It’s official: a new chapter for Karnivool has begun. “Drone” is the band’s first new music in four years and, typically for the Perth prog outfit, it arrives with the sense that patience has been rewarded. Lifted from a larger body of work that’s finally on the horizon, the track signals a rebirth of sorts—something the band themselves frame as a reflection of the vast Western Australian landscapes that shaped it.
You can hear that scope in the music. This is the sort of modern, downtuned prog Karnivool have made a career out of: intricate, patient, and built around atmosphere as much as muscle. The beauty is in the twists, turns and undulations, and the way the band allow the song to unfold rather than forcing its hand.
That feeling runs through the wider material surrounding it too. “Ghost” is long and involved, sprawling in that unmistakable Karnivool way, while “Drone” itself seems almost restrained—like the band are deliberately holding power in reserve. It’s a clever trick and one that pays off repeatedly.
“Aozora” worms its way into your brain with the hook of “waiting for the great escape,” the sort of line that lingers long after the song ends. “Animation” is sparser and eerier, simmering away before eventually exploding into life, and “Conversations” continues that sense of tension, sounding like a band deliberately holding itself back in favour of finding something deeper.
One of the clear highlights is “Reanimation,” where Guthrie Govan delivers a stunning guest guitar performance that elevates the song’s theme of “feeling alone in a crowded place.” It’s both technically breathtaking and emotionally sharp.
Elsewhere, “All It Takes” wraps what feels like genuine pain around a huge chorus, while “Remote Self Control” begins a descent into a maelstrom that steadily tightens its grip. By the time the vocals warn that it’s “quiet like death is around,” the sense of urgency is palpable.
Then there’s “Salva,” which contrasts brilliantly with the almost ambient closing moments. Even in a genre where almost anything goes, the bagpipes in the de facto overture are a genuinely unexpected flourish—and somehow it works.
If this is the start of Karnivool’s next era, it suggests a band still fascinated by the spaces between heaviness and restraint, complexity and melody. Few groups make progressive rock feel this organic, and fewer still do it with such patience and confidence.
8.5/10
