effusiveness is highly attractive until it detonates into venomous irrationality on the guitar front. The stop and start methodology is flawlessly suited to confuse, stun and then formulate a gothic-like cathedral setting, where the colossal melody can take root and extol its rich virtues on both the believers and the rebellious lot. A spotlight is suddenly aimed at Gabriel's piano, doing a modern-day version of a Liszt etude, all technique and emotion, passive/aggressive in its details. The extended time allotted for him to shine on the ivories comes as a most welcome addition to the ongoing evolution of this piece.

The final epic "Voice of God" has a width of 17 minutes minus a few seconds and concludes the proceedings on another jubilant creation. With its bombastic and overarching symphonics, as well as the insertion of aria vocalizing from Chandler that verges on screaming (hello Clare Torry), the divine piano once again sets up Roger's impassioned vocal delivery. The arrangement gets a heavy-jazz treatment, with assorted tonal complexities that redefine avant-garde, an intensity settles into the confessional, as the higher authority seeks to exert as much dominion as possible, in order to provide ensuing redemption. Naturally, the mood relapses into reverential contemplation, with introspective piano musings that collide with overarching orchestrations. The adamant voice echoes as it fades into the celestial realms, the lead guitar bidding farewell, a final act of absolution. Kim Chandler does her operatic acrobat bit to perfection, soaring mightily into the stars. What a voyage this has been.

Maybe not the absolute best album of 2025, but definitely, without question, the most surprising discovery of the year, by a longshot. The level of creativity displayed here already could put many bands to shame, a consistently evolving creature of compositional extravagance that is defiant and bold. It's a long album that will reward the adventurous listener over, and over, and over?.

5 submersible commotions

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