REVIEW: Sleep Token - Even In Arcadia

What do you say when it feels like it’s all been said and done? They barely need any introduction, and we’ve all been waiting for this. Let’s face it, Sleep Token is releasing today, 9 May 2025, their fourth studio album entitled “Even In Arcadia”. The weight and scrutiny this opus has been under even before its release is undeniable, and also makes the themes of it even more timely. With 2023’s “Take Me Back To Eden” held as sanctum, it would make anyone nervous to see how to follow this up. Now imagine being on the other side of the veil with all staring at you expectantly. This is more than an album, but a breathing mask. Layered with an intimate and introspective life line, which the first three singles already established. As the countdown rolls down, we can’t help but wonder how deep it’ll cut.

We open with a breathtaking statement of intent in the form of the eight-minute epic “Look to Windward.” Like watching your own childhood bedroom, it is full of clashing colours and meanings. The track defies simple categorisation, weaving together glitchy chiptune-like synths, reminiscent of a child’s toy keyboard, with orchestral surges, guttural metal breakdowns, and whispered poetry. The opening keys pulse with an almost innocent and searching curiosity before Vessel enters with a raw tone that almost feels intrusive to listen to. A sort of home-recorded feel intimacy where his vocals float somewhere between confession and incantation. Around the two-minute mark, the track mutates, layering ghostly backing chants that rise into a haunting, choral swell. At 3:20, just as we find our footing, an unexpected breakdown crashes in, but still tethered to symphonic roots. It is somehow also threaded with djent aggression and a distant hip-hop tick. The song closes with the whispered line, “Will you haunt this eclipse in me”, a ghostly echo of a distant past over the returning synth, before a final explosion of screamed vocals and frenetic drums. The title nods to no other than T.S. Eliot’s The Waste Land, and like the poem, “Look to Windward” meditates on ruin, memory, and spiritual reckoning, setting the tone for an album that finds beauty in the collapse.

Firstborn of this new opus, “Emergence”, comes next. It marks a shift from the raw emotional disarray of the opener to a more fluid and deliberate synthesis. Where “Look to Windward” felt like a storm of impulses colliding, “Emergence” is gentler in its construction, ethereal and yearning, as if reaching out with trembling hands. The track’s central lyric, “Wrap your arms around me”, is echoed by a looping guitar line that acts less as accompaniment and more like a protective cocoon, encircling Vessel’s voice in sonic embrace. An electronic beat pulses beneath, carrying forward the rhythmic language of the opener, but now more present, more willing to be seen. Even the guitars seem to echo the vocal line in the spaces between verses, lending the impression that the instruments themselves are singing and carrying the voices of their wielders. We, of course, can’t avoid mentioning the saxophone. Taking us all by surprise, it came in as a sensual, dreamlike interlude that paints the track in shades of noir. Paired with sparse piano touches, it transports us into a world that feels both intimate and cinematic, vulnerable and controlled. If the opener was a cry from the edge, “Emergence” is the moment that cry finds form and begins to sing.

With “Past Self”, we pivot into a bold, genre-defying statement that fuses djent-laced dissonance with pop-R&B smoothness, channelling an almost early 2000s catchiness that feels both nostalgic and forward-thinking. The track opens with delicate, wind chime-like tones before plunging into a more direct, rhythm-driven groove. There’s a clarity here, a more straightforward structure that doesn’t dilute the emotional weight but rather reframes it: this is a song about confronting the self beneath the mask. Vessel’s delivery is intimate yet commanding, like reading aloud a letter never meant to be sent. Lyrically and sonically, “Past Self” captures the tension between evolution and identity, between who we were and who we’re becoming. The contrast of vulnerable melodies and punchy, percussive riffs mirrors this internal conflict, while the track’s sheer catchiness suggests a willingness to connect with new listeners beyond the band’s established circles. It’s one of Sleep Token’s most accessible offerings to date without sacrificing depth. A signpost pointing to a new era where emotional honesty and sonic innovation walk hand in hand.

“Dangerous” arrives like the seductive curveball we were expecting to come. Opening with a lush, old-school rock ballad vibe that could have been lifted from a Scorpions record, it is forward, deliberate, and unapologetically indulgent. A dissonant guitar line acts like a rhythmic weapon more than a melodic anchor, hammering out a pulse that merges seamlessly with the band’s signature blend of djent grooves and flickering electronic beats. The result is a track that feels simultaneously nostalgic and forward-looking, like a love song built from broken circuits and haunted memories. There’s a knowing theatricality here, a sense that the band is leaning into its most fan-favourite traits - sultry vocals, massive drops, and that polished dark-pop sheen - with a wink and a smirk. “Dangerous” is fan service in the best way: it delivers exactly what longtime listeners crave, but with just enough twist to keep it fresh. It leaves us worrying about one thing: can BookTok even survive this?!

“Caramel” stands as one of the most startling and revealing moments on the album, where the barrier between performer and person shatters. Opening with a delicate, glockenspiel-like melody (part of a recurring xylophonic motif that threads through the album), the track quickly veers into unexpected territory, embracing a reggaeton and dancehall-inspired rhythm that marks one of Sleep Token’s most daring stylistic shifts to date. It’s also the catchiest and most rhythmically infectious song on the record, yet it carries some of the most gutting lyrics Vessel has ever delivered. This is no abstraction, it’s a direct letter to the audience. “Terrified to answer my own front door” and “this stage is a prison” lay bare the claustrophobia of unexpected stardom. They try to cope with the dark underbelly of parasocial fanbases taking it too far: “They shout my real name just to get a rise from me”, he sings, pushing back against those who violate the very anonymity that gives Sleep Token its mystique. The line “Thought I got better but maybe I didn’t” lands like a quiet suckerpunch that brings a knot to our throats. Resigned, fragile, and devastating. “Caramel” is not just a highlight; it’s a held-up mirror dressed in the most seductive disguise.

The title track, “Even in Arcadia,” feels like the emotional centerpiece of the album, a stripped-back, dreamlike offering that carries the weight of something timeless. It begins with what sounds like a delicate music box, soon joined by soft piano, creating a space that feels suspended outside of time, like a message set adrift in a bottle. Vessel’s voice enters gently, almost as if whispering across great distances, delivering the haunting question: “Have you been waiting long for me?” The song unfolds like a letter written to no one and everyone, a quiet reckoning with absence, distance, and longing. Despite its sparse arrangement, the song feels grand, almost mythical, like a modern-day Odyssey put to music. There’s a sense of vastness in the simplicity, a swelling emotional tide beneath the minimal instrumentation. Then, at 3:25, the illusion of calm ruptures: Vessel’s voice transforms into a raw, grungy scream, ragged with desperation, different from the controlled precision we’re used to, but something far more human and bruised. It’s the sound of someone trying to be heard across oceans, across years. The track finally closes on a plaintive violin, drawing everything back down to a single, trembling note. “Even in Arcadia” is a reminder that beauty and pain can exist in the same breath and that sometimes the quietest songs carry the loudest truths.

“Provider” brings a sense of reverence and surrender, beginning with an almost sacred stillness. The track opens like a hymn, with electronic organ-like tones gently supporting vocals in a way that feels gospel-tinged. There’s a quiet power in its simplicity, but soon, a bass-heavy rhythm slides in, slow and languid, transforming the track into something sensual without breaking the emotional tension. What follows is one of the most seamless integrations of heaviness on the album. When the breakdown comes, it glides into place, with heavier guitars swelling up from underneath rather than crashing through. Instead of disrupting the atmosphere, they elevate it, lifting the song to a more transcendent register. The track is not about release in the explosive sense, but rather about ascension - about giving in, not giving up. 

We then go to the latest release,  “Damocles”, which feels like the emotional and creative tipping point on “Even in Arcadia”, capturing the quiet exhaustion of an artist who’s run out of words but still feels the weight of expectation. The track carries a stark, almost brittle piano line, simple, stripped-back, and raw as Vessel sings “I know these chords are boring” that captures the frustration of creative burnout. It’s as if he’s circling around the edges of writer’s block, too tired to fight it but still trying to make sense of it. There’s an almost confessional quality to the track, as if it was written on tour during a moment of catharsis, bared for a brief but necessary respite. It captures that fragility of being both creator and creation, where the weight of expectations becomes almost too much to bear. 

The mystical “Gethsemane” carries the weight of its namesake. It’s a space of suffering, inner turmoil, and the quiet acceptance of impending sacrifice. In this context, the song becomes a deeply emotional meditation on what feels like heartbreak, loss, and the quiet, often unspoken pain of giving yourself away. It speaks to the experience of bottling emotions and suppressing one’s own needs because there is no space left for personal expression. When, in caring for others, you lose sight of yourself. It shows a form of quiet devastation, mirrored in the track’s discordant yet rhythmic structure.

"Infinite Baths" serves as the haunting, cathartic conclusion to “Even in Arcadia”. A sprawling 8 minutejourney (and the longest track on the album) that loops back to its beginning, mirroring the cyclical nature of healing and renewal. The track opens with a melody that feels like water washing over you, as if the song itself is a cleansing ritual. There’s an echoing quality to Vessel’s voice, as if the lyrics are being heard from beneath the surface of water, distant yet clear, singing “I’m finally here and I’m not leaving” as a declaration of strength and resolve. It feels like a letter to the future self, a promise of resilience after a long and painful journey. It’s as though all the catharsis from the previous tracks, each one working through its own agony and emotional release, has led to this moment of resolution. The song gradually builds into its second half, where the most ferocious breakdown of the album erupts in a wave of black metal fury. This breakdown lasts throughout the second part of the song, breaking down the emotional walls as a final act of purging. The song ends as it began, with an almost serene sense of closure, a rebirth signalling that the pain has been washed away, leaving a person ready to move forward, unburdened.

Even in Arcadia marks a bold and transformative chapter in Sleep Token's already remarkable journey. The album is a dynamic exploration of vulnerability, emotional turmoil, and eventual catharsis, woven together with a rich tapestry of musical experimentation that defies easy categorisation. From the ethereal and haunting opening of “Look to Windward” to the cathartic, black-metal-infused finale of “Infinite Baths,” each track delves into the internal battles and moments of personal reckoning, with Vessel offering his most raw, exposed performances to date. The recurring themes of struggle—whether it’s the pain of public expectation, the suffocating nature of fame, or the deep sorrow of lost self-identity—are intertwined with moments of musical grandeur and intimacy, creating a record that feels simultaneously larger-than-life and deeply personal.

In this emotional travel, Sleep Token does not only expands their range but also pushes the boundaries of what they’ve created before. As a testament to their continued rise, Sleep Token is set to headline Download Festival for the first time which is a milestone not to miss. “Even in Arcadia” isn't just an album; it’s the culmination of years of struggle, experimentation, and a relentless pursuit of musical and emotional honesty. With this album, Sleep Token solidifies their place as one of the most innovative and captivating acts in modern music, poised to leave a lasting imprint on both fans and critics alike.

Rating: 10/10

Words: Lysandre Pons

Photos: Andy Ford