VEIL OF MAYA – FALSE IDOL

False Idol is Veil of Maya’s sixth album, but it is the second album on which Lukas Magyar flexes his vocal muscles. The previous album, and first with Lukas as the frontman, Matriarch, was their first album to incorporate clean singing paired with screaming and growls.

False Idol continues the Veil of Maya exploration of the craft of progressive metal. Working with Max Schad and Brandon Paddock as producers, Veil of Maya have taken False Idol and have broken into subtle and candid social commentary.  With an overt story arch from “Lull” to “Livestream,” we move from nothing into straightforward arrogant repentance from the perspective of a man’s Machiavellian rise to power through fear, straight into inner turmoil and war, and egotistical and quasi-repentant escape.

False Idol is a relevant depiction of the current sociopolitical climate and potentially a prophetization of the situation in which we live and turns our reality may take. It’s a glimpse into a possible future, expertly framed by progressive metal genius.

A violent album that starts with a deceiving 37 second “Lull” that spreads a layer of twinkly eerie goodness that blows louder in the first song of the album, “Fracture,” which sprays the ear with various styles, meandering between extreme tempos, it gives all to lovers of all things metal. You have stereotypical Halloween sampling, molasses thick tempos, and just full-fledged splintering of the soul.

“Doublespeak” continues on the multi-faceted singing array and pendulum swinging of rhythm styles. Luscious and haunting vocals are followed by a guttural harsh vocals, creating an intricate piece that when poised over the finely crafted sampling and guitarwork, becomes a force to reckon with. 

Guitarist, Marc Okubo shares, “’Doublespeak’ is the second track we’re releasing from False Idol. This song is the product of the first time Max Schad (producer) and I met and started writing together. We knew there was something magical about that, and that’s when we decided to pursue creating the rest of the album together.”

“Overthrow “charges right in, slaps your tympanic membranes into submission. The words “Hold me high above the rest” are poignant and strong as a screamed vocal nestled in the chant within the chorus. “Overthrow” is all the angry sentimentality with a lugubrious deceleration of tempo that leaves us weak in the bones.

“Whistleblower” jumps right in with a quasi-funk intro that explodes into ascorbic vocals and screams that oozes into a sticky sonic storm. The vocal travels between screams and melodic, showcasing Magyar’s chameleon-esque vocal prowess. “They’ll fear me in the afterlife, I will haunt you endlessly” completes the clean chorus, as your ear eagerly awaits Magyar’s screams stinging with acidic venom.

Gorgeous synth and clean vocals set the intro to “Echo Chamber” where Magyar gives the listener a glimmer of hope with “Arise, arise in failure, failure. Forgiven for the all, the all.” This is demolished with the entrance of Applebaum’s inhuman vigor and speed on the kit, as he rips into the space and elevates this song to the next level.  The vocals hand themselves over and over between screamed and clean, and the dichotomous nature of the song is plain to appreciate.

Hauser bends the bass into different shapes and colors with “Pool Spray,” laying out a cacophonous and angry undervibe from beginning to end. Like being caught out to sea, “Pool Spray” plays with textures, progressions, styles, and story-telling. “Pool Spray” is the lyrical beginning of the unraveling of the protagonist in the concept.

Hauser and Okubo lure the ear in with siren-like surrealism in “Graymail” and once joined by Applebaum, we begin on a journey within a growing storm of thrill and rage. The lyrics pan out like a letter of egotistical sadism, dishing out thank you’s to the honest man whose ridicule has made him the man he is, and promises of damnation.

“Manichee” is hope shining through the darkness. The darkness is there, but “…we refuse to break. Our hearts not depleted” conclude the choruses, allowing our souls to absorb the metal from the instrumental features, building strength and assurance. Orchestral components serve as catalysts between chorus and verses, making “Manichee” a true beacon in a world of madness.

Choral cherubim-like vocals accompanied by a piano and flittering guitars open “Citadel”, which unfolds to a soft vocal from Magyar and a clock-like precision from Applebaum and Hauser. Okuba slices into the beauty, uncovering Magyar’s true banshee screams. In true modern Veil of Maya fashion, we walk the lines of aggression, dreamy surrealism, anger, and abandon.

The beauty from the previous two songs are undone with the “Follow Me.” Dangerous and psychotic-funhouse sensibilities provide an angry overture for “Follow Me”, a song that Magyar utilizes to devour the ear with fierce bellicosity. A soft, yet dizzying break confuses and distorts the reality, allowing for Veil’s entrance into the sub psyche. It’s devilishly disorienting and disarming.

Appearing like an infestation of mechanical insects, “Tyrant” grabs and pummels the listener into war-torn chaos. Magyar’s vocals are menacing, as they growl over an ascending synth scale, and concluding with guttural whispers over a discordant piano, leaving a feeling of unease and post-apocalyptic decay.

“Livestream” is ugly, mournful, and cathartic all wrapped into a progressive metal song. Coming in after “Tyrant,” it falls right into step to demonstrate, via the lyrics, the self-realization and conclusion of the concept album. “I’m not who I was. And I wish I was a better man. But I am who I am. I crawl the from the dust. And I’ve never seemed to understand. But this is who I am.” Musically, Veil closes the False Idol chapter with the self-inflicted death of the idol, and within that notion, each member ties up loose ends, leaving “Livestream” open, bare, and blank into its final stanza.

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