REVIEW: Closed City - Closed City

There’s something quietly unsettling about CLOSED CITY—not in the immediate, abrasive way of heavy music’s usual extremes, but in the slow, creeping sense that something isn’t quite right beneath the surface. Built from isolation, both literal and conceptual, their self-titled debut Closed City feels less like an album and more like an environment you’re forced to inhabit. Formed by Mathias Kom and Michael Cloud Duguay, the project draws from an unusually rich palette—avant-garde metal, drone, folk traditions, and orchestral composition—but never feels indulgent. Instead, it’s restrained, deliberate, and eerily cohesive. From the outset, Closed City establishes a world shaped by routine, distance, and a lingering sense of forgotten purpose.

Opening track City sets the tone with low brass that groans like distant machinery beneath ice. There’s a weight to it—thick, oppressive, but not overwhelming. It’s followed by Old Fire, which leans further into this sense of subterranean labour, its slow build mirroring the album’s central image: an unseen force burning endlessly beneath the surface. Mathias Kom’s vocals arrive not as a focal point, but as another instrument—detached, observational, almost ghostlike.

What makes CLOSED CITY so compelling is its commitment to atmosphere over immediacy. Tracks like Palisade and Ice Fog - No Exit don’t rush toward resolution. Instead, they linger, circling ideas rather than concluding them. The use of low brass throughout is particularly striking—less triumphant fanfare, more warning signal. It evokes foghorns cutting through nothingness, reinforcing the album’s themes of distance and failed communication.

There’s a clear lineage here. You can feel the influence of experimental composers and the avant-metal fringes, but it never slips into pastiche. Michael Cloud Duguay’s composition is patient and intentional, allowing dissonance to breathe. The slightly detuned piano—born from the freezing conditions of its creation—adds a fragile unpredictability, as though the music itself is struggling to remain intact.

Midway through, Visitors introduces a subtle shift. There’s tension here that feels external, intrusive. It’s the closest the album comes to narrative escalation, yet even this moment avoids climax. Instead, it dissolves back into the same introspective haze, reinforcing the idea that this “closed city” rejects change as much as it fears it. The title track Closed City acts as a thematic anchor. It’s here that the album’s core idea—intentional isolation versus the human need for connection—comes into sharpest focus. Mathias Kom’s lyricism remains elliptical, but there’s an emotional clarity beneath it. You’re not being told a story outright; you’re piecing it together from fragments, much like the inhabitants of the imagined city themselves.

Production-wise, the decision to record in a decommissioned church adds another layer of depth. There’s a natural reverb that gives the album a sense of space, even as it explores confinement. Every sound feels placed with care, from the rumble of brass to the faint textures that drift in and out of the mix. It’s immersive without being overwhelming—a difficult balance that CLOSED CITY manage with precision.

What’s perhaps most impressive is how the album handles its influences. References to 20th-century totalism and experimental “collision music” could easily result in something inaccessible, but Closed City remains strangely inviting. It doesn’t demand understanding; it invites interpretation. You don’t need to grasp every conceptual thread to feel its impact.

That said, this isn’t an album for passive listening. Its slow pacing and refusal to offer easy hooks will alienate some. There are moments where the restraint borders on stagnation, particularly in the latter half, where the sonic palette begins to feel deliberately limited. But even this works in the album’s favour—it reinforces the monotony and repetition central to its concept.

Ultimately, Closed City succeeds because it fully commits to its vision. It doesn’t break character, doesn’t chase accessibility, and doesn’t dilute its themes. Instead, it builds a world and invites you to sit within it—cold, isolated, and quietly contemplative. In a musical landscape that often prioritises immediacy, CLOSED CITY offer something far more patient and introspective. It’s an album that lingers—not in the way of a catchy chorus, but like a memory you can’t quite place, or a place you’re not sure you ever left.

Score: 7/10

Closed City was released on 27th March 2026 via Watch That Ends The Night Records.

Words: Mia Gailey

Photos: Noah Bender