[Album artwork by THEE Travis Smith]
If you manage to get old(er)—and I sincerely hope you do—and you also happen to be music-obsessed and surrounded by like-minded chums, you will likely notice that at some point a number of people will either halt or at least significantly curb their exploration of brand new music. That’s not terribly surprising, really—if you’ve been mining new music for decades, eventually you begin to wonder if maybe you’d rather, you know, focus on the works you’ve accumulated, as opposed to the often exhausting task of throwing attention to the umpteenth Sabbath / Maiden / Opeth / [etc. ad infinitum] clones that fight for awareness in a massive sea of challengers. In other words, if the ever increasing pile of diminished returns begins to eclipse the gems, why not spend whatever free time you’re lucky to have enjoying the spoils instead of spoiling the joy?
That being said, I have long-since resigned to the fact that I will eventually die wheezing on a cold slab with that dreaded music miner’s lung, because my appetite for exploration hasn’t really waned much over the course of four decades of questing. That’s largely rooted in the following admission: I am incurably addicted to that blissful feeling one gets when a random record hits with zero warning and completely takes over your life—even better if you have no previous experience with the artist in question.
Plot twist: 90% of my more recent ~blown away and suddenly obsessed over~ album experiences have been connected to releases long-since in the rearview mirror. Discovering Concrete Blonde’s 10/10 Bloodletting 25 years after its release, for example. Or finally connecting with a previously self-panned record from a loved band many years later—that sort of thing. Point being, the phenomenon has become increasingly rare as it relates to modern works, but that only makes the rare occasions more special.
Pretty clear where this is going, yes?
Where the hell did Falling Together come from, who the hell is Advent Horizon, and why is this review so unbelievably late.
All great questions.
Answer number 1: It came from over there.
Answer number 2: They are a prog band from Salt Lake City, UT.
Answer number 3: Because I’m an idiot.
So, why spotlight a record that hit the streets four months ago and already has more than just a handful of extremely positive reviews floating around out there on the ol’ internet? Because: 1) I only just discovered it about two weeks ago, 2) If a person like me who spends quite a bit of time researching as many clefts and hollows as time allows for new albums somehow missed it, maybe someone putting eyes here did as well, and 3) It’s really fucking good.
In an effort to save some folks a little time, let’s get some defining characteristics out on the table.
The inclusion of new wave is a key element that helps separate Falling Together and Advent Horizon from their prog peers. Not that it’s never been done before in this specific realm—see Steven Wilson’s To the Bone, or the album I find to be the closest kin to this, musically: the eponymous (and excellent) Anubis Gate release from 2011. But coupling it with another fundamental Falling Together component, FAITH DECONSTRUCTION, and you end up with something that really does have a unique footprint. From the album’s liner notes:
“Falling Together is a record about holding your beliefs under a microscope and determining whether they are truly yours or whether they were planted by others when you were young and impressionable.”
I will likely fail in my attempts to dissect into plain terms the overall tone and unique allure that (with luck) flourishes when a certain form of blue music becomes paired with an introspective ‘theological teardown’, but suffice to say it connects with people, myself included. I wouldn’t necessarily say I had a religious upbringing, but it feels like if you were living somewhere in heartland of America in the ‘80s, you and your family probably went to some sort of church on a fairly regular basis. My family did, I eventually went through Confirmation (“A rite where a baptized youth—usually around 13 to 15 years old—personally affirms the baptismal promises and vows that parents and sponsors made on their behalf when they were infants”), and I definitely experienced a stretch as I became more independent where I questioned the shit out of ALL of it.
That sort of journey is notably thorny and deeply personal, and it can manifest in a peculiar sense of trepidatious-turned-confident freedom that really gets tested when things such as grief or isolation enter the picture. Religion’s safety net is a comfort, and it can eclipse its propensity for various failures and prejudices as a deeply flawed institution. Bands that manage to capture and convey some sense of that sentiment hit in a curious and singular way for those who can relate. Two random examples: King’s X and the way they’ve folded faith deconstruction into their records since day one, or the sadly defunct Crusades on the punk end of the spectrum that did similarly in a much darker way—both very important bands for me across the years that… shouldn’t feel this connected? [shrugs so hard my head falls off]
For its part, Falling Together seamlessly melds its manifest faith deconstruction narrative into a continually twisting, flipping and soaring progressive epic that very often nails that unique… ‘golden gloom’ atmosphere that can flourish when a band explores sovereignty from any given religious institution. And make no mistake, there is a sadness there—to have whatever sort of metaphysical connection you grew up with challenged in this manner can be as unsettling as it is freeing, and Advent Horizon’s resolve to attach that warm and familiar 80s’ new wave nostalgia to it all maximizes the tone even more. I feel a bit crazy for not first highlighting the incredible 19-minute opening salvo, but it was honestly the poppy follow-up “Faith’s Window” that first stopped me dead in my tracks.
Light stuff? Sure. But after swaddling the listener in that beautifully sympathetic melancholy for its first 3 minutes, “Faith’s Window” suddenly turns a hard corner into a much more assertive face that includes bits of harsh vocals and a much heavier stance. It’s a perfect collision between pop (not always a bad word!) and prog, and I have seriously lost count how many times that refrain and chorus have worked their way into my head while out and about and away from any sort of speakers.
As much as I appreciate the message and that ‘golden gloom’, though, I might argue that Falling Together’s greatest strength lies in how incredibly collaborative the full 47 minutes feels. The initial song structures are the result of founding members Rylee McDonald (vocals, guitar, keys, percussion) and Mike Lofgreen (drums, percussion, harsh vocals) taking umpteen trips into the wilds of Utah with an acoustic guitar and fishing gear in tow, but Falling Together is truly the textbook definition of a collaborative effort, where a tight-knit group of individuals—all of whom seem fully and equally invested—bring their ideas and A-games to the table. So, no one element ever really outshines them all, even if it does kind of feel like a guitar freak’s promised land. Consequently, leads are plentiful, but they’re notably lyrical in lieu of being unduly ostentatious. And, yeah, everyone and every instrument feels a moment away from adding immeasurably to a song’s overall footprint.
So, does our protagonist, Rylee McDonald, walk away from this twisty-turny emotional journey a dyed in the wool atheist? Based on the lyrics for closer “Animals,” I do not believe so. As it happens, it is quite feasible to withdraw from religion in its grossly broken institutional form and remain (hold onto your dreamcatchers) “spiritual.” Some Europeans actually have a pretty good word for that: “ietsism” (“somethingism”)—the belief in something bigger than ourselves but separate from any sort of specific doctrine or practice. Now, whether or not that’s the ultimate ticket for Falling Together is (and probably should be) open to interpretation, because, again, this sort of venture is intensely personal.
The record does, however, feel tailor-made for, but obviously not exclusive to, those who have experienced a similar trek, and I will confirm that its capacity for fellowship and commiseration in this regard is huge. Falling Together feels like the sort of album that will be there for you when you need it by design. It’s heavy, it’s light, it’s catchy, it’s complex, but above all else, it’s the textbook definition of a «thoughtful» album, both in terms of how it was constructed and in the way it inspires the listener to get comfortably lost as they contemplate their place in this turbulent and often inscrutable universe.
Would I have found Advent Horizon if I didn’t remain a tireless proponent of boldly going where I haven’t gone before? Probably not. Sure am glad I did, though, because obsessing over this record over the course of the last couple weeks has been one of the more rewarding musical endeavors I’ve had in 2026.
