Album art by Casey Crescenzo

Style: Progressive rock, art rock (Clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Coheed and Cambria, Closure in Moscow, The Reign of Kindo, Bear Ghost
Country: USA (Washington)
Release date: 20 March 2026

---

Some great albums make their greatness known immediately, busting down the gates of one’s psyche from their very first notes and bringing on that unmistakably electric thrill of knowing deep in your bones you’ve just run into a new classic. But not all masterpieces are so accommodating. Particularly among the often-obtuse styles found beneath the “progressive” umbrella, there are plenty of acquired-taste albums whose devotees swear that they’re some of the best records ever made, but it may, as they say, “take a few spins” for listeners to truly appreciate said excellence amidst their more quirky, off-putting elements. Taking said “few spins” is a risky move, especially in today’s age of nigh-infinite content in which there are simply too many albums being released for a mere mortal to listen through them all once, let alone several times, and I sometimes wonder how many albums I would have loved had I not discarded them on the first play. But for those willing to take said risk, there’s always the chance to discover a true gem that only shines after the unevenness of its first impressions is buffed away.

It’s also not a risk that fans of conceptual-prog legends The Dear Hunter have, in the past, really needed to take. Sure, their music has always been narratively ambitious, stylistically diverse, and unquestionably progressive¹, but it’s also been viscerally immediate in its appeal. I can distinctly remember the vice grip songs like “Waves” and “Gloria” had on me from the very beginning when I was discovering them, and even the spacey, funky change in style on Antimai came with a set of direct, upbeat bangers and an easily-followed conceptual structure (start at the outermost, poorest ring of this sci-fi city and move inward and upward) that made appreciating its genius relatively easy. But in its sequel, Sunya, things aren’t nearly so simple. Here we journey outward from the city walls, facing strange, hostile landscapes and bizarre wasteland-dwellers on a vision quest to the titular holy site, and the music contorts into its own set of unpredictable shapes to match. This is the weirdest and most progressive album TDH have ever made, and plenty of listeners, including diehard fans, had some unexpectedly mixed feelings on first listen. But such journeys are rarely simple. After ruminating on Sunya for a few more spins, has its true meaning been revealed, or was its promise a mere mirage all along?

Well, in terms of overall sound design, Casey Crescenzo & co. continue to completely crush it. That trademark Dear Hunter lushness is still here in abundance, with layers upon layers of Queen-influenced backing vocals, strings, horns, and a truly astonishing variety of synths bursting forth from the mix and bolstering the core rock instrumentation. Sunya, however, beyond merely using these intricate soundscapes as window dressing, allows itself to float and luxuriate in them for their own sake, and it creates some of the album’s most immediately arresting moments. The first part of “The Glass Desert II: Cliffs & Stormlands”, in which our protagonist, the Scientist, marvels at the immensity of the “steep fall” beneath them, is one of the most spine-chillingly gorgeous musical passages the band have ever recorded, a perfect encapsulation of the sheer sense of majesty that such dramatic landscapes can impart. In fact, the sense of frisson-inducing grandeur and scale is a common thread through the album, particularly in the Glass Desert suite, and moments like the stately, grandiose horns in “Giants” and the heart-seizingly stunning climax of “The Plains” never fail to elicit dropped jaws and taken breaths in equal measure.

But that’s not the side of Sunya that it starts out showing. No, our first introduction to the “Wasteland” beyond the borders of Antimai is a strange, twangy jaw-harp-like instrument that sounds… well, kinda silly. And indeed, a good chunk of the album’s more energetic tracks are suffused with a sense of wacky, off-kilter whimsy that will no doubt catch fans used to a more grounded sound off-guard. While TDH aren’t complete strangers to doofy fun even in their “proper” conceptual records², some of the sounds on offer here, such as the numerous cheesy yacht-rock synths and the frequent use of robotic-sounding talkbox vocals, can feel like a bit much. To further complicate matters, it’s all progressive as hell – each track is chock full of complex structures, abrupt textural shifts, and adventurous tonality, to the point where even the comparatively direct, uptempo banger that is “Marauders” can feel like a bit of a mess on first listen. Counterintuitively enough, the more energetic Sunya gets, the less accessible it feels, as evidenced by the sheer contrast of how the first part of “Cliffs and Stormlands” felt immediately transcendent, while its unhinged, “electric” second half initially left me bewildered and uncertain.

And yet, as with any journey worth taking, Sunya has a way of making one find the joy and value in venturing outside of their comfort zone. Sure, I remember being a bit unimpressed by “Marauders” when I first heard it, but my present-day self cannot conceive of a world in which it doesn’t make me want to bounce around uncontrollably in my seat and shout along to every raw-throated call of “IT’S THE EMPTY MAN WHO COMMANDS HIS COMPANY!” The same goes for the infectiously elastic shuffle grooves of “The Bazaareteria”, or the bouncy, harmonica-accented “Stormlands”. Sure, a couple elements continue to not land – I still am a bit mixed on the talkbox – but beyond that, most of those quibbles I just mentioned with the goofy sonic choices and unorthodox structure have started to feel more and more surface-level, and at every level beneath said surface, Sunya is nothing short of spectacular. One of the most underrated aspects of TDH is their ironclad understanding of the fundamentals of musicianship and composition, and this forms a rock-solid foundation that holds firm no matter how exotic the layers above it may become. The Nicks (Crescenzo and Sollecito) continue to be one of the tightest rhythm sections in prog, driving every one of the uptempo tracks onward with a delightful energy and verve that artfully incorporates complexity without sacrificing pocket, with the fretless bass in “Giants” serving as a particularly stellar example. The guitars, despite being less central than previous efforts, still provide tons of interesting countermelodies (particularly in “The Wasteland”), and Casey’s vocals continue to age finely into a strong, warm lower register while still being able to pull off that signature urgent tenor rasp. Add in the aforementioned excellently-produced soundscapes of synths, strings, and horns, and you’ve got an album whose immaculate craftsmanship reveals new, delightful subtleties on every single subsequent spin.

At the end of our, and the Scientist’s, journey, we arrive at the holy site of Sunya with the closing title track, and they are… disappointed. What was rumored to be the home of the messianic Indigo Child, purported savior of Antimai’s downtrodden, is nothing more than a collection of strange, deserted ruins. Yet, as the instruments pick up towards the track’s grand finale, complete with a transcendent sax solo, the mood is not one of dejection, but of joy. It is the sound of realizing the value of journey before destination, of understanding that true divinity and power to enact change comes from within. While Antimai was a political journey from the outside in, Sunya is a personal journey from the inside out, the tale of reaching out from one’s stagnant inner self and searching for the strength to change, only to discover that said strength came from overcoming the challenges you faced along the way. In a way, then, the music’s quirkiness and initial inaccessibility makes sense – it is an album whose entire point lies in its lack of easy answers, one that asks its listeners to, like the Scientist, embrace the challenges and absurdities of the journey it takes them on as answers in themselves. True, Sunya is occasionally too clever for its own good, and on the whole it doesn’t quite reach the astronomically high bar set by masterpieces like Antimai or the later Acts. But it’s still another incredibly well-crafted entry in The Dear Hunter‘s catalogue, and a shining example of how they refuse to rest on their laurels. Given the band’s stated plans to take a break from the Indigo Child universe for their next album³, their next musical journey will likely sound nothing like this, but given their sterling track record, I trust it’ll be a journey worth taking. Maybe double check what the title sounds like spelled backwards next time, though.

---

Recommended tracks: Marauders, The Glass Desert I: Giants, Sunya
You may also like: Meer, Dim Gray, The Circle of Wonders, Good NightOwl
Final verdict: 8.5/10

Related links: Bandcamp |  Facebook | Instagram

Label: Cave and Canary

The Dear Hunter is:
– Casey Crescenzo (vocals, talkbox, guitar, synth, rhodes, organ, percussion)
– Nick Crescenzo (drums)
– Rob Parr (guitar)
– Max Tousseau (guitar)
– Nick Sollecito (bass, synth)
– Aiden Earley (percussion, synth)
With guests:
– Ross Garren (harmonica)
– Gavin Castleton (additional keyboards)
– Kaska Records (string quartet)
– Dima Faustov (saxophones)
– Lev Borovskiy (trumpet, trombone)

1. With the arguable exception of the straightforward, if well-made, indie rock of Migrant. ↩︎
2. Prominent examples include the fan favorite disco non-sequitur that is “King of Swords” and the amazingly bizarre pep-rally dance routine at the end of “Ring 3”. ↩︎
3. Only musically, though – Casey has stated plans for a book series set in this universe, meaning that prog’s premier singer-songwriter-multiinstrumentalist-producer-composer-director-luthier-graphic designer-3D animator intends to add “novelist” to his cartoonishly long list of hyphenates. ↩︎