I put Reliance on without expecting it to do anything surprising. It was released on January 16th, 2026, and I had been waiting for it in that quiet, patient way that only happens when you already trust a band. I was fortunate enough to preorder one of the 200 limited signed copies, which already gave the first listen a sense of ritual, like opening something that had chosen its place before I had even heard it. I listened for the first time on a quiet Saturday morning, the house still, the kind of stillness that feels borrowed. I played it twice back to back, not out of analysis but out of that rare, wordless awe that comes after hearing something great before your mind rushes in to explain it.
That is not a criticism, by the way. With Soen, the surprise is rarely in the shape of the music, but in how deeply it settles once you stop bracing for impact. They have always written heavy music that does not behave like heavy music. It breathes, it holds back, it waits. Their version of progressive metal is built on rhythm, repetition, and restraint rather than constant technical display. You hear echoes of Tool in the patience, Katatonia in the melancholy, and something almost post-rock in the way atmosphere carries meaning, but it never feels like imitation. It feels like a language they have refined over years of knowing exactly who they are.
The current line-up makes sense in a very physical way. Joel Ekelöf’s voice is calm and steady, but there is always something cracking underneath, like emotion being held in place by discipline. Martín López is the quiet architect of the whole thing. His drumming never shows off, but constantly shifts the ground, keeping the songs alive rather than looped. Cody Lee Ford’s guitar work is expressive without being indulgent, shaping mood more than proving skill. Lars Åhlund fills the spaces most bands forget exist, with keys and textures that change the colour of a song without demanding attention, and Stefan Stenberg’s bass gives everything weight, not just low end, but intention.
What I hear on Reliance is a band that consciously chose contrast as a compositional tool. They have spoken about writing more freely than before, experimenting with tuning, texture, and vocal approach, then cutting back hard during arrangement so the songs stayed clear and direct. You can hear that discipline everywhere. Nothing feels crowded. Nothing feels like it is there because it should be. Heavy parts are allowed to be heavy, and quiet parts are trusted to carry the song without being padded.
“Mercenary” moves forward with purpose, a tight, grounded drive that never rushes. The riff feels physical, but the song breathes around it, softened by subtle shifts that keep it from becoming rigid. Lyrically it carries the weight of inherited violence, the idea that conviction can be passed down like a burden rather than a gift. The chorus lifts, but it does not celebrate. It endures. That tension between strength and cost is where the song lives, and it never lets go.
“Discordia” works differently. It begins almost subdued, then slowly tightens until it breaks open into something heavier and more insistent, but even there, the band refuse to stay in one emotional register. The middle section twists briefly into a strange, almost retro-prog space, before the song finds its way back. It feels like a thought changing direction mid-sentence, which is something Soen do remarkably well. Joel’s voice here carries strain, and that strain matters.
“Indifferent” is where the album steps back and looks you straight in the eye. Piano, voice, space. Nothing hidden. The question it asks is simple and brutal: how does someone become so emotionally distant that they no longer react at all? It is not only about relationships, but about numbness as survival. The band understood that adding anything would weaken it, so they did not. Restraint becomes honesty here.
And then there is “Vellichor”, which is, without hesitation, the standout for me. It builds slowly and patiently, layering atmosphere and melody until it opens into something almost ceremonial. Nothing is rushed. No instrument fights for space. Everyone listens. When the final surge comes, it feels earned, and that is what makes it hit so hard. It is the kind of song that leaves you sitting still after the last note, not because you are impressed, but because you are not ready to move yet.
Technically, the album is immaculate without being sterile. Recorded and mixed at Fascination Street Studios and mastered by Tony Lindgren, it has clarity without coldness. The low end is deep but controlled, and the dynamics are preserved in a way that lets silence matter just as much as volume. It sounds like a band that trusted both their engineer and their instincts enough not to overcorrect.
What stays with me most is the feeling of maturity without stiffness. Soen are not chasing anything here. They are refining. They rely on craft, on listening to each other, and on the idea that music does not have to shout to be heavy. Reliance feels like quiet confidence made audible, the kind that comes from knowing when to push and when to let go. It stays with you because it does not beg for attention. It simply waits.
In the dark we are all the same. In the light we can only be us.
reflections of an unquiet mind 