There are albums that reflect sadness, and then there is “Neopolis,” that do not reflect despair so much as become it, filling the room like a choking fog, inhaling any hope before it can take root. This is not music crafted for catharsis. It is the sound of being pinned beneath the weight of permanence—a slow, unrelenting erosion of emotional ground. You don’t emerge from this album—you fade into it. It leaves you blinking at silence, wondering if you imagined the light at all. It’s not that “Neopolis” offers no hope; it’s that it reminds you how easily hope is consumed—how quickly beauty can be buried beneath weight and wire.
