Oceans Above, Stars Below

Triosphere has always occupied a curious, somewhat precarious position within the progressive metal landscape. They were the architects of grandiosity, weaving intricate tapestries of melody and technicality that flirted with the avant-garde while keeping one foot firmly planted in the soil of power metal. However, with their latest offering, 'Oceans Above, Stars Below', the band seems to have lost the thread of their own narrative, trading their sharp, intellectual edges for a bloated, directionless voyage that feels more like a drift than a journey.

From the opening moments of 'Premonition', it is clear that the ambition is there, but the execution is tragically diluted. The track attempts to establish a sense of cosmic scale, yet it falls into the trap of over-production, where the sheer volume of layers smothers the nuance of the composition. Instead of a focused, progressive assault, we are treated to a wall of sound that feels designed to fill space rather than create meaning. It is a common pitfall for bands of this ilk: when the 'progressive' element becomes a checklist of complex time signatures rather than a tool for emotional expression, the music loses its soul.

A sprawling, aimless odyssey that sacrifices progressive ambition for generic power metal tropes.

As the album progresses into 'Of Tyrants' and the title track, 'Oceans Above, Stars Below', the identity crisis deepens. The songwriting begins to lean heavily on familiar tropes—soaring, predictable choruses and galloping rhythms that feel like safe bets in a sea of uncertainty. The 'power' in their power metal is present, but it lacks the visceral punch of their earlier work. It feels as though the band is trying to please everyone, and in doing so, they have ended up satisfying no one in particular. The complexity is present, but it feels decorative, like lace on a suit of armour.

'Monster's Ball' and 'Through the Phantom Wall' represent the nadir of this creative stagnation. These tracks are particularly egregious, dragging the listener through repetitive structures that seem to loop endlessly without offering a satisfying resolution. The production is polished to a mirror sheen, but it lacks the grit and organic warmth that once defined the Triosphere sound. It is a sterile environment where the instruments are perfectly in tune, but the passion feels muffled by the very production meant to showcase it.

By the time we reach 'Shorelines' and 'Lightning in a Bottle', the momentum has completely evaporated. These tracks feel like filler, desperate attempts to pad out the nearly fifty-minute runtime. The transitions between songs are jarring, and the overarching concept—if one can call it that—feels fragmented. The 'ocean' they are sailing across is one of creative exhaustion, where the band seems to be coasting on the reputation of their past successes rather than forging a new path forward.

'Encore' and 'Embers' offer a brief, flickering moment of what could have been, but they are too short to salvage the experience. They serve as a reminder of the band's ability to craft a haunting atmosphere, but they are isolated islands in a vast, empty sea. The final stretch, including 'Orpheus' Bane' and 'Cadence of Chaos', feels like a frantic attempt to regain some lost ground, but the damage is already done. The complexity here feels forced, a frantic scramble to prove they can still play the 'progressive' game, even if the heart of the music has been replaced by a mechanical pulse.

Closing with 'Gjenklang', the album ends on a note of hollow resonance. It is a sprawling, over-produced, and ultimately uninspired collection of songs that fails to justify its own existence. Triosphere has traded their unique, sharp-edged identity for a safe, bloated, and ultimately forgettable brand of progressive metal. It is a disappointing detour in their career, a voyage that ends not in a grand discovery, but in the quiet, lonely realization that they have lost their way among the stars.