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Sleep should be an escape—a refuge from the weight of waking life. But what happens when the boundaries between dreams and reality begin to fracture? When the night becomes a battleground, and the mind is no longer safe from itself? With Parasomnia, Dream Theater plunges headfirst into the abyss, crafting an intricate, fever-dream descent into the chaos of the subconscious. It’s an album that doesn’t just tell a story—it traps you inside it, blurring the lines between waking terror and nocturnal hallucination.
But beyond its haunting concept, Parasomnia is something even more monumental: the long-awaited return of Mike Portnoy behind the kit. For the first time in nearly 15 years, the architect of Dream Theater’s signature intensity is back, injecting the album with a level of fire and chemistry that fans have craved since his departure. The result? A record that feels both eerily familiar and boldly new—a meeting point between past and future, where the ghosts of Dream Theater’s legacy collide with the uncharted depths of their evolution.
From the very start, the album immerses you in its world with “Arms of Morpheus”, a sprawling instrumental opener that feels less like a song and more like a portal. Layers of ethereal synths and delicate guitar work create an otherworldly atmosphere, slowly unraveling into cascading piano runs and cinematic swells. It’s hypnotic, dreamlike, but also ominous—an invitation into the unknown, with no promise of return. The ambient textures bleed into one another, teasing the listener with what’s to come, but never quite giving full access until the album breaks through. As the track fades, the world of Parasomnia begins to take shape.
And then, without warning, the tranquility shatters. “Night Terror” is a full-force plunge into chaos, driven by Portnoy’s relentless drumming and John Petrucci’s razor-sharp riffs. James LaBrie’s vocals shift between soaring melodies and unsettling whispers, embodying the paranoia of a mind trapped in its own nightmares. It’s a relentless push-and-pull between grandeur and aggression, setting the tone for an album that refuses to let you find solid ground. The bass pulses with intensity, especially when Myung takes the spotlight, his deep grooves grounding the track even as everything else spirals outward into madness. There’s an undeniable sense of urgency here, creating an immediate tension that only heightens as the track unfolds.
That unpredictability continues with “A Broken Man”, which laces its intricate prog framework with moments of intense prog and almost a jazz fusion, effortlessly blending technicality with groove. John Myung’s bass work shines here, weaving through the rhythmic complexity with a smooth yet commanding presence. Dream Theater has always been known for their ability to fuse seemingly disparate styles, but here, they do so with an elegance that feels almost instinctual. The song’s fluidity feels organic, despite its complexity—never bogged down by overthinking, but never losing its intricacy either. As the song progresses, the hints of dissonant jazz elements begin to meld more with Dream Theater’s signature prog flourishes, making it one of the album’s most unique moments.
“Dead Asleep” takes that momentum and channels it into sheer force. A bruising, high-energy assault, it channels the raw intensity of Train of Thought while still twisting its brutality through Dream Theater’s signature lens. The riffs hit hard, the drumming is thunderous, yet even in its heaviest moments, there’s an undeniable precision—a sense of control within the chaos. It’s a track that punches, bruises, and never lets up, a perfect reminder of the band’s ability to balance power with technicality. As the final crushing notes fade, the album takes another sharp turn with “Midnight Messiah,” a track that sees the band playing with time itself—bending it, warping it, breaking it apart. The rhythmic shifts are unpredictable, the grooves infectious, and yet there’s an underlying fluidity that makes even the most intricate passages feel effortless. It’s the kind of track where each musician is firing at full capacity, pushing boundaries without ever losing sight of the bigger picture.
As if to give the listener a moment to breathe—but never truly rest—the album then descends into “Are We Dreaming?,” an instrumental interlude filled with eerie synths, haunting guitar lines, and whispered voices that swirl in and out of focus. The soundscape here is much darker, more fragmented—a reflection of the album’s central theme. It’s unsettling, cinematic, and feels like a descent into something far deeper and darker. The whispered dialogue adds an element of unease, keeping the listener off-balance, as if they are losing control of their own consciousness.
Emerging from that reflective silence, “Bend the Clock” unfolds as a slower, deeply emotional track that truly lives up to its name. With sweeping lead passages and a measured, almost hypnotic tempo, the song literally bends time, challenging the listener to experience moments where the pace of reality seems to stretch and soften. It’s a pivotal moment that adds an extra layer of surrealism to the journey, inviting you to let go of your grasp on linear time and simply feel the emotion coursing through every note.
Finally, the album culminates in “The Shadow Man Incident”, a monumental, nearly 20-minute odyssey that pushes Dream Theater’s storytelling and musicianship to their absolute limits. This epic finale unfolds like a sprawling dreamscape, shifting between delicate moments of introspection and overwhelming bursts of intensity. Portnoy’s drumming here is nothing short of spectacular, his fills and polyrhythms creating a tapestry of tension and release that drives the piece forward. As all the musical themes converge in a massive crescendo, the track encapsulates the entire spectrum of emotions and sonic landscapes that Parasomnia has built up, leaving the listener both breathless and profoundly introspective.
With Parasomnia, Dream Theater has crafted an album that doesn’t just challenge its listeners—it engulfs them. It’s a journey through the darkest corridors of the mind, a testament to the band’s ability to reinvent themselves while staying undeniably Dream Theater. There’s a sense of grandeur here, not only in the way the album builds its sonic layers but in the weight of its narrative, which asks profound questions about the nature of dreams and waking life. It’s an album that feels both deeply personal and universally relatable, and it achieves this with an unmatched depth. And with Portnoy’s return, there’s an energy here that’s impossible to ignore—a fire that burns through every note, every time signature shift, every haunting melody. It’s the kind of album that lingers long after the final note fades, leaving you questioning whether you’ve truly woken up—or if the dream has only just begun.
VERDICT: 4.5/5
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