When you learn that Red Sparowes count current/former members of Isis, Halifax Pier and Neurosis among their ranks, you might be inclined to file them in the doom metal category and forget about them -- but if you do this, you'll completely miss the point of their work. Although they can't help but draw influences from the aforementioned outfits, Red Sparowes' brand of avant-space-metal favors slow, pulverizing buildups and molasses-slow pacing over nail gun guitars and frenetic double-bass breakdowns. It's slo-core for the hardcore set, metal for neo-classical neophytes.

At the Soundless Dawn is a dense, sprawling masterwork that deftly bridges the gaps between prog, metal and darkwave, swirling Tribes of Neurot's decaying urgency, Slint's slow-burning glissandi and Caligari's icy calculation into a matte black morass of epic resonance. Though such an insanely ornate piece might sound pretentious (the titles of the seven tracks come together to form a paragraph that's more than a little askew), the band is careful never to plunge too deep into the icy waters of bloated progressive pomp, always erring on the right side of otherworldly and frighteningly massive.

"Buildings began to stretch wide across the sky, and the air filled with a reddish glow" blends muted emotional furor with a masterful understanding of metaphysical dynamics, submerging overwhelming feelings of hurtful regret in a reservoir of avuncular jazz rhythms and guilt-laden guitar tones. "The soundless dawn came alive as cities began to mark the horizon" is the lost soundtrack to a great, gladiator-filled battle sequence, its peaks and valleys rising and falling like sharpened blades through the dusky desert sky. They can't help but sound massive; even At the Soundless Dawn's quietest, most nuanced moments are like the eerie calm before the most awe-inspiring electrical storm you've ever seen.

The somber sense of impending doom that pervades At the Soundless Dawn is perhaps its most intriguing facet, as well as a leaden albatross hanging around its neck. The album never presents itself as anything other than a fully realized whole -- which is fine, if carefully crafted, prog-resplendent composition is your cup of tea. In the event that it's not, you're left with an impenetrable wall of sound. At the Soundless Dawn is, by design, a take it or leave it affair -- you'll either be ensnared from the start, or you won't even notice as its immeasurable figure approaches from the horizon.