If All Hallow’s was AFI tentatively feeling their way through darkness, The Art of Drowning is them learning to thrive within it. This album is built on duality—fast yet graceful, furious yet introspective—a record that perfectly captures the moment when punk energy collided with gothic atmosphere and refused to let go. It’s confident, theatrical, and deeply felt, a testament to a band fully inhabiting its shadow.

From the opening tension of “Initiation,” the album pulls you in with deliberate care before erupting into motion. Every element that AFI has honed over years of evolution—the thick, commanding bass, the tight, propulsive drums, and sharp yet melodic guitars—is on full display. The music feels alive, as if every note teeters between the chaos of “Sacrifice Theory” and the search for salvation. This interplay between aggression and introspection has always been AFI’s strongest suit, and here it reaches its fullest expression.

The album thrives on contrast. Tracks like “The Lost Souls” and “Smile” showcase the band’s relentless speed and aggression, while moments like “Ever and a Day” or “6 to 8” pull the listener back into aching calm. These slower passages are far from filler—they demonstrate an acute understanding of tension and release, making every burst of energy hit even harder. The pacing feels purposeful, with each shift from manic motion to reflective stillness earning its weight rather than feeling forced.

The rhythm section serves as the album’s backbone. The bass does more than support; it leads, setting tone and texture throughout. From the haunting groove of “The Nephilim” to the eerie propulsion of “Of Greetings and Goodbyes,” its deep resonance shapes the album’s emotional landscape. The drums remain crisp and disciplined even at their fastest, never succumbing to frantic excess. Every hit feels intentional, every rhythm grounded, keeping the band’s chaos contained and powerful.

AFI’s textural experimentation on The Art of Drowning is equally bold. Layered vocals turn choruses into communal chants, subtle synths shadow tracks like “The Despair Factor,” and delicate violin flourishes color songs such as “Morningstar.” These details expand the album’s world without diluting the band’s identity. Every “ohhh” and “woah” feels earned, a bridge between band and listener rather than a mere stylistic flourish.

Even so, the album’s ambition occasionally works against it. The relentless energy, particularly between tracks like “Wester” and “Catch a Hot One,” risks blurring the edges of individual songs. When every track strives for immediacy, slower and more experimental moments can feel overshadowed—even when they are among the album’s most memorable. Yet even in these minor imperfections, there is purpose; The Art of Drowning never sounds careless. It sounds human, lived-in, and real.

Lyrically, the album is as introspective as it is theatrical. Davey Havok’s words hover between personal reflection and spiritual exploration. Whether mourning, reaching, or screaming, his conviction never feels performative. On “The Days of the Phoenix,” he captures fleeting moments of youth and identity—not nostalgia, but survival—while “A Story at Three” drifts through loss and longing with a mix of sadness and acceptance. Even the furious “Battled” carries genuine emotional weight, proving that intensity and heart can coexist.

The Art of Drowning is less a reinvention than a full realization of everything AFI had been building toward. It is a refinement, a record in which the band no longer seems to be running from anything; instead, they stand firmly in their own shadow, embracing it. Every scream, whisper, and crashing cymbal contributes to a unified sense of purpose: finding beauty within the drowning.

Ultimately, the album’s title is not a statement of defeat—it is a statement of surrender. It is about learning to fall into your own creation and trusting that it will hold you. For AFI, The Art of Drowning is not just a record; it is a baptism in sound—the moment they stopped reaching for the surface and chose to breathe underwater. It is dark, expansive, and triumphant all at once, a gothic masterpiece that captures a band fully at home in the shadows they helped define.