There’s something about this record that feels like it’s falling apart as it’s being built – like scaffolding collapsing in slow motion while someone’s still welding new beams onto it. That’s not a criticism. It’s the point.
THRÆDS aren’t new, but Impermanence feels like a debut in the truest, ugliest, most ambitious sense – like five people walking into a storm with open mouths and no map. They started as one guy in a room (Angelos Tzamtzis), now they sound like a collective consciousness scraping itself against the edge of time.
Post-rock is a tired term at this point, and “progressive” might as well be meaningless. This doesn’t sit neatly with either. If anything, it’s music about the middle space – between structure and chaos, weight and absence, control and collapse. It’s heavy, yeah, but not in a riff-worshipping way. It’s heavy like dread is heavy. Like memory is.
There’s no hand-holding here. Songs stretch, dissolve, reassemble. Riffs buckle. Vocals echo from somewhere behind the wall, almost like the band’s trying to say something but can’t quite bring themselves to spit it out. And that tension – between wanting to scream and choosing to whisper – is what gives Impermanence its shape, or rather, its refusal to have one.
This thing breathes. It mutates. It stares you down and then disappears. You don’t finish the album so much as you wake up from it with dirt under your nails and no idea how long you’ve been gone.
Production-wise, it doesn’t sound expensive (thanks), but it does sound alive. Grainy guitars, bass that churns like an old engine trying to start, drums that feel too close and too far at the same time. No one’s showboating. Everyone’s locked in, dragging this thing forward like a body they all had a hand in killing.
This isn’t music for casual listening. It’s not background noise. It’s a confrontation. If you’re not ready to sit in the dark with it, don’t bother. But if you’ve ever felt like the ground underneath your life is crumbling just slightly, this might be the soundtrack to that slow slide into whatever comes next.
Impermanence isn’t here to explain anything. It just is. And maybe that’s the most honest thing it could be.
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Released by Octopus Rising on June 6th, 2025
Music source for review – Grand Sounds PR
