And Everything Went Dark finds Downswing standing at a sonic crossroads—one illuminated by the sleek neon polish of modern metalcore, yet still shadowed by the grimy, emotionally charged undercurrent that once defined their sound. From the outset, the album strikes hard: there’s no godlike grandeur or sweeping theatrics here, just dark synths, gritty riffs, and drums that pound with both weight and urgency. Tracks like “No God to Me” immediately drag you into the pit before launching into colossal grooves, the kind that make your head nod in recognition while subtly prompting the question: have I heard this before?

The production throughout the record is monumental—thick, resonant bass, thunderous percussion, and sharp, modern metalcore tones that hit with precision. It’s a polished, almost cinematic approach, and while it demonstrates the band’s technical confidence, the sheen occasionally blunts the raw edge that gave earlier Downswing material its bite. When the band leans into grit and groove, however—moments like the driving, riff-laden “Emptiness Remains”—they sound unstoppable. The riffs grind and grin, the drums bounce with intent, and the clean choruses strike just the right balance of melody and chaos, making the listener feel both grounded and exhilarated.

Where the album falters is in its clean, seamless transitions. In smoothing over the rough edges, Downswing sometimes blurs the line between tracks, leaving the middle stretch feeling impressively executed but less memorable. Songs that swell with distorted synths, cinematic build-ups, and polished vocal lines—such as “Thanks for Nothing”—suggest an ambition to evolve toward a more mainstream-friendly sound. Yet these moments occasionally underdeliver emotionally. The clean vocals, while smoother and technically strong, can lack the raw intensity and individuality that made the band’s earlier work resonate so strongly.

Despite this, Downswing’s musical prowess is undeniable. The grooves hit hard, the breakdowns are bold and precise, and when they allow space for atmospheric dynamics—as in “Letting Go”—the results are both expansive and heartfelt, even if occasionally formulaic. Guest contributions from Travis Moseley and Elijah Witt add welcome texture and contrast, though their presence doesn’t overshadow the band’s core identity.

The album wrestles with the tension between past and present. Glimpses of the band’s signature grit and emotional darkness appear sporadically—dissonant riffs that echo earlier material, ghostly reminders of tracks like “Too Little Too Late.” But these moments often give way to pristine choruses or clean guitar passages that push the band toward the mainstream metalcore middle lane. It’s a trade-off that enhances accessibility but risks diminishing the dangerous, unpredictable energy that once defined Downswing.

By the time the closing track, “Eternal,” fades out, the weight of both sound and intent is palpable. The album reflects growth, technical evolution, and expanded sonic ambition, but it also exposes the cost of that progression—the grime and raw darkness that gave their early work its unique character have been polished, sometimes to the point of sterility. And Everything Went Dark isn’t a misstep—it’s powerful, tightly executed, and full of undeniable grooves—but it occupies an uneasy space: suspended between the shadow of the past and the slick light of the present.

Ultimately, Downswing’s talent remains unmistakable. The hooks, the riffs, and the sheer musical command shine throughout. What the album reminds us, though, is that sometimes the most piercing light is the one that filters through the grime. And Everything Went Dark is a strong, heavy evolution—dynamic and technically impressive—but it sacrifices some of the raw shadow that made Downswing’s previous work so vital.

A calculated, polished, and powerful record that successfully expands the band’s sound while losing a fraction of its original darkness—still gripping, but not quite haunting.